For Hire: The Intimate Adventures of a Gigolo. Luke Bradbury

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       Karen

       Late March

      Why did I even pick up the phone?

      I was on my scooter, on my way to Karen’s house, and though we were heading into spring, there was still a chill in the air. It wasn’t even as if I needed the money these days. Business was going so well that I could pick and choose. I should have let my ‘Berry ring until it switched to voicemail.

       Just my luck.

      But I had answered the call, and now I was on my way to Balham. I stopped outside a block of flats. The place didn’t look a million miles away from the excouncil housing that the Girls and I lived in, though our place was in a leafier part of London. As they say, location was everything. This block and indeed the whole estate had a shabby air about it. Rubbish dotted the grass verges, and various tags were scrawled over the brickwork.

      I braced myself and rang the bell. The buzzer sounded and I pushed open the heavy-duty fire door and headed down the corridor to Karen’s flat. She was standing on the threshold.

       Mutton dressed as lamb.

      I knew it was unfair of me, but before Karen had even opened her mouth I’d made up my mind about what she’d be like. She was the sort of older woman that me and my mates back in Aus would have sniggered over for trying too hard to cheat time.

      Not that Karen was ancient. She was in her forties but dressed like someone half her age, in a skimpy black vest, crotch-length miniskirt, fishnet stockings and four-inch heels. It all left nothing to the imagination and it didn’t do her any favours either. She clearly hoped to make an impression on the guys she met.

      Well, yeah love, but not quite the impression you wanted…

      But the irony was that it clearly wasn’t working. After all, she’d had to resort to hiring me, hadn’t she?

      When Karen did open her mouth to invite me in, she all but crowed. ‘Luke, do come in,’ she leered, looking me up and down with a keen eye.

      ‘Thanks,’ I replied, wondering how things might pan out tonight.

      Karen leant against the open front door to let me pass, but leaving so little room that I couldn’t help but brush against her. Or she against me.

       OK, I’ll let you have that one for free.

      I stepped straight into the lounge room. Karen’s place was sort of what I’d expected. That is, nothing special.

      ‘Do sit down, and I’ll get you a drink. You’d like a beer or something?’ she said as she disappeared into the kitchen.

      ‘Thanks. That’d be nice,’ I said loudly and sank down into an overstuffed armchair that threatened to swallow me up. There was a matching sofa that seemed to take up half the room, then a huge telly and digibox on a black tubular metal stand in one corner, but that was it.

      I heard the fridge door slam shut, and a second or two later Karen was back in the room with a couple of cans of Budweiser, handing me one of them. As I upped the ring pull and licked off the excess beer from the can’s top, she dropped onto the sofa with a loud ‘Ahh’ of relief.

      Fiddling with the can and giving it my full concentration ate up a few minutes until we got down to business. I took a gulp from the can, and looked over at Karen.

      ‘It’s the first time I’ve been this far south, I think,’ I smiled, as if I had just ventured out on some exotic adventure to uncharted lands.

      I looked around the room again, desperate for something to talk about. There was a photo of what looked like a younger Karen holding hands with a small boy.

      ‘You have a son?’ I fished, nodding at the picture.

      ‘Callum? Yes. You might get to see him. He’s not as small as that. Obviously.’

       Obviously.

      ‘He lives with you?’

      ‘Yes, it’s probably about time I kicked him out, but I like having him around. I’d miss him around the flat. He’s around your age.’

      I did a quick calculation. She must have been in her СКАЧАТЬ