Trapped. Jacqui Rose

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       CHAPTER FOUR

      Johnny Taylor slowly opened one eye and groaned as the previous night’s heavy session of drinking and copious amounts of cocaine finally caught up with him. He could feel the air was heavy with the early summer smog of London and the sound of a saxophone cut through the morning. If he’d been at all capable of moving, Johnny might’ve been tempted to open the window and throw iced water onto the musically inept busker outside, whose flat rendition of ‘Moon River’ certainly wasn’t helping his hangover.

      Carefully he lifted his head, which slammed it into a pulsating throbbing pain. He tried not to move it any more than necessary; afraid of the hangover from the bowels of hell he was certain to awake.

      Opening the other eye just as slowly as the first, he was surprised to see the naked body of a sleeping woman, ungainly sprawled with her mouth wide open, snoring discordantly at the end of his bed. Though at least he recognised her, which was a start.

      There was no mistaking the harsh bleached blonde with the dark roots and the faded rose tattoo on her thigh who worked in his father’s clip joint at the end of Berwick Street. Her name was Lucy; not that Johnny heard many people call her by her real name any more.

      She’d turned up looking for a job a few years ago and within a short period of time she’d acquired the nickname, Saucers, thanks to the impressive size of her nipples. Far from being offended however, she’d warmed to the name immediately, proudly telling the punters her new pet name as she licked her heavily glossed lips.

      Johnny found Saucers to be a bag of contradictions; a hardened brass who never raised her eyebrows at the often perverse requests asked of her, yet one who spent her spare time devouring books, romantic classical novels being her favourite. On many occasions he’d sat in the back of one of his father’s strip clubs, handing her a box of Kleenex as she cried tears over one romantic hero or another.

      ‘Oh I’d like to wring his neck. Pass me another tissue, Johnny.’

      ‘Who is it this time?’

      ‘Prince Stepan Oblonsky, that’s who. Not a heart in the man. He’s only gone and had an affair with the governess. Chop his balls off, I would.’

      As usual he’d look at her blankly, only for Saucers to raise her eyebrows in exasperation at his ignorance. ‘Anna Karenina?’

      ‘You’ve lost me now, babe.’

      She’d laughed warmly and stared at him. ‘Johnny, a snail would bleeding lose you.’

      As Johnny lay on his bed trying to blank out the saxophone, he was thankful that their nakedness was undoubtedly down to the Soho heat, rather than him screwing her. He saw Saucers like he would a sister. Besides, he’d tried to leave all the one-night faceless beauties behind; on the whole he’d managed it. It was really only when he’d had too much to drink – which wasn’t that often – that he found himself waking up beside a woman with no name.

      He could feel the breeze coming from the open window. He winced as he tried to turn towards it. The pain was now making its way round to the back of his eyes. Even the small movement made his head hurt, though he wasn’t surprised. He’d been on one of his ‘legendaries’.

      They were a joke amongst his friends and family. In the past he’d had to make SOS calls, finding himself stranded in places as far-flung as Hull with no recollection of how he’d got there, or who he’d been with.

      He’d always been a lightweight when it came to alcohol; cocaine was more his style. But last night he’d stupidly combined the two and as usual it’d been like poison. He’d had no intention of going on a legendary but then he’d seen Saucers at the club, bubbling with non-stop talk and excitement.

      He’d looked at her as she grinned, showing off her gold back teeth; wondering what she was talking about. Then it hit him and it all became clear. Not only had the penny dropped but so had his face. Even in the dim light of the club, Saucers had seen it too and going on one of his legendaries was the only thing he’d wanted to do then.

      Johnny heard Saucers stir. He heard her gravelly voice before her face came into view as she leant over him.

      ‘Bleeding hell, the look on your face; anyone would think you’d looked down and your dick had vanished.’

      Before Johnny had time to answer, Saucers plonked her head on the pillow next to him, sending shockwaves of pain through his body as the bed jolted.

      ‘Keep it down sweetheart, my head’s banging.’

      ‘Your problem, Johnny Taylor, isn’t that your head’s hurting, it’s that you need to sort your life out once and for all.’

      ‘Listen, if it was that simple I’d be the first one to be smiling, but it ain’t.’

      ‘It’s not simple because you don’t make it simple Johnny; none of you do. Fuck me, I want to bash your head against something hard; bring you to your senses. It’s Anthony and Cleopatra all over again.’

      ‘Oh do me a favour. Spare me your book of the week shit.’

      Saucers shrugged, changing tact.

      ‘I’ve said it before Johnny, but it’s that …’

      He knew what Saucers was about to say. He didn’t want to hear it. He turned his back to her, putting his hands over his ears like a child. A few minutes later he felt her hand on his shoulder. He turned round to see Saucers offering him a warm smile.

      ‘I know it’s hard Johnny and the last thing I want to do is upset you. I just care, babe. Care and worry about you.’

      Johnny felt no malice towards Saucers. She was one of the few people who knew the story; he trusted her. He knew she’d keep her mouth shut.

      Johnny closed his eyes, hoping to snatch a bit of extra sleep. This idea was short-lived, however, when a minute later the door was flung open. The booming sound of his father’s jovial voice made Johnny’s head feel as though it was being stamped on.

      ‘Now this is a sorry fucking sight, son.’

      Frankie Taylor stood in the doorway with a wide grin on his handsome suntanned face. He was aware his black Savile Row suit was fitting a bit too snugly around the top of his legs for his liking; a consequence of too many paellas from his recent fortnight at his villa in Marbella.

      Pulling at his trousers slightly, hoping to get a bit more slack on the thighs, Frankie took in, as he always did, his son’s impressive СКАЧАТЬ