High Life: Alice Makes a Change Pt. 04

[Author's note: Alice is married to James, a professional football player who has found himself at a loose end after retiring from the sport. After attending a charity auction in which she was outbid for her own husband, Alice and James have been blackmailed into service by Jodie and her upper-echelon friends. They have no choice but to do her bidding, letting Jodie pimp James out to clients, otherwise she will release the videos she took.]

---

HENS AND STAGS

We ate breakfast in silence, each of us ruminating over the events of the previous night. I was supposed to pick up the kids from my parents, but that was at ten, so we had time to just sit and talk. In the light of day, it all seemed like a strange fantasy, almost to the point that I wanted to ask James if we'd really gone over to Jemima's house. Had I really watched my gorgeous husband fuck another woman right in front of me? It seemed ridiculous: those kind of this didn't happen to people like us.

That was the hard part of it all, and I'm as guilty as the next person when I read about people being pressed into sex work by human traffickers, imagining them to be desperate, or gullible, easily ensnared. But Jodie had done that to us, pressing us into service with an ease that I could scarcely believe. A week ago, we had been a happily married couple with kids and a mortgage, and now here we were, sitting around the expensive breakfast island bench in our expensive home in an exclusive suburb, surrounded by well-to-do, highly educated people just like ourselves. But we were now puppets, dancing to Jodie's tune, being sold for sex. It was simply unbelievable.

James shuffled on his stool, then reached into his back pocket.

"Oh, here."

He laid a wad of cash on the pristine white surface.

"What's that?" I asked.

"About two grand."

My eyes grew wide.

"The fee for last night," James explained, "Jemima gave it to me afterwards."

We looked at the crumpled pile of notes, neither of us willing to break the silence.

"What do we do with it?" I asked, finally.

"I don't know. I thought you might know. Do we keep it?"

"No idea."

"I guess we earned it, right?"

I didn't reply, getting up to tidy away the breakfast things. James got up as well to help, and we busied ourselves while the money sat on the counter. It sat there for an hour, untouched, until my phone buzzed with a message. I read it and had to call James into the room.

"What's up?" he asked.

"Jodie pinged me. Read."

I showed him the message, watching his expression as he read it. He just nodded.

"Okay."

"Okay? James, you serious?"

"Yeah. I got the money, she takes a cut, we meet and I hand it over. Seems pretty straightforward."

I glared at him, incredulous.

"Alice, just wait, don't blow up."

"Blow up?" I spat, "I'm not at blow up. I passed that a while back and I'm way out the other side. Okay? Really?"

James seemed to ponder my response for a while, and just as I was gearing up for a proper broadside, he held up a finger. It goaded me further, but I held my tongue, giving him a chance to get his viewpoint across. It took a lot of effort.

"You remember Robbie Hester?" James began.

"The guy who punched you in the face right in the middle of the game."

"Yeah," James laughed, "Laid me flat out on the grass. Blood all over the place."

"I remember. I wanted to, uh, I dunno, I could have strangled him."

"But you know I asked for it, right?"

I frowned at him. "Where's this going?"

"Remember the game? We were way down, just before half time, and Robbie kept pulling out the moves. I couldn't beat him. I just wasn't quick enough. He had the advantage over me, and he knew it. I had to keep facing up to that smug smile, the prick. He thought he was unstoppable."

"I know. I was watching. Then he hit you."

"Yeah. I asked him if his wife knew about his girlfriend. That got him all fired up and I knew I was onto a winner. Then all I asked was if he was sure his girlfriend was over eighteen."

James folded his arms, as if he'd made his point. I shrugged.

"How is any of that relevant?" I asked, exasperated.

"They were all set to win the final, it was a lay down. Then Robbie was off the field, and what happened?"

"You won."

"Exactly."

My face screwed up, and I retorted, "But that isn't going to help us here. What the hell are you talking about? You're not making sense."

James unfolded his arms now, gathering me to him in a hug. I looked up at him.

"We're going to use the same play. Jodie, her little band of fuckers, they're holding all the cards. But, I guarantee there's a weakness. We're gonna play along with their little game, we're going to be model citizens. We're gonna find a crack, an angle they haven't covered. They'll let their guard down at some point and all we have to do is wait."

"But then what?"

"We change the flow of play, we break through," James replied, his expression becoming grave, "Then we fucking bring the rain."

His eyes lit up as he said it, and I found myself believing him. I had seen it before, in the game with five minutes left on the clock, on the wrong side of the scoreboard, the unreasoning, unwavering belief he held that the game would change. In all the years of watching James play, even if the game didn't turn around after all, and they went home empty handed, until that last whistle, I never once saw his head go down.

"Okay," I said, and smiled up at him.

He was doing the alpha male thing, the protector. I didn't believe it, but I wasn't going to tell him that. There was no point. If I thought that we were never going to get free, voicing that opinion was a waste of time. It wouldn't make the situation any better for either of us.

"That night, after Delilah's, when we got home, what do you remember? Do you remember anything, Alice?"

I thought long and hard, playing it back, but it was fuzzy, like I was watching an old recording of something that had happened to someone else. I recalled lying quietly on our bed, then James next to me, then movement. I nodded.

"What?" James asked.

"She was there, James, on our bed."

"Doing what?"

I grimaced, feeling sick.

"She was on top of you."

To my utter disbelief, James began to grin.

"Interesting," he replied.

"Interesting?" I fumed, "How is that just interesting? She was fucking you on our bed. On our own fucking bed, James. I was right next to you."

"Yeah."

I glared up at him, pushing back, but he didn't release me.

"She was mixing business with pleasure. That's her first mistake," he murmured, "The first little chink in her armour."

I looked into his eyes and that's when I saw it.

"What do you want to do?" I asked.

"I think we should meet up with Jodie for coffee."

I didn't respond, but I wrapped my arms around my husband, burying my face against his chest. He was right, it was a weakness. I just couldn't see how it would be enough.

---

I found myself staring into the mirror, again. It wasn't to check that I looked good, I'd already been through that, primping myself, squeezing into a little cocktail dress stitched with silver sequins. It sparkled and glittered as I moved, catching the eye. My feet were already protesting, in matching stiletto heels; I'd kept my legs bare, but I'd been to the salon for a top up of the tan. My copper hair was caught up in a French bun and my makeup was perfect. The last time I'd put this much effort in was the night James won Player of the Year, bracing myself for the player-and-wife photo opportunity after. The time before that was probably our wedding day.

James looked good too, in white shirt, dark pants, jacket. I tore myself away from the mirror and fussed with his hair.

"It's good, already," James said, with a soft smile.

"Yeah," I replied, "You look good."

"So do you. You look stunning."

I blushed a little at that, but I shifted on my high heels.

"Really, Alice. You're going to turn heads. I'm going to be the envy of everyone there."

My uncertainty must have shown, because he leaned forward to kiss me. I diverted quickly, presenting my cheek.

"Careful of the lipstick," I chided.

I felt his lips on my skin, and heard him chuckle.

"Let's go," he said, "Ready to go?"

"I guess."

I let him take my hand and lead me out of the bedroom to the front door. Outside, the cab was waiting, but he stopped on the threshold and gave me a hug.

"It's going to work out. Stick to the plan. You'll see," he told me.

"I know."

James smiled, and we climbed into the cab, travelling the rest of the way in silence, my hand in his. I envied him his steadiness: my heart was racing. Pre-match nerves, he'd called it, and told me it was a good thing. The adrenaline spike would keep me sharp. I bit back some retort. It wouldn't have helped.

The plan was simple, and I trusted James. We'd gone to coffee with Jodie and he had been almost amicable, accepting our predicament stoically, emphasising that he understood the deal and we needed to work through it. Then he'd dropped a stack of notes on the table, a grand, her fifty percent cut. Jodie had been quick, covering it over with her hand, unsettled to be seen transacting in a public place. My husband's expression hadn't cracked, but I could tell he'd noticed her reaction, filing it away for later reference. Then Jodie had mentioned a gallery opening, and that we were to attend. She didn't elaborate further, just rose from the table, her coffee unfinished, and walked away.

Now, in the back of the cab, it still gave me goosebumps, recalling it. I had the distinct impression that, behind the carefully manicured nails, the styled hair and the studied casualness of her outfits, Jodie was an awful piece of work. We were setting out to bait her, deliberately. There was danger.

The gallery was on the high street, lit up brightly with people mingling in cocktail attire. We were offered a glass of champagne each on arrival, and I hesitated for a second, flashing back to the time Jodie had offered us a drink, and what she'd spiked it with to make us do her bidding. I was resolved to stay on this glass all night, and never let it out of my sight.

We nodded to a couple of people we knew, not staying to chat because we had to locate Jodie. In the distance, I spotted Delilah, and my blood ran cold. She seemed to sense me, turning around, fixing me with a look and then raising her champagne glass fractionally. I just stared at her; she turned back to her conversation and the moment passed.

"I didn't know that she'd be here," I hissed to James.

"Who?"

"Delilah."

"Where?"

I pointed her out, and to my horror, James made a bee-line for her.

"What are you doing?" I murmured, but James didn't reply.

"Delilah," he called, "Good to see you again."

Delilah turned around at hearing her name, her expression settling almost immediately into a warm, welcoming smile. Almost. The people she had been talking to turned their attention to us.

"James," she exclaimed, "And you brought your wife too. Lovely to see you again."

"I just wanted to say how much we enjoyed the night, I didn't have the chance to talk to you properly before we left."

"Of course, it was wonderful to have you."

"Did you enjoy the night too?" James replied, and I caught just a tiny edge in his voice.

"I did. It's good to catch up."

James laughed, "I hope you felt you got what you paid for."

Delilah laughed too, turning to include her friends in the conversation.

"A charity auction," she explained.

"Yes, she bought me for the night," James interjected, smiling again, utterly charming, turning to the others.

"A dinner party," Delilah countered quickly, "James offered to help with the hosting."

Delilah's eyes glittered as she spoke; James shifted his attention back to her.

"I hope you were satisfied with the service. I was just saying to Alice that we thoroughly enjoyed it."

Delilah nodded her head, but didn't respond.

"It turned into a later night than we had planned," James pressed, "I remember that we were the last to leave. I hope we didn't overstay our welcome."

"Not at all."

Delilah's responses were clipped, polite. James was making all the conversation.

"Happy to have been of service," he commented, "We all need to let our hair down every once in a while."

He made a show of looking around the room.

"Now, have you seen Jodie? We should find her."

Delilah indicated a crowd in a side room with a tip of her glass.

"Ah, good. Good to catch up again."

"Good to see you too."

James smiled, taking me by the elbow and leading me away, towards the side room. He was still smiling.

"What the hell was all that about?" I asked.

"Oh, you know that, Alice," James replied, his eyes gleaming, "The best defence is a good offence."

"This isn't a game, James."

"That's where you're wrong, Alice. It is, and we're deep in the opposition half. Either we go to ground or we kick for the goalposts. Ready?"

Before I could reply, we had arrived at a set of abstract canvases, surrounded by a throng of people. Jodie was in the middle of them. James, head and shoulders taller than the people around him, made his way through the crowd directly towards her, and I slipped in behind him.

"You made it, I see," said Jodie, stepping forward to meet us, away from the people she'd been talking to.

"Wouldn't have missed it," James replied.

"Yes, it's quite a collection. Do you collect?"

James stepped to the side to let me through. I found myself face to face with her. In my heels, I was slightly taller, and James slid an arm around my waist, nudging me forwards until we were in a close huddle.

"I have enough beauty in my life," said James, giving me a little squeeze, "She's more than enough for me."

I smiled at Jodie sweetly, trying to keep my nerves at bay.

"But, what do you say?" James asked Jodie, "Do you think we have wall space for some of these?"

"I really couldn't say," Jodie replied.

"You've seen our house, right? You've seen what there is to work with."

Jodie's pleasant expression hardened fractionally, but James persisted.

"Maybe in the master bedroom? You had plenty of time to take a look."

Jodie took a sip of her champagne, the smile fixed on her face. My nerves dissipated, burned away by the adrenaline. Finally, I understood what James meant about the pre-match.

"Here on your own?" I asked, and saw the glassy eyes turn to me.

"Yes, I am."

"By choice? I thought you might have brought someone else, maybe Davis?"

James had mentioned this, with his instinct for the chance. Davis was young enough to be her son, but James had sensed something in the way they'd interacted during the dinner party. Jodie blinked, the subtlest of tell-tales.

"Maybe this isn't his scene though. I imagine he's probably busy tonight, good looking guy like him would be more at home in a bar," I remarked, "Younger crowd."

I saw it hit home, just the slightest change of posture from her.

"You look stunning, though," James interjected, "I'm sure you're able to make your own fun. You'd cut a swathe through present company, I'm sure, looking like you do."

James turned to me then, and said, "As would you, Alice. I should keep my eye on you."

I lifted my chin and he kissed me, long and deep. In other circumstances, I would have found the public display of affection absolutely mortifying, but not this time. My husband was showing his affection for me and Jodie was being forced to watch. I broke off the kiss, directing my attention back to her.

"I'm sure you could have your pick of anyone here, Jodie. Or are you like Davis? Do you prefer a younger crowd too? I imagine that's harder, though. They might need a little persuasion. You might have to resort to other means to get what you want."

I wanted to slap her, right in front of everyone, but I knew I couldn't. It felt good, delivering the little hook, watching it slide under her skin, her subtle reaction as it hit home.

"Why don't you have a look around the collection?" Jodie replied, enunciating each word, "You might find something in your price bracket. Now, please excuse me, I have some people to catch before they leave."

Jodie turned crisply on her heel, swishing through the crowd, leaving us standing on our own.

"Really interesting," James murmured to me, "What do you think?"

"I want to know why we're here. Why did she invite us?"

I looked around, scanning the crowd. There had been other people at the dinner party, but I didn't see them here. The charity auction would also have been filled with this same crowd too. I noticed a painting across the room, but the woman next to it caught my eye, the way she suddenly turned away as I looked towards her.

"So?" James hissed.

"I figured it out."

"What?"

"The art is on display, looking for buyers," I replied, "So are we."

---

Jodie's response was swift and devastating. I met her in the grocery aisle, two days later. I had a block of cheese in my hand, and when I looked up, Jodie was standing there.

"Dressed down," she commented, "From the other night."

"The heels would be murder out shopping," I quipped.

"Cute."

"Thank you."

I gave her a little smile, pleased with my comeback.

"Here's the next booking."

She handed me a piece of paper. I unfolded it, reading carefully.

"I'm not sure we...," I began.

"This isn't a request, this is a booking. You won't let me down."

The finality of her tone penetrated my bluster. Jodie had lost the initiative in the gallery, and I knew what the note in my hand was: payback.

"Very simple. The client would like entertainment for her special night. It's a second marriage, and from what I hear she did to her first, I expect it's going to be spectacular. You've been to bridal parties before, correct?"

"Yes, but...."

"Good, so let's make sure she has a good time. Her and her bridesmaids."

"How many?"

"Four, including the bride."

Jodie smiled at me grimly.

"I expect stellar reviews from them all. If I don't, then I guess you're of no further use."

"What does that mean?"

Jodie laughed, shaking her head at me.

"Don't play dumb Alice. I know you're not. Work out how, make sure it happens. Make sure she's satisfied."

I found myself staring at the piece of paper. I knew what this was, what she was doing to us. We were being set up to fail because we'd made her feel bad at the gallery. Jodie was making a point.

"You don't seem certain," she observed.

"Look," I hissed, lowering my voice, "This isn't porn. I can't, uh, James isn't going to be able to... there are four of them."

"But he's so gorgeous, and big, isn't he? So strong. I'm sure he can handle four women. One more thing, Alice, I've told her about you. I've made it clear that you need to accompany the talent at all times."

"Why?"

"Oh, can't you guess? I want you to have to watch."

Jodie stepped closer, her voice lowered to a whisper.

"You think he's so wonderful. I want you to see him fucking all those women. I want you to sit quietly in the corner as they enjoy his body. I want you to see everything."

She placed a hand on my arm, giving me a little squeeze, like we were old friends.

"And if either of you screw up, if the client is not blissfully satisfied, I'm going to enjoy posting those videos."

"You can't," I gasped.

"Can't what?"

"You can't do it, uh, you can't make that a condition."

"Really?"

I looked down at my hands, at the block of cheese. A moment ago, I had been shopping for food, such a normal thing. Now, I was isolated, helpless, and burning with shame.

"It's not like porn," I repeated, uselessly.

"You mean, he's not going to keep it up?"

I shook my head.

"Two of them, yes," she persisted, "Three, maybe, but four? Your virile man not up to that?"