Painting & Decorating

Author note: This is my entry for the Pink Orchid 2024 for Women-Centric Erotica Challenge.

I once read somewhere online that during the Covid-19 pandemic, people working from home listened to soundtracks of general office noise to help them concentrate. I imagine that noise was printers and telephones, the low-level hum of computers, a murmur of chatter from the direction of the coffee machine. For me, on the other hand, if I ever wake up in Hell I am expecting Satan to lean over, grin at me, and delicately press 'Play' on one of those soundtracks to torment me forever. Hidden as best I could be behind my laptop screen, I propped my head on my hands and tried very, very hard not to think about the throbbing I could currently feel behind my eyes, which was being made much worse by the noise of printers, telephones, coffee machines...

"Hannah, can you confirm my twelve o'clock?" the voice of Lee Thornton, my boss, floated out of his office door. The man had a soundproof office and chose to leave the door open. That tells you everything you need to know about Lee Thornton. Bald, middle-aged, born to be a middle-manager.

"I'll drop them an email now," I replied, sitting up, trying to sound cheerful. Peppy, maybe.

"I'd prefer if you called, make sure you get an answer. They're an important buyer. The personal touch matters." Now Lee had wandered to his office doorway and was leaning on the frame, coffee in hand, smug look on face.

I wanted to scream, but I just turned and gave him a big smile.

"Of course, I'll do that directly," I replied, picking up my company-issue mobile phone in one hand while the other hand tapped the keywords 'PORTICO HOLDINGS' into our internal phone list. It popped up immediately and Lee only returned to his desk when he had watched me click on it and seen it ringing on the screen of the phone.

"Good morning, this is Hannah Nettle of London Merchant Export, I was just calling to confirm our meeting with yourselves at twelve o'clock today. If you could give me a call back when you receive this message, I would be grateful. Thank you."

I tapped the 'end call' button with spiteful enthusiasm. Screw Portico Holdings. They'd probably never call back. My head was absolutely killing me and the two aspirin I'd taken hadn't even touched the sides. The worst part was that I hadn't even drunk very much the night before - half a bottle of day-old white wine. Well, I'd finished half a bottle and then opened the next one. And had half of that. In any case, I felt hungover because I'd got too warm in bed and ended up dehydrated. Idiot, Hannah.

"Any luck?" Lee asked, airily, and I ground my teeth.

"No answer on their office number, I've left a message and asked them to call back," I replied, trying to match his energy without sounding sarcastic.

"See if you've got a mobile for Paul Saddler. He's the top man at Portico."

"I'll have a look," I replied, ready to fling something at Lee's head, but I was saved because my phone rang at that very moment. The caller ID flashed up 'DADDY' before I could cover it up.

"Leave you to it," Lee said, knowingly, and I smiled, fearing I was indeed going to burst into tears any second now.

"Hello, London Merchant Export, Hannah Nettle speaking, how may I help you today?" I said, facetiously.

"Hannah, darling, it's me," Daddy said, businesslike as always. "I tried your personal phone but it's not ringing."

It was dead as a doornail in my handbag. White wine Hannah had forgotten to plug it in to charge.

"Strange, it says I've got signal," I lied.

"Anyway, I've had your mother in my ear all morning saying your date with Kyle Greenman didn't go well last night."

Thus the white wine.

"I told her before she arranged it, Kyle's practically twice my age," I said, firmly, turning my head away to try and limit what Lee could overhear from his office.

"Come off it, darling, he's forty."

"And I'm twenty-seven, Daddy, my point still stands."

"Listen, Hannah, you've got to stop being... difficult about this. The Greenman family are very successful and Kyle is a distinguished businessman in his own right. Maybe he isn't for you but you can't keep rejecting everyone your mother suggests like this."

I bit down, hard, on the end of my pen, which cracked. I hated the way Daddy said things like 'very successful' instead of 'filthy rich' and 'distinguished businessman' instead of 'money-obsessed little worm'.

"I try my best, Daddy, but nobody seems to understand me," I said, an unpleasant little whinging note coming into my tone. Lee's bald head reappeared in the doorway but I pretended I hadn't noticed.

"Darling, it's time to grow up about these things. Your mother thinks you should send Kyle an apology and see if he'll rearrange for another night."

Not in a million years. I'd prefer being tormented in Hell by the office noises.

"I'll see what I can do, Daddy," I said. "Got to go, Lee's looking for me."

"Give my regards to him, I think we're golfing together on Saturday," Daddy said, but I hung up before he could say anything else.

"Nothing from Portico?" Lee asked, even though it had been about two minutes since I'd called and I'd clearly been on the phone to Daddy the entire time.

"No," I replied, flatly, examining the cracked, chewed end of my pen instead of bothering with the pretence of checking for missed calls. "I'll let you know the moment I hear from them."

With Lee out of my hair again, I got up, picked up my water bottle and strolled over to the kitchen to fill it up, detouring via the ladies'. I splashed my hands with water in the sink and held them on my cheeks, which were uncomfortably warm, taking care not to smudge my makeup. Truth be told, I hated wearing makeup for work, but to come to work without makeup was career suicide. I fluffed my hair with my fingers, preferring the term 'light caramel' for the colour to 'diseased rabbit' as Mummy had so kindly put it. My eyes were bloodshot - couldn't be helped. The mascara helped draw attention away from them anyway. I'd put on a black corset bodysuit underneath my sensible black work dress, so my tits looked on top form today, but wearing that with tights made going to the toilet a huge palaver. Therefore, I'd put on thigh-high hold-ups, which looked sexy as anything but I was endlessly paranoid about them falling down. I checked them now - snug and secure. Okay. I could do this. One hour of the work day was almost over. Just seven to go.

Water bottle refilled with cold water, I sipped it and prayed for relief from the headache as I got back to my desk. Lee was on a call, door closed, mercifully. I sighed. I knew, deep down, that I'd sabotaged the date with Kyle Greenman. Obviously I wasn't actually going to settle down with a man who'd celebrated his fortieth birthday last year going deep-sea fishing, but it wouldn't kill me to just spend an evening with him, eat at a nice restaurant, take a selfie with him and my cleavage for social media purposes, then go home in a taxi and never text him back. It really wasn't that difficult. And, honestly, Kyle wasn't even that boring. He was fairly attractive for a guy his age, barely even balding. But so much as being nice to him for five minutes would have felt like playing Mummy's game, falling into her trap, so I'd deliberately snubbed him. I'd arrived half an hour late, insisted on only drinking tap water, then spent an hour nibbling my food. For his part, he'd bored me practically to tears with details of his investment approaches and just-in-case-you-didn't-know details about his family's ski lodge and beachside villas. Inevitably, when I didn't seem impressed by any of this, he'd got tired of me before dessert and paid the bill immediately, not even hanging around to see if I got into my taxi safely.

And then it had been an hour or two of wine-drinking, self-pity and an early night. Well, I was early to bed, at least. I'd whiled away another hour looking at sex gifs on my phone and rubbing myself on my vibrator, which was both why I'd got too hot and dehydrated, and also why my phone had run out of battery. So as well as feeling hungover, I also felt horny this morning. Where better to be than the offices of London Merchant Export?

Portico Holdings called back to confirm the twelve o'clock, and I wrote that on a sticky note so I looked organised. I didn't really have anything much to do until Lee finished his call, so I picked up my work phone and texted my best friend Maisie. Technically you weren't supposed to use work phones for that kind of thing but nobody ever checked.

Hannah: I'm dying this morning, please send help

Maisie didn't reply, presumably because she was at work and actually working, so I moved on to the next number in my 'recent contacts' list. This was a guy called Felix I'd been texting with for almost a week after we matched on a hookup app. I'd kept it very casual and flirty so far, but I decided to turn the heat up a degree.

Hannah: SO bored at work. You free one night this week maybe? x

Was that too desperate? Oh well, I'd sent it. He texted back.

Felix: Don't know, got stuff on.

Was he busy every night of the week? We'd met on a hookup app. I didn't really know how I could be clearer with what I wanted.

Hannah: You sure? I put on a very short skirt this morning x

My skirt was the usual length but I could always change.

Felix: How old are you? 22?

I considered lying.

Hannah: 27 x

Felix: I usually prefer a bit younger, sorry

Hannah: How old are you??

Felix: 30 but age doesn't matter for guys

I just deleted his number right there on the spot. What the actual fuck? I blinked, suddenly afraid I was actually going to shed tears over this guy. Was I really trapped between forty-something year old guys Mummy was trying to set me up with, and dickheads on hookup apps who thought twenty-five was too old? Was it too much to fucking ask for one guy somewhere, anywhere, to just be interested in me as a person?

My phone went off. I thought it might have been Felix with another shitty message, but it was Maisie.

Maisie: Sorry Han I was talking to someone x what's up?

Hannah: Why are men so awful? x

Maisie: They're not all bad. I heard you pissed Kyle Greenman off last night xx

I rolled my eyes. Nothing ever happened in my circle of friends and acquaintances without turning into gossip.

Hannah: I'm having a crisis, here. Kyle was too old, anyway

Maisie: His dad is practically a billionaire, Han, just close your eyes when he's on top of you and think about the gigantic engagement ring he'll buy off your dad

Oh, yeah, Daddy owned the majority share in some diamond mines. So what? At this moment, I would have traded half the diamonds down there for some decent sex.

Hannah: Is that seriously how it works? Disappointing sex forever?

Maisie: Welcome to being a woman x Gotta run

I stewed for the rest of the morning, which did at least keep my mind off my headache, which faded as I got some more water into my system. I felt trapped: trapped in a crappy job as P.A. to one of my dad's friends, qualified only because I've got boobs and men like to look at them; trapped in an eventual unfulfilling marriage to some rich old man as his trophy; trapped in a sex life doomed to eternal disappointment. Would you believe this: I'd slept with five different guys in my life and never had an orgasm with a partner. Never. I could give myself orgasms, no problem. But when I was with a guy, he either openly had zero interest in making me cum, or he half-heartedly went through the motions of foreplay to get me wet enough to have sex with. I was an attractive woman in her mid-twenties who had never orgasmed during sex. I despaired.

"Hannah, we've got Portico in five minutes. Can you put them through on the desk phone and take notes for me?" Lee asked, breaking me out of my wallowing.

I glanced at the clock on my phone. Eleven fifty-five. But the hangover meant I'd skipped breakfast and I was absolutely starving, and taking notes in the meeting meant I would get nothing to eat until way after two, probably even later because Lee would want everything written up immediately. After my morning, I wasn't sure I could handle it. My hand gripped my phone, knuckles white.

"I'll put the call through now," I said, tapping keys on my laptop in what I hoped was a convincing way. I grabbed my notebook, too, and put my chewed pen on top of it as proof I was going to make those notes.

And then as soon as Lee went back into his office, I left. Left my desk, left the room, left the office. I felt like I was suffocating until the moment I stepped out of the front door of the building into the mild February air. It seemed too cliche to take a deep breath, so I opted instead to reach into my handbag for my sunglasses, sliding them on as I turned and walked my usual route back down the street, away into the anonymity of London and back towards the Underground station.

With each step, I felt lighter. Possibilities seemed to be opening up. Theoretically, I could get on a train and go anywhere. I could go back to my flat and get my passport, even, and go to the airport. That was a bit overkill, I wasn't exactly trying to flee from my problems, but the thought was appealing. I centred myself closer to home and told myself I could go out and eat whatever I wanted for lunch, no expense spared, as I walked past a four-storey building covered in scaffolding. And, more unfortunately, covered in blokes in hard hats.

"Watch out, love, them poles are scaffolds, not stripper poles," one of them shouted down at me, which triggered guffaws of laughter from his mates.

"I wouldn't mind if she gave us a twirl," someone answered, with more laughter.

"You heard the man," another voice said, but I was most of the way past by this point, ignoring them completely. Now I was regretting the corset and the way it made my tits look. I would have walked past without any problems, except the general humiliation, except that just at that moment, I stepped around a bucket they'd left on the pavement, missed the curb with my foot and in the process of stumbling forward, snapped the heel off my shoe. Flailing madly, I grabbed onto one of the scaffolding poles for support.

This produced gales of hysterics from the workers watching, even though I'd done little more than trip forward half a pace. My face burned as I desperately told myself to ignore them. More pressing was the fact that the heel was hanging off my right shoe, making it impossible to walk any further, and they weren't even a pair where you could snap the other heel off and make the best of it. I slipped my foot out of the shoe and examined the heel, but it was completely snapped, and I could hardly walk three more streets, get on the Underground for nine stops and walk back to my flat without shoes.

Inwardly cursing, I pulled out my phone to get a taxi, since this wasn't the kind of street where you'd catch one passing.

"Sweetheart, do your pole dance again for me, I was taking a piss," someone yelled at me. More laughter. A taxi would take twenty minutes to arrive and I really didn't want to spend that time sitting here at the mercy of their comments. This time the tears I could feel welling up were real, but I set my jaw. I didn't want to show weakness.

"Excuse me, miss, are you okay?" a man's voice said, and I was ready to lash out and tell him where to stick his scaffolder's pole, but the South Asian lilt and softer tone stopped me. I looked up from my broken heel at an Indian bloke in dirty blue overalls who'd crossed the road from the building opposite, a concerned look on his face.

"Um, well, not really," I stammered, waving the broken shoe at him. "My heel's broken."

He smiled. "I'm working across the road; let me give you a hand and get you inside. These guys are vultures." He looked up at the workers on the scaffolding warily.

Grateful, I put my arm around his shoulders and he lifted me, allowing me to hobble unsteadily across the road and through a doorway, propped open by a paint tin, into a partly-refurbished building that was being fitted out as offices. It reeked of fresh paint and new carpet, and as soon as I was off the street I kicked off my other shoe and dug my toes with relief into the clean flooring.

"I think this has had it," the man said, effortlessly ripping the loose heel off my shoe. "I thought maybe I might be able to glue it but it'd take hours to set."

I looked at him. He looked to be in his thirties, short, dark hair neatly cut, clean shaven, big brown eyes looking back at me. His overalls were covered in a mixture of plaster dust, paint smears and some kind of black, tar-like substance. His hands were blackened by this substance too and, apparently only just noticing, he wiped his hands ineffectually on a rag he had sticking out of his pocket.

"Don't worry, thank you," I said, clutching my phone. "I'll call a taxi from here."

"You need some shoes, though," he pointed out. "You'll ruin your tights if you walk anywhere."

"Oh, don't worry about them," I told him, feeling stupid. "I'll just throw them away when I get back."

"No, listen, there's a little market just around the corner and when I walked past this morning a woman was selling shoes. What's your size?" he asked, insistently.

"Honestly, it's fine, I'll get a taxi," I replied, but he peered at the broken shoe in his hand.

"Size four, okay. Wait here and I promise I'll be back in two minutes," he said, turning for the door, then hesitating and turning back. "I'm Sanjay, by the way."

"Hannah," I replied, automatically, awkwardly wondering if we should shake hands. He did reach out for a second, but he caught sight of the black stuff stuck to his grubby fingers and withdrew again.

"Two minutes, Hannah," he repeated, then dashed out of the door, still holding my shoe.

I stood there, blinking, and then realised that I was still wearing my sunglasses. I took them off and looked around the half-finished building. The ground floor appeared to be mostly complete, except for the dust sheets everywhere. It wasn't very often I was left unattended in a place like this and curiosity got the better of me. There was a lift behind me, which had no lights on it when I poked at it so appeared not to be in service yet, and all of the rooms were empty of furniture. I padded upstairs, poking my head into the first-floor rooms, which were a mess. The walls hadn't been painted yet and there were big holes where plumbing and wiring were being put in, as well as the usual bags of tools and random equipment that had been left lying around by the contractors. I walked over to the big windows that were on the front of the building, almost floor to ceiling, admitting a curiously blue-tinged light. I could see straight across to the scaffolding opposite and the blokes there, mostly standing around without much to do. I impulsively gave one of them the finger. They didn't see me, and after a bit of examination I worked out that the blue tinge was because the windows had a kind of mirrored coating, meaning I could see out but nobody else could see in.

Looking down at the street, I could see a fair distance in each direction, and I watched a woman with a shopping bag slung under one arm approaching from the right. The blokes opposite spotted her and nudged each other, but when she got closer it was obvious she was well over forty and the men lost interest. I kept watching her, though, feeling a little thrill that she had no idea I was observing her. She walked past, swapping the bag from one arm to the other, then crossed the road when there was a gap in the sporadic traffic. I kept watching until she turned the corner at the end of the street, wondering half-heartedly where she'd been and where she was going.