Politics Ch. 08

Around a third of the audience raised their hands. He gave a soft whistle.

The bearded Scot interrupted him again. "Ay, and there's many more like us aroond this great City. But you have'na told us what you're gonna do about it yet."

"That's true," the politician replied, slowly nodding his head. "I haven't. And I believe in straight talking. My mother was Scottish. Born not to far from here, actually. In Paisley. She lived and worked in Glasgow most of her working life. Then disaster struck and we moved to England."

The joke brought a huge roar of approval from the audience. A huge round of applause followed. The Scots loved any sort of dig at the English. "Ay, well, we'll not hold that against you," a ginger haired man shouted from somewhere near the middle of the room.

"Thanks," Brinkley-Jones laughed along with them. He was off to a good start. "Look, I'll not bullshit you." He paused. "Hey, can I say bullshit?"

The question drew another round of laughter from the audience. "You can say a hell of a lot worse than that," someone shouted.

"Great," Alistair grinned. "I can see we speak the same language. Now let me tell you something that you probably already know. There are three types of politicians. Those who tell you what you want to hear—they usually never deliver what they say. Those that just won't face you." He paused while he theatrically glanced around. "Can you see anyone from the Labour or Liberal parties here?"

"Got more sense!" someone shouted, bringing another round of good-natured laughter. Alistair joined in, holding up his hands.

"I'm beginning to think that," he responded. "But, let me tell you something about Alistair Brinkley-Jones. First, I'll always come and face you down. I'll never hide. Second, I'll never promise something I can't deliver."

"So there'll be no jobs available?" the bearded Scot confrontationally asked, making sure his point wasn't forgotten.

Alistair nodded. "I'm not going to lie, and you wouldn't believe me if I told you I'd find you a job tomorrow, would you?"

The room split between a ripple of applause and a series of groans.

"Listen," Alistair told them. "The jobs in the great Glasgow shipyards are gone forever. You can't bring them back, and neither can I. And the days of all-powerful Unions are long gone, too. That's why you need someone you can believe in. Someone who'll tell you the truth. But someone who's on your side, and will look after your interests."

"You're on our side?" a sceptical voice shouted.

"Yes, yes I am."

Another ripple of laughter ran around the room. There wasn't much confidence in the thought of any politician doing much to help Scotland.

"And it's not easy," Alistair continued, raising his voice above the increasing noise. "There's only one real way forward. It's the only way! What we've got to do instead is reskill you. Prepare you for the future."

The groans in the room grew louder. Alistair Brinkley-Jones met them head on.

"I understand how that makes you feel," he continued, his gaze swinging from one side of the huge room to the other. He wandered across the full length of the stage and then back again. "Change isn't easy. But it's a different world now. You don't need me to tell you that. So we all have a choice. We can either address change, or whither away and die."

He paused, allowing the wave of disquiet to flow around the room before settling.

"Listen folks, there's one thing I do know. If you're anything like my mother, you're not going to easily give up, are you?"

"Not likely," someone shouted.

"This is Glasgow," came another voice.

"Exactly," Brinkley-Jones responded, thumping his right fist into his left palm. "I don't give up either. I've had a lot of shit thrown at me in this campaign—"

He paused, allowing the laughter and comments to meet his words. It took a good while until they were exhausted.

"Hmm… I see you've heard," he joked, and this time the spontaneous burst of applause told him he was starting to win them over.

"But listen," he continued. "I didn't quit as a result, and neither are you!"

"Not likely!"

Alistair nodded at the response. "Exactly! But we've all got to get smarter and learn new skills. I can't promise you a job overnight, I'd be lying if I did."

He paused, though this time it was more for effect. The noise was settling. People were listening to him.

"But I can promise that I'll work my ass off to give you the support you need. And the training you need to find another job. That's what the Conservative Party stands for," he emphasised, his voice rising. "We're committed—and Alistair Brinkley-Jones is committed—to supporting you folks and ensuring that life gets better."

The ripple of applause started slowly but grew into bigger waves.

He held his hands up, stilling the reaction. "But you have a part to play, too," he said, warming to his theme now that he had their full attention. "It's not easy, changing careers, and you'll need to give it your best shot."

The spattering of applause told him he still had some work to do.

He wandered across to the left of the stage, and then back across to the right, waiting until the chattering began to die down. "I told you I'd taken some hits in this campaign. It hasn't been easy for me. In fact, it's been fucking difficult."

The curse word brought a huge cheer.

"But I've told you, I have Glaswegian blood in me. I'm up for everything that anyone can throw at me. And I'll win! Now then, you're mostly all Glaswegians, right? Some of the hardiest, most flexible, hard working people in the world! I promise you I'll help provide the tools. And if you use them, you'll never look back."

For a few seconds, there was silence.

"Well?" he asked, his heart in his mouth.

The sudden roar of approval told him he'd successfully made his point.

***

Erika steered Katie into the VIP bar area, making sure they were located as far as possible away from Thomas and Sally, the media, and—when he arrived—the man of honour. She wanted them to be alone.

"That was wonderful," the blonde said, both to herself and to Katie. Even before he'd spoken, she'd planned on coming out as the supportive former girlfriend. She didn't really buy into his whole commitment to the common folk rhetoric, but he'd always had a way of speaking…

The chestnut haired woman didn't answer. He large, dark eyes were far away, filled with confusion. All her doubts that had resurfaced.

Erika grabbed two glasses of cheap red wine from a passing waitress and handed one to the psychiatrist. The Swede was playing the game to perfection. She'd known from the start that full frontal assault would prove to be counterproductive. Every aspect of her natural cunning was essential here.

But she was at her best when she was manipulative.

She was pretty certain she'd lulled Katie into a false sense of security. At the very least, she'd introduced insecurities into the young professional that would keep her mind occupied, far from seeing Erika as a threat. They were on the same side, she nurtured through her actions. Booking the suite for the two of them, filling the woman's head with praise.

But then she'd planted the doubts. This woman was a psychiatrist, and from what she understood, a very good one, too. Yet she was unable to analyse herself. She'd fallen for it hook, line and sinker. There was more of the same to come, of course. Much more.

"Here, drink up," she said, quickly draining her first glass and watching encouragingly as Katie followed her lead. Waving at a waiter, she secured them a second glass. "The formal lunch will last for a couple of hours," she continued. "And then Alistair is tied up until tonight. Any idea what you want to do?"

Want to do? She wanted to go home. She'd had enough. The bastard had created a negative picture of Erika, yet he'd gone to his ex-girlfriend's room last night. At least the Swedish woman had been gracious enough to send him packing, and honest enough to tell her. Katie wondered if that was why he'd fucked her with such abandon? Was he thinking of Erika?

"Want to hear my suggestion?" the Swede asked, slipping an arm around Katie's slim waist and pulling her closer so she could whisper. "Shopping."

"Shopping?"

Erika's eyes sparkled. "Exactly! The cure to every woman's blues! And trust me, Katie. Glasgow has some of the best clothes shops and I know them all. What do you think?"

***

Rebecca's mind was made up. No one would know. And certainly not Thomas. Only her and Guus. And Erika, when she told her. She knew what her Swedish friend would say. Go for it… and for thirty thousand, make it a fuck to remember. Erika treated sex as casually as Becky had while she was back in Brazil. It was good to have a kindred soul.

The taxi heading across London to Kessen's offices was making slow progress in the heavy traffic. That was okay. It gave her a chance to think things through. Change her mind. Or… savour the prospect.

She was going to fuck Guus Kessen for money. Did that make her a whore? The word alone sent a shiver down her spine. There were lots of whores back in Sao Paulo. She'd even had a few friends that did it. They were beautiful, sexy, uninhibited women. So had she been back in those days. And this afternoon, she would be again.

Kessen hadn't seemed that surprised when she called him back. It was almost as if he'd been expecting to hear from her.

"Well?" he'd simply asked.

"Yes."

"Good. In my office. At six."

That was it. She'd signed her body away in only a few words.

The bastard could have said something else, she thought, but what? That he looked forward to seeing her? That he wanted her? That she had no choice? Yes, that's what she'd wanted to hear. Something to assuage her guilt. She had no choice in the matter. He was coercing her and there wasn't anything she could do but give in.

Shuffling in the back seat of her taxi, she knew why she really wanted to hear him say more. It was a turn-on. She wanted to be taken, to be forced. The idea aroused her. She was fucking for thirty thousand pounds. Fucking for money that the high-classed Sao Paulo whores would kill for.

The thought made her juices flow.

***

Katie never really considered herself a shopper. Her wardrobe primarily consisted of work outfits, with a few casual blouses and a couple of pairs of jeans for when she was at home. Erika was like a whirlwind as she led her through the trendiest shops and boutiques of Glasgow, and despite her pre-conceived notions about "shop-a-holics," she found herself having a ball.

She also realized just how much she'd misjudged the blonde. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say she'd been misled? The woman had been great company, offering her tips on what to try on and asking the same in return.

And the whole time, Katie analysed. There was no doubt the Swede was a sexual creature. Even with her, there was a seductive quality that came to Erika so naturally that she didn't think the blonde was doing it on purpose. She was so self-confident, so self-assured. Hugs lasted a little longer than normal, gazes fixed on one another. She'd touch her gently when pointing something out.

She'd never been with such a tactile woman, and it felt kinda nice.

As the afternoon advanced, whereas Katie became more and more tired, despite their coffee and lunch break, Erika only seemed to get stronger. She was clearly much more used to this lifestyle than the brunette was.

"No stamina, you older women?" the Scandinavian beauty joked, sliding her arm around Katie and pulling her against her curves.

"Hey, not so much of the old," the dark haired woman objected with a laugh. "I was just starting to like you."

"Only just?" Erika asked with the arch of a brow.

"Honestly, this afternoon's been a blast. I'm just a bit bushed."

"C'mon, I know this place," the Swede offered conspiratorially. She nodded at the sign above the hostelry only two doors away. The timing was perfect. She'd been leading the brunette here all along. "There are lots of bars in Glasgow," she explained, gathering up her bags of clothes and pushing through the door. "It has a reputation for being fairly liberal, if you know what I mean…"

Katie didn't. She waited until Erika slid into a vacant corner booth before asking her to explain.

"Heavens girl," the blonde asked, sniffing. "Can't you tell?"

"Tell?" Katie's large eyes widened in surprise. She gasped! "Marijuana?"

Erika laughed loudly, reaching across and pushing a stray strand of hair back behind Katie's ear. "You really are an innocent aren't you? Okay, give me a moment."

Feeling out of her comfort zone, Katie watched her head to the bar. The blonde walked with a bounce in her step, sashaying her hips like she knew where Katie's eyes would be. She'd be right, of course; the older woman found herself mesmerized by the taut ass encased in those figure-hugging white trousers. Matched with her deep red blouse with its flipped up collar and her wavy, flaxen hair, she was a true vixen.

"Beers?" the psychiatrist queried, her eyebrows arching in surprise when her friend returned with two bottles.

"Beers," Erika confirmed. "Their strongest. And no glasses, either." She raised a bottle and clinked it against Katie's. "When in Rome…"

Katie grinned as the blonde laughed again. She had such a delicious laugh. Could she really be the wicked witch that Alistair had painted?

"Here," Erika said with a knowing wink as she shuffled in her bag. She brought out a cigarette. "Light it," she instructed, handing Katie the book of matches.

The brunette did, the child like look in her eyes confirming that she knew she was doing something she shouldn't, but somehow couldn't resist.

Erika held her hand as she lit the cigarette, a look passing between the two of them that gave her goose bumps but left her confused.

"Try it," Erika said, taking a drag and then holding it out for her friend.

"I don't…" Katie's eyes were wide as saucers.

"It's not tobacco," Erika confided, with a wink. "Try it."

The psychiatrist hesitated, her eyes darting from the reef to the blonde and back again. This was naughty. Really naughty. And yet…

"Try it," Erika giggled. This was no big deal, she seemed to say. Why are you being a chicken?

Maybe she was right, Katie thought? Maybe she needed to loosen up? Goodness knows, with her seeing a different side to Alistair, she felt like she deserved to do something she shouldn't. What was wrong with having a little fun? She hesitantly raised the joint to her mouth. Her gaze fixed on Erika as she took her first ever hit.

When the burning smoke hit her lungs, she coughed loudly, tears welling up in her eyes. It did the same with Erika, only the blonde was laughing.

"You've got to take it easy, honey," she said, handing Katie her bottle of beer and plucking the joint from her between thumb and forefinger. "Here, this'll help."

Katie took a slug of the beer, wiping her hand across her lips as some escaped and dribbled down her chin. The effect of the weed rolled in suddenly, like London fog off the Thames. She laughed, though she wasn't sure why.

"Damn, Erika," she giggled softly, her eyes glancing around the rough looking hostelry to make sure they weren't being watched. "Where've you brought me?"

The Swedish woman laughed, picking up her own glass and clinking it against the brunette's. "I've told you, Katie—when in Rome! If you want to experience Glasgow, you've gotta go native. Och aye man!"

The attempt at Glaswegian, with that sexy Scandinavian accent, made Katie laugh out loud. She took another slug of her dark beer. Damn, that was strong. Her eyes crinkled as she swallowed the mouthful. Erika passed her the joint and she took another hit. The combination of alcohol and marijuana penetrated her brain more deeply.

Her head was swimming but, God, she felt good!

***

Guus Kessen had been somewhere between semi-erect and ramrod hard all afternoon. He could barely think straight, let alone do work, and it had been all he could do not to take care of business himself.

But no, he was going to save all his energy for the sexy Brazilian slut who'd be here any minute now. With a lust-and-Viagra cocktail pumping through his veins, supplemented by a little illicit umph, he was amped up and rock hard when his receptionist finally announced Rebecca's arrival.

"Send her in, Marjorie. And go home! I'll close up."

"Yes, sir."

The door opened hesitantly and a shy Rebecca de Santos stepped in. Knowing her fiery temperament, it was almost touching.

He sat back and silently appraised her, raking his gaze across her white halter dress. It was short and tight on her toned body, the colour a stark contrast to her shimmering, deeply tanned legs. Girls like Rebecca didn't wear stockings or hose—they didn't need to.

"We need to stop meeting like this," he said at last, easing back into his seat and scratching his chin. "So much pretence." When the sexy little entrepreneur didn't say anything, he held his finger up and twirled it in the air. "Let me see you."

Awkwardly, she pivoted on her spiked, white heels. The dress clung to her firm, rounded buttocks, barely covering her smooth thighs.

"Excellent. But I'd like to see more…" He pushed up out of his chair, not even bothering to hide the tent in his pants. "Lose the dress, my dear."

Rebecca sucked in a deep breath, but didn't object. Instead, she reached behind her neck and unfastened the white tie of the halter. Skimming her hands over her shoulders, she slowly peeled the white material away.

Beneath, she wore a strapless white bra and a matching thong. Like the dress, it was scintillating against her dark tan.

"My, my, there's no doubt in my mind what it is you do," he complimented, eyeing her six-pack stomach and the lines of definition in her long legs. Without touching her, he circled close, admiring the way her flawless buttocks tucked in to meet the tops of her thighs.

He felt her shiver as he touched her ass. He watched her eyes close. Was that a gasp of pleasure, or fear?

When he dipped his head low to kiss her full lips, she turned her head. Her cheeks were burning against his mouth. "No kissing," she protested weakly, like it was some kind of deal she'd made with herself on the way over.

Guus laughed, grabbing her chin in his hand and turning her to face him. He jammed his fat lips down onto hers, forcing his tongue into her mouth. She only resisted for a moment. She yielded almost too quickly for Guus. He'd hoped for a little bit more of a fight, but as his hands explored her body, he wasn't about to complain.

The girl seemed to be all muscle, although she was soft where it counted.

Breaking the embrace, he dragged him around to his side of the desk and sat her on the edge before sinking into his executive lounger. She looked at him; he looked at her. Her breathing was hard, causing her full tits to throb over the tops of her bra,

"Play with yourself," he ordered.

"That's not part of our agreement," she protested.

That was better. There was the fiery girl he'd lusted after. But he'd tame her. "Do it."

Her dark eyes blazed at the indignation, never leaving his for a moment as she slid her hand across her hard body and under her flimsy thong. Her face tensed as the touched herself and felt just how wet she was.

"Finger yourself," he growled, as he unzipped his trousers. The panties were tiny enough that she couldn't fake it. He watched her knuckles work lower between her legs, her hand and wrist displacing the white lace enough to give him a peek at her smooth mound.