Buying Thyme (4 page)

“Again?” I ask with a girlish grin as he rips the condom off his deflated length, throwing it in the trash basket beside the bed.

“Are you kidding? I think you’ve just spent the last of me with that one!” He looks back at me and laughs.

Reclining back on the bed, he flops his left arm across the top of his forehead and eyes.

“Good to hear.” I reply as I run my finger along his lips.

He gently sucks on my fingertips in a contented response. Good timing! I think to myself, squinting towards the rising sun,
 now piercing through the windows.

“I think I’m going to have a quick shower and freshen up.” I whisper into his mouth.

“’Kay.” He manages to get out in his state of exhaustion.

I see his eyes are getting heavy.

I finally re-emerge
from the bathroom dressed back in my original office attire, looking like I’ve just come from a quiet board meeting, as opposed to being fucked all night. To my delight and as predicted, I see Michael is sound asleep and snoring loudly. It’s the combination of jet lag and the anticipation of getting to see me again that always makes for one of my favourite kind of clients. I gather all of my belongings and gently bend over and kiss Michael goodbye on the cheek. He stirs momentarily and rolls over. 

“See you when you’re ready for another lashing.” I whisper into his ear.

“
Hmmm…
” Is his only reply.

He snuggles his head into his pillow, the sweetest smile on his face. Another satisfied customer, I thin
k to myself and leave the suite to my waiting chariot downstairs.

CHAPTER 3

I finally wake
from my daylong slumber around five o’clock in the evening.
Time for dinner and the gym
. As I make my way downstairs at the Agency penthouse, I notice a bunch of long stemmed roses on the dining table and see the card is addressed to me. I roll my eyes. So predictable. I read the card:

The beautiful Miranda,

You were amazing last night.

Sorry I didn’t say goodbye.

See you soon,

Michael Stephenson

“So another for you Miranda?” Paris peers out of the kitchen as I stand reading the card, “That brings you in the lead again.” She giggles, and places a gold star next to my name on the chart stuck to the fridge. The chart is our in-house competition of how many flowers we all get sent from clients, “Followed closely by Sally and myself.” She gloats, “Why didn’t he say goodbye?” She asks, obviously reading the card before I did. 

I look around at her with a why-do-you-think raise of the eyebrow, no words necessary.

“Fell asleep? Again? You must’ve fucked him like a banshee!”

“
Ha…
you could say that.”

My
stomach growls, pleading with me to eat something. I pull out my long-awaited container of stir-fry, reheating the contents in the microwave. While I’m waiting for my dinner to heat, I decide to go for a wander around the penthouse, to see who’s here today. The place is like a ghost town. I remind myself that it is a Saturday after all. Being one of our busiest days, I’m not really surprised that all the girls are out on bookings. I make my way to Miss Stephanie’s office. As I enter, I see that she’s on the phone, so I take a seat on the low white leather couch, five metres away from the front of her desk, and wait until she’s done.

“That’s fine Mr Jackson, we will have the transaction finalised before she even arrives…” She says into the slimline phone, “…No it’s our pleasure as always sir.” She replies
with her sultry ‘phone’ voice.

She places the phone back on the massive switchboard-like receiver, also doubling as her mini command post for the penthouse.

Raising her eyes to me, she speaks in her monotone voice, “So darling, I see you got a delivery from Mr Stephenson today. He sounded happy to see you when I spoke to him this afternoon. He wants to book you again tonight, but unfortunately darling you’ve already been booked for the next two days by Mr Tench.”

Mr Tench!
I haven’t heard from him for a long time. I wonder where he’s been?

“Oh that will be nice to see him. Two days? I wonder if we’ll be going anywhere again?” I try and sound as jovial as possible about it.

“He didn’t say so darling, but his updated test results are in so you are all set to go.”

Hmm
… the allusive Mr Tench, also head of Sydney’s most formidable organised crime gang, although I prefer to act like I don’t know that, but it doesn’t take blind Freddy to work that out. After reading a few newspapers, and spending a few hours with him, you soon learn that some of his business is… slightly unconventional. American-born Joe Tench moved to Australia with his wealthy-businessman father in his late teens. He opened his first nightclub in the infamous Kings Cross district by the age of twenty. His desire for the party lifestyle meant that he quickly made a name for himself, climbing the ranks amongst other criminal entities in the area. Today, he is known as the power player of the nightlife in the city, owning most of the casino’s across the country and holding the monopoly over the nightclubs in Sydney, not to mention owning a few of the hotels throughout Australia. He is one client that Paris is crazy to get her hands on as a regular, but despite all my attempts in persuading him to book her more often, he always seems to want me. Though I would prefer it sometimes if he did book her, he can be quite the handful.

“What time am I seeing him Ma’am?”

“He’s sending one of his cars around to pick you up at seven, so best you be getting ready darling.”

Shit!
Do I ever get a break from these men? I leave the office to my awaiting dinner in the kitchen. Picking me up again?
Hmmm
… where could he be taking me this time? I think back to the last time he sent his car to pick me up. I was driven straight to the airport to catch a chartered flight to the Gold Coast, in the neighbouring state of Queensland, just to see him. He doesn’t like telling the Agency where he is too often. I guess he probably does have his phone tapped regularly, so there’s no doubt doesn’t trust too many people… particularly prostitutes! For some reason though, he likes my company the most. I’ve seen a few other working girls come and go in my time with Joe Tench. He even took me to one of his own strip clubs once, to select our girls for the night, something I’m only fond of doing if he’s willing to pay the extra money. In return, I put on a performance for him, with the other girls. I call it a performance, because that’s what it is really. I’m not into girls, but I’ll do them for the money. In my recent bookings however, he’s wanted more and more one-on-one time with me. Unlike the other clients, his judgement about our relationship doesn’t get clouded, never attempting to ask to see me outside of work. I like that about him. He doesn’t make it difficult by expecting me to be something I’m not… I’m simply his paid for company. Not too dissimilar to the rest of his entourage I suspect.

Once again,
I take one final look at my
unrecognisable self in the mirror. Ben calls out from the stairs, my ride has arrived and is waiting in the basement garage. I love my Carla Zampatti hounds-tooth skirt suit. It shapes my figure into an elegant, long line of slimmed refinement. A far cry from the jeans and t-shirt that I would much prefer to be in tonight. I zip up my larger black Prada suitcase, packed with various outfits for my two-day adventure -to god knows where- and head down the stairs. I see Sally is finally back from her booking with her ‘favourite little politician’.

“Aw, honey. I don’t even get to see you to catch up properly.” I give an exaggerated pout, much preferring to stay in and have some girly time with her than deal with an arrogant client tonight.

“Well, such is the life of
little-miss-popular
. We’ll catch up soon hey? So when are you due back from Mr Mobster?”

“Not till Monday evening, so could you go and check on Flossy back at my place for me? I’m sure she’ll be beside herself in my absence.” Thinking of my beautiful grey cat, left to fend for herself at my apartment. But I know full well that she’ll have Mrs Mapleson from upstairs completely wrapped around her little fluffy tail by now, and is no doubt curled up somewhere warm, positively stuffed to the brim with chicken wings.

“Sure thing chicky, now go get you some mobster!” She says with a slight musical tone to her sentence.

Shaking my head and laughing, I follow Ben out of the penthouse to the elevator.

The
elevator reaches
its destination and the door slide open to the basement. I see Mr Tench’s huge black -top of the range- Range Rover, awaiting my arrival in front of me. Toni Toho, Mr Tench’s personal head of security is standing patiently at the rear passenger door.

“Hey there Miss Miranda. Let me take your bag for you.” He bends down to pick up my suitcase. His voice is quite high pitched for a man of his size.

“Thanks Toni, good to see you again.” I pass him my bag and climb into the Range Rover. 

Toni is a gentle giant, but I wouldn’t ever tempt my fate with him. I feel for anyone who is ever in his bad books. His hands are the size of baseball mitts. His Islander appearance is either Tongan or Samoan, I can’t tell the difference to be honest, but I know given the chance, he would crush a man with his bare hands. Luckily for me I’m not one of those people. He slides into the drivers side seat, causing the entire four-wheel-drive to tilt slightly to the side under the sheer weight of him. He looks at me in the rear vision mirror, his eyes squint in the corners as he smiles.

“It’s nice to be back to see you again Miss Miranda. Hey, sorry for having to pick you up down here. We’ve had all kinds of dogs on our tail lately, that’s why we’ve been over in Vegas hey.”

I realise that may be the reason why Mr Tench has been absent lately. I roll my eyes at the never-ending saga of Joe Tench, “Oh great! Is security in overload again? Mr Tench hasn’t had more death threats again has he?” I wonder why I really have to be involved in all this drama.

“Pffft… death threats Miss? He gets at least one of those a day! Nah, just those vulture reporters and scum sucking dogs in the organised crime squad and shit hey. But not to worry. Mr Tench is just happy to see you again. I think you take his mind off all that bullshit.”

This makes me smile, “I do my best Toni.” I give my best attempt of casually replying, trying not to seem perturbed by his blatant admittance into his boss’ underworld life.
 

I watch absent-mindedly out the window as we drive through the city, wondering what I’m in stall for this time. We pull up at the huge black gates of Tench’s private home in the very exclusive suburb of Point Piper, in Sydney’s east. The small office to the side of the gates has
three men in black suits inside, they nod their heads at our arrival and the gates instantaneously open as the car pulls in. Whatever is bothering Tench it must be serious. I have only ever been to his private residence on one other occasion, for a party that I was paid to attend for a few hours. The Range Rover rolls up the driveway and veers to the left, following the pebble-stoned drive around to a three-archway car park. We pull up in the third bay, along side a black Mercedes Benz R-300, station wagon and a silver Maserati Grantourismo. The mansion screams of its Tuscan influence, with sandstone walls and black wrought iron balconies on the second level. Two colosseum-style pillars surround a huge black wooden door at the front of the mansion. Toni leads me to the entrance. Inside, the foyer has a huge double-sided statement staircase with the most intricate, wrought iron balustrades, swirling into numerous outlines. An enormous crystal chandelier, hangs over a black round table, featuring nothing but an understated, yet modern black statue of a horse upon it. I instantly recognise the very sombre Beethoven’s
Moonlight Sonata,
resonating throughout the all-encompassing space of the palatial surrounds. As I follow Toni through the grand entrance and across the dark marble floor, I notice Mr Tench is sitting at his bar. The bar looks across the harbour, allowing an unobstructed view of the city skyline. I admire the gorgeous vista of the sun slowly sinking over Sydney Harbour Bridge in the distance. As I take in the view, I can’t help but feel very overwhelmed by the entire place, but maintain my composure as I approach Mr Tench.

“The sad sounds of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata for any reason Mr Tench?” I question with my most dazzling yet and seductive smile.

My heels clip across the marble towards him. He quickly turns to face me, pulling him from an obvious state of preoccupied mind.

“
Ah
… My beautiful Miranda, why is it that you are the only woman who truly understands me in this god-forsaken world? Your intelligence never ceases to astound me.” He says with his melting Chicago accent. He walks towards me with outstretched arms, embracing me with a lingering kiss on either cheek.

Holding me back out in front of him, he eyes me off, “You look as radiant as always Miranda.”

“It’s been so long Mr Tench.” I lean in to plant a delicate kiss on his soft lips that are surrounded by a constant five o’clock shadow. 

His eyes are the most alluring coffee brown. His complexion exudes the sun and the good life. His brilliant white teeth gleam with his luminous smile. Although he is only eight years older than me at most, he has the aura of a man well into his forties. His body is in impeccable shape, with muscles so large that they threaten to burst out of his expensive suit. The impressive crop of russet brown hair on his head always looks as if it has been perfectly blown into its sweeping shape.

“Miranda, I have missed seeing your sweet face and please, call me Joe. We’re past formalities by now eh? Come. Let’s have a drink to celebrate me being back in this shit-hole of a city.” Placing an arm around my waist, he leads me over to the black marble bar. He pulls out a bar stool with a black and white striped cushion on it.

“Why such hostility towards our fabulous city Joe?” I ask as I accept his offer of a seat.

I watch him walk around to prepare my drink.

“
Agh
… the place has me locked up like a prisoner in my own home. I can’t go anywhere without being badgered by dogs.” He takes a bottle of Ron Zacapa XO Rum from the shelf, and pours it into two large brandy balloons for the both of us, “Please, let’s not discuss my issues. How have you been? It feels like a lifetime ago when we were together last. Last I remember you were waiting on the arrival of some new handcuffs to play with. Did they arrive for you?”

I chuckle at the thought of how much fun I’ve had with the introduction of the second pair of handcuffs, again thanks to my brother, whom I told they were for a friend to avoid any further questioning about my need for more handcuffs.