Authors: Aita Ighodaro
Scores of women were circling their table, zeroing in on Bertrand like tigers stalking their prey, while at the table opposite, three amazing-looking women were dancing gracefully on the
banquette seating, moving with agile abandon. Sarah was watching them in awe when she felt a hand on her back encouraging her too to get up and dance. Downing yet another vodka tonic to give her
courage, she climbed on to the cushioned bench and started to sway nervously, embarrassed. It felt like Team Bertrand was trying to top the other table and Sarah felt shamefully aware she was
probably letting the side down. But, whatever! She was free and she was here. Since she didn’t have to give a damn what Si thought for the first time in years, she would try to relax.
As the alcohol worked its wicked magic on Sarah and she was starting to really move, building up to another ‘dip-down’, the music came to a sudden stop. An immense drum roll
thundered to an impressive climax and a team of nimble waiters appeared, bearing five bottles that were spitting huge flames and sizzling like indoor fireworks. Thinking that a magic show was about
to begin, Sarah drunkenly started to applaud. The flaming bottles were borne across to the table opposite Team Bertrand, illuminating the slinky dancers and their three male companions, one of whom
stood on his seat and lit a cigar from the flames. As the drums continued to roll, he smugly blew out a perfect smoke ring, held one of the bottles aloft, and shook its contents over a blonde in a
white bikini. Sarah was amazed and revolted to realize it was a magnum of Reza’s exclusive
Sin
champagne he was spraying – about £5000 worth! The
Sin
champagne was
the only drink that wasn’t free that evening – and so the only one everyone wanted to be seen ordering. Sarah could see at least four unfinished magnums on the table beside the five new
bottles. There was no way they could drink all that.
She felt sickened at such a shameless display of decadence, but Bertrand caught her eye and just shrugged, as if to say ‘that’s the way the cookie crumbles’.
Ten minutes later, the drums began to roll again. To Sarah’s horror, this time the waiters were heading in her direction. Thankfully, they focused on Theo, who theatrically surveyed the
number of magnums that had been brought to their group. Not five like the other table, but six. He lit his cigarette in the flames, leaned forward and blew the smoke defiantly in the direction of
the opposite table. With a smile he turned to check that the monogram-slippered mogul approved. Team Bertrand had triumphed. Their status as top dog was secure.
Sarah shot another disgusted look at Bertrand.
‘I don’t judge, Sarah. Maybe they gave ten million to charity last night. Did you? Relax, enjoy yourself.’
Sarah looked at Theo, now sandwiched between two brunettes and groping both of them simultaneously. ‘Maybe they did, but then again, maybe they didn’t. Anyway, I just think
it’s vulgar and it’s unnecessary.’
She slurred on, ‘The world’s finances are in a terrible state, people are looshing their
homes
and, and, and, their
livelihoods
, and yet theesh people are just spending
and spending like there’s no tomorrow. Wassit to them if they lose a few million to the drop in property values – they’ve still got another fifty mill hidden away offshore so
that’s alright then!’
Bertrand had never seen her this worked up. Now there was a spark in her eyes and a rosy flush to her cheeks that was making him exceptionally randy.
‘Good God you’re gorgeous!’ He shook his head in wonderment, making Sarah even more incensed. He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her as she collapsed against his chest.
Willy had left the party hours ago; Scheherazade, the winner of
Musical Megastar
, had disappeared too, and Sarah knew nobody else here but Bertrand. As angry as she was, she felt protected
with his arms around her.
‘Darling,’ Bertrand said, ‘I’m not defending all this per se, but what do you think will happen to the economy if these people stop spending? Don’t you think even
more businesses will go bust, and even more people will be unemployed? Don’t you think governments will collect even less in taxes? What will happen to public services then?’
Sarah looked up, but before she could reply Bertrand suddenly cut in again, ‘Say, have you met Rory?’
Rory shook Sarah’s hand and she smiled back, forced to calm down now that they had company. Tall and slim with dishevelled dirty blond hair, he was, Sarah guessed, probably in his mid to
late thirties. Rory smiled shyly. He looked like he’d be more at home in the corner of a jazz café than at this raucous party, and she couldn’t agree more – the music
really was much too loud. As if echoing her thoughts, Bertrand leaned over and shouted that they ought to have a drink somewhere quieter.
Bertrand led them away from the main din and towards the yacht’s exit but instead of disembarking he glanced around and then pressed a button concealed behind a small mirrored tile. A side
door slid open to reveal a spacious and pristine white cabin.
‘Wow! I thought you said there were no cabins.’ Sarah had never seen anything like it – an open-plan living room and kitchen so dazzlingly white she had to blink several times.
It was like walking into a luxury igloo.
‘That’s what we tell the members but of course Reza and I have our areas. There’s an office and various other little rooms hidden about the place – some of which
I’ve never even seen.’
They sat down together on a long sofa covered in ice-white mink.
‘Has it really been that long since we saw each other? We used to get up to all sorts of mischief,’ Rory chuckled at Bertrand.
‘Must be ten years now. God I’m getting old.’ Bertrand smiled at Sarah with an assuredness that showed no signs of abating with age.
‘Let me fix you both a drink,’ Sarah slurred, assuming a hostess role that felt surprisingly natural. If Rory had any questions regarding the absence of Bertrand’s formidable
wife, he kept them to himself. Instead, he seemed unable to tear his eyes away from Sarah, who was now leaning against the door in her tight dress, hair falling over her face and one arm thrown
upwards. She’d grabbed hold of the doorway to try and steady herself – she felt dangerously tipsy – but it had the effect of a fit young bitch’s mating call to two naughty
dogs who were seriously on heat.
Bertrand strolled over to Sarah, eyeing her. In full view of Rory he ran his hand over her bottom as he kissed her gently and slipped a probing hand inside her dress.
Sarah gasped, ‘Oh my God!’
She tried to feel indignant, but somehow she didn’t. She wanted him.
She gave an involuntary moan and pulled Bertrand’s head close so that she could kiss him violently. Suddenly Sarah’s dress was up around her waist and she stood pushed up against the
door in high heels, a lace thong and a slip of a white dress as Bertrand grabbed her firm butt with both hands and pressed his body tight against hers while he kissed her. His feral urgency was at
odds with his gentlemanly appearance and it excited her wildly, as did the knowledge that they were in full view of Rory. Sarah writhed and moaned as she reached for Bertrand’s hair and
pulled his head towards her breasts as he grabbed at the straps of her dress and pulled them down. Opening her eyes, she peered over Bertrand’s head and glanced at Rory, still seated
languorously on the sofa. He had undone his flies, and he looked calmly on while he pleasured himself, massaging his cock up and down with one hand in fast, rhythmic movements. His dusky blond head
was thrown back slightly, his breathing loud and deep.
Sarah smiled coyly at Rory, slipping her arms fully out of the dress and allowing Bertrand to quickly unhook her strapless bra, freeing her pendulous breasts.
‘Christ!’ Rory wailed from his vantage point, his face contorted with longing. He could take it no longer; he had to touch her. Jumping from his seat he kicked off his slacks and
boxer shorts, and, as an afterthought, his cashmere socks, and hot-footed it across the room. Sarah was utterly shocked at her own unhesitating compliance and how could this feel so damn natural?
She knew it was slutty, and yet it didn’t feel wrong. She had never felt so sexy, so adored and so turned on in her life.
Joining Bertrand in his animal ravaging of Sarah’s curves, Rory stripped her dress from her body and tossed it to the ground before sliding behind her so that she was gripped tightly
between the two friends. He dropped his head to kiss her shoulder and slid his hand down in between her thighs, slipping a gently probing finger between her legs. He gave a guttural groan.
Sarah’s own cries were getting louder now and Bertrand decided it was time to move into the bedroom. He lifted Sarah, still in lace thong and high heels, and carried her next door with Rory
in hot pursuit.
Bertrand threw Sarah on to the bed and ordered her to strip. By the time she had kicked off her heels and wiggled swiftly out of her skimpy thong, all three were naked. Bertrand raced across the
room to dim the lights and paused by the switch with a raging hard-on as he watched Rory and Sarah exploring each other’s bodies on the Egyptian cotton sheets. Sliding on to the bed beside
them, he stroked Sarah’s breasts before gently edging Rory aside to position his head between her legs and lick her to orgasm, while Rory took each of her nipples into his mouth in turn and
flicked and bit them gently.
Just as Sarah thought that she might melt if she had any more pleasure, she felt Bertrand enter her and then the waves of excitement mounted once more until she could think of nothing but the
exquisite feeling between her legs. She wanted to be wholly consumed by both of them, but she sensed from the way Bertrand asserted complete control that if Rory took her it might cross some
irrational line. Closing her eyes she reached down to feel Rory’s erection and brought him to orgasm just before Bertrand brought
her
to orgasm for the second time that night.
Afterwards, damp, exhausted and euphoric, the three lay entwined on the bed, Sarah facing Bertrand, one leg draped over his, and spooned by Rory, until they slowly drifted to sleep. Sarah never
told Bertrand that later in the night she’d been woken by the slow rocking of Rory’s pelvis from behind and that she’d let him slip himself inside her and had rocked him gently to
a climax while Bertrand, who had rolled over to the other side of the super-king-sized bed, slept soundly. Likewise, Bertrand never told Sarah that he’d been far too hot and damp to sleep
properly and that he had watched wordlessly while Sarah was taken by one of his oldest and dearest school-friends, just as he had done twenty-four years ago when they’d shared Georgina after
Rory’s sixteenth birthday party.
****
Olympia had just had a blow-dry and now tossed her poker-straight newly red bob in slow motion, like someone in a shampoo advert.
‘Mallinder hasn’t been profitable this quarter as you all know,’ she announced during the last company meeting of the year, ‘so I’ve decided to cancel
tonight’s staff Christmas party in order to save money. Instead I’ll be cutting it down to a dinner just for me and all the producers. None of you’ll be needed at the dinner I
shouldn’t think, so there’s an extra evening’s holiday for you right there.’
‘But we normally get the hours of the Christmas party off in lieu anyway,’ whispered a disappointed Wendy, holding back a tear. The Mallinder Christmas party was the only time she
was ever taken to a restaurant where the sauces didn’t come in sachets.
‘What was that, Wendy?’ Olympia snapped. ‘Speak up! Oh, and Abena, seeing as you know the most about the producers, I’d like you at the venue beforehand to oversee the
seating plan and help organize. You can make yourself scarce once the boys arrive, I’m sure you’ve got other things to do this evening anyway what with your ritzy social life.’
She shot Abena an envious or disapproving stare.
‘Actually, Olympia, I’ve nothing on tonight as I had the Christmas party diarized. But of course I’ll be there, since it’s my job.’
‘I’ll need you from 5 p.m. onwards – actually you’d better stick around throughout the evening in case there’s a problem. The producers will start coming at
six-thirty so at that point you can go across the road – there’s a seafood place where you can sit and get yourself a bite to eat, and don’t worry of course you can expense
that.’
Abena perked up. Sheekey’s was a wonderful fish restaurant, even smarter than the place Olympia had booked for the party. ‘Sure, I’ll wait at Sheekey’s and you can just
call if you need me.’
‘Sheekey’s?’ Olympia’s lips twitched. ‘No, I meant that fish and chip place nearby. What’s it called … Dandy Dan’s Fish ’n Ribs? Something
like that anyway. Right, now we’ve overrun. Get back to work everyone.’
Dejected, Abena wondered idly how Bertrand was getting along in France. It was almost five o’clock and she’d had no time to change before rushing to the restaurant
to help. Not that it mattered seeing as she was now disinvited along with the rest of the staff. Or not as it turned out. She looked at the name cards on the table and saw that the acquisitions
manager and the sales manager had both been included. Why on earth had two such insipid and uninspiring men been allowed to join the party?
Moments later, Olympia flew into the restaurant, sighing loudly. ‘So much to do and so little time.’ She smiled at Abena. ‘Great, you’re here already. So how should we do
the names?’
‘Well, I ’d been thinking that the producers should be seated next to those they might have creative synergies with, that way they could end up working together on co-productions,
which means bigger budgets and potentially bigger money for Mallinder?’
Olympia thought about it for a nanosecond then shook her head. ‘No. I think I should occupy the central position.’
She picked up her name card and placed it in the middle of the table, ‘And then we can have the most important producers beside me, becoming gradually less important the further away from
me they’re seated.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Right I’m off. Back at six so I’ll leave you to get on with things here. Oh, and have a read through this speech; the
acquisitions and sales managers wrote it together, pretty good right?’