Henry's Gift
Were there any particular tools I wanted to be used? Not really.
Was there anything I didn’t want to see? Yes, no teenage boys please.
Was I sure I was not a copper? Yes, quite sure. After all, Henry must have explained that we worked together. Yes, he did.
Did I understand that he would have to cross-reference with Henry about me, as this is how he worked? Yes, that would be fine.
Did I understand the imperative importance of keeping this conversation and anything that might follow a secret? Absolutely!
Was there anything else I could think of? Yes, I would like to see Evie.
There was a long pause. For a moment I became afraid. Did I say something wrong? Was I too bold? Did Henry exercise his sick sense of humor again and Evie was Terry’s mother’s name? Or maybe his wife’s? Or, God forbid, his daughter’s?
‘You do understand that it might take a while if you want to see Evie, mate?’ finally Terry spoke. ‘She does not perform with any of the girls from our little business here. She only does the real thing and there are not quite that many customers who like to be watched by a stranger.’
I nodded, and as I remembered that for obvious reasons my response passed by unnoticed, I coughed and tried replying again. ‘Yes, I do. I can wait.’
‘Are you sure? If this is really your first time, maybe you just want to get a taste of it with someone else, and then…?’
‘No,’ I was quite adamant now. ‘I can wait. I want to see Evie. I heard she was the best.’ Of course Henry did not tell me she was the best. But, I learned to rely on Henry’s taste in everything, and if he said Evie is the one to see, by God, Evie was the one I wanted.
‘Alright, you got it, mate.’ Said Terry.
Three long months passed and the attraction to the alternative lifestyle that I was yearning for had somewhat dissipated. I still thought about it, but it did not weigh on me as heavily as it did at first. There were times when in the deadly silence of the night I would lay in bed, half asleep and the images of Henry’s scrapbook creeping inside my head. I browsed the Internet and found some sites that dealt with fetish and all that went along with it. I have to admit, they got me excited. But the thought that there is a possibility of me seeing it in person was much more compelling. So I waited.
Finally, in early April, as I started losing hope that Terry even remembered me any longer – and I was going to be damned if I would try and call him again – I answered the phone one day in the office and Terry’s voice boomed on the other side. ‘Henry, old chum! It’s Terry, remember me?’
We arranged to meet the next day in Stepney and he would take me to his little cubbyhole, as he called it. He vaguely described of what was going to take place. He found a regular customer, who did not mind a voyeur behind the glass, and Evie was available, too. As we spoke, my stomach knotted into a burning heaviness. I felt my cock stirring in my pants just from the mere thought of what was in store.
I trusted Henry, therefore I trusted Terry, as untrustworthy as he sounded.
That evening at home, I became a literal Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. I walked into my house whistling, cheerfully kissing Claire on the cheek, quickly explaining my good mood as being due to an excellent deal that I had just managed to bring to life in the office. I picked at my dinner plate, not really hungry, complimenting Claire’s shepherd’s pie, which as usual was excellent. As I headed for the study to work on some lose ends that I just could not make my mind to concentrate on at the office after a conversation with Terry, Claire reminded me of our friend’s housewarming party, which was to take place the following day.
Damn! I completely forgot about it. I felt guilty, which then flared into a burning rage. Why didn’t she tell me before? No, I didn’t even remember her ever telling me about this bloody party. Didn’t she realize that I had things to do? Didn’t she remember me telling her that I would be in the office every day this spring, as there were millions of projects that needed to be sorted out in time to be ready for the following Christmas? Every Saturday and most of Sundays! No, she didn’t remember? Well, that certainly told me how much interest she showed in my work! It was easy for her farting about the house and making party arrangements without me, but I simply could not make it tomorrow, and that was that.
I saw the hurt on Claire’s face following my outburst, but elected not to pay much attention to it. I was so excited; I was ready to burst into flames. I turned on my heel and walked into my study, shutting the door behind me, trying really hard not to slam it.
Of course, I would apologize later, I thought. I might even pop into the bleeding party in the evening, after I finished my little business in Stepney. But for the time being, I could not afford to let myself be torn between guilt and sorrow. Claire, of all the people should understand that. Twenty-five years of marriage teach you that much.
The following afternoon, I found myself riding the District Line underground train, pretending to pay attention to the paperback in my lap, while secretly sneaking glances at the people around me. One could always tell who was the Londoner and who was an out-of-towner or a tourist. The latter inevitably concentrated on the London guidebooks, anxiously peeking at the underground maps above the windows, making sure they exited at the appropriate time. Most Londoners would be religiously reading paperbacks and newspapers, listening to walkmans or simply stare out of the window into the blackness of the tunnel walls, lost in their own thoughts.
The motley crowd consisted of everything and anything your heart desired. People of different color and creed, sporting different fashions, with hairdos, which sometimes bordered on bizarre. A young man wearing obvious make-up stood a couple of feet next to my seat and nobody seemed to be paying much attention to his eccentricities. A group of three teenage girls giggled and gurgled in a language that I did not quite recognize, but could tell it must have been eastern European. Au pairs, undoubtedly. Exchanging stories of events in the households where they lived, complaining over the spoiled brats they looked after. An old, scruffy looking man, who seemed to have more space than anybody else on a busy train as nobody elected to stand too close, was giving me the impression that he must have smelled quite bad, even though I was lucky enough not to actually catch a whiff of the offensive odor. Next to me, a tired looking, grossly fat, bleached blonde kept dozing off, each time her greasy, thin hair brushing against my shoulder as her head bobbed into my direction. Another obese bird in her 40s stood next to the boy with make-up, her boobs practically spilling out of her top, giving a glorious site of what a man might desire, attracting more than her fair share of stares. A handsome blond man with warm green eyes sat across from me, chatting with a girl next to him, who seemed to blush fiercely every time his eyes paused on her face. It looked like a beginning of romance to me. His huge hand rested on her thigh, every once in a while giving it a slight squeeze, provoking another avalanche of furious blushes.
The person that truly caught my attention was a tall redhead who entered the train a couple of stops after me. Her boyishly slim figure was clad in black pants and wooly sweater, black high-heeled boots made her appear even taller. Her height easily reached over six feet, heels and all. She leaned on the holding pole close enough for me to catch a good view, her beautiful chocolate brown eyes staring out into the darkness, completely lost in her own world. Every once in a while, she would absently push the little black backpack onto her shoulder as people kept bumping into her, knocking it off. As she held onto the steel pole I noticed her beautiful hands, with nails that were carefully painted in deep red color, looking like little hats sitting on the ends of her ivory white fingers. She must have been in her mid to late 20s, slightly older than my own children. Her curly, fire red hair reached just past her shoulders; she looked very serious and somewhat sad, and above all, very sexy. Her smooth skin looked perfect. I can’t say that she was truly beautiful, however, she was definitely the type of woman who would make a man take a second glance. Probably even a third. I returned my attention to the paperback. No need to be caught starring.
The disembodied voice over the intercom announced that we were approaching Stepney Green station; the doors would open on the left and would we please mind the gap. As I stood up, I noticed that the pretty redhead was no longer standing next to me. My eyes furiously searched through the crowd, and I found her standing by the exit.
The train pulled into the station and the door opened with only a few of the commuters spilling out onto the platform, including the tall redhead and me. She seemed to be in a hurry, which was not quite the case with me. I was almost an hour early before I was to meet Terry in The Blind Beggar pub in the vicinity of the Stepney Green subway station. As she took long and hurried strides up the stairs, I tried to follow close behind. Despite the lack of a crowd, I seemed to be slowed down by people trying to puff their way out of the bowels of the underground.
I reached the top of the stairs and stepped through the arched entrance into the warm April afternoon, I tried to find the tall figure, which disappeared around the corner only a moment ago. Mile End Street was packed with people, which was quite surprising given the fact that this was not a shopping district, but rather just your causal residential neighborhood, dotted with the inevitable, numerous pubs on both sides of the street.
‘Evie!’ a man’s voice stabbed into my brain and my head spun around at the recognition. Not that it was that uncommon of a name, but I personally never knew of any Evie, or even an Eve who might have called herself that. My eyes browsed through the crowd of silhouettes hurrying in every direction possible.
‘Evie!’ the voice called again and now I spotted a sports car, double-parked on the street right in front of the subway station. A man with wild black hair was waving frantically at someone that was obviously on the other side of me. I turned and I could feel my face draining of blood. The tall redhead that I had admired on the subway was waving back at the man, pushing her way through the crowd towards him.
I could not believe my own eyes. This simply could not be!
The girl reached the man and his car, jumped in the passenger’s seat and they sped away, before I even had the time to catch my breath. I shook my head in denial; surely, this was some sort of a freak coincidence. How can one in the city as big as London bump into people like that? Forget the fact that I was in the vicinity of the place, or a dungeon as Henry and Terry liked to call it; it was still unbelievable.
I slowly walked down the street towards the pub that was to be our meeting place. I entered through the heavy wooden doors and was swallowed by the darkness of the drinking lounge and ordered a double scotch, finding a quiet table in the corner, with a clear view of the entrance. Minutes dragged and more than once, I decided that after I finish my drink I would leave. Catch a train downtown or even a taxi. This seemed like a train wreck waiting to happen. Of course, I knew I would do no such thing. Especially now, that I thought I knew who Evie was.
Good half an hour later, after numerous jumps out of my chair like a virgin bride on her wedding night each time the front door opened, the light from the street outside poured in once more and as the door closed, I recognized the silhouette as the man, who was waiting on the girl called Evie.