Emma, Jay and Davy sat in the small back room known as 'the office.' Emma produced a profit and loss account for the month. After expenses, she placed a wad of fifty-pound notes into his hand.
"What's this?"
The two women laughed.
"Four grand, but it'll be a long time before you get your investment back," said Jay. "I've an idea. We could make a mint in the high-class escort business. The women will have to be more than sexual; they'll have to be cultured and well turned out for every occasion. I suggest they are between twenty-five and thirty-five." She leaned across the table and asked, "What are your thoughts?"
He nodded in agreement.
Emma was hesitant, but she agreed it was worth a try.
Full of optimism for the future, Davy and Emma headed home.
***
Davy sat in his room, mulling over the previous six months. His trust in Emma and Jay had proven to be lucrative and exciting. Jay's Agency grew, along with the profits. The club never ceased to surprise; he discovered lust never slept. An offshore bank accepted his money with no questions asked.
As he descended the stairs, he checked the time. It was 12:30. In the hall mirror, he decided a haircut and a beard trim was the order of the day.
He thought of Tracy and recognized the signs. He didn't love her, but she was younger, more attractive than Emma, and unique. How long he stayed with Emma was a problem he could face later. For the moment, his clandestine liaison with Tracey excited him.
***
Emma was aware the fire in Davy had dimmed. Most nights, when she arrived home, he was either out or fast asleep. The mere thought brought a sense of impending doom. In bed, she tried to redirect her thoughts, but they continued to stray. From now on, no more deceptions or doubts.
While in her office, she overheard one of the girls talking, "That Tracey's sweet on the boss's guy, or so I hear. Mind you. He could tear my knickers off any time."
"You never wear any."
She laughed. "There's always a first time."
The conversation ended at the sight of Emma.
The day she feared most had arrived. Emma took a deep breath, and the truth sickened her. Without any warning, her stomach heaved, and she ran to the toilet and vomited. In front of the mirror, she wiped her ashen face. "How could that bastard do this to me after everything I've done for him?" She frowned but hung onto the painful thought. Wounded, the hate and intense fury made her want to kill. A terrifying madness grew inside her.
Emma awoke from a troubled sleep. Davy had cheated, and she, an object of pity. Not a thing happened in the club without everyone knowing—rumours, more upsetting than the truth. The sun filtered through the curtains.
The whole day passed in a dream-like state. That night Davy arrived home late, and even with half a bottle of scotch inside her, she feigned sleep. Not a thing happened. He didn't even touch her. Emma, her mind in turmoil, erupted and, throwing the bedclothes back, jumped out of bed, shouting, "Get out of my house, you fucking bastard."
Davy woke with a start. "What the hell. What's wrong with you?" He turned on the bedside light.
Her eyes blazed hatred. "Damn you to hell, you bastard. I want you out of here. Go and fuck your whore. They earn good money these days." Her fury found its target.
