Between Favours: The Champagne Hurricane Trilogy - Book 3

By Tam Sturgeon

Between Favours is the third part of the fictitious Love Story set in Calgary, Alberta. Tee Manley has done some crazy things in her life, but falling in love with her Canadian brother-in-law has got to be the dumbest so far, and she knows it. Stevie Manley is in love with a woman, a woman he knows he should never fall in love with. Sadly, the woman in question is his sister-in-law, Tee Manley.
Tee and Terri’s relationship is tested, yet again, when her step-son has a blowout at an awards ceremony. With the fallout there are a few harsh words said and one realisation. Stevie doesn’t want to be a part of Ea$y anymore. Finally, he’s prepared to walk away for good and never to look back.
As Tee’s feelings for Stevie become harder to deal with she travels more, hoping to ease her suffering. On a stopover in Vancouver, by chance, Tee meets a face from the past, Ches Kramer. A new bed-buddy is found, one Tee starts to think about more often than not.
Stevie and Tee know they shouldn’t do it, but they do, their feelings too much in the heat of the moment. Trusts are broken in a second, with family and friends, trusts that can never be gained again. And so their secret is a cage around them, one that will be the ending of all they’ve come to know and love.
A big secret never stays a secret for long. Stevie hates himself enough as it is and confesses all to his Mom, Beth. Soon enough his wife, Chelsea, works it out for herself, and it results in her leaving him, taking their two boys. This also damages her friendship with Tee beyond repair.
Advice is required. Tee goes to visit the older woman she sees as a Mother figure. Beth knows all about their sordid affair and tells her to disappear for good. Ches sits in L.A., waiting, and Tee thinks maybe he’s not such a bad resolve, they do work well together.
So, as the world she once shared with Max becomes a distant memory, she does exactly as she did at the very start of her story, and moves to another country to be with the one.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tam Sturgeon
• Release date: Jul 29, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463536346

Tam Sturgeon

Writing History of Tam Sturgeon1970’sI find myself reciting poetry at middle school in Christmas Assemblies. Pam Ayres a particular favourite (and remembered to this day).1980’sI start writing poetry in Secondary School, after finding a poem in a Sunday Supplement. An emotionally charged home life gives me reason to lose myself when my mother is being all weird and shouty. Poetry takes me away from that. I find it comes easily and is prolific. I write various lyrics and silly ditties for birthdays and weddings.2003-2004I start my first novel, Champagne Hurricane, a rock and roll love story, whilst I’m having an emotional breakdown. The first in the line of my life changing events starts with my Father dying then my first husband leaving me, all within 18 months of each other. I’m awarded Runner-up in a Writer’s Forum Magazine Competition. I start Art College and use my poems as part of my finals. It earns me a Distinction. I find I have enough material to write my 1st and 2nd book of poetry.2004-2009The next three books of poetry are written, one after the other in quick concession. I then relocate to Somerset. The novel is put on the backburner, due to a demanding second husband which ends very badly for me.2010I relocate back to Bucks, finding myself with little to show for my time away. I return to my writing and the first novel, which is finished before the New Year.2011A massive near fatal heart attack in the March leaves me on the verge of another emotional breakdown. I start to write my second novel and take a very level headed look at my life. Being housebound pushes me back into writing once more, and two more volumes of poetry are poured out before the end of the year. A new novel is also started, a Werewolf and Vampire love story, which runs parallel with the second. Six others novels are also dabbled with, but soon fall by the wayside.2012I finish the second, and two more books of poetry are completed. A 10th volume of A-Z Pocket Poetry is then completed. The third novel, still in its infancy, is set aside as the rhythm of the ode becomes my favourite once more. I tell myself the poetry collection will end at volume thirteen.2013With the New Year comes more poetry, the 11th book, 12th, and 13th. Later that year my first novel is ePublished to Smashwords.com and is welcomed with open arms by the readers, gaining 10, 5 star reviews, at this time I also ePublish three volumes of poetry. There is also a 14th book of poetry written. Sadly, it was partly lost due to my hard drive burning out. Some is salvaged, but it remains nameless and unpublished, to this day.2014‘Champagne Hurricane’ continues to gather followers as the poetry collection grows. I spend time in Canada and write the 15th volume, which is then made ready for ePublishing. The 16th book of poetry is started and finished shortly after. Come the Christmas of 2014 I have started yet another novel. Champagne Hurricane is suddenly rendered a trilogy.2015As the storyboard for Book 2, Different Directions, slowly comes alive, more poetry is produced. Lyrics are dabbled with, yet again, and along the way several other projects are started, most of which are all put on the backburner as the novel becomes a constant time-filler. By the end of 2015 Book 2 is a finished novel, plus I have rewritten and renamed Book 1, now known as Never Forever, under The Champagne Hurricane Trilogy title.2016At the turn of the year the 17th volume is started and then finished come the end of spring. A break is taken to travel. Upon my return, things pick up where they left off. The 18th is started, along with the Book 3 in the trilogy, Between Favours. These run side by side and see me through another summer, both finished about the same time. I also start writing a fantasy novel relating to the myth of unicorns and why broomsticks can fly. I get half way and am distracted by the thought I am wasting my precious time with needless thing, i.e. all the stuff I’m cramming into my laptop on a daily basis. I stop writing for the rest of the year, frustrated with not knowing what to do with any of it.2017So, anyway, early in the year I unpublished one novel, due to its lack of interest. I delete it from my back-catalogue, permanently. The 18th volume is then completed before the summer and the 19th is started. With The Champagne Hurricane Trilogy complete, what to do next? I write my first Action Thriller, a Novella, and finish it in a little over six weeks. As the close of the year faces me, I am ousted from my job of three years for highlighting a Toxic Manager case. I am rendered jobless in the New Year, with huge debts and nowhere to turn.2018The first two months of the year are taken up with ill health and what is to become another trilogy. Rewritten for the Young Adult and Teen market, the now gruesome trio, are all based around the same random grisly event but set in different eras, trips from my fingers. This is shortly followed by another short story, which almost touches on Sci-Fi, and is also initially aimed at the Y/A &Teen market, though it could also be enjoyed by anyone into the genre. It is at this point I also finish the 19th Volume of poetry and start the 20th. I diversify yet again, writing my own lyrics to classical and mainstream music. Drawing from my own personal experiences, I compose forty plus alternative ways of wording them. Alongside this, I turn myself into a product and decide I have enough material to approach the Agents and Producers in both the literary and music business.Find me on:TwitterInstagramFacebookThank you

Book preview

Between Favours

The Champagne Hurricane Trilogy

Book3

Published by Tam Sturgeon at Smashwords

Copyright Tam Sturgeon 2018

This novel is entirely a work of fiction.

The names, characters and incidents portrayed within it are

the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to

actual persons, living or deceased, or any events

mentioned is entirely coincidental.

Tam Sturgeon asserts the moral right to

be identified as the author of this work.

Cover imagery courtesy of the author.

Cover design by Tam Sturgeon.

Copyright Tam Sturgeon 2018

~

Between Favours

Part 1

~ Tee ~

Riding the Tide

Time is something we all have, for some, there is never enough. There is time that has been, there is time that is now, and there is time yet to come. How we spend it is entirely up to us. Some might wish to stay trapped in the time before, living a loop, over and over. Some may forever live in the now, absorbing every moment, consuming every ounce. And there are even some who do nothing but look to the time yet to come, hoping they’ll find their answer, hoping they’ll find their peace.

Whatever your preference, I say it’s a balance of then, now and next. Why be choosy when you can have it all, right? Time, I think you would agree, is a precious commodity, and one we should never be wasteful with, and one we should always be mindful of. Time in essence has no price at all but, just in case, be well aware of its cost.

It sat quiet that day, somewhere between autumn and winter. The first of the snow had come already, it fell with the fluctuating temperatures at night, only to be gone with the heat of the following day, and there we were, just touching October. There was still some patchy grass to be seen, but the flowers were long gone, snuggled up, underground, as yet another year drew to a close

The rise to Tornado Mountain, once a fine green mantle, was sporting a settled white gown which replaced the skirts of emerald, those vast swathes running for miles, their once clean lines to disappear into the haze of the day. The apex permafrost looked all clean and shiny, the edges blending into a sky of almost the same colour.

That wonder to feast your eyes upon was all I required. It was where life had been leading me, all that way and all that time. That was where my heart was, on that lonesome road, the one that led all the way to the rocky ridge. That’s where I thought I’d stay, always, there on the mountain. There, with Max.

Me, I was okay. I still did a bit for Craig Taylor but I wasn’t travelling the distances and putting in the seminar time anymore. Those days were long gone. No, by then I was just dabbling in stuff. Hey, if I liked it, and got just a little enjoyment out of it, and I wasn’t hurting those I love in the process, I’d give it a go. You don’t know if you like it till you’ve tried it, isn’t that how it works?

Since Max’s sad departure I’d actually found enough pockets of time to finally start and finish my novel. There were no plans for it, it was more of a personal off-load, somewhere to keep everything I remembered of our short time together. I think it’ll be left, bound up, placed in a drawer somewhere, and forgotten as the years roll by.

So, work consisted of doing as little as I could, travelling when required, and faffing with words when I was asked. Also I had to find time to look after my crazy collection of animals, and the little clan of people I called family. I thought I was slowing down, but somehow I wasn’t. The package, that was my life, it simply wouldn’t let me.

And so arrived another day. To wonder what another twenty-four hours can bring is a wonder in itself, as is waking. Most take the simplest things for granted, yet a few live each day as if their last.

Stevie, my Canadian brother-in-law, turned to me, stood at the posh bar, the look on his face somewhere between amazement and devastation. He’d come in from outside, his face rolled up in anger, and had sunk two Tequila shots before he could even find the words he wanted to say. This was when our evening really began.

‘... I’m telling ya, sis, lightning’s struck twice ... Once with Max, then again with that little shit out there ... Jesus, you should see him, he’s spanked out of his face ... I had to do a double take to make sure I was seeing what I thought I was seeing ... Holy shit, Tee, the kid’s killing me.’

His hand wiped his across his angry features as he spoke, the memory of the moment galloping through his mind once more.

‘Then there’s no denying it then,’ I chuckled, running my hand down Stevie’s arm. I finished my drink before I finished my words. ‘... He really is a Manley ...’

‘Ha, fucking, ha, ain’t you the funny fucker ... That boy is breaking my balls, ya gotta do something, Tee ... He ain’t gonna listen to anyone else but you ... Go do what ya gotta do to stop what ain’t been started yet,’ he commanded with a lowered voice, his right hand lifting so his index finger could point in the direction of the pool area.

‘Okay ... Where’s Joey?’ I asked, my eyes scanning the crowed room, packed with lots of faces I knew but not seeing the one I wanted.

Would tiptoes help? There, I spotted him speaking to Cal Mason, the shabbily dressed Producer who drove a million dollar car.

‘Nope, don’t worry ... I see him,’ I chirped as I placed my empty glass on the bar and stepped into the throng. ‘I’ll be back in a mo, bro,’ was said as I snaked a path towards the opposite corner.

Approaching with a nod, I caught Joey’s eye. He stepped away from the group we both knew with an apology.

‘What’s up, treacle? ... We got an issue?’ he asked in his gruff cockney accent, his eyes becoming alive with the prospect of a job at hand, or a punch-up, he was about ready for either the night was dragging so badly.

‘... Yeah ... Urh, may I borrow you for just a few moments? It might be nothing, but then it could be something we could all do without, tonight of all bloody nights,’ I smiled, my eyebrows moving up and down quickly, trying to get my point over in a quiet kind of way.

He got it, he was right there with me.

‘Arh, okay, lead the way,’ he grinned, rubbing in hands together, excitedly. ‘Let’s go do that, then have another beer ... I should be about ready for one by then,’ he chuckled, as I turned to snake my way back towards an anxious looking Stevie.

As we approached him my hand scooped around his arm so I could march us towards the chaotic space located just to the rear of the Hotel Four Seasons. Helloing our way through the metropolis we finally breached the pool area.

‘Oh, my, cocking fanny hairs ...’

I didn’t finish my sentence as the scene spread before the three of us. Joey almost split himself laughing as we watched Max’s son, Terri, run along the far side of the pool, butt naked. He momentarily stopped, turning in our general direction, before lifting the next sun lounger along.

This was then swung sideways to be discarded, as if a huge Frisbee, out onto the clear blue water, so as to join all the others at the bottom of the deep end. Someone’s pink feather boa was hung around his neck whilst a red thong sat on his head, not his by the way. Out of his face? Nah, off his bloody nut, mate.

And, I ask you, who were facing him on the other side of the pool, sat on the loungers that weren’t sunken treasure? Yeah, about eight very happy paparazzi, and they were more than comfortable taking all the photos they needed for their morning papers.

‘... Okay ...’ my hands came up to rest on my Nichi Caroni gown-clad hips, ‘which stupid butt-plug spiked his drink, again? He’s not on caine too, is he? Please, God, someone tell me he’s not on caine ... I wouldn’t mind so much, but look ...’ I wasn’t impressed, ‘... Check out the bloody mess we gotta clear up now ... The hotel is gonna love handing me this bill ...’

Shaking my head slowly, I looked at the Press taking their lovely pics, I looked over at my arsehole Stepson doing a Max in full throttle, and then I looked back to the guys beside me.

‘Okay ... Joey, pocket all the memory cards from the cameras before escorting the owners off the premises, this is a private party after all ... Any trouble makers, thump them if it helps, I’ll pay them all off later ... Stevie, you grab those towels over there, and try to find his bloody clothes, please. Oh, and good luck with that,’ I chuckled to those listening.

‘What about you? Ya gonna be okay dealing with him?’ Joey asked, his thumb indicating the rampant Terri who was, by then, knees wide apart, shaking his genitalia in the direction of anyone in his vicinity, and laughing wildly, as he did it.

‘Yeah,’ I half grinned, ‘I’ll be fine ... Remember, I used to deal with his Big Daddy ...This,’ my head nodded towards the young man, bent over, his bare arse towards the cameras, hands slapping a tune on his butt cheeks, ‘is like history repeating itself ... Only, now, there’s an English twang and twenty years between the ages, though the mental age is still the same, and that’ll be about twelve ... Apart from that, pal, it’s all the bloody same to me.’

I patted his arm as I walked away. ‘... Go, do ... I’ll catch his lordship,’ I smiled to the guys, as I headed for the one-man-show, just about to harass a tall blonde with his swinging boy bits.

As Joey, and his Hench, cleared up the Press issue, Stevie hunted for clothes and grabbed bath sheets that sat by a hot tub to one side. I, in my lovely, floor length, midnight blue, scoop backed gown, looked very elegant as I headed for the greatest show on earth. My long legs carried me passed old faces from Max’s history, the pleasantries flying back and forth.

Terri was standing on his lonesome lounger singing along to the pumping new Ea$y track, Breakdown, as I reached him. He was swinging the boa around his head, as if a stripper, whilst working his hips with everything on show. Clocking the face I had on as I approached the lyrics suddenly changed to suit the mood.

‘... Oh, no, shit, so now I better run ... She’s gonna kill me for the things I’ve done ... But, man, I’ve had some bloody fun ... I love it here in Fake Town ...’

As he took the step that should have led him to freedom, I took one step forward, grabbed the end of the floating feathers, and pulled. He spun on his pissed, bare feet and, as he did so, I lifted my free hand, elbow bent, and pushed.

His balance was gone, one foot stepping backwards trying to regain his ground. Sadly, it was too late. As the next tried to follow the former there was nothing left.

I, and thirty plus other people, watched as Terri sailed backwards to join his loungers in the pool with a crash of white water. If he wasn’t sober five minutes ago, he certainly was as that point. Well, it always worked with Max.

Smiling, Stevie joined me by the water’s edge.

‘Now I know why ya wanted the damn towels,’ he chuckled. ‘Shit, wish I’d remembered that one.’

The night ended for Terri, there and then. He was hightailed away, Joey and Stevie carrying him between them, the memory cards to the cameras safely hidden away within Joey’s pockets. A path was found, through the chaos in the foyer, the damages bill paid, our coats collected. Then out to our awaiting car, Hatch on high alert, sat at the wheel, ready to go on my mark. Terri’s first CRMAs (Canadian Rock Music Awards) ceremony as part of Ea$y was over, the pomp and ceremony completed, and our exit immanent.

It was hitting 3 a.m. as Terri was slopped into a massive bed, in a massive suite, in a massive hotel in Beverley Hills. The view over the city at night was simply breath-taking, but he wouldn’t know that. He had crashed landed with style, a certain kind of style, the kind only found in one family. Yep, that’s the one, the Manley family.

Two weeks later and I was in Vegas working with a model called Misty Autumn helping to organise the shoot for her latest line in swimwear. This would have been great, but for a freakish cold snap that swaggered in from the north and partly froze the pool. In the early hours of the morning we had to think quickly. The answer, surprisingly, came from the new kid in the team, Nick Wild.

‘Hey, they have that amazing pool down in the basement, it’s got those huge palm trees and big fancy ferns in pots ... Maybe we could shoot down there ... It’ll be warmer too, considering she ain’t gonna be wearing much,’ he grinned, slowly looking Misty up and down, his eyes halting on her long, slender legs.

‘Nicky,’ I chuckled, ‘I could bloody kiss you ... Pack up and move on down. We’re going south.’

He made me laugh. Sort of cute, in a short chubby kind of way, his mop of straw coloured hair seldom sat completely straight on his head, his parting never in the same place twice. Frame-free specs made his hazel eyes sparkle, and those freckles on his cheeks were nearly the same colour as his hair. Hard to believe that inside an exterior that looked slightly vacant was a mind that never clocked off.

Misty, thank God, was another sweet kid, not too up herself and not prone to tantrums if she didn’t have the right coloured flowers on display. She was a small eater and a big smoker, which was an instant connection between us from the off. From a good family she had travelled the world before she was twenty-one. She smiled, sadly, when she said she’d missed her sister’s twenty-first birthday. She’d been in Paris at the time, doing a Vencor shoot. Her sister hadn’t spoken to her since.

I have to say it, Nicky was right. With the permission of the Hotel to move the shoot indoors, we arranged the plants in their pots, and lit it as was required. It all went like a dream, and the Photographer took some lovely shots to play with back at his studio. Misty didn’t freeze her assets off, I had a giggle with Nicky, and the job was finished come midnight. Everyone was happy.

I don’t rest well in strange beds, I never have, and one night, as I slept in that strange bed in Vegas, I’m sure I heard my name shouted loudly in my room. I sat bolt upright and replied with a yes, convinced there was someone at my bedroom door. My heart hammered in my chest as my blurred but clearing vision scanned the room in its half-light. You have to remember that staying near The Strip, in Vegas, there’s never total darkness.

Being a little freaked out, I slowly turned the covers back and slid from the bed, my hackles not eager to retreat, my senses on high alert. My journey took me from the bedroom, out into my suite’s sitting area, my eyes checking all the dark corners as I stuck to the shadow’s line.

I’d heard it before, the loud shout next to my ear. It was a night long ago. As I recall it was raining, the roads to the mountain were flooded and our landlines were down. A drunken half-sleep always drags up strange memories. In other words, pissed dreams suck.

Maybe it was Max who shouted in my ear. Maybe that was the reason he needed me to wake up. I was straying into a dark place, and maybe he did it to save me from more sorrow. But then what was worse, being shouted awake like that, or reliving something that should never have been revisited?

Dreams are a catalogue of half-forgotten memories that the subconscious feeds back to us in an order that is never meant to make any sense. I stood thinking that, naked, in my sitting area, watching the coming up of the sun through the huge window. Should I run to jump, or run to hide? How do I make it all go away, all the loss, all the memories? Could I do it? Could I break-away, could I make a run for it and find some other place to hide, or would jumping be the simpler of the two options?

Nah, no jumping that morning, it was too nice a sunrise. The only jumping I was going to be doing was into a shower. I turned and walked to the drinks cabinet behind me. The usual was thrown together, long, no ice, and then taken to the club chair that had the best view in town. I sat in silence, sipping my drink, my own atmosphere not really cutting the mustard.

My last few years had been a journey I always thought would involve Max in some way. The day we became man and wife, I never realised I’d be growing old with a bloody ghost. Terri, his long lost son, had brought so much to my life in becoming the child we never had. He filled some of the space that needed filling. English on one side, Canadian on the other, that coin could flip either way, as he did on a regular basis.

I had noticed, over the years that had flown by since losing Max, no one had got inside my head. I guess the only male that really challenged me at that point was Craig, my boss. Dan Foster had tried, our attempts at a relationship bordering on hopeless, but fun while it lasted. I still loved him, we’d always be close, but I wasn’t the girl for him. I’d been spoilt by Max.

I’d retreated from the fire when the fuel had run out. Max was my fuel, and he kept the fire in me aglow, night and day, year after year. There was no one left that could stoke me like Max did. We worked so well together, our love, our life. I picked our history apart and rebuilt it once, and it worked out just the same as it did the first time round. I’d come to the conclusion that we were simply meant to be.

The silence of that hotel room gave way to all sorts of voices in my head. Rubbing my temples with the fingers of my left hand slowly stroked them into submission.

‘Shush ... Calm down, will ya ... Stop with all the shouting, it’s too early ...’

They faded as I finished my first drink of the day, and it wasn’t even time for breakfast in Restaurant Alzir. I watched the hands on the clock, the seconds bouncing passed. History was being made with me sat there consuming a Jack at 7:05 in the morning. I liked that thought.

One hand dropped as the other rose. My drink was finished in three quick swallows, the glass placed on the low table beside me. I had work arranged. There was a flight to be caught back to Edmonton, then a meeting at Head Office I was supposed to be attending. When was that?

I lifted from my seat and ambled back to the bedroom. Dragging on my silk robe and tying it in some crap knot was my only way of hiding the wave of discomfort I suddenly felt. There was the sense of someone watching, and it was a sense I didn’t like much, plus it shouldn’t have been there in the first place.

I hunted round till I found it. My phone held all my important work dates in its little electronic diary thingy. What struck me first were the twenty-seven missed calls. How could they be there and me not hear them bringing my mobile to life on my bedside table?

Looking down at the small up-to-date screen, at first it didn’t make sense. Why was it placed on mute, and how had I lost two days? Then I looked up and cast my eyes around my empty room. The more I looked the more questions I raised, and the more questions I raised, the less I liked it.

The side of the bed I had slid from, where the sheets were rolled back as I always left them, seemed no different from any other rise and shine. But I hadn’t looked beyond that, had I? I lived alone so why should I? Why should I check for any other signs of life? There was no point, I was a single woman.

The other pillows lay dented, one folded to raise a head higher maybe. The covers were thrown up to meet them, a note wedged in the folds of the fabric. It stood stark white against the russet coloured cases, the Hotel’s gold emblem seen just on the paper’s crease. A glass stood, vacated of any innards, left for Housekeeping to remove once my room had been rendered the same.

All the evidence I needed was a killing field before me, from the rumpled sheets down to my strategically discarded clothes, there was no denying it. It seems I’d partook in a little more than a take-home, and the leftover had removed himself from my menu, his note a fond farewell and the cherry on the cake.

Several things bombarded my brain all at the same time. They descended on me in a bizarre chain that started in that hotel room and reached all the way back to Edmonton. Well, I liked a challenge so this was going to be fun.

As my eyes took in the state of the place, the empty glass over on that side, the one that matched mine, I listened to all my voice messages. First up was Nicky saying the shoot was a winner and it was thumbs up all round, be prepared for more work. Most of them were from Craig reminding me about the meeting. Next up was a quick hi from Stevie, he hoped work wasn’t dragging me down. Then AJ, she and Bella were missing me, wanted to know if I was about the following weekend. Then last, but definitely not least, was Craig again, only this time ranting loudly about why I hadn’t returned any of his calls, and how I’d managed to miss the bloody meeting after he’d left enough messages regarding the sodding thing in the first place. I groaned as my day slowly became chronically crap.

I left my phone on mute as I dropped it into my robe pocket. My fingers instantly met as the thumb nail of my right hand run itself under the nails of the other. Grey eyes had come up to rest on the folded paper wedged in its place of presentation. Hesitant feet then started me around the bed. They carried me to within reach, holding me there for a moment.

‘Sweet Jesus Christ almighty ... You’re acting like it’s a bloody snake about to strike ... Pick it up and bloody read it, woman,’ I said aloud to myself to push me into the action.

For some reason I looked behind me before I moved. Whether I was expecting him to walk from the bathroom or something I don’t know. Turning I saw the mirror above the basin through the open door. It was an empty reflection. No one was hiding in there.

I sighed loudly as I leant forward, the white paper taken and left folded as I slid it into my pocket along with my phone. Before I walked away, I bent to run my hand over the imprint of the one that had filled the space. Picking the pillow up, but holding the imprint there, I sunk my face into it, inhaling through my nose as I did so. I laughed at myself. I couldn’t remember him at all, not his face, his build, nothing. My mind was a complete blank where he was concerned, but nice aftershave.

I walked back to the sitting area, collected my glass and made myself another drink. Five minutes later the call for breakfast in my room had been made, and I was sat with that folded piece of paper back in my hands. I turned it, smelt it, I tapped it on my teeth, and then I stared out the window. Room Service arrived and left. It was then thrown onto the side table while I had my breakfast and drank my coffee in silence. When I’d finished, I took it back to my chair by the window, the charade continuing.

Holding it as though it were a little book about to be read, the bottom fold clamped down against my index finger with my thumb, I paused. Using the index finger of the other hand I slowly forced the fold apart so at to see what was written inside. Was it our booze bill? Was it his life story? Was he married?

Unfolding it more I was pleasantly surprised to find a nice handwritten script. His words swept across the A4 page, it was easy to read, and no smudging from the fountain pen used. That alone can tell you a lot about someone.

Morning, pretty lady, he started, I didn’t want to wake you so I left you to sleep. Sorry I had to shoot, it’s not my style usually, but work calls me back onto the road. Last night was amazing. I’m so glad I went into the bar and met you there.

I stopped reading and looked out the window for a second thinking. Bar, what bar? First, what bloke and, now, what bar?

If you can’t remember, you kept calling me Max, but my name is actually Marcus, so you weren’t that far off. And I’ve paid the bar tab downstairs so don’t go worrying about that.

Oops, calling him Max, that was a bit sad, and the bar was downstairs in my hotel, and he’d settled the bill. At least that answered those two questions for me. So, I’d met him there, downstairs, in that building? And I still couldn’t remember what he looked like.

For everything else you can’t remember, check your mobile, you put that to good use last night. I also did a selfie and a shot of my business card, so you now have my contact details as requested. (Smiley face)

My eyes flicked to my phone and back as I read those lines. That could be a really scary outcome. A guy I slept with, and can’t remember, had been in control of not only his mobile but mine too. Oh, God. My stomach lurched as my mind ran wild with a million different horror stories that could all be leaked to the bloody press, my nude photos included.

Why, oh, why did I get so pissed sometimes I couldn’t remember past hours, let alone past days. They seemed to have gone missing, a little like the features of my latest conquest’s face. Apart from the flashbacks, which would soon be starting, all I had were the images that lay within my mobile.

I looked down at its blank screen. How small and harmless it looked, but it held the key to the night before. My eyes swayed back to the note in my hand.

Sorry, I have to leave you now. Be safe on your journey home to England, and give my love to your crazy Aunt Emily, she sounds like she can party like her niece. (Another slightly different smiley face with its tongue poking out) Take care now, Betty B, maybe we’ll stay here again someday ... Kind regards, and the best of wishes ... Marcus. L. Collins xxx

Home to England, my Aunt Emily, and Betty bloody B? What the hell?

My phone was lifted so I might see what craziness had been played out in the hours that were missing. Checking out the Gallery section gave me a few surprises, and in different ways. I slowly scrolled down to view the last few shots taken. As he said, there were his card details along with a rather nice selfie of him leaning against me, while I slept. You know, for an older guy, he wasn’t bad looking first thing in the morning.

I studied his strong features, his reasonable smile, and his slept in hair, the way it sat, his face and eyes. He looked like good stock, had a nice tan, dark eyes, salt and pepper hair. Sat in just his boxers, as he took his photo, I saw that he was a rather nice build, quite padded in parts, muscles in all the right places. His upper arms also had a nice shape to them. He looked pretty trim with his tight tummy and nice thighs.

So, what of the other photos? Well, there was nothing on there for me to really worry about, mainly they were in the bar, being silly. The drinks had flowed, obviously. There were a few with a middle-ages couple I didn’t know from Adam, a young guy who was in a hotel uniform, dancing with Marcus, and the rest were blurred or so dark they didn’t come out anyway. I hoped and prayed, when we got back to my suite, that Marcus didn’t go all paparazzi and get some select shots of me on his phone while I was out cold.

That was one of my biggest fears, pics like that getting into the papers. I hated that thought more than running out of Jack, how awful. Deep down, I think my inbuilt security-system created that made up name and made up life. Here was to hoping it would be enough to throw any nosy bast’d off my scent. Fingers crossed it bloody worked.

I sat back into my chair, looking down at the stranger who’d humped me the night before. How does an event like that happen and you not even remember it?

The little screen slowly darkened, and then it went black after a few seconds. It was time to go home.

~ Terri ~

When It’s Over

‘Christ ... I’ve only been gone ten bloody minutes and the place looks like a sodding tip ... Terri,’ she moaned, her hands on her hips as usual, ‘put your shit in your room before I bag it and bin it.’

She stalked off to her bedroom