logical concern. In fact, he couldn't give a
monkey's about the cops. I get an explanation a few
minutes later because something incredible happens:
nothing. Absolutely bugger all. The policemen saw us, of
course they did, we brushed right past them. Still,
nothing's happened.
Instead, we've carried on with our journey in the lift
in silence, with him probably already fantasising about
what he's going to do once we get up there; and me still
petrified, not yet recovered from the head-on impact with
the law. When we get up to our floor he goes over to the
room without a moment's hesitation – he must know the
hotel like the back of his hand.
The first thing I notice are those hideous faded green
curtains drawn across both windows. Fucking ugly
décor! What sort of person has such bad taste to put
curtains like that in a room like this? The rest is pretty
basic. Quite big but only with the bare essentials: a bed
and matching bedside tables, a desk up against the wall
with a phone. It's a good thing I've spotted that straight
away; I could lunge for it if Joe gets violent. The carpet's
boring, very dark blue, nearly black, I can't be quite sure.
A snapping turn of a key brings me back to reality. Joe
has locked us in. No way! We still haven't said a word
to each other, except for standard introductions.
'No, the door stays unlocked,' I say.
What a nerve! I've hardly said the words before
realising just how curt I sounded. Can you do that to a
man you're supposed to be giving yourself to completely?
I have absolutely no idea right now. It's the real Laura
talking, the one who speaks her mind. He's pulling a bit
of a face, just for a moment but long enough for me to
see it.
'If you like. It was just so we could be left alone.'
He's not arguing about it and respects my request.
Perhaps this won't be all that hard after all.
I'm so wound up and uneasy I can't stop moving,
walking aimlessly backwards and forwards between the
few pieces of furniture as if trying to offload my stress.
'Are you feeling OK?' he asks.
I'm so obviously tense that the old boy feels he has to
ask how I am.
'Yes, I'm fine,' I say quickly to get the pointless
conversation over with.
'So, you're a student, are you? A student of what?
How old are you, actually?'
I can't bring myself to answer. I'm in too much of a
state and too busy looking at him. He's fairly athletic
looking and, apart from the pukey shirt, the rest is pretty
acceptable. In a way I'm impressed by how old he is.
He continues to ask me a couple of boring questions,
and I'm no more forthcoming with them, more out of
awkwardness than bad manners.
I turn round and see those ugly curtains again. Why am I
so obsessed with them? Everything about them is repulsive.
They're sneering at me with that fabric no one's ever
washed. I know that they only bother me this much
because they're a reflection of my ugly, miserable situation.
He comes across the room carrying a small brown case
I hadn't noticed till now. A real businessman's briefcase.
He puts it gently down on the bed and starts to work the
combination lock. Such an incongruous scene: just try to
picture this bloke playing the great professional in his
stupid lumberjack shirt!
What's he actually hiding in there? I have a quick
enquiring look. At the moment I'm expecting him to take
out all sorts of medical equipment, tools and utensils to
butcher me. Or perhaps just one little gadget to add a bit
of spice to our activities. I'm suddenly very worried
about what he might want to get up to; after all, I don't
know him from Adam.
The briefcase is lying open on the bed. For a moment
I think I'm in a Tarantino film and, as I move closer to
see what's inside it, I even picture wodges of banknotes.
Instead it's just a boring letter which Joe hands to me.
'What do you want me to do? Read here in front of
you?'
Without a word, he nods to mean yes. He's not exactly
eccentric but is desperately trying to create something
enigmatic in the
monkey's about the cops. I get an explanation a few
minutes later because something incredible happens:
nothing. Absolutely bugger all. The policemen saw us, of
course they did, we brushed right past them. Still,
nothing's happened.
Instead, we've carried on with our journey in the lift
in silence, with him probably already fantasising about
what he's going to do once we get up there; and me still
petrified, not yet recovered from the head-on impact with
the law. When we get up to our floor he goes over to the
room without a moment's hesitation – he must know the
hotel like the back of his hand.
The first thing I notice are those hideous faded green
curtains drawn across both windows. Fucking ugly
décor! What sort of person has such bad taste to put
curtains like that in a room like this? The rest is pretty
basic. Quite big but only with the bare essentials: a bed
and matching bedside tables, a desk up against the wall
with a phone. It's a good thing I've spotted that straight
away; I could lunge for it if Joe gets violent. The carpet's
boring, very dark blue, nearly black, I can't be quite sure.
A snapping turn of a key brings me back to reality. Joe
has locked us in. No way! We still haven't said a word
to each other, except for standard introductions.
'No, the door stays unlocked,' I say.
What a nerve! I've hardly said the words before
realising just how curt I sounded. Can you do that to a
man you're supposed to be giving yourself to completely?
I have absolutely no idea right now. It's the real Laura
talking, the one who speaks her mind. He's pulling a bit
of a face, just for a moment but long enough for me to
see it.
'If you like. It was just so we could be left alone.'
He's not arguing about it and respects my request.
Perhaps this won't be all that hard after all.
I'm so wound up and uneasy I can't stop moving,
walking aimlessly backwards and forwards between the
few pieces of furniture as if trying to offload my stress.
'Are you feeling OK?' he asks.
I'm so obviously tense that the old boy feels he has to
ask how I am.
'Yes, I'm fine,' I say quickly to get the pointless
conversation over with.
'So, you're a student, are you? A student of what?
How old are you, actually?'
I can't bring myself to answer. I'm in too much of a
state and too busy looking at him. He's fairly athletic
looking and, apart from the pukey shirt, the rest is pretty
acceptable. In a way I'm impressed by how old he is.
He continues to ask me a couple of boring questions,
and I'm no more forthcoming with them, more out of
awkwardness than bad manners.
I turn round and see those ugly curtains again. Why am I
so obsessed with them? Everything about them is repulsive.
They're sneering at me with that fabric no one's ever
washed. I know that they only bother me this much
because they're a reflection of my ugly, miserable situation.
He comes across the room carrying a small brown case
I hadn't noticed till now. A real businessman's briefcase.
He puts it gently down on the bed and starts to work the
combination lock. Such an incongruous scene: just try to
picture this bloke playing the great professional in his
stupid lumberjack shirt!
What's he actually hiding in there? I have a quick
enquiring look. At the moment I'm expecting him to take
out all sorts of medical equipment, tools and utensils to
butcher me. Or perhaps just one little gadget to add a bit
of spice to our activities. I'm suddenly very worried
about what he might want to get up to; after all, I don't
know him from Adam.
The briefcase is lying open on the bed. For a moment
I think I'm in a Tarantino film and, as I move closer to
see what's inside it, I even picture wodges of banknotes.
Instead it's just a boring letter which Joe hands to me.
'What do you want me to do? Read here in front of
you?'
Without a word, he nods to mean yes. He's not exactly
eccentric but is desperately trying to create something
enigmatic in the
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