into the machine.
‘
Colette Secret Island
,’ he said when he turned round, to no one in particular. ‘“No One Belongs Here More Than You”.’
Turning back to the room, he started dancing, languidly to start with, as befitted the slow build-up of the tune.
I watched, awed, as he moved, panther-like. Nobody else was even looking at him – they must have seen all this before, I reasoned.
Seeing me watching him, Konrad held out one hand. Like a rabbit caught in headlights, I let him take hold of me and pull me towards him. Trying not to let my drunkenness show, I started to move in time with the music, slowly and sensuously. Konrad’s eyes were on mine. I felt giddy, a little sick, but I didn’t want to break away and ruin this moment. Unlikely as it seemed, I thought that he may even fancy me too.
Then the song began to fade out, and Konrad took hold of my elbow and steered me to the side of the room, where he refilled my glass again. I was beginning to realise I’d be ill if I drank any more, but I accepted the glass and together we stood in the window, looking down into the street below.
‘I think you’ll be happy here, Rachel,’ he said, and I wondered what he knew of me – or what he thought he knew of me. It was true that I hadn’t been happy in London, of late. But was that so very obvious? Konrad and I had only known each other for a couple of hours, and to me he was a complete mystery. What, in turn, could he surmise of me? Did my discontent show through?
Before I had a chance to answer, two of the other models came into our orbit and began to chat to us. Then Konrad drifted away, gesturing to someone across the room. The next time I looked, through increasingly blurred vision, he was dancing again, shirtless this time. I nearly swooned to see him like that, and I felt a violent stab of lust in my belly and between my legs. I’d never known naked desire like this, and I was afraid of it. Especially when I stood no chance with someone like Konrad.
I swallowed back my bitterness with another gulp of champagne and looked back out of the window. People came over and I wound in and out of conversations haphazardly. I tried not to look for or at Konrad.
I had just started wobbling on my feet and decided I ought to head back to Rochelle’s apartment when I noticed that someone had filled the bathtub with water and bubbles. Some of the others had got naked and a couple were climbing in. As they sat down, their friends passed them their champagne flutes. The lights were dim; the music had become languorous once more. Across the room I noticed Konrad, still shirtless, watching me, a smile flitting about his lips. I looked away, this time incapable of returning his gaze.
It was all getting too much for me now – not just Konrad but the whole situation. But at the same time my professional instincts took over and I found myself seeking out my camera where I’d left it in a corner of the room. Pulling the strap over my head, I walked back towards the bath, holding my camera up to my face, toying with the lens. A couple of the others looked at me, but nobody seemed surprised or shocked, or showed any objections to being photographed. I clicked away rapidly, eager to catch the moment before it all evaporated into the night like smoke. I knew from experience never to hesitate.
I took hundreds of shots of the bodies cavorting in the bath, of others dancing, and of those just draped across the bed like giant cats, drinking and chatting. Then all of a sudden I was done. I just needed to get home and pass into oblivion for the night.
Grabbing my camera bag, I turned towards the door. Konrad stood in front of me, chest bare, top button of his fly undone, so that a small furring of hair was visible where his six-pack belly tapered away down to his crotch.
He struck a pose. I laughed, uncertainly, and began to snap away again.
Chapter 8: Rochelle
Thank God for Kyle. He saved me from myself, albeit without
‘
Colette Secret Island
,’ he said when he turned round, to no one in particular. ‘“No One Belongs Here More Than You”.’
Turning back to the room, he started dancing, languidly to start with, as befitted the slow build-up of the tune.
I watched, awed, as he moved, panther-like. Nobody else was even looking at him – they must have seen all this before, I reasoned.
Seeing me watching him, Konrad held out one hand. Like a rabbit caught in headlights, I let him take hold of me and pull me towards him. Trying not to let my drunkenness show, I started to move in time with the music, slowly and sensuously. Konrad’s eyes were on mine. I felt giddy, a little sick, but I didn’t want to break away and ruin this moment. Unlikely as it seemed, I thought that he may even fancy me too.
Then the song began to fade out, and Konrad took hold of my elbow and steered me to the side of the room, where he refilled my glass again. I was beginning to realise I’d be ill if I drank any more, but I accepted the glass and together we stood in the window, looking down into the street below.
‘I think you’ll be happy here, Rachel,’ he said, and I wondered what he knew of me – or what he thought he knew of me. It was true that I hadn’t been happy in London, of late. But was that so very obvious? Konrad and I had only known each other for a couple of hours, and to me he was a complete mystery. What, in turn, could he surmise of me? Did my discontent show through?
Before I had a chance to answer, two of the other models came into our orbit and began to chat to us. Then Konrad drifted away, gesturing to someone across the room. The next time I looked, through increasingly blurred vision, he was dancing again, shirtless this time. I nearly swooned to see him like that, and I felt a violent stab of lust in my belly and between my legs. I’d never known naked desire like this, and I was afraid of it. Especially when I stood no chance with someone like Konrad.
I swallowed back my bitterness with another gulp of champagne and looked back out of the window. People came over and I wound in and out of conversations haphazardly. I tried not to look for or at Konrad.
I had just started wobbling on my feet and decided I ought to head back to Rochelle’s apartment when I noticed that someone had filled the bathtub with water and bubbles. Some of the others had got naked and a couple were climbing in. As they sat down, their friends passed them their champagne flutes. The lights were dim; the music had become languorous once more. Across the room I noticed Konrad, still shirtless, watching me, a smile flitting about his lips. I looked away, this time incapable of returning his gaze.
It was all getting too much for me now – not just Konrad but the whole situation. But at the same time my professional instincts took over and I found myself seeking out my camera where I’d left it in a corner of the room. Pulling the strap over my head, I walked back towards the bath, holding my camera up to my face, toying with the lens. A couple of the others looked at me, but nobody seemed surprised or shocked, or showed any objections to being photographed. I clicked away rapidly, eager to catch the moment before it all evaporated into the night like smoke. I knew from experience never to hesitate.
I took hundreds of shots of the bodies cavorting in the bath, of others dancing, and of those just draped across the bed like giant cats, drinking and chatting. Then all of a sudden I was done. I just needed to get home and pass into oblivion for the night.
Grabbing my camera bag, I turned towards the door. Konrad stood in front of me, chest bare, top button of his fly undone, so that a small furring of hair was visible where his six-pack belly tapered away down to his crotch.
He struck a pose. I laughed, uncertainly, and began to snap away again.
Chapter 8: Rochelle
Thank God for Kyle. He saved me from myself, albeit without
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