Behind the Mask: Enter a World Where Women Make - and Break - the Rules. Emma Sayle
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quite the answer she’d hoped for by the sounds of it. She goes on: ‘You’re being very brave, but you must be absolutely appalled at her behaviour. Oh, I pity you, I really do. You spent all that money on her, giving her the best education and start in life … and look how she’s repaid you. The sex industry. So sordid! I’m disgusted and shocked and I expect you are too. Silly girl! The whole country has read every vile detail.’ My Annoying Distant Relative has evidently taken this very personally from the anger in her voice. She thunders down the phone, getting quite carried away. ‘This whole thing is seedy and plain wrong. You must make her see sense. This could end in disaster; it could destroy the family. It reminds me of the Profumo Affair.’
‘Now, now.’ I can hear frustration simmering in Colonel’s voice. ‘Stop being so ridiculous. It’s hardly comparable to that.’
Mothership is staring intently at me, as if to gauge whether I’m hurt by what I’m hearing. She refills our glasses with wine, then gets to her feet and says coolly to Colonel, ‘Give me the damn phone.’
My father hands it over, looking apprehensively at my mother’s stony expression.
‘Good evening,’ she says softly down the phone. ‘How nice of you to call. We appreciate your concern, but everything’s fine.’
‘I strongly disagree, I’m afraid,’ Annoying Distant Relative barks back.
My mother says slowly and clearly, ‘Emma has thought it all out and is working very hard to make her business a success. She has a dream and she intends to accomplish it. If we don’t accept what she does, we could risk losing her and I’d never be prepared to allow that.’
There’s silence. I wonder if my Annoying Distant Relative has lost her voice. Then there’s a massive grunt and she starts again.
‘Sex parties! It isn’t a real job, a normal job. This isn’t what normal people do. You should be doing everything to make her see sense. Lock her up if you need to,’ she roars. ‘I’m perfectly happy to help you. I’ll stand guard if that’s what you need. We’ve got to make her see sense.’
‘Normal? I can’t see Emma being content living in Normalville, working a nine-to-five office job for the rest of her life. There’s nothing wrong with it, but Emma would find it incredibly suffocating. Who are we to judge if she says an emphatic no to keeping her life safe, simple and predictable?’
‘But it’s wrong; you shouldn’t tolerate it. You should whip some sense into her if you have to.’
Mothership finally loses her patience. It’s obvious that nothing she says will make any difference. ‘The simple fact is that it’s none of your damn business. I don’t care what you think about my daughter, or me, because I’ve never been able to stand you or your nasty opinions. I have waited over 30 years to say this, but honestly, why don’t you just … FUCK OFF!’ She hangs up and re-joins us at the table. Colonel and I are smiling.
‘More lamb, anyone?’ she asks, as if nothing has happened.
‘I’m done, Ma,’ I say, laughing. ‘But thanks.’
My mother smiles back. She knows I mean thank you for more than just the dinner. ‘Oh, she’s an awful old bag! Don’t let her get under your skin. Now off you go and join your friends. They’re probably all waiting for you.’
I turn up to Kouar Bar, a club in West London. It’s one of my favourite playgrounds when I’m in the mood for a late night. Inside, there’s an aura of decadence created by the red walls, dark leather sofas and seats and the low-level lighting that conjures up an intimate atmosphere. I spot Plaything and Miss D at once, sitting at our usual table in the corner and deep in flirtatious conversation. They’ve not exactly been an item since the first Killing Kittens party, when they got down to business in the Jacuzzi, but they’re on very friendly terms, especially as they both love to attend as many KK parties as they can, sometimes amusing themselves together and sometimes not. Both of them are too much in love with playing the field to confine themselves to each other, even though there’s no doubt they find one another attractive.
As I approach, I notice that Plaything has a supportive collar round his neck.
‘Evening,’ I say, sitting down and picking up the glass of champagne that’s awaiting my arrival. I gulp it down in one go.
‘Whoa, slow down, Emma. The night is yet young. You need to pace yourself,’ says Plaything, watching me.
I signal to the waitress to bring us a bottle. I’m still in the process of obliterating the Annoying Distant Relative from my mind – although my mother’s sparky defence of me has cheered me up. I’m sure now that she’s on my side and all is forgiven. I give Plaything a sideways look. ‘And you know all about pacing yourself, I suppose? What’s with the neck brace? Have you been up to your usual tricks?’
Plaything grins. ‘Well …’ He takes a sip of champagne, then reaches up to rub his neck, grimacing at the soreness beneath his fingers. ‘I blame it entirely on you, Emma.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes, you. You’re the one who bought me a box of glow-in-the-dark condoms.’ He smiles cheekily, then takes a packet from his pocket and drops it on the table.
I raise my eyebrows. ‘Gosh, Plaything. Heard of subtlety?’
‘Want to see my glow stick, ladies?’ he jokes.
‘You’re not in a fit state to look down long enough to get it out,’ I retort. ‘Now put them away, for goodness’ sake. How did you stuff up your neck? I’m guessing some kind of awkward sexual manoeuvre?’
‘You could say that.’ Plaything’s expression takes on a blissed-out quality at the memory. ‘I pulled one hell of a fiery American girl last night. I was her English knight in shining armour, apparently. She was quite keen on bouncing on top of me while she grabbed my neck and buried my face in her tits. It was great, of course, but when she came she gave me a particularly violent tug and …’ He winced at the memory. ‘I am as you see me now. It was bloody amazing, though.’
I laugh. ‘That brace is going to be a bit of a hindrance tomorrow night, isn’t it?’
‘It’ll be off by then,’ he says confidently.
Miss D is running her eyes over Plaything’s fine form. He’s a modern-day Cary Grant: young, tall, dark and handsome. Our friendship blossomed when we were children and now Plaything lives in London and works as a body-pump instructor. His piercing blue eyes and lean, toned body have hypnotized hordes of women into bed. Luckily for me, I’ve always been immune to his charms and he’s never tried to seduce me either. I think it’s the secret of our long and happy friendship. Miss D, on the other hand, seems to be in the grip of her primal instincts – as usual. She’s twirling her hair around her finger, wetting her glossy bee-stung lips and fluttering her eyelashes at Plaything. She slowly begins to stroke her champagne glass up and down with her index finger.
I frown at her. ‘Stop flirting, D. Where’s your self-control? Besides, can’t you see he’s injured?’
She laughs, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. ‘Sorry, I can’t help myself. You know that sex is the very core of my existence, Ems.’
Plaything says, ‘And she’s only human, Emma.’ He winks at Miss D.
‘The sex party is tomorrow and you can do what you want then,’ I say sternly. ‘Let’s keep it clean tonight, shall we?’
Just then, Trolley Dolly comes striding up to our table. She drops her bag on a chair and slips off her coat, revealing one of her immaculate business suits underneath. By the look of her no-nonsense expression, she’s had a long, hard day. ‘Hi, Emma. Sorry I’m late,’ she says. ‘Have you started?’
‘The champagne’s just arriving,’ I say as she kisses my cheek. The waitress is bringing the bottle I ordered in an ice bucket. Trolley Dolly greets the others as the glasses are filled and we are left to