CHAPTER NINE
When we got back to the brothel, Rod disappeared off to shower, and I poured myself a coffee and sat down at the kitchen table amidst the used coffee cups and empty pizza boxes. I nodded to Glenn, who smiled back at me. “You must be Jude,” Glenn said. “Sorry I didn’t say hello earlier, I’m useless without coffee.”
“Good to meet you, Glenn,” I said.
Glenn peered at me, then said, “I know you from somewhere, don’t I?”
I shook my head. “No, we’ve never met before.”
Glenn kept staring at me, and for the first time at the brothel, I began to wonder if someone would recognize me. “We have met,” he insisted. “It was a party at John’s house, last October.”
“No, it wasn’t me. I don’t know a John.”
“Really?” Glenn said, and I shook my head again.
“Must be someone who looks just like me,” I said, and I was relieved when Glenn turned his attention back to his coffee.
It was typical. I was washed up, my career as an actor was over, I kept being told. No one knew my face or remembered any of the crap movies I’d been in. That is until I tried to do something different. Not that these people were recognizing me. I was doomed to a life of people saying don’t I know you?
I pushed himself to my feet, glad that a night of driving meant they weren’t aching and began to fill the dishwasher and stack the empty pizza boxes beside the wastebasket. I was folding towels from the dryer when Selene slid an arm around my waist and hugged me.
“Thanks,” she said. “And for doing the kitchen. Eamon’s a lovely man, and the girls behave better with him around, but he doesn’t do any of this stuff.”
Autumn’s voice called out, “Chloe? Jessica? Rod? I’ve got bookings for you, girls. Where’s Jude?”
I handed the folded towels to Selene and said, “I’m here,” as I walked back into the kitchen.
I took the booking slips off Autumn and went off in search of the staff. Chloe was sitting on the back step, smoking, her clinging evening dress hitched up around her hips so she could sit down. She had glorious legs, tanned and firm, and I found a kind of vicarious thrill in watching her settle her dress down around her ankles when she stood up.
Jessica was sprawled across one of the couches in the TV room, asleep, and I woke her, stepping back out of reach as she woke up with her arms flailing. “Sorry to wake you, hon,” I said, and she rubbed her eyes and then reached for her make-up bag to fix her face again.
“Where’s Rod?” I asked Peyton, who was sitting cross-legged on a couch eating pizza.
“In the shower, darlin’,” she said, not taking her eyes off the game show on the TV.
I knocked on the door of the shower that was in use. “Rod?” I called out. “You’ve got a call-out.”
The bathroom door slid open, and I stared at smooth tanned skin and a flat belly with a sun tattoo appearing from beneath the towel sliding down Rod’s hips.
Rod said, “Thanks, Jude,” and when I lifted my eyes to Rod’s face, Rod was shaking his head, amused by my admiration. “I won’t be a moment,” he told me, and he slid the door closed again.
I looked around the utility room, relieved to find it was empty and that no one had caught me ogling Rod. Except Rod himself. Damn, there was a world of difference between appreciating the glimpses of long legs and cleavage that the girls gave me, and staring at Rod’s body. It wasn’t his physical appearance that I’d been admiring. With Rod, there was no aesthetic admiration in my mind. There was something more, a deeper connection that I had with Rod. All I wanted to do was drop to my knees and lick Rod’s tattoo.