CHARMED
17 MARCH
Oh my God, I don’t think she’s wearing any underwear.
I shield my eyes from the bright stage lights and take a second, longer look.
. . . nope.
She’s definitely not wearing any underwear.
Sienna is sat six rows back from the stage, behind the small gathering of bored reporters and the show’s producers, and she’s just flashed me her bits and pieces.
Right as I’m about to start taking questions, my uninhibited girlfriend has given me a seductive wink and pulled her slinky red dress up over her thighs to reveal the fact that she’s evidently forgotten to wear her knickers to this press conference.
What a startling revelation.
. . . now she’s biting her bottom lip and her eyes have gone extremely smoky.
I’m completely transfixed.
I have no doubt that this was exactly the reaction she was after.
‘Are you looking forward to getting down to it, Nathan?’ a voice asks.
‘Yeah, you fucking bet,’ I reply in a hoarse whisper, not taking my eyes off Sienna.
‘I beg your pardon?’
I look down at the skinny ginger reporter from The Evening News as if seeing him for the first time. ‘I’m sorry . . . what did you say?’
The guy gives me a funny look. ‘I said, are you looking forward to getting down to it?’
My eyes flick back to Sienna, who is now sucking her index finger. ‘Getting down to what?’ I say slowly, reluctantly returning my gaze to the five-foot-four junior reporter. I assume he’s not actually enquiring about what I’m going to be getting up to later with the glamorous brunette sat a mere couple of metres behind him.
‘The shows, Mr James,’ he replies. ‘The last tour of Foodies shows you’re going to be doing?’
‘Oh . . . oh yes! The tour! That’s right. That’s what I’m here to talk about, isn’t it?’ I look at Sienna again. It’s a little hard to do anything else right now. The Queen could ride into the back of the theatre on a red, white and blue gryphon and I’d have trouble paying much attention.
Sienna is now sucking two fingers. It’s the most erotic thing I think I’ve ever seen.
I knew I shouldn’t have brought her along. She is always one hell of a distraction – in the nicest possible way, of course, but I really should be paying more attention to what’s going on.
. . . three fingers. Three bloody fingers are in there now. I think I’d better wrap this press conference up soon, before she tries to stick her whole fist in her gob.
‘So, are you looking forward to doing it?’ the skinny reporter asks, exasperation clear in his voice.
When I still fail to offer a coherent response, he follows my eyeline over his shoulder to where Sienna is sitting. The second he turns to look at her, the fingers are out of her mouth and a demure expression instantly appears on her face.
‘Of course Nathan is looking forward to the tour, aren’t you, Nathan?’
I look to my left to see my tall, bespectacled manager, Taylor, standing up from his front-row seat in a hurry, giving me a look that screams get your shit together.
‘Yes!’ I blurt out. ‘I’m very much looking forward to the tour! It should be a fantastic way for me to bow out from performing with these guys.’ I stick a thumb over my shoulder at the gigantic Foodies poster pinned to the closed stage curtains behind me. A photographer standing next to the ginger reporter takes a couple of pictures as I do this. The bright flash of his camera instantly sparks off a headache.
‘And you can’t wait to see the brand-new stage set that Brightside Productions have designed . . . can you, Nathan?’ Taylor adds, eyes bulging.
I stare at him for a moment, trying as hard as I can to remember the rest of the scripted responses he had me learn in preparation for this conference. ‘No! I absolutely cannot wait,’ I eventually say, faking enthusiasm for all I’m worth. ‘Brightside are going to do a fabulous job with this Foodies tour, and . . .’ I trail off. There was something else, but I can’t quite remember . . .
Taylor silently mouths the word ‘future’ at me.
Ah yes, that was it. ‘. . . and I also can’t wait to see what they’ve got in store for my characters in the future!’
My manager rolls his eyes and sits back down with a relieved grunt next to Richard and Mary Brightside, the people who have forked out an idiotic amount of cash to take my singing foodstuffs away from me.
An Asian guy who I don’t recognise stands up next to Taylor. ‘Hello, Mr James, I’m Sonny Duhal from The Daily Torrent. I know this deal to hand your creations over to Brightside Productions is going to be very lucrative, so I guess my question to you is . . . what are you going to do with all of that cash, now you’re done with The Foodies?’
Ah yes. The cash. The great big pile of wonga I should be receiving a short time after I gallop off into the sunset. What exactly am I going to do with it?
I shrug. ‘Go on holiday somewhere? Maybe get a swimming pool?’ I shrug again. ‘To be honest, I’ve not really given it much thought.’
Or maybe buy Sienna some new underwear? my brain adds silently to itself. Possibly of the crotchless variety?
I very deliberately don’t look at my girlfriend. If I do, I’m likely to lose my train of thought again, and Taylor will be very angry with me.
Sonny Duhal seems relatively satisfied with that answer. ‘Secondly, Mr James . . . will you miss The Foodies?’ he adds.
I blink a couple of times. What an odd question to ask. ‘What do you mean?’
Duhal points at the enormous poster behind me. ‘Will you miss them? Not being around them any more? Not working on the albums or the shows?’
I look back at the poster again. On it, all six Foodies are posed in a variety of outlandish ways around the cartoon kitchen they inhabit. All of them look resolutely stupid. They also look like second-rate versions of the Teletubbies – because that’s exactly what they are.
In a masterpiece of poor Photoshopping, I am also represented on the poster by way of a large floating head stuck rather haphazardly in the top left-hand corner. From my facial expression I appear to have lost control of at least ninety per cent of my mental faculties.
Front and centre on the poster, though, are the two most popular characters – Libby the Happy Lemon and Herman the Grumpy Potato. Their fixed expressions only get more disturbing the longer you look at them.
I’m about as sentimental towards them as Sienna is about her missing underwear.
I honestly couldn’t give two shits.
I look back at the reporter. I figure I’d better lie and say something positive. ‘Yeah. I invented them, didn’t I? I’ll miss them . . . I guess.’ How convincing.
Sonny Duhal narrows his eyes slightly, but writes down what I’ve just said in his notebook anyway and sits himself back down again.
Katie from the Daily Mail then stands up to ask me a question. Katie has been a big advocate for The Foodies ever since they first started getting popular, so it’s nice to have her here to cover the big handover and tour announcement.
‘Hi, Nathan,’ she says. ‘My only real question for you is this: you’re only thirty-three . . . what are you going to do with yourself now? Once you’ve done the final tour?’ She grins. ‘Other than go on holiday, that is. The Foodies have been your life for the past half a decade . . . what’s going to fill it up now you’re not going to be working on them any more?’
Wow.
Now that’s a question.
One I also have no good answer to.
I scratch my head. ‘I guess I’m not sure at the moment . . . I’ll probably try to write some new music. For adults this time.’ This puts a smile on Katie’s face. Taylor’s, too, for different reasons. ‘I might try to get a band together, maybe do some . . . do some . . . er . . .’
Sienna is licking her lips and running her finger between her breasts.
I have no idea what the long-term future holds, but I sure as hell know what I’m going to be doing in the very short-term.
Possibly twice if I can get my breath back fast enough.
‘What Nathan means to say,’ Taylor remarks, getting quickly out of his seat again, ‘is that he has many new projects simmering on the back burner, and we’ll be sure to let you know more once he’s progressed them.’
I nod dumbly. That sounds pretty good to me.
Taylor claps his hands. ‘Well, folks, thank you for coming. I think that about wraps things up for today. You have all the information you need about Brightside’s plans for The Foodies in the press release I gave you. And please don’t forget to mention the dates of Nathan’s farewell Foodies tour in your articles.’ He gives them all a meaningful look. ‘It’s seven nights, ending the fourteenth of May right here at the Roundabout Theatre! Put that in your stories, please . . . and in your diaries if you have kids!’
Taylor really is good at all this shit, isn’t he? I’m glad I hired him.
I’m also glad he’s brought this press conference to an end – for two important reasons. One, the headache that the photographer’s flash set off is getting worse, and two, Sienna still isn’t wearing any knickers under that red Prada dress I bought her last month.
I climb down off the stage as Taylor sees the half-dozen reporters out of the theatre, chatting with a couple of them as they go. I give Katie from the Daily Mail a little wave and a smile. Always good to keep the tabloids onside.
Richard and Mary Brightside approach me with broad smiles on their faces. ‘Thank you, Nathan,’ Richard says, shaking my hand. ‘We really are grateful you’re putting so much into this tour.’
‘Especially when you could have easily said no,’ Mary adds. ‘It makes the handover that much easier for the public.’
‘No worries!’ I tell them. I can afford to be generous with my time, because they’ve been very generous with their pocketbook.
‘We’ll be off, then,’ Richard says. ‘See you in a few weeks.’
‘You will indeed!’ I shake both their hands again and watch them disappear up the aisle.
As they leave, Sienna rises from her seat and slinks her way down to where I’m standing.
‘Nicely done, handsome,’ she tells me. ‘I think you made them all very happy.’
I smirk at her. ‘No thanks to you, miss.’ I flick my eyes downwards. ‘Forgot something when you got dressed, did you?’
Sienna’s eyes go smoky again. ‘I didn’t forget anything, Nathan. It was totally deliberate.’ She runs a hand down my arm. ‘Now, why don’t you take me home and make me very happy?’
If my life were a cartoon, steam would now be shooting out of my ears.
‘For crying out loud, Sienna!’ Taylor exclaims as he walks back down the theatre aisle towards us. ‘He nearly fell off the stage!’
‘I did not,’ I protest.
‘Yes, you did!’ he says to me. ‘And I’m not surprised, with all the blood rushing from your head to your crotch!’
My eyes go wide and I point at Sienna. ‘Did you . . . did you see what she was doing?’
Sienna chuckles and places her hands daintily on Taylor’s shoulder. ‘Taylor knows I can be a bad girl, don’t you?’
My manager rolls his eyes. ‘I should never have introduced you two at the bloody bar. You’ve been nothing but trouble together ever since.’
She gives him a swift kiss on the cheek. ‘Please. We’re your two favourite clients, and we’re the perfect couple. Young, hot, exciting’ – she gives me a smouldering look – ‘sexually compatible.’
I think the temperature in here just went up ten degrees.
Life with Sienna has indeed been exciting ever since Taylor introduced us at the Elysium Bar a couple of months ago – so much so that I’m surprised I haven’t suffered a heart attack.
Taylor’s expression reminds me that there are more important things in life than my libido. I tug an earlobe. ‘It went all right in the end, didn’t it? I said everything I had to, didn’t I?’ I ask him.
He folds his arms. ‘Yeah. Just about. You gave them enough to go away and write a nice puff piece about the handover and the tour anyway’ – he looks at Sienna – ‘despite this one’s best efforts.’
Sienna pokes her tongue out.
I look at my watch. ‘Well, I think it’s time we headed off,’ I say, trying to keep the excitement out of my voice. ‘Things to do, you know.’
Taylor shakes his head. ‘All right, all right. Give me a call in a few days. We can discuss the tour a little more then.’
I give him an exasperated look. ‘I’ve done hundreds of shows, Taylor. We don’t need to chat about it.’
He winces. ‘Just humour me. Brightside are throwing a lot of money into this, and I want to make sure it goes well.’
Sienna gives me a meaningful look. ‘Enough talk, boys. I want to go . . . and I want to go now.’
Who am I to argue with a lady?
We both bid Taylor farewell and hurry arm in arm up the aisle towards the theatre exit, the car park outside and my super king-sized bed some twenty miles away . . .
‘Er, Sienna! I’m not sure that’s such a good idea!’ I exclaim as the zipper on my jeans is slowly tugged downwards.
‘Why not?’
‘Because we’re doing eighty in the fast lane?’
‘Shh. You just concentrate on the road,’ she replies as her hand snakes inwards.
‘Oh boy.’
As my girlfriend goes prospecting for treasure in my boxer shorts and I feverishly try to concentrate on keeping my Porsche 911 between the white lines, my mobile phone starts to ring. I roll my eyes. I do not need yet another distraction right now.
I glance at the car display and see that it’s my cousin Eliza calling. My heart plummets. ‘Oh no,’ I say quietly to myself.
Sienna looks horrified. ‘That’s not the response I was after, mister,’ she says with a pout.
‘No, no! It’s not you!’ I reply. ‘I promised I’d go around to see Eliza and Callum after the press conference! I’d completely forgotten’ – I briefly look down at my unzipped fly – ‘in all the excitement.’
I hit the button on the steering wheel that answers the phone remotely. ‘Hi, Eliza!’ I say in a cheery voice.
‘Afternoon, Nate,’ she replies. ‘How did it go, then?’
‘Oh . . . you know . . . fine. All went fine. Absolutely fine!’ Sienna’s hand has made its way back into my jeans.
‘Good for you. Are you still coming over? Callum’s got his toy Foodies all lined up waiting for you.’
Oh shit.
‘Um . . . look, I’m really sorry, Elsie,’ I say, using the nickname I gave her when I was three and couldn’t say her real name properly, ‘but I’ve got a really bad headache and just need to go lie down in bed this afternoon.’
This is actually quite close to the truth. I do have a headache and I am going to lie down in bed this afternoon. I just won’t be alone.
I hear a disappointed sigh at the other end of the line. It’s not the first time I’ve heard it. ‘Okay, Nate. I’ll tell Callum you’re not coming . . . again.’
Oof.
That smarts.
‘Look, I promise I’ll be over in the next few days to see you both!’ I tell her in as conciliatory a tone as I can manage while cruising down the motorway with another person’s hand in my pants.
‘Yeah, yeah. Okay, Nathan,’ Eliza replies in a flat voice. ‘You do that.’ I hear another sigh – followed by loud banging in the background. ‘Look, I’m going to have to go. I can hear Callum slamming the oven door again. Hope your headache gets better.’
‘Okay, Elsie, thanks. I’ll speak to you soon.’ The line goes dead before I finish. Looks like I will have some apologising to do next time I see them both. I’ll buy her a nice big, expensive bunch of flowers, and Callum a new toy or T-shirt. That should do it.
Satisfied that I can take care of that problem quite easily, I return to what’s going on in my crotch.
. . . only good things. Only good things are going on in my crotch.
Then the phone rings again.
‘Oh, good grief,’ I say under my breath. Sienna is blocking the car’s display so I can’t see who’s calling. I hope it isn’t Eliza ringing me back to have a proper go for not coming around today. I said I’d make it up to her, what more does she want?
‘Hello?’ I say in a slightly offhand manner, answering the call.
‘Nathan? Are you all right?’ my mother says, worry in her voice as she immediately picks up on my irritated tone.
‘Oh! Hi, Mum! Yes, yes! I’m fine, thanks!’ I babble, mentally switching gears.
I’m also receiving a mild handjob while on the phone to my mother. This is not a state of affairs I am comfortable with in the slightest.
‘How are you?’ I ask Mum, slapping Sienna’s hand away as I do so. This earns me another pout.
‘I’m okay, son. How did your press thingy go?’
‘Quickly, I’m pleased to say,’ I reply. ‘Good to get it over and done with.’
‘I’m sure it was. Richard and Mary seem like nice people. I’m sure The Foodies are in good hands.’
‘Yeah, I suppose they are,’ I reply blandly. Frankly, once the cheque clears, I couldn’t care less if they were going to baste The Foodies in hot sauce and set them on fire.
‘Will I be seeing you sometime soon, son?’
‘Yeah, yeah, of course! I know it’s been a couple of weeks since I was around last, so I’ll be over soon.’
‘It’s been two months, Nathan.’
‘Bloody hell, has it?’
‘Yes.’
I squirm in my car seat. ‘Sorry, Mum. I’ve been very busy, and—’
‘It’s okay,’ she interrupts. ‘You just come around when you have the time.’
Oh God.
Looks like I’ll be buying two big, expensive bunches of flowers in the next few days.
My breath is then neatly taken away by Sienna as she starts to nibble on my earlobe.
‘Hmngngnm,’ I mumble in response.
‘What?’ Mum says. ‘Are you okay, Nathan?’
‘Yeah! I’m great, Mum! Look . . . I have to go now, but thanks for calling. I promise I’ll be around in the next few days!’
‘All right, son. I hope to see you soon.’ Mum sounds a little disappointed. I barely notice, what with all the earlobe nibbling that’s going on.
‘Okay! Great! Love you! Bye!’ I blurt out, and immediately hang the phone up before my mother has a chance to answer.
Sienna takes the opportunity to quickly kiss me on the lips, before returning her attentions to my overexcited crotch.
As she starts prospecting once more, I let out a loud and happy laugh.
Could things be going much better for me right now?
I’ve just dumped The Foodies off on to a couple of schmucks for a very tidy profit, I have a beautiful woman’s hand down my pants, I’m going eighty miles an hour towards a golden sunset in the best car on the planet and I feel free and happy for what seems like the first time in years.
With a self-satisfied grin that extends from horizon to horizon, I press hard on the Porsche’s accelerator, eager to get home as quickly as I can so Sienna can explore my nether regions in more exquisitely pleasant detail.
A short time later, you find me naked and legs thoroughly akimbo.
Sienna is doing something to my John Thomas that makes me wonder if she can breathe through her ears.
All in all, this is turning into a splendid evening.
‘Okay, baby,’ Sienna eventually gasps in a breathy voice, moving back up my body again. ‘That’s enough fun for you – it’s my turn for a while . . .’ She gives me a playful bite on the bottom lip and arches her eyebrow speculatively, then rolls off me on to the bed.
I can’t breathe through my ears, sadly, but I’m going to do the best job I can anyway.
As I lean over and start to slide my way down the bed, Sienna grabs my hair, stopping my progress briefly. ‘Talk dirty to me,’ she orders. ‘Talk dirty before you get dirty.’
I try to resist a groan. This isn’t the first time she’s wanted me to do this.
I find the whole thing exquisitely embarrassing.
I can write lyrics for children’s songs about singing potatoes until the cows come home, but trying to come up with any kind of sexy talk in the bedroom that doesn’t sound cheesy as all hell and back is virtually impossible for me. The last time I tried it, I told Sienna I wanted to pump her bottom.
What does that even mean?
Quite how I intended to do this, or what implements I was going to use to accomplish it, is entirely beyond me.
I have no idea why she wants me to have another go, but I guess I’d better give it the best of British, as she’s just spent the last fifteen minutes treating my penis like royalty.
‘Er . . . I want you so bad,’ I say uncertainly.
Sienna’s eyes light up. ‘How bad, baby?’
‘Oh . . . really, really bad. Like . . . super bad. I’m so hot for you right now, I can feel my balls throbbing.’
This sounds like the kind of thing I should be telling my doctor about rather than my girlfriend. Throbbing balls are not something you should ignore.
‘What are you going to fucking do to me?’ Sienna gasps, displaying far more aptitude for this talking dirty lark than I ever could.
‘Er . . . I’m going to . . . I’m going to . . .’
Don’t say pump her bottom.
‘I’m going to kiss your tits!’
Okay, not great, but not too awful, either.
Sienna seems to approve as her eyes go wider. ‘And what else, Nathan? What else are you going to do?’
I think for a second. ‘I’m going to pound your arse!’
Yes! That’s much better than the pumping of the bottom. I’m definitely warming up to this now.
Sienna moans and then tightens her grip on my hair. ‘And what about my pussy, Nathan? What are you going to do to that?’
Good God.
But what the hell am I going to do with it? I can’t pound it. I’ve used that one. Don’t want to get repetitious, it’s not sexy. Pumping sounds awful, and kissing sounds a little too twee.
I cast my mind back to every porno I’ve ever watched, and what I think is the right dirty thing to say pops into my head.
‘I . . . I want to eat it!’ I announce triumphantly.
Sienna writhes. ‘Oh yes!’ she exclaims.
‘I want to eat . . . to eat your potato!’ Yeah. That should really get her going!
My girlfriend gives me a rather perplexed look.
Oh no. Maybe that was the wrong thing to say? Have I gone too far here? Have I screwed it up?
I instantly feel incredibly embarrassed.
‘What did you say?’ Sienna asks, letting go of my hair.
‘Shit. Was that not right? Wasn’t that what you wanted to hear?’ I sit back on my knees. ‘I mean, I thought you’d like the idea of me eating your potato . . . that you’d find it sexy. Did you just want me to kiss it or something?’
Sienna sits up against the headboard, that perplexed look still on her face. ‘Why do you want to eat a potato?’ she asks. ‘Are you hungry? I don’t even have a potato, Nathan.’
‘What? What are you talking about?’
‘You just told me you want to eat my potato.’
‘What? No, I didn’t!’
‘Yes, you did!’
‘No, I didn’t! I said I wanted to eat your potato!’
Sienna nods her head up and down hard. ‘Yeah! Yeah! There you go. You said it again!’ She points a wobbly finger at me. ‘You think I have a potato, and you want to eat it!’
Oh dear.
I fear my girlfriend has had some kind of traumatic mental breakdown.
‘I didn’t say anything about potatoes, Sienna,’ I explain to her very slowly. ‘I was talking about eating your potato. I thought you’d think it was sexy.’
‘Why would I find potatoes sexy?’ she replies in a horrified tone of voice.
I throw my hands up. ‘What are you talking about?! I don’t care about potatoes! I just want to eat your potato!’ I cry, pointing at her vagina.
She looks down between her legs. ‘Why are you calling my fanny a potato?’ she says with some distress. ‘What’s wrong with it?’ She looks down, examining herself. ‘Does it look like a potato?? Oh God!’
‘I’m not saying “potato”!’ I scream. This is becoming very disturbing. I point at her vagina once more. ‘That’s your potato! Your bloody p – p – p – potato!’
I’m so mad now, I’m stuttering.
Sienna’s eyes go wide. ‘Are you trying to say “pussy”, Nathan?’
‘Oh, good God ! That is what I’m saying!’ I point at the subject of our heated discussion one more time. ‘That’s your potato! Not a potato! Your potato! Potato! Potato!’
She shakes her head. ‘No . . . you keep saying “potato” when you mean “pussy”!’
‘No, I don’t!’
‘Yes, you do!’ Sienna leans forward. ‘Are you feeling okay?’
I rub my hands over my face in despair. ‘Yes! I feel bloody fine! Why wouldn’t I?’
As I bring my hands away, though, I notice a distinct and obvious tremor in the left one. I make a fist a couple of times, but that doesn’t make it go away.
Then a blinding, massive and instant bolt of agony strikes from deep down inside my brain. ‘Jesus!’ I scream, my hands flying to my head.
Sienna reaches out to me, fear etched across her face. ‘Nathan! Nathan! Are you okay?!’
I try to focus on her, but my eyesight has gone extremely blurry all of a sudden. Blackness starts to intrude around the edges of my watery vision, and a feeling of extreme light-headedness overcomes me.
‘P – p – pussy!’ I stutter at Sienna’s blurred face. ‘I want to eat your—’
And with that, I am plunged into darkness as my consciousness is switched off like a light bulb.