A Day In The Life
When Ophelia walked in a room, every head turned, every conversation stopped. Wives would grumble and men would ogle. She had a striking face, regal and elegant. Her eyes bellied her experience and allure; and her lips spoke no secrets.
Secrets- she had a lot of them. They piled one upon the other daily. A politicians' personal preference, an entertainers odd request.
Lily sat by the window, teardrops of rain splattering against its thin hard surface, disrupting the vision. She watched the night. Lights of life through blurred patterns of moisture, the oranges of the lamppost lapping and merging with the night, the red startling stop lights from the traffic brash and silent in their swift appearance. Puddles splashed, pedestrians ran under umbrellas of grey and green. Silence, nothing, not a sound. She waited, sat by the window, waiting for Ophelia.
Lily unfurled from her stationary position, stretching her frame tall then gazed at what wasn't hers. Ophelia's apartment was furnished, fit for a king, or queen, Lily mused. From nothing to something, Ophelia had morphed into a butterfly here in London but where a butterfly should float on the wind, Ophelia's butterfly lay with the dirt.
Oh, sure she was in high class company and the men she entertained were handsome, old, rich, intelligent, dumb, married, mean and more. The cash Ophelia was showered in was disgusting in its value.
And Lily seeing all this, the opulence, the glittery treats, the fancy meals and flashy cars still wanted nought. She was more than ready to just be... Be a waitress, be a cleaner... just to be an ordinary girl.
Readying for bed on her mattress in the first room to the left, Lily was feeling clean, fresh and tired. And her white shirt was still the only thing she wore to bed.
Stilettos marked Ophelia's return and the hum of male voices woke Lily from her thoughts as she sat perched on the counter top, clutching a small glass of milk. Lily hoped they went straight to Orphelia's bedroom so she could escape the eyes.
"There you are! Gerald in here, I found the poppet!" Ophelia winked and Lily groaned then placed a pleasant smile on her lips as she hopped down and hid most of herself from view by sitting on the far side of the table.
"Ohhh! Hello, I'm Gerald. You were right.. very pretty is our Lily" Gerald winked reminding Lily of a snake in the grass.
"Hello" Lily forced the smile a little wider. "I'll just get out of your way" Standing she crossed her arms, more to cover her breasts than anger. She wasn't angry, but sadness ebbed in. She knew what he wanted.
"Wait Miss Lily. I just have a frien-"
"No"
"No?" Gerald looked from Ophelia to Lily and back again. Lily, careful to seem neutral, fumed inside. Ophelia promised. Promised not to push her towards this. Towards what she didn't want to be. Her purse was empty though and Lily was sleeping here for free, but she was trying. Everyday another café or cleaning position she tried to interview for. Everyday......
"No sorry. I... I have a nice job"
"Since when?!" Ophelia clutched Gerald's arm as he rove a hungry eye over Lily. Yes he was a snake. "You didn't have one four hours ago" Lia hissed.
"I'll have one tomorrow!" Lily skirted around the pair all the while being appraised like a cut of choice meat at the butcher. "I'll get a café position"
"A café?!" Ophelia huffed an unappreciative sound "You'll not be paid much there"
Lily was walking, toward the hall, toward her room when Ophelia grabbed her arm, making Lily spin violently back toward her friend "Look here. It's just a date Lily, you don't have to open your legs nor kneel. Since when has it mattered anyway, it's just work"
Watching Gerald sadly as he stubbed out a cigarette Lily closed her eyes as Ophelia ranted. Waiting for Ophelia to realise Lily wasn't that any more. Didn't want to be that anymore. She was trying to be a better Lily.
"Lily!" Ophelia shook the girl. Shaking her from the blank stare of the man that could possibly have been a Politian from the front cover of the previous days The Times newspaper. Ophelia shook her once more "Lily, wake up. This is a job luv. Better than waiting tables and rude customers I'd think"
"Ophelia let me go please, you promised you wouldn't push this on me. You're being just like them" Venomous words spat out of her at Ophelia making her friends face, that was so beautifully made up, fall with pain.
"Let her be Lia" Gerald leaned in the doorway, the smoke from his cigarette lingering around his face, he wafted a hand and nodded for Ophelia to stop.
Ophelia relented and let Lily break the hold. Lily dashed into her room, leaning against the door with all her might, hot tears burning her cheeks.
Ophelia shuddered at the slamming of the door, a painting rattling beside her. Gerald's warm breath settled on her neck and his hands slid around her middle. She relaxed, closing her eyes. This. This was nothing like Liverpool, this was posh hotels, fancy parties, expensive restaurants and well-groomed men. No nothing at all like Liverpool.
"Give the girl a chance to get a crummy job and struggle then, when she's ready..... Well then Lia my darling, you give me a call"
"Can I come in?" Ophelia leaned two arms high on the doorframe, forehead pressed against Lily's locked door.
"Has he gone?" With slow movements Lily sat up from the mattress on the floor. Her eyes hurt, she had cried about all the things she wanted that she may never achieve. She cried because she was lost, alone and now felt even more lonely now that Ophelia was pushing.
"Yes, Lils, he's gone .... Come have some tea with me, won't you please" Ophelia backed away slowly, happy that she could hear Lily moving around inside the room.
"You promised" Lily swept into the kitchen and dumped herself into the chair opposite Ophelia. "You promised to give me time...."
"I apologise, Lil. Gerald's a charming man and he was trying to get a friend a date. A date Lily" Ophelia set her teacup on the saucer and leaned over, grasping Lilys fingers in her own. Her blonde hair now brushed out, long and soft framing her face, she looked angelic like this. Her hair next to Lilys was a sight to behold platinum blonde beside jet black tresses' they turned heads wherever they went "Get that café job. Get yourself set up"
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For months, rumours have circulated about the private life of Dennis Protumo, Secretary of State for Finance. Educated at Oxford, he is a Tory who had achieved cabinet rank after serving in a number of junior posts. He is married to the film star Malerie Voyson, very much the centre of high society past few years.
This reporter has come across some racy facts and tales of our dear political friend Dennis and would love to share them with our readership.
The "object of his passion" and no, it's not that dastardly novel Lord Chatterley's Lover that has Dennis in in a tizz, it's a pretty girl. No not his wife unfortunately. Actually, it's two! Yes, you heard it here first valued readers, two lovely ladies and a wife, a very busy minister is our Dennis.
Both young women have managed to drift into the upper circle with nary a boo from the House of Lords to the debauchery.
Lucky Lady Number One was working as an escort when she first met Burton (name changed for innocent parties) at a fashionably fancy affair. Burton took her under his wing and other assorted parts and they would drift between her flat in Kensington and his Mayfair flat. He encouraged her to pursue bedroom conferences with his high-class friends, and on one or more occasions Burton himself accepted money in exchange for sex.
Ophelia sighed and waved the paper around "His name is Gerald not Burton you twit just say it, what's the name Burton got to do with it!"
Several weeks after meeting Protumo at a club in Soho, she began conducting secret boudoir meeting with the war minister. There is absolutely no evidence that either of these men pay her for s.e.x. but! Protumo once may have given the lady some money to buy her flat. But I don't want to dob anyone in.
This lady's (I say lady with flimsy reference to the actual dictionary correlation) relationship with Protumo is both torrid and rocky.
They have broken up more times than the Titanic, but he seemed to exercise an almost centripetal force on her, and always she drifts back.
"Arghhhh!" Orphelia screeched as she tossed most of the broadsheet across the room.
It's said, in some dark corners of Parliament House both young women are celebrated players, albeit with bit parts, in Protumo's sexual circus. Action is centred on the war ministers Wimpole Mews flat, said to be equipped with special two-way mirrors and other aids to lubricity.
The two ladies are said to run rough-shot, circulating with unfettered ease in more exalted milieux, including Lord Peacastor's country mansion of Clivedown.
It was there that poor Dennis first laid eyes on her.... Lady Number Two. A brief round of engagements ensued, all public, all above board and all in the public eye but still, for Lady Two, tongues begin to wag.
But readers, you may say what is the issue, what do we need to do? Well readers, your minister has a broken heart and like anyone he needs help..... It's mentioned that there are two ladies well folks our minister really only dances with Lady Number One and on rare occasions, his wife. No Lady Two seems to be holding the poor soul at arm's length but her arms might just shorten after the latest wile he has used to make her cede. A car was seen being purchased by Dennis and it hasn't been seen in his garage....
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"My god what is this shit" Ophelia threw what remained of the paper on the couch and paced the room. "Why couldn't you just open your legs, Lily. Shut Dennis up and that fellow that opened his gob. We're all been butchered in the headlines!"
Lily sat quietly her legs tucked up under her, it had been nearly a year since she had set foot in Ophelias flat. Six months since she gave in to Ophelia and Gerald to earn some money. Five months since her first date and two months since Dennis the menace stated salivating all over her. Ugh.
It, however, was one year to the day she had had sex. And she was having her own fist pump moment to herself today. If she told them, Ophelia would harp and Gerald would try and negotiate her to spread wide but she held out, holding onto that single piece of her that she wanted hers. Hers to do with as she chooses. Her fingers her only friend.
"The Beatles are the Headlines" Lily smirked, her only allies had done it, meeting the Queen now, tonight actually. "We are page..." Lily scanned to the corner of the Times "page 29"
"Argh! Lily! You're infuriating" Ophelia sat down in the armchair, filing her nails glancing toward the door "I feel like my tickets up and I will be shuffled out"
"Out where"
"Out to Liverpool"
"Well it's not that bad really. It's not your name been plastered, poor old Gerald is up the Thames without a paddle though" Lily slapped the paper on the side table and reached for her bag.
"Aren't you going to stay and commiserate with me Lils? I would if it were you" Ophelia pouted and Lily walked to the blonde to give her a hug.
"I have a date, Ophelia..... remember, you arranged it. Posh seats near Her Maj. then a ticket alone to the after-party"
"Alone" pouted Ophelia.
"Stop pouting! The wind 'ill change and your face will be stuck like that!" Lily spun towards the doorway, grinning. "Alone! Mister posh-un can't attend the after-party but he let me have my ticket!"
She had been having a nice time these past few months she felt. Nice parties, fancy nights out and then home again- alone. A few times she had had to slap travelling hands away but all in all the men she was on the arm of, when she was out, were polite, well behaved and ok, if not bemused, with her conditions. Her looks granted her immunity thus far, pretty, innocent and cherub features had them mooning rather than manhandling.
And money was sweet now, she was paying most into her bank and had a nice modest flat under lease a few blocks away from where she now stood. The flat was furnished with an odd assortment of second hand but good quality furniture, comfortable not at all pretentious and the bed.... The bed was divine, soft, fluffy pillows, clean sheets... sometimes she lay spreadeagle under the sheets, just because she could. If Lily was having an affair, it was only with her bed.
"And tell him to take that bloody car back, I can't even drive! ... I'll not talk to him any-more, he was nice before. Now he's just weird"
"Lily you can't.... Alright, I'll take it myself if you won't but don't be surprised if he doesn't send something more wildly expensive- he wants you"
"I don't want him. I've told you I'm not doing that"
"Yes many, many, times... how does one go from slut to prissy without repercussions anyway?" Ophelia sat up, reaching for the paper to troll over again, she was mad at Lily for winning Dennis's favour but knew he'd change his tune if his pipe wasn't cleaned soon... And Lily was not smoking pipes at all...
"Whatever do you mean?"
"You know, you haven't been with any one...... in what? Months.... Don't you want to do it Lily?"
"I give up. You know why Ophelia, because you just don't really want to know"
"Go on out with you it's nearly time... Goodbye my luv, knock the sucker for six... and don't forget your chastity belt!" Ophelia heckled mostly in amused jest but Lily knew she was a little jealous of the stand Lily was taking, thinking perhaps she should have bought a chastity belt herself.
"Bye Ophelia, don't get too down about Den. Plenty of fish out there for you to spear on your heels" Lily grinned, Ophelia's address book was full to overflowing, it wouldn't take her long to get back on her feet.
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