Three
The crowd begins to turn and flow out of the dungeon, heading back up the stairs.
‘Where’s this boudoir then?’ I wonder, but obviously there is no need to ask – they will lead us there.
Many people spill back into the café but others ascend to the upper floor, where the handsome barista presides with a clipboard in front of a door plastered in flock wallpaper and decorated with obscene cherubs.
‘Sorry, guest list only,’ he tells us. ‘Our multi-partner events are limited to thirty ticket holders. There’s another one next month, if you want to sign up.’
‘Is some kind of orgy?’ Dimitri asks.
‘Some kind of.’ The barista smiles. ‘The café is still open, with a licensed bar, if you want to carry on socialising.’
‘OK, thanks.’
‘So that’s that,’ I say, once we are back in the café. ‘Kinky Cupcake in a nutshell. Or a cake wrapper.’
Dimitri is busy looking at a pinboard full of business cards and leaflets offering specialist services. ‘You see,’ he says. ‘This can work. Nearly all these are women. Dominatrix … dominatrix … submissive girls … girls need a spanking … I spank bad boys … so far no man advertise.’
‘That could be something to do with market forces,’ I point out gently, then a horrible, horrible thought knocks me for six. Markets. Business. Advertising. ‘Fuck!’
Dimitri turns to me. ‘That is an order?’
‘Tch. No, I mean, fuck! I haven’t finished the air-freshener campaign. I’m going to get it right in the neck. Look, I have to go. Maybe if I do a bit of work from home … but all the stuff is in the office – shit.’
‘Hey, calm, calm.’ Dimitri puts his hands over my arms, reining in some of my wilder gesticulations. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I have a presentation to give tomorrow, but when I saw the light coming from here, I left work before I was ready. I have to finish this work! But the office is closed until seven now. And the presentation is at nine. I’m doomed. Haven’t even got a slogan, let alone the PowerPoint.’
‘You panic, don’t panic. You work …’ He waves a hand in the direction of my office. ‘Right?’
‘Yeah. Over the road.’
‘Come on. I get you in there.’
‘What?’
He doesn’t answer and I’m reduced to trotting across the café and down the stairs after him, voicing questions to the air around me. ‘What do you mean, get me in there?’
It’s chilly on the street outside. I wrap myself in my coat and frown at Dimitri, who is standing, stroking his chin and staring at my office.
‘We go round the back,’ he says eventually.
‘Dimitri, we are not breaking into my workplace! We just aren’t. There’s a security guard!’
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