Rosie Dixon's Complete Confessions. Rosie DixonЧитать онлайн книгу.
the Chinese art treasures and are listening to every word.
“I’ve had some disastrous experiences and all I’ve ended up with is bit parts.”
“I’d have thought that with your talent you’d have been ideal for large parts,” I say.
Jake looks at me strangely and it occurs to me that I may have said the wrong thing. “I mean, I think you could be very big if the right opening presented itself,” I gulp.
Jake wrinkles up his eyes and squeezes my hand. “You’re a very understanding girl,” he says. “Let’s have some more wine.”
He is so generous compared with Geoffrey. With Mr Wilkes you were lucky if you got a glass of wine and half a bottle on birthdays. He always said he could not indulge because he was in training. Training to be a miser, I used to think to myself.
I am not used to drinking and by the end of the meal I am feeling quite light headed. Jake seems to knock back a tremendous amount of alcohol but I expect this is because he is in the film business.
“How about coffee at my place?” he says, snapping his fingers for the bill.
“I’d love to,” I say. “But I can’t stay very long.”
“Don’t worry. I’d just like to show you where I live. I’ve enjoyed your hospitality, now I’d like you to sample some of mine.”
He pick up my hand and kisses the palm. It is a very sexy gesture and it is a pity that he knocks over the wine bottle. While the waitress clears up he gazes into my eyes and an expression of great sadness comes over his face. “What a shame,” he says slowly.
“Don’t worry there wasn’t much left in it,” I say trying to cheer him up.
“I wasn’t talking about the bottle,” he says—it is so sexy the way he grits his teeth when he gets serious—“I was talking about us. If I didn’t have this—this damned impediment our relationship wouldn’t be doomed before it’s even started.”
“You mustn’t jump to conclusions, Jake,” I tell him. “Nothing is impossible. You’ve had relations with other girls. Who knows, maybe—in the fullness of time—”
Jake looks at his watch. “You’re a marvellous girl, Rosie. You really know how to give a fellow a lift.”
I must do because the table suddenly starts rising in the air.
“I think we’d better go,” says Jake hurriedly. “You lead the way.”
I don’t usually look at the front of men’s trousers but a glance at Jake’s crotch gives me some idea of the size of his problem.
Of course, I feel embarrassed but at the same time strangely aroused. A mood not unlike excitement accompanies me to the car. Jake has been wonderfully restrained but I am asking myself whether it might not be a kind gesture to confront him with his problem. If I could persuade him that it was possible for us to have a relationship—when the right moment arrived, naturally—then he might not worry so much. Of course, a lot of my inhibitions have disappeared with the wine but I think that I am speaking from reason rather than emotion.
Jake’s flat is fantastic. Very bare and modern but dominated by a great open fireplace in front of which is a huge furry rug. I think it is made of sheepskins but Jake tells me that the hides are those of Peruvian llamas. At first I get a nasty feeling when I think of that nice young man the Chinese were so unpleasant to but then I remember that the llamas with two l’s are mountain goats. Silly me!
“I picked it up when I was shooting a movie,” says Jake as he puts the coffee on and helps himself to a large brandy.
“Inca Bars!” I say getting all excited. “You were the high priest, weren’t you? You spared the sacrifice when he gave you an Inca Bar—’crunchy, nutty goodness covered in sinful plain chocolate—the reason the Spaniards conquered Peru’.”
“You’ve seen them all, haven’t you?” Jake sounds almost bitter.
“I’m your biggest fan,” I say.
“Come and sit down.” It is only when he speaks that I realise there are no chairs. Just a couple of half-filled leather sacks by the fire. Big pouffes I suppose you would call them. Jake settles onto one of them and pulls me down beside him. It is all very romantic.
“Do you find this smokeless fuel gives off a good heat?” I say. Usually I am tongue-tied with boys on a first date but tonight the words just seem to flow.
“It’s all right.” Jake takes a big swig at his brandy and runs his fingers through my hair. “Don’t think I wouldn’t like to make love to you,” he says.
“You’re very nice,” I say, trying not to look at the front of his trousers.
“I’m not nice,” he says. “I’m just a man. If only I wasn’t the way I am.”
“That nearly rhymes,” I say.
Jake ignores me and looks deep into the fire. “It’s not just the straightforward physical aspect. Even if you could—if we could—oh God! I hate having to go on about it.”
“Don’t worry. I can take it,” I say.
Jake turns to me quickly. “You mean—?”
“Of course. I want to hear all about your problem. There’s no need to feel shy.”
Jake closes his eyes and shakes his head. “There’s the emotional factor,” he says slowly.
“The emotional factor?”
“I’ve been very worried by the reaction of some of the girls I have been able to make love to. Their response has been so, so overwhelming, so total that I have been disturbed for their mental equilibrium.”
“You mean, they liked it?”
“Liked it? They were in a state of ecstasy that defies description. I don’t want to sound conceited, because it’s nothing to do with me—this thing is bigger than I am.”
“Quite,” I say.
“But there was no controlling them. One girl said she felt like a rose garden bursting into flower. I felt awful when we split up because, in a way, the experience had spoilt her for anything else.”
“She probably remembered it every time she saw a rose,” I say, trying to look on the bright side.
“So there you see the extent of my problem,” says Jake. I shoot a fleeting glance at the wherefore of his Y-fronts but there is less activity than during an Egyptian productivity drive. “Not only the physical aspect but the question of what the experience might do to you emotionally—I mean, do to a girl emotionally. I coudn’t live with myself if I thought I’d driven someone out of their mind with ecstasy.”
He is such a thoughtful man, isn’t he? When I think of some of the crude, pushy fellas who have tried to maul their way into my panties, I am quite touched. Such honesty deserves a reward.
I am also the teeniest bit intrigued. I am not a flighty sort of girl but I am interested in sexual matters and in many ways Jake is like a patient with a problem. Maybe, if I could learn to live with his problem I would be able to help him. A nurse has no right to be a prude. I know Doctor Eradlik would approve.
“I can hear the percolator bubbling,” I say.
Jake draws himself up and smiles down at me. “Don’t go away now.”
“Don’t worry.” I watch him stalk across the room towards the kitchen and by the time he has disappeared I have arrived at a decision. Poor Jake is so screwed up that he is obviously never going to make the running. I must do something positive to stop his spending the rest of his life brooding about something that is not his fault. A little physical and emotional turmoil is not too high a price to pay to ease the lot of a fellow human being.
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