Sharon congratulated me when we got back to the flat, but a bit half-heartedly. While she seemed pleased that it’d gone well, I think she secretly wished that she’d been there fighting, instead of me. Tracy stayed for supper, and we all got quite drunk on white wine afterwards.
For the rest of the weekend, I felt very pleased with myself, though I kept quiet about it to spare Sharon's feelings. Back at work on Monday, I could still feel the stiffness in my muscles, but I couldn’t wait to get back into the gym, and start working out so I could fight again. I grinned to myself a couple of times – it still surprised me, how much I’d enjoyed the match against Angie.
Sharon had another week off from work, though she was really chafing at being stuck in the flat all day by then. When I walked in the door that evening, she was sprawled on the couch watching television. “Hi,” she greeted me. “Phone call for you this afternoon.”
“Yeah?” I dropped my bag on the table. “Who?”
“Patricia,' replied Sharon. I raised an eyebrow and she went on, “She said to call her back when you got in. Her number's on the pad by the phone.”
I wondered why Patricia wanted to speak to me. Perhaps Tracy had told her about our match on Saturday, but there was no reason for her to talk to me about it. Tracy had taken the money from Angie and Jenny and given me my share in the car. Still, it wouldn’t be polite not to call her. After all, the woman had been responsible for my earning two hundred and fifty pounds for a couple of hours' work – and enjoyable work, at that.
I picked up the phone and dialed the number that Sharon had scrawled on the pad. The phone rang twice, then someone said, “Hello?” The northern accent told it was the same woman who’d answered the phone before, when I’d called from Salisbury.
“Hello, may I speak to Patricia, please? It's Donna Woodward.”
“Just a moment, please.”
I waited for a minute or so, then another voice came on the line. “Hello Donna. This is Patricia.”
“Hi Patricia. Sharon said you called earlier today.”
“Yes, thanks for calling back. Tracy told me you did very well on Saturday.”
“I did all right,' I replied modestly. “Actually, it was a lot of fun.”
“I'm glad to hear it. Tracy said you seemed to enjoy yourself.”
'Yeah.' I wasn’t sure where the conversation was going. I didn’t think she’d called just to congratulate me.
“I think you and I should have a bit of a chat,” she said. “Could you come around here one night this week, after work?”
“Yeah, sure,” I said, surprised and still a little confused. “When?” Perhaps she was going to offer me another fight. It was an attractive thought.
“How does Thursday suit you?”
“That'd be fine.” It would mean missing an evening's practice at the Y with Tracy and Sharon, who was planning to rejoin us this week, but I could handle that. The idea that Patricia might want me to fight again dominated my thoughts. “I finish work at five-thirty. What time do you want me to come over?”
“How about six-thirty?”
“Okay. That'll give me plenty of time to get there.” Evening traffic out west was nightmarish but I could take the Tube.
“Good.” She gave me an address in Holland Park, then we said our goodbyes and I hung up the phone.
Sharon glanced up at me when I went back into the living room, but didn’t ask about my conversation with Patricia. If she knew the reason Patricia had invited me over, she wasn’t saying, and I didn’t want to ask. Even now, I still felt partly responsible for the beating she’d taken, and now here I was, fighting in her place and earning money she would otherwise be making.
*****
I spent a bit of time in the ladies' washroom after work, making myself look presentable for my meeting with Patricia. I’d dressed up a bit more than I usually did for work. Black ski pants topped matching ankle boots and showed off my legs, while my vermilion turtle-neck sweater looked striking under my black leather jacket. I always wore my hair tied back in a ponytail for work, but now I unbound it and combed it out around my shoulders. I wasn’t really sure why I was taking such care to look good, but I really wanted to make the best possible impression. I was only too aware that I’d been a bit of a mess when Patricia and I had last spoken, right after the encounter with the Millers.
My appearance didn’t go unnoticed. One of the supervisors was still working behind the cosmetics counter when I walked out through the shop. 'Big date tonight, love?' she asked with a smile.
I laughed. “I wish you were right!” I still didn’t know why Patricia had asked to meet with me but even if I did, I certainly couldn’t tell my supervisor about the fighting. “Just going down the pub with some friends,” I said at last, sounding a bit lame even to my own ears.
I caught the Tube into the city, and changed trains to head out west. Hugging my bag against me in the crush of people riding up in the lift up at Holland Park station, I wondered for the hundredth time why Patricia had invited me over. Again, I prayed it was to offer me a job. Sharon was now well on the way to recovery, and that meant my time as her stand-in was coming to an end. I wanted to fight again, to keep fighting, and a position on Patricia's team would give me the chance to do that. It surprised me, how much I wanted it – how much I enjoyed the tingling anticipation that preceded the fight, the adrenalin rush that came with the combat, and the deep satisfaction after a win.
The house was three streets down, on the left. Actually, house was probably the wrong word, since it looked like two terraces that had been combined into one – and they were big terraces to begin with. Patricia evidently wasn’t short of money. I walked up the steps to the front door and rang the bell.
I stood on the doorstep for a minute or so, staring through the cloud of my breath at the glass-paned door. Today had been one of the coldest so far this winter, and I stamped my feet softly to generate a little warmth.
The door opened and a tall woman with short jet-black hair, probably a little older than me, stood there. “Hi,” I said. “I'm Donna Woodward.”
Her heart-shaped face cracked into a smile. “Oh, hi Donna,” she said, and I recognized her accent as the woman who’d answered when I rang both times. “I'm Rosie. We spoke on the phone.” She stepped back. “Come in.”
I stepped into the front hallway, wiping my feet on the mat inside the door, and she added, “Can I take your jacket?”
“Yeah, thanks.” Shrugging my jacket off my shoulders, I handed it to her, and she hung it on an old-fashioned standing coat rack in the corner by the door.
“Come on,” she said, leading me through an archway into a nicely decorated living room. “Patricia's waiting for you in her office.” I followed her through the living room and another hallway beyond, then up a flight of stairs. As we ascended, I found myself checking her out. She was maybe an inch taller than me, and a bit slimmer. Long legs, encased in tight-fitting blue jeans, looked slender but powerful, and her broad shoulders stretched the fabric of her white silk blouse. I wondered if she was one of Patricia's fighters.
Upstairs, she led me along another hallway, and stopped at an open doorway. “Patricia, Donna's here.” She stepped back and allowed me to step through the door.
Patricia Ferrari was shorter than either me or Rosie, probably about five feet four. She wasn’t stocky, but still more heavily built than me, with dark red hair that fell in a cloud of curls below her shoulders. Dressed in a jade green jacket over a black woolen dress, she rose from behind a huge mahogany desk, looking formidably business-like, and extended her hand to me across the desk. “Hello Donna, nice to meet you,” she said with a smile, her deep green eyes obviously sizing me up. Her voice was soft with a cultured, finishing school accent. As we shook hands, her grip was firm and dry. “Have a seat. Would you like some tea or coffee?”
“Tea would be lovely, thanks,” I replied as I settled myself into one of two leather armchairs in front of her desk and regarded her inquisitively. I thought she was about thirty-five, or maybe a well preserved forty.
Patricia nodded to Rosie, who left the room, and then she leaned back in her chair and looked at me for a moment. “Thanks for coming round. How's Sharon?”
“Pretty well, thanks. She came to the gym with Tracy and me on Tuesday night, and she’s going to work out with Tracy at the Y tonight.”
“What about mentally?” asked Patricia candidly.
I thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Okay, I guess. She's still a bit moody, and she hasn't spoken much about...what happened, but I think she's all right.” It occurred to me that Patricia might have asked me here just to talk about Sharon, and disappointment welled up inside me.
“I'm glad to hear she's okay,” said Patricia, and added with a mysterious smile, “Who knows, perhaps she might have a nice surprise in the near future.” I was about to ask her what she meant by that, but she didn’t give me a chance as she immediately went on. “How about you? Tracy told me you had no problems last weekend, at the job in Chiswick.”
“No, I was fine. Like I told you on the phone, I really enjoyed myself.”
“Were you nervous?”
“Beforehand, yeah,” I admitted. “Tracy was great though, and once we actually started the match, I forgot all about being nervous.”
“You enjoyed the fighting,” Patricia observed.
“Yeah, I did.”
“Tracy was very pleased with you. She was quite surprised that you did so well. She said you came up with some tricks of your own, apart from what she'd taught you.”
I grinned. “I just made things up as I went along. The girl I fought...Angie...was pretty good. She was tough to beat.”
“But you beat her, and from what Tracy tells me, you pushed yourself pretty hard to get the win.”
I sat there without replying, gratified by the praise but unsure what to say. She was leading up to something, and I mentally crossed my fingers that it was what I hoped.
“Do you like to fight?” she asked.
It was my turn to look her directly in the eye. “Yeah, I do. It surprises me, actually. I never used to, and after what happened in the Midlands, I didn't think I'd ever want to again, but somehow...” I shrugged my shoulders. “Now I enjoy it.”
“Would you like to do it again?”
“Yes,” I said without hesitation.
“Good. One of the girls who works for me is leaving...she's pregnant...and I'd like you to replace her.”
I tried not to smile too widely. This was why I hoped she’d asked me here. “Sure.”
“You know the rules already. The client pays six hundred for a normal match...more if you have to travel. I take a hundred in commission, and you and your partner split the rest.”
Rosie returned with a tray, loaded with three cups and a china teapot. She laid it on the corner of the desk and poured. “Milk and sugar?” she asked, looking at me. I noticed her eyes were a piercing blue.
“Yeah, white and one, thanks.”
She added the milk and sugar, then milk only for the remaining two cups, and handed mine to me before taking the remaining seat. “So,” she looked from Patricia to me and back again, “did she say yes?”
Patricia nodded and smiled. “Rosie, meet your new partner.”
Rosie’s eyes met mine, and I studied her face. The blue eyes were definitely the dominating feature, surmounted by a high, smooth forehead. Prominent cheekbones tapered to a narrow chin, and her dark-painted lips emphasized the paleness of her skin. Her close-cut hair somehow made her face seem larger, and dimples appeared in her cheeks when, after a long moment, she broke into a smile. “Congratulations,” she said, and reached out to shake my hand.
“Welcome to the team,” added Patricia. “I'd like to get you off and running as soon as possible, but there's nothing on the books right now. I promise you though, you two will get the first job that comes up.”
“I hear you're pretty good,” said Rosie, sitting back and crossing her legs as she continued to eye me appraisingly.
I shrugged. “I don't have a lot of experience, but I learn quickly.”
“Could you beat Rosie?” asked Patricia.
I raised my eyebrows at the unexpected question. Looking at her, then at Rosie, I noticed the dark-haired woman raise her chin slightly – challengingly. “Yeah, I think so,” I replied without thinking.
Rosie smiled, but it was a different smile this time, tight and dismissive. Her blue eyes glittered as she said, “Prove it.”
“Yes, we'd like to see how you fight,” said Patricia. “Tracy's recommendation is all very well, but there's nothing like seeing it with our own eyes.”
I was nonplussed for a moment. “I didn't...bring my gear with me,” I protested. I wasn’t afraid to fight Rosie, though she looked like a tough opponent, but the unexpected challenge had thrown me off-balance.
“That's all right,” Patricia replied. “There are some things here that you can borrow. When you've finished your tea, Rosie will show you where to find them.” She smiled. “Take your time, there's no need to hurry.”
The butterflies were playing in my stomach again, in anticipation at the upcoming fight. I glanced at Rosie, trying to size her up without her knowing, but she immediately caught my eye and grinned, knowing my thoughts. “No pins,” she said. “Submission only. Let's see if you're as good as Tracy says you are.”
The implicit challenge in her words made me bristle a bit. “I guess you're going to find out.” We stared evenly at one another, and I took the opportunity to size her up a bit more. As I’d noticed on the stairs earlier, she was more slightly built than me, but the muscles on her slim forearms were well defined where the turned-back sleeves of her blouse exposed them, and her thighs beneath the tight jeans were lithe and muscular. I wondered what it would be like to be trapped between those thighs. Painful, in all probability. This would be a tough battle, but I didn’t think about backing out. Despite the fluttering in my stomach, I could already feel the adrenalin beginning to surge though me. My head buzzed with eagerness. I wanted to fight Rosie, and I wanted to do it right now.
I drained the tea from my cup and rose from my seat. “Shall we?”
“Absolutely.” Rosie stood up and led me out of the room, along the hallway and down the stairs. “We'll fight in here,” she said as I followed her through the house toward the back, and we emerged into a large room with French doors along the far wall. It was almost devoid of furniture, and black rubber mats covered most of the floor. “This is Patricia's work-out room.”
I looked around. “Where can I change?”
She stepped back into the hallway. “Here's a guest bedroom,” she said, opening a door on the left. “You should find something to fit you in the bottom drawer of the bureau in the corner. I'll meet you out the back in a few minutes.”
I stepped into the room and closed the door after me. A king-size bed occupied most of the room, and an ornate wardrobe and a tall chest of drawers took up the majority of the space left over. I dropped my bag on the corner of the bed and squeezed around it to get to the chest of drawers.
Opening the bottom drawer as Rosie had directed, I found a small selection of exercise wear, and after discounting a couple of bikinis, I settled for a black leotard. I stripped off my clothes, laid them on the bed beside my bag, then pulled the leotard up my legs and regarded myself in the mirror on the front of the wardrobe. It was a bit snug, though not uncomfortably so, and cut a bit higher at the thighs than those I normally wore, but overall it was a pretty good fit. After settling it comfortably over my bum, I opened the door and went out to the work-out room.
Rosie was already there, standing in the center of the room, doing some stretching exercises. She was dressed in what I first thought was a rather brief black bikini, but turned out to be her underwear – black soft-cup bra and matching g-string panties. I thought it was a pretty bold outfit to be fighting in, but it was only a passing reflection as I stood in the doorway and studied her. Her body matched my expectations – slender but muscular. Her boobs were a lot bigger than mine, and I didn’t give her much chance of staying in that bra.
I stepped through the doorway into the work-out room. “Ah, here she is,” observed Patricia from her place on a black leather upholstered sofa in the far corner. She’d discarded her jacket and now her clinging black dress showed off a quite impressive chest – voluptuous was the term that immediately sprang to my mind. With a glass of white wine in one hand and her stockinged legs crossed in front of her, I felt her eyes on me, sizing me up as I began my own warm-up exercises.
After a few minutes of bending and stretching, I straightened up and turned to face Rosie. “Whenever you're ready,” I said, fixing her with my best intimidating stare, not that I thought it would have any effect.
We met in the center of the mat, circling one another slowly at first, our bare feet silent on the thick rubber. I was eager to make a good impression in front of Patricia, but resisted the urge to make the first move – I knew Rosie was more experienced than me, so I figured it was better to let her commit herself first.
After what seemed like an age, she did so, leaping toward and trying to trip me, but I countered by stepping back, and we ended up with our hands locked together, straining at one another, toe to toe. Rosie had a slight height advantage of course, but I’d been working on my arm muscles, and I managed to force her back a step. Suddenly she pulled back, twisting to one side and driving her knee upward into my belly as I lunged forward, knocked off-balance by her abrupt change of tactics. I was barely able to anticipate her attack and, while I twisted my own body to avoid it, she nevertheless connected with my right side. It hurt, though not too badly, and I could have kicked myself for not being more careful.
I fell and rolled away, coming up onto one knee. I feigned being winded, hoping to fool Rosie into thinking she’d hit me more solidly than she actually had. She closed in, reaching out a hand to grab my hair. As she came within reach, I slammed my fist upward into her belly just below her ribs. I felt her stomach muscles, hard from training, absorb much of the force, but it still knocked the wind out of her, and she staggered back a few paces. I took advantage of the pause to rise to my feet, and we resumed circling one another.
Rosie attacked once again, closing the distance between us to grapple with me, but I turned with her and threw her past me in a hip-toss. She landed on her shoulder and rolled away. I followed up, but it was her turn to throw me, planting her foot in the pit of my stomach and grabbing my arms to toss me over her head. I landed harder than she had, the breath rushing out of my chest, but I rolled and scrambled quickly to my feet, sweeping my hair out of my eyes. It occurred to me that I should have tied it back, but it was too late now.
Rosie grabbed my left arm and pulled me forward, twisting her body and trapping my head under her right arm in a headlock. The throws and falls had bounced her boobs half out of her bra, and I found my cheek pressed hard against her warm, bare flesh. She squeezed hard, and I felt the increasing pressure on my neck.
Knowing I needed to do something quickly to take the initiative and turn the tables on her, I managed to reach my left arm up behind me and get my hand beneath her chin, forcing her head up and back. She fought against me, but my arms were stronger than her neck, and once I pulled her high enough to use my legs, I turned up the pressure, bending her backward against my hip with a supreme effort. I knew I couldn’t maintain that for long, so I clenched the fingers of my right hand into a point and speared it into the tight-stretched muscles beneath her ribs, precisely the spot where I’d punched her a minute ago.
She grunted in pain as her breath rushed out. Her hold on my neck slackened, but she didn’t let go. I stabbed my hand into her midriff again and she cried out loud this time, but still she held on. This time I relaxed and let her bend me over, then thrust my arm down to scoop her legs from under her. I heaved her off the mat and threw myself sideways in a move that Tracy and I had practiced repeatedly in training. We both crashed to the mat, Rosie's body beneath mine, and my shoulder drove hard into her ribs, winding her still further.
I rolled off her, but as I went to draw my knees under me, I felt a hand snake up my back and over my shoulder, holding me down. Then I felt Rosie's weight bearing down on my back. It amazed me that she was able to recover so quickly, and I fought to break free as she wriggled her knees up on either side of me, her bum pressing down on the small of my back.
I could hear her painful breathing as she fought the injured muscles of her ribs to force air into her lungs, and I knew I had to keep her on the defensive. That was easier said than done though, as first one hand, then another slid beneath my chin, pulling my head up and back, stretching my back and neck until I ground my teeth in agony.
“Submit!” she gasped, her breathing still laboured. I didn’t reply, saving my strength for something more positive. I needed to do something before she broke my back, or at least before the pain sapped my strength to the point where I’d have to give in.
To hell with the rules, I thought, and as Rosie intensified the pressure on my neck, I threw my head back, the top of my head colliding with her chin. Her teeth snapped shut with a loud clack, and she loosened her grip. Using the additional slack, I pushed my head forward and drove it back once again into her chin. She screamed and fell backward, holding her face as I rolled over and kicked my way out from under her.
I worried for a moment that I‘d broken her nose or her teeth, but she moved away too rapidly and I guessed that she was faking, trying to lure me closer as I’d done to her earlier. Moving fast, I grabbed her ankles and folded her legs up behind her back, pressing her feet against the bare cheeks of her bum, bisected by the narrow black thong of her g-string. She tried to kick out of my grasp, but I held on, leaning my weight against her legs, bending them upward and backward behind her. Her boobs had popped all the way out of her bra now and the hold pressed them flat against the mat.
She moaned as the strain on her back increased, and I kept up the pressure. I knew I was hurting her as her fists clenched and unclenched, her nails scrabbling against the mat. “Now it's your turn to submit,” I hissed at her, as I pushed harder and forced her feet further up toward her shoulders. “Go on!” She said nothing, and I pushed even harder, drawing another cry of pain from between her clenched teeth, but still she kept silent.
I moved around her, maintaining my hold on her ankles, until I stood astride her shoulders, then dropped my full weight onto her back, crushing her chest against the mat and knocking the wind out of her as she growled in agony, not having enough breath left to scream. I waited for her to give in now, but she still didn’t, and I wondered in exasperation what it would take to wring a submission out of this woman. I’d bent her back so far that her hips were lifted off the floor, and it had to be incredibly painful, but she still resisted.
She reached her arms behind her, straining for a purchase on my legs or flanks, but I changed tactics, letting her legs drop until her thighs touched the floor, then pressing her ankles out and down, twisting her knees painfully and unnaturally outward. She screamed again and stopped trying to gain a hold on me. “Give up, dammit!” I urged her. “Don't make me hurt you any worse!” It struck me as strange that, despite the position I had her in, I was the one pleading with her to stop.
Rosie's stubborn refusal to submit was starting to annoy me. I wondered whether I should simply let her go – there was no way she could be in any shape to continue fighting after the punishment she was taking, but I suddenly remembered my mistake at the Millers' house, stepping in to help Sharon before she’d given in, and therefore before her match was over. That blunder had cost me dearly – and Sharon even more so – and I’d vowed to myself never to make such a stupid mistake again. I wasn’t going to break that promise now.
I pulled back on Rosie's ankles again, tucking her lower legs beneath my right arm as I leaned back and twisted my body to one side, wrenching on her back now, and reaching behind me to try and grab her head. My fingers couldn’t get a good grip on her short hair though, and I eventually had to grab her under the chin, forcing her head up as I bent her back into an impossible position. She strained against me, her body bent almost in a full circle, muscles twitching and jerking from the strain, and it took all my strength to maintain my hold.
A series of drawn-out cries escaped Rosie's lips, punctuated by tortured, rasping breaths – not really screams, more like a baby’s gurgles, but still she refused to give in. I couldn’t see her face, but I could imagine her eyes clenched tightly shut in torment. “Slap the bloody floor if you can't say the words!” I spat at her.
She ignored me, and I wondered what I could do next. Again, I considered just letting go, but my anger was starting to take hold. I knew I couldn’t afford to lose my temper with her, but I wanted the submission – really badly. I wanted to beat her. I let myself fall sideways, maintaining my grip on her legs and neck, pulling up with both arms to keep her back bent as tortuously as I could. Crossing my own legs at the ankles, I squeezed my thighs together, crushing Rosie's abdomen between them. I felt her give one last heave, a futile attempt to escape my grip, then she gave a redoubled scream of frustration and pounded the mat three times with her clenched fist.
I thankfully released my hold on her, and she collapsed to the floor on her face, lying there unmoving while her chest heaved with anguished sobs. “You're bloody mad, you are!” I exploded, rising to my knees. “Christ, you made me keep hurting you...why didn't you just give in?” I was shaking, and it was all I could do not to hit her, I was so angry. She paid no attention, simply lying there on the floor, tears streaming from her eyes.
“Let her be,” said Patricia, rising from her seat on the sofa. She put her now empty wine glass down on the floor, and crossed to where I knelt on the mat next to Rosie. “She'll be all right.”
She took me by the arm and drew me to my feet. Her eyes were bright, her skin flushed from her throat down over the exposed expanse of her upper chest, and I noticed that her nipples were very evident, hard peaks jutting through the clinging fabric of her dress. She was obviously very excited by our fight. She stared into my eyes, and something unfathomable played across her face. For a brief moment I wondered just what was going on here, but I didn’t have time to think about it just then. “Go and sit down,” she said softly but firmly. “I'll get you both a drink.”
She left the room and returned a few moments later with two small glasses filled with what looked like sherry. I’d already seated myself on the sofa, and she handed one glass to me, then took the other over to Rosie, who remained sobbing on the floor.
Kneeling beside her, Patricia coaxed her slowly into a sitting position, and forced some sherry between her lips. She left Rosie on the mat and came over to me. “You did really well,” she said, patting me on the knee. She kept her hand there as she sat down on the sofa beside me.
I didn’t know why, but I didn’t try to move away. Maybe I was still too focused on the fight. I glanced at Rosie. “She's bloody mad!” I repeated. “I could have seriously hurt her...Christ, I think I might have, by the look of her. Why wouldn't she give up?”
Patricia smiled. “That's Rosie's secret weapon,” she replied. “She has a very high tolerance for pain, you see. She even enjoys it. Not many people get her into a submission hold, but those that do, usually end up quitting. Most of them don't have enough of the killer instinct...they won't hurt her enough to make her submit.” She smiled again. “You did, though.”
“She's good,” echoed Rosie, wearily. I looked across at her. Her eyes were puffy and red from crying, and her tears had streaked her makeup in dark smudges down her face. “She's got the killer instinct all right.”
I clutched my glass, trying to stop my hands from shaking. In reflection, I was frightened more than angry, and scared by myself as much as what I’d just seen from Rosie. If someone had asked me that morning if I could ever bring myself to deliberately torture someone like that, I’d have been shocked, but now I suspected that Patricia and Rosie were right. I would have done almost anything to make her submit and win the match. It scared me that she’d have goaded me into hurting her, and it scared me more that, as I strongly suspected, I would have done it. If she hadn’t given up when she did, I knew I would have bent her back even further - possibly broken her spine, if I had to. That thought terrified me.
“Tracy said you could take some punishment,” Patricia was saying. She squeezed my knee tighter, drawing my attention back to her, then she took her hand away as she went on, “We weren't sure you had the nerve to hand it out, though.”
“Seems like you do,” added Rosie, sipping at her drink again. “You got the win, and you didn't lose your temper.” She grinned slightly. “At least, not until afterward.”
“Sorry,” I replied, meaning it. “I was afraid I'd really hurt you.”
She shook her head. “I'll be okay after a good night's sleep,” she said, though I noticed she winced and rubbed her neck at even that slight movement. “I used to be a gymnast when I was at school…at least until these came along.” She grinned and pointed at her boobs, which were still jutting out bare – she hadn’t bothered to tuck them back into her bra. Her dark brown nipples were are hard as Patricia’s. “I could cross my legs behind my head in those days. It's still pretty hard to bend me out of shape.”
“She certainly passed the test,” said Patricia.
“Too bloody right.” Rosie looked at me again. “I'd fight with you any time, love.” Her grin broadened a little. “I'd think twice about fighting against you, though.”
I smiled back at her, pleased that I’d given a good account of myself. Then I remembered my overwhelming desire to hurt her, to punish her for not submitting to me, and my hands started shaking again. I took a deep breath and tossed the rest of my sherry down my throat. “Do you mind if I have a shower?” I asked Patricia. “I'm a bit sweaty.”
“Of course, Donna. I'll show you where the bathroom is, while Rosie finishes getting herself together.”
I gathered my clothes from the bedroom and followed Patricia upstairs. We went along the hallway in the opposite direction from Patricia's office, and she opened a door at the end to reveal a quite spacious, white-tiled bathroom, obviously a recent addition to the house. “I'll go and get you some towels,” she offered. “Won't be a minute.”
Turning on the shower to let it warm up, I stripped off the leotard and tossed it into the corner, then stepped into the shower and closed the glass screen behind me. The warm water felt good against my skin, my muscles still burning from the exertion of the fight. I soaped myself up, savouring the stiffness in my arms, then just stood there, letting the water run over me, soothing my aches. Gradually relaxing as the tension of the combat slowly ebbed, I let my mind drift away.
The sound of the bathroom door suddenly opening startled me back to reality, and I quickly covered my boobs and crotch with my hands. I felt foolish when I saw Patricia standing there, holding a bundle of white towels. “Sorry to disturb you. I did knock.”
I grinned sheepishly, dropping my arms back to my sides. “That's okay. I probably didn't hear you, with the water on.”
“Here are some towels for you,” she said, placing them on the counter beside the sink. She leaned against the wall and regarded me critically as I turned around to sluice the last of the soap from my body. “I meant what I said earlier...you fought very well. Sorry for setting you up like that, but we wanted to see if you really have what it takes. Like I said before, some people can take punishment, but they balk at dishing it out. Sometimes, you'll get a customer like Rosie...someone who likes to be put through the wringer. You need to be able to handle that...and you did,” she added encouragingly. “Not many people can beat Rosie...particularly not with a submission.”
“Will she be okay...really?” I asked. I understood what Patricia was saying, but I still felt guilty about hurting her like that.
“Don't worry about Rosie. She'll be fine in the morning.” She crossed to the door. “There's a hairdryer in the top drawer if you want one. I'll meet you downstairs when you're ready.” She closed the door after her as she left.
I stood under the hot water for several more minutes. I felt a curious mix of emotions – elation at having won the match, and evidently secured a place among Patricia's fighters, mixed with the residual adrenalin left over from the fight, as well the languid, welcome weariness I usually felt after a hard training session, and after my match against Angie. It was a good feeling. The uncomfortable memory of how I’d punished Rosie still underpinned my emotions and diluted my satisfaction, but Patricia's words had gotten through to me. It had been a test, and what else was I supposed to do? In any case, it seemed I’d done the right thing. I’d won, and Rosie hadn’t suffered any lasting harm.
Finally stepping out of the shower, I toweled myself dry, and used the hairdryer to dry my hair where the ends had gotten under the water. I dressed in my own clothes again, picked up the wet towels and discarded leotard and took them downstairs with me.
Patricia was sitting alone on the sofa when I emerged into the work-out room, sipping at another glass of wine. “I...uh...didn't know what to do with these,” I said, holding up the towels and leotard.
“Oh, don't worry.” She rose from her seat. “Here, give them to me.” She took the bundle from my arms and disappeared, returning a short while later with another glass. “Here, have a drink with me.”
“Where's Rosie?” I asked as she handed me the glass.
“I took her upstairs and put her to bed.”
“She lives here?”
“Yeah, Rosie's my personal assistant, as well as a live-in housekeeper. I travel quite a lot, and the insurance people aren't too keen on me leaving the house empty. Rosie looks after the business and the house while I'm not here, so it works out quite well.” She raised her glass. “So...here's to success.”
“Cheers.” We touched glasses and sipped at our wine. Patricia looked at me steadily over the rim of her glass. She was sitting quite close, her knee almost touching mine. From the look in her eyes, I wondered if she was going to try and seduce me. I’d never been with a woman – well, there had been a drunken kiss at a New Years Eve party once, but that was all – and I’d never really had thoughts or feelings that way. Looking at Patricia though, stirred something in me.
I mentally shook myself. “So…” I said, feeling more than a little awkward, “I s'pose you're my boss. What happens now?”
“Like I said before, we don't have anything for you right now, but something will turn up the next week or so. We usually get a couple of bookings a week. Everybody manages one or two jobs a month.”
“How many people work for you?” I asked, my curiosity piqued by her reference to ‘everybody’.
“Six, including you. You know Sharon and Tracy, of course, and there's Rosie, plus two others you haven't met. Then there's Zoe, the girl you're replacing, but she doesn't really count now. She won't be fighting until after she's had her baby…if then.”
There were a lot of other questions I wanted to ask her, but I hesitated, not wanting to appear too nosy. I looked at my watch – it was after eight. “I'd better be going. It'll take me an hour to get home on the Tube, this time of night.”
Patricia waved a hand dismissively. “Don't worry about the tube, darling. I'll treat you to taxi fare.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? The Tube's no trouble, really.”
“I wouldn't hear of it. Got to look after my girls, haven't I?” She gave me a winning smile.
We chatted some more while I finished my glass of wine, then Patricia rang for a taxi. She walked me to the front door, and touched my arm as she said goodnight. I wondered then if she was going to kiss me, but she didn’t. I wasn’t sure whether to be glad or disappointed about that.
In the back seat of the taxi on the way home, I smiled happily to myself. Sure, Patricia was a piece of work and she intrigued me and intimidated me at the same time, but I’d gotten exactly what I wanted from this meeting. One or two jobs a month, Patricia had said. Now I could definitely afford a trip to Spain next summer. Even better, though, I’d get the chance to fight again – often. That was what pleased me most of all.
TO BE CONTINUED…
