The Dominant Rose

Four steps down from the street is a door the colour of ripe blackberries.

There’s no sign, no logo, no letterbox.

No doorbell.

You have to hammer on the door with the strength of ten and a pure heart to get anyone’s attention.

You have to want to pass through the purple portal into The Dominant Rose.

Jamie Reveille isn’t so sure that he does but he’s here anyway, glancing over his shoulder. Twilight is taking over the street, experimenting with a purple palette.  Smudging the shadows with mauve, daubing a wash of violet here and glazing the damp pavers with amethyst.

Jamie shivers and applies a heavy hand to the door.  It swings open without the Gothic creak he expects and he ducks through.  Even with his shoulders hunched and his knees bent, his toffee-toned hair brushes the lintel. 

Inside, there is a dais in the center of the room with three armchairs clustered around it.  Those velvet-covered armchairs are occupied by the ladies of The Dominant Rose—

Anna-beth: fine as a needle, and gingerbread-cottage in a good kind of way…

Kyla: a damsel in cahoots with the dragon to trap the knight, then barbecue him…

Plum: paler than the moon and exotically film noir—

Three very dangerous, appealing women.  And they’re smiling.

Jamie hesitates.

‘Well, step up honey,’ invites Anna-beth.  Her voice alone should be R-rated.  ‘Let’s get this audition rolling.’

Jamie flexes his hands, shrugs out of his jacket, and steps up on the dais.

It’s very quiet in the room.

‘Hey lá,’ breathes Kyla, fanning her fingers as though they’ve been singed.

‘Mmm-hmmm,’ agrees Plum.  She rises from her chair and approaches Jamie.  Her walk is indolent and her exquisite mouth pursed.

Every muscle in his body tenses and Jamie feels the hair on the back of his neck salute.  His eyes track Plum’s slow movements.  When she smiles lazily he flinches, expecting fangs.  But she only circles him, close enough for her breath to shiver his skin, before flowing into her chair.

Anna-beth rubs the fingers of one hand over the velvet nap of her chair. Each finger is decorated by three rings and the jewels wink in the mellow lighting.  She’s considering.  Her tongue flicks out and smoothes over her lips and she reaches for her wineglass, sipping daintily of her ruby wine.

‘So far, so good,’ she decides.

Jamie is not reassured.  He’s actually worried.  So far?

Kyla leans forward, her elbows balanced on her knees, and her pointed chin caught in her hands.  Her gaze, hotter than balefire and heavier than thunder, rests below his belt

Jamie hears the air sizzle.  His hands curl into fists beside his hips, nails sharp against his skin.

Kyla’s eyebrows arch.  ‘Boxers?’

‘Briefs,’ Anna-beth decides, head resting on the back of her chair, eyelids drooping.

‘Nooo.’  Plum’s tigerish eyes are glowing.  ‘Commando.’

‘That’s going to be interesting.’  Anna-beth sets her glass aside, chink, on the mother-of-pearl inlay table.

Jamie is sweating.  He can feel beads of raw sweat breaking on his scalp, bursting on his forehead.  He considers running for the exit but Kyla is laughing softly to herself as she strolls anti-clockwise around the dais, bare feet hushing over carpet the texture of silk.  Her cinnamon scent lingers. 

‘Interesting?’  Jamie’s voice cracks in the middle.

‘For the best possible fit,’ Anna-beth purrs, ‘we measure close to the skin.’

No.  They don’t mean…

But that is definitely anticipation flavouring the air.

Jamie shakes his head slowly.

The three women nod, equally slowly, solemnly.  They’re standing hip-to-hip before him, like a firing squad.

‘Yeah, right.’ Jamie folds his arms over his chest and levels a gunslinger stare on them.

Kyla avidly admires the worn-thin t-shirt veiling defined muscles.  ‘Not bad for an accountant,’ she says to Plum.

Plum stretches languidly.  Her clothes slither, revealing tantalizing slices of palely perfect skin.  ‘I’m holding out for a hero.’

Anna-beth’s indulgence is evaporating.  ‘Short supply at the moment, darling.  We have to work with what’s available.’

Plum hisses her displeasure.

Kyla is thoughtful.  ‘I don’t know. He kind of fits the criteria.  And he is a warrior accountant, after all.’

Jamie isn’t sure if his hide is safe from a predatory Plum or carnivorous Kyla.  As for Anna-beth… brrrr.

‘True,’ concedes Anna-beth.  ‘So reasonably intelligent.’

‘Strong,’ details Kyla, ticking points off on her fingers.  ‘Fast, although blessed with knowing when slooow is good.’

Plum wreathes a slender arm around Kyla’s shoulder and tips her head so that their hair blends.  ‘Fresh from battling the books at Minute to Midnight.’

‘And a red Mustang equates quite nicely to a fiery steed,’ Anna-beth admits, her alluring accent stretching the syllables.  ‘Then there are those enthusiastic referees.’

Jamie’s mouth opens but words are temporarily beyond him.

‘Which only leaves… larger than life,’ Kyla says.

Laser-targeting has nothing on their eyes.  Three voracious gazes lock on his groin, and Jamie recoils before freezing.  He’s having trouble breathing.  Having trouble thinking, too.  All his synapses seem to have overloaded, except one last brain cell which eeks and gives up a ghost of an idea. 

It might be enough.

Jamie snaps his fingers three times to break the spell.  ‘Excuse me, ladies?’  His voice is raspy and barely recognizable.  ‘Can we get back on track here?’

They’re not listening.  They’re producing tape measures, a magnifying glass, and Anna-beth has her long fingers wrapped around a pair of scissors, holding them up to the light, checking the edges.  She parts the blades and the V frames her surgical smile. 

Snicker snack.

The scissors are sharp enough to shave sunlight.

Jamie winces and finds a weak grin somewhere.  ‘Does everyone receive this treatment or am I special?’

‘Babe.’  Anna-beth braces a hand on her hip.  ‘We only accept the best of the best, and most of them don’t make it through.’

Jamie’s eyes narrow.  He recognises that gloss of amusement.  It recasts the entire encounter.  He glances at Plum, her wrist resting on top her head, and at Kyla, barely leashed behind Anna-beth’s right shoulder.

Oh, yes.  He knows this game now.

‘Stop,’ Jamie commands.

‘Care to be more explicit?’ Plum invites.

‘Stop right now.’

‘Took you long enough.’  Anna-beth tosses the scissors onto her chair and rubs at the small of her back.  ‘Wheeew.’

‘Well, damn,’ Kyla grins, ‘and here I was betting we’d have you down to skin.’

‘Pay up,’ Plum says, extending her hand to Kyla.

Jamie’s knees loosen and he sits abruptly on the edge of the dais, head down while he concentrates on deep breaths.

Anna-beth swoops into his range of vision.  ‘You okay?’

‘So, this is how you treat all your customers?’

‘Like I said, we have a very select clientele.’

Kyla hands him a glass of water.  ‘We weren’t joking about our criteria, either.  Or the references.’

‘All for a pair of pants.’  Jamie straightens his spine.

‘No,’ Plum corrects.  ‘All for a pair of Dominant Rose custom made, better-than-leather, softer-than-suede pants.’

‘Gods, I hate shopping,’ Jamie says.  ‘Unless it’s for houses, or shoes… or wine.’

Anna-beth switches his water glass for a wineglass.  ‘Look on the bright side. You’ll never have to shop for pants again, because you’ll wear out before they do.’

‘Guaranteed,’ adds Kyla.

And Jamie believes them.

Kate Smith lives by the beach in Melbourne Australia and her quirky crime series will be serialised in January 2006 on australianreader.com. This does not mean she will become serious!

Email: Kate Smith

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