Going Under Ch. 01
Chapter One: Connection
Part One
Sara had originally been excited by her posting to Moscow, a real chance to put her language skills to use. She had only been there once before when she had visited Russia as a student, and then only to see the tourist sights. Now, having been working in the city for three months she would have been happy to stick to those. Her time was spent either translating tedious documents for the trade attaché or trekking back and forth to her dull flat in the dreary suburbs, or the weekly challenge of joining the queues at the gloomy supermarket. For the ordinary people little had really changed since the Communists had left, except now they could not get stuff because it was too expensive rather than because the shelves were bare, and now it was gangsters and business moguls who drove the flash cars rather than party officials. She supposed free enterprise allowed escape for some, half the women under forty in her block were prostitutes or pole dancers, dreaming of a rich German or American to whisk them away and in the meantime making a great deal more than the average factory or shop worker. Sara was storing all the sights and sounds up for when she got home, she was sure she could get a couple of articles or even a novel out of her time here.
What she had envisaged doing when coming to Moscow was checking out the cool night clubs. She had been past a few in taxis when she had first come to the city, but had never plucked up the courage to queue up to go inside. Back home she would have gone with a friend or two, but the embassy was full of matrons and fat middle-aged diplomats worrying about their wives and/or their mistresses so there was no-one suitable to go to a club with. Sara was really self-conscious of going alone, knowing she would have to fight off over-eager louts. Her eagerness to see inside some of the clubs had not yet overpowered that concern, but she was keen, before her time was up in Moscow, to see the inside the clubs, ones that would have a style that their equivalent in Toronto or Ottawa lacked. Maybe she too dreamt of a rich German, she had had her pick of Americans back home. No, what she really wanted was a pale but interesting Russian poet, poor in money but rich in soul. Someone to take her on a sleigh ride out to his family's dacha, where they would make love under furs and sip vodka by candlelight. She had looked for one in bars and coffee houses around the city, but anyone coming close to her specifications had turned out to be a bore. She had to face it, she wanted someone with a little more 'edge', someone a bit dangerous before her life sunk completely into the mundane routines of embassy life.
Sara glanced at her watch. It had just gone nine. The meeting had dragged on well past six and then she had felt it would damage her career prospects if she had ducked out too early from the drinks to celebrate Mrs. Foster's birthday. She had made sure she had filled up on canapes so that she would not have to cook when she reached her flat. She would watch some game show or chart run-down before bed. Sara shoved her ticket into the slot and the barrier let her through into the underground. One thing she loved about Moscow was the underground railway system. It was so unlike the system in New York which had a seventies feel, a bit too functional and all too familiar from movies even before she had visited it when at college. She contrasted it with Prague's metro system which gleamed and did not have a spot of litter. Moscow's was pretty clean too, miles better than London, but whereas Prague's was very 2000s, Moscow's was wholly 1930s: every station was a state room, every escalator a grand staircase.
There were very few people around. The rush hour was well over and those going out for the evening were generally already in their bars, at the moment few people were heading in or out. As Sara rode the escalator down to the platform level she felt a swoosh of air as if someone had rushed past her. She grabbed at her handbag worrying the someone was trying to snatch it off her. She looked around hurriedly, but there was no-one obvious. Then she caught sight of a dark figure disappearing from view at the foot of the escalator. How had they got past her without her seeing? Maybe she was tired, dropping off as she rode the moving stairs. Then again, even stronger than the first time, a large figure swept by her and this time she looked down the escalator in time to see the rear of a large man, long hair streaming behind him as he bounded down the last handful of steps in one jump. Sara guessed he was chasing the other, slimmer figure, that Sara was now sure had been a woman. As the escalator took her inexorably down, Sara wondered if she should hang back and let whatever activity the two had been involved in play itself out, but given how fast they had been moving she was sure it would be all over or they would be out of sight by the time she reached the platform. She was sure the militia, Moscow's police force, would soon be on the case and she was eager to get home, not to be wasting the night making a statement at a dreary police HQ.
As Sara stepped on to the platform she knew something was wrong. Her eyes went immediately to a struggle at the far end of the platform. The large man was stooped over the dark figure who was sprawled on the floor. As the figure twisted Sara could see it certainly was a woman: pale skin, dark hair. She twisted and strained to reach the stainless steel pistol just inches from her fingers, but the man's foot pinned her arm. He stood over her with what looked like a hiking stick, wooden and coming to a point. He lunged down with it, as if trying to pierce the woman. At the last moment she wrenched her body aside and the stick clashed against the platform surface.
Thoughts ran through Sara's mind. One natural reaction was to run off the platform and head in the opposite direction, call for the militia, but other thoughts won and drove her legs into a run headlong up the platform. It was the feeling that she could be like that woman, pinned to the ground with some beast of a man toying with her. As she ran Sara dug into handbag, he fingers scrabbling for her mace.
"Back off, back off!" Sara shouted in Russian. "Leave her alone, you bastard."
At the sound of her voice the man turned just as Sara had hoped and it only took a few more fast steps before he was in range. She was spraying mace as she lifted her bottle, coating his thick beard in the liquid before it gushed into his eyes. Sara kept the button depressed, with the spray bottle grasped in both hands like a policewoman with a pistol. Almost blindly he lashed out at Sara with his stick, but in seconds, without thinking, her Aikido training, gained on many a wet night in the university dojo, came into action. In an instant the mace was on the floor and with both hands free Sara had snatched at the man's wrist, twisting into him, using his own weight to orbit him around the vulnerable wrist. For the first time since she had learnt that move, Sara felt it in full effect as the man's large but fragile wrist bones cracked as his body contorted, swinging against the wall and rebounding on to the floor, his own bulk doing most of the work. The man sprawled dangerously close to the edge of the platform. Painfully he struggled to get to his feet, his good hand grabbing for his stick. Sara was ready, in a defensive posture. Even with his size Sara guessed a broken right wrist would even things a little, but then she heard the clunking of an automatic pistol's mechanism being worked, all too familiar from a hundred movies. Sara glanced back to see the woman on her feet, her ankle length leather coat smeared with dust, the large pistol gripped expertly in both hands. Sara did not know what to do, but things moved fast and in instants her ears were ringing as the woman fired again and again at the man. Sara watched the mechanism working, expelling the spent casings, chambering round after round, the muzzle flash licking from the gun barrel as she fired again. Sara turned back to see her target, but the man seemed to have gone, and just a cloud of dust blew where he had fallen.
"That's enough." Sara said in Russian, speaking loudly so she could hear her voice over the whistling in her ears. "He's gone."
"Yes." The woman replied. She swept open her coat with her hand and holstered her pistol.
Now things had quietened Sara could get a look at the woman. She was certainly distinctive, clearly a goth or maybe a punk. She was almost monochrome, black hair contrasting with her pale complexion, a fit, clearly muscled body clear in the black rubber catsuit she wore beneath her coat. Something like a leather corset or was it a bulletproof vest, nipped in her slender waist. Sara loved the thick-soled boots the woman wore, the sort she had seen in plenty hanging up on stalls in Camden Market when she had been on the London tourist trail. They rose to her knee, a series of buckles running their length. Sara was so envious, this woman would have looked the part in a fetish club and yet her sexiness seemed to have a practicality. Sara loved that fact that these were her everyday, go-to-work clothes.
"Good moves." The woman said closing her coat to hide the pistol.
"Thanks. I always knew those Aikido lessons would pay off one day."
"Yes, pretty handy. You'll have to teach me some, for the next time I can't reach my gun."
"Certainly. My name's Sara." She extended her hand.
The woman shook it and Sara noticed the elegance of her long slender fingers, inevitably tipped with black polished nails. "Cate." She said. "You're not Russian. American?"
Sara laughed. "Canadian."
"Sorry for the mistake." Cate said in English, "I'm sure you tire of being called American. I get it too. The Russians have no ear for Anglo-Saxon accents."
"You're English?"
Cate nodded. "Been in Moscow longer than I care to think though, through all it's ups and downs. It's kept me fed though."
"What do you do?" Sara was aware she was being nosey, but she was really keen to keep Cate talking.
"Settle things."
"You work for gangsters?"
Cate laughed. "Not really, his kind fall more into that category." She nodded to where the bearded man had fallen. "You could say I work for landowners, protecting their interests."
"I bet they're pleased now the Communists have gone and everything's been privatised."
"Certainly. They did have contacts inside the former regime and the one before that and the one before that, I'm sure, but yes, a lot more of them have emerged from the woodwork in the past few years." Cate fell silent.
Sara looked at Cate, drinking in the whole exotic appearance of her and then down at herself, so mundane in her grey office suit and wool coat.
"So what do you do?"
"Nothing exciting, translations at the embassy."
"Say no more. I know how to keep secrets."
"I'm sure you do." Sara hesitated. "I have to say how much I like how you're dressed." She flushed, a little embarrassed.
Cate looked up, her eyes fixing on Sara's as if digging into her mind. "Thank you." She said softly. "Not the sort of thing you could get away wearing at the embassy, I bet."
"No." Sara said weakly.
"Though I know you'd love to."
Sara looked alarmed. She did feel Cate had read her mind. She looked away awkwardly. She saw a few groups of people had come on to the platform but they seemed oblivious of the two women speaking English.
"You've got three minutes until your train. I have to thank you. Without you I could have been in serious trouble. He could have destroyed me."
"He looked like he was trying to kill you. Your work must be dangerous."
"Kill me?" Cate said with a little surprise in her voice. "Yes, probably. They're just thugs though." Cate said dismissively. "Two minutes."
Sara looked up the track but as yet there was no sign of the train.
"I have to do something to thank you, for saving me."
Sara looked back quickly. "It was nothing."
Cate laughed. "You wouldn't be saying that if you had your throat gashed or a stake through your thigh and they were rushing you to a crowded Moscow hospital."
"But it didn't turn out like that. We worked together as a team."
"I owe you. There's not many who would have time for someone like me. What would you accept to show my thanks?"
"The address of your boutique."
"I could tell you, but you would only stand outside it watching people like me going in and out and going home to have fantasies of what could be, but never would be. It has to be something that you'd actually follow through." Cate said as if trying to provoke Sara. "Ninety seconds."
"Clubs." Sara said suddenly, turning properly to face Cate. "You must know the coolest clubs in Moscow, you must get into them. Pick me one of your favourites with your kind of dress code. Put down the name of somewhere I could get suitably attired, then we'll meet. Tomorrow's Saturday night. We'll meet outside this station at 8pm and you take me to the best places. I won't let you down." Sara handed Cate her open filofax and a pen.
Cate looked deep into Sara's eyes before turning to the page. "Wow, when you set your mind to something, you go in full force. I suppose, after this evening's demonstration I should have realised that." Cate scribbled something in Sara's filofax and handed it backed to her closed.
The underground train arrived and as Sara tucked the filofax back into her bag and as she saw the first passengers come off the train she felt a kiss on her cheek which at first felt icy cold, but then burnt through her. She snapped round to look for Cate but she was gone. Sara stepped on to the train, thoughts haring through her mind.
Part Two
Sara was glad she had got the antique velvet coat. It was dark blue and, though a little stained around the hem, looked great. It reached to her ankles, and its length and the hood she had pulled up over her head made her feel a little less self-conscious. She knew that if she had stood outside the underground station in just the leather dress and patent boots she wore, in minutes she would be fighting off clients thinking she was a prostitute. As the station clock clicked on to eight o'clock, Cate was beside her. She wore her long leather coat, or a cleaned version of it, over a glossy top that left her midriff bare and a long skirt which stretched to her ankles but was slit almost to her thigh; clompy patent shoes finished off the outfit.
"Hello." Sara said a little nervously. "I didn't see you coming."
"No, you wouldn't." Cate replied a little cryptically. "So, you plucked up the courage to go into Brusilov's then."
"Yes." Sara said proudly, opening the coat to show her clothes. The dress was black leather, with a tight laced bodice and a flared out skirt. Her tights were fishnet and her patent PVC boots stretched to her knee. Taking the lead from Cate's style, she had kohled her eyes and painted her nails black and her lips very dark maroon.
"Wonderful." Cate said, clearly pleased. "You can certainly make changes when you put your mind to it."
"When the reward is worth it." Sara replied and Cate gave a soft smile.
"Right, first stop, 'Gothika', it's not far from here." Cate set off and Sara had to walk briskly to keep up.
The queue into the club was not too long and within minutes the two women were stepping beneath the blazing white lights which spelt out the club's name in Cyrillic and Western letters. Sara felt excitement as she checked her coat into the cloakroom and stepped through the door into the main body of the club. She had not dressed this daringly since leaving high school, neither had she been into a club like this in years, as she saw more of it she thought, maybe never, certainly never like this.
"Wow." Cate said stepping back from Sara to admire her dress. "You can only appreciate it properly in here. It's astounding what's hidden beneath the dull clothes of an embassy worker. I'm glad I've let you out, it would have been a shame for your spirit to be lost in grey."
"Yes, I think glossy black's more my colour." Sara smiled broadly.
Sara's eyes darted around the room, it was still pretty early, but the large central hall of the club already had a good selection of clients. For a gothic club she was not surprised to see black was the major colour, from heavy metalists in biker jackets through goths in velvet and pvc to fetishists strutting in rubber and studs. The music was heavy, but not so distorted she could not tell what was playing.
Sara was surprised when Cate took her hand and led her through the crowd, but as they worked their way closer to the bar, Sara felt she was drawing courage from Cate. Sara realised it was becoming more than just a night out, with Cate to lead her, she was truly relaxing and as she did she felt she was becoming truly part of this scene.
"Two, triple red." Cate said to the barman in loud Russian. He seemed to know what she meant. In moments three shot glass of vodka with some red liqueur spiralling in it were lined up in front of the two women.
"You know the Russians take their toasts seriously." Cate said to Sara, continuing in Russian.
"Yes." It was one thing she had soon learnt on arriving in Moscow.
"Well so do I." She picked up one glass and Sara copied her. "Happiness!"
"Happiness!" Sara said as she and Cate both bolted back the shots, barely tasting them.
Cate picked up the next glass. "Love."
Sara watched, her own glass ready. This time Cate sipped, holding the vodka in her mouth. As Sara did the same, Cate wrapped her free hand around her waist, its slimness accentuated by the leather bodice of her dress. Then she pulled Sara in tight and Cate pressed her lips hard against Sara's. Their matching heights made it so easy. Up for the fun of it, Sara let Cate's tongue find its way into her vodka filled mouth mixing the liquids. Then Cate snapped them apart. Sara swallowed the vodka and suppressed a cough. It burnt its way down Sara, but it was the other feelings that were shooting through her that attracted most attention.
"Last one for now." Cate said, picking up the final glass. "Life."
Sara picked up her own glass slowly.
"Or do you want 'love' again?" Cate said quietly.
Sara looked at the woman, thoughts spiralling through her mind. "What do you think?" Part of her alarmed, part of her wanting to be flirtatious, part of her wondering if she was finding the delicious danger she had been looking for.
Cate fixed her gaze on Sara's eyes. "Life's overrated anyway. Love!" Cate said clinking their glasses before sweeping her arm around Sara's and holding the vodka to her lips. Cate did likewise. Synchronously they tipped the vodkas back into each other's throats before slamming the glasses down on the bar.
Sara grinned broadly, her body fired up with alcohol and unfamiliar urges she would have to learn to handle.
"Come on, let's dance." Again Cate took her hand as if leading her younger sister and dragged her out on to the dance floor. Though they were pressed on all sides by flailing bodies of Russians shaking off the burdens of the week to pounding music, for Sara there seemed to be nothing but her and Cate. It was if she was in an oasis of timelessness, that the night would go on forever.
They were back at the bar, sipping chilled straight vodka as cold as a Moscow November night.
"Are you having fun?" Cate asked.
Sara grinned. Her body felt numb from the alcohol and she found it difficult to focus, but somehow Cate's body and features remained sharp. "The best fun I've had since I reached Moscow, probably the best I've had in years."
"Well, it's a small price to pay for you saving me."
"But who'll save me?"
"Me, of course."
"I think it might be you who's my main danger."
Cate flashed a look at Sara, but reading her correctly smiled. "But danger, isn't that what you wanted?"
"Yes, but it has a different flavour to what I expected."
"Well, I bet you never drank iced vodka in Ottawa."
Cate smiled again. "No, but I think I'm acquiring the taste."
"It's amazing what a difference the real thing can make to how you view things."
Sara gently put out her hand to brush Cate's sleek skirt with her fingers.
"I'll have to borrow that skirt."
"You'd look good in it."
"Really? Not just like someone dressing up?"
"Well, there's quite a few hoops to go through before they let you be a full member of the club, but I think your application's receiving full attention." Cate sipped more vodka. "I'd love to try on that dress."
"I could lace you into it."
"As long as you let me unlace it from you first."
A bolt of realisation coursed through Sara. She realised that she was willing to strip for this woman, that she aroused her so much. For the first time, Sara realised the flush on her cheeks had nothing to do with the crowds in the club, the pace of her heart; nothing to do with the dancing. She recognised she had no idea how to deal with it and fear kicked in.
"Time to go." Sara said, standing up, looking for the exit.
"Okay." Cate replied with clear sadness in her voice.
Neither of the women spoke as they walked back to the underground station, the only sound between them was that of their footsteps. Sara tried to make her mind go blank, let it sink into the vodka glow, but it was too alert, sending out confused signals. All too quickly they were at the steps to the station.
"Thank you for an excellent evening. You've made coming to Moscow worthwhile."
"Just one night?"
"I'm easily pleased."
"That doesn't mean you can't have more."
"Things are moving fast. This time two nights ago I wouldn't have had the courage to queue up to get in a place like that, now I feel like a regular."
"Good."
"It's not just... It's not just that you were someone to go with, you made it special."
"Thanks." Cate seemed a little unimpressed.
"You just have to slow things down a little. You move so fast, just like on the escalator."
"But you caught up."
"Maybe this route's a little more rickety. I'm treading cautiously."
"I wait. I can wait longer than you could imagine."
"But waiting does not always get you what you're waiting for. Anyone who's queued at Moscow shops knows that." Sara said trying to lighten the tone.
"I know that. It's a lesson I've relearnt many times."
"Okay, fellow clubber. You take me to all the best clubs in Moscow and then we'll see how far we've got." Sara was worried she was putting Cate off too strongly. She certainly did not want to lose her new friend and the key to fun.
"It's a deal. Same time, same place, next week."
With those words Sara lit up, she realised that walking away from Cate now would have meant cold turkey for weeks to come. Cate leant forwards and gave Sara the softest of kisses on her cheek. Sara looked away a little embarrassed. When she looked back Cate had gone and there was no sign of her on what was a pretty empty street. Sara thought about it no more and hurried to catch the last train.
Part Three
Sara was admiring herself in the mirror when the bell to her flat rang. She felt a little self-conscious as she had just finished getting herself into her new gear for the club. She had been back to 'Brusilov's'. Now she was kitted out in a black leather corset, and calf-length PVC trousers, plus ankle boots with steel stiletto heels. The kohl around her eyes, the purple nail varnish and now black lipstick had become her free time make-up, with only slightly brighter lipstick making it into her work ensemble.
"Sara!"
Sara almost jumped, not at the surprise of hearing her name called, but at the sound of Cate's voice coming through the intercom. There was an hour before they were supposed meet and Sara had just got to grips with her outfit and had not had the time she had wanted to give thought to her relationship with Cate. Sara grabbed her velvet coat and small bag and hurried quickly down to the main door to the block where Cate was waiting. Cate's style of clothes contrasted with Sara's softer edge. She wore a thick leather jacket, stretching just beyond her waist, stitched with deep swirl patterns. Her trousers were tough leather too, laced tightly down the sides and reaching down into boots with stainless steel fronts.
As Sara stepped out of her block she delighted at the soft creaks and sounds her clothes made, the click of her heels on the floor and the velvet of her coat sweeping around her.
"Hello." Sara said cheerfully, uncertain what else to say.
"Hello." Cate said. Her look was intense and Sara guessed she had recently been in a fight.
"Are you alright? Was there another fight?"
"No," Cate shook her hair, swishing it back from her face, "not tonight. It was just ..."
"What? You couldn't wait to see me?" Sara said lightly.
"Yes." Cate replied seriously.
As Cate's eyes locked with hers Sara could almost feel the weight of the words shooting into her mind. A tingle ran through Sara and she realised that it was the tingle of actually feeling wanted by someone else. She had felt it when she had first been going out with boyfriends in the past, but now it was amplified, as if somehow Cate was binding Sara to her in some tangible way.
"I've got a taxi." Cate nodded across the car at the kerb.
"Great." Sara said and followed her. Soon they were sat beside each other as the taxi pulled away recklessly.
"You're looking good." Sara said at length.
"Sorry, I didn't have time to change."
Sara laughed.
"What's so funny?" Cate asked, her manner seeming to thaw a little.
"Well, what you wear to work, most of us only get to try on for nights out."
"There are some perks of the job."
"Well, you're people aren't recruiting are they?"
Cate gave Sara a flash of her gaze, as if uneasy about to using it too much.
"I've lived among Russians too long. Quick humour is a lost art to me." Cate said, smiling. "Aren't you going to ask me where we're going?"
"I'm quite happy to drive around Moscow in a taxi with you all night." Sara said, feeling embarrassed as she did. She had no idea where this tendency to flirt came from, and why only when she was with Cate.
"You're trusting. Anyway, I'll tell you. I thought we'd try 'Revolution' for vodka before heading to 'The Opium Den' a bit later."
"Sounds excellent. After six months of going out with you I'll be able to write the definitive guide to Moscow's nightlife. You seem to know it so well."
"Nightlife is all I know, I could show you places you'd never want to write about." Cate stopped suddenly. "But I need you, you're my guide to Moscow's daytime."
Soon the taxi was pulling up in front of a bright, noisy bar emblazoned with red. It was a more mainstream crowd than the 'Gothika', but the bouncers nodded the two women in. Sara doubted Cate was refused entrance anywhere. She placed an order at the bar then led Sara to a corner. Though the lighting was brash the gaps between it were in deep shadow and Sara felt more at ease on the soft plastic couch hidden from sight, but able to view the bright young things passing around them.
"Do you like it?" The music was loud but Cate's voice seemed to come clearly to Sara though she spoke softly.
"Yes." Sara said, but not being able to hear her own voice over the music, she nodded.
A waitress brought a tray of different coloured shots of vodka. Cate dived in and pulled out one and held it up for Sara. She did likewise, picking a red one she guessed Cate would like. Each pushed the glasses to the others' lips and then poured the vodka deep. Sara coughed and laughed. The whole thing was so Russian and Sara was glad Cate had bought into it wholesale. As the vodka began coursing through her, all her awkwardness was washed away. She felt no embarrassment, she was having a good time with her friend, if they played with each other a little, whose concern was that? She was an independent woman, in control of her own destiny. Sara realised she felt truly happy. She dipped in for another shot glass and bellowed a toast over the music. She was pleased to see Cate laugh and drink too.
"Evening, sister."
Sara turned suddenly, startled. It was if someone had crept up to her ear and whispered intently into it. She looked back to Cate, who had also sat up and looked instantly sober. Sara readied herself, worrying that it was some rival gangster come to attack Cate. However, the thoughts that told her she was mad to even mix with such a woman were almost instantly choked off.
A tall thin woman blocked the light, darkening the corner even further. Sara knew it was her who had spoken. Her voice had the same timbre as Cate's, able to subtly penetrate the club's noise.
"Evening, Tatiana." Cate replied coldly.
Sara eyed up the intruder, now wondering if she was a dumped girlfriend of Cate's rather than a business rival. She was dressed in a russet velvet dress that Sara would have loved to own, but felt guilty for thinking so. An amethyst necklace hung from her pale, ivory skinned neck. Her hair was dark, but with hints of red, and it was piled high on her head, adding to the impression that she was modelling herself on some nineteenth century beauty. Her sharp cold blue eyes were painful to look at and yet Sara felt once seen she could not look away. Then she noticed movement behind Tatiana, and realised that she held the hand of a thinner woman, in a ragged dress and old walking boots, almost looking malnourished, her skin taut over her bones, her figure like that of a girl, but as he head lolled round, Sara could see her face was as lined as a woman fifty years older. This, Sara was sure, was a drug addict, and again worries about Cate's work surfaced, but Sara buried them by searching for another vodka.
"Sister, who's this?"
Sara heard Tatiana's voice. "Pet? Meat?" The words seem to echo on after Tatiana's sentence but Sara felt they were being suppressed, as if Cate was shielding her from then.
"I'm Sara." She said standing up and thrusting out her hand. "So you're Cate's sister."
"It's just a term." Cate said firmly, as if embarrassed.
Tatiana looked at Sara's hand then took it.
"Good to meet you. I'm sure we'll meet again. I haven't got time to stop. I need to get Wendy home." She nodded to the lolling woman. "Good to see you have time to take a break, sister."
Tatiana turned and seemed to disappear into the crowd in an instant.
"Not too friendly."
"No." Cate agreed. "Don't worry about her. We sometimes work together, but I don't like her. We're cut from different material."
"Yes, leather and velvet." The two women laughed and turned back to their drinks.
The night passed quickly, a mixture of drinking and dancing that left Sara feeling that normal time had been suspended and she had shaken off all the concerns of her day-to-day life. She realised that she was really coming to enjoy Moscow.
Cate walked with Sara back to the underground station, their arms locked, to keep each other upright.
Suddenly Cate looked concerned.
"What is it?" Sara asked.
Cate nodded ahead, and in the distance Sara could see flashing police lights of Moscow militia vehicles.
"I think there's trouble at the station."
In a few minutes they had reached the police cordon around the station. There were police, paramedics and TV reporters, plus the usual sightseers buzzing around. Sara could soon make out that there had been some explosion on the underground. No-one knew yet if it was terrorists or a gas leak, but the whole network was closed down.
"Well, I'm not getting home by train." Sara said.
"The taxis will all have been taken too." Cate added. She stopped as if thinking. "There's a flat I use sometimes if I get stuck, it's not big, but we can hang out there, I'm sure it'll have all blown over by tomorrow."
"That sounds like a plan." Sara said, sounding positive but trying to suppress her sudden feeling of being unnerved. She did not know what she felt about spending the night with Cate. Part of her mind threw up images of them crammed into the same bed, but the more practical side showed them slumped in old armchairs, separately. The whole question again highlighted to Sara that she had to think about where her relationship with Cate was really going, and probably much sooner than she had anticipated.
"Lead on." Sara smiled, realising that Cate was probably picking up on some of her concerns.
"You could go to a hotel instead, if you prefer."
"No, a sleepover with my best pal's a much better solution."
"I'm glad you think so." Cate said, slightly reassured.
It took them about a twenty minutes walking through the empty Moscow streets to reach the flat. Sara never would have walked around this late at night alone, and yet with Cate she felt safe, maybe it was because she seen her giving as good as she got with the guy on the underground, and maybe because she seemed to bring out a strength in Sara; she quite fancied the pair of them tackling a gang of muggers just for the fun of it.
The apartment building must have been pre-war. It was large and dark, with no lights showing from inside, and in fact, few windows anyway. Cate walked up to it, running her hands over the stained, battered stone work.
"It used to be a warehouse. It's been converted. I've got the old caretaker's flat, it's cosier." Cate explained, then seemed to disappear from view as Sara was looking up at the building.
"Come on." Cate's hand emerged from the narrow alley that ran beside the building, its finger gesturing for Sara to follow.
Sara did follow, though her buzzing thoughts and the nervousness in her stomach were as frantic as ever. The pair of them walked in almost total darkness down the alley and Cate led Sara up a flight of iron stairs to a door which seemed to open to her touch. They stepped into a narrow hallway with a single cupboard door and stairs spiralling up. Cate pressed the time release switch and Sara saw a typical Moscow back stairs, though these led only to the single front door to the flat.
Sara had expected something dated and dingy. It was dated, but only by a couple of decades, and whilst there was a layer of dust in some parts, generally it was clean.
"You can take the master bedroom" Sara opened the door off the small hall of the flat to a reasonably large bedroom, incongruously jammed full with a four-poster bed.
"How did you get that in there?"
"It was a nightmare, but I was keen to stick it somewhere. There's bedding in that trunk, it might be a bit musty but it's clean."
"I won't complain."
"I'll take the guest room." Cate explained opening another door. "The kitchen's through there, the bathroom there and that's the living room." She went round tapping the relevant doors. "I won't be here when you get up. You can find your own way home alright?"
"Yes, I'm sure the underground will be back to normal, and on Saturday morning, taxis are a lot easier to get."
"Yes."
Neither woman moved. The chill practicality of the flat had dismissed the more exotic fantasies that had been running through Sara's drink loosened mind.
Cate reached to a little cupboard by the front door and opened it. She pulled out a key.
"You might want to get make some breakfast before heading home. If you turn left at the end of the alleyway there's a grocer's shop a couple of streets down. Take what you don't eat with you, I don't know when I'll be back here, and it'll be no good full of mouldy food." Cate tried to sound light. "Just post the key back under the door when you go."
"Sure."
"Sleep well." Cate smiled and reached forward to kiss Sara's cheek.
"You too."
"I will, you can guarantee." For an instant Sara felt a flash of the flirting that had been between them, but it faded quickly.
Sara walked into her room, and struggled with the bedding. It was difficult to make a bed when dressed in clubbing gear and half-drunk, but she managed it, and she was pleased when she could release the curtains and slide into the protection of the bed. As she unlaced the ankle boots, unbuttoned the trousers and unzipped the corset and made a pile of them on top of the coat, she realised that she would have to wear them again in the morning, in daylight. Despite the tingle that thought gave, the daring of it, her tiredness meant she was quickly asleep.
Part Four
Sara had no idea of the time when she awoke. Heavy curtains were closed over the windows and when she pulled them aside she saw shutters covered the windows on the outside. She draped herself in a spare sheet and walked from the bedroom, part of her hoping Cate was still around. She tried the door to the spare bedroom but it was firmly locked, and instead she went into the living room. Again she pulled back the curtains only to reveal opaque blinds. She gave up and flicked on the lights. Cate obviously used this flat enough to keep up the electricity and water.
Sara went into the kitchen and cooked up some coffee she found in a cupboard. She was feeling hungry and thought about the key Cate had given her and the grocery shop down the road, but she was self-conscious, with an image of herself dressed in her clubbing wear standing in a queue among the fat old Russian women. Maybe there was something else around she could wear, even Cate's outfit of the previous night would be better than a corset and capri pants in glossy black. Sara wandered back to the master bedroom. A large old dark wood wardrobe stood in the corner, with just enough room to open one of its doors. Sara tried the door, expecting it to be locked, but it opened to reveal a long leather coat.
"Jackpot." Sara exclaimed.
Sara took down the coat from the hanger and realised it had been draped over a glistening black rubber catsuit and beneath it on the floor of the wardrobe were a pair of long boots. Sara's throat went dry as she realised this was a replica of the clothes she had first seen Cate wearing. Though a rational part of her brain told her it was foolish, something more primeval knew she had to try the outfit on. Sara lifted down the catsuit, running her fingers over the smooth rubber. It was cool and had a sensation like nothing she had felt before. It was difficult to consider wearing it, what the sensation of it hugging her body would be like. The interior was covered in talcum powder, Sara guessed to keep it smelling fresh, but was soon to learn that it was what allowed it to slide on so easily.
Sara picked up her underwear from the bed, but realised that there was no way she would be able to get panties and a bra on under something so tight, and for the first time understood that Cate must have been naked beneath the rubber when Sara had first met her. The whole experience was arousing Sara, the physicality of it, the fantasy of it, and her hands were shaking as she lowered the catsuit to the floor and stepped into it. The cool rubber clung to her like a lover as she slowly tugged it up her legs and shook her bum to sit comfortably in the black shine. Sara hurried to slide her arms into the sleeves. She hesitated about how to close it, but realised the zip was pulled back up behind her bum. Her breathing had turned to pants, and her pussy was becoming more aroused than she had known it in months as she slowly tugged the zip closed, sealing her bum, her waist, her stomach, her breasts into the rubber until it stopped at the top of her neck. Sara looked at herself in the wardrobe's long mirror. It was as if she was naked, with every contour of her body visible, but coated in shiny, slippery rubber, so alien and erotic. On the floor behind the boots Sara found the cincher and had quickly buckled it around her middle, tugging her body in, giving her an unfamiliar but pleasing hourglass shape, something at the same time so robust but erotic. In moments she was sat on the bed closing the numerous buckles on the long boots. Rising on their thick heels she slung the long leather coat on and eased her hands into the leather gloves she found in the pockets. She finished the look with the wrap-around sunglasses that accompanied them.
There was a weight in the coat pocket. Sara reached in and pulled out a pistol, a Walther automatic, probably forty years old, but kept in perfect condition. She had practiced with pistols at her cousin Gerry's farm, but they were mainly heavy revolvers. She had seen automatics, though, in movies and she checked the magazine, the rounds were silver in colour rather than the dull lead and brass combinations she was used to. For a moment she thought to leave the pistol, but liked the sense of power it gave her and so slipped it back in her pocket. She told herself that Moscow remained a dangerous place and dressed like this she could easily be mistaken for Cate by her rivals.
Sara was self-conscious as she strode into the street, nervous of the stares that she was getting from the old people. It was already well into the afternoon. Excitement suppressed Sara's hunger and rather than go to the grocer's she headed to an area where students and artists hung out. She found a small dark bar where she feasted on soup, rolls and vodka. She loved checking herself in the mirror behind the bar and looked up proudly from the book of Russian poetry she had found on the bar's bookshelves whenever she overheard someone comment on the way she was dressed. Sara realised she loved the attention, but she wished Cate was here to share it, she was what made this change in Sara's life so real.
Eventually Sara felt it was time to go, she had to get back to Cate's flat, and back into her own clothes, but for the first time she realised, she would not look too different, maybe she should go home dressed as she was. Yet, she hope Cate would be back and she would be proud to see her like this, maybe they could head straight out for another evening in the clubs.
Night had fallen by the time Sara left the bar, but she was comfortable in these clothes now anyway, they fitted her and she increasingly felt they showed the true side of herself. She walked briskly past the Moscovites heading home for the evening. It was only when she stopped to check her direction that she realised the street behind her had fallen quiet. Then she thought she heard scurried footsteps, somehow like a dog's claws on the paving stones, but a heavier tread. She decided on which turning to take and began moving faster. As she glanced back she was sure she could see a dark figure jumping between the patches of shadow. Sara's fear had become real, she was sure this was one of Cate's opponents who had tracked her down. She ducked into a doorway and pulled out the pistol. Calmly she did the two things that she knew amateurs like herself tended to forget, she worked the mechanism to chamber a round and clicked off the safety catch. She then pressed on down the street, the pistol gripped hard in her gloved right hand. She realised she was less than a block from Cate's flat which she perceived as being safe. For a moment she hesitated to lead her pursuer there, but also knew she might need Cate's help to defeat him.
Sara breath was coming hard as she plunged into the dark alley to Cate's flat, but she felt a burst of enthusiasm, she felt herself now to be on home ground. She fumbled for the key with her left hand, keeping her right gripped around the pistol. Then he filled the mouth of the alley, she could see his large dark shape blot out the light spilling from the street. He seemed to be pulling out a club, some kind of stick and then he lunged towards her. Sara's finger jerked automatically with the shock and the alleyway echoed as the pistol discharged. Her hand ached from the recoil with her arm held out unsupported and her vision was stained from the light of the muzzle flash. Sara moved her left hand to steady her grip, and fired twice more blindly in the direction of the shape that seemed to be staggering backwards. She had no idea if she had hit him, but as the seconds passed and Sara regained her senses she realised the outline of the man had gone. She stood frozen for a few moments, expecting the sound of police sirens, but the street seemed strangely quiet. Sara stamped her booted feet on the floor to check her hearing, but it seemed to be recovering well enough. She stashed the gun back in her pocket and found the key. Soon she was behind the locked door and running up the stairs to the flat.
Sara walked into the living room in a daze, the adrenalin that had driven her in the last few minutes began to fade. She saw Cate, her pale flesh showing through the gaps left between the loosely tied sides of her black silk kimono. She did not speak but stood and walked delicately towards Sara. Sara stood speechless, powerless as she let Cate brush her hair away from her sweaty face and ran her hand down Sara's rubber clad body. Sara could feel the sensation through the rubber and her body tingled everywhere Cate touched. Sara's pounding heart slowed, but only by a little, and her breaths still came panting, but calmer and for a different reason. Then Cate's lips closed on Sara's and Sara drank in the silky skin, the smooth sensation of the tongue that probed into her. She quivered as Cate embraced her, pulling her tight against her firm body, throwing off the coat, quickly unbuckling the cincher and leading Sara to a plush sofa and laying her down upon it. Now Cate's tongue skidded across Sara's rubber skin, until her teeth found the zip and pulled it down exposing Sara's body below, slick with sweat, shuddering with excitement. Cate's tongue found out Sara's nipples whilst her fingers and then her crooked elbow nudged at the lips of Sara's sex, gently teasing at her clitoris. Sara was reduced to gasping, to make love dressed, dressed in her lover's rubber catsuit, the lover who had so changed her life the whole thought just assaulted Sara's mind and there was nothing bar the sensations she was feeling. Her sodden pussy soon yielded to the hardness of Cate's elbow, entering, more exciting, larger, more rigid than any penis could have done. The rest of her body was teased, nibbled, licked. Cate seemed to know every sensitive point on Sara's body and headed towards it with nuzzling, kissing and stroking. Expertly Cate held her on the edge of orgasm until Sara was calling aloud for release. Then, finally Cate granted it and Sara shrieked as her body convulsed, slick in the rubber that held it so close, her fingers pulling tightly at Cate, her arms pulling her close as if trying to merge their bodies.
As Sara caught her breath, Cate began to move away, sitting up, but Sara would not let her. She shifted to sit up too, and began lapping gently, pleasurably, if a little inexpertly, as Cate's nipples, delighting at the arousal, hardened. Slowly Sara slid her sweat covered, rubber coated thigh between Cate's naked legs, pushing her knee gently and rhythmically against her pussy lips. As she saw the lips engorge, she delicately laid Cate, unresisting, back on the sofa and awkwardly and eagerly lowered her head allowing her keen tongue to probe and tease until it hunted out Cate's clitoris and began building an orgasm for her. Blindly Sara's fingers, ran up Cate's body, stroking across Cate's torso, returning again and again to nip and tantalise her breasts with her gloved fingers.
Cate seemed reluctant to cum, but the pleasurable assault Sara was inflicting on her body did not let up, and finally Cate let herself go, grunting deeply, shuddering, shivering with passion as the sensation swept over her for the first time in so long. As the feeling burned through her mind, she knew she could trust Sara, that every action she was making was showing her feelings for her and Cate remembered it was good to let go, and she did, losing herself in the frenzied grasping and kissing as she breasted the hill of pleasure and let it flow throughout her.
Sara awoke with a start, her mind suddenly flooded with thoughts. It must have been a dream, she had been drinking too much vodka and spending too many nights in gothic clubs. She turned her body in the bed. The sheets felt luxuriant and her feet felt miles from the footboard. It was clearly not her bed, and she was clearly not alone, she sensed the flesh, the breathing beside her. As she turned she recognised the scent of Cate, and realisation that everything she remembered was real rushed into her. She had walked the streets dressed like some fetish queen; she had shot a man; she had had sex, no, made love, to a woman, the woman who had become her best friend, and she had done it dressed, clad, like some sexual fantasy and experienced pleasure like she could not remember knowing. It had been some Saturday afternoon.
Sara realised she must have dropped off again and this time as Sara opened her eyes again and slowly sat up in bed she noticed that Cate had moved and was now sat across from her on a chair, watching her. The two women smiled as their gazes connected.
"What time is it?" Sara asked.
"Some time after three."
"Are you going out?"
Cate nodded, it looked painful for her to stay the words. "I'd love to stay, but you know my work can be demanding."
Sara knew she probably looked dejected, she had thought it was only men who left before the sun came up, but she guessed that there was no reason why women should not do so too.
"You're worried I won't come back."
"Yes." Sara replied quietly.
"I thought you knew me well enough by now. Surely it's you who's more likely to run, to decide all this is not to your taste."
Sara shook her head forcefully. "Nothing in my life has come close to this, there's no way I'm giving it up."
"Good."
The two women fell silent again.
"What about the man I shot?"
"I expect you only scared him, it was dark. If he was injured or dead we'd have had the militia banging on our door before now, or his comrades-in-arms. He probably just ran off with his tail between his legs."
"Yes, I suppose so." Sara said, a little reassured, still not totally shaking the fear that she would be a wanted murderer when she got outside, but she guessed she would find out.
"He thought I was you." Sara continued, now Cate had dismissed some of her immediate fears, Sara was able to analyse what had happened a little better.
"Maybe or maybe you were just a random target."
"I think he would have attacked sooner if that was the case. He thought I was you, I'm your height, I was wearing your clothes."
"You liked the outfit?"
"Mmm, it was ... delicious." Sara smiled broadly, reliving how assured she had felt dressed in the rubber and leather just like the clothes Cate was wearing now.
"Well, I don't suppose it would go down too well at the embassy."
"No, unfortunately not."
Cate stood. "Will I see you later?"
"This evening?"
"That would be nice."
"Oh, I forgot there's a reception at the embassy tonight, I'm supposed to attend, it'll look bad if I'm not there to hand around the canapes."
"Oh, okay." Cate paused. "So, do I get an invite to this reception?" Cate asked.
"Erm, I suppose so, if you would like. We're allowed guests."
"Well, do you have someone you were planning to take?"
"No."
"You're just concerned what it'll look like turning up with another woman."
"Not really."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, not everyone among the embassy staff is part of a happily married couple. There are a lot of divorcees and those whose job is their husband or wife, they'll bring someone from one of the expat clubs or another embassy."
"Well, that's it then, we can say I am Catherine Hammond of the British Embassy."
"They know everyone over there."
"What? All the clerical staff too? I bet your boss can't name more than a tenth of the people in the British embassy. Anyway, I worked for them a few times in the past, especially around the time of the revolution."
"I didn't know they needed enforcers." Sara joked. "Did you see Yeltsin standing there in front of the White House rallying the crowds?"
"No, I missed that, but I'm sure he would have sounded just like Lenin, though he was usually more sober."
"You know your Russian history."
"Of course. So, you'll get me an invite?"
"Yes, but there's a strict dress code: no leathers, no rubber or PVC, no long boots."
"I can do feminine, you wouldn't believe some of the dresses I've worn in the past, the balls I've attended."
"You'll have to tell me."
"Who's going to be there?"
"Well, aside from people from the other embassies, it's going to be Russians, local militia, businessmen Canadian companies want to work with, General Dolgorukov and Colonel Karamzin, and Colonel ..."
"Karamzin? He's going to be there? Commander of the Moscow arsenal?"
"You know him?"
"I'd like to speak with him."
"Why?" Sara sounded suspicious. "I thought you wanted to come to be there with me."
"But won't you be mixing business with pleasure? If I wasn't coming, surely it would be all business for you?"
"I suppose so."
"Well, that's sorted: you do your business, I do mine, and we can get together later."
"Meet me outside at 7.30, I'll give you an invite. You have to be on the dot."
"Have you ever known me to be late?"
"No."
Cate bent over to kiss Sara's lips. Then in an instant she was gone from the room and Sara sat slowly drifting back to sleep.
Part Five
Sara walked down the embassy steps pulling the borrowed raincoat tightly around her, still with the invite grasped tightly in her hand. It had taken ages to get ready, but she had got to the embassy on time for the briefing and now had a few moments to rendezvous with Cate. Her hair was stacked up on her head, and she wore the necklace her parents had given her on turning twenty-one. She had fished out some of her brighter make-up, the blacks and maroons had been ousted for tonight. The dress she wore was her standard posh event outfit, midnight blue velvet. Whilst she would have preferred to have swapped it for the clinging rubber catsuit of the previous night, she was sure Cate could not disapprove.
As the chime for the half hour sounded somewhere, a large black car pulled up. The driver emerged to open the door and Sara gasped as Cate stepped out. Well, she was not sure if it was Cate. The woman who emerged was clad in a long fur coat which just stopped short of dragging on the street. As she stepped, Sara could make out the crimson dress that managed looked a hundred years old but only made yesterday. Her arms were encased in matching gloves that stretched to her elbows. The dress's corset nipped Cate's lines into a streamlined shape and accentuated her cleavage on which rested a necklace of diamonds that to Sara seemed embarrassingly large. They were matched by long drop earrings. Her hair, too, was pinned into a high stack on her head showing off the slender contours of her pale neck. As she saw Sara, Cate smiled her bright red lips, a vibrant shade that would not have looked out of place in the 1950s.
"Did you raid an antiques shop?" Sara asked increduously.
"No, all from my own collection." Cate responded, her accent far more upper class English than Sara had known it.
"I think you'll stand out, but fit right in."
"Just what I intended, my dear."
The two laughed at Cate's mock duchess tone.
"Here's your invite." Sara handed it over.
"Are you going to take me in?"
"Yes, I can do that. It's a bit early, but there's a few people from the German and Indian embassies in there already." Sara said walking back up the steps rather self-consciously ahead of Cate.
Soon they were inside, some of Cate's jewellery caused problems with the metal detector, but it was quickly resolved. Sara stopped at the door to the main salon.
"I'll have to leave you here, I have my duties to attend to. See you later."
"Yes." Cate said, her smile seemed sad.
Sara stood looking at her for a moment.
"Sara."
"Yes?"
"I've got something for you." Cate rummaged in her clutch bag and pulled out what looked like a large silver crucifix on a chain. Sitting in her palm, Sara could see it was a little smaller than the breadth of her hand.
"I didn't know you were religious."
"I'm not. It's got no power if the wearer has no faith in what it represents. It is just something beautiful, something practical too." She tugged at the based of the cross and pulled away the patterned sheath to reveal a sharp two-edged blade.
Looking at it Sara realised it was actually a dagger what she had taken to the arms of the cross were in fact the hilt. The whole thing was as ornate as a piece of antique jewellery, but potentially deadly too. Cate kissed it gently and reached forward. Surprisingly easily she had it over Sara's head. Sara's flesh tingled as the cold metal came to rest on the top of her breasts.
"It's lovely." Sara said, looking down at it, running her fingers over the pattern carved into it.
"Something to remember me by when I we're apart."
Sara looked up with tears in her eyes, but turned away quickly heading to where she was supposed to be. Behind her she heard a voice announcing the arrival of 'Lady Catherine Hammond'.
For Sara the evening seemed to drag. She found it difficult to concentrate on the conversations she was made part of, and had to focus hard to respond to the questions directed at her. At every chance she had, Sara glanced around the room, trying to see Cate and who she was talking to, hoping to find a reason to come into the conversation. Finally, as the peak of the reception had passed and some of those from other embassies were already leaving, Sara saw Cate with a late middle-aged man in uniform who she guessed was Colonel Karamzin. This seemed like a good opportunity.
"Colonel? Do you have everything you need?" Sara said, sounding the perfect model of an embassy hostess.
Karamzin laughed briefly, clearly at some personal joke. "Yes, thank you. Lady Hammond was just talking about what it was like here just before the First World War. Apparently her grandmother was out here. She conjures up the pictures so well."
"Yes? I am not surprised. Lady Hammond had such a range of talents." Sara said, shooting a smile at Cate, though she did not notice as her attention was still on Karamzin.
"You, know each other?" The Colonel seemed to remember his manners.
"Yes, you know the embassy circuit, it's a small world." Cate replied and Sara's heart leapt as she turned smiling eyes towards her.
"But we're to lose you from Moscow, isn't that what you said?" Karamzin asked Cate.
"Yes, I go to Kiev early tomorrow morning. There are negotiations I have to conduct on the spot."
"But you'll be back soon, I trust?" Karamzin asked, apparently with true interest.
"Possibly not, it depends how things go." Cate said lightly, her eyes now looking around the room, avoiding Sara's.
"Ah, that's a pity."
"Yes, a real pity." Sara said weakly. She felt hot and dizzy, sick even. She quickly put down her empty glass and pressed both hands on a nearby table. She looked as if she were stretching, in fact she was keeping herself up as she felt her legs weakening beneath her.
"Tired?" Karamzin asked Sara.
"You know these receptions."
Karamzin looked at this watch. "Ah, time I must be going, I think. Lady Hammond, can I offer you a lift?"
"That's very kind, thank you."
Sara could not stay to hear any more. "Thank you for coming Colonel, if you'll just excuse me." She walked quickly towards the toilet, hesitating at the door to the salon to watch Cate and Karamzin walking towards the exit, arms decorously linked, as if husband and wife.
Thoughts spiralled through Sara's mind, she tried to convince herself that Cate had been lying for some reason about going away, that it was all some scam on the colonel, but it would not work, she realised the dagger had been her farewell present. Sara knew she would have hours thinking over what she had done or said wrong, trying to get herself off by thinking Cate was not the kind for commitment anyway, that she lived and loved fast and that was part of her charm, yet Sara knew that for herself she would still be aching at the remains of the dreams she had built so high. For the moment Sara consoled herself with the thought that she had been dumped badly by men over the years, it made her a woman of the world to have been sacked by a woman too, a 'lady' at that. Sara's stomach stirred and she hurried as quickly as she could in this dress. Fortunately she made it to the toilets before the vomiting started.
To Be Continued...