Craved (Twisted Book 2) Read Online Free
Author: Lola Smirnova
the streets. All in the past.’ Irina blows the smoke and shakes her head. ‘I promise you – Cape Town is a beautiful and peaceful place.’
She continues her praise-singing of all the benefits of life in the Mother City even when we drive past shockingly poor areas. We fall silent. Thousands of shacks, built of sheets of metal, cover the land like the inflammation on the skin of a leprosy sufferer. People walking here and there reflect the poverty of all poverty.This hopelessness hits us harder than the tipsy sailors’ warning in Heathrow.
At last, Irina stops her tour guide oration and glances at us.
‘Don’t worry, girls. You will be living in a good area.’ She smiles without taking her eyes off the road. ‘But never visit these places. They can be very dangerous,’ she jibes, adding conspiracy notes that ridicule the scene, transforming the people’s tragic living conditions into a surreal, ugly wallpaper.
Our faces relax as, further on, the view becomes more beautiful and the conversation returns to unconcerned chit-chat. The second we drive into the residence, and the tall, wrought-iron double gates close importantly behind the car, our worry about the poverty of Khayelitsha evaporates completely.
Yeah… what can I say? Selfish and shallow bitches!
My first thought is that Irina has brought us to her house. It simply can’t be true. Strippers don’t get to stay in huge, double-storey residences with gardens and pools.
We walk slowly, holding our breath, fearing that the house will turn ugly and dirty just like the places we’ve stayed at before. But unlike Cinderella’s carriage, our mansion doesn’t turn into a pumpkin.
Inside, it’s deadly quiet. Only the maid mopping the floor in the hallway, and the drying rack, draped with multicolored G-strings, suggest that the house is inhabited.
‘The girls are still sleeping,’ Irina whispers, and tiptoes in her trendy high-heeled sandals towards the passage to the right. ‘The kitchen and dining room are that way,’ she waves in the opposite direction. ‘All the bedrooms except for yours are upstairs.’
We drag our bags into a bright, fair-sized bedroom with three single beds and a white built-in cupboard.
‘It’s amazing!’ Lena flings the cupboard doors open, with an expression as if behind them hides a miracle cure to all the sicknesses in the world. ‘I love this place!’
‘Hmmm,’ Irina looks at our suitcases, ‘it’ll be a bit tight, but don’t worry – I’ll get you a free-standing rail as well.’ She turns and heads for the door.
‘Let’s go to the kitchen,’ she adds, ‘grab a cup of tea and run through your questions. I’m sure you’ve got plenty by now. Then I’ll leave you to rest. You have a long night ahead of you.’
As we sit down in the spacious dining room with scalding cups, Irina takes a dark leather A4 folder out of her bag, unzips it, pulls out a file and begins, businesslike.
‘Here are the basics, which, knowing you girls,’ she glances with approval at Natalia, ‘it goes without saying that you will follow. Mainly – be polite, dress well, be on the floor in time, etc.’ Her voice takes on bossier notes and she shakes the file over the table. ‘Go through this first. I’ll be in the club tonight and will answer your questions if you have any. What I wanted to discuss is…’
The door slams and we all turn. A naked blonde walks in and disappears into the kitchen. We stay silent, listening to the fridge door and other kitchen noises. She comes back with a pinkish bottle of some sort of drinkable yogurt and finally notices us.
‘Hi,’ she waves, and her sleepy face warms with a smile.
‘Hi,’ we reply in chorus, awkward, trying not to stare.
Irina shakes her head. ‘God, Misty! It’s the kitchen. Can’t you cover up where people eat, at least?’
‘The new girls?’ It seems Misty doesn’t give a shit about Irina’s appreciation of good manners. ‘When you’re done
She continues her praise-singing of all the benefits of life in the Mother City even when we drive past shockingly poor areas. We fall silent. Thousands of shacks, built of sheets of metal, cover the land like the inflammation on the skin of a leprosy sufferer. People walking here and there reflect the poverty of all poverty.This hopelessness hits us harder than the tipsy sailors’ warning in Heathrow.
At last, Irina stops her tour guide oration and glances at us.
‘Don’t worry, girls. You will be living in a good area.’ She smiles without taking her eyes off the road. ‘But never visit these places. They can be very dangerous,’ she jibes, adding conspiracy notes that ridicule the scene, transforming the people’s tragic living conditions into a surreal, ugly wallpaper.
Our faces relax as, further on, the view becomes more beautiful and the conversation returns to unconcerned chit-chat. The second we drive into the residence, and the tall, wrought-iron double gates close importantly behind the car, our worry about the poverty of Khayelitsha evaporates completely.
Yeah… what can I say? Selfish and shallow bitches!
My first thought is that Irina has brought us to her house. It simply can’t be true. Strippers don’t get to stay in huge, double-storey residences with gardens and pools.
We walk slowly, holding our breath, fearing that the house will turn ugly and dirty just like the places we’ve stayed at before. But unlike Cinderella’s carriage, our mansion doesn’t turn into a pumpkin.
Inside, it’s deadly quiet. Only the maid mopping the floor in the hallway, and the drying rack, draped with multicolored G-strings, suggest that the house is inhabited.
‘The girls are still sleeping,’ Irina whispers, and tiptoes in her trendy high-heeled sandals towards the passage to the right. ‘The kitchen and dining room are that way,’ she waves in the opposite direction. ‘All the bedrooms except for yours are upstairs.’
We drag our bags into a bright, fair-sized bedroom with three single beds and a white built-in cupboard.
‘It’s amazing!’ Lena flings the cupboard doors open, with an expression as if behind them hides a miracle cure to all the sicknesses in the world. ‘I love this place!’
‘Hmmm,’ Irina looks at our suitcases, ‘it’ll be a bit tight, but don’t worry – I’ll get you a free-standing rail as well.’ She turns and heads for the door.
‘Let’s go to the kitchen,’ she adds, ‘grab a cup of tea and run through your questions. I’m sure you’ve got plenty by now. Then I’ll leave you to rest. You have a long night ahead of you.’
As we sit down in the spacious dining room with scalding cups, Irina takes a dark leather A4 folder out of her bag, unzips it, pulls out a file and begins, businesslike.
‘Here are the basics, which, knowing you girls,’ she glances with approval at Natalia, ‘it goes without saying that you will follow. Mainly – be polite, dress well, be on the floor in time, etc.’ Her voice takes on bossier notes and she shakes the file over the table. ‘Go through this first. I’ll be in the club tonight and will answer your questions if you have any. What I wanted to discuss is…’
The door slams and we all turn. A naked blonde walks in and disappears into the kitchen. We stay silent, listening to the fridge door and other kitchen noises. She comes back with a pinkish bottle of some sort of drinkable yogurt and finally notices us.
‘Hi,’ she waves, and her sleepy face warms with a smile.
‘Hi,’ we reply in chorus, awkward, trying not to stare.
Irina shakes her head. ‘God, Misty! It’s the kitchen. Can’t you cover up where people eat, at least?’
‘The new girls?’ It seems Misty doesn’t give a shit about Irina’s appreciation of good manners. ‘When you’re done
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