To the Devil - a Diva! by Paul Magrs Page A

waiter was talking to her, asking about the show. And before she knew it, she was answering him. Even telling him she’d never watched the silly programme in her life. Only heard how naughty it was. Her voice was coming out in her slow drawl. Treacle poured onto sizzling flesh: that was the sound of her voice. Dulcet. She was talking like a vampire lady. Putting on the old shtick. She looked the porter up and down. Golden mirrors all around the lift. Very flattering.
    The porter was a little overweight, just a bit tubby and hairy. She liked that, considering him as they rose slowly tothe suite at the top of the Prince Albert. He was standing close to her, the luggage between them. She watched him swallow his nervous saliva down. She pushed out her breasts. Made it seem that they were filling all the unoccupied space in the elevator. She couldn’t help herself. She just did this kind of thing automatically. She watched his sharp adam’s apple bob and steady.
    When they got to her suite and he grappled with the key card she tipped him generously. He demonstrated a few things. Where the light switches were, the phone.
    By then Karla had lost patience and interest in him. She needed her lie down. The porter was wanting something he could show off to his mates about. Something to mark him out. She pictured him in the staffroom, somewhere in the basement, perhaps, where all the porters and chambermaids sat smoking and drinking sweet milky tea. He’d be telling them how close he’d come to making it with the vampire lady. It would be the most exciting thing in his life so far and all the others would listen close.
    She looked at him and caught a glint in his eye. Cocky little thing. He licked his lips, hands clasped behind his back.
    Oh, well. Give him something to do. Might as well.
    â€˜I wonder if you could you do me a very great favour … ?’
    â€˜Of course, Ms Sorenson.’
    â€˜I need to get in touch with my producer, Adrian. Could you get onto the studio for me?’ She handed him the note with the office’s number on. ‘I’m too tired to see anyone just yet. But perhaps they could send me some tapes of the show? I could do some homework here in the hotel.’
    The porter nodded briskly.
    â€˜Oh … and one more thing. My co-star, Lance Randall.’ The porter blinked in recognition.
    â€˜I’m a very old, very dear friend of his family. He’ll be delighted to know that I’m joining the cast of his show. Do you think you could ask Adrian for his home number? I’d like to contact him first, before we have to meet in the studios.’
    The porter nodded, committing all of her instructions to memory. He was trying very hard. ‘What’s your name?’
    â€˜Kevin, Ms Sorenson.’
    â€˜Well, Kevin. I’m not sure how long I’ll be here. But while I’m back in Manchester, the Prince Albert is going to be my headquarters, at least for the first little while.’ She flicked her eyes around the airy, muted room and smiled, her gaze came back to rest on Kevin in his scarlet porter’s outfit. She dipped that gaze momentarily and was gratified to see that hard little knot of flesh in those uniform trousers. ‘My headquarters … and my lair.’
    â€˜I’m sure we’re very honoured,’ he said.
    â€˜I would like to count you among my personal staff, Kevin.’
    He nodded and his adam’s apple was trembling again. As if he was daring himself to do something rash. ‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘You … you could … do … that thing.’
    Karla frowned. ‘What thing?’ she asked, knowing full well.
    â€˜The thing you used to do in all your movies. When you made someone into your … servant …’ Kevin smiled weakly, eagerly. ‘Maybe you could … do that to me.’
    â€˜Oh, yes,’ Karla said. And she stepped towards him.
    It didn’t take long.

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