Japonica Secrets

Taylor James

Description

When struggling musician Nick is seduced by Jenny, a stunning photographer, he can't believe his luck.But there's a catch: Jenny's also an actress in adult movies, a job she hates but can't afford to quit. It has left her traumatised and unable to have sex - except for work purposes.Then Nick wonders: why not mix business with pleasure?This not-quite-decent proposal sends Nick and Jenny on an erotic and emotional rollercoaster ride, in which they make a life-changing discovery about the miracle of love.

Informations

• Publié par: The Conrad Press
• Date de parution: 11 juin 2019
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781913227050
• Langue: English

Extrait

Japonica 
 Secrets
James Taylor


Japonica Secrets
Published by The Conrad Press in the United Kingdom 2019
Tel: [phone] www.theconradpress.com 
 [e-mail]
ISBN 978-1-913227-05-0
Copyright © James Taylor, 2019
The moral right of James Taylor to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved.
Typesetting and Cover Design by: Charlotte Mouncey, www.bookstyle.co.uk
The Conrad Press logo was designed by Maria Priestley.


1
J aponica Secrets .
I never thought those two words would come to be so important in my life, just as I never imagined a woman as mind-blowing as Jenny Davenport could exist at all… let alone fall for me.
But I was wrong about that, too.


2
A midst all the rags and ruins of my life, there was the evening I met Jenny.
When I arrived at the half-empty bar in London’s South Kensington district on that cold and miserable evening, March the fourth, just over a year ago, I expected yet another dreary gig. That was exactly what I got… or at least until I met the woman who would change my life.
I’d been on the unsigned musicians’ circuit – in other words, pursuing a record deal with no success and endless frustration – for around ten years.
Obviously, I’d never expected life as a professional musician to be easy. After all, there had to be a reason why the vast majority of musicians didn’t even try to make a living from music. Still, having spent well over a decade singing and playing at venues all over the UK (not to mention cruise ships and long-haul ferries), and having sent my demo CD to hundreds of promoters, DJs and record labels all over the world, I couldn’t help thinking I should have had at least something to show for it all.
Instead, barely a week earlier, I’d spent four hours travelling to Portsmouth and back, just for the chance to be heckled by a room full of drunken old men, who grew more and more irate that I didn’t know any of the songs they requested. It’s the only time I’ve ever had to apologise for not knowing any George Formby and Tommy Steele songs. And it was all for a fee barely twenty-five pounds more than my train fare.
Yet, in spite of everything, I still had nights that reminded me why I loved music: why I’d spent my entire adult life so far pursuing a music career. After nights like that, when everything fell into place – the venue, my performance, my connection with the audience – I’d be floating on a cloud of optimism for days. Unfortunately, this Kensington gig, a showcase event misleadingly – and optimistically – entitled ‘Stars of Tomorrow’, definitely didn’t look like being one of those nights.
As far as I could tell, the audience seemed more interested in their drinks or each other than in my songs. As I sang my final number, ‘Thanks for Saving Me’, a love song I’d written for my ex-girlfriend Bernadette, and whose lyrics now seemed grimly ironic, I had something which felt like an out-of-body experience. I could see and hear someone who looked and sounded just like me, but he was little more than an automaton.
After finishing my set and acknowledging the mostly half-hearted applause, I disconnected my guitar from the sound system, headed back to the seat where I’d left my guitar case, and sat down. I didn’t know how many more so-called ‘showcase gigs’ I could take. Showcase gigs always involved several different little-known but ambitious soloists or groups, giving each of them up to twenty minutes (rarely more than that and often considerably less) to try to win new fans and vie for the attention of promoters, DJs, music journalists and ideally record company representatives.
Or, at least, that was the idea. In fact, most of the people who came to showcases were friends, relatives and colleagues of the acts who were scheduled to perform, few of whom had any more than a passing interest in any other performer (or, at least, in me), and none of whom had any more power or influence in the music business than the average plectrum has.
I glanced over at Tom, my friend from music college and most loyal fan, who was sitting on the opposite side of the room. He was wearing his favourite Liverpool FC shirt, jeans and white trainers. Although (like me) he was in his early thirties, his baby-faced complexion meant he could easily have passed for a nineteen-year-old. He had closely-cropped hair and wore studs in his ears, and even when he was trying to look serious, his expression never seemed to be very far away from an irreverent smirk. No one who saw him would ever have guessed he was a professional tenor who taught singing at some of the most exclusive independent schools in London, or that he lived with his fiancée Nicole in the genteel suburb of Richmond.
Tom smiled and gave me a thumbs-up. I nodded as if to say thank you, and I was just about to stand up and head in Tom’s direction when I heard a lovely, honeyed woman’s voice behind me.
‘I loved your set, Nick.’
I turned round. After her voice, the second thing I noticed was her smile: warm and benign, yet with a hint of mischief. I saw her blue eyes, which seemed to have illumination of their own, and a gaze that had a mesmeric hold on mine. The picture was framed by an almost perfectly sculpted bob of dark brown hair that came down just above her shoulders. I guessed she was in her mid-thirties, which would have made her a few years older than me.
Unwillingly snapping out of my silent admiration, I said, ‘Thanks, that’s really kind of you.’
‘I particularly loved “She’s like Sunlight through the Rain”. You have a beautiful voice.’
‘Thanks. So have you.’
She smirked. ‘You’re quite a smooth operator.’
‘I wish.’ Get a grip, Nick, get a grip, I thought. ‘Can I buy you a drink?’ I asked, trying to sound very cool and very casual. ‘Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.’
She smiled. ‘That’s because I haven’t told you. It’s Jenny. Jenny Davenport. And let me buy you one.’
For the first time, I detected an accent. West Country, I thought. Maybe Devon.
I didn’t want her to think I had some kind of male chauvinist objection to women buying men drinks. More to the point, I was going through a phase in my life when I my finances were in an even worse state than they usually were, so I genuinely appreciated her offer of a free pint. So I said, ‘OK, I’ll have a pint of lager, please. That’s really kind of you. Thanks so much.’
I watched her walk to the bar and order our drinks. Her thigh-length black dress and black leather boots both accentuated and concealed her curves. She was very, very beautiful, and I was sure she knew it, but I had the sense she was also too self-confident to flaunt it. I could scarcely take my eyes off her. Yet I was just as baffled as captivated. What was she doing at a non-event like this? Above all, why was she buying me a drink?
After Jenny returned with our drinks, we sat and drank in what seemed to me companionable silence for a while in the subdued light, just listening to the music. The next act was an enthusiastic and well-meaning female balladeer with short blonde hair, a frightened expression, and whose chords didn’t quite seem to belong to the song she was singing. I felt like making an ironic comment, but Jenny seemed quite happy sitting there with me and listening, so I didn’t say anything. The truth was, I didn’t really know what to say. I wanted to start a conversation, but my mind was blank. That wasn’t generally the case when I was with a woman, but it was when I was with Jenny.
‘So what are you doing in a dive like this?’ she asked.
I shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. But I could ask you a similar question. I’ve done a lot of nights at places like this, and I’ve never seen anyone like you here.’
She gave me a sideways glance, its thoughtful seriousness under the neat, very feminine bob making her look even prettier. ‘What do you mean, anyone like me?’
‘I think you know what I mean.’
She smiled at me; it seemed to me like a moment of tender understanding; I’m not sure what Jenny felt about it.
‘I was meant to be on a date tonight at the Pizza Express about a hundred yards from here,’ she said, ‘but he didn’t turn up.’
‘What? Someone actually stood you up? Was he mad?’
‘It’s very kind of you to say that.’
‘Maybe he got cold feet.’
‘Maybe, though judging by my other dates recently, I’m probably lucky he didn’t turn up. I’ve been doing internet dating for a couple of months and each guy I’ve met has been weirder than the last one. So I was on the way home when I saw this place, and the poster advertising “Stars of Tomorrow”.’
‘I’m really glad you got stood up tonight.’
She smiled. ‘I’m quite pleased about that too, actually. But you still haven’t answered my question. What are you doing here?’
I shrugged. ‘Let’s just say that I’m not very good at selling myself.’
‘I noticed.’ She moved a little closer to me. I could smell her perfume, which was delicate with different scents in it, including lavender. ‘But why’s that? You’re a good musician, you’re good-looking, you’ve got a nice voice – what’s not to like?’
I quietly cleared my throat and said, ‘I’m not sure many women would agree with you.’
‘You really don’t think you’re that attractive, do you? For what it’s worth, at least three women have been checking you out all night. And those are just the ones I’ve noticed. But why are you playing here?’
‘I’m thirty-one. I was born in Canterbury. I went to one of the grammar schools there. Then I moved to London to study guitar at the Guildhall. That was when I first started gigging.’
‘So what’s happened in your career since then?’
‘Not much. That’s why I’m playing here.’
‘Have you ever been married?’
‘No. I thought I was going to be once, but i