Segments - 10 - The Party

01 - Meeting Her

02 - The Services

03 - Exeter Hotel

04 - Christmas

05 - New Year

06 - The Old Man

07 - Why He Started

08 - Cambridge

09 - Norwich

10 - The Party

11 - Millau

12 - Heading East

13 - Nice in Nice

14 - Making Progress

15 - Revelations

16 - Doubts

17 - The Connection

18 - Levelling

19 - Space

20 - Finale

Anton runs Clem back to Cambridge, giving nothing away about the passport, Tabitha or anything else really. He's now stood outside the large detached Victorian house again. There's snow on the ground and to be honest, he can't see many bikers coming to this biker party. Not on their bikes anyhow. He's a little disappointed, it's always good to see some bikes and all that. He's also relieved, he can't help but feel like an imposter, a cheat, a charlatan considering he's not even ridden a motorcycle for about a year.

Mind you, these are not old school bikers with greasy hair and cut off jackets, these are modern executive motorcyclists. As the door swings open a short, squat woman with jet black hair dressed in a business suit greets him. She leads him through smart modern rooms to the kitchen where another short squat man, also suited, makes him tea. He feels most peculiar. He's only here really because she's a follower, no, regular reader of his blog and wanted to meet him.

The next 2 days are spent rather boringly watching Sky movies at the couple's house while they talk endlessly on mobile phones about this business deal and that employee who's not "maximising on his workload" or "giving us 100%". Dynamic thrusting tossers. That what he used to know these sort of people as when he was working in business. DTT for short.

The party brings relief. By 7pm there's a few characters arriving, a mixture of business types, older classic motorcycle restoring types complete with Belstaff jackets and a small group of teenage girls. Why they're here is never explained but at least they're easy on the eye. Clem talks to an older chap who's keen to tell him all about his Triton restoration project. He's OK for the first quarter hour, after that he's tiresome. He won't let Clem go either.

By 9 the party is swinging and the drink is flowing. Then he sees a woman he recalls, for some reason. Why? It's, nah, can't be, is it? Is it Porn Queen, the woman who was with Tabs when he first met her? She looks different, her hair's different but the clingy dress is the same style, the curves are there and the fake boobs. It's her, possibly?

She's the belle of the ball, receiving all the male attention much to the dirty looks from a few of the ladies. "Who is she?" Clem asks his host, the squat woman. She gives him a dirty look.
"Oh yes, you as well?"
"Er, no, no, I think I've seen her before."
"Hmmmmm. That...THAT is Angela Stocksmith, A.K.A. 'Tabitha'." Clem is taken aback, coincidence?
"She, well she used to 'model' shall we say, sometimes even with her clothes on."
"Aaahhh..." Damn, he was right, Porn Queen!
"Yes, now she mostly clings on to rich men from what I know."
"Why A.K.A. 'Tabitha'?"
"Oh that's her model name. She still does a little modelling I'm told. She is a minor celebrity in some circles."
"Oh, well I've never heard of her. Not from round here you see." He smiles.
"You're not a rich man driving a Ferrari Clem, she'll not even look at you."
"No." He already knows this.

Tabitha huh? I wonder if the other Tabitha is really called Tabitha or has she just acquired this name from Angela Stocksmith, A.K.A. Tabitha. Oooooh he can't wait to dig his tablet out and do some poking around. He's connected to the wi-fi at the house so he's got a good connection, lets see what we can see. She'll be online, that's for sure.

With music, drink and drunkards all around him he is zoned out from everything except the tablet. It doesn't take long to find some pictures of her topless from several years ago. Then to find some more recent images of her at various business shows, events and high class dinners. She's everywhere, especially in the Cambridge area. What was she doing up north in the dowdy, working class pubs and bars then?

Boom! She's there, in one of the images, in the background at a charity ball 2 years ago. Tabs, Tabitha, his mystery woman not Porn Queen. She's there, dressed all sparkly behind some dignitaries as Angela clings on to some proud fat tycoon who's making himself feel good by giving a few grand out of his millions to Cancer Research. It is, it's definitely her. He can't find any guest list or other names. Blast.

Angela Stocksmith, A.K.A. Tabitha, has a website. She offers herself up for modelling in both clothes and slightly more risqué attire, but there's no mention of glamour or porn. Reading between the lines of marketing fluff she's also available to cut ribbons at an opening or provide a posh bit of eye candy for your promotional event. Watching her out of the corner of his eye he can see she really is only interested in the money. She practically ignores anyone who doesn't look like the Cartier watch and gold cuff links type.

Progress. He's made progress tonight. He has something, just a bit of something to go on, something to look into. Progress feels good. And yet, progress feels awkward too. What if he spoils the magic? Fuck that, he needs to know. No, he doesn't need to know, he just want's to know.

He spends the rest of the evening flicking through endless images from Cambridge newspapers, hoping to catch further glimpses of her. She's "her" again now, now he's even more uncertain that Tabitha is her name. Endless pictures of car crashes, new shop openings, councillors who've been naughty and promotional shots of local businesses. She's not there.

He sits back to take a breather. The party is starting to wind down, a few people are leaving, one of the young teenage girls is being sick into a large plant pot and some bloke's just broken a glass and is looking very sheepish. Clem wishes he was sleeping somewhere else tonight. This visit has not exactly been all he'd hoped for.

Soroptimists? She'd managed to worm her way into the Soroptimist New Year's Eve do in St Helens so I wonder if she's been involved down here? More image searches on Google, there's no point in searching by her name if it's not her name is there.

More images. Charity work, ladies with oversize cheques, smiling faces and warm welcomes. Aha! She's in this one. In the image she's dressed in a smart business suit with tight pencil skirt and bolero jacket. The content of the page is a general write up about a Cancer Research event that the Soroptimists supported with donations and assistance with the catering. Perhaps she's a member? Perhaps this is where she's originally from? The image is less than a year old though.

He's buzzing now. Apart from the hosts and a handful of wasted guests the house is quiet. The sick girl is fast asleep, her hair matted with what looks like regurgitated vodka. The stumpy lady host is elsewhere and her stumpy husband is trying to clean up.

"Excuse me Bill, do you know this woman?"
"Oh, er, well, let me get my glasses." He wanders off and returns bespectacled. "Er, not as such no, she does look familiar though. Ask Vera when she gets back in."

"Vera, do you know this lady?" Clem asks.
"Oh now, er, not really but I have seen her around. Jane...Jo......Julie, something like that. Oh I don't know, she's been to a few business events locally. Involved with nothing useful or constructive, something arty I recall." Clem gets nothing more from her. She's somewhat tipsy and obviously tired.

The next day Clem helps with the cleaning and removal of the last few bodies, one of whom snored and kept Clem awake. By lunchtime the place is looking almost presentable and Clem starts to pack. His mind is all over the place. He has to organise a trip to Millau and bluff his way through being some kind of researcher for holiday trips. Add to this the latest revelations about her, her being Tabs, Tabitha, Jane, Jo or Julie.

He wants to call her and tell her he knows. But then...then what? He doesn't really know enough anyhow. What if he does spoil this magic? What a silly question. There's one thing he notices in himself now. He's no longer thinking she's a secret agent, psychotic murderer or scary freak. She's, well she's curious, intriguing and mysterious. Why is he not scared any more? Perhaps he feels he knows her better now. Perhaps she's gaining his trust a little. Hot damn though, he keeps on remembering her cute outfits and her whimpers when he spanks her. Gosh, when will I see her again? Grrrrrrr.