14 of 131

Write now Article Tools

A MILLION WOULD BE NICE;

Prostitute. A word Vicky Mackenzie associated with the low life elements of society, with dirty needles, pill popping, snorting coke and alcoholics. Pimps in charge of their bitches, violence, and perversion, cheap and nasty. A contaminated polluted word.
Vicky was fast approaching forty, too fast for her liking and for the first time in her life without a man to support her, without a man to love her, to satisfy her.

It had all happened by accident that night in an unfamiliar hotel, she didn't regret it and in a way, she had felt wanted and valued for the first time in a long while. She had been through the mill in the last few months.
She needed some company, she needed some friendship, and she needed a man. She needed someone to tell her she looked good, felt good, and smelled good. Who could have blamed her? She had gone through more lately than some women went through in a lifetime.
It had all been so innocuous. She was feeling low after the death of her husband. Okay she hadn't really loved him, never had, but he was a good sort and he had cared for her, paid her attention, told her everyday how glamorous she looked, but most important of all he had paid the bills.
Some would argue that she was a prostitute then. Would she have cooked for him, would she have kept the house clean and tidy and as meticulous as he liked it to be, would she have accepted his physical advances if the money hadn't hit her personal bank account on the first day of every month?
Three times they had had sex in the month before his death. Vicky had worked it out at over 800 a time. How many men paid a prostitute 800 a time?
She figured a high-class hotel would be a good place to meet a new man. She chose the most opulent and fashionable establishment on Newcastle's quayside. The Majestic stood opposite the new millennium bridge. It was the place to be seen. It was full of the fashionable set, the pretty people, groups of young men and women set for a good night out, for some fast action.
But a different sort also frequented the several bars and quieter corners and select eating areas of the huge hotel. Wealthy residents, top executives, and businessmen from out of town. Some just wanted a quiet night, something to eat and an early night with a bedtime read of the agenda for tomorrow's high-powered meeting. Others wanted a quiet night but were inevitably drawn in to the infectious heady atmosphere of the surroundings eventually retiring to bed several hours after their intended time.
And then there were the chancers.

Learn more about this author, Ken Scott.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.

Add your voice

Know something about Novel excerpts: Mystery?
We want to hear your view. Write now!