Page 39 of What Happens in Dubai

‘Fils de pute!’ A tall, blonde-headed woman was standing with a suitcase looking irate.

Henri jumped to his feet, immediately suppressing his semi.

My body felt rigid as I froze for a few seconds. The alcohol was making me react slower than usual as I wondered what the fuck was going on. I started to pull down my skin-tight dress, suddenly aware that my vagina was very much still a centrepiece of the apartment. I tried hard to comprehend the situation, desperately examining my Frenchman’s face for reassurance. Instead, Henri ignored me and began to chase after the stunning woman while waving his hands in the air dramatically. They were speaking so quickly in French that I had no idea what was happening. However, it didn’t take me long to put two and two together, and I quickly realised I wasn’t the only girl Henri was dipping his meatloaf in. I stood up, trying hard to zip up my dress as quietly as possible without disturbing the domestic. I watched as Henri began weeping while kneeling for forgiveness in front of this furious woman who was now pointing towards me.

Shit, why did I cancel his security?I thought.

Suddenly, the woman came lunging towards me in some form of attack. I screamed, covering my face at the commotion, but Henri grabbed ahold of her mid-air as she fell to the ground in a dramatic puddle of snot and tears. She was hissing towards me, yelling in French with an almighty bright red burning face.

What the fuck?

‘I’m leaving, I’m leaving, OK?’ I screamed as my heart pounded through my chest.

‘Oh, a fucking English girl, seriously! Another fucking English girl?’ The woman turned to Henri, who was still trying to restrain her from hurting me and began slapping him ferociously.

‘Oh no, I’m Scottish,’ I mumbled, clearing my throat, and she flashed me a look of disgust for even articulating. ‘Look, I have no idea what is going on here. I am going to go and leave you two alone. I’m sorry for whatever this is, you know.’ I walked cautiously towards the door, sheepishly anticipating another attack at any given moment and slipped my feet back into my heels.

‘What are you standing there for, Henri? You better pay the bitch! She will tell the papers.’ The woman tutted while Henri hovered in the distance.

‘No payment necessary.’ I pressed the elevator button, frantically tapping my foot to flee the situation.Hurry the fuck up. Hurry the fuck up. Please, God!I thought, gradually observing the lift numbers stop at every floor bar the penthouse.

‘Pay your mother-fucking prostitute, Henri!’ she bellowed.

Prostitute? I gasped in shock. My eyes slowly scanned down my body at my low-cut skin-tight dress. Maybe French girls don’t dress as risqué, I thought. I glimpsed back around to the woman shrieking and compared my outfit to her bright pink Versace power suit. I let out a slightly drunken shrug. Fair enough, I thought.

I heard Henri’s feet storm towards me, patting off the cold tiles. He was ransacking through his jean pocket before bringing out his wallet. He seemed unbelievably enraged.

‘Take your money and never come back here! You eh … fucking bitch.’ Henri’s eyes were no longer kind or lustful. Instead, he stared down at me as if this entire situation was my fault. I knew he was an actor, but I felt betrayed by his callous attitude. I couldn’t reply. My mouth was as wide as the Clyde, and my vagina was still soggy from his tongue.How could he become so heartless so quickly?Henri suddenly threw a bundle of notes at me and prompted me to go. Before I knew it, I played along in his little game, picking the paper up from the ground, feeling half offended, half glad, of some form of compensation from my horrific ordeal. I couldn’t work out the exact currency exchange rate, but I thought of mine: a lick-out and a hand full of dirham for some shitty insults that I couldn’t even translate. I certainly wasn’t passing that up.

The lift door opened, and I flew in, pressed for the ground floor and belted out of the hotel straight back to mine.

The taxi ride took less than ten minutes to get back to my hotel, and the driver was trying to chat along the way, but I couldn’t engage in any form of conversation. Twice in the last week, I’d had to flee dangerous situations due to my ravenous bearded clam. I couldn’t help but feel that the carefree fun I thought I was having had suddenly turned complicated and cold. As I walked through the foyer, I spotted Adam at the desk. His eyes lit up with disapproval at my latest wardrobe choice, but I had no fight left in me, so I waved, hoping for a free pass or some sort of truce. Instead, he nodded back and didn’t say a word.

Ashley’s sickly stench immediately greeted me as I entered the apartment. Great, I thought. I kicked my heels off at the door and let out an almighty sigh. As I did, tears started drowning my face. What was wrong with me? I couldn’t stop. I held my hand over my mouth, not wanting to wake my friend, but a few minutes into my meltdown, I heard the screech of Ashley’s door.

‘Zara, you OK?’ she whispered, sounding sleepy.

‘I’m … so— sorry. Go back to sleep,’ I sobbed.

Ashley staggered into the lounge area and sat on the tiled floor beside me.

‘Obviously, I’m not leaving. What’s up?’ she asked.

Sat on the hard tiled floor, we blethered on, me telling her about my hellish day at the beach club with Tom, then about the photoshoot and the night at the club. I could see Ashley feel every bit of my drama and she looked gutted she had missed out. I explained about Henri and his crazy girlfriend attack and how I’d had to race out of that apartment with a wad full of cash.

‘I can’t believe I’ve missed this day, Zara. I should have been there.’ Ashley had her arm round my back as I rested my head on her shoulder.

‘But don’t feel bad because Henri has a girlfriend. That’s on him. You didn’t know,’ she continued.

‘But how much did you get?’ she giggled.

I smiled. ‘Like three thousand dirhams – I gave the taxi guy a big tip!’

Ashley gasped. ‘That’s a lot! Look on the bright side – if you are a prostitute, you are a high-end one, babe.’

I sniffled back. ‘Aw, thanks. But it’s not that. It’s just … When I left the club with him, I started to think I really like this guy. Maybe, like just maybe, this could be it. I felt excited to start something again, but here I am. Hurt again.’

‘It’s amazing you want to start something again, Zara. But not with Henri. He’s not the one. Maybe seeing Tom with someone else has made you realise it’s time to move on and find a nice decent guy?’

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