“What kept you?”Emily stared at the object in the bed. She knew her name, everybody knew Melissa Davies’ name. Her flawless complexion, dark red lipstick and dark brown-crimson hair were all that was on show above the magenta sheet that adorned the bed. Melissa’s head sat comfortably on the crimson pillowcases that were piled high; her hair flowing like a cascading river either side of her face. A wry smile crept across her face.Emily closed the distance between her and Melissa. She ignored the question and retorted with two of her own.“How did you get in here? And what are you doing in my bed?” she demanded.Melissa just smiled back at her. She raised her right hand and started to nibble at her little finger; nails tipped with red nail polish stroked her lower lip. It was the most seductive pose that Emily had seen in a while, but this had to stop, Melissa had to leave, immediately. It was not proper for her sixteen-year-old student to be in her house, in her bed, at this time of the. Five months backIt was July 10. The weather was perfect, not a single cloud in the sky. As my wife and I rushed through the square of Covent Garden, my goal was to get to Theatre Royal Drury Lane. I say my goal because it was a birthday surprise for my wife, Julie. We bustled passed the market stools. I held her hand tight, as we dodged the tourists and entertainers.“What race are we in?” Julie shouted as she attempted to keep up with me.“We are nearly there my love,” I replied.As I approached the corner of Catherine Street, I had to force myself to stop. I was trying to avoid from slamming into the group of people ahead of me. “What is going on here?” I said. Pretending to be oblivious of what was happening around us.With a smile on her face, Julie said, “Oh, everyone must be waiting to get into the theatre to watch 42nd Street. I was reading the reviews about this show, which is playing at Theatre Royal Drury Lane. You have to reserve tickets months in advance.” She sighed as she.
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