Ruby Tuesday: Older and wiser . . . or older and vengeful? (Angie's Adventures Book 8) Read online

  Ruby Tuesday

  By LimeyLady

  Copyright Mark C Woolridge (writing as LimeyLady), 2017

  Distributed by Smashwords

  All characters and events in this publication,

  other than those clearly in the public domain,

  are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons,

  living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One - A promising start

  Chapter Two - Romantic Ruby

  Chapter Three - Holiday planning

  Chapter Four - Bedded by Ruby

  Chapter Five - Angie volunteers her services

  Chapter Six - Angie gets the job

  Chapter Seven - Late night mistletoe

  Chapter Eight - Come on Eileen

  Author’s Note

  Other Books by LimeyLady

  Chapter One

  (November 1997)

  Angie invariably turned up for dates and appointments at the agreed time, on the dot. Punctuality was ingrained in her, despite the best efforts of her careers teacher. Miss Thompson had told her to “never be later than ten minutes early”, but she had been on about job interviews, hadn’t she? This was not a job interview, it was a mid-term review.

  So bang-on eleven it was. On the dot, as agreed.

  Sadly her tutor, Doctor Evans, was still, very rudely, busy with his previous review. Confident that she had the moral high ground, Angie malingered in the corridor outside his office, scowling but not really angry.

  Mid-term review phooey; she was sailing through her course and everyone knew it.

  And she knew it better than anyone.

  Ten minutes later (that is to say, ten minutes late!) the office door opened and Craig came out. Angie knew Craig but hadn’t realized they shared a personal tutor. As a gay guy she considered him to be a friend, but not a close one. She gave him a cheery nod anyway. Very sheepishly, Craig nodded back and scurried away.

  Is it me? Angie wondered. Or has he just had the review from hell?

  ‘I didn’t know you were acquainted with that young man,’ Doctor Evans began, when they were safely closeted away.

  ‘We met on my very first visit to the Union Bar,’ Angie replied. ‘He told me all sorts of interesting things about the Settle to Carlisle Railway. He’s quite the expert on the subject.’

  ‘Are you a railway enthusiast?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then young Craig’s obviously full of repartee.’

  ‘I was transfixed . . . as any girl would be.’

  ‘I’ll bet,’ said Doctor Evans, laughing. Then, pulling a pile of files across the surface of the most untidy desk in Christendom: ‘You have made a good starting impression, Angela.’

  ‘I’m Angie,’ Angie said reflexively, ‘not Angela. Angie’s what is says on my birth certificate.’

  Doctor Evans apologized then went on to outline how well everyone thought she was doing.

  Angie listened intently and did her best not to be flattered. Her ethic had been to work hard and play hard. It was good to find it had shone through. Good but not the be all and end all. She was only six weeks into a three year course. And there was many a slip twixt cup and lip.

  ‘So how is it going socially?’ Doctor Evans concluded.

  Angie grinned. ‘My social life has never been better,’ she assured him.

  Ignoring the lifts because they had been known to break down between floors, Angie descended a lot of flights of stairs, heading for her usual lunch destination: the Union. Her social life was, she decided, even better than she’d just made out.

  Talk about playing hard!

  In the ten months before uni she’d had six lovers: one male, the other five very much female. In less than two months since arriving she’d had . . .

  Well, ten at least, and all of them female.

  That is unless you discounted transgender Sarah-Jayne, the girl with a cock.

  Angie scowled again. This time her expression didn’t necessarily express her feelings. She was crap at smiling, so a scowl it was.

  Coming to university her tactic had been to play the field widely, and as often as possible. She’d come with a no commitments, spread it about sort of approach. And it had largely paid off . . . apart from the only-too-obvious instances of Madhu and Sarah-Jayne.

  Why oh why could she be emotion-free with everyone but those two!

  Still a couple of minutes shy of the bar, Angie sighed. Madhu was her halls next-room neighbour. She was from Birmingham and looked far better than any Bollywood actress. She liked girls, too. Well, she did now.

  Maybe now she liked girls too much.

  Although she was determined to avoid relationships, Angie had somehow fallen halfway in love with Madhu, who just lately seemed to have fallen halfway in love with Helen from across the corridor.

  Helen who, thanks to Madhu, was currently seeing a whole lot more of Angie’s strapless strap-on than Angie was herself.

  Madhu kept “borrowing” that particular toy and not returning it for days.

  Relationship-free wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

  And, Madhu aside, Sarah-Jayne was becoming a bit of a pest. Angie had bought a traditional strap-on for her and she couldn’t get enough. Twice a week and still she wanted more.

  Okay, it was hard work, and someone had to do it . . . But really!

  Shrugging off the clouds hovering over her horizon, not letting them make it gloomy, Angie went into the Union Bar. As always the atmosphere immediately caressed her, making all her worries dissipate. Pool balls were clattering into each other, video games were electronically squawking, students were loudly disputing darts scores and Bad Company was playing on the juke.

  Apparently they felt like making love.

  Half eleven in the morning and Bad Company had a good idea indeed.

  Humming along, Angie approached the bar and, in the absence of the manager, signalled Gloria.

  ‘Hiya sweetie,’ she said, ‘pint and a cheese and tom, please.’

  Gloria passed her a baguette then, flexing her mighty arm muscles, pulled a pint of Marston’s. Angie watched as her biceps flexed and felt warm inside. Straight as she was, Gloria was an eyeful.

  Hmmm, yes, yes please.

  The music changed and there they were, Agnetha and Anni-Frid, reminding everybody that Napoleon did surrender.

  Waterloo or Gloria, Angie thought, how could I ever refuse!

  Then she saw a figure approaching from Lesbian’s Corner and groaned.

  ‘Hello, Angie,’ said Ruby, ‘how’s it going?’

  Ruby was short and slender with a prominent chest and emerald green hair. She had only previously addressed Angie as either “easy cunt” or “cunt”. Addressing by her given name was, therefore, almost a term of endearment.

  Forgetting their history, forgetting she’d regularly been fucking Ruby’s “wifey”, in Ruby’s bed, Angie did her best to smile.

  (This strained one was nearer a grimace.)

  ‘Hello Ruby,’ she said. It’s going good.’

  Ruby cast around. The music- and machine-generated racket disguised the fact the bar wasn’t nearly as busy as it soon would be.

  ‘I think that you’re still seeing my girlfriend,’ she said, sotto voce.

  That was more than true. Angie wouldn’t have “seen” Charlie in the first place if she’d known she had a live-in lover. But Ruby’s snarling reaction and otherwise promiscuous behaviour had left her with no alternative . . .
and definitely no remorse.

  Truth was, she’d been “seeing” a few of Ruby’s girlfriends, never mind just Charlie.

  ‘Don’t start a fight,’ she said mildly. ‘I’m bigger than you, in case you haven’t noticed.’

  Ruby laughed. Skin-headed, better than six feet tall, broad-shouldered and thirteen stones, Angie was bigger than most guys, never mind most girls. She was well-built, too. There wasn’t one ounce of flab on her.

  Never mind Gloria’s biceps, Angie had muscle to burn.

  ‘I don’t fight,’ Ruby went on, ‘I get even. And you offered me a way of getting even. Remember?’

  Of course Angie remembered. ‘That was ages ago,’ she said. ‘And I gave you a week or so to make up your mind, not a month or so.’

  ‘Yeah, well some decisions need thinking about, don’t they?’

  Angie said nothing, taking in Ruby’s eyes and talon-like nails, all matching her hair. Locked in a spiral of hatred, she had suggested they fucked away the aggression. Now it looked like Ruby was about to come across . . . and she wasn’t sure how to take it.

  ‘Charlie’s away on a field trip,’ said Ruby. ‘I’ve got the house to myself tonight. Assuming you dare.’

  Chapter Two

  Angie took her turn to cast around, ensuring nobody could overhear. ‘I dare do anything,’ she replied, volume down. ‘I need to know you remember the rules, though.’

  ‘Oh I remember,’ Ruby laughed scornfully. ‘You won’t be bullied in any way. There won’t be any show of superiority. And if I try it on you’ll smack my ass black and blue.’

  ‘Correct,’ said Angie.

  ‘What if I want my ass smacked black and blue?’

  ‘Then you’ll be fucking with the right girl, won’t you?’

  This time Ruby’s laugh was less scornful. ‘Okay,’ she said, ‘in here tonight at seven?’

  ‘No way,’ said Angie. ‘Tonight’s not a date; it’s a two-girl fuckfest. I’ll come to yours and we’ll do it, end of.’

  Ruby’s eyes narrowed at that. She couldn’t conceivably look forlorn but did look taken aback.

  Allowing a modicum of pity, Angie relented a little.

  ‘Let’s see how tonight goes,’ she said. ‘If it goes swimmingly, we can do a date tomorrow night. In fact I’ll wine you and dine you before going for an encore. Okay?’

  ‘So you know Charlie’s away for two nights, do you?’ Ruby’s mouth smiled but her eyes stayed just as narrow.

  ‘Don’t stall, Ruby. Have we a deal of what?’

  Two seconds to consider and Ruby nodded. ‘Okay, so you’ll be at my place at seven?’

  ‘I’ll be there, raring to go,’ Angie assured her.

  She watched Ruby’s backside as she retreated to the Corner. It was very, very tidy. She could not complain about the sight.

  She could complain about the level of her pint, though. Her baguette was still safe in its cling film but the glass of Marston’s had somehow almost run dry. Swigging off the last remnants, she went back to the bar and ordered another.

  ‘Do my eyes deceive me,’ Gloria said as she reflexed her biceps, ‘but have Kuwait and Iraq suddenly made peace?’

  Angie eyes went from the barmaid’s muscles, over her tits and up to her face.

  ‘Sorry sweetie, I’m not with you.’

  ‘You and the Wicked Witch,’ said Gloria. ‘That little conversation was subtle compared to your usual out-and-out ballistics. It was almost romantic.’

  Angie was as good as certain Gloria couldn’t have listened in. ‘Peace is a good thing,’ she said, ‘ask John Lennon.’

  ‘I’m afraid some warlike nutter shot him, else I would.’

  Angie handed over another fiver but Gloria wasn’t done yet.

  ‘Ruby on Tuesday,’ she said, ‘there’s a song in there, somewhere. Let me know how it turns out.’

  For the first time Angie picked up the vibe.

  Frigging hell, Gloria was up for it!

  ‘As if,’ Angie said, as mock-mockingly as possible. ‘You can’t possibly be interested in me, Ruby and a double bed, can you?’

  ‘Who knows, maybe I could be? So are you going to let me know what goes down . . . or who goes down, come to that?’

  ‘Maybe I will, tomorrow. But you’ll have to tell me about you, Joe and a double bed first.’

  Gloria was in her thirties but she could giggle like a teenager.

  ‘In a double bed,’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s more like bent over a beer barrel!’

  *****

  Angie left the bar well in advance of her next lecture and made her way to the ground floor, where a line of payphones awaited. She hadn’t called home in a while and now, early afternoon on a Tuesday, was as good a time as ever to catch her mum.

  ‘Thank goodness,’ Mum said in greeting. ‘You haven’t been white-slaved after all.’

  ‘They don’t seem to do that in these parts,’ Angie replied, ‘I think it’s more of a Clitheroe thing.’

  Mum hooted at that. Clitheroe was about as respectable as it got in Lancashire (Barnoldswick apart, and Bar’wick was arguably in Yorkshire).

  Angie passed on some of the positive feedback she’d got from Doctor Evans. Mum, who’d left school at sixteen, as soon as she could, said she was proud of her. Then she cleared her throat.

  ‘We’re not long back from Matagorda. Do you remember Estrella?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Angie, ‘Miss Canary Islands for the last ten years running.’

  ‘Trust you to say that,’ Mum said tritely. ‘I doubt a classy woman like Estrella would ever enter a sexist pageant, even if there actually is one in the Canaries. But never mind that; it seems she collared your dad in the bar one night.’

  Angie was immediately envious. She wished Estrella had collared her in a bar, even though she had been a total innocent last time she visited Lanzarote.

  Even though the images she had right now would never have occurred to her.

  ‘Lucky Dad,’ she said.

  Mum hooted again. ‘Not like that,’ she went on, ‘I mean she collared him by saying there were holiday vacancies coming up over Christmas. He never told me, of course, but Estrella rang yesterday. And to cut a long story short, we’ve agreed an extra three weeks. All I have to do is book flights. Do you want to come with us?’

  On the spot or what!

  ‘When are you going?’ Angie hedged.

  ‘We’re looking to fly out on the eighteenth, back on the eighth of January.’

  Angie was torn. She loved Lanzarote and three weeks in the sun had a lot more appeal than winter in the East Midlands. But what would she do for that long? Lounge about looking like a sack of crap in a bikini that made her resemble a prop forward?

  Not to mention the negative impact on her sex life.

  ‘I’m not sure the dates work for me,’ she said cautiously.

  ‘I thought you might say that,’ Mum countered. ‘You’re welcome to house-sit for us again. And you’re welcome to have Sandra stay over again, too.’

  Angie rolled her eyes. Her mum wasn’t supposed to know Sandra had stayed over at Easter. But then again, Mum knew everything. Angie had never formally “come out” because there was no need.

  Mum had known before she did.

  ‘I’ll compare dates with Sand,’ she said. ‘But don’t book me a ticket. It’s most likely I’ll be staying here in the snow and ice.’

  Chapter Three

  Purely by co-incidence Sandra rang later that afternoon. Well, maybe “co-incidence” didn’t have a lot to do with it. In the absence of a landline Angie had given Sand the number for the Union Bar; telling her it was always the most likely place to find her.

  And Sand had already deduced the most likely times.

  ‘It’s for you,’ Gloria said, waving the receiver in Angie’s direction, ‘and she sounds sexy as heck.’

  Gloria wasn’t wrong. Sandra was athletic and as beautiful as the best Somali supermodel, with a sexy and deep-throated accent to boot
. Well, maybe “sexy” was an understatement. If she ever launched a telephone sex line she’d become a billionaire faster than Richard Branson.

  No, faster than Bill Gates.

  ‘Hiya duck,’ she began, ‘I hoped I might find you in there. Who was that seductive chick who picked up my call?’