Dream London (14 page)

Carlotta led us to a table, Alan making a show of gazing at her backside.

“Gentlemen...” she said, indicating that we should sit down.

Alan did so and Carlotta swept a linen napkin in the air, drawing it around his neck and tying it in place with a large knot.

“Thank you, Carlotta.”

Now it was my turn. She swayed around the table on her high heels, leant down to pick up my napkin as I pulled my chair in. One of her breasts pressed against my cheek, and I was about to apologise when I realised that this was all part of the service.

Carlotta said nothing, simply swooped the napkin around my neck.

“Now gentlemen, may I recommend the Bearded Oysters followed by Sausage and Mash?”

Alan rubbed his hands together with delight.

“Sounds great to me, Carlotta!”

“I’ll have the same,” I said.

“Excellent choice, gentlemen!” beamed Carlotta, taking our menus.

Alan waited until she was out of earshot before leaning forward.

“So then, James! How was your morning?”

“I don’t know,” I said, staring at the table, looking at the cutlery laid out before me. Were there two forks, or
blue
forks or what? “I can’t think properly, Alan. They’re changing my mind...”

Alan reached out and patted my hand.

“You’ll soon get used to it!” he said. He made a show of turning to look at a passing waitress. She must have weighed eighteen stone at least, her wide backside like two pillows.

“I’m not sure I will,” I said. “I don’t think I can do it again, Alan...”

“Of course you can!”

“And I shouldn’t be there. I need to be upstairs! I should be on the Writing Floor. That’s what I was told...”

“Oh ho! Ambitious, eh? That’s what I like to hear! Well, you stick it out for five or six years, and who knows what might happen to a young man with fire in his belly! Eh?”

“Five years? I didn’t sign up for five years. I was supposed to be there today! That’s what you all told me...”

The wine waiter approached our table.

“Wine, sir? The Pomegranate Burgundy is particularly fine.”

Alan looked at me.

“What do you say to the Pomegranate?” he asked. “Reeves knows his stuff!”

I shook my head. I didn’t care. Alan rubbed his hands together.

“Then Pomegranate Burgundy it is!”

“Excellent choice, sir,” said Reeves. “I can see that your good taste has not deserted you.”

He clicked his fingers, and a young oriental woman approached carrying a black bottle with a chequered label. With much ceremony, Reeves uncorked the bottle and poured a little into Alan’s glass.

“Mmm, excellent!” said Alan, tasting it.

Reeves filled both our glasses and went to resume his place in the corner of the room. Looking around the room I saw each table had the same black bottle with chequered label as we had.

I shook my head, trying to concentrate.

“Alan, listen to me! I can’t stay working on the numbers for five years! One more day like this and I’ll be no use to you at all. Dream London will have sucked in my mind and made me into something else. You want Captain Wedderburn in here, not some clerk. I need to be hunting for the contracts. I need to be up on the 839
^th
floor. That’s where they are. That’s what Bill said, anyway.”

“Oh, listen to you,” said Alan. “Ambition is a wonderful thing. Look at that!”

He nodded towards a black waitress, bending to retrieve a fork that had fallen from the table.

“Alan, listen to yourself! You’re gay! Why are you pretending?”

“I’m not pretending,” said Alan, haughtily.

“You’re trying too hard,” I said. “No one else here is acting as hard as you at ogling the women.”

I looked around the room.

“Not that anyone else here is acting normally, either. You’re like a bunch of kids, all being fussed over.”

Alan smiled at that.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Up here in the Executive Dining Room, we expect things to be a little better. We’re used to this sort of service.”

“No,” I said. “It’s not just that. This tower is affecting you. It’s affecting us all! I’m not usually this unsure of myself...”

“First day nerves, that’s all,” replied Alan, complacently.

The first course arrived. A silver platter filled with crushed ice. On top there lay something that looked like whole oysters with skin-covered shells, fleshy purses that glistened obscenely.

“Excellent!” said Alan, reaching out and wiggling his fingers above the dish, deciding which one to choose.

“I’ll bring the accompaniments directly, sir,” said Carlotta.

“Oooh,” said Alan, disappointedly, and he sat on his hands. “They look so good!”

“Listen, Alan, I need to get upstairs. Is there a back staircase or something?”

“Come on, James. It took me all my clout just to get you a job on the Numbers Floor. You ask too much of your old uncle, you know.”

“You’re not my uncle!” I hissed. “For fuck’s sake! This tower is playing with your mind!”

Carlotta reappeared with a silver tray. She placed it on the table before us.

“Horseradish, Lemon, Chilli, Salt Water and Okinawa Sauce.”

“Thank you, Carlotta,” said Alan, reaching out to snatch an oyster.

“Manners!” said Carlotta, slapping his hand. “Let your guest go first.”

“I’m sorry.”

Carlotta nodded in approval.

“Good. Now, if you eat them all up properly, I might bring you something special before your main course.”

She turned and walked off, rolling her backside, dusky flesh showing between her stocking tops and knickers. I watched as she took the napkin from the lap of one of the diners and used it to wipe his mouth as she passed.

“Come on,” said Alan. “Eat up!”

Hesitantly, I reached out and took the fleshy purse. It felt cold and slippery, not at all pleasant. I lifted it to my mouth.

“Not like that!” said Alan. “Watch me!”

He took one of the oysters in his hand and turned it so the slit faced upwards. He placed a finger from his other hand at one end of the slit and began to rub it, ever so gently.

“See?” he said. “You have to have the touch!”

Slowly, the lips of the oyster began to part, glistening with moisture. Alan rubbed harder and harder, the lips parting all the time, and then, in one fluid movement, he raised the oyster to his lips and sucked down the contents.

“Aaaah!” he said, smacking his lips, his chin glistening. “Now, it’s your turn.”

Fuddled as I was, I still couldn’t quite believe what I was seeing.

“You can’t be serious!” I said.

“Mmmph?” said Alan, already working on his second oyster.

I copied his action, and saw the lips of my own oyster parting. Against my better judgement, I sucked down the contents. It tasted exactly as I expected it would.

“This is obscene!” I said.

“Shhh!” said Alan, and he pointed a finger up at the ceiling. There was a hole up there, just as there had been on the ground floor. I quickly looked away, not wanting to lose myself again.

A nearby waitress came up, a smile playing across her lips.

“Come on; eat up your oysters like a good young man.”

I picked up another oyster as Alan placed his first on the crushed ice. The fleshy purse was quite drained.

“Alan! Concentrate! We have a job to do!”

Alan just smiled and sucked down more oysters.

One, red, two, blue, journey, three...
No! I shook my head. That wasn’t how you counted!

“Alan!” I said, “How many oysters have I eaten?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, old boy. The effect doesn’t last much outside the building. Come on! Get them eaten. You don’t want people thinking you’re gay, do you?”

T
HE FIRST COURSE
was quickly finished, and Carlotta cleared the dishes. The dining room was just as full as when we had entered, with new diners arriving at the same rate as the tables emptied.

“Have you noticed?” I said. “There was a table waiting for us as we arrived. Every time someone leaves, someone else comes. They have you completely synchronised. You’re all dancing to their tune.”

“Mmm?” said Alan. His attention was fixed on an approaching mound of sausage and mash. Nothing obscene this time, just a huge mound of white potato with sausages inserted into it at random angles, like something from an old children’s comic.

Alan smiled and picked up his knife and fork. He suddenly remembered something.

“Oh, Carlotta! You said I would get something nice if I ate all my oysters!”

She smiled. “So I did,” she said. She produced two little gift-wrapped parcels for us.

“Tie pins,” she said. “Set with diamonds and engraved with the Angel Tower crest. An elegant and stylish reminder of your visit here today.”

Alan was beaming with delight.

“Alan! Speak to me!”

Alan wasn’t really listening, he was too busy unwrapping his gift.

“What is it, James?”

“I can’t do this, Alan! You’re not taking this seriously!”

Alan was examining his tie pin.

“Isn’t this wonderful?” he said. “So classy!” He glanced across the table at me. “Come on, eat your dinner.”

I ate my sausages and mash. They tasted surprisingly good, though with that vaguely spicy edge that everything assumed in Dream London. I found myself wishing for something plain and ordinary – a hamburger and fries. Something processed and greasy and salty, but entirely untouched by the changes.

As I ate the thought of the numbers faded a little in my mind.

“You’re looking better,” said Alan, rubbing a last piece of sausage in the rich ruby gravy.

“You’re not.”

“Ready to go back this afternoon?”

“It’ll do no good,” I said. “I need to be upstairs.”

“Shhh. Eat your desert.”

Carlotta had the dishes ready. Chocolate blancmange, so runny it slopped around in the bowl.

“That doesn’t look so nice,” I said.

“Watch me,” said Alan, and he ran his finger around the top of the bowl. Gradually, the chocolate mass hardened and rose into a mound. It even had a nipple.

“Lovely!” he said.

Carlotta waited by our table as we finished our dessert.

“All of your dinner eaten,” she said. “Well done, gentlemen.”

“Thank you, Carlotta,” said Alan, blushing.

Carlotta signalled to one of the other waitresses, who hurried over carrying a tray loaded with little treats.

Carlotta selected two velvet grey jewellery boxes.

“And now,” she said, kneeling down on the floor between us, “for doing so well and finishing your meals, some gifts, before coffee arrives.”

She opened one of the boxes and held it out.

“Diamond cufflinks,” she said. One blood red nail traced the edge of the jewellery. “Note the arrangement of jewels down the side,” she said. “You will both observe the quality of the craftmanship.”

“Oh yes,” said Alan, knowledgeably.

“Only 550 made,” said Carlotta. “A limited edition, to be restricted only to the most discerning of gentlemen. These cufflinks indicate taste and refinement. But subtly. They don’t shout it.”

“Indeed not,” said Alan, taking the box from her. Carlotta handed the other to me.

“Thank you,” I said. “Could I...”

“And that’s not all, gentlemen,” continued Carlotta. “We have this hand painted, silk-washed and watermarked tie, decorated with a pattern inspired by the music of Francis Poulenc and the dot paintings of Australian Aboriginals. Scented with sandalwood and gingko it affords the wearer a measure of refined calm.”

“Oh, that’s lovely...”

“And of course, three tailored shirts from Messers Portolboy and Fugues. As you will no doubt be aware, Portolboy and Fugues shirts are triple stitched and double panelled. Their buttons are carved from tortoiseshell, the back panels are topographically shaped and the collars and cuffs are reinforced with thin bark strips of Amazon mahogany.”

The shirts were handed across, neatly tied with a ribbon. The ties were placed on top, followed by the cufflinks.

“And now,” said Carlotta. “Coffee. I shall fetch the coffee menu directly. In the meantime, would you like to scan the mint and biscuit card in order to choose accompaniments?”

Alan rubbed his hands together.

“Lovely!” he said.

FIVE

THE LAUGHING DOG

W
ALKING BACK TO
my desk that afternoon felt like slipping into delirium. The world reshaped itself in my mind so that a line of desks became green and a pair of chairs were yellow. I began to see other numbers between the colours, too, somewhere between red and blue. And there was something else, dripping down from the ceiling. Words from somewhere else, expressions that were warping out of true:
the alkali test, the rough with the sheer, a license to print music.
If there had ever been any doubt, I now knew for certain that the source of the changes was located in this tower.

But what could I do about it? Nothing whilst I was sat at my desk, correcting the figures. I had to stop, put down my pen and go and take a look around. I would do it right away, once I’d finished the next sheet, but the figures got in my mind once more and the next thing I knew it was 5:30 and it was time to go home...