Fine Lines - SA (33 page)

Predictably, he was late. When I let him in he looked even more pleased with himself than usual, if that was possible.

"Who got out of the wrong side of bed this morning?" he asked. I ignored him, leaving him to fol ow me into the lounge. "Don't say you're not talking to me, Donald?" I turned to face him. "I would appreciate it if we could settle this quickly. You're late as it is."

"I'l consider my wrists smacked." He went to the drinks table. "Don't mind, do you? You can have one yourself, if you like."

"No thank you." Despite the fact that I was standing, he sat down, stretching out his legs as he took a drink. "So are you going to tel me what's wrong, or not? You've got a face like a toilet pan."

"Nothing's wrong. I've simply got a lot to do, and the sooner you leave the sooner I can get on with it."

"We real y are in a shitty mood, aren't we? If you're pissed off because I'm late, it was because I took Anna home before I came here.

Am I excused now, or do you want a note from my mum?"

"You mean Anna was stil at your flat when you cal ed me?"

"Put your eyes back in, Donald. She was under the shower. She didn't hear. And I didn't tel her I was coming to see you, so you've got nothing to worry about." He stretched.

"Anyway, you should grumble. I was expecting a leisurely morning in bed, but the sil y bitch got a sudden attack of the guilts and decided she had to go. I managed to give her a quickie in the shower after I'd cal ed you, but that was al . I think she felt disloyal about enjoying

it so much." He grinned. "That didn't seem to bother her too much last night, though, did it? What did you think of the show, by the way?"

I did not answer.

"Come on, talk to me. Was it al right or wasn't it?" I looked away, wishing he were anywhere but with me. He grinned. "Don't tel me you didn't enjoy it? Your big night?" There was mocking concern in his voice.

"You came here to col ect the picture. I suggest you do that and then go."

"Where are your manners, Donald? I didn't rush you out of my flat last night, did I? Be sociable. I only want to make sure that everything was okay, that's al . I aim to please. If you've any complaints I want to hear them."

"I haven't." He was enjoying himself. "I'm afraid I don't believe you. Come on, Donald, tel Uncle Zeppo what's upset you. I can see something has.

I'm sensitive like that." He waited. I said nothing. "If you won't tel me what it is, I'l only have to guess." I hated his games. "Nothing. Everything was fine."

"Ah ah, Donald. You're tel ing fibs. Did I forget to do something, is that it? I tried to give you a selection, but I suppose I might have missed something out. If you were expecting something a bit more exotic you should have told me. I don't mind doing requests."

"The sketch is on the table. Take it and get out."

"Donald, Donald, that's no way to treat someone you've just shared a beautiful experience with, is it?" He assumed a look of exaggerated concern. "You're not jealous, are you? Is that what's wrong? You didn't like watching someone else shafting your heart's desire. Is that it?"

"Do we have to go through this charade?" He grinned. "Yes, I'm afraid we do. You got what you wanted, and since it's pretty obvious you didn't enjoy it, I think it's only fair to tel me why. After al the trouble I went through I deserve to know that much." I remained silent. Zeppo sighed. "Okay, since you won't co-operate, on with the guessing game. Let's see, if you're not jealous, what else could it be?"

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Only trying to help. If you're not happy, I'm not happy. So why aren't you happy?"

I wanted to dent his smug composure. "Why didn't you tel me your real name was Crispin?" His grin vanished. "Don't try and be clever, Donald. It doesn't suit you."

"I seem to have touched a nerve."

"Don't flatter yourself."

"Then it won't bother you if I tel everyone what you're real y cal ed?"

"I wouldn't try and be a smart arse if I were you. You're in no position to."

"Real y? I don't see why not." He gave a hard little smile. "Because if you piss me off, I'l punch you in the stomach until you piss blood." His smile grew less strained. "But we're getting away from what we were talking about, aren't we? About why you didn't enjoy the performance. Come on, Donald, what was the problem? Wasn't it how you imagined it?" I turned away. "Ah-ha! I think I've touched a nerve there, myself, haven't I?" I told myself not to give him the satisfaction of responding. His face leered at me. "So actual y seeing Anna shafted didn't fit your sweaty little idea of how it should be, is that it? The event didn't match the fantasy?" He smirked. "I'm right, aren't I?" I could not keep quiet any longer. "You did it deliberately, didn't you?"

"Did what deliberately?"

"Debased everything! You deliberately set out to spoil it!" He seemed genuinely surprised. "Spoil it? What are you talking about? How did I spoil anything?" I knew I was making a mistake, but could not stop. "You made it as obscene as you could! The things you did! Al that ... that positioning, so I could see everything!"

"I thought that was what you wanted?"

"Not like that! It was disgusting!" He smirked. "Personal y, I thought it was pretty good. And your precious Anna didn't seem to find it too horrible either."

"You intended to ruin it for me from the start, didn't you?" Zeppo gave an indifferent shrug. "You wanted to watch me fuck Anna, and you did. It's not my fault if it wasn't how you imagined."

"You didn't have to make it like that!"

"I didn't make it like anything. That's what sex is." His voice was heavy with derision. "What the fuck did you expect? Something like one of your pretty pictures?" He snorted. "Wel , it's not like that.

It's not al set poses in real life. Real people move around. It's al sweaty and noisy and smel y. You should try it sometime." I turned away. Zeppo laughed. "It's no good looking like that, Donald. It's true. Here. Smel ." He pushed himself out of the chair and thrust his fingers under my nose. I jerked my head back and knocked his hand aside, belatedly realising it smelt only of soap and cologne. But I remembered the taint that had been in the air the night before, and with that memory came other, even less welcome images. I quickly thrust them away and turned on him.

"You disgust me!" Zeppo's grin turned sour, "I disgust you? Christ, that's rich! Who the fuck are you to be disgusted by anyone?" This was exactly the sort of scene I had wanted to avoid. "I can't see any point in continuing with this," I said, but Zeppo was not going to be put off.

"No, I bet you can't," he jeered. "Mr. Goody-fucking-Two-Shoes Ramsey! You fucking hypocrite. How can you stil act self-righteous after what you've done? Jesus, you make me sick!"

"The feeling's mutual, I assure you."

"Bal s! You're not capable of feeling anything!" His voice was thick with contempt. "You're a fucking eunuch, Donald! You should have stuck to col ecting al those nice, hygienic pictures. They're much safer than the real thing. They don't do things you don't want them to. And you can stil tel yourself it's art, can't you?" He sneered at me. "You might fool yourself, Donald, but you don't fool me. You're just another sad, dirty old man who get his kicks looking at pictures of other people doing what he can't. Only you're too much of a coward to admit it." His words no longer touched me. "I don't recal asking for your opinion," I said, calmly.

"I don't recal giving a fuck."

We stared at each other. "If you've finished, I won't keep you. The Cocteau's over there."

He went over to the table and picked it up. "I get the frame as wel , do I? I am a lucky boy."

"Not real y. It's ugly and rather tasteless. Like the sketch. I imagine it wil suit you perfectly." He smiled, relaxed again. "Now, now, Donald. Sticks and stones. Can I at least have a carrier bag? You forgot to gift-wrap it."

"The arrangement was for the picture. Nothing else."

"You real y are a petty-minded old bastard, aren't you?" He tucked it under his arm and went into the hal way. I fol owed him.

"Before you leave, I'd like my cheque back. It wil save me the trouble of cancel ing it." He reached into his pocket. "Slipped my mind." He crumpled the cheque and threw it on to the floor. I opened the door, not out of politeness, but for the satisfaction of closing it on him.

"Wil you be seeing Anna when you get back?" I asked.

He pretended to frown. "Who?"

"In that case I needn't ask you not to come to the gal ery again."

"I can't think of anything I'd like less. Except you." Zeppo went down the steps. "Have a nice life, Donald." I shut the door.

I did not go into the gal ery until the middle of the week. I telephoned Anna with the excuse that I was il . It was strange speaking to her. She sounded the same as ever, unchanged. I felt as though she were someone I used to know wel , but who I had now lost touch with.

By Wednesday I knew I could no longer put her off from visiting me, and went in. I preferred to face her at work rather than in the intimacy of my home. She was very solicitous.

Smotheringly so. It was an effort not to be terse.

"What happened with your friend's col ection?" she asked. "The one who was burgled," she added, when I looked blank. It took me a moment to realise what she was talking about.

"Oh … it wasn't as bad as he thought," I said, vaguely.

"Have the police found anything out yet?"

"No, not yet."

As soon as I could, I shut myself in the office. Anna seemed to sense my mood and left me alone. But I could not stay there for ever. After a while I went back downstairs, forcing a smile as I reassured her that I was al right. She went back to her work, and I cast surreptitious glances at her as she bent over her desk. She had on a thin vest that did little to disguise her breasts. They hung loosely under it, swinging ponderously as she shifted her weight. Her thighs were flattened on the seat, meaty and ungainly. She wore shorts, and I could see the tightness of cloth at the crotch. I thought of the undignified patch hidden there, and looked away.

When she stood up and crossed the room, I watched as the flesh of her moved. Legs, arms, breasts. There seemed a heavy, bovine quality about her that I wondered how I could have missed before. Suddenly, I could see her mother waiting behind the youthful facade, could detect the sagging fleshiness of the woman she would become. She turned and saw me watching her, and smiled. Her mouth stretched, and I remembered how it had slobbered over Zeppo. It struck me that it was too large for her face. Her lips were too wide, almost rubbery. I smiled back.

The anxiety I had felt about seeing her again faded. I wondered why I should have been so bothered. She was just a girl. Only her persistent intimacy prevented me from withdrawing into my old, now attractive isolation. It was a nuisance, but I was soon able to respond mechanical y, without being touched by it. Even her frequent references to Zeppo left me unmoved.

Like her, he belonged to the past. And that was something I chose not to dwel on.

"Have you had a postcard from him yet?" she asked one day.

"No." Then, because I felt obliged to, I added, "Have you?" She tried to sound casual. "No. I expect he's been too busy. Or it'l arrive after he gets back."

"I expect so." Later, she said, "Donald, is everything al right?"

"Of course it is? Why?" She shrugged. "Oh, I just wondered. You just seem a bit … I don't know. Distant, lately."

"Do I? I'm sorry. I've got a lot on my mind."

"Anything I can help with?"

"No. Thank you." On impulse, I added, "One or two little financial problems. That's al ."

She looked worried. "Bad?"

"Wel ... let's see what happens, shal we?" I gave a brisk smile, and moved away. I felt a smal grain of self-congratulation. I had prepared the ground. Now, if I decided to, I could always take it further. She was only an assistant, after al . There had been others before her. There would be others after.

One day she came up to me with a bright smile on her face. "Guess what? A friend of mine's started work at the Barbican, and she can get us complimentary tickets for the Russian bal et this Saturday! If you can make it, of course." I looked disappointed. "This Saturday? Oh, I'd love to, but I've already arranged something."

"Oh. Oh, wel , never mind." She smiled and shrugged. "It doesn't matter. I just thought you might like to go."

"Another time, perhaps." I waited one more week before I cal ed Charles Dryden.

"Good to hear from you," he said. "Are you buying or sel ing?"

"Buying," I answered.

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