Fine Lines - SA (11 page)

"Oh, what a shame."

"I know. But he says there are too many loose ends for him to tie up at the university." She smiled, trying to hide her disappointment.

"Wel , it's only for three days, isn't it? And you know what they say about absence."

"I suppose so."

"I know it's no consolation, but I wil be giving you a bonus to show how much I appreciate this."

"Oh, you don't have to do that! I'm getting what amounts to a free holiday anyway." Relief had made me expansive. "You're stil pul ing my coals out of the fire, and I'm very grateful.

When you get back I want you and Marty to go to whatever show or restaurant you like. On me." Anna leaned forward and kissed my cheek. Her lips were cool, but my flesh felt branded by the contact.

"If you're any nicer to me, I don't think I'l be able to leave at al ."

"I may just hold you to that," I said, blushing.

There were no further hitches. On the morning of Anna's

departure I drove her to the airport. Marty came too. They sat together in the back of the car, and when I parked in the airport terminal I saw that they had been holding hands. Both of them seemed a little subdued as Anna waited to check in, and when they said goodbye to each other outside the departure lounge, no one watching would have dreamed the separation was only for three days.

I stood discreetly in the background. Anna's last, impulsive hug pul ed Marty off balance. His glasses were knocked askew, and he adjusted them, absently, as he watched her disappear through the glass doors. He stared after her for a moment before turning towards me.

We walked back to the car in silence.

"Is Anna going to cal you later?" I asked, to break it.

"She said she'l phone me tonight."

"You're not going out, then?"

"No, I've too much to do."

"Yes, Anna said you were busy. It's a shame you couldn't have gone with her. I hope you didn't mind my asking her to go?"

"No, not at al . It'l be a good experience for her. And it'l al help when she's looking for work in New York. Have you had any feedback from that, by the way?"

"Feedback?"

"You were going to contact some people you knew, to see if they could help her. Have you heard anything?" Not only had I not heard anything, I had also forgotten I had offered to try.

But I resented him feeling he had the right to ask. "No, not yet. They should have got my letters by now, though. I'l give them another week and if I've not heard from them by then, I'l try telephoning." I changed the subject. "I expect it'l seem strange being in the flat alone." He nodded. "I guess." I made an attempt at jocularity. "Do you think you'l be able to manage?" A faint smile touched his mouth. "Oh, sure. Anna's going to cal every day, so if I run into any trouble, I can always yel for help." That was interesting to know. "Have you arranged a set time? In case I need to contact her," I added.

"She's going to cal between six and seven. I'm usual y back by then."

I dropped Marty at the university and drove to the gal ery. It seemed empty and lifeless without Anna. I shook off the feeling and telephoned Zeppo.

"She's gone."

"Good. Any problems?"

"No. And I found out that Marty's staying in tonight."

"Tonight's no good." I wondered if Zeppo was trying to make excuses. "Why?" Some of my suspicion must have carried into my voice, because he laughed.

"Now, now, Donald, don't snap. Tonight's no good because it's the first night she's been away, and he'l probably be wandering around the flat crying and sniffing her perfume, and trying to tel himself he's missing her. Tomorrow wil be better."

"Isn't that just wasting a night?"

"Is this the man who lectured me about doing things too soon?" I conceded. "Al right. I suppose you know what you're doing. But whatever it is, leave it until after seven o'clock." I told him what Marty had said about Anna telephoning then. "I don't want her to know he's seeing you."

"You're al heart. Are there any other instructions, while you're at it? Perhaps you would like to tel me exactly what you want me to do with Marty?"

"I'l leave that side of things up to you." I heard him laugh, drily. "You're a true leader, Donald." That night I had the dream again. It was the same setting as before. I was lying on the sofa, drowsily watching my mother brush her hair in the firelight. She was sitting with her back to me. This time I noticed she was wearing the same white silk robe she often used to wear when I was a child. The room was quiet except for the sound of the fire crackling in the grate, and the whisper of the brush. I felt warm and snugly content, hypnotised by the golden highlights in my mother's hair. Then, distant but jarring, there was another, more intrusive noise as, in the dream, the doorbel rang.

I awoke with a start. The alarm clock was clamouring next to

my head. I reached across and turned it off, then lay back to gather myself. I felt disorientated and confused. The dream was stil vividly with me. I could remember every detail, but now the glow of contentment it had given previously had gone. In its place I felt only a vague sense of unease.

It had lifted a little by the time I sat down to breakfast, but stil not disappeared completely. I put it down to having a lot on my mind, and tried to ignore it. I had enough to think about in the real world without worrying about any dream. Dismissing it, I set off for the gal ery, and more immediate concerns. Namely, that Anna was due to telephone sometime that morning.

Her first auction was at ten o'clock.

She rang shortly after eleven.

"Donald, I've got it!" Her excitement cut through the bad connection. "You've got it?" For a moment I had no idea what she meant.

"The Hopper! I've just come straight out to tel you! God, it was great! And I got it for five hundred less than you said!" I put al the enthusiasm I could muster into my voice. "That's fantastic! How on earth did you manage it?"

"I just kept bidding. I thought one man was going to keep on going. He kept up with me right up to the end, but then he dropped out! Oh, I can't believe it!" Neither could I. I had selected a painting from both auctions, and authorised Anna to stop bidding at a figure wel below what I imagined each would go for. Clearly, I had miscalculated. Now I was several thousand pounds poorer, and the proud owner of a painting I did not want. "You've done marvel ously wel !" I said.

She laughed. "Wel , al I did was keep sticking my hand in the air like you said."

"You outbluffed another bidder, and got it for five hundred pounds less than your limit. That's no mean feat. I'm proud of you."

"Thanks. God, I'm stil out of breath! I think the adrenalin must stil be pumping."

"In that case I recommend you buy a bottle of champagne to calm your nerves. Put it on expenses."

"I can't drink a ful bottle by myself!"

"Nonsense. And if not, you can always save some for after the

next auction." At which I sincerely hoped she would be less successful.

"I'm tempted, I must admit. Oh, I can't wait to tel Marty!" I felt a hard knot of bitterness. Marty again. Always Marty, "Are you going to cal him now?" I asked.

"No, I can't. He'l be at the university, and I don't want to disturb him. I'l have to wait until tonight."

"No doubt he'l be waiting by the telephone." Anna laughed again. "He better be. I'm bursting to tel him. Oh, I'm going to be cut off," she said, suddenly.

"I'l talk to you the day after tomorrow. Wel done, again."

"Okay, I'l phone after the' The line went dead. I held the receiver to my ear for a moment longer, reluctant to relinquish the link between myself and Anna, before setting it back in its cradle. In spite of the news of my unwanted acquisition, it had been good to hear from her. If this was what it was like when she was away for a matter of days, I dared not imagine how I would feel if she went to America.

A mood of restlessness settled on me. In the past I had never lacked for anything to do. But now, with two days to go before Anna returned, and a day and night before I learned how successful Zeppo had been with Marty, the hours stretched endlessly in front of me.

Boredom made me eat an il -advised lunch, after which my stomach steadily deteriorated. Acid seared my chest, and by early evening my fears of an ulcer had given way to something more sinister. I contemplated cal ing for a doctor, half convinced I was having a heart attack. For a while I al owed the thought to occupy me, losing myself in fantasies of hospitals and death-beds, and as my thoughts became more morbid, so they were taken from the subject that had prompted them. Either that or the indigestion tablets final y did the trick: it was almost with surprise that I realised the pain had final y eased.

I felt better stil when I realised my maudlin self-indulgence had occupied a considerable portion of the evening. Suddenly, the morning no longer seemed a lifetime away. Almost cheerful now, I made a light, bland snack and considered how to pass the rest of the time. The anodyne of television has never appealed to me. I refuse to have one in the house, preferring instead to read or listen

to music. Or retreat into an even more private world. It was this last I chose now.

My private gal ery is in a windowless room on the first floor. Inside are the pieces that comprise my secret col ection, started when I bought that first snufibox. I let myself in and turned on the lights.

The atmosphere was cathedral quiet; restful. The anxieties of the day sloughed off as soon as I closed the door, and I paused for a moment to savour the feeling.

In my preoccupation with Anna, I had not been in the room for weeks.

Now it was like a homecoming. I knew every painting, every line-drawing intimately, but their attraction had never pal ed. Each was erotic in its own way, some strikingly so, others more subtle in their appeal. There was an eighteenth-century pastoral scene, typical in every way but for the shepherdess' bare breasts, and the shepherd's hand beneath her petticoats.

Next to it, an engraving of Leda embracing the swan, burying her face in its feathers as its neck twined around her back. Further along was a scene of two naked girls supine on a bed, sensual and languorous after their passion.

I lost myself amongst them, sometimes lingering over a particular piece, sometimes only pausing briefly before moving on to the next.

One, however, drew me back time and time again. It showed a couple making love in front of a fire, while from behind a screen a man watched unseen. Gradual y, I forgot about the other pictures. After a while I moved a chair closer and sat down to study it more comfortably.

The watcher's face was rapt as he crouched behind the screen, only feet from where the couple lay. They appeared oblivious to him. The man's head was thrown back in the extremity of his passion, the girl's eyes closed in ecstasy. One arm curled around her lover's neck, the other lay flung out, apparently in abandon. Or was it? Palm upwards, stretched out towards the screen, it could just as easily have been extended in invitation. It was that ambiguity that fascinated me. That outstretched arm transformed the entire picture, implicating the watcher in the lover's union, elevating him from mere voyeur to an actual participant.

I gazed at the scene, hypnotised. The girl became Anna, the man Zeppo.

The fantasy took form, began to move. I crouched behind the screen, invisible. I moved closer, lingered on the edge of Anna's outstretched hand. On a level with them, I looked directly into Anna's face as her head turned, her eyes opened, and she smiled at me ...

I woke with a start. I was stil in the chair, facing the now flat, two-dimensional picture. My neck ached. I rubbed it gingerly, my thoughts stil sleep-muddied. I had a vague impression that something had woken me, and then I heard the noise again. Muffled and distant, a faint chiming noise, fol owed by a dul but violent banging. The last wisps of sleep disappeared, and I stood up.

Someone was at the door.

I looked at my watch as I hurried downstairs. It was two o'clock.

Uncaring of the time, the banging grew louder as I neared the front door. I unlocked it without thinking. I suppose I already knew who it had to be.

As soon as I opened it, Zeppo pushed inside. He was soaking wet.

"Have you any idea what the time is?" I said, closing the door on the rain. His hair was flat to his head, trickling water over his face. It was already pooling around him. "Look at the mess you're making on the carpet!" I was aware of how inane I sounded even as I spoke.

Zeppo was breathing heavily, his lips curled. "Fuck the carpet!" Strangely, I did not feel surprised to see him. Nor was I in any hurry to hear why he was there. "Take your shoes off and get yourself a drink in the lounge," I said. "I'l get you a towel." When I came back from the kitchen, the trail of muddy footprints on the pale carpet told me that Zeppo had ignored at least one of my instructions. He stood in the centre of the lounge, drink in hand, clearly daring me to object. Restraining myself, I handed him the towel.

"Wel ? I presume this isn't a social cal ?" Zeppo glared at me. "He's fucking straight!" I poured myself a drink. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, take a fucking guess! Where have I been tonight?"

"You mean Marty?"

"You're like fucking lightning, aren't you? That's right, Marty. I saw him tonight, just like you wanted, and guess what? He's not queer.

He's straight. Hetero. So can you guess what happened when I made a pass at him?"

I felt amazingly calm. Even his language failed to bother me. "I presume al this is a preamble to tel ing me it didn't work."

His face twisted. "Of course it didn't fucking work! I knew it wouldn't! I never should have listened to you!"

"As I recal , it was you who claimed he was gay in the first place, so you can hardly blame me because he's not. I refuse to be a scapegoat for your failure." Zeppo's glass shattered against the wal . "Don't start, or I'l break your fucking neck!" He faced me with clenched fists, his face contorted. Surprisingly unconcerned, I went to the cabinet and poured him another drink. I took it over to him.