This Charming Man (40 page)

Knockavoy graveyard
‘Mum, what should I do about the surf boy?’

Damn Bridie for putting thoughts into my head!

Sometimes when I asked Mum a question didn’t get an answer right away but this time heard her voice immediately, ‘Have bit of fun, Lola. Don’t take it too seriously.’

‘Why I not take it too seriously? You another one who thinks he too good-looking for me?’

‘I do not!’ Spluttering. ‘You beautiful-looking girl. Can take your pick of the men.’

‘Thanks, Mum, but you are my mum, you not exactly impartial.’

‘Have bit of fun, Lola,’ her voice repeated.

‘Can ask you something, Mum?’ The worry that sometimes plagued me. ‘This isn’t just me sitting in graveyard talking to self like a nutter? You
are
there?’

‘Of course am here! Am your mum. Always here, watching out for you.’

Supermarket
‘Challenge for you, Brandon. I need a revenge film featuring very nice clothes.’

Call from Bridie.

‘Uncle Tom says so long as no one breaks the toaster again, he doesn’t care what you do.’

So be it.

Internet café
Located wonderful site which does cosmetics specially formulated for men. Placed generous order. Can afford to because of acute overpayment by Blanche. They promised forty-eight-hour delivery, even to Knockavoy! Exhilarated at thought of turning Blanche from sow’s ear into silk purse, if truth be known!

Arrival of SarahJane Hutchinson from Dublin.

‘You are now bi-coastal,’ she exclaimed, jumping from car (enormously long Jaguar).

Challenging day trying on gowns, shoes, accessories, trying to assemble four outfits that worked for her. Eventually, despite obstacles (e.g. SarahJane’s bloodhound knees; SarahJane’s unhealthy attachment to the colour coral), fulfilled brief. Suggested hairstyles and make-up colours to accompany each outfit. Wrote it all down and assured her of phone consultations on the night.

Enjoyed self hugely. Miss work very much.

She gave me massive cheque – to cover costs of outfits – then massive bundle of cash for me. ‘Our little secret. What tax man doesn’t know needn’t worry him.’

Am riddled with cash!

Mrs Butterly’s
Rossa Considine and Ferret-Face sitting at counter enjoying libation. They are ‘back on’ according to Boss, Moss and the Master. Wished they would leave.

Considine said, ‘That song still in my head, Lola.’

‘What song?’ Then remembered. ‘Don’t say it!’

Too late. ‘ “Achy Breaky Heart”.’

‘Thanks,’ said gloomily. ‘Will now be in
my
head for next week.’

Niall from DHL arrives to return leftover garments to lovely Marilyn Holt in Dublin.

Male cosmetics arrive by DHL!

Blanche’s lady-clothing arrives by DHL!

Noel’s new negligees arrive by DHL! Niall the DHL man forgot them on first visit today. Had to make second trip. No longer engaging me in lengthy chats. Quite grumpy, in fact. Excellent!

Lying on couch, reading damp thriller, when heard strange rattles. Clattering, like very short fall of hailstones. But not hailing outside.

When noise happened again, got off couch, opened front door and peered out into the gloom. There was person out there! A man. Jake. Eyes adjusted to darkness just in time to see him pick up handful of gravel and throw it against upstairs window.

‘Why you throwing stones against my window?’

Startled him. ‘So you’d let me in.’ Said in his characteristic low murmur, couldn’t hear actual words, but gathered from rhythm of sentence that was what he said.

‘You could simply knock on door.’

He lounged over into the light. Grinned at me. ‘More romantic this way.’

Type like him who has affairs with married women must be used to proceeding with subterfuge. Nipping out back windows, hiding in wardrobes, dispensing with doorbells, etc.

Walked towards me in careless sort of way. Stood too close, our bodies almost touching. ‘Can I come in?’

Moved aside to let him in. I stood in middle of room and, again, he placed himself right up against me, as though we were trapped together in iron maiden. Smiling, he said, ‘I waited lots of nights. You didn’t come back to see me.’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Don’t know.’ Not being coy. Didn’t, in fact, know.

‘Are you glad I’m here?’

Thought about it. ‘Yes.’

‘Can we take up where we left off?’

Thought about it again. ‘Yes.’

The kissing, the kissing, the giddying kissing. Slow ascent to bedroom, removing clothing in disorganized tangle, on floor, on stairs, finally in bed.

Couldn’t help but compare. Very different body to Paddy’s. More tanned, more lithe, less hairy. Unlike Paddy, who always smelt crisp and fresh, Jake slightly smelly. Not unpleasant. Musky in a way that actually smelt of sex.

Great man for different positions; doing it with me lying on my stomach, lying on my side, sitting on top of him, facing towards him, sitting on top of him, facing
away
from him. With his arm clamped around my waist, me still sitting on him, he cautiously sat up, taking care to ensure he didn’t slip out. Both of us sitting on edge of bed, him staring over my shoulder, watching us in the mirror. His hands tight on my hips, he slowly moved up and down in me.

‘You’re gorgeous,’ he muttered to my reflection.

I twisted away. Sick of that sort of stuff. Mirrors and kinkiness. How hard is it to just get a normal shag?

Off we went again, this way, that way, and when he somehow ended up on top of me in missionary position, he seemed surprised. In a big hurry to hoist me up and rearrange me into other pose, but I refused. ‘Stay where you are.’

Wanted the weight of a man on me. Grabbed his buttocks so he couldn’t go away. Said, ‘I like it like this.’

Lying in each other’s arms in the afterglow, Jake asked, ‘D’you ever think about the universe?’

‘No.’

‘About all the people in it and all the things that must have happened before our paths crossed?’

‘No.’ I yawned.

How sweet. He was trying to do afterplay.

‘Is okay,’ I said. ‘Full marks for not rolling over and going straight to sleep. You are excellent. But no need to talk to me.’

Another afterglow.

‘Golly,’ I said. ‘Talk about six impossible positions before breakfast.’

Jake hopped out of bed. ‘Rampant sex and it’s not even eight o’clock.’ He gazed out low little bedroom window. ‘Tide’s in. Gotta go.’

‘Bye,’ I said sleepily.

He left. Lay in bed and considered. So, had had my first post-Paddy shag. Tip-top mood? No, deep sorrow – if I was having sex with surf boys it really was over. Shed a storm of tears into my pillow.

However, a relief to note that everything still in full working order, emotionally speaking. And otherwise speaking.

Rang Bridie. ‘Had sex with Jake.’

Silence. Then whimpering sound. ‘I’m so jealous,’ she mewed. ‘I’mso jealous. What was it like?’

‘He is demon for different positions.’

‘Oh!’ she howled. ‘Now you are just taunting me!’

Good wishes continue to pour in from everyone who has heard about me and Jake.

Supermarket
Buying treats for trannies for tonight. Mini-rolls and suchlike.

Had question for Kelly and Brandon. Hadn’t seen the heartbroken woman traipsing the beach in a while.

‘Where is she?’ I asked.

‘Jennifer? Better,’ Kelly said. ‘Gone back home. Left all her lopsided pottery behind.’

‘She got the ride from Frankie Kiloorie,’ Brandon said. ‘Put the smile back on her face.’

‘Who’s he?’

‘Lives out the Miltown Malbay road. Carpenter. Good with his hands.’ Vulgar snigger.

‘Jennifer’d never look at him in Dublin because he hasn’t bought new clothes since 2001, but he did the trick all right!’

Ribald laughter from both Brandon and Kelly, but I was uplifted. A victory for one is a victory for all.

‘Everyone goes through same thing here,’ Brandon said airily. ‘Crying, walking the beach, artistic leanings. On home stretch when they get the ride from some horny-handed man of the soil.’

‘Or the sea,’ Kelly chipped in, waggling her over-plucked eyebrows at me.

‘Or the surf!’ Brandon actually elbowed me!

Kept face haughty while they descended into snorty laughter. No secrets in this town, no secrets at all.

I cleared throat. Abrupt change of subject. ‘Have you got my clothing revenge DVD?’

Brandon pulled himself together and placed a DVD box on counter.

‘Funny Face?’
I asked. ‘Since when is
Funny Face
a revenge film? Is Audrey Hepburn!’

Brandon didn’t speak. Simply placed another DVD on counter.
Unforgiven
.

‘Double bill,’ he said. ‘
Funny Face
and
Unforgiven
. Best I can do for you, Lola. No such thing as revenge film about clothing.’

And here they come. Punctual creatures, trannies.

They dived straight into kitchen where new purchases were laid out.

‘Blanche,’ I called through shut door, ‘if you need help getting into your new underwear, please call me.’

Did not relish thought of having to wrestle Blanche’s manhood into submission, but am a professional.

‘Also do not apply make-up. Have special stuff for you both.’

Have to say, had unexpectedly pleasant evening. Blanche amenable to my suggestions. Permitted me to dress her in beautiful new clothes, paint her fingernails, demonstrate how to apply a discreet maquillage and give lesson in deportment.

‘I’m feeling Jackie Kennedy, in the White House,’ I said. ‘I’m feeling Jack in the Oval Office, Jackie at his shoulder, wearing simple classic shift dress and single string of unfarmed pearls. I’m feeling perfect hair, low-key lips, super-soft cashmere cardigan.’ (Sort of thing you have to say as stylist. Is expected of you.)

Blanche thrilled with my monologue. Quite a different woman by time I finished my work. In fact, she might actually get away with being large-boned, mannish woman. (In light shed by 30-watt bulb.)

We shared bottle of wine, ate one mini-roll between us and waxed lyrical about Audrey Hepburn.

Now and again Noel jumped to his feet and danced around in his trashy party-girl outfit, peevishly saying he wished he could go to a disco. But each to their own.

Trannies depart. Buoyed up by own goodness decided go to the Oak for quick drink. Walked in. Brandon serving behind the bar. Moment of severe dislocation. Had I entered supermarket by accident?

‘You’re all right,’ Brandon called. ‘You really are in the pub.’

‘Where’s…?’ Cripes, what was Ol’ Prune Eyes’ real name? ‘Ibrahim.’

‘Osama? Night off. Has worked ninety-two days straight without a break.’

‘Ninety-two days! And he is always so cheerful.’

‘So why begrudge him a few hours in Ennis at the pictures?’

‘Am not begrudging, Brandon. Simply surprised.’

Home
Knock at door. Jake. Quite surprised to see him. Genuinely hadn’t expected to again. Him very, very, very sexy. The eyes, the hair, the mouth, the body.

‘What you doing here?’ I said. ‘Another booty call, is it?’

Him offended. ‘Is not booty call. I am fucking crazy about you.’

‘You talk good game, mister.’

Offended again. ‘Is no game. Let me show you how serious am.’

Immediate kissing. Joined at lips, backed into house, already removing clothes. Aflame with lust. Thrilling.

Sex, however, frustrating. Would be just starting to get into rhythm and enjoy self when would be picked up, twirled about like majorette’s baton and entirely repositioned.

Eventually asked, ‘Jake, you on mission to do every position in
Kama Sutra
over two-day period?’

Offended again. ‘Just want you to have good time.’ Look of sincerity in devastating silvery eyes. Touched. Paddy had been so different, especially towards end. Had forgotten what it felt like for a man to be nice to me.

Finally hit on compromise: no more than four different positions per shag. Everyone happy.

Early morning sex, then Jake left to ‘catch some waves.’

Call from Bridie. ‘Has he been in touch?’

‘Yes, called here again last night, looking for sex.’

She wailed so loudly, my ear tingled.

‘Have you been in magic bedroom yet?’ she asked.

‘No. But might tonight. He is cooking dinner for me.’

The Oak
Congratulated Ol’ Prune Eyes on his first night off in ninety-two days.

‘Went to Ennis to movies. Wim Wenders double bill. Immensely enjoyable.’

‘Good for you!’

Sudden change in his demeanour. Cleared his throat. Looked down at bar counter, then up again, fizzog set in quite formal expression. ‘Ah! Ahem! Lola, perhaps you would accompany me next Friday night? Ingmar Bergman season starting.’

‘Friday night? Oh Ibrahim, cannot. Any other night of week, no problem, but not Friday.’

‘But Friday night only night off I get. How about following Friday?’

‘All Fridays bad, Ibrahim.’ Terrible pause. Felt I had to say something. Picking up his loneliness, the fact that he was Egyptian far, far, far from home, in non-Muslim country with peculiar weather systems and ingrained drinking culture.

But what could I say? Cannot come because am hosting trannie party?

Suggestion: ‘What if you swapped your night off to a Thursday? Or a Saturday? Or any day other than Friday?’

He shook his head, his pruney eyes mournful. ‘Has to be Friday. Only night Brandon can manage the pub. Because only night Kelly’s mother can help out in supermarket.’

Into supermarket to return DVDs. As soon as through door, Brandon fronted me up. ‘Hear you wouldn’t go to pictures with poor Osama. Is it because you are racist?’