Fit For Purpose

by Julian D. Parrott

  Tom didn’t know how to greet her, panicked and put out his hand for a handshake. Nia laughed and instead hugged him and moved to kiss him on each cheek. Very actorly. They held each other deeply and closely, far too closely for people who had only really met once before. They melded together, their bodies responding through some intangible code of chemistry. They both instinctively knew that the other felt it too which further heated both their excitement and comfort. Nia liked the way Tom smelled; clean and masculine.

  “Tom, it’s so nice you came. What did you think of the play?” She asked with a genuine desire for a positive response from Tom.

  “It was really enjoyable. You were bloody marvellous,” Tom said.

  Nia was pleased and she kissed him lightly on his lips.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “Err, thank you,” Tom said, pleasantly surprised by the kiss. “I haven’t seen many plays, especially in the West End. I should get out more.”

  “Yes, yes you should,” Nia said and added, “Hungry?”

  “Famished,” Tom replied.

  “Okay, let’s get you out a bit more then. Let’s get out of here and grab a bite.”

  It was late as they left the theatre and they walked hand in hand through the dark and emptying streets. They found a Thai restaurant that was still open even though the staff had begun to mop the floors. There were no other customers. The tired but kind waiter said the chef could knock up some pad Thai and Nia ordered a bottle of white wine. Nia talked about the play, her fellow cast members, Noel Coward, the small faux Italianate Welsh village of Portmeirion where Coward wrote the play, and Jamaica where Coward lived next to Ian Fleming his wintertime neighbour. She was clearly on a post-performance high, talking quickly, and delightedly to Tom’s ear sounding more and more Welsh. He didn’t really know this woman having spent, what, only ten or eleven hours with her, but he felt as if he had known her for years. And, in a strange way, he had. Having watched Nia on DVD, he now knew what she looked like when she was eighteen, twenty-four and thirty-eight. He had seen her laugh, had watched as she cried, had witnessed a variety of her hair styles, lengths, and colours. Now, he wanted to spend some time with the real her.

  Nia took a long draw on her wine. Her face grew serious.

  “So, you Googled me then.” It was a statement.

  He put down his chopsticks, “I did. Yes.”

  “And?”

  “You’ve had a great career but I can only imagine how difficult things must have been to live in the public eye for so long.”

  “The British press,” Nia began. “They love you when you’re new and fresh and obsequious. Then they try to destroy you if they feel you pissed them off. And I pissed them off and then they can be so cruel.”

  She caught his gaze and held it.

  “Tom, a lot of what is out there is not really me,” she said with such an intense earnestness that Tom felt sorry for what she must have been through.

  “Nia. I don’t doubt it. I know the press can be shits and the internet is full of mistruths and lies. Look, we’re both in our forties and we both know that we had a variety of experiences, been round the block a bit, and that we’ve lived lives before this time now.” He tried to smile reassuringly. “I would much rather hear about you, your past, your present, and your future, from you.” He paused, “But, I did also watch some of your earlier work.”

  “Oh my God, you did?”

  “I did. I think you’re a brilliant actor.”

  Nia half smiled. “Thank you, but it’s important to me that I want you to know that a lot of the stuff on the web, in the papers and magazines wasn’t me. Wasn’t all me. It isn’t me. Quite a bit of the stuff that’s been written about me isn’t true exactly,” she said.

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  “I don’t want you to think you’re with one of my characters or the girl in some long ago and faded gossip columns. But I do want you to know a little bit about me.”

  “I really do want to get to know you,” he said. “I’d like to spend time with you.”

  “Okay, but hear me out,” Nia smiled wistfully. “I’m sorry, but I do need to talk through some of this with you.”

  There had been moments in the past like this; new guy, romantic dinner, flush with wine and anticipation, when Nia realised that her date wanted to be with ‘Our Nia’ or the ‘Welsh Spitfire’ not the real Nia. She had been hurt too many times.

  “Seriously, you don’t have to do this,” Tom said earnestly.

  “But I want to.”

  She took another gulp of wine.

  “I grew up hard. I left home when I was seventeen. I feel as if I’ve really been on my own ever since. My parents were too busy fighting each other to even notice I was gone. By my late teens I was working regularly and had some decent money, a car, my own flat. I thought myself worldly and wise,” she smiled, really to herself. “All at a time when lots of people make poor decisions. And, boy, did I make a few bad decisions. I took some bad jobs and turned down good ones, dropped out of drama school, and there were some drugs, booze, and there were men of course. Quite a few men.” She rolled her eyes and waited for him to respond. He didn’t. “And, a lot of my bad decisions were played out in public.”

  She took another sip of her wine. “I learnt some tough lessons on being taken advantage of and of being lied to. My bloody dad asked for handouts after I made a film or two. This from a man who only paid attention to me when he wanted a new sparring partner after my Mam was too bruised, or when he wanted the money I earned, from a weekend job at the make-up counter in Boots. He even sold some family stories when the press was going through the ‘Our Nia’ phase. Which I hated, by the way.”

  He nodded and she captured his eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” he said knowing it wasn’t enough.

  “No one hurts you as much as family,” she continued, eyes beginning to swim with tears. “Or those we love. Some people can be so callous and calculating and it took me a few heartbreaks and a couple of marriages, and a whole lot of hurt to realise that. You have to understand that the level of self-absorption in my profession is at a different level.” She held a hand above her head. “Stratospheric levels. Or…” she moved her hand down, “Or, people play games to see what they can get out of other people. There is quite a bit of poison in this profession. It took me some growing to recognise all this shit and find a way to deal with it. So, you see, I have a hard time trusting anyone.” She stared hard into Tom’s eyes.

  He was sitting back in his chair. He wasn’t sure if she wanted him to respond or whether she was daring him to leave. He decided to just listen. He watched her eyes. She looked down and he noticed her face soften.

  “I, after the second marriage, I didn’t want to get hurt again. I kind of shut myself down. I think I may have become too cold, too, too less open to feeling. My bloody profession had left me emotionally stunted. I wanted armour that was impervious.”

  She took a big drink of her wine and refilled her glass. Tom noticed the tears welling in her eyes.

  “I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” she half smiled and gave a slight shrug of her shoulders. “But I feel we have a connection.”

  Tom nodded his agreement.

  “I want to let you know that I’m not easy to be with,” Nia continued. “I’m bloody minded and difficult.” Nia laughed. She sat back in her chair and smiled coyly. “Some first date eh?”

  Tom felt a sense of panic, worried the next thing she would say would be that there was no room for him in her life.

  Nia leaned forward, “But I’d like to take a chance. I’d like to get to know you,” she paused, and reached across the table for his hand. “Now, you know everything about me,” she lied, “But I don’t know anything about you.”

  Tom’s relief was manifest, he felt his face flush. He smiled shyly.

  “Okay. I grew up in Manchester. Mum, Dad, elder sister. Close to my sister, Rachel, great taste in music. Went
to school, then uni at Manchester, followed by the army. A bad but mercifully quick marriage, then semi-retirement on the canals. A dog name Jack. A little writing here and there. And, I’d like to get to know you, too.”

  “Nice try,” she said with a laugh. “But, not good enough. I’m an actor, remember, you’ll need to tell me something with a little drama. Like… tell me about the love of your life.”

  He sat back and stared at her. She grinned back at him. He told her of his love for the Periwinkle and for Jack. She laughed.

  “Still not good enough,” Nia said. “What about your ex-wife?”

  “Ah, her,” Tom said “I’m not sure, looking back, if what I felt for her was love, real love. I’m not sure I’ve ever really had a love of my life,” Tom stated. He told Nia that his wife had been pretty and fun, that there was romance but he was sure that she hadn’t really loved him. That she had been in love with a kind of ideal. That she had enjoyed the army life and that she didn’t mind his absences when he was posted because she filled her time with civic activities which had included numerous affairs. In the end he hadn’t any problems letting go. It now felt like a distant, embarrassing memory; he didn’t tell her that there were other memories more real, more vivid, more hurtful.

  “So,” she said. “We’ve had three marriages between us, and they’ve all been rubbish.” Nia drained the last of her wine. “Where do we go from here?” she asked and her eyes shone.

  Tom thought for a moment.

  “I like to think that our lives are now,” he said. “And they’re whatever we make them.”

  She tilted her head back and laughed a full-throated laugh.

  “No,” she said. “I actually meant, where do we,” she made a gesture circling them both, “Go on from this restaurant.” Their eyes locked.

  Nia knew her eyes glistered with desire and she hoped he could translate.

  “Is there a decent hotel nearby?” Tom asked quickly. He had decided that he would be a hostage to his past no longer.

  “Yes,” Nia said with a smile. “There’s a rather smashing little boutique place just around the corner.”

  ***

  The hotel was off a quiet Georgian square. It was well-appointed and discreet. Tom checked them in, and Nia kept her head down and turned away from the small, CC camera above the reception desk. The concierge and the night porter exchanged knowing looks. Tom was given a room on the third floor and he and Nia held hands without speaking as they took the lift up. Tom opened the room’s door with the key card and held the door open for Nia. She moved into the room but turned to Tom and kissed him. She shut her eyes, felt the warmth of his lips, responding, felt his lips part. Tom put his hand gently on Nia’s lower back and pulled her even closer. He felt her tongue tease against his lips, touching his tongue and sending an electric sensation through his entire body.

  Tom pushed the door shut with his foot and together they moved like tango dancers towards the bed. They both collapsed on the mattress still deep in the embrace of the kiss. They finally broke to throw off their heavy winter coats. She kissed him quickly and then got off the bed.

  “Let me freshen up,” she said. Nia swayed her hips provocatively as she went to the bathroom.

  Tom took off his shoes, suit jacket, and tie. He turned a bedside light on and turned the bright, overhead light off. A police siren wailed somewhere in the middle distance

  In the bathroom Nia stripped down to her underwear, a black matching bra and panties. Not lingerie but appropriate and sexy. She had showered at the theatre and had chosen her underwear with care, she had thought, just in case. She breathed into her hand, Thai food and wine. Not great, but not terrible. She washed hands and face and brushed her teeth with a finger. She ran her hands through her hair and noticed her cheeks were flushed pink with desire. She stepped back and quickly observed herself in the mirror. The Pilates and cardio-boxing were paying off. For a forty-four-year-old, not a bad bod she thought.

  She turned out the light and opened the door. Only a bedside light was on. Tom lay on the bed in shirt and trousers. She tried to stand naturally but coquettishly leaning against the bathroom door frame. His eyes grew large as he watched her. She had an hourglass figure, he noticed, with full curves beneath matching, sexy underwear. He could tell that she had done some gym time. He slipped off the bed and quickly unbuttoned his shirt, the cuff got caught around his wrist, and he yanked it off sending the button flying, he then took off his trousers and socks. He stood there in his pants, erection obvious. He smiled embarrassingly. Nice body Nia thought; natural, nicely muscled, fit, decent chest hair, quirky tattoo on left shoulder. Quite nice really. Then she saw the scars, not so much scars but a wholesale mangling of his right leg. She moved towards him, she knelt unselfconsciously in front of his right leg and ran her fingers over the angry scars.

  “Oh my God, Tom,” she said. She looked up into his face.

  He reached down and held her face and she stood up. Their eyes locked followed by their lips again. They fell onto the bed. Hands pulled, tugged, and unlatched underwear as they tumbled into each other. They made love with a joyous abandon.

  After it was over, they lay side by side holding hands. Nia asked him about his leg wound. They moved together and both faced each other. He reached out to her face and gently moved a lock of hair from over her left eye.

  “Helicopter crash,” he told her. “Quite a bad one. Some time ago now. Looks worse than it is.”

  She sensed there was a lot more but now wasn’t the time to ask. She reached down and ran her fingers over the raised welts and knotted skin from his knee to his thigh. She lingered over his upper thigh. Felt him harden again. She threw back the sheets, pushed him onto his back, and straddled him. He entered her and she gasped a little.

  “Let me do the heavy lifting this time,” she said.

  Tom woke early. He watched her sleep. He knew that he had never felt anything like this before. He had almost only just met her. He already loved the tilt of her nose, the lift of her breasts as she breathed, the sleeping pout of her lips, her hair, her smell. Nia stirred and opened her eyes. She saw him and smiled. She felt a warm sensation in her core.

  “Coffee?” he asked. She nodded. Tom got out of bed, slipped on his underwear, and moved to the room’s Nespresso machine and turned it on. His back was to her.

  Nia observed him as he ran the machine, “That’s a really nice arse,” she thought. The scars on the back of his right leg coiled around this thigh like a snake. They looked as if they still hurt. He passed the first cup of coffee to her and made a second. He moved the curtain aside slightly and was surprised to see that the grey old city was adorned by a fresh dusting of pure white snow. Beautiful, he thought. He turned to face the bed. He watched Nia, propped up on pillows sipping coffee.

  “You look lovely,” he said. He wanted to tell Nia that she looked better naked in reality than she did in a nude scene he had watched in one of her DVD’s but then thought he might come across creepy. Nia put her coffee cup on the bedside table.

  “Come back to bed,” Nia said and patted the space next to her. So he did.

  The bedroom was light when they again woke. Tom went to shower, and Nia joined him. They washed each other, now intimately familiar with each other’s bodies. They dressed in last night’s clothes and checked out. The morning was cold, but they decided to walk rather than taxi out for brunch although neither was hungry. They wanted to have as much time together as possible. They walked arm in arm, hip to hip. A few streets brought them to a little local shopping area where they found a Pret A Manger. Nia liked the fact that Tom asked her what she wanted. Too many people in her life had always expected her to pay. She would describe herself as a rather loud feminist, but she liked a man that treated her like a gentleman would.

  They sat side by side. Nia pointed to a middle-aged woman wearing a baggy sweatshirt that was emblazoned with the slogan ‘Proud fur baby mum’.

  “That must have been a difficu
lt delivery,” Nia whispered.

  “Itchy,” Tom added.

  Nia laughed hard. When had a man, anyone, made her laugh as much as this guy? Never. She thought for a moment, “Where are you staying?”

  “Umm,” Tom stammered. “I don’t know. I did bring a go bag but I left it in the Land Rover. I wasn’t sure what would, what we, how the night would play out. I was thinking, if it didn’t… then I, if not too tired, would head home or find a hotel if tired.”

  “And,” Nia asked. “How did it turn out, would you say?”

  “It was the most, bloody marvellous, night of my life.”

  Nia laughed and then realised he meant it and then she was aware that it was true for her too. Fuck, she thought, this is crazy. I’m in my forties but feel like a spotty teenager with a crush. But she knew that she had never actually crushed like this before. She buried that thought.

  They took a couple of selfies together outside of the Pret as a light snow descended then took the Tube across the quiet city to pick up Tom’s go bag. Bag secured; they took the Tube back across the city to Westminster. They emerged from the Tube station to the iconic view of Elizabeth Tower and Big Ben. Tom pointed out where he was once stationed outside of the Houses of Parliament in the weeks after 9/11. He could still recall the excitement and fear of being on London’s streets with live ammunition in his rifle and his possessing of an innocence that was soon to be lost. They walked across Westminster Bridge and down to the London Eye, its usual queues absent. They almost had a gondola to themselves and they stood against the large curved plexiglass as Nia pointed out London’s skyline. She leant into him and he felt her warmth. They then proceeded back over the bridge and up to Trafalgar Square hand in hand. The city was surprisingly empty on a chilly Sunday afternoon. Both were wondering what they were doing but both were enjoying it. They stopped in a pub off the square to warm up and have a drink.

  “On my God,” Nia whispered. “I can’t believe I’m wearing the same clothes as last night.”