Under the Influence

by Jacqueline Lunn

  ‘It’s the first time I have ever lived with someone. Actually, I think they will be relieved. A man with a job, his own business, his own home, who doesn’t get so drunk he sleeps all day and forgets to call me? A man they have met and liked? They will suspect something is amiss and could come over again – maybe I should say nothing.’

  Eve caught a jagged reflection of herself and Richard in the store window. He had his hand on the back of her neck, just under her hairline, resting it there.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ she said. ‘The biggest decision of my life made on a street corner next to a string of oversized fake pearls.’

  Richard grabbed Eve’s hand and pulled her inside the store. A grumpy old man sipping a Coke and flipping through a boating magazine tried to ignore them.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Richard said, his hips against the glass counter, his hand holding Eve’s. ‘Can I have that, thank you?’

  The man turned over his magazine and placed it on the counter so he didn’t lose his place before picking up the string of fake pearls and wrapping them quickly. He placed in Richard’s palm change from twenty pounds. Richard and Eve left the store, and the old man never said a word.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Eve was looking through Georgian windows. Not mock-Georgian or Georgian-inspired. Real Georgian. Past the landscaped terraced garden with a murky water feature and across dipping lime-green fields to tiny black specks against the blue sky. A nervy handful of blackbirds changed directions, confused as to whether they should go north, south, east or west. Through those square panels of glass, the view was so unreal, contrived, that Eve wanted to open the window and put her hand out to see if she felt the fabric from a painted backdrop.

  She pushed herself off the deep couch and moved to the window, where she put her right hand up to a square pane of glass in the chequerboard, because that was close enough. Maybe that would tell her something. The curtains were pulled tight and away, either side of the window. They reached as high as the walls did in the beach shack in Kiama that Eve stayed in for two weeks every Christmas when she was a girl on the annual family holiday.

  ‘What beauty in idleness,’ William said, raising his glass of 4.30 pm gin. ‘I think the best thing is to sit here and do nothing until dinner. Just look at Eve by the window – and maybe have another gin and talk about the Morrisseys and Natasha and Nick, of course.’

  ‘William, you’re making us sound like twats,’ Annie said, placing her olive pit down gently on the china plate designated for olive pits.

  The room was cavernous and filled with oversized furniture, but the scale didn’t matter as the two couples only occupied a small corner. Eve absent-mindedly did some bends by the window; her thighs ached. ‘I didn’t know I had muscles there.’

  ‘You’re good,’ William said. ‘A bit of a surprise package. And there I was helping you on Distance when you fled from me. Left me for dead with bloody Richard and his in-depth dissection of online businesses. Yawn. You made that horse work.’

  ‘I haven’t done that for ages. I’m surprised I still can.’

  ‘I didn’t know you could ride like that,’ Richard said, watching Annie as she busied herself pouring everyone another drink.

  ‘A bit of pony school on the weekends, and a friend had a farm where I spent a couple of holidays riding. There were a few years where we were a bit obsessed. You think I was good, she was amazing. Sometimes, we would help move the sheep. We weren’t really needed, but it was a bit of fun being teenage girls up there with men on their motorbikes.’

  ‘All those sinewy Australian men on bikes shouting at each other, lean and hungry from a hard day’s work, two teenage girls. That must have been fun,’ Annie teased.

  ‘Oh, they were usually really lovely guys. You know, kept to themselves.’ Eve imagined the sheep gorging on the fat blades of grass outside the window until they rolled over on their backs like drunkards and stuck their hoofs up in the air and fell asleep in ecstasy.

  ‘Never been into it myself,’ Annie said. ‘Much to William’s disappointment. What time are the Morrisseys and Lizzie and Arthur coming for dinner?’

  ‘Seven,’ William said, walking to the window to join Eve. ‘I wonder if the Morrisseys can manage to be on time? I love them dearly, but they are shit when it comes to timing. It’s amazing how many times their babysitter is late, especially one who lives downstairs.’

  ‘I’ll give you a tip, Eve: don’t take sides,’ Richard said. ‘I’m guessing that straight after dessert they’ll get into an argument about the dominant flavour in the torte, or nursery schools for Gemma, or who agreed to drive home and should have stopped drinking two hours ago. If you get involved, the show will just go on for longer. That’s when it’s time to excuse yourself.’

  ‘Whereas,’ Annie continued, swirling her glass, ‘Lizzie and Arthur will be super-punctual, only it’s a pity Lizzie will spend the whole time pretending to eat. It’s amazing how well she can move that knife and fork around her plate and cut up food and squash it into little piles and all the while look as though she is eating something.’

  William and Richard laughed in the way men do when they pretend to be above the conversation at hand but are wallowing in it like fattened pigs.

  ‘Shall we go upstairs?’ Annie asked.

  Following Richard’s lead, Eve turned and was about to deposit her glass on the coffee table, for it to then be miraculously picked up and cleared away by one of the very quiet people who could pass for shadows in the hallways and stairwells, when William leant towards her and asked, ‘What’s out there, Eve?’

  ‘Eve?’ Richard called, holding the banister. ‘Coming?’

  The foursome walked up the stairs to the tinkle of china and glassware being efficiently cleared below, Annie and William in front, with Annie’s fingers down the back of William’s jeans.

  ‘I still can’t get over this suite,’ Eve said. The green silk hand-painted wallpaper boasted a curious oriental scene that, miraculously, had an English-country backdrop: there were crimson cherry blossoms and pink flamingos, pale-brown knotted twigs and yellow roses dotted across green parklands, and English country houses with shingle roofs. The black fireplace in the corner of the room had gold feet with claws and gold eagles in flight embedded in the frame. The amber wood on the desk curled and glistened. The linen on the bed was crisp and trimmed with ornate lace. Lampshades, already switched on by a shadow, were as intricate as the vascular system. The decoration had decoration.

  ‘What are we doing?’ Eve asked, as Richard shut their bedroom door.

  ‘We need to get ready for dinner.’

  ‘Oh, shit, Richard. I thought I was ready for dinner.’ After the horse ride, Eve had showered, blow-dried her hair and dressed for the evening.

  ‘You look great, but trousers and a knit, even though they are lovely trousers and a lovely knit, are probably not the right thing for dinner.’

  ‘You English and your bloody unspoken rules. If you just told me them, I would have a chance at knowing what to wear.’ Eve looked at her feet for inspiration. ‘Maybe I could wear the dress I drove up in yesterday.’

  ‘I love your spirit, Eve,’ Richard said, grabbing her shoulders and giving them a shake.

  Eve went to her new weekend bag, pulled out a crumpled dress and began smoothing it frantically with her hands. She pulled and smoothed, smoothed and pulled. ‘I could just hang this up in the bathroom and put the shower on to steam it up. The wrinkles will come out in no time. I’ll put my hair up, and I don’t need heels – I’ll still be taller than everyone except you.’

  ‘I doubt it. Natasha’s a former model and Nick’s a giant. You’re not always destined to be looking down on people in a room, Eve.’

  ‘My height is all I have,’ Eve said, flopping on the bed. ‘When Derek gave me a lecture about my commitment to the quartet last week, I knew he found it disconcerting having to look up at me. It’s all I’ve got.’

  ‘Rubbish, look at you. I
bought something just in case.’

  Richard unzipped his suit bag and pulled out a dark suit and a matching ironed dark shirt.

  ‘Richard, you don’t even wear a suit to work. Why didn’t you tell me that I was expected to bring a goddamn opera gown in my weekend bag?’

  Eve put her cheap and cheerful dress on a hanger and started running the shower, all the while repeating the word ‘shit’.

  ‘Eve, Eve, we’ve got time to get dressed properly and have a rest. You don’t have to be so frantic.’

  Eve sat on the side of the bathtub, hot spray hitting her back. While she was there, she thought she might as well rearrange the organic shampoo and conditioner bottles standing on the rim tallest to shortest. When she spoke, she spoke to the grout in the tiles. ‘Everyone’s going to be dressed up, and I am going to be wearing this bit of cheap, dirty shit. I wish you had told me. I could have bought something in London. Now I’m going to look like –’

  ‘Eve.’ Richard was standing at the door to the bathroom. She didn’t know he was there. He was holding a wooden hanger, and on it was a very short, deep-red off-the-shoulder dress.

  The potency of the colour made Eve momentarily lose her balance on the tub.

  ‘It’s Valentino. I asked around, and this is apparently the look this season. I thought with your pale skin and dark hair …’

  ‘Oh, Richard, it’s so beautiful. I’ve never worn anything like this in my life.’

  Eve reached out and touched the stretch crêpe of the mini-dress. The colour was so overwhelming that she never would have picked it out herself.

  ‘And there are some shoes on the bed.’

  Eve ran outside the bathroom and saw a pair of gold and purple stilettos lying in an open shoebox. The colour combination was so cheap she knew instantly they were ridiculously expensive. No boyfriend had ever bought her anything like this. No boyfriend had ever gone to so much trouble. Been so thoughtful.

  ‘I’ll pay you back when we get back to London.’ She didn’t have the money for Valentino, but she had to say it. She could pay him bit by bit. He wouldn’t mind.

  ‘Eve, it’s a gift. I’m giving it to you. Boyfriends are allowed to do that.’

  ‘It’s a very generous gift, and I don’t expect you to have to …’

  ‘And I’m a grown man who can choose whether I want to give a generous gift or not. We’re about to live with each other – it changes the rules. You can spoil this or you can thank me gracefully.’

  Eve paused and thought about protesting again, about making it clear where she stood with overly generous gifts. ‘God, Richard, thank you.’

  ‘Graceful enough. I want you to look amazing.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have. You really shouldn’t have.’ Eve saw Richard’s expression on the precipice of change. ‘But thank you. And you made me think I had to … how did you know my size?’

  ‘It’s not hard to read the labels on your clothes, Eve,’ Richard said, turning off the shower. ‘Can I ask you a favour?’

  ‘Anything.’

  ‘Can you put your slip on and come over here and sit on my lap?’

  ‘Okay,’ Eve said slowly. She still laughed to herself sometimes when they had sex, right in the middle of it, when she was looking up and caught burgeoning grey flecks near Richard’s temples or spied some nose hair and thought how they would look to a stranger at the doorway, thrusting and huffing and squelching. Richard didn’t find sex embarrassing at all. He never laughed at squelching noises or bad timing; sex was a place to go further. Nothing was mediocre in Richard’s world.

  Eve pulled out her slip from her bag, and her feet felt the cool of the bathroom tiles. She took off her clothes, the wrong clothes, folded them and put them on the vanity. She shoved her bra and undies under her shirt. When she lifted her arms up in the air and let the slip fall, the silk landing all over her skin, all at once, made her think about diving into the ocean.

  She walked over to Richard, who was leaning back on the upholstered chair by the desk, and sat on his lap, on one thigh so both her legs dangled between his, her toes pointed and touching the floor. Richard put his hand right around her back until he was able to grab her firmly by the far leg and kissed her on the neck, moving up to her ear, which he circled with his tongue. He squeezed her thigh hard. He rubbed a web of fine scars at the very top of both her thighs.

  ‘My little tomboy – always so accident-prone.’

  ‘Richard?’

  ‘Shh.’

  He began stroking the front of Eve’s slip, across her breasts, her stomach, her collarbones, her breasts again. He circled them over the blue silk with his fingertips. He kissed her on the lips. Eve kissed him back and slid her hand up his shirt and stroked the hair on his chest. Richard pulled her hand out and placed it by her side.

  ‘Don’t move,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘Don’t move.’

  Eve did as she was told, and Richard kept on stroking her slip, licking her neck, rubbing her leg. Wherever he connected, the spot underneath Eve’s flesh would quiver and burn. Richard pinched her nipple and then pulled a breast out through the neckline and put his lips around it, sucking and biting. Eve instinctively arched her back and went to grab his crotch with her hand.

  ‘I said don’t move.’

  He picked Eve up and dropped her on the desk, pushing her legs apart and her slip up to her waist. Eve had to stop herself thinking about how ridiculous she looked with one escaped breast dangling. With one hand, Richard undid his belt and pulled down his jeans. He pulled her hips to him and began to thrust, shaking the desk, his hands spread flat against the wall, not needing to hold Eve tight – she was pushing herself into him. Richard shuddered and they both came, their foreheads touching. Eve kissed Richard and then slipped her breast back into her slip.

  ‘I’m going to have a shower,’ he said, kicking his underpants and jeans to the floor.

  ‘Thank you,’ Eve said, sliding off the desk.

  ‘My pleasure,’ Richard replied on his way to the bathroom.

  Eve took her shoes out of the box on the bed and put them on her feet. She looked down her legs at the gold and purple. She hoped she didn’t look like a dessert.

  ‘Oh, Eve?’ Richard yelled from the bathroom. ‘When someone compliments you, it’s best to take it with good grace and not show off.’

  ‘What?’ Eve yelled back through the steam at the doorway and over the noise of the shower. She made her way to the bathroom door.

  ‘I was just saying that when William complimented you on your horse riding, you carried on about moving sheep and riding with those men.’

  ‘I wasn’t showing off,’ Eve said defensively. ‘I was just telling him what I used to do when I rode, after he had asked me. It’s called conversation, Richard.’

  ‘It didn’t sound like that at all. You and your friend and the workmen and the whole Lady Chatterley set up – it’s a bit try-hard. A bit cheap. Best to say thank you to a compliment and leave it. It’s manners.’

  Eve put both shoes under her red dress, which was now hanging up so it resembled the incredible shrinking woman. She raised her eyebrows, wondering if she had heard him correctly.

  ‘Shit. Can you grab my shampoo?’

  Eve handed Richard his shampoo and conditioner through the shower curtain. His soapy hand grabbed her wrist. ‘You should have a bath. Take your time to get ready, and I’ll meet you down there. It will give me a chance to talk to William. Annie is always late, but it’s always worth it.’

  The noise of the shower suddenly stopped. Richard grabbed a towel and stepped over the bathtub. Nearing forty, Richard looked after himself and was taut and lean. Somewhere in the late 1500s, an English ancestor had done the dirty with someone very cute and very lost from the Spanish Armada, Eve thought, as his skin was almost olive and very soft. She placed a hand on his bicep, steam beginning to disappear, just to make sure he was there.

  She was moving in with this man.

  ‘Just make sure you
’re downstairs by 7.30 pm. Or we’ll all start talking about you.’

  Richard dressed and left the room, shutting the door loudly behind him. Eve ran the bath, testing the water every few minutes to make sure it was hot enough. She hated arriving at anything by herself. Toes emerging from the bubbles at the tap end, Eve said everyone’s name three times so she wouldn’t forget when she landed downstairs. She went over their occupations, history, interests. She pulled the plug with two notes to herself going through her head: compliment Annie on her outfit, whatever it may be (find something special – fabric, cut, colour), and don’t wear too much eyeliner – you don’t want to look cheap.

  Eve was careful with her make-up and hair. She sat for a moment, looking at her new dress. She slipped it on, then put on her heels, and was at the door when she remembered her earrings. She looked at herself in the mirror in her new Valentino dress and skyscraper heels and didn’t recognise the woman who dressed up in a tiny outfit for people she had been with all day. She started down the sweeping staircase in shoes that were pinching her long toes, saying a silent prayer that when she opened the door downstairs she wouldn’t be wearing a red, off-the-shoulder mini-dress in an empty room. She prayed that, in all her colourful standout glory, she would fit right in.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Sarah was so tired from Meg’s funeral, the drinking after the wake and the hours travelling in the afternoon heat to get home in time for dinner that she couldn’t fall asleep. Three hours ago, she couldn’t keep her eyes open, checking the time on the microwave every two minutes, slow blinking at the dinner table, spoon-feeding Ben while pretending to listen to Sebastian; now, she couldn’t get her eyes to shut.

  Overstimulation, they called it in the baby manuals. She remembered Eve was coming over next week. Lying on her side, with the curve of her back a hand-width away from Andrew, she tried to think what to cook but could only think about her life continuing, moving; tonight, she had moved on to roast chicken and self-saucing chocolate puddings. It lacked gravity – her goodbye to Meg being administered between Saturday-morning karate lessons and a grocery list. If only Meg had more family. A family would dispense gravity. Even a family that didn’t deserve to call itself a family would dispense gravity.