Just Like a Woman

by Madeleine Clark

  Mind you, it was Robert’s own fault, he should have collected her, not let her do all the driving. But he never could resist a drink, and if he was doing the driving he wouldn’t be able to. Yes, she would make sure this time he picked Sarah up, but she felt she knew Sarah well enough to know that he would have to, because she would not drive to see a man. She might be pliable, but in an old fashioned manner, courtesy and politeness would be top of her list. She seemed a bit of a prude really. It was a point in her favour, because Robert would find her behaviour as seductive as she did. Then Stephanie felt the niggle of a doubt. Was she such a prude it might not work?

  *****

  The walk, as she knew it would, had revived her. Stephanie tingled all over with expectation, fresh air and a sharp shower. Two steps in through the club door and she stopped to look around. On her left she was met with her own reflection in the full length mirror and she smiled. Her black hair fell straight down her back; straight as a yard of pump water her mother repeatedly told her through her childhood and into early adulthood. She had wanted curly hair; prayed nightly on her knees for it, but even now there was not a wave in sight. She was now old enough to appreciate the straight hair and considered time far too short to bother with curling tongs or curlers. What both she and her mother had not expected was, as she got older, her hair grew thicker and shinier, to become so black it gave the appearance of almost being blue; like the feathers of a raven.

  Her mother now repeatedly said it was one of her most redeeming features. Why, Stephanie thought, was it a redeeming feature? What did her mother think it redeemed? She certainly knew nothing about her lifestyle. Or did she in some way have an idea of what she did at night? Stephanie didn’t waste energy considering this thought, but let it slip through her mind for the moment.

  Light glinted off the gold at her throat, the blue blouse looked dulled down in the reflection, but she was pleased to see the glow in her face persisted. The dark lighting of the room reflected back to her a legless woman; her black trousers were camouflaged against the floor and seats. Large brown eyes framed in mascara and black kohl stared back at her for just a second before she turned her head and looked round the room.

  A couple sat in the corner. Close. His arm resting on the back of the soft brown settee, waiting. He was waiting for that subtle signal from the woman, giving him permission to lower his arm onto her shoulder. Further round the room she observed six empty tables before seeing a table occupied by a lone man. She nodded her head slightly and he returned the acknowledgement with an eager smile. With an almost imperceptible shake of the head she continued her scan of the room as she walked towards the bar.

  At the bar were three or four people randomly spaced on stools. Some were sitting with their drinks in front of them, using the mirror above the bar to watch the entrance, whilst others sipped their drinks with their backs to the bar openly and expectantly watching for newcomers. She was aware how some of the eyes followed her as she approached the bar. She didn’t bother looking down to her right because it was still too early in the evening for anyone of interest to be on the dance floor. Her peripheral vision indicated the coloured lights had not yet been turned up to encourage people to dance.

  ‘Rum and coke, please,’ she called along to the bar man when she reached the bar. He put down the already dried glass he had been drying and moved to serve her. While she waited for her drink she lifted her matching blue purse to bar level, but before she could open it she heard.

  ‘Let me.’ Recognising his voice, she didn’t bother to turn her head, but replied,

  ‘Thanks but, no. A one night stand is just that.’ Smiling up at the barman she knew as she counted out her money the man would be retracing his footsteps to his solitary table. Stephanie lifted the condensation covered glass to sip through the straw, enjoying the cold fizzing taste in her mouth. She sat on a stool with her back to the door.

  Her hair attracted the men, and even if they made the assumption she was younger than she was, when she turned to smile at them, few were disappointed with what they saw. She knew she was attractive, she enjoyed being attractive, and she took full advantage of the knowledge and gift she had been given.

  With her thoughts on previous conquests, she was caught unprepared when she felt the hand at the crown of her head sweep down the length of her hair. Her basic instinct to turn and raise her hand to strike the man’s face was almost impossible for her to resist. Placing her glass deliberately on the bar surface, she swivelled round on the stool wearing her sweetest smile.

  ‘I couldn’t resist it,’ he offered as explanation.

  The palm of her hand still itching to strike as she wedged it under her thigh.

  ‘Obviously,’ she replied, meeting his eyes.

  ‘No seriously.’ He laughed. ‘It’s like when you’re a child, and you’re standing in a queue or even worse in a lift,’ he paused and placed one hand on the bar in front of her while looking at the floor, then a fleeting look up to see if she was listening. She kept the smile on her face, encouraged him to continue.

  ‘Go on.’

  Looking back to the floor and he continued.

  ‘There’s a beautiful golden brown fox wrapped around some large breasted old woman, who smells of talcum powder and lavender, and it doesn’t matter how well you have been taught by your mother, you can’t resist touching it. You know the old bat’s going to scowl at you, you know your mother’s going to slap and beat you when the lift doors open, and you are pushed, no, shoved out. But knowing all this and your heart is beating, your hand is getting clammy, so you have to do it quick before it’s too damp to appreciate the feel of that beautiful soft fur, you can’t resist touching it.’ He paused and looked up at her smiling. ‘And when I saw your hair, that’s how I felt.’ He looked up through his eyelashes, waiting. She stared back. ‘So are you going to scowl?’

  Her hand felt to the side for her glass without taking her eyes off him. Tipping her head she took a sip of rum and coke.

  ‘That’s the best pick up line I’ve heard for a long time. Maybe the best ever?’ She laughed and held out her hand, ‘I’m Mary.’

  He looked at her, his eyebrows rising slightly then said,

  ‘Trevor.’ He took her hand gently and half raised it to his lips without actually kissing it. ‘Mary,’ he emphasized her name, ‘Can I get you another?’ he indicated her drink.

  ‘I’m fine thanks.’

  ‘What is it?’ He persisted.

  She shrugged, keeping the smile on her face.

  Trevor caught the barman’s eye, who came over to them.

  ‘I’ll have a rum and coke please, and whatever it was you gave the lady Mary here, earlier.’

  Stephanie stared at him as he ordered. She noticed the designer emblem on his loose fitting well ironed shirt. Married or perfectionist she wondered? Just a splash of chest hair displayed neatly above the opening; shoulder length, blondish or it could be grey hair hard to tell in the light, was swept off his large face and neatly coiffured. Perfectionist she decided. As he stood smiling, his head turned only slightly from her, she observed his white uneven teeth, which gave her a clue to his age; someone younger would have had rail tracks to straighten those. When she looked down, his trousers confirmed her thought about his age. Soft black velveteen? She looked back at his face. Perhaps he was gay? She watched him talking to the barman. No, he kept his head towards her. Looking down at his shoes she put her hand to her mouth to disguise the grin. Cowboy boots! Proper pointed tan coloured cowboy boots with gold capped toes. She repressed the question of where he had left his spurs. But as she looked him up and down again, she realised, somehow the look worked for him. He was oddly attractive.

  When he passed her the drink, she looked once more into his eyes; possibly blue, but again, difficult to be sure in this light. His mouth was wide, and slanted down to one side. In fact, she saw his whole face slanted with one eye not quite as big as the other. And he was clearly aware of the defect bec
ause consciously or sub—consciously he held his head to one side, trying to balance the slant. Despite this defect she was surprised how she found him attractive. Besides, as she discovered leaning towards him to take the drink, he smelt delicious.

  *****

  Lighting the cigarette Robert walked to the dressing room listening to them baying for more. Clapping and shouting, he could feel the thump thump of their feet vibrating up through his legs as they stomped on the floor. He only ever did one encore, never varied no matter what the occasion. Even Dylan’s birthday celebration, he still only did the one. It was his signature. But they still shouted and called for more. Why, he wondered? Were his fans really all that stupid? He didn’t deny he loved it, the thrill still with him as he sat looking at himself in the mirror of his dressing room. Adrenalin rushed through him, his face flushed from the sight of all the adoring faces. All looking up at him.

  Standing on stage and staring out into the crowd he was blinded by the flashes of cameras and amazed to see telephones held in the air as fans videoed him. He felt a conflict of feelings. Flattered, but worried they wouldn’t bother buying the new CD. He argued with himself that the quality wasn’t good enough and the real fans would want his records, not just a hazy image of him on their phones. And anyway, he grinned, all that noise and fuss. Just for him. It never failed to give him an erection as he walked off stage.

  Looking at his reflection he dried his face and hair with the towel and thought of how they loved him. Or was it him they loved? He shook his head to dislodge the thought and reached for a bottle of water. After having a large swig, he undressed to his underpants, and wrapped another towel around himself before sitting once more and lighting another cigarette.

  He was pleased with the facilities in the dressing room, reflecting the respect he incurred these days. Only a few years ago they wouldn’t have bothered with a bottle of water, just a cheap kettle and some sachets of coffee with a polystyrene cup. Now, they presented him with bottled waters; still and sparkling, a glass; china cup; fresh milk and a jug of real coffee. And someone, Terry no doubt, had supplied a bottle of his favourite whisky, only a small bottle he noted, but it was there. Clean white towels. He raised the corner of the towel coating him and put it to his nose. Yes, freshly laundered.

  The room itself was still the same though. Tobacco stained, cracked mirror and peeling paint. He’d once asked the manager to replace the mirror, Christ, he came here often enough. The manager explained there was little point, as it would be broken again the next time he came. Young bands and rock and roll didn’t change, he explained, nor did their friends, who tagged along with them. Robert knew that well enough, and had got rid of all his so called friends years ago. No one came with him on his gigs. No one took advantage of him.

  Not all the acts are as mature as you Mr. D’Lyn, the manager had added. Fucking bastard, insinuating he was old. He still packed in the crowds. In fact he needed a bigger venue. He might not bother coming back here again. He’d have to speak to his agent about it.

  He stubbed out his cigarette, closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair for a few moments relaxation. It was that or the bottle of whisky, but he still had two more nights to go, and both those were sell outs as well. He would save the whisky for the last night. He might have a mouthful back at the hotel but that depended on who was waiting by the backstage door. Even though his act was being followed by a disco, some of his fans would try and slip round to see him rather than dance. All those lonely women and girls. The manager had intimated he would be very welcome to join them afterwards at the disco. As if? Him at a disco. God, they had some fucking nerve these people.

  With his eyes closed he concentrated on his breathing for a few moments. He counted as he had been taught with every breath in, for ten and then for every breath out for ten. It really did help him relax after a show and unwind. As he counted he was vaguely aware of someone entering the room. He felt her presence as she moved around him; not quite quietly enough as she collected up his belongings, removing his sweaty clothes. He turned his mind away from her, trying to ignore her and relax deeper. Eventually he felt the muscles in his shoulders soften, the tension in his stomach melt away with every count.

  Twenty minutes later his eyes opened to see Terry sitting waiting on the other chair. As usual she was casually dressed in her brown camouflage t-shirt and combats, her hair which barely saw a brush or comb bubbled round her face. God she was such a dyke! But she was good at her job, he reminded himself, so he chose to put up with her.

  ‘Many at the door tonight?’

  ‘A few. D’you want to sign or shall I get rid of them?’ She stood ready to leave.

  ‘No, I’ll come and see.’

  ‘D’you want me to come?’

  ‘No. Get the car ready.’ Ignoring her look of disdain he stared into her eyes, stood up, let the towel drop to the floor and removed his underpants. She turned and left the room.

  After towelling himself down and getting dressed in clean clothes he went to the stage door. Ten or so females of various different ages, shapes and sizes stood waiting. A couple of them far too old for him to even contemplate. Taking their pens and paper he smiled into each individual pair of eyes, asking their names, then signing each piece of paper; Love You, Robert; Forever Yours, Robert; Warmest Regards Robert; Forever Robert. He tried to vary them as a challenge for himself. If he didn’t get bored he could sign more of them, and his agent repeatedly nagged at him, the more he signed the better reviews he got.

  As he came to the sixth woman, he held her eyes a fraction longer, noticing the brown eyes surrounded by the long black hair.

  ‘Your name?’

  ‘Rebecca, Becky. Put Becky on it would ya?’

  She was the one, she was in luck tonight.

  ‘Warmest thoughts to my friend Becky,’ he spoke as he wrote. But he wasn’t writing that. With experience he learnt to say one thing and write another. He had actually written, ‘fancy a drink?’ Handing the paper back with one hand and reaching forward to take the next one he winked at Becky. She looked at what he had written then back up at him.

  ‘You sure?’ She asked. He saw the disbelief on her face, the hope in her eyes.

  Already writing the name of the next woman he looked up at Becky again and inclined his chin to the car where Terry sat waiting in his Range Rover, before turning his attention back to ask the next name. He saw Becky didn’t need a second telling as she ran across the road to the waiting car and rapped on the window. When he did bother to meet the fans he finished each and every demanded autograph before leaving, thus ensuring there were fans after each performance.

  Half an hour later, sliding on to the backseat besides Becky he asked,

  ‘D’ you come alone to get my autograph?’

  ‘Yea, how d’you know?’ He smiled, but didn’t share with her his years of knowledge of the female fans. It wasn’t hard to guess which ones would be the easiest to invite to his room. The lonely ones stood slightly differently, less confident. Terry drove silently towards the hotel.

  ‘Drink?’ he asked, producing a silver flask from his jacket pocket.

  *****

  Taking her hand, Trevor led Stephanie to the dance floor through the throngs of people now assembled. They gave up conversing as the noise levels had grown to such proportions it was impossible to hear. The music was anonymous, allowing for either individuals or couples to gyrate as they wished, some held close, too close, bordering on the obscene, Stephanie thought, until Trevor took her in his arms and she felt the warmth of his body through his thin cotton shirt, his chest muscles rubbed gentle against her nipples while his hips nudged her groin.

  She was aware she had drunk too much. Usually one drink lasted her all night, but Trevor ordered them without asking, and she decided as he amused her, keeping her laughing, just this once she would go along with it. She let him hold her, relaxing into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder, her nose savouring the scent of his aft
er-shave. He was a perfect height for her, then she recalled his Cuban heels and giggled. He pulled away to look at her face, she smiled up at him and he gathered her expertly back in his arms, one hand stroking her hair like a child’s, while the other arm was wrapped around her waist firmly.

  He was an expert. He had done it before, many times, and she was surprised the thought made her stomach curl just the slightest, even though she herself had been in this position more times than she cared to remember. She justified the feeling to herself, it was just the drink allowing these alien feelings. His breath in her ear sent a whisper down her as he asked,

  ‘Are you ready to leave?’

  She nodded her head against his shoulder. ‘Your place or mine?’ She prodded her finger into his inviting body; no one ever went back to her place. Taking her by the hand he led her from the club and one of the taxis waiting outside the door.

  Kicking off her shoes at his front door, she wasn’t sober enough to stop the giggle bubbling up inside as she looked around the stereotypical bachelor studio. White carpets, for goodness sake! Who had white carpets these days? And minimal furniture, one leather reclining chair facing the monstrosity of a television system.

  ‘I don’t spend much time here,’ he said walking into the kitchen area to find some drinks. ‘What would you like?’

  ‘Water please.’ She sat on one of the stools at the breakfast bar watching as he let the tap run for a while before filling her a glass.

  ‘Sure you don’t want anything stronger, or a cup of tea, coffee?’

  She smiled back shaking her head.

  ‘Water’ll be just fine. I don’t usually drink this much.’

  ‘I know.’

  She felt too relaxed to question this statement.