Just Like a Woman

by Madeleine Clark

  *****

  Stephanie picked up the phone and called Robert’s mobile. She needed to tell him Sarah was coming to see her again, even though, poor girl, she thought with a smile, her mother had died. Must have been such a shock, never mentioning she was ill. Thinking about Sarah, it took her a minute to realize she was listening to the engaged tone on Robert’s phone. Pressing redial, she looked down at Sarah’s notes on the desk in front of her realizing she knew very little about her.

  Stephanie always let Sarah chatter on, not picking up on anything in particular. Sarah mentioned her mother on a few occasions, but only concerning her being strict and always spoken about in a monotone. She remembered how Sarah had to lie to go on the first date with Robert, and how she claimed it was her first ever date. She had not really believed her, thought she was trying the sympathy angle. Her clients soon gave up on that; they either left to find another therapist or started to do some work. Stephanie felt pangs of frustration at her lack of concentration and not catching Sarah’s honesty and truthfulness. She really must make an effort to listen, she decided. She redialled again, the irritation building up. Who was he talking to? The four sessions with Sarah had been rather boring. God she could hardly keep herself awake in the last couple of sessions; it was only her fantasizing about Sarah’s body that kept her eyes from closing. On Thursday she promised herself she would concentrate and listen. Coming to see her so soon after her mother’s death would at least give her something interesting to talk about, something to analyse. A knock on the door broke her thoughts. She replaced her phone on the desk. Damn him. He’d have to wait.

  ‘Come in Jane,’ she called.

  Jane walked in with the coffee she had asked for. There were still two more clients before her day ended. But the news of Sarah’s return had renewed her energy levels; the anticipation of convincing her to see Robert again.

  ‘Strange girl, that one.’ Jane inclined her jaw towards the notes on Stephanie’s desk. Stephanie closed the folder, waiting to hear what Jane had to say. Although ethics prevented Jane from being privy to the personal notes on her clients, Stephanie had learnt in the years they had been together, her secretary’s judgment of people was actually more accurate than her own. ‘Fancy phoning when your mum’s just died. It must have been just minutes afterwards. She said she’d died this morning and the doctor had just left. And she phoned at 10.00! I’d be heartbroken if my mum died, wouldn’t be able to talk to anyone. Wouldn’t be able to think straight, let alone phone to make an appointment. Not a trace of emotion in her voice. Nothing!’

  ‘Jane, we show our grief in different ways.’ Then thinking of her own mother she added, ‘besides not everyone’s as close as you are with their mother!’

  ‘Yeah, I know, but there’s something about that girl.’

  Stephanie thought there was something different, but was quite sure it was not the same different Jane was thinking of.

  ‘What d’you mean? Or how d’you mean?’

  ‘I’m not sure, but … she’s cold somehow. She smiles alright, but there isn’t anything with it. You don’t feel the smile, like you do from some people. You know what I mean. That guy, what was his name, he came last year. He gave me the creeps as well. Tony? Terry? No Tony it was Tony, tall guy, always in a tan suede coat, short hair.’

  ‘Yes, I remember Tony.’ Stephanie agreed, though she had actually forgotten all about him. She also knew what Jane meant. He had given her the creeps, especially when he insisted she walk ahead of him. She imagined him striking her on the back of her head whenever she led him in or out of the office, grateful Jane was sitting at her desk. Was he also capable of sending the flowers and text messages, trying to frighten her? But how would he have got her number?

  ‘Oh come on, Sarah’s not like that! She’s quite different. Oh, and can you do me a favour. Dig out Tony’s notes would you.’ She paused, then added, ‘By the way, d’you remember what car he drove?’

  ‘Never saw it. Always thought that was a bit strange, he must have parked it somewhere, but never outside here.’ Jane walked away from her to the ringing phone in reception, but at the door she turned back. ‘And she is the same. Same look in the eyes. Or lack of it!’

  Once Jane shut the door, Stephanie picked up her phone and dialled Robert’s home number this time. Hearing it ring she could not help the smile on her lips whilst waiting for Robert to answer, managing as usual to push any unsavoury thoughts she had into the little box tucked deep in a corner of her mind.

  *****

  Robert closed his eyes, leaned back and dragged deeply on his cigarette, letting the music invade his body. The earphones hummed with the sound of words written years before any of those in this band had been born. It was one of Robert’s favourite songs and he was impressed with their rendition; a reason for them being here in his studio. As the last notes to House of the Rising Sun died in his ears he opened his eyes to watch them. He had opened the sliding doors to allow full view of the band in the practice room.

  The studio had already been built when he moved in. It was one of the main reasons Robert had bought the house. It wasn’t the best studio he had seen, but it was everything he required. And he liked the set-up. The sound proofing had been attained by gluing shag pile carpets to three of the walls, the floor and ceiling. A two way mirror had been installed as the entire fourth wall, through which Robert was now observing his new protégés. Some sound did penetrate into the recording room but sliding doors could be pulled, from his side only, to obscure the view and most of the sound. He saw no reason to update the room as the mirror provided him with much entertainment; usually whoever was practising or recording soon forgot there may be anyone on the other side, and mostly they were so vain their own reflections distracted them.

  Robert had come to a conclusion; most bands who came to use this room were tossers and the members of this band were no different. God, the hair styles they had; back combed at the crown of the head; their little curtains hanging either side of their spotty red faces; eyes oblivious to the rest of the world as they passed their joints; trying to cover it up with round rose tinted spectacles they must have found in some junk shop. They acted as if they had written this music; as if they had invented those hairstyles; as if they had discovered drugs. Fucking little shits. But he couldn’t deny this band were good at it; they were performers. Yes, there was mileage in this band, they were worth putting time into. As long as they bought nothing stronger than dope, he ignored the smoking and passing of joints. But anything else and they were out. He could do without the hassle of being known as an easy drug score. Besides, he himself did not like drugs. The demo they were doing may be free for the moment, but he had no doubt he would recoup more than his investment. He closed his eyes to listen to the next number, Nights in White Satin, what a classic.

  “What the fuck,’ he screamed. His heart beat and throat constricted, as a hand grasped his shoulder. Eyes flaring to see Terry standing beside him, her face contorted in laughter. He pulled the ear phones off.

  ‘Coffee?’ she put the tray down on the table behind him. ‘Oh, and you’re needed on the phone. Here.’ She dropped the cordless phone in his lap. ‘See, if you had one out here, you wouldn’t have got so scared!’

  ‘Fuck off Terry and next time just leave the fucking coffee, and take a bloody message. Would it be so difficult? I am not having a phone installed in here! Something wrong with your fucking hands you can’t take a message?’

  ‘She wouldn’t leave a message with me,’ she sneered back at him as she turned to go,

  ‘She? Who is it?’ he asked picking up the phone.

  ‘Stephanie. Said it was important. She had to talk t’you immediately. Immediately!’ Terry slammed the door as she left.

  ‘Stephanie, you there? You ok?’

  ‘Hi, yes, I’m fine.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’ His heart beat. She never called his home number.

  ‘I’m fine, better than fine. Sarah’s just c
alled.’

  ‘What’s so urgent? Terry just dropped the phone in my lap.’

  ‘Sarah.’ She breathed down the phone; he waited for her to continue. ‘Sarah, she’s coming back. She’s phoned to make another appointment!’

  ‘Great, that’s just great.’ He tried to make himself sound excited for her. ‘This isn’t exactly urgent though is it? God you frightened me! Why didn’t you use my mobile?’

  ‘I did! It’s engaged. It’s been engaged for ages. I was excited. She didn’t bail on us. Her mum died, that’s all.’

  ‘That’s all!’ He interrupted sarcastically.

  ‘That’s why she didn’t turn up for her appointment. That’s why she didn’t return your calls. It wasn’t you.’

  ‘I did tell you nothing had gone wrong, I behaved as a complete gentleman.’ While he listened and talked he dug his phone from his pocket. He’d done it again, sat on it. This time it had dialled Andy’s number, he’d have to call him later to explain. He really did need to get another phone, maybe a flip so he didn’t keep phoning people.

  ‘Robert are you there?’

  ‘D’you think it’s worth it?’

  ‘You bailing on me now? God we haven’t done this for so long, and she’s so perfect. I can’t believe you’re questioning it!’

  ‘Sorry. I’m sure I’ll feel more enthusiasm when I see her again.’ He lied knowing he would feel nothing for this girl. ‘My weekend didn’t go too well.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘Becky came over.’

  ‘To the house!’ He heard the incredulity in her voice.

  ‘Yes I know. Terry tried to talk me out of it, but I needed it. But then the evening all went wrong. She’s no replacement. She has no sensitivity. Christ she thought The Painting was a self-portrait!’ Stephanie would understand. She knew how important The Painting was to him.

  ‘Well, how was she supposed to know?’ The tone of her voice let him know she was just trying to placate him and the anger swelled again.

  ‘She was!’ His voice rising. ‘She should’ve known. Christ it’s obvious, fucking stu…’

  ‘Don’t swear!’

  ‘Sorry. Well it’s ruined now. I’ll have to start again.’ His voice quieter again, he wondered if he should tell her. ‘And, she was a bit of a mess by the time she got home!’

  ‘Oh god, what did you do Robert?’

  ‘Not much, I just got a bit carried away, I was so angry. It’s only a few bites, nothing much, and she won’t say anything!’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve taken care of it. Well Terry’s taken care of it.’

  ‘What about Terry, have you taken care of her?’

  ‘Terry! It’s her fu… It’s her job to take care of me!’

  ‘God you’re useless. Anyway let’s talk about Sarah. She needs us now, she needs comfort and friends.’

  ‘We’re not exactly her friends!’

  ‘I don’t think she has anyone else actually. Give her a call. Tonight. Don’t forget. I’ll call you later to see how you got on.’ The phone went dead.

  Turning round he placed the phone on the table and picked up his cup of coffee, music still bounced from the room next door. He couldn’t quite make out what it was. He replaced the headphones and let the sound wash over his mind and body, the memory of Stephanie, Becky, Terry and Sarah fading from his mind. He fiddled with the switches on the recording machine and watched as the band gyrated around their room, mouths opening and closing, sounds penetrating his thoughts, the drummer bashing his drums with the energy only someone under twenty could muster. He watched the boy’s beautiful body, and soft brown hair bounce around his gleaming sweaty face. For a few seconds the ethereal image of his ex-wife dancing in front of him replaced the spotty teenager.

  .

  Chapter Thirteen

  Putting the key in the front door she savoured the moment she could open it at her convenience and listen to the silence, sniff the fresh air and see the clean floors. She had opened most of the windows in the house the day her mother died, and kept them open not caring how cold it was. Fresh air ran through the house blowing away the disgusting stench of her smell. After making the appointment with Stephanie, Sarah busied herself disposing of all the rubbish littering the hallway, kitchen and lounge. It had taken two full days to clear the floors downstairs, and each day, since her mother’s death, she had hovered the carpets. She would eventually have new ones but until then these would be kept clean and tidy, free from clutter.

  For the first time in her life she opened the dining room door. The room stood pristine in its dustiness. Pulling curtains that had remained shut for nearly twenty years, the light from the back garden shone through, showing underneath the layers of dust, a beautiful mahogany table and eight matching chairs. Walking round the table she let her fingers trawl over the dark polished wood leaving trails as she moved. The dark red wallpaper was old fashioned but gave the impression of being new, the closed curtains protecting it from fading in the sunlight. She had to push against the window hard before it squeaked open and let fresh air into the room; she looked forward to cleaning it. Upstairs would have to wait for the moment. She hadn’t been able to cross the threshold of her mother’s bedroom since the funeral director had been, but the time would come. For now she could walk in through the front door and not trip over.

  Now was the start of her new life.

  This afternoon she was going to throw out all her old clothes, including the black dress she wore now; the one her mother had allowed her to have for social occasions. She had felt obliged to wear black for at least a few days. But this was its last outing. Sarah liked the thought. Tomorrow she would have a list of shops to buy new clothes, colourful good clothes, like the dress she had bought especially for Robert. She was never going to wear black again. Now she was going to enjoy a cup of tea whilst looking through all the brand new magazines she bought for herself, studying the latest fashions her mother had refused to allow her. She needed to ask Stephanie for a good hairdresser as well. Her mother’s meanness had left Sarah the independence she craved.

  There was so much to do. She was so excited. Each morning she woke up looking forward to the day. Dr. Short had told her not to come to work for a few weeks, to give herself time to grieve. She was going to spend that time starting her new life. She was even going to buy herself a Christmas tree and decorations this year. Sarah hugged herself at the thought. She could buy lights of any colour, and tinsel, and paper-chains like they had made at school, and brought home to be thrown in the bin. Her mother didn’t like Christmas. And Sarah had learnt to dread it. But not anymore. Now she could have a proper Christmas.

  The voice started… She sat down and let the daydream take over. This was one she liked and got better each time she allowed it through.

  She walks down the clean freshly painted hallway to the front door, and opening it, there stands Robert. He carries a big box in his arms, wrapped up in silver paper with ribbon wound round it and a beautiful bow on the top. A label is attached and she sees a hand-written message. Smiling up at him she stands aside as he walks in. As he brushes past her he leans down to press a soft gentle kiss on her lips. She follows him into the lounge, so excited she can hardly contain herself. She licks her lips enjoying the taste of him.

  ‘It’s beautiful’ he says as he looks at the tree. It is decorated with silver and gold balls, red bows and a delicate ballerina style fairy overlooks the whole room from the top. The smell of fresh pine fills the room while the sound of carols softly plays in the background on the radio

  ‘I did it all myself,’ she replies and reaching underneath she pulls out a small box for him. He hands her his box and she tears the paper off carelessly while he looks on, holding his present waiting for her to finish, a smile on his face as he obviously enjoys her excitement.

  Sarah rubbed her eyes. The dream never got any further because she couldn’t imagine what he may have bought her. She couldn�
��t imagine what she wanted.

  *****

  Robert let the charcoal control his hand, let it go where it wanted to, covering the paper with black smudges and lines. Then he blew on the paper, blowing the black dust away. Returning the charcoal to the paper he continued, not concerned with the results. He had to let the paper and charcoal decide. Eventually he stopped, lifted his hand away and looked at the mess.

  He had woken that morning knowing it was time. He wanted to try again. He needed to try again. He told Terry to make him some sandwiches and fuck off for the day, make sure she didn’t come back till late in the evening. He switched on the answering machine. It was the only way to do it. No distractions, nothing would get in his way.

  In the conservatory he had a coffee machine, a pint of milk and forty cigarettes lined up on the table. The sandwiches were in the kitchen, but they were for later, much later. He wouldn’t eat today, not until he had something on the canvas. He put five cds in the interchanger and pressed the random button. All of them Bob’s records.

  Standing back from the charcoal covered paper he felt he may be ready to begin. He tore the paper from the easel and threw it on the pile with the others he had already done. He was loosened up. He was ready. He needed a cigarette first. And maybe he would do one more. Cigarette in mouth he let the charcoal glide again, shapes forming; eyes, nose and a mouth. Curls appeared on the head and shadows on the face. Could he now replicate this in oil? Stubbing out the cigarette he went over to the paints and pulled them towards the easel. He placed a freshly covered canvas on the easel.

  He let the charcoal faintly touch the canvas, drawing a basic outline from memory. He knew the face intimately, had drawn it so many times. Drawing it was no problem. Painting it, getting it right. Getting it just right. He started to think about the last one, but changed his mind. Concentrate on this one, no fucking distractions, he told himself. Just me and Bob today. Nobody else. Fuck the lot of them. I’ll show them, he thought.