CHAPTER FOUR
Naturally an establishment like that tends to collect the dribble that rolls from its own pricey lips. Having that in mind Susan understood how long the stretch would be for her to enter the building without any chaffing encounters. So she walked in reminding herself to maintain an advantaged persona that she had created for herself.
The room was bloated form prior dining events. Its ceilings were virtually non-existent, almost requiring a periscope to see them. Money red and bought blues splashed across the walls subtly forcing the crowds to shift with the advancement of time. Most of the people stood still holding their glasses of arthritic wine. The age difference between the genders slit right through the middle instilling that generic stereotype of old rich dude and young gold digger. But that only rang true for a certain portion of the party. Women with elegant suits pushed against the android powered men. The left side of the vast room accumulated a horded amount of people prepared to dish out their elegantly phrased criticisms over the expensive food. Due to this, the right side of the room was peppered with the fit internet money. A bar was placed close to them as if the management were playing god with the people, taunting them with alcohol and bad company.
Susan felt suddenly self-conscious about her tattoo grabbing and rubbing it. She looked at each ring thinking it would be easier for her to start over on the right side of the room closer to the bar and closer to more contemporary drinks.
She had no exact goal for the night. She didn’t particularly desire to mingle with the Gucci designed people either. The simple act of breathing in fresh people was enough to separate her from her bed sheets.
As she moved a handful of feet into the room a privileged woman, mid Forties, brushed past Susan and weaved her presence into the purple linings of her dress. The acknowledgement of Susan was not on the cards for that woman, purposefully. Her older expression was lifeless showing an already unpleasant judgement of the girl and her attire. This woman clearly relished in the process of discarding people. She was good at it, almost to the point where one could call it a skill.
Susan noticed how the arrogant woman’s heels lifted ever so slightly to mimic the motion of a prize winning horse trotting through the betting crowds. Her palms were raised above the hip afraid to level them with everyone else’s. Susan without delayed thought instinctively shadowed her keeping an eye on the woman.
The two of them were pulled through the shafts of crowds with the wealthy woman in front. The further Susan followed the more she noticed about the woman, in turn solidifying her closed focused impression of her. Her ear rings dripped with expensive blissful ignorance. Her face sharpened at the shaft of the nose by plastic “art” forcing the natural ageing process to retreat down to lower regions. Susan could sense that her bought face gave her a certain amount of “confidence”. With each of the woman’s sexually charged movements Susan found herself further and further into the gold plated pacemaker of the party.
Before Susan knew it she was surrounded by panther black suits with feathered ties demanding her attention. The woman made from wealth didn’t seem to have a destination. She shifted through the various accounts of people with an odd pause to greet someone. She would present a condescending smile and caress the lower back of the most attractive man in the group, leaving the other men to swallow their bowl of irrational jealousy. It was obvious how she frustrated the other women, igniting bitter discussions with the purpose of belittling her bought pretentions.
As Susan digested all of those rich details a sense of desire cradled into the core of her head. Unlike previously the corners of her thoughts weren’t coloured by black. Instead a degree of control allowed her to gain interest in the woman of wealth without being motivated by irrational blindness. It wasn’t admiration, for Susan was aware of the woman’s faults. It was more of a desire to understand the person. Susan’s interest had been peaked, to a point to pretend to be her, to learn from her subtle sexual grabs and steps. Her evening was free, no one knew her, no direct obligations, which left her to indulge in the small and playful game.
Susan enhanced her inexperienced persona. She copied the stiff movements of the woman. She had to relax her bones and lower back to imitate it to a believable posture. She had no idea that a relaxed spine was required to express the movements of privilege. Having gained a healthy understanding of how to act like the woman Susan decided to swim to other ends of the party. The deep end still remained at the left side of the room with the depleting reserves of caviar and beachy fruit. The crowds gradually became unsettled because of it.
The left wasn’t as appealing to Susan as she had thought. She was slightly surprised by the modern slice of the crowd that wedged itself into the room. It gave her a recognisable comfort. She knew how to deal with most of the types that surrounded it. Young business heads and artistically driven hands covered the bar. She moved towards them with her persona 2.0. The one thing that it achieved was the ability to exude an air of confidence. No matter how much effort Susan put into mimicking the woman she couldn’t recreate that arrogant look. In the end she just looked like a young confident woman that walked around like a horse. None the less, Susan felt good. She was enjoying soaking in all the people.
The bar was the most obvious place to go to. The lack of money in her toy purse did scare her a bit. That night she saw a drink as a conversation starter rather than something to actually drink.
The bar was empty with a few bodies thrown over the benches sharing cold whispers with their temporary glasses. There was one man with software spectacles in the very corner of the bar by himself. He protected his rum and coke with his uncomfortable body. His spine bent over the stained wood allowing his silicon-valley bald patch to become the centre of attention. Susan could taste his lack of interest to share himself in this sort of establishment, so she scanned the area for a quiet seat.
Having sat down she knew that the bartender would come over to serve her, but with her lack of funds she didn’t want to attract any unwanted attention. So with an itchy sense of haste she looked around the bar for someone who exuded a unique atmosphere to latch onto.
Not so far from her she saw a well-dressed gentleman sitting straight up facing the crowd. His interest wasn’t in the self-sorrow of his drink but in the throngs of people that presented themselves in front of him. A glass of wine lay behind him up against his back. His navy suit jacket complemented his shaven chin. The image of youth still inflicted his face even though one could tell by the arched position of his stabbed black shoes that he has been in the realm of his early thirties for an extended amount of time. His elbows leaned up against the good nature of the wood, repurposing it as a make shift back support. Joy had receded from the corners of his jowls leaving it to recoup back behind his ears. Unfortunately not too many people look behind ears, in turn leaving the fresh eye wondering if he had ever felt happiness. Sharp boredom and smart apathy smeared around the bags of his brown eyes.
His eyebrows and everything surrounding them had caught Susan’s attention. She noticed his reflection in the wiped glass behind the bar. It created an omnipresent illusion, building her interest in him even further.
Sharing words with the man became her self-appraised goal for the night. She dug her arm into the inside of her thigh, tucking it away from outside view. Only the very top of the tattoo was visible. Every so often she would remind herself of the contemporary crowd around her and that her tattoo wasn’t particularly obscene. For nights to come, this would be the moment where she would remember feeling vulnerable. A radiated feeling in her hips teased her most of the night. That moment at the bar however, with no money and the most interesting person placed perfectly from her, would splatter a defined stain into her memory.
With the feeling of haste pushing up on her lower back, she got up from her chair and trotted over to the pristine figure. Her movements were broken up by her trying to remember how the older woman hovered. With wrists snapping between different heights and her
steps lacking human pacing, she had at an instant forgotten how to be arrogantly confident. The layers of her persona that she had built for herself over the entire night had deteriorated with every fractured step towards him. She created a noticeable bang as she sat on the blood red cushion top next to him.
His neck tilted ever so slightly catching her silhouette in his peripheral. Susan sat quietly for a moment, attempting to ignore with great difficulty. She crossed her legs rubbing her skin, arousing a bed of fire in her upper thighs. It created soft warmth, alleviating any cold discomfort that stored in her stomach. She hooked her heels around the low metal bar of the stool giving her straight stability.
“How many people here......how many have you spoken to?” He said as he froze his gaze onto the shifting tides of the party.
“I don’t think anyone yet... You’re the first. You must feel very special.” The words slipped out of her mouth raw. Her facade had shrivelled into a transparent mess on the wood of the bar.
“Are you one of Jameson’s models? He likes them when they’ve got personality.”
“Well you really make me feel special. Nope I’m not a model and I’m not one of anyone’s anything. I came here by myself.”
“So I assume you don’t know anyone here. All these people are new to you?” Susan didn’t know how to respond to that remark. She twisted on her stool to face the same direction as the man, now staring calmly into the sea of the crowd. The sea life from the bottom of the ocean rose at night. Alcohol collaborated with fresh oxygen from open windows in the distance to takes its toll on the crowd.
“I guess not, all new faces to me. They tend to be the same everywhere just with different makeup depending on the locale.” In the split moment between her responses she felt the cold night air brushing up against her soft nose.
“Well then you have the freshest eyes in the building.” Playing it cool was his drink, subsequently forgetting the glass of wine behind him. Susan noticed and wondered if he was perhaps uninterested in drinking, or he was just too preoccupied with the tide of people in front of him.
With his raised finger pointed vaguely at the people he said; “having seen some of these people, having heard them chat with themselves, would you come back to this place?”
She pondered his words, knowing full well that she would most likely never come back here. It was too inhospitable for healthy dirt to thrive in.
“No .... I probably wouldn’t. I don’t mean to offend ya like.... the red clashes with my only dress ya see.” She let the words fall from her lips with an accent of laughter. He shifted his waist until he was comfortably able to look at Susan. He bore his eyes, evaluating her soft face. She brushed her dark hair back over her shoulder without provoked thought. He likewise tightened his chin and lips to sharpen his skin.
“Mathew.” He didn’t gesture to shake hands or anything. He simply placed his name in front of her expecting her to react positively. He didn’t remove his eyes form her face.
“Susan Mur...” mid surname she decided that it would be best to keep it to herself until she knew his.
“Susan Mur?”
“Susan”
“You really are new to this place.” He couldn’t find any recognition in her eyes leaving his brows to dip with a mix of surprise and confusion.
“So you genuinely came up to me, not knowing who I am.”
“In and out of the crowd you would have stolen my attention, but then again not much is required to take it.” Half way through the sentence he stopped listening to her. The need for all the facts didn’t arise. His palms tried to grasp the idea that someone was interested in him other than his reputable name and his colour drained photography.
Detaching himself from her gaze he ploughed his eye line along the people that presented across the room. He saw a tall woman, reaching for six foot and running away from experienced age, she leaned on the side of her hip tilting her body into a group of depraved eyes.
“There do you see that girl over there, perched between the older woman and the waiter... the one with the black slit thigh dress.” Susan couldn’t see the girl but nodded anyways to move the conversation on.
“Do you see how she stands, legs and hips perfectly straight to mimic that of a curve. She was designed that way. This one in particular was pulled from Belgium.” As he spilt the words from his mouth, Susan finally caught eye of the woman he was speaking of. Right before she could form a coloured thought he interrupted her by swinging on the axis of his chair and banging the wood for a drink. It was all very abrupt leaving her to pick up the fleeting thoughts that she had built for herself, but oh so unfortunately they seemed to have disappeared beneath the faint maroon carpet.
He wrapped his ring-less fingers around the shaft of the glass and beckoned the bartender to prepare something exquisite for her. Susan was pleasantly tickled by his politeness to the bar man. Considerate syllables curved from his jaw.
“Now that we have the drink and the good company I want to find out more about the darkly haired woman that sits in front of me. What do you do?”
Deciding to open her gates slightly, as if she hadn’t already, she replied openly, unafraid to say dank words to a first name stranger.
“I’m unemployed, and enjoying life. Apart from the odd finance worry I spend most of my days looking at people....not in a creepy stalker kind of a way... I don’t think I have the equipment anyway for that kind of a past time. Plus it just seems too demanding of a hobby for me like. I probably wouldn’t have any time left in the day to plan on cleaning my flat.... or chat with myself.” She knocked back and forth delighted with her own light-hearted response as she sipped delicately on the tip of her bloody Mary glass. As much innocent joy she got from acting like a child she also got from poking holes in herself.
They both sat backs facing the pompous people, enjoying the reflection of themselves in the mirror behind the racks of unobtainable liquor. Mathew didn’t respond to her immediately. This was a trend she picked up from him through the night. His long and well-fortified pauses created the impression that he was contemplating heavily what his next few words would be. As with everyone, it impressed her at first giving the illusion of depth. In the end however she would find out that it was in fact something he had learnt to appear thoughtful, in turn attracting the admiration of young and stiff products. “And yourself?”
“I am a photographer, but it’s the least important aspect of me.”
“Oooh what kind of photos do ya take. I bet I’ve seen some of your work around the place. I mean if you can afford to hang around here then I’m sure a few of your snaps grabbed some attention... so?”
He reluctantly cleaned up his posture preparing himself for the dreaded discussion.
“I take photos of models for an agency... from around the place... you know fashion and the few pretentious black and white stuff.” He became sore over time by conversations being driven by people’s assumption of him. So it was unsurprisingly refreshing to meet someone as peeled as Susan.
“It must be nice to be creative all the time. Don’t know if I could do that myself…. I would probably end up stabbing whatever I created, if I was bothered enough to make it in the first place.” Susan said with her lips quivering from the light hearted reply.
“That whole process lures you in with the illusion that your expression could fill whatever is missing. But all it manages… is to hook and force you to create things that already exist. Naturally people love me for it. I wouldn’t recommend it as a profession.” Realising the mood killer of a reply he gave, he created a smile to keep her within his company.
The attention of the room emptied itself to what was left of the young guns. This is when the aged called their chauffeurs to collect them, picking up what was left of their wealthy notions. This left the building to tend to itself. The workers finished some of their shifts and the drunks populated the last few spaces of the numb carpet.
Susan and Mathew’
s conversation grew along with their stack of empty wine glasses and bloody Marys’. As her bare skinned knees became more comfortable with his calm and deliberate words, so did his pacing with his replies. As their interest in one other erected, so did a rather short and stacked man behind them. Dressed in smart navy pants with a striped grey waist jacket, allowing sleeves to be wrapped around his elbows, he stood in the centre of a crowd ingesting their lathered attention. He had a tattoo sleeve of floral heavens crawling up his bulky arm. From a quick glance a mountain of meat and ink, would be the first impression. His height however would designate the notion that perhaps he was compensating for his pony stature, or maybe his tattoos said the usual “I don’t give a shit” attitude. Either way you looked at it, his image stuck in people’s minds, complimentary or other. As he tried to listen to both his entourage and the two love birds at the bar, he became unsettled and almost intrigued by the woman next to Mathew. He gestured his apology and moved his shaved temples over to the bar.
He wrapped his dark bracelet wrist around the waist of Susan. She jolted away slightly, tightening the gap in between her knees.
“O you’re a jumpy one aren’t ya.” He looked her up and down, dropping a man’s smile right between the bridge of her nose and her lipstick. Already she despised him.
“Mathew... I didn’t know you were recruitin tonight. I see you’re going for a more “down to earth girl” this time round. Can’t disagree”
“Susan this is Steff ... we work together. I don’t like him either.” He said as he shared his relatable eye-line with her.
“No actually. Steff.... we are just having a drink. If you are in the mood for recruiting then I’d recommend touching some other girl. They might actually be attracted to creepiness.” She tried to keep her back straight and as far away from his sleeves as possible. But with the leaning tower of drinks building in her judgement, she found it all the more difficult to keep steady and smart. When she thought about this it made her feel as if she let her guard down.
“Ya we are just having a quiet and private drink.”
“Private huh...”
“I can’t make a hint any more obvious for you. Private… quiet…. What other words do I need to pull out of the thesaurus for my message to get across to you?”
“I got the message. Just deliberately ignoring it, like the cunt that I am. Aint that right Susan?” The full stop to his sentence was made from a bundle of inherent laughter. Susan clearly saw joy tremor beneath his biceps.
She looked at him with expecting eyes without the need of saying a single word. He clearly knew that he was bothering the two. He just enjoyed fondling with their privacy.
“Before I leave ... Susan ... I just wanted to let you know how much of a pleasure it was to meet you.” He placed his arms on the bar to order a drink to finalise the night. Mathew rose from his seat and placed one hand in front of Susan blocking her.
“Steff I won’t say this again...... Please leave. And don’t bother saying another word before you go because I’m well aware of your speeches.”
“I’ll leave... but you know and I know that I am going to say as many fucking words as I want before I go. But no speech. I’m too tired for that shite myself.” Steff left the bar, reluctantly giving up on his childhood dreams of having a shot of whiskey.
“I’ll see you Thursday.” Mathew needed to have the last few words, to give himself a sense of protective closure, alpha male style stuff.
Steff walked back over to his entourage. Mathew watched every step that he took. Susan wasn’t sure what had just transpired, she felt nervously open, contemplating the validity of Mathews actions. None the less she was still pleased by how he handled the situation. She eventually grew tired of the packs of boys that would wound each other for her.
The time had emptied itself of its own recognition. With the staff subtly shoving the remainder of the crowds out the hoarded door Susan and Mathew followed suit. Cars rolled up presenting their leathery back seats to the tired and drunk. Susan had expected Mathew to have had some luxurious car, but as it turned out he arrived at the party with a taxi. His reputation was more golden then his wealth.
Regardless of what happened Susan wanted to fold herself in her own blankets. Over the course of the night she had warmed up to him, enjoying the idea of what he could be once she dug into his hairline. Her memory of the entire night was coloured by her soft knees and upper thighs. That vulnerable guard was slowly chipped away by the proceeding conversation between the two. Covered by the cool dark sky and Mathew’s electric heated arm around her shoulder. She felt safe. They stood together under the sandy arches of the event. Bags of coined people rolled out through the doors guided by the whipped hands of the staff.
As the taxis piled up on one another, Mathew pondered the thought of what he wanted from the night. He was drawn to Susan and her exposed caramel spots. He could instinctively smell the tender nature of her skin and it in turn poked an emotion within him. Protection is the word that described the fleeting thoughts through his mind. It was a very natural feeling that came about.
Both of them decided to stick with one another for the night. It was an easy choice considering the wealth of alcohol that seeped through their skin. Having placed his fingers around her lower waist he gestured for a taxi. She reciprocated by wrapping her arm around his back, digging her painted nails into his dark suit.
The taxi provided a sort of other dimension for them. They felt at ease with the seats, themselves and the driver. With their shaking and impatient movements they thrust their hands over each other like a pack of sexually charged irons. Latched onto one another exchanging fired saliva, they embarrassed the seats under them. The driver was used to that sort of thing at night. The first few times he unashamedly became aroused by the dance in his back seat, but over time the magic had worn off.
Their destination was the least of their concern, and in their haste to start their lubricated engines, Susan had told the driver her own address. She didn’t feel the need to worry about her car, the state of her flat or what he might think. The thick layer of alcohol had built a wall preventing those thoughts from crossing over from the meaningless pile to the prioritised pile.
The taxi pulled up outside her flat with a hard punch of the handbrake. They clumsily shuffled up to her flat. On various steps she clipped the heel of her shoe, eventually flinging it from her foot. With a fast grab she held it in one hand as Mathew half lifted her up the rest of the stairs. There were stairs, but there was also a lift, which Susan should have remembered since she lived in the building for more than three years.
The door of her flat swung open to the end of its hinges. With a pause derived from oral exhaustion. Susan felt once more exposed. She immediately regretted bringing him back to her place without even the memory of it happening. She no longer felt horse like confidence from the older woman earlier in the night. With her dress unintentionally half unzipped she felt fully naked, instinctively holding her purse in front of her hips.
Mathew took this moment to gawk around the place. His eyes breezed over the dead couch, the T.V. and the kitchen. In his slightly more than tipsy state, he ate all the tiny pieces of Susan’s personality that spread itself across the surfaces. The covered in crumbs toaster, the half cleaned pile of dishes and the damp towel hanging on the back of the open bathroom door, all of those details reminded Mathew of a time that had long past. He missed it so dearly. The combination of her innocently loose hair, the relaxed nature of the flat and his drunk sailor legs created the most comforting heat that he had felt in a while.
He noticed her introverted steps as she shuffled around the flat trying to clean up her thoughts. She had her left hand stretched behind her back attempting to zip up what was left of her dignity. Before she could find her bearings he held her arm with guarded softness, wrapping his fingers around her tired ring tattoos. She turned on her heel like some woman from a late forties Hollywood film. It was all very
dramatic stuff, directed by their own blurred and foggy vision.
He jolted his jaw to say something mesmerizing to make her calves bend, but the only thing that came out was a breath of hot air.
What proceeds is an interpretation of a paint by numbers image of their sex. Try to bear with.
Purple poured into 12, smoothly merging with edges of 9. The hot red mixing with purple made the page stretch as far as the paper could go. No. 2 felt isolated with cold alerting the recognisable pink to warm its pencil edges. The painting shook with loud silence. In turn pushing on the purple even further. The boiled red and purple dug their claws into the back of the paper, rising above the number’s soothing spots that expected different colours. As the colour reached the top, a splash of yellow plunged into 5 across the paper, forcing the purple and red to reach for new spaces. The rough edges of red mixed with the purple and yellow which resulted in streams of sweaty paint running down the painting. It reached the end, now having fully covered the page, even numbers that didn’t expect to be touched. The paper dripped from whatever torn colours were still moist. The brush was particularly pleased.
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