The Designer

by Marius Gabriel

  Copper focused the Rolleiflex. She was remembering the old man’s warning that the bulbs ‘sometimes set fire to things’. With any luck, pressing the shutter now would set fire to this annoying Limey and burn her to a cinder, thus eliminating her unwelcome presence. She pressed the shutter.

  There was loud pop and a brilliant flash that illuminated Pearl and the entire room behind her. A cloud of metallic-smelling smoke swirled up to the ceiling.

  ‘There,’ Pearl said, returning to normal and pulling her dress straight. ‘Works perfectly. You’re in business. Wait! Don’t touch it.’

  It was too late. Wanting to inspect the burned-out bulb, the exhilarated Copper had tried to remove it. It was hot enough to blister her fingers, making her yelp. She ran to the kitchen to run them under cold water. While she was dancing with the pain, she heard Pearl call out, ‘Blimey. This place is huge.’ The cockney had taken advantage of her absence to explore the apartment.

  ‘What are you doing? Get out of there.’

  ‘Oh, I love this room. Small, but perfectly formed. Just like me. I’ll take it.’

  ‘No, you won’t, damn it.’ Copper hurried out of the kitchen. Pearl had already heaved her suitcase on to the bed in the room next to her own, and was popping the latches open. ‘Out you go.’

  Pearl sighed. ‘Be reasonable, sweetheart.’

  ‘Don’t call me sweetheart. And don’t make me throw you out physically.’

  ‘You wouldn’t.’

  ‘I’m bigger than you,’ Copper pointed out meaningfully. ‘And I grew up with four brothers. Three of them turned into firefighters and the little one turned into a union leader.’

  ‘What more do you want from me?’ Pearl asked plaintively. ‘I’ve said I’m sorry about your old man, haven’t I? I fixed your camera. I’m taking the smallest room, and I’m still paying half the rent. What more do you want?’ She started to sob, blotting her eyes with her handkerchief.

  ‘Turning on the waterworks won’t cut it. Out!’

  Pearl’s tears dried up, as though on tap. ‘Tell you what I’ll do for you.’ She dug out the roll of banknotes and offered it to Copper. ‘Here. Take it.’

  ‘I don’t want it.’

  ‘There’s three months’ rent in advance there. Plus enough to get in some groceries. And you can look after the rest for me. Hang on to it. I’ll only blow it. Don’t tell me you don’t need the money,’ she added shrewdly. ‘He’s left you with nothing, hasn’t he?’

  Copper stared at the money in frustration. This woman was as difficult to get rid of as a stray cat. But the bankroll felt so good in her hand. Real money. Her fingers tightened around it. ‘You better behave,’ she said through clenched teeth. ‘No monkeyshines or I swear I will throw you out. And I’ll use the window, not the door.’

  ‘Oh, bless you.’ For a moment, it seemed as though Pearl were going to hug her, but the expression on Copper’s face forestalled that. ‘We’re going to be great chums.’

  ‘We are not going to be chums,’ Copper retorted. ‘This is my apartment, and you’re my tenant. So let’s get that straight. What I say goes.’

  ‘Absolutely, sweetheart.’

  ‘I’m not sweetheart, or ducky, or darling, or any other British endearment you can think of.’

  ‘Right you are, I’ll call you Copper Pot.’ Pearl popped the suitcase open and started pulling out what looked like very frilly and brightly coloured underwear. ‘What about that cup of tea, now?’

  Copper did not dignify that with an answer. She went back to the kitchen to attend to her wounds, hoping that she hadn’t just burned her fingers in more than one sense.

  Armed with the flashgun, Copper returned to the Pavillon de Marsan, where activity was even more feverish. This time, she took greater care over her photographs, knowing that each shot would use up one of her precious flashbulbs – and God knew if she would ever be able to get any more.

  The surrealist Jean Cocteau, seated on a film director’s high chair, was easily recognisable by his mass of frizzy, salt-and-pepper hair. On a similar chair beside him was his friend, Suzy Solidor, wearing a pale-amethyst trouser suit.

  Seeing Copper, Suzy slipped off the chair and came swiftly towards her. Copper was reminded of an otter, or some other sinuous animal, sliding off the bank to pursue a tasty fish.

  ‘Chérie,’ she said, giving Copper a lingering kiss on each cheek. ‘How enchanting to see you. I have thought about you so much. Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Copper said, trying to back away from her. But a lissom arm had wrapped around her waist, trapping her.

  ‘I am preparing a room for you to stay at my place. The sweetest, daintiest little room you can imagine. You’ll simply adore it.’

  ‘Oh, thank you. But I’ve just—’

  ‘You can’t possibly stay with dreary old Christian, my darling. You will die of boredom.’ The rich brown eyes seemed to want to drown Copper in their depths. ‘You will have much more fun with me, I promise.’

  ‘You’re so kind,’ Copper said faintly. ‘But I was just about to tell you that I’m not with Monsieur Dior anymore. He’s found me a lovely apartment on the place Victor Hugo.’

  Suzy’s strongly marked eyebrows descended. ‘Cancel it.’

  ‘But I can’t. I’ve moved in already.’

  ‘Move out.’

  ‘And I’ve even got a tenant.’

  ‘Quel dommage,’ Suzy said, severely displeased. ‘A waste of money. You would be far better off with me. I wish that foolish Dior had consulted me first.’

  Copper had other ideas on the subject. Moving in with Suzy would have been rather like a mouse taking up lodgings in a cat’s ear. But she didn’t say that, of course. ‘He’s the kindest man in the world. If you only knew how he’s helped me over the past weeks.’

  ‘He’s kind enough, I grant you that. But entirely lacking in charisma.’

  ‘Oh, I think he’s wonderful. So kind; such a gentleman.’

  That surprisingly strong arm was still preventing Copper from escaping. The chanteuse studied her face with alarming intentness. ‘Mon Dieu. How exquisite you are. That hair. That skin. The Irish strain, of course. You are a princess from a Celtic legend. I am a Celt too; did you know that?’

  ‘Er – no.’

  ‘Yes. I was born in Saint-Servan in Brittany. You could practically swim to Ireland from my doorstep. We are of the same blood, you and me.’ She smiled, showing a line of perfect teeth. There was something charming about Suzy Solidor, and the over-the-top seductress routine was certainly effective. She probably got exactly what she wanted from women who were so inclined. ‘Come to my club tonight. I will expect you.’

  ‘Well, I’ll try to come, but I’ve got my article to write—’

  ‘Écoute-moi, chérie,’ Suzy cut in. ‘There’s a lot I can do for you. I can introduce you to the right people, tell you the right places to be, the right things to wear. I can teach you. If you are willing to learn. Come tonight. You won’t regret it.’

  ‘Okay,’ Copper said, yielding to these blandishments. ‘I’ll drop by.’

  Suzy warmed. ‘Excellent. Come and meet Cocteau.’ She led Copper to the high chair where the famous film director was perched. ‘Jean, you must meet Copper. She’s a journalist.’

  ‘A journalist?’ Cocteau repeated. ‘I thought you were the wife of that handsome young American.’

  ‘I’m covering the exhibition for Harper’s Bazaar,’ Copper said boldly.

  Cocteau’s thin, haunted-looking face lit up. ‘Vraiment?’ He hopped off the chair to shake her hand. ‘Harper’s Bazaar is interested in our exhibition?’

  ‘Very,’ Copper said, barefaced. ‘Would you consent to a photograph, Monsieur Cocteau?’

  ‘I think I can spare the time,’ he replied smoothly. He pulled his woolly hair away from his face. The name of the great fashion magazine had exerted a magical effect already. She hoped devoutly that there was going to be some response from that quarter. Cocteau
staggered a bit when the Czechoslovakian flashgun went off. It was really very powerful.

  Copper gave a cry of happiness when she spotted Christian arriving, dapper and rosy in a smart overcoat. ‘Monsieur Dior!’

  ‘I think,’ he said solemnly, accepting her kiss, ‘that it’s time you started using my first name. My friends call me Tian. What on earth is that dreadful apparatus you keep discharging?’

  ‘It’s bright, I’m afraid,’ she said apologetically.

  ‘I suspect your subjects are all going to look rather startled,’ he said. ‘But perhaps there is a way of harnessing your lightning to good effect. Come.’

  He led her up the stairs to the gantry that overlooked the hall. As he had predicted, the flashbulbs were capable of illuminating almost the whole gallery, enabling her to take some crowd shots of the busy scene below.

  ‘These will give a much better idea of the scale,’ she said. ‘Thank you, Tian. You’re so clever.’

  ‘How are your new quarters?’ he enquired. ‘Have you settled in?’

  ‘Well, I’ve somehow got a tenant.’ She told him about the arrival of Pearl and her suitcase covered with hotel stickers.

  Dior raised his eyebrows. ‘You took her in? After what happened? My dear Copper, was that wise?’

  ‘Probably not,’ Copper admitted.

  ‘I’ve never heard of a wronged wife offering shelter to her husband’s lover.’

  ‘Nor have I,’ Copper admitted. ‘I’m still not exactly sure how she got around me. Do you know anything about her? She said her boyfriend was a publisher.’

  ‘Did she? Well he is a publisher, I suppose. He publishes those collections of photographs that are sold in sealed yellow envelopes on street corners by young men who take to their heels when the gendarmes approach.’

  ‘You’re kidding. Don’t tell me Pearl features in those photos.’

  ‘I have never examined any of them,’ Dior said delicately. ‘But I think that may well be the case.’

  ‘Oh, for the love of Mike.’

  ‘Who is Mike?’ Dior asked, interested.

  ‘He’s Pete’s friend.’

  ‘Comment?’

  ‘At the convent school I went to in Brooklyn, profanity would get you expelled. So we learned to curse in other ways. “For Pete’s sake” and “for the love of Mike”. They expelled me anyway. Never mind all that – you’re telling me I’m living with a woman who stars in obscene postcards?’

  ‘Everybody has to earn their living somehow. And it could be an education.’

  ‘I’ve been married. I don’t need to be educated about sex.’

  ‘Perhaps not. But you do need the money.’

  ‘I don’t need the money that badly,’ Copper said with a resolute expression.

  She returned to the apartment determined to have it out with Pearl. As if it wasn’t bad enough that Pearl had been the final straw that broke the back of her marriage. The last thing she needed was to be entangled with someone with a reputation of that sort. And if Pearl posed for dirty photographs, who knew what else she did? And what sort of people she would bring to the apartment?

  She found Pearl huddled under a pile of blankets with her eyes and nose streaming. ‘What’s up with you?’ she asked suspiciously.

  ‘Just getting a bit of a cold,’ Pearl said thickly. ‘I’ll be better by tomorrow.’

  ‘I want to talk to you,’ Copper said grimly.

  ‘I could do with a good natter,’ Pearl said, struggling to come up with a bright smile.

  Copper went to the bathroom and found that it had been turned into what her brothers would have called a whore’s laundry. The brilliantly coloured underwear had been washed and was hanging on improvised lines everywhere. A pair of green stockings dripped over the basin, and she had to duck under wet, frilly unmentionables to get to the toilet.

  When she emerged, Pearl had sunk even deeper into her nest of blankets. She was shivering violently. Copper suspected strongly that this was a piece of cunning theatre to deflect a confrontation.

  ‘I want to know exactly what it is you do for a living,’ Copper said.

  Pearl’s teeth were chattering. ‘What does it matter?’ she asked wearily.

  ‘Of course it matters. I have to know that you’re going to be able to pay your way.’

  ‘Well, I could say the same about you, couldn’t I?’

  ‘Look,’ Copper said, deciding to be direct. ‘I’ve been hearing things about you. About what you do.’

  ‘And you want to know if they’re true.’ Pearl dabbed the perspiration on her face. ‘All right. I suppose you’d better see.’ She emerged from the blankets, went to her bedroom and came back with a sheaf of photographs in a leather portfolio. ‘There you go.’

  The portfolio was entitled, in a very curly script, Pearl, The Queen of The Cannibals. The photographs were set in a mock-jungle and showed Pearl with a large black man.

  Copper had told Christian Dior that she didn’t need to be educated about sex, but these photographs were startling. Pearl’s rounded, luminous body was shown in every sexual act that could be imagined.

  Pearl burrowed back into her cocoon. Her face was bathed in sweat. ‘I’ve had to do things to get by. If I hadn’t done them, I wouldn’t have survived.’

  ‘You could have scrubbed toilets before you did this.’

  ‘I’ve scrubbed toilets. I’ve scrubbed a lot of toilets, as it happens. But I decided I’d rather do naughty postcards than scrub toilets. I’m that sort of girl. I’m not a toilet-scrubbing sort of girl. But I am a three-square-meals sort of girl, and I did that to get my three square meals. Otherwise I would have starved.’

  Copper tossed the portfolio aside. ‘I don’t think we’re going to get along.’

  ‘I’m not proud of what I’ve done,’ Pearl said, her voice growing even quieter. ‘Maybe you’re right and I should have kept on scrubbing toilets. But it seemed a good idea at the time. Petrus made me feel it was glamorous and fun. And to tell you the truth, he made sure I was out of my head for those photos.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Gin, hashish, cocaine, morphine – you name it.’

  ‘You didn’t have to do that, either.’

  ‘You don’t know Petrus. He’s not an easy man to say no to. I had to get away from him, Copper. He was getting me on the needle.’

  ‘The needle?’

  ‘Cocaine. Once you start injecting it, you’re hooked for life. It’s a good job it’s cold because I can’t wear open-toed shoes for a while.’ She poked a foot out of the blankets and showed Copper. ‘He used the veins there because he didn’t want the needle marks showing in the photos.’

  Copper sat down heavily on the arm of a chair. ‘Mother of God.’

  Pearl contemplated her own dainty foot with its line of angry red marks around the toes. ‘I’ll be sick for a week, getting myself clean from this. But I’m going to face it. That’s him in the photos. You can’t see his face, but you can see his strategic bits. It didn’t seem so wrong. It was just photographing us having a good time. But after he started me on the needle, he wanted me to go with other men. You know what I mean? So-called friends of his. You know where that ends up, don’t you?’

  ‘I need a drink.’ Copper went to the drinks cabinet where the collaborator had left a few half-bottles of alcohol. She poured them both a stiff cognac.

  ‘And while I’m telling you my life story,’ Pearl went on, ‘I’d better tell you that I need a job. That money I gave you? That’s everything I’ve got in the world. I’m not going to scrub any more toilets, either. I’m going to find a proper job. Soon as I’m better. I’m going to finish teaching myself bookkeeping. I started once, and like a fool, I gave it up.’ She gulped down the cognac. ‘When I heard you walked out on that creep of a husband of yours, I said to myself, “That’s the girl for me.” You’ve been my inspiration, Copper. I knew you would take me in. Copper and Pearl. Like I said, we’re like jewellery.’

  �
�I’ve never heard of any jewellery made out of pearl and copper,’ Copper said heavily. ‘They don’t go together.’ She looked up to see that Pearl was crying; not the pretty, noisy waterworks she’d turned on during their first meeting, but silent tears that poured down her cheeks unchecked.

  ‘You think I’m dirty. That you’re going to catch something from me.’

  ‘I just think we’re not suited to each other. You say we’re the same, but we’re not. I’ve always been respectable.’

  ‘Oh, I know I’m a bad girl,’ Pearl said with a touch of bitterness. ‘I’ve never been respectable. But I’ve never been given a chance, neither. Not since I was a little kid.’

  Copper felt ashamed of having said the word. ‘I understand that—’

  ‘No, you don’t. You don’t know nothing about me. Or the life I’ve had. You’re so quick to judge, like all the other women. Women are the worst, you know. Worse than men. I think it’s because, secretly, they all know in their hearts they could be me.’

  ‘I’m not judging you. We’re just different.’

  Pearl wiped away her tears wearily. ‘Give it a couple of years, sweetheart. You’ll see that we’re not.’

  ‘Maybe so. But in the meantime, we don’t belong together. And every time I look at you, I remember what happened that night with Amory. I can do without that.’

  ‘So you’re throwing me out after all?’

  ‘You need to find somewhere else to live – and as soon as you’re on your feet again, I want you out. No hard feelings. Just the way it is.’

  Pearl nodded. ‘I’ll look for somewhere else, then. Ta-ra, Copper Pot.’

  Copper heard Pearl being sick in the bathroom and tried to shake off the shamefaced feeling that she’d been unnecessarily harsh. She went off to her typewriter and her article, trying to put Pearl and her troubles out of her mind.