“Who says I disapprove? Oh dear, was I that obvious with Xena?”
“I thought you were rude.”
“I wasn’t rude, I was jealous.”
They fell silent. She stripped and slumped on the sofa. He became absorbed in his painting. Her phone rang, shattering his concentration. He harrumphed.
“You might as well answer. The moment’s gone now. But then turn it off like you’re meant to.”
“I’m sorry Erik, really… Yes, hello, yes. Erik, I need to take this now…” She scuttled off the sofa and behind the screen as if it would provide privacy. He tried not to listen to the conversation but it was obviously something about work. She finished the call, killed the phone, and tossed it into her bag of party clothes.
“Problem?” asked Erik.
“The Chief’s gone weird on me. He’s given me special status in the succession plan. I don’t know if it’s just him being American or whether he’s coming on to me. It’s exhausting holding him off.”
She sat down heavily on the sofa. He came and sat with her and put his arm around her. He stared at her face for a long time. Then he got up and resumed painting. She was very still on the outside, holding the turmoil in. It was the second time that day she had wrestled with conflicting emotions. Sandra had rung from the adoption agency. They were having difficulty tracing her natural mother.
“It often takes a little time to make contact even in this computer age,” Sandra explained. “But your case is a particular challenge. Your mother has gone to some lengths to disappear, and of course you know there’s no father named on your original birth certificate.”
“How can people just disappear? What about bank accounts, driving licences? There must be a record of her.”
“Yes, there must. It’s possible she’s changed her name or moved to another country and married there. We’ll keep looking.”
The call had provoked another flash of anger. Not with the agency, they were obviously trying their best, but with her anonymous mother who was unreasonably hiding in the shadows when she really needed her. Maybe this was a mistake. The signs were not good. She suddenly realised she might hate her natural mother. How would that feel?
“Chin up,” said Erik.
She raised her eyes to Miss August who had developed a healthy bloom since the day before. She tried to think more positively of Erik’s latest muse. She must cultivate Xena’s friendship because she wouldn’t know anybody at the party and at least they had a common friend, if that was the right word, in Erik.
When Erik started to put away his brushes, Caroline emerged from a reverie and padded round to view his work. Her face had changed: the hard mouth was now imbued with sadness and longing, and the rigid body had transformed into a soft and vulnerable animal. It made her cry.
“Get dressed,” said Erik. “You definitely need to go to a party, and I do too. Today was a breakthrough day. I struggle and struggle then suddenly I know what I’m doing.”
♥ ♥ ♥
When they got out of the cab there was no difficulty identifying the location of the party. The street was vibrating to an Algerian beat, fast acoustic guitar flying over drums and bass, a hot oasis of sound in the cold damp London night. They waited some time at the door before a woman with piled up hair and a glass of red wine in her hand let them in. It was dark in the hallway, the grey and black décor sucking the light into the walls and carpet. Erik pulled Caroline through to the kitchen, searching for a drink. Bottles and glasses were lined up on zinc counters. Pans and ladles hung above a central cooking station. Craig was holding court, a spitting grass joint in one hand and a kitchen knife in the other.
“Hi Craig,” said Erik, “this is my old friend Caroline. You might want to talk to her. She’s big in medical instruments. What’s on the menu tonight?”
“I’m not that old,” said Caroline.
“A really sweet lamb tagine with apricots and dates,” said Craig, with the enthusiasm of a TV chef. He slashed one-handed at a bunch of coriander, chopping it neatly with the heavy knife. “It won’t be ready for a while. Help yourself to Omar’s booze – and his grass, here…” He took another deep lungful of blue smoke and passed the joint to Caroline, who, not wishing to appear uncool, put it to her lips hesitantly and breathed in a little.
When she returned to the kitchen after a long coughing fit in the toilet under the stairs, Erik was in conversation with Xena. She stood next to them clutching a glass of white wine and waiting for an opportunity to be nice to Xena. After a while Caroline realised she was unlikely to have anything to offer to a conversation about the latest generation of up-and-coming interior designers, and headed to the front room where Omar and his impromptu band were hitting their high notes.
Two beautiful African women in bright dresses and headscarves danced loosely, raising their arms high above their heads towards the ornately plastered, if slightly cracked, ceiling. They gestured to Caroline to join them. She kicked off her heels, gulped down her wine, and let the desert song transport her to a place where she could dance without self-consciousness.
She copied the movements of the two women, gradually loosening her hips and the tension in her shoulders. At the end of the song, the three women applauded the band, and the band conferred briefly before launching into a faster number which pulled more dancers onto their feet. Soon it was a heaving throng, but Caroline and her two dance tutors remained in the centre of the room, under where the chandelier would once have been, the other dancers giving them room to move freely.
At the end of that song, it was the three women who were applauded, much to Caroline’s amusement. She was enjoying herself for the first time in ages. She thanked her dancing companions and went off back to the kitchen in search of Erik, or failing that, stew.
She poured herself another glass of chilled Chablis – and sidled up to Craig, pushing between two young women, not much more than school girls, who were standing close to him while he stirred the pan.
“Are you having a good time, doll?” he asked.
“Yes thank you. Omar’s really good, isn’t he?”
“Do you want some of this?” He handed her another joint and she managed to take a puff without choking.
“Have you and Xena been together long?”
“Depends what you call together. We don’t own each other. We share rented accommodation and sometimes other things too. What about you? You married?” He slipped his free arm around her waist.
“Four years. I haven’t been to anything like this since I was a student.”
“You deserve a break. Come upstairs after we’ve eaten. Xena and Erik are planning something – you’d be welcome too I’m sure.”
“That’s kind of you to think of me but as I said, I’m married, and…”
“Suit yourself. It’s a free country.” He removed his arm and tasted the stew, analysing the flavours before tossing in a big handful of salt.
She had been having a good time, feeling young and free, and now she was feeling old and narrow-minded… and hungry. She ate a couple of olives and a strip of pita bread, and washed them down with wine. Apart from Craig and his coterie, the kitchen was filled with hungry people with no mates looking at smartphones. She felt an overwhelming need to check her messages and emails. Maybe Robert had managed to get off the island? She ran upstairs to look for the bedroom where their coats had been taken.
She opened a door on the first landing. It was no brighter than any other room, but it was steamy and smelled of fruit. Peering in, she saw an enamelled bath in the middle of the room surrounded by flickering candles and the glowing faces of several men and women, drinking and smoking like it was any other room in the house. There were two women in the bath, Xena at one end and a skinny woman at the other. Erik sat on the edge of the bath massaging shampoo into Xena’s hair.
“Close the door, darling. There’s a terrible draught.” Xena turned her face towards Caroline. She looked completely different with wet hair, her cheekbones prominent, h
er lips even fuller wet with bathwater. The woman at the other end of the bath giggled, slid down into the soapy water, and tickled Xena’s breasts with her toes. “I’ve been telling Maude about the vagina spirit and the Orgatron Training Centre. Everybody’s going there. I’m going to sign up for a month in the Scottish centre as soon as I’ve cleared my overdraft.”
“I’m looking for the coats,” said Caroline.
“You’re not going already?” said Erik.
“Yes, I think I will,” said Caroline, feeling like a fish out of water. “I was just looking for my phone.”
“At least stay and have something to eat,” said Erik. “Craig said it would be ready by eleven.”
“Yes, you must,” said Xena. “I haven’t had chance to talk to you properly. Maude, you must be wrinkly by now. Get out and let Caroline get in. I want to know how she got on at the Orgatron Centre. I’ll run some more hot.”
“I’m not sure,” said Caroline. Caroline felt powerless to explain that for all the scrapes she had got into a couple of years ago, climbing into used bathwater with a stranger was a step too far. But the grass and the wine prevented her mind from coming up with an objection acceptable in bohemian circles. Maude stood up, a few rose petals sticking to her shiny body, and a gallant observer passed her a large towel. Caroline peeled off her LBD, tights and thong, and dived into the good end of the bath, away from the taps, Xena having generously swapped ends when Maude got out. Xena swished the stream of new hot water to that it circulated around Caroline, and she had to admit that the deep murky water felt lovely.
“Now I want to know more about you. Go away Erik, I want her to myself.” Erik did as he was told and left the bathroom. Xena began her interrogation of Caroline, who told her everything, even about the extremely bad things that happened in Croatia. Xena laughed and said it sounded incredible.
“You must join us later in the top bedroom. You seem to have the right experience, and the right attitude.”
“No, I don’t,” said Caroline. “None of that was really me. One thing led to another. I am enjoying this party, though. It reminds me of a different kind of life, a life of freedom and possibilities. Unless you’re right at the top, management is serfdom with responsibilities.”
“I wouldn’t know, darling. I’ve always done my own thing. It gets me into trouble sometimes but I couldn’t live any other way. Now, have you started the Orgatron training? What do you think of the vagina spirit?”
“I’m afraid I missed my appointment. I went to the wrong address. I went to Brompton Row instead of Old Brompton Road and something very strange happened. I looked it up afterwards on the Internet. It was a place called Gladstone’s, a Victorian themed bordello. Officially it’s just actresses acting the part in big pants and costume jewellery but the men are paying the girls to act out their sordid fantasies. The maid didn’t speak much English and I had a misunderstanding with a Chinese man.” Xena was amused by her story and said she loved being taken by surprise.
Half an hour and two more top-ups of hot water later, Xena gestured for towels. She allowed herself to be carefully dried by a helpful young man, and Caroline did the same, for the helpful man had a helpful friend. She held her arms high so he could dry under her arms. They dressed and by the time they were back downstairs bowls of lamb tagine were being ladled out by the tallest of the African women to a queue of hungry party people. Xena and Caroline took their bowls into the front room and sat on the floor to eat the delicious thick stew.
A young man with neat black hair sat down beside her and ate his stew with a serious concentration. She recognised him as one of the young men who had been helpful with the towels. When he had finished his bowl, he turned to Caroline.
“Wow, that lamb was tender. And the chickpeas melted in my mouth. And I love coriander. Shall I see if there’s more?”
“Perhaps just half a bowl, if everyone’s had some,” said Caroline. “And could you see if there’s any Chablis left? There might be a cold one in the fridge.” He took her bowl, happy to be of service, and returned with fresh supplies of food and drink.
“I’m Merlin.” He offered his hand.
“The wizard?”
“Yes. My parents were hippies. I was conceived at Glastonbury. I’ve got used to it, but it’s always a talking point when I go for job interviews.” There was a pause in their conversation while a joint was smoked in a communal ceremony of post prandial contentment.
“Are you still looking for a job?”
“Sort of. I’ve got one selling classifieds but you don’t need two degrees to do that. I overheard someone in the kitchen saying you’re in medical instruments.”
“I am, Monsaint. Have you heard of us?”
“No.”
“My god, an honest person,” she laughed. “You’re meant to pretend you know all about us and have had a lifelong fascination with medical technology. What are your degrees in?”
“Chemistry and Engineering. I’ve been trying for R & D jobs but everyone’s cutting back.”
“We’re not. Send me your CV and I’ll pass it on to our head of research. We could do with a wizard. I’ll get you a card, Merlin.” She stood up and her head swam. Seeing her sway, he leapt up and caught her in his arms, holding her longer and tighter than was strictly necessary.
“Thanks,” she said, stabilised. “I’m not used to smoking anything. It’s not the done thing in the healthcare business.” She released herself from Merlin’s embrace and set off up the stairs in a second attempt to find her coat. She decided to start with the attic bedrooms at the top of the house and work down.
The first room she tried was full of guitar cases and amplifiers. The second was full of bodies, or so it seemed at first sight in the dim flickering light of an art-house pornography film. Taking a step into the room allowed closer examination. There were no coats, just three piles of clothes on one futon, and three bodies on the other.
“You came, darling,” said Xena. “We were waiting for you.”
“Well quite clearly you weren’t,” said Caroline, huffily. She was aghast to see Erik lovingly stroking Xena’s breast while Craig was massaging her toes but watching the film. She knew it was none of her business but it pained her to see Erik’s devotion to Xena. He really should be devoted to Caroline.
“I’m looking for my business card – I want to give it to somebody.” The words sounded lame and out of place. “And my phone because I’m expecting a message.” They looked at her, even Craig, tearing his eyes from the screen, like she was the most uncool person in the world.
“Never mind your business card. Come over here and stroke my other breast. Help me to the very edge of orgasm,” said Xena. In a French accent, it sounded a reasonable request. Caroline steeled herself to be free and easy going, and took three steps to the futon. She forced her hand towards Xena’s breast, caught sight of Erik’s erection, which had been hidden by Xena’s bottom, and lost her nerve. She turned and fled, upset and angry with all of them and especially with herself.
Tears blurred her eyes, but she did manage to find her coat on the pile in the first floor bedroom and extracted phone and business cards from the pocket. She tucked a business card between her boobs and searched in vain for somewhere to put the phone. The LBD did not come with pockets. In an inspired moment she tucked it into the front of her thong, checking in the full-length mirror that it didn’t make her look like she was part way through a sexual reassignment process. Thank goodness she’d chosen the mini version.
She found Merlin in the utility room behind the kitchen, talking to the other young helpful man from the bathroom. Merlin’s friend was leaning out of the back door to smoke a cigarette. Caroline produced her card with a flourish, which impressed Merlin.
“I didn’t realise you were so big… in Monsaint I mean. Head of Europe?”
“Yeah well, that’s what the card says. I’ve passed that job to a colleague. I’m looking at South America at the moment.”
“Cool. What’s it like there?”
“According to popular search engines it’s the place to be. World Cup, Olympics, growth rates that make Europe green with envy. We want to get into the personal healthcare market ahead of the Americans.” Merlin looked at her like she was the most clever, dynamic, attractive human being he had ever met.
“Get me another glass of wine and I’ll tell you about the company. It will help you target your CV.” He trotted off obediently and she smiled at his furtive tobacco smoking companion.
He looked sheepish and said: “I’m planning to give up in the New Year. Do you have another business card?”
As she reached into her cleavage, her attention was drawn to a double beep and a vibration in her thong.
“Excuse me a moment.” She turned her back on him, and, as it happened, towards the returning Merlin, who saw her pull up her dress and retrieve a phone from the lacy front panel her thong. She held up the phone like a trophy in explanation.
“I have a message.” It was after eleven o’clock and Andreas was sending her text messages again. She opened it and laughed, despite herself. The attention of these younger and older men was compensation for the recent poor behaviour of people her own age like Robert and Erik. Her fingers flew across the screen and she pressed send, replacing the phone in its temporary home and taking a sip of wine like a woman of the world.
A minute later she was treated to a second round of beeps and vibrations, followed swiftly by a third. She guessed Andreas’s excited fingers had pressed send twice by mistake. She replied promptly, telling him for added interest where she was keeping her phone. She and Robert had tried telephone sex before they were married, but text sex was a novel experience for her. She couldn’t imagine it would be satisfying, but the presence of two young admirers added a certain something.
“Shall we find somewhere more comfortable?” she said. They walked through the chaos of the kitchen and found the room which would once have been a dining room. Long curtains were pulled partly across patio doors opening onto the garden. The room was being used as a spare bedroom, furnished with a chesterfield and rails in the alcoves to hang clothes. She sat on the chesterfield; the two young men lounged on the bed.
Shameless Exposure Page 6
