by Horn, Marc
Col held her gaze. ‘Yes…’
Dave placed the pitchers on the table.
‘Thanks…’ Fay said, forgetting Dave’s name. ‘So are you a clone of this animal?’ She nodded towards Col.
‘I like to think not,’ Dave replied, sitting down and handing Col his change.
‘Are you sadistic?’ asked Stacey.
‘Jesus! Are you talking about sex already?’
Col nudged him with his elbow. ‘They love it. They’re just pretending to be nice.’
Fay turned to him. ‘You’re very rude,’ she said, her face screwed up. ‘What makes you think we enjoy your company?’
‘Because, Fay, what you see is what you get.’
She looked him up and down. ‘You’re in love with yourself.’
‘At ease with myself.’
Fay shook her head. ‘Congratulations, what a wonderful guy you are, every girl’s fucking dream.’ Her face began to redden. Col reasoned that the fat bitch was jealous that he’d chosen her less pig-ugly friend over her. She was dying to slobber her lips all over his cock, but knew her mate had it lined up.
‘I knew I’d bring you round.’ He gave her a sexy wink. He thought he saw her legs twitch just a little bit.
‘Excuse me,’ Dave cut in. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt, but can we talk like civilised people?’ He grinned awkwardly.
‘I was,’ Col said.
Fay turned to Dave. ‘What do you do?’
‘I work with computers. It’s not very exciting I’m afraid.’
As Dave and Fay began to talk about shit, Col re-focused on Stacey. ‘When did you last have sex?’ he asked.
Stacey looked around her, her head moving slowly as if underwater. ‘Last night...with my boyfriend,’ she lied.
‘Really? So why bother talking to me?’
‘Because… I find you quite sad.’
‘You must be bored then. Faking orgasms?’
Stacey face reddened. ‘No, my sex life is fine.’ She finished her drink, sat down the glass, and when she picked up the pitcher she couldn’t keep it steady and beer spilt on the table.
‘Let me do that,’ Col offered. He took hold of the pitcher and filled her glass.
‘Thank you.’
He met her eyes. ‘D’you think I could make you come?’ He imagined how he looked right now - the deep blue eyes, square jaw and forty-eight inch, solid, bronzed chest. She must have a wide-on.
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
Stacey poured beer down her throat. ‘Because you’re unattractive.’
Col nodded at her. ‘Why then, have a hundred women slept with me?’
‘Probably because you paid them!’
Col laughed and then looked away. ‘You know, we don’t live for long enough,’ he said.
Stacey hiccupped. ‘That’s not a bad thing in your case.’
‘There’s too much to learn in one lifetime,’ he explained. ‘We all die ignorant of something, some part of life is unexplored.’
‘Why does that matter?’
‘Because something you missed out on might have made you happier than everything you experienced.’
Stacey studied him. Is there something there? She wondered. She had sensed that there was more to him than the unsavoury character he purported to be. So many decent men felt the need to sell themselves as macho-types and louts because of the misconception that it impressed girls. When would they realise that no self-respecting girl would fancy someone like that? What was it he said? She was so drunk! Something about…‘Life being too short really bothers you, doesn’t it?’ she said.
She needed mental strength, a man sensitive enough to understand her insecurities and pick her up when she felt down. She’d had to turn down so many men because they wouldn’t be themselves, and it made her very sad.
‘Yes, it means I’ll be unfulfilled,’ he said.
She leaned closer, pushed aside her drink. ‘Because you must try everything?’
‘Fate has a place for us. If we don’t find it, we wander without direction and die without inner peace.’
She felt herself getting excited. This was more like it. This was humanity. She wanted to learn more. ‘And is that the same for everyone?’
‘No.’ Col shook his head. ‘Only a certain breed.’
Stacey could hear Col’s friend talking to Fay about the housing market in London. She glanced at them and noticed her friend blatantly eyeing up men at the bar. Stacey returned her gaze to Col and squinted her eyes in concentration. ‘So you’re still looking for your place?’
‘I don’t know.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m content, but there’s so much I’ll never know.’
‘I think your place is in a psychiatric ward, friend.’ She laughed playfully.
‘Thanks, Stacey. So are you fulfilled?’
‘Yes.’ She reached for her beer, but then decided that she couldn’t drink any more.
Col stared at her intently. ‘When you’re fifty, no one will want to sleep with you.’
Stacey gasped. ‘Why not?’
‘Because you’ll be ugly.’
Her heart sunk, but she soon perked up - she’d be happily married by the time she was fifty, wouldn’t she? She dipped a finger in a pool of beer on the table and drew an incomplete circle. ‘My husband would want to sleep with me.’
‘Well of course he would, but you’ll never be able to sleep around.’
Her enthusiasm waned. His company was becoming unpleasant. ‘So what? If I’m in love I won’t want to.’
‘Yes,’ Col said impatiently, ‘but the point is that between the ages of sixteen and, say forty if you’re lucky, people will want to sleep with you. For twenty years you could be having amazing, constant sex. That is your privilege for that short and priceless period only. So are you making the most of it?’
Stacey felt drained. He was no different. ‘I’m happy with my boyfriend’ she said, looking down. A poor liar, she turned bright red - she had no boyfriend.
‘So when you’re eighty years old and dying, are you going to look back and feel glad that you were never a slut?’
‘Yes, because I was... I was respected.’ She pointed an index finger at the ceiling. ‘Respect is very important.’
‘Bullshit,’ he shouted louder, ‘you wasted your potential.’
She closed her eyes then quickly opened them, afraid that she would fall asleep. ‘So you think being a slut puts me in my right place?’
He locked into her eyes. ‘For that twenty years, Stacey, that’s where you’re meant to be...’
Her feelings were mixed and complex. She didn’t believe this man was trying to offend her - he expressed his opinions too passionately. On the surface he was a strong individual who would not hide his beliefs, however unacceptable other people found them, but she was sure that deep down he was confused and scared he couldn’t fit in. Earlier, even his friend had disassociated himself from Col when Fay asked if they were the same. Maybe Col was right about fate, maybe her role was to guide him. She forced herself to break out of her daydream… she was being too romantic again. It was too early to tell anything. And she was way too drunk to judge him.
She sipped more beer. That nagging fear still haunted her - that she would never find someone. It clamped her heart like a vice. She took a breath. ‘If you were my boyfriend,’ she said, ‘how could I be committed to you?’
‘By staying with me,’ he responded. ‘It doesn’t mean you can’t sleep around.’
He was serious, so serious. Though he was powerfully built, he appeared to her so vulnerable. If he could find the strength to open himself up, accept his weaknesses and show a willingness to overcome them, then she would… she would… give him a chance. It wouldn’t hurt to give him a chance, would it? She was so lonely... ‘So we’d both live like prostitutes?’ Her tone was softer.
‘Yeah, while we can.’
‘So if you were my boyfriend, I’d have to endure you spending countless nights with other women?’
‘Stacey,’ he sighed, ‘our love for each other would outweigh everything else - infidelity, jealousy… anything you could name.’
She smiled at him. ‘Did you form all these ideas yourself?’
He nodded. ‘I always do.’
4
Ryan had run five miles on the treadmill in twenty-seven minutes and was pleased with the workout. For just over a year he’d lived in south-west London, in expensively priced, private accommodation. It seemed he was the only user of the residents’ gym, which meant he could use the equipment when he pleased. So he felt perplexed when he heard someone bang on the door after he’d locked it and had begun to walk to the shower room. He turned around and through the glass panels could see a tall, skinny, ginger-haired man staring at him. Ryan returned to the door and unlocked it.
‘Thank fuck for that! Didn’t fancy spending the night in there!’
Ginger Man had slightly dark stubble and a gaunt, pasty face. His voice was loud and merry and fiery blue eyes pierced Ryan’s. He was no oil painting. He winked at Ryan and then made his way along the corridor towards the showers.
‘I didn’t see you in there,’ Ryan called after him.
Ginger Man didn’t acknowledge him. Ryan despised being ignored. Sometimes that was all it took to unleash the beast. He decided to give Ginger Man another chance to respond, but before he could repeat himself Ginger had turned the corner. What the fuck had he been doing? Ryan wondered. The treadmill sat centrally on the floor, and from there he’d had a full view of the door. Ginger had definitely not come in after him. Ryan ran his fingers through his sweaty hair. When he’d entered, the gym had been empty. Okay, he hadn’t searched every corner, but he would have noticed movement or heard sounds. He shrugged to himself and locked the door. So what? Who cares?
When he entered the shower room, he found himself still intrigued to find out what Ginger had been doing. He noticed moisture on the white walls as he walked past the drying room, and, stepping into the shower area, he was surprised once more. Six chrome heads hung unoccupied, but one had just been used; soapy water was trickling along the channel by his feet. He felt the first pipe and retracted his hand briskly - it was scalding hot. He looked at the floor and then crouched down. Three pubic hairs floating on top of the suds...all ginger! What the fuck was Ginger all about? Then he laughed. What am I, he asked himself, a detective?
The next time Ryan saw Ginger it was in a pub toilet. Stood at a cracked urinal clogged with fag-ends and chewing gum, Ryan habitually glanced to his left to compare length. ‘Fuck me, you were the guy in the gym!’
Ginger smiled at him. ‘It’s that exciting, eh?’
Ryan laughed. ‘No, but I was thinking you might be that Houdini geezer. I didn’t see you anywhere in the gym when I was training.’ He aimed his urine at the soggy fag butts, manoeuvring one of them around the raised plug guard to the back of the pile.
‘So what’s the big deal?’
A question in this context would normally amount to fighting talk for Ryan, but Ginger wasn’t menacing. His tone was engaging and Ryan didn’t feel mocked. ‘You just appeared.’
‘Maybe I did.’
‘You had the quickest shower in the world!’
‘You timed me, lad?’
Ryan frowned when he thought of his proof. ‘Well, no,’ he said, ‘but I walked straight there after I unlocked the door for you and you’d gone.’ He shook his dick. ‘There’s something strange about it,’ he added.
‘How d’you know I had a shower?’
Beer had eased Ryan’s inhibitions. ‘Ginger pubes by the drain.’
Ginger chuckled and then walked off.
With his peripheral vision, Ryan watched him leave the bog. He never put his dick away! What a funny guy.
5
On Wednesday 29 August, Col was sitting in a posh restaurant built beside a nice stretch of the River Thames. He’d arranged a meal out with Stacey, which had proved very difficult. His persistence had almost disgusted him - he’d had to nearly beg the fat bitch. That was the way she wanted it played though. Virtually the first thing she’d said on the phone was that she regretted giving him her number, and after excusing his conduct as beer-induced, he’d had to assure her he would be more refined.
Col burst into laughter at the thought of that sack of shit playing hard to get, and a couple on another table looked at him curiously. A waiter, his dress more suited to a competitor in the Crucible than a restaurant worker, smiled at him as he folded a serviette over his arm. Col looked away.
It never ceased to crease him up how minging birds felt they were objects of desire and could afford to resist advances. It was all delusion. He tutted - feed them compliments to feed them life. Nothing could be more embarrassing than associating with her in this formal environment. But his efforts would be rewarded. Stacey was just a means to an end. If only she knew that the more she fucked about with him, the more she’d be degraded.
‘The beginning,’ he whispered to himself. Always the most difficult part. He checked his watch. She’d kept him waiting twenty minutes just to prove she wasn’t desperate. Patience wasn’t his finest quality. He sighed. He couldn’t wait to take control.
Thank fuck, here she waddles! He sprang to his feet. ‘Hi, you look great!’ he said, sliding back her chair.
‘Thank you. Sorry I’m a bit late.’ Stacey lifted the hem of her light blue dress and eased herself into the glamorous seat, which she likened to a mini-throne. The table could have been part of an exhibition. She could hardly believe her eyes. Delicate vases either side of her and Col, suspended in the air by elegant, bronzed iron holders, supported three candles that glowed warmly, and beside these, on the edge of the table, small stone fountain displays collected water in their pebbled bases. The cutlery was spotless and the plates sparkled.
‘No problem,’ Col said, smiling. ‘I’ve only just arrived myself.’ She blushed and he knew he had her then. He sat back down. ‘How was your day?’ he asked.
He watched her exhale at him. It was like she was blowing a trumpet. He imagined gusts of wind ripping through his hair. ‘Very busy. I feel exhausted,’ she said.
‘Well, this will be a relaxing experience for you.’
‘That’s what I need.’ She looked him in the eye. ‘I’d appreciate it if you weren’t so blunt this evening, I don’t think I could handle it.’
He laughed. ‘You make me feel like I’m a burden!’
‘No, no, that’s not what I mean,’ Stacey assured him. ‘Just be aware that last time I was drunk.’
‘Well I hope you’re not disappointed now you’re sober!’ Col said. He wasn’t disappointed - the seven or eight pints he’d had when he’d met her a week ago weren’t enough to blur reality.
She bowed her head. ‘I’ll tell you when we’ve finished.’
He grinned. ‘It’s like being back at school.’ He put his hands behind his head.
She laughed loudly. Col observed her blood-red lips part like the Red Sea. ‘Well, eat all of your meal and speak when you’re told to!’ she joked.
Col faked amusement. This was an ordeal. He put himself through too much.
A handsome waiter, immaculately dressed with broad shoulders and well-defined pecs, handed them both menus and said he’d return in a few minutes. Col watched him walk off, looking for flaws in him. Stacey studied the desserts. He hoped so much that he’d pass her assessment - he was dying to show her off to his friends.
When the waiter returned, Col noticed he was holding his stomach in and smiled to himself - there was no comparison and he was stupid to have entertained the idea. He himself had the ultimate male body. They placed their orders and Col was astonished to hear her order just a salad. It wouldn’t have surprised him if she’d selected all three courses. He chose salmon with boiled potatoes and steamed vegetables.
Within ten minutes their food arrived. They talked as they ate. She took small and infrequent bites, but that didn’t fool him. He knew sh
e was doing that to convince him that she was aware of her cellulite and no longer ate all the pies. He also knew the truth was that she’d pigged out at McDonalds before her arrival. Probably why she was late.
She couldn’t take her eyes of him. He was beautiful. He looked so good in his mauve, Armani shirt. And he’d been so sweet on the phone. He’d assured her that it was the beer that had warped his personality the other night, and he’d almost broken down when she’d nearly declined a meeting. She’d had no intention of rejecting him. To the contrary she’d been waiting for him to call. She just wanted more proof that she was right about him; that he needed her. And there was a little bit of teasing involved - it felt nice to be wanted. ‘This is a beautiful restaurant,’ she said, gazing left at the crystal chandeliers and then at the exquisite paintings of landscapes that lined magnificent walls constructed from yellow-tinted, gleaming marble. They were sitting by a bay window, its glass immaculately clean. She stared at the water, so peaceful, its gentle ripples highlighted by lamps on tree-lined pathways either side and lit penthouses opposite. ‘It’s probably the nicest place I’ve ever dined in.’
‘It is picturesque,’ he agreed.
‘What’s your star sign, Col?’ She asked, looking back at him.
‘Doesn’t interest me, that shit.’
‘Oh.’
‘How’s your salad?’ he asked her.
Stacey frowned at it. ‘It’s very filling. They’ve put too much on the plate. I won’t be able to eat it all.’
‘Not got much of an appetite, huh?’ He loved to amuse himself and spent much of his time laughing at things he said and thought. At times he felt sure he was the funniest person in the world.
‘No,’ she replied quietly, then glanced at his plate and saw just a couple of spoonfuls left. ‘Oh my goodness, you have! That dish was huge!’
‘I have the biggest appetite. People say I’ve got hollow legs.’
‘You’re lucky you stay so fit,’ she exclaimed.
Cheeky bitch! This standard fat person’s attitude infuriated him. To them, size was down to fate – it was in the genes. Take two people, A and B. They both eat the same amount, but A is fat while B is thin. Nothing A can do can alter this, and however much B eats, he won’t put on any weight. Col clenched his fists under the table. It was such a delusional, self-rewarding opinion, and summed up why he despised overweight people. To them, normal people were just very lucky and should be extremely grateful they were born that way. There was no consideration given to self-discipline. It was fitness and healthy eating that cultivated and preserved a good physique, not fucking fate! What a pathetic excuse to justify a despicable existence eating saturated fat and sitting on your arse. He would love to tell her that if she balanced her diet like him, and worked the food off like him, then she too would be able to look at herself in the mirror without feeling suicidal.
