Fine Lines

Chapter Twenty-Three

I intended to leave the house early the next morning. But I slept late, the result of having lain awake until almost dawn. When I realised what the time was I panicked. I quickly showered and dressed and went downstairs. The shower was a mistake, but although I had had one the night before my body still felt soiled and sweaty. Even so, I might have escaped in time had I not lingered for a cup of coffee. I had no appetite for breakfast, but it seemed unnatural to leave the house without anything. I told myself that ten minutes would make no difference, and had just taken my first sip when the telephone rang.

I did not answer. I knew who it would be, and cursed myself for not leaving sooner. Or at least having the foresight to take the receiver off the hook. I tried to ignore it, hoping the ringing would stop, but the telephone continued to clamour for attention. I picked it up.

“Morning, Donald. Not got you out of bed, have I?” Zeppo said.

“No.”

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

I hated the sound of his voice. “What do you want?”

“My, we are tetchy this morning! I thought you’d be full of the joys of spring. Obviously I was wrong.”

“I asked what you want.”

“Well, a little civility wouldn’t go amiss. But if that’s too much to ask for, I thought I’d pop over and see you. Have a chat. Exchange notes. Settle up.”

“I’m on my way out.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can stay in for a while longer. Don’t you want to talk about last night?”

“It’ll have to wait.”

“Donald, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to avoid me. You’re not, are you?”

“Of course not.”

“Oh, good. Then let’s say I’ll see you in about an hour.”

“I’ve told you, I’m going out.”

“Well, now you’re not,” he said, and hung up.

I was tempted to leave anyway. I had no desire to see or speak to Zeppo, and it would serve him right to have a wasted journey. But I knew I would have to face him sooner or later. I might as well get it over with.

Predictably, he was late. When I let him in he looked even more pleased with himself than usual, if that was possible.

“Who got out of the wrong side of bed this morning?” he asked. I ignored him, leaving him to follow me into the lounge. “Don’t say you’re not talking to me, Donald?”

I turned to face him. “I would appreciate it if we could settle this quickly. You’re late as it is.”

“I’ll consider my wrists smacked.” He went to the drinks table. “Don’t mind, do you? You can have one yourself, if you like.”

“No thank you.”

Despite the fact that I was standing, he sat down, stretching out his legs as he took a drink. “So are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or not? You’ve got a face like a toilet pan.”

“Nothing’s wrong. I’ve simply got a lot to do, and the sooner you leave the sooner I can get on with it.”

“We really are in a shitty mood, aren’t we? If you’re pissed off because I’m late, it was because I took Anna home before I came here. Am I excused now, or do you want a note from my mum?”

“You mean Anna was still at your flat when you called me?”

“Put your eyes back in, Donald. She was under the shower. She didn’t hear. And I didn’t tell her I was coming to see you, so you’ve got nothing to worry about.” He stretched. “Anyway, you should grumble. I was expecting a leisurely morning in bed, but the silly bitch got a sudden attack of the guilts and decided she had to go. I managed to give her a quickie in the shower after I’d called you, but that was all. I think she felt disloyal about enjoying it so much.” He grinned. “That didn’t seem to bother her too much last night, though, did it? What did you think of the show, by the way?”

I did not answer.

“Come on, talk to me. Was it all right or wasn’t it?” I looked away, wishing he were anywhere but with me. He grinned. “Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it? Your big night?” There was mocking concern in his voice.

“You came here to collect the picture. I suggest you do that and then go.”

“Where are your manners, Donald? I didn’t rush you out of my flat last night, did I? Be sociable. I only want to make sure that everything was okay, that’s all. I aim to please. If you’ve any complaints I want to hear them.”

“I haven’t.”

He was enjoying himself. “I’m afraid I don’t believe you. Come on, Donald, tell Uncle Zeppo what’s upset you. I can see something has. I’m sensitive like that.” He waited. I said nothing. “If you won’t tell me what it is, I’ll only have to guess.”

I hated his games. “Nothing. Everything was fine.”

“Ah ah, Donald. You’re telling fibs. Did I forget to do something, is that it? I tried to give you a selection, but I suppose I might have missed something out. If you were expecting something a bit more exotic you should have told me. I don’t mind doing requests.”

“The sketch is on the table. Take it and get out.”

“Donald, Donald, that’s no way to treat someone you’ve just shared a beautiful experience with, is it?” He assumed a look of exaggerated concern. “You’re not jealous, are you? Is that what’s wrong? You didn’t like watching someone else shafting your heart’s desire. Is that it?”

“Do we have to go through this charade?”

He grinned. “Yes, I’m afraid we do. You got what you wanted, and since it’s pretty obvious you didn’t enjoy it, I think it’s only fair to tell me why. After all the trouble I went through I deserve to know that much.” I remained silent. Zeppo sighed. “Okay, since you won’t co-operate, on with the guessing game. Let’s see, if you’re not jealous, what else could it be?”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Only trying to help. If you’re not happy, I’m not happy. So why aren’t you happy?”

I wanted to dent his smug composure. “Why didn’t you tell me your real name was Crispin?”

His grin vanished. “Don’t try and be clever, Donald. It doesn’t suit you.”

“I seem to have touched a nerve.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Then it won’t bother you if I tell everyone what you’re really called?”

“I wouldn’t try and be a smart arse if I were you. You’re in no position to.”

“Really? I don’t see why not.”

He gave a hard little smile. “Because if you piss me off, I’ll punch you in the stomach until you piss blood.” His smile grew less strained. “But we’re getting away from what we were talking about, aren’t we? About why you didn’t enjoy the performance. Come on, Donald, what was the problem? Wasn’t it how you imagined it?” I turned away. “Ah-ha! I think I’ve touched a nerve there, myself, haven’t I?”

I told myself not to give him the satisfaction of responding. His face leered at me. “So actually seeing Anna shafted didn’t fit your sweaty little idea of how it should be, is that it? The event didn’t match the fantasy?” He smirked. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

I could not keep quiet any longer. “You did it deliberately, didn’t you?”

“Did what deliberately?”

“Debased everything! You deliberately set out to spoil it!”

He seemed genuinely surprised. “Spoil it? What are you talking about? How did I spoil anything?”

I knew I was making a mistake, but could not stop. “You made it as obscene as you could! The things you did! All that... that positioning, so I could see everything!”

“I thought that was what you wanted?”

“Not like that! It was disgusting!”

He smirked. “Personally, I thought it was pretty good. And your precious Anna didn’t seem to find it too horrible either.”

“You intended to ruin it for me from the start, didn’t you?”

Zeppo gave an indifferent shrug. “You wanted to watch me fuck Anna, and you did. It’s not my fault if it wasn’t how you imagined.”

“You didn’t have to make it like that!”

“I didn’t make it like anything. That’s what sex is.” His voice was heavy with derision. “What the fuck did you expect? Something like one of your pretty pictures?” He snorted. “Well, it’s not like that. It’s not all set poses in real life. Real people move around. It’s all sweaty and noisy and smelly. You should try it sometime.”

I turned away. Zeppo laughed. “It’s no good looking like that, Donald. It’s true. Here. Smell.”

He pushed himself out of the chair and thrust his fingers under my nose. I jerked my head back and knocked his hand aside, belatedly realising it smelt only of soap and cologne. But I remembered the taint that had been in the air the night before, and with that memory came other, even less welcome images. I quickly thrust them away and turned on him.

“You disgust me!”

Zeppo’s grin turned sour, “I disgust you? Christ, that’s rich! Who the fuck are you to be disgusted by anyone?”

This was exactly the sort of scene I had wanted to avoid. “I can’t see any point in continuing with this,” I said, but Zeppo was not going to be put off.

“No, I bet you can’t,” he jeered. “Mr. Goody-fucking-Two-Shoes Ramsey! You fucking hypocrite. How can you still act self-righteous after what you’ve done? Jesus, you make me sick!”

“The feeling’s mutual, I assure you.”

“Balls! You’re not capable of feeling anything!” His voice was thick with contempt. “You’re a fucking eunuch, Donald! You should have stuck to collecting all those nice, hygienic pictures. They’re much safer than the real thing. They don’t do things you don’t want them to. And you can still tell yourself it’s art, can’t you?” He sneered at me. “You might fool yourself, Donald, but you don’t fool me. You’re just another sad, dirty old man who get his kicks looking at pictures of other people doing what he can’t. Only you’re too much of a coward to admit it.”

His words no longer touched me. “I don’t recall asking for your opinion,” I said, calmly.

“I don’t recall giving a fuck.”

We stared at each other. “If you’ve finished, I won’t keep you. The Cocteau’s over there.”

He went over to the table and picked it up. “I get the frame as well, do I? I am a lucky boy.”

“Not really. It’s ugly and rather tasteless. Like the sketch. I imagine it will suit you perfectly.”

He smiled, relaxed again. “Now, now, Donald. Sticks and stones. Can I at least have a carrier bag? You forgot to gift-wrap it.”

“The arrangement was for the picture. Nothing else.”

“You really are a petty-minded old bastard, aren’t you?” He tucked it under his arm and went into the hallway. I followed him.

“Before you leave, I’d like my cheque back. It will save me the trouble of cancelling it.”

He reached into his pocket. “Slipped my mind.” He crumpled the cheque and threw it on to the floor. I opened the door, not out of politeness, but for the satisfaction of closing it on him.

“Will you be seeing Anna when you get back?” I asked.

He pretended to frown. “Who?”

“In that case I needn’t ask you not to come to the gallery again.”

“I can’t think of anything I’d like less. Except you.” Zeppo went down the steps. “Have a nice life, Donald.”

I shut the door.

I did not go into the gallery until the middle of the week. I telephoned Anna with the excuse that I was ill. It was strange speaking to her. She sounded the same as ever, unchanged. I felt as though she were someone I used to know well, but who I had now lost touch with.

By Wednesday I knew I could no longer put her off from visiting me, and went in. I preferred to face her at work rather than in the intimacy of my home. She was very solicitous. Smotheringly so. It was an effort not to be terse.

“What happened with your friend’s collection?” she asked. “The one who was burgled,” she added, when I looked blank. It took me a moment to realise what she was talking about.

“Oh... it wasn’t as bad as he thought,” I said, vaguely.

“Have the police found anything out yet?”

“No, not yet.”

As soon as I could, I shut myself in the office. Anna seemed to sense my mood and left me alone. But I could not stay there for ever. After a while I went back downstairs, forcing a smile as I reassured her that I was all right. She went back to her work, and I cast surreptitious glances at her as she bent over her desk. She had on a thin vest that did little to disguise her breasts. They hung loosely under it, swinging ponderously as she shifted her weight. Her thighs were flattened on the seat, meaty and ungainly. She wore shorts, and I could see the tightness of cloth at the crotch. I thought of the undignified patch hidden there, and looked away.

When she stood up and crossed the room, I watched as the flesh of her moved. Legs, arms, breasts. There seemed a heavy, bovine quality about her that I wondered how I could have missed before. Suddenly, I could see her mother waiting behind the youthful facade, could detect the sagging fleshiness of the woman she would become. She turned and saw me watching her, and smiled. Her mouth stretched, and I remembered how it had slobbered over Zeppo. It struck me that it was too large for her face. Her lips were too wide, almost rubbery. I smiled back.

The anxiety I had felt about seeing her again faded. I wondered why I should have been so bothered. She was just a girl. Only her persistent intimacy prevented me from withdrawing into my old, now attractive isolation. It was a nuisance, but I was soon able to respond mechanically, without being touched by it. Even her frequent references to Zeppo left me unmoved. Like her, he belonged to the past. And that was something I chose not to dwell on.

“Have you had a postcard from him yet?” she asked one day.

“No.” Then, because I felt obliged to, I added, “Have you?”

She tried to sound casual. “No. I expect he’s been too busy. Or it’ll arrive after he gets back.”

“I expect so.”

Later, she said, “Donald, is everything all right?”

“Of course it is? Why?”

She shrugged. “Oh, I just wondered. You just seem a bit... I don’t know. Distant, lately.”

“Do I? I’m sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“Anything I can help with?”

“No. Thank you.” On impulse, I added, “One or two little financial problems. That’s all.”

She looked worried. “Bad?”

“Well... let’s see what happens, shall we?” I gave a brisk smile, and moved away. I felt a small grain of self-congratulation. I had prepared the ground. Now, if I decided to, I could always take it further. She was only an assistant, after all. There had been others before her. There would be others after.

One day she came up to me with a bright smile on her face. “Guess what? A friend of mine’s started work at the Barbican, and she can get us complimentary tickets for the Russian ballet this Saturday! If you can make it, of course.”

I looked disappointed. “This Saturday? Oh, I’d love to, but I’ve already arranged something.”

“Oh. Oh, well, never mind.” She smiled and shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I just thought you might like to go.”

“Another time, perhaps.”

I waited one more week before I called Charles Dryden.

“Good to hear from you,” he said. “Are you buying or selling?”

“Buying,” I answered.