Fine Lines

Chapter Three

The same night I met Zeppo I had a peculiar dream. Normally I am a heavy and deep sleeper: if I have any dreams, as psychologists insist I must, I do not remember them. But this was extremely vivid. I was in the house I grew up in. I was lying on a sofa, and I presume I was a child, since everything in the room was much larger than it should be. A fire was burning nearby, and I felt warm and comfortable. My mother was sitting with her back to me, brushing her hair in front of a mirror, and I lay there, peaceful and secure, watching it catch the glow from the fire with each stroke.

That was all. Or at least as much as I could remember. Why I should remember any of it at all I had no idea. There was nothing about it that seemed exceptional. But the memory of it stayed with me after I had shaved and breakfasted, and was still on my mind as I drove to the gallery.

I put my distraction down to that and my meeting with Zeppo the previous night. The traffic was moving slowly as I came into the centre of London, the usual crammed lanes of early morning vehicles. I approached a junction and passed through the traffic lights, and suddenly there was a crunching jolt.

I was rocked violently as the car came to a sudden stop. A Range Rover had run into my left wing. I barely had time to recover from the shock when the cars waiting behind me began blaring their horns. I glared up at the other driver, a woman, about to gesture for her to pull away and wait for me, when she did the same, gesticulating imperiously before backing her car off mine. The discrepancy in heights had prevented the bumpers from locking, and they separated with only a slight jar. She edged around in front of me and, once clear of the junction, pulled into the side.

I had stalled on the impact, and as I tried to restart the engine I found my hands were shaking. The clamour of car horns only made matters worse, and it took three attempts before the ignition caught.

A rasping, scraping noise came from my left wing as I pulled to the kerb behind the Range Rover. I put on the hand brake and climbed angrily out. I was just formulating the first heated phrase when the woman slammed out of her car and preempted me.

“Are you blind? The bloody lights were on red!”

I was taken aback by her accusation. I had not expected her to have the gall to accuse me of being in the wrong. “Yours may have been. Mine were on green.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’d been waiting for them to turn. You went straight through!” She looked at the side of her car. “Oh, just look at this! I’ve only just got it back from the garage, and now you’ve broken the bloody sidelight!”

“I’ve broken it?” I was almost speechless. “You were the one who ran into me!” I bent to examine the damage to my own car. The front of the left wing was dented down to the wheel arch which was buckled against the tyre at one point. By comparison the Range Rover was hardly scratched.

“I want your number,” the woman was saying. “Idiots like you shouldn’t be allowed on the road. What if I’d had a child with her?”

“Hopefully it would have told you not to go through a red light!”

“Right!” She turned suddenly to the people who were walking past on the pavement. “Excuse me, did any of you see this man run into me?” Faces turned and stared. One or two people slowed, although none stopped. My cheeks burned. She appealed to an elderly man who was lingering more than the rest. “Did you see what happened? This man just ran through the lights and hit me as I was pulling out. I need a witness.”

“I only saw you pull in. Didn’t see him hit you.” This was ridiculous. “I didn’t hit her! She hit me!” I looked around for a witness of my own. The traffic was flowing past steadily. The cars that had been behind me had disappeared.

“But didn’t you see what actually happened?” the woman persisted. The man had slowed to a stop. He shook his head doubtfully. Other people passed by with curious stares.

“He’s already said he hasn’t,” I said.

“I’m not speaking to you, I’m speaking to him. Did you see him go through the red light? You must have done if you were walking past.”

The man shook his head and began to edge away. “No. No. Sorry.”

“Just a minute,” the woman called after him, but he had turned his back and increased his pace, giving one last shake of his head to exempt himself from further involvement. “Oh, bloody typical!” She faced me again. “All right, give me the name of your insurance company. I’m not going to stand here arguing with you. I’ll have your name and address, too. We’ll let them sort it.”

She flounced back to her car and rummaged in the dashboard. “Here.” She scribbled her details on a piece of paper and handed it to me. I did likewise. “I just hope you have the decency to admit it was your fault after all this.”

“I could say the same to I began, but she was not listening. The paper was snatched out of my hand.

“And on top of it all, now I’m bloody late,” she snapped, climbing back into her car and slamming the door. I stepped back as she quickly cut into the traffic, forcing another car to stop to let her in. She ignored his irate rebuke on the horn and in seconds had disappeared among the stream of vehicles.

I went back to my car to reassess the damage. It was obvious even to me that it was not going anywhere. Fuming, I left a note in the windscreen for the benefit of traffic wardens, and went to a telephone to arrange for my garage to pick it up. Then I went to the pavement edge to hail a taxi.

Typically, the only ones I saw were occupied. I waited ten minutes, my mood deteriorating with each second, until I finally turned away in disgust. A sign told me the underground was nearby. I headed towards it.

I had not taken the tube in years. I could remember it being busy, but I was not prepared for the mayhem that greeted me at the bottom of the escalators. I was pushed from behind and jostled from the front as I tried to guess which way to go. Everyone else seemed sure of themselves except me. I looked around for someone to ask, but could see only the countless moving heads of other commuters. The crowds parted and flowed around me as I stood indecisively. I saw a map on the wall and made my way over, finally deciphering that I needed to be on another line. I joined the flood of people heading in that direction and let myself be carried along a tiled, echoing tunnel to the sudden space of a concrete platform.

Compared with the tunnels, it was relatively empty. But it soon began to fill up. I had started near the front of the platform. Now I found myself squeezed steadily back until a press of people stood between me and the edge. I found myself wedged between a West Indian woman with a suitcase, and a tall, shaven-headed youth in a leather jacket.

A sudden rush of air preceded the appearance of the train. It pulled to a halt, and immediately its doors had opened the crowd on the platform began pushing against the people getting off. The mechanical instruction to “Mind the Gap” was chanted over the top of the chaos. I felt panic-stricken as I struggled towards the nearest door without seeming to make any progress. Then, just as I thought I would not make it in time, a sudden surge practically lifted me into the train. A moment later the doors hissed shut, stopped, opened, shut again, and then the train lurched forward and picked up speed.

I had been deposited in the walkway between the doors. I had thought the platform was crowded, but now strangers pressed against me from all sides, impassively intimate. The train gave a sudden jolt, and I was thrown against a young woman at my side. I stammered a low apology and quickly looked away from her cold stare. Bright light outside the windows announced that we had come to the next station on the line. The train halted and I was nearly pushed off as people rushed for the platform. The corresponding influx of new passengers forced me further inside until I was jammed into the middle of the compartment with no room to turn or breathe. The air was crammed with thick, unpleasant odours. Diesel, hair and sweat. I grabbed for a handhold as the train lurched into motion once again. The blackness of the tunnel had only just engulfed us when it slowed, chugged forward grudgingly, and stopped.

No one seemed to notice. The darkness outside the window was complete. Inside, people sat or stood indifferently. I tried to mimic them, but the situation was alien to me. I felt smothered and isolated. When the train jerked forward once more, my heart jerked with it. It eased slowly through the tunnel, slowing several times but mercifully not actually stopping again. Then there were lights and faces outside the windows. The doors opened, and without knowing which station it was I blundered my way out onto the platform.

I gulped in the cold, diesel-smelling air, hardly noticing the knocks from the people passing. Above me was a sign saying “Exit’, and I headed for it blindly, now moving with as much purpose as anyone else. I stumbled over a busker’s open guitar case, ignoring his shouted insult as I sighted the final escalator. I emerged into grey daylight and saw the line of taxi cabs waiting outside the station with vast relief. I climbed into one, gave my destination, and sank back into the seat. The interior was warm, quiet, and blessedly empty. I gazed out of the window at a world that was once more comfortably distanced. It seemed like the best drive of my life.

When I arrived Anna had already opened the gallery. “I was just starting to get worried,” she said as I walked in. I instantly felt that it had all been worth it. “I wondered where you were. Are you all right? You look shaky.”

Her concern was balm for the morning’s wounds. I lowered myself into a chair and closed my eyes. “I had a little accident on the way in,” I said, and told her what had happened. It sounded much better in the telling than it had seemed at the time, and my description of the idiot woman in the Range Rover actually had Anna laughing. I warmed to the story so much that I almost forgot what else I had to tell her.

“Oh, by the way,” I said, before she could walk away. “I’m having a cocktail party next Saturday. I hope you and Marty will be able to come.”

The party had been Zeppo’s idea. I had thought it was a good one, until I learned he meant I should hold it myself.

“But I’ve never had a party,” I had objected, appalled at the thought.

He had smiled. “Well, now’s your chance.”

The invasion began on Saturday afternoon with the arrival of the caterers. Cartons of cutlery, crockery and glasses littered the floor. My home was soon bustling with strangers. I fretted about breakages, stains, and theft, and tried to keep an eye on everything that was going on. By the time the first guests came my nerves were in shreds. I hated the thought of countless people trampling through my home, making it as public as any bar. But as more people began to appear, and the onus of conversation was taken from me, I began to calm down a little. When Anna and Marty arrived the entire downstairs was already quite full. Even more surprisingly, everyone seemed to be having a good time. As far as I could see, almost every person I had invited had come.

Except one.

My impatience turned to anxiety. If Zeppo failed to show up, then the entire exercise was a complete waste of time. My smile became increasingly strained. I could not even bear to talk with Anna and Marty for long. It was an effort not to constantly glance at my watch, and I had almost decided to telephone him when the doorbell rang.

I went to answer it, willing it to be him. It was.

“Zeppo! Glad you could make it!” I hoped he would notice the barb in my voice. He only grinned.

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world. This is Angie.”

The girl was obviously some sort of model, blonde and flamboyantly beautiful. I said hello and stood back to let them in. She took off her coat and held it out for me. Underneath she wore a very short, very tight red dress that clung to her undeniably spectacular body. She was another of Zeppo’s suggestions. I had not been enthusiastic. Now, seeing her, I felt even less so.

“Let me get you both a drink,” I said. Zeppo caught my look.

“I’ll come with you. Won’t be long, Angie.”

We left her in the lounge and went to the drinks table. “Where have you been?” I demanded, keeping my voice low. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

He seemed unconcerned. “Blame Angie. I didn’t think we were going to make it at all. She wouldn’t leave the house until I’d fucked her.” I almost dropped the bottle I was holding. Zeppo laughed. “Don’t worry. We both showered afterwards.”

I tried not to let my distaste show. “I hope neither of you are too tired to make a further effort.”

“Oh, no. We’re both raring to go.”

I looked over to where the girl was standing. Her pose was self-conscious and displaying. “Are you sure she’s suitable?” I asked, doubtfully.

“Angie? Christ, I should say so. Her nickname’s Martini. You know, anytime, anyplace, anywhere. Anybody.”

“You don’t think she might be... well, a little too obvious, do you?”

He popped a canapé into his mouth. “I’m sorry, Donald, but I couldn’t find a Girl Guide at such short notice. Come on, relax. I bet there’s not a man in the place who’s not panting at the sight of her. Present company excepted, of course.”

I wondered if he was drunk. But he seemed sober enough. I ignored the jibe. “What exactly did you tell her?”

“Just that we’d got to go to a boring party. I bet her she couldn’t get off with whoever I picked out. To give us more chance I said she could have a week to do it in, so long as she makes a start tonight.”

“And she agreed?”

“Oh yeah. Provided I didn’t pick anyone who was either gay or too old to get it up.”

“Good God.” I looked at the girl again. Two men were already talking to her. “What on earth did you bet her?”

“Whoever loses has to be the other one’s slave for a day. They have to do whatever the other wants.” A rather unpleasant smile touched his lips. “I’ve already got one or two ideas if she loses.” He shrugged. “But she’d still have done it if it had only been for a packet of crisps. Angle’s game for anything. Now why don’t you pour me a drink like you said, and point the happy couple out for me.”

I glanced around to check where Anna and Marty were. “They’re over by the far wall to your left. What would you like to drink?”

“A Manhattan. Same for Angie, since you forgot to ask her.” He glanced over. “The one with dark hair and the black dress?”

“Yes.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Not bad. I see what you mean about the boyfriend. No wonder you’re pissed off.”

“Quite.”

“He must have a big cock.” I slopped the vermouth on to the table. Zeppo grinned. “Sorry.”

I handed him the drinks, impassively mopping up the spilt liquid. “I don’t really think that sort of talk is appropriate, do you?” I said. “I trust you’ll be able to restrain yourself when you talk to Anna.”

A smirk played around his mouth. “I’ll be a perfect gentleman, don’t worry.”

In view of his strange behaviour that was easier said than done. “When do you intend to start?”

He shrugged. “No time like the present. I’ll get Angie away from those two before she drags them into the bedroom, and we can all go over.”

Trying to ignore my misgivings, I led the way to where Anna and Marty were talking with a middle-aged woman, an acquaintance of mine who ran an interior design business.

“I don’t think any of you have met Angie and Zeppo,” I said. I performed the introductions, then turned to Marty. “There’s someone over here you might like to meet. A fellow countryman of yours.”

“Oh... yes, okay.” He gave Anna a quick look as I guided him away, pretending not to notice his lack of enthusiasm.

“I’m sure you’ll enjoy talking to him,” I said, steering him towards the other American, a man I hardly knew, and who I had invited expressly for that purpose. I left them together and wandered off, catching Zeppo’s eye and giving a brief nod. Shortly afterwards I saw the girl he had brought detach herself and go to the drinks table. But instead of returning to Zeppo, she strolled over to where Marty was listening with a bored expression to the older man. He seemed pleased at the interruption.

I poured myself another drink and tried to relax. Then I noticed that the designer was still talking to Anna and Zeppo. I went over.

“My dear Miriam, I almost forgot! You must come and have a look at my new acquisition. I bought it for purely commercial reasons, and I would love your opinion. Personally, I think it’s awful, so there’s a good chance you’ll like it.”

She laughed. “In that case you’re probably right.”

I explained to Anna and Zeppo. “We have a long-standing argument over what qualifies as art and what’s simply design, and I’ve been dying to fuel the fire with this particular monstrosity for ages.”

“Donald, you’re just a nineteenth-century throwback,” Miriam said. “Sometimes I despair of you.”

“Then there’s hope for me yet. But I doubt even you can defend this abomination. I can’t wait to sell it, to be honest. I only kept it here to show you.” I took her arm and eased her away. The painting was in another room. As we went out I looked back. Anna was laughing at something Zeppo had said. At the other side Marty and the girl seemed deep in conversation. I took both as hopeful signs and tried not to speculate any further.

Zeppo and the girl left shortly after midnight. I did not have a chance to speak to him privately again, but as far as I could tell there was no repetition of the strange behaviour he had exhibited earlier. At least, both he and the girl spent considerable time alone with their prospective if ignorant partners, which was encouraging.

“I’ll phone you tomorrow,” he said when I walked them to the door. I concealed my impatience and said goodnight.

Back inside, Anna and Marty were also getting ready to go. I had to leave them in the hallway while I attended to a glass of red wine one oaf had knocked over. Neither of them noticed when I returned. Marty was standing behind Anna, helping her with her coat, and as she shrugged it on he leaned forward and gently kissed the nape of her neck. She smiled without turning around, bending her head slightly. The moment was spontaneous and private, and I could not bear to watch it. Clearing my throat, I quickly walked towards them.

“Ready?” I said, brightly. “Well, thank you both for coming.”

They had moved apart when they heard me. Anna smiled. “Thanks for inviting us. We’ve really enjoyed it.” Marty fiddled with his glasses and murmured in agreement.

I could not resist probing. “I’m sorry I’ve hardly had a chance to speak to either of you all evening. I hope you managed to find someone interesting to talk to. I shouldn’t say it, but I know some of the guests were a little dull, even if they are friends of mine.”

“No, it’s been lovely. Really.”

They were clearly waiting to leave. I said goodnight and let them go. As I closed the door I felt a sense of anticlimax. The introductions had been made, and now all I could do was wait to hear from Zeppo. Frustration mingled with the now familiar hollowness the thought of Anna going home with Marty gave me. I stood in the hallway until both had faded to a manageable level, and then went back to the remaining guests. About a dozen still remained. I gave them another half-hour and then began to usher them out.

I no longer had any interest in being a host.

I tried unsuccessfully to contact Zeppo all morning, but there was no reply. Even so, when he finally telephoned me in the afternoon, I was too eager to hear what he had to say to complain.

He sounded pleased with himself. “There’s good news and bad news. The bad is that Angie drew a blank with Mr. Universe.”

“You mean Marty?”

“That was the idea, wasn’t it?”

Disappointment welled up in me. “But I thought you said she was going to try for a week. Isn’t she giving up rather easily?”

“You don’t know Angie. If she thinks there’s any chance at all, she doesn’t give up until she’s torn their trousers off. So if she reckons it’s no go, then it must be.”

“Perhaps she made the wrong approach.”

“Not Angie. Believe me, Donald, she knows what she’s doing. He just didn’t want to know. Very polite, and all that, but he still blanked her out. She was pretty pissed off about it. She’s not used to being turned down, let alone by a geek like him. She thinks he must be either gay or some kind of freak.”

There was an even more depressing prospect. I remembered the way Marty had kissed Anna’s neck. “Perhaps he’s just loyal to Anna.”

“That’s what I meant by freak. He must be even more of a sap than he looks to turn down something like that. I know Anna’s not bad, but she’s hardly in Angie’s league.”

I agreed wholeheartedly, but not in the way Zeppo meant. I had found the other girl’s beauty brash and glittering; entirely external. Anna’s was something far finer.

“You said there was good news as well.”

A low chuckle came over the line. “The good news is that Angie makes a great slave.”

“She’s not there, is she?”

“Calm down, Donald. She’s in another room. She can’t hear.”

I tried to hold down my irritation. “Is that all you meant by “good news”?”

“Now don’t get agitated.”

“Just tell me what happened between you and Anna.”

“Nothing actually happened. I was only testing the ground. But she was putting out the right sort of signals.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. The only snag is the boyfriend. If not for him I would’ve made a move last night. As it is, I’ll just have to ease my way in a bit more first.”

“But you don’t think you’ll have too much difficulty?”

He laughed. “Donald, look at him, and look at me. There’s your answer.”

His confidence was reassuring, if a little irksome. “How long do you think it will take?”

“I’ve already told you it’s not the sort of thing you can set to a timetable. I’ll just have to see how it goes. There’s no rush, is there?”

I hesitated. He had to know sooner or later. “Actually, there is.” I told him about America.

I heard him swear. “Why didn’t you tell me before, for Christ’s sake?”

I was taken aback by his tone. “I only just found out myself,” I said, annoyed by my own defensiveness. “But if it’s not for two months, I can’t see that it matters. It should still give you plenty of time, surely.”

“That’s not the fucking point!” He stopped. When he spoke again his voice was more controlled. “I just don’t like having things sprung on me. Is there anything else I should know?”

There was. But he did not need to know it just then. Particularly not if he was going to take that attitude. “No. Do you think you’ll have enough time?”

I heard him breathe a long sigh. “Yeah. I expect so. But I like to know exactly where I stand. So in future, no secrets, all right?”

“Of course.” I could hear what sounded like a dog barking in the background.

“Hang on.” Something was put over the receiver. The line became muffled. “Sorry about that,” he said, a moment later. There was a laugh in his voice. “Where were we?”

“I was about to ask what you propose to do next?” The laugh became more pronounced. “Look, I’ve got to go now. I’ll call you next week. Don’t worry. Once I’ve got her softened up she’ll not want to look at the wimp she’s going out with.”

He hung up before I could say anything. I put the receiver down with mixed feelings. I was beginning to have my doubts about Zeppo. But I could not help but share his optimism.