Fine Lines

Chapter Five

The dinner party was a disaster. Miriam’s guests seemed to have been selected with the same sense of foolhardy experimentation that she had used to decorate her house. It was a beautiful old Victorian villa that had been spoilt by the combination of period features and a more severe, modernistic style. Bauhaus chairs rubbed shoulders with panelled doors, and splashes of vivid, designer art hung below the original delicate wall and ceiling mouldings. It was a mish-mash that might pass for stylish in some circles, but which grated on my nerves.

The guests themselves were similarly ill-assorted. One of them, a crop-haired, overweight woman, was especially offensive. She appeared hostile to the world in general, and men in particular. It was quickly apparent that she had taken a strong exception to Zeppo.

“And what do you do?” she demanded, almost as soon as they had been introduced.

“I’m a model.”

“A model?” The woman spat the word out with distaste. She looked at Zeppo as though her worst suspicions had been confirmed. “Is that an artist’s model, or the other kind?”

“Well, I don’t do life classes, so it must be the other kind.” He gazed back at her with an amused expression. It was not calculated to improve matters.

“You’re a fashion model, then.” It was an accusation.

“More photographic, really.”

“What’s the difference?”

A trace of condescension entered Zeppo’s voice. “Well, I don’t do catwalk stuff. I do shoots for magazines. Advertising. That sort of thing.”

The woman appeared unimpressed by the distinction. “Doesn’t it bother you at all?”

Zeppo looked puzzled. “Why should it bother me?”

“Because the entire concept is sick. How can you justify doing something which is so totally non-productive?”

I saw Miriam glance over from the far side of the room, a worried expression on her face. But Zeppo only gave the other woman a dazzling smile. “It pays well. Excuse me.” He brushed past her and came to where I was standing, alone for the moment. “Keep the fucking dyke away from me.”

For once I found his profanity almost understandable. “She does seem to have taken a dislike to you, doesn’t she?”

“Because I’m a man, and good-looking, and she’ll never be either.” He scanned the room and quickly turned his back on it. “Jesus, what a bunch of losers. I hope you realise what a sacrifice I’m making. I could be somewhere having a good time. Christ knows why I’m here.”

“To quote you, because it pays well.”

He snorted. “I just hope Miss Muffin over there leaves me alone.”

It was a vain hope. I had planned to sit near Anna, Marty, and Zeppo, but Miriam, with a designer’s love of arranging things, had her own ideas. She seated everyone apart from friends and partners, obviously with the intention of forcing conversation. I was relieved that, either accidentally or by design, she put Zeppo and the crop-haired woman at opposite ends of the table. Unfortunately, it made no difference.

The woman waited only until the first course had been served before tackling him again. “So you don’t think that modelling is basically immoral, then?”

Her voice cut across several other people and conversations, but she seemed unconcerned about this breach of etiquette. Zeppo leisurely finished chewing and took a drink of wine before answering.

“No more than a lot of other things.” He smiled around the table. “I know one or two models who are, though.”

The woman refused to either lighten up or be drawn. “I’m not talking about individuals, I’m talking about the profession as a whole. If you can call it that. Doesn’t it worry you that you’re helping to foster false ideas of sexuality every time your picture appears in a magazine?”

“I’m not helping foster anything. People pay me to do a job, and I do it. If other people decide to take offence about it, that’s up to them. You can’t please everyone.”

“That’s just a cop-out. You can’t be given vast amounts of money without accepting responsibility for what you do.”

Zeppo smiled deprecatingly. “Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it a “vast” amount of money.”

“It’s more than a factory worker or a coal-miner will get for what they do. How much exactly are you paid to have your photo taken?”

Zeppo’s smile had become set. The two of them were now the focal point of the table, it varies.”

“Yes, but in general how much? You must have a basic union rate, or something, mustn’t you?”

“Perhaps Zeppo doesn’t want to discuss his finances,” Miriam said, giving the other woman a shut-up look. She did not notice.

“I don’t see why not. I don’t mind anyone asking me how much I’m paid.”

“And what do you do?” asked Zeppo.

“I’m a poet.” She spoke with a pride that challenged criticism.

“Really? What do you write about?” His tone was one of polite enquiry. But I had learnt enough in the past few weeks not to trust it.

“Truth. I write about the hypocrisy of society, and the sadistic repression of women by a male-dominated world.” It was a gauntlet thrown. No one else spoke.

Zeppo cocked an eyebrow. “Oh.” Everyone waited, but he seemed content with that response.

“Actually, I’ve read some of Jessica’s stuff. It’s very good,” Miriam said into the silence.

“Have you had anything published?” Anna asked. The crop-haired woman looked away from Zeppo reluctantly.

“I’ve had one volume published, and I’m working on another now.”

“Do you have much of a following?” asked another woman.

“It’s growing. But most people don’t like to face up to reality.”

“Surely though, that’s just what you perceive as reality,” a bearded man interposed. She dismissed him without a glance.

“Truth’s truth. But people are too conditioned by the money-orientated patriarchy to want to listen to it.

“People like me, you mean?” Zeppo said, smiling. She seized on the question.

“Yes, like you! It’s the attitude of take-the-money-and-run. Money is all, and be damned to whatever harm you do in the process! Tell me what use modelling is? What actual good does it do anyone?”

“It’s done me quite a lot.”

“Exactly!” She stabbed her finger at him, unaware of the half-suppressed smirks around the table. “A typically male attitude. Self. The self is all!”

“What about all the girl models? Do they have a typically male attitude as well?”

“They’re victims of social conditioning. They’re just letting themselves be exploited.”

“So when I get paid to lie on a beach, I’m being selfish, but when a girl does it, she’s being exploited?”

“You can be as facetious as you like. You’re just proving my point about avoiding the truth.”

Zeppo’s smile was indulgent. “But what gives you the right to tell people what the “truth” is?”

She glared at him defiantly. “Someone has to do it.”

“That’s how I feel about modelling.” He grinned. “Thank God it’s me.”

The crop-haired woman’s indignant answer was lost in the sudden, relieved laughter. “I think we’re ready for the next course,” Miriam said, hurriedly. “Jessica, do you think you could help me?”

Red-faced, the other woman rose and followed her into the kitchen. Presumably either a warning or entreaty was made, because for the rest of the evening she studiously ignored Zeppo. That made the meal a little more pleasant, although not much. Mercifully, it did not go on for too long. It was a relief for everyone when it was over.

“What a fucking waste of time that was,” Zeppo said, as we prepared to leave. Only I was within earshot. “I must have said all of three words to Anna.”

“It’s still quite early. Perhaps I broke off as Anna and Marty joined us to say that the taxi we were sharing had arrived.

Together we said goodnight to Miriam and the few remaining guests and went outside.

“I can’t pretend I’m sorry that’s over,” I said, as we drove away. Zeppo and I were in the pull-down seats, facing Anna and Marty. “I’m afraid Miriam’s taste in friends is no better than her taste in art.”

Anna smiled. “I don’t think Jessica liked Zeppo, did she?”

He smiled back. “Well, I don’t think I’ll be putting her on my Christmas-card list either.”

I looked at my watch. “It’s still only early. Would anyone like a nightcap?”

Zeppo took the hint. “Well, if anyone’s interested, I’m a member of a private club not too far away. It’s open till late. We could go there, if you’d like.”

I did not like. I could well imagine the sort of club Zeppo would belong to. But I feigned enthusiasm. “That sounds like a good idea to me.” I looked across to Anna and Marty. “Shall we?”

She glanced at him. He had been quiet all evening. I thought he seemed a little intimidated by Zeppo. I took a petty satisfaction from the idea. “Well...” he began.

“Come on, let’s go,” Zeppo coaxed, looking from him to Anna. “We deserve a drink after that. Just one, then you can get a taxi from there. It’s practically on the way. Okay?”

Without waiting for a reply he turned and gave the driver fresh instructions. Marty looked at him, then at Anna. They exchanged a smile. It excluded everyone else. I saw Marty put his hand on Anna’s knee and give it a little squeeze. When Zeppo turned around again, they were sitting as before.

“All set. We’ll be there in five minutes,” Zeppo said. Marty readjusted his glasses.

The club was not quite as bad as I feared. I had been expecting a nightclub, and was relieved when there were neither flashing lights nor loud music. But it was still very much in keeping with the sort of place I imagined Zeppo to frequent. Garish, brash, and superficial. It was full of glittering young people, liberally decorated with enough mirrors to satisfy even the most demanding narcissistic appetite. I felt utterly out of place, and Marty looked it, whether he felt it or not. Zeppo, however, was obviously very much at home.

“Hey, there’s some friends of mine,” he said, and set off towards a crowded table. We were left to follow.

“Have you been here before?” I asked Anna as we made our way over.

“No. I didn’t even know it existed.” She lowered her voice. “God, is everyone here a model?”

“I’m not.” Marty murmured. “I don’t think Donald is, either. Do you think they’ll serve us?”

Anna stared as a striking black girl in a bikini top and miniskirt went past. “I feel positively drab.”

“You’ve no need to,” I said. “You put most of these girls to shame.” I meant it. Their sharp, characterless looks left me untouched.

Zeppo had already arranged seats for us at the table. “Everyone, this is Anna, Donald, and Marty.” He ran through a list of names I immediately forgot. Marty and I received dismissive smiles and nods: Anna merited more attention.

“I’ll get some drinks,” Zeppo said, and disappeared without asking what we wanted. The people at the table continued their animated, slightly hysterical conversation as though we weren’t there. Only when Zeppo returned did we exist for them again.

“The drinks are on their way.” He suddenly seemed bristling with energy. “God, we’ve just been to the worst dinner party in the world,” he announced. The group listened deferentially as he gave an exaggerated account of our ordeal. It was greeted with wild shrieks of laughter. “Honest, I thought she was going to go for me over the mange-tout!”

The drinks arrived. I found myself presented with a Mexican beer. “How come you know Zeppo?” a bronzed young man asked Anna.

“Through Donald.” She indicated me. “I haven’t really known him very long, though.”

The young man showed no interest in how long I had known him. He was about to ask Anna something else when Zeppo cut in. “Donald’s an amazingly rich art dealer.” They looked at me rather more appreciatively. “Anna’s lucky enough to work for him. And Marty here’s an anthropologist.”

Marty looked embarrassed as attention switched to him, pinning him like an insect under a microscope. He studied his untouched drink.

“Anthropology? Oh, wow, that must be really interesting.” A vacuously pretty girl stared at him wide-eyed. Her hair was bleached white and cut close to her scalp, contrasting her thick dark eyebrows. “I’ve always been fascinated by that sort of stuff. You know, body-language and things like that.”

A young man with dreadlocks looked at the others. “Can you believe this?”

“She reads one book and she thinks she’s an intellectual,” a blond boy said.

She lightly punched his arm. “Oh, piss off. You don’t know anything.”

“Yes I do. I know what body language is.”

“What is it, then?”

“It’s this.” He held up his third finger at her. Everyone laughed. “There you go. Body language. Easy.” The girl hit him again.

“So is that what anthropology is, then? Body language?” one of the others asked. Marty adjusted his glasses.

“Well, that’s part of it. But there’s a bit more to it than that. It’s basically the study of Man.” There were giggles from around the table.

“That explains why Cindy knows so much about it,” another boy said. “She’s done plenty of research in that department.”

The blonde girl pulled a face at him. “Why is everyone picking on me tonight?”

“Because it’s easy.”

Zeppo had been listening. Now he turned to Marty, a faintly condescending smile on his face. “Are you studying us now?”

Marty shook his head. “You needn’t worry. I don’t do it all the time.”

“Isn’t it difficult not to? I mean, you’re always surrounded by what you study, aren’t you? How can you switch off?”

Marty shrugged. “The same as anyone, I suppose.”

“Yes, but it must be great to be able to know if someone’s lying by the way he scratches his nose, or something.” Zeppo’s mockery was dangerously obvious.

“Well, it’s not quite as simple as that.”

“No?”

“No.” Marty’s hand went to his glasses, touched them, came away again. “Nose-scratching can be an indication that someone’s lying, or nervous. Then again, they might just have an itchy nose. It’s not an exact science.”

“So you don’t know what I’m thinking by the way I’m sitting,” said the blonde girl. She was leaning with her elbow on the table, chin on hand, gazing at him intently. She was also showing a considerable amount of cleavage. Marty glanced across and hastily looked away. “Ah... no.”

Zeppo’s smile was perilously close to being a smirk. “Oh, I bet you’re just being modest,” he said. “I can’t believe you can’t tell more than that. What about me, for instance? What would you say my “behaviour” tells you?”

Marty looked uncomfortable. “I really don’t...”

“Oh, come on. You must be able to hazard a guess after all the years of work you’ve done.”

There were sounds of encouragement from around the table. Anna was looking at Marty a little anxiously. I hoped Zeppo was not being too heavy handed. Marty gave a reluctant shrug.

“Okay, if you really want me to.” Zeppo smiled superciliously. Marty studied him and took a deep breath.

“Well, the way you’re leaning forward, legs apart, facing me directly, suggests that you’re feeling confident. Possibly even confrontational. You’ve been displaying signs of aggression for a while now, so I’d say you either feel threatened or want to assert your dominance over the other males in the group. If you were a gorilla you’d probably be beating your chest and roaring.”

Zeppo shifted slightly in his seat. “Ah, now you’re starting to feel a bit more uncomfortable,” Marty went on. “You’re drawing back slightly, moving your legs together, which suggests that you no longer feel quite so sure of yourself — and now you’re leaning forward again, displaying more aggression characteristics, so perhaps you didn’t like what I said. Now you’re frozen and tense, which could mean either that you’re nervous or that you’re ready for sudden movement. And by the way your jaw muscles are bunching I’d say it’s probably the latter, so I’d better stop before I really piss you off and get my teeth knocked out.”

No one spoke when he had finished. The blonde girl stirred first. “Wow, that’s amazing!”

The spell was broken. There was a ripple of laughter, and everyone began to move again.

“He’s got you sussed, Zepp,” the boy with dreadlocks said. Zeppo’s mouth was set in a glassy smile. His cheek muscles were still working, I noticed.

“That’s really brilliant! You can tell all that just by looking at someone?” The blonde girl was plainly impressed.

Marty’s hand went to his glasses again. He glanced at Anna, a half-smile on his face. “No, not really. I was just making it up.”

There was a moment’s stunned silence. Then everyone burst out laughing.

“So all that was just bullshit? Honestly?” asked the blond boy. Marty nodded.

“Complete bullshit.” He smiled across at Zeppo. “Wasn’t it?”

Zeppo smiled tightly back at him. “Yes.” He relaxed and grinned. “Serves me right for being pushy.” I wondered if anyone else could see how angry he was. I was so pleased I took a drink of beer before I remembered what it was. Marty had done himself no favours. Zeppo was not the sort to take humiliation lightly. Now he had a grudge to help motivate him. As the conversation ran on, centring now on Marty, Zeppo stood up and went towards the toilet. I followed him.

“If I were you, I would be inclined to keep the contest purely physical in future,” I murmured as we went in.

“Oh, piss off,” he said, and locked himself in a cubicle.