Remarkably, given Howard's preoccupation with
the problem of how to deal with the despicable
Steve, his attention had been captivated by
the movie. It portrayed a politician's disastrous
affair with a call girl. Throughout he willingly
fantasised that it was
he who was seducing
the call girl. With an equal mental dexterity
he substituted the call girl with Gallie. It
was not that he thought of Gallie as a tart,
on the contrary, rather he just enjoyed his
imagined seduction. For him the film was an
interactive scene setter that helped shape his
fantasy with a ready made, unfolding story.
The film was over and the students walked down
the black, musty stairs towards the exit. Karen
clasped Steve's hand tightly. The latter seemed
strangely distracted.
'
Sodom and Gomorrah! Not
one car
chase or shootout in the whole bleeding film,'
lambasted Greg.
'There
was an orgy though,' said Howard.
'Do we have those at our house?'
'Yeah, orgies of female whinging every time
you piss on the bleeding seat.'
Ahead of them Gallie turned and said, 'Ahhhh!
We
would have an orgy but Greg would
much prefer to watch
Sportsnight or go
down the boozer.'
'The heinous, lying cow! I would not sooner
watch bleeding
Sportsnight at all! Not
unless Redater were playing.'
'Why
don't we have an orgy?' said Gallie.
Howard's loins filled with passion just at the
merest thought that she
might not be
joking.
Greg affected the air of one who wished to be
elsewhere.
'Right, lets hit the Reddie.'
Greg expressed the suggestion with such finality
that the company unthinkingly assented and embarked
on the short stroll to the suggested pub. After
the warm, dry, stuffy air in the cinema, the
night chill hit them like a wall. They blended
in with the outpouring of the movie crowd into
the night-soaked streets. The amber lights
from the street lamps bathed the city centre,
giving it a warm, homely glow that contrasted
with the icy air. Karen and Gallie discussed
the surrounding shops as they passed by, especially
the clothes shops. These were darkened, populated
solely by silent clothes-horse-guardians that
stared unblinkingly from behind the windows.
The façade of the Redater arms consisted of
white cement punctuated with windows of smoky
panes crisscrossed with lead. They passed through
the low front door and pressed into the crowded
rumble within. After a struggle, the drinks
were handed round. There was nowhere to sit.
They drank their ale standing, obviously relishing
the first mouthful of the brew, apart from Steve
who sniffed cautiously at his pint of low-alcohol.
Karen had previously explained to Howard that
Steve pitied people who, as he saw it, drank
because they needed the kick of the alcohol
before they could enjoy themselves. Steve smoked
neither tobacco nor weed and neither alcohol
nor caffeine passed his lips. He ate only 'sensible'
food and was not intent on compromising his
longevity. Greg meanwhile smoked and drank
and crowed merrily of past conquests of female
beds. In the face of Steve's derision, Greg
was unflappable in his verve for unhealthy vices.
Howard and Dominic were no health-freak idols
either, and the girls equally happily poisoned
themselves with guilt-gilded pleasure. Gallie
bemoaned her addictive penchant for delicious
(unhealthy) food, her involuntary worship of
coffee and her habit of failing to quit smoking.
Karen never tired of boasting that her beloved
Steve possessed a rather sculptured body shape.
This was another side effect of Steve's pursuit
of staying alive, or so she said. He pumped
iron like a stick-chasing hound. And while
he wasn't possessed of a body builder's fabrication,
he did possess a lithe aspect. She reminded
her housemates of her favourite pastimes: those
of running her hands over Steve's '
chunky
pecs' and kissing his '
sexy washboard
stomach'. Greg, upon beholding this sentiment,
was curious to learn if she did that 'before
or after feeding him a banana'.
Howard could see that Greg made no secret of
his derision yet his tone was never mean; rather
it exuded an exceedingly mocking kind of teasing.
Steve, in the midst of a churlish temper, pointed
out the obvious flaws of Greg's physique: his
receding hairline and an intensifying waistline.
Soon Steve was relating his experiences inter-railing
in Europe. But the emphasis of his monologue
was himself, with the actual travel experience
acting as a vehicle for him to discuss his personal
virtues, as he saw fit to tell them. Howard
spied surreptitiously on Gallie. He wondered
if she was as bored with Steve's monologue as
he was. If she was, she didn't show it for
she hung onto every word. She could have been
listening to the most enthralling orator in
the world for all her body language was concerned.
Yet she was like that with everybody. He felt
she was one of those rare people with whom he
could chew the cud forever. Gallie's cultivation
of the skill of expressing concentrated interest
endeared her immeasurably to him. She was more
than capable of being chatty, but when her conversational
partner was speaking, her unceasing absorption
in her companion's words - especially
his
words - was uncannily gratifying. If she was
bored, or wished to be elsewhere, she never
let it show. He couldn't get a handle on what
she thought of him: was her naturalistic affection
for him feigned?
Sipping at his beer, he suspected he was staring
at her overmuch. During their schooldays Dominic
had told him that a woman instinctively knows
when she is being ogled. Indeed Dominic had
opined that women knew even if they could not
see the one doing the ogling.
To compensate for his over watchfulness of Gallie,
he fixed his gaze at Karen, who was holding
the conversation. He didn't tune into Karen's
words however. His mind churned. Did Gallie
know he fancied her rotten? If so, how much
did she think he loved or lusted after her?
If she did know, did that jeopardise his chances
with her? After all, it certainly stopped him
playing his
hard-to-get card. Or
did
it? Maybe he could become aloof and she would
have her curiosity aroused. She might think
she wasn't attractive to him anymore and try
to make a move. Or would she suss his ruse
anyway?
Questions kept storming his consciousness.
Could he finesse Gallie? Did she fantasise about
him? Or - horror of horrors - was he a
turn
off? Could he ever seduce her? Gallie, Gallie,
Gallie! Would she
sleep with him? The
matter of Gallie - and women in general - was
distressing. Facts were much easier to divine
in physics and material wants.
His glass was empty and his thirst was unquenched.
He bought the next round. The second pint tasted
good, if sharply bitter on his unrusted palette.
He - or rather the beer itself - had established
the acuity in his mind that it was more precious
than ever. The product sold itself.
'Oh? Are you sure you're not staying for another?'
asked Gallie.
'For
Sodom's sake, stop pressuring her
all the time,' reprimanded Greg. 'If Karen
says she's going, you should
respect
her tasteful and
timely decision!'
'Like,
any departure of me and Karen
is
timely, ain't that right man?' Steve
intoned with an unwholesome edge to his voice.
'I'll take your word for it,' Greg shrugged.
Karen scowled and shuffled on her feet.
'Soooo, are you going to
Steve's then?'
said Gallie with a mischievous sparkle in her
eye.
'Yeah. Actually he says he has some homemade
lentils and beetroot curry left,' said Karen
with her upbeat spirit restored.
'Ahhh, I didn't know you made
curry,
Steve,' said Gallie, every syllable oozing charismatic
curiosity.
Steve grinned.
'I don't, baby! Got it from the Raj Tahl takeout.
Yeah! Time we hit the street, Karen, this way,
Baby. Better luck with the hair-restorer next
time, right Greg! Sorted!'
Steve grabbed Karen by her reluctant hand and
led her through the heaving crowd towards the
exit.
'Cheeky
maggot!' yelled Greg after them.
'Weeeell, You give what you take, Greg,' sighed
Gallie diplomatically.
Gallie looked at Dominic who looked at Howard
who in turn looked at Greg in order that Gallie
should note that he averted his gaze from her.
Dominic cleared his throat and broke the silence.
'Ah, if I might interject, I'm studying philosophy
you see, but can't say I comprehend a dashed
word of most of it. But about the
meaning
of life I do know a good deal. When we look
for
the meaning of life it's like when
we are scouting for a missing set of keys.
The only difference is that when we are looking
for
real keys we might encounter them.'
'The meaning of life is behind the fridge,'
said Howard.
Gallie seemed moved by the serious manner in
which Dominic expressed his view and encouraged
him to explain. Dominic took another mouthful
of ale.
'In our search for the
meaning of life
we are seeking the blasted keys in a pint of
ale in a jolly bar. Most extraordinary thing
is, they're actually somewhere in Poland.'
'Would it do well?' said Gallie, 'To find the
keys, I mean? I mean Poland's a bit far to go.
Might you not get another set cut?'
Dominic shrugged.
'Can't say I know. All I know is that we don't
find the keys in the bar. So instead of the
keys we find beer and we become alcoholic; or
we find women and stop thinking about the wretched
meaning of life. Instead, you see, we
stroll over to the toilets to piss away the
beer down the drain. The drain takes away our
piss and we see that it is so and we are happy
and think we have seen the light and found some
beastly religion. And the frightful thing is
that all the time the keys to the
meaning
of life are
still in Poland!'
'Well,' said Greg, 'give me the beer and women,
mate. Don't know about the bog though. Can't
say I've found any god in the bog, not even
after dumping a ring-stinging, bastard plateful
of Taj Mahal's Vindie Vengeance.'
'I saw the light once,' said Howard with a portentous
tone of revelation in his voice.
'Gosh!
Really?' said Gallie.
'Yeah. The dentist was using it to see where
to drill out my cavities.'
Gallie looked annoyed as Greg laughed at her.
'Ohhh! You had better hope I'm never your dentist,'
she said, miming a dentist drilling madly.
Dominic stirred uncomfortably.
'Awfully sorry, but I am compelled to defect,
my dear amigos. I don't mind saying I'll see
you jolly soon.'
His parting looks were directed at Gallie.
Howard noticed that Gallie seemed regretful
at Dominic's departure. Her eyes seemed to mist
over for a moment.
Howard acted distantly towards her, despite
her increasingly warm, flirty bearing towards
Howard himself. How he adored her! With a fearful
heart, he decided that it was too soon to flirt
in turn, for she might be repelled by such a
risky overture. There was too much at stake
to venture a hasty wager with fate.
And so the night and the drinking evolved with
Gallie's advances upon his affections sweetening.
His ego ballooned, yet the larger it grew, the
more it shied from any danger of bursting. So
he rejected her advances - the advances of Gallie
- this blissful creature of his fondest want!
 | | | | |
| From: |
MadPole | Subject: | 2001-09-07 23:03:02 |
| | | | |
| From: |
MadPole | Subject: | 2001-09-07 23:12:05 |
| | | | |
| From: |
Knoeier | Subject: | 2001-09-08 14:05:35 |
| | | | |
| From: |
Knoeier | Subject: | 2001-09-08 14:07:04 |
| | | | |
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