Howard climbed into the last of his laundered
clothes, sprayed on overmuch aftershave, checked
his unruly hair and cursed. His hair would never
conduct itself in an orderly fashion.
Gallie's room was next to his own, and on his way out he
couldn't help noticing its door was ajar. The light was out. He forgot his
haste and knocked, knowing she was out. Silence. He nudged the door open
and peered within. Almost on tiptoe, he crept inside. Fragrance filled his
nostrils, somehow making him feel more nervous about his trespass. A pink
and gold patterned duvet tidily covered he bed. A couple of posters plugging
romantic movies adorned the walls, alongside a portrait of James Dean smoking
a cigarette. The newest looking posters were above the bed. One featured
The Io Fangs radiating a cool vibe. The other featured a close up shot of
The Shark, posing with his guitar. He looked moody and insular, yet beckoning.
Howard shook his head and ruminated on what bliss it must be to
be
The Shark. Not only did Howard want to have sex with women, he wanted to glare
at them from posters hung above their beds.
Howard's inspection of Gallie's room resumed: in one corner,
like a faithful sentinel, stood a large wooden wardrobe with a long mirror
on each door. In another was an old fashioned dresser that was laden with
expensive-looking paraphernalia. Three angled mirrors made the multitude
of bottles, vials and apparatus of beauty seem to multiply. Scattered
around were pastel coloured jars of creams, several of which featured expressions
containing words like
Laboratoire and
Femme. Perfume bottles
were embossed with twirly calligraphy that signed branded continental words such
as
Fleur and
Encore, or dandy-sounding monikers such as Christian
and Sebastian. Numberless items of makeup littered the dresser's surface.
The makeup was concealed within delicate plastic cases. There was
a preponderance of Estelle Laura, Fiancé, and Guido De Diafayche merchandise,
but there were many other products of an industry that to Howard was alien
and weird.
He eased open the two top drawers of the dresser. The first
contained bras and knickers, the other knickknacks, but Howard did not inspect
these, for resting upon of the sundry items of the latter was a photograph
of Dominic. His old friend peered out of the photograph smugly, yet surprisingly
classily. The sight of his face was jarring. Even after all this time she
still coveted Dominic. Howard's tender mood was further inflamed. He
slammed shut the drawers and fled Gallie's room, muttering curses like a wounded
dog. He tried to conjure up pleasant thoughts as an antidote to this new blow,
much as he might seek a sweet morsel to dislodge an abhorrent aftertaste.
Pleasant thoughts were not forthcoming: rather he was stung by contemplations
of his crimes against Jacintha.
A brief mental respite mercifully materialised when he realised
it was approaching midnight, and he was seriously late. He ran to the Students
Union in a blind hurry. His lungs ached by the time the strange but familiar
building appeared into view. He saw the glass outer doors were being
locked. He tapped frantically upon the glass. A bouncer seemed to take pity
on his hyperventilating aspect, unlocked the doors, and permitted him entry
to the disco. He bought a little lime ticket from a tired looking woman who
had been counting coins at a table in the foyer. She chunked his coins into
the till. Having no coat for the cloakroom, he proceeded directly to
the large glass doors, and handed his ticked to the guard. The gruff-voiced
guard rubbed his stubbled chin, and nodded him through, with an intimidating
stare.
The music lifted from muffled din to a roar. Myriad students
in pairs and groups shouted at one another, which, in the drowning din, resembled
some weird mass mime. The smell of beer made him thirsty, and he queued up
at the bar. He would find his friends later.
In the hot crush his mind wandered. So, Greg had promised
him that tonight he would get laid, and in writing too, albeit a scribbled
note. Greg had never quite pledged anything as committed at that before. Now
he thought about it, on all the nights they had been out, Greg had never actually
helped him much at all. Sure he had pointed out girls to him and had even
introduced him to some intimidating beauties, but never had Greg made a concerted
effort on his behalf. And why should he start now?
He bought a pint and chaser, knocking back the latter first.
Feeling invigorated, he surveyed the vast disco dance floor, feeling envious,
as always, at the skills of those that bopped. Some cocky students danced
in such a way that made him groan inwardly: of course, that is how it is done
and it's dead easy. But in practice he could never replicate the moves.
In the perimeter shadows of the legions of spiralling, flashing,
maddening, disorientating lights, he spied Gallie and Karen, huddled together
at one of the benches. He drifted over and sat opposite them. At least Gallie
seemed pleased to see him. They yelled small talk over the mammoth radiation
of the sound system. Then Greg appeared out of the current of students that
orbited the dance floor. Greg looked as looming as ever, his blue leather
jacket seemed to glow: Howard imagined that you could get skin cancer just
by wearing it. Greg's thinning hair was swept back in a way that made his
appearance stately. His face was hyperactively alive, one minute it creased
with latent menace, the next it softened with comedy.
'If it ain't that knave Howie! Come on son, we have womankind
to shark! Tonight,
by Sodom, you are going to get laid! You have my
word: the word of
me! Besides, I've got extreme odds on you with my
mates that you'll blow your stack, not to mention your cherry, and it will
happen within an hour or two! So tighten your knobbing seatbelt and get ready
to attack with your meat dam buster!'
Howard frowned. Greg sounded like he meant it.
Gallie laughed in harmless protestation. 'Ooooh Greg, I
wish you wouldn't play these games.'
'Go and exploit some helpless whore, Greg, you gorilla brute.
Frankly it's the only thing you're good at actually,' sneered Karen.
Greg smiled winningly through the assault. When it became
apparent that Howard had no intention of following him, Greg informed him
that he was not to go away, for Howard would soon be enjoying the company
of the '
perfect tart'.
'And you'll be knobbing top tottie before you can say
get
your rocks off!' said Greg.
Howard watched as Greg vanished as suddenly as he had appeared.
He marvelled at Greg's confidence. Such confidence made it plausible, even
inevitable that sex was on the agenda of the night.
'Actually, I'll be getting along, Dommiebabes will be soooo
missing me really much!' oozed Karen. 'And there's no harm in checking up
on him, is there? I know he wants like to be with his mates, but frankly you
know what flirty little boys are like when let loose in the sweetshop!'
For all the frenetic ambience, to Howard, he and Gallie
were quite alone and isolated in the world. She fiddled with her blonde hair.
Suddenly she looked upset.
'Oh Howie, I am so very sorry about Jacintha.'
The beer and the company were irresistible. Howard confessed
to Gallie that he had been to Jacintha's room on the fatal evening. Gallie
listened, riveted and sad as he revealed the painful events. He described
the phone call; his visit to Donovan Hall; her overdose; his attempts to seduce
her as she lay dying. He described how the medic tried to resuscitate her;
how he knew there was no hope.
'Howie, I am so proud of you. You tried to save her.'
Howard had never expected this reply from anyone. He had
expected to be judged bitterly. He expected to be despised for having caused
her death. He tried to speak, but was unable. He shook his head.
'You were there for her, Howie, and you tried to save her,
poor Jacintha wanted you to be there, she sort of like wanted you to be there
for her at the very end. She could have asked anybody, but she asked for
you.
And at the very end, you were there for her, and that is what mattered the
most.'
'But I wasn't even able to comfort her! I wasn't even nice
to her! I failed her!' screamed Howard. His lips contorted, and his stomach
heaved and pulsated. He sobbed heavily. He tried to resist the tears, but that
made the agony worse. He lowered his head to the table, resting his face on
his arms. His screwed-shut eyes spilled tears and he felt them soak into his
sleeves. Gradually he became aware that Gallie had moved round the bench to
be by his side. He sniffed and kept his face over his sleeves. The tears would
not cease.
'It's OK, it's OK,' soothed Gallie. She placed her small
hands through his hair and caressed him. He sobbed for a long while, as she
stroked his hair. Raising his head from the table, he looked at her.
She put her hands to his face and gently rubbed the tears. Her hazel eyes,
were themselves flowing, her small lips were parted. They drew together and
kissed. Their kiss was little more than a peck. She smiled and they kissed
again. Agony pooled with euphoria, but rather than merging, the sensations
swirled in a wrenching orbits. Then peace. A haven! For what was a nirvana-like
void of time, space and sense, Howard's mind floated.
Finally Gallie pulled away. 'Howie, I just have to powder
my nose.'
She kissed him once again and slinked away in the direction
of the bar and toilets. He stared after her even when she had long dissolved
into the multitudes. He jolted. Greg appeared where Gallie had departed, dragging
a girl by the hand behind him.
'It's your lucky bleeding night, Howie!' declared Greg.
'Meet my lovely mate Becky.'
Howard cursed. He did not even look at Becky. His euphoria
vanquished and the savage real world impinged. He hoped Greg could not tell
he had been crying.
'Greg, not now, I'm busy!'
Greg leaned over to Howard's ear. 'Busy? You're bleeding
busy?
Sodom and Gomorrah! We're talking a prime time, top of
the fucking hill classy bonking prospect I've hooked you up with here! I mean,
this chick is
fit! Just feast your minces on that angel face! And them
pins: they stretch all the way up to her peachy arse, mate, and grab an eyeful
of them norks. Talk about made in heaven!' Greg nodded to his companion.
'Greg, thanks, but all the same I don't need your chick.
I already
have a lass.'
'Yeah of course you have a bleeding lass!' declared Greg,
sarcastically peering left and right with his hand above his eyes palm down
as if shielding the sun.
'She happens to be powdering her nose. Go away before she
gets back! You're queering my pitch.'
Greg knotted his brows in ire. 'I don't know why I bother,
I really don't. OK, punk, have it your own bleeding way, I'll fuck her for
you, you ungrateful bastard.' Then he whispered conspiratorially in Howard's
ear, 'Listen, the password is
stage shaft. Make sure you fuck your
powder-nosed tottie back stage. See that security geezer over there? He's
a good mate of mine and he owes me a favour. All you have to do, right, is
tell him the password and he'll let you in back stage and you'll be alone,
she's be all yours.'
'You're winding me up!'
'Trust me! I've told him to expect you. You don't trust
me do ya you suspicious bastard. OK, I'll prove it!' Greg saluted a nearby
bouncer: the stubble-chinned guard Howard had encountered at the entrance.
The bouncer returned a brooding nod.
'Greg, you're serious?'
'And for Sodom's sake, remember the bleeding pass!'
Howard was anxious to get Greg out of the way before he
could wreck his rapport with Gallie.
'Alright Greg, OK, yeah, I'll do it.'
'You frigging promise?'
'Yeah yeah OK, fuck it, you have my word.
Stage Shaft!'
Greg's countenance brightened. '
Stage Shaft is frigging
damned
right! I've got a wager on this, mate, so don't let me down!'
To Howard's relief, Greg marched away with an indignant-looking
Becky trailing one pace behind. He felt uneasy: he felt it in his gut. Within
its bandages his mutilated hand began to throb again.
 | | | | |
| From: |
Knoeier | Subject: | 2003-07-06 03:48:02 |
| | | | |
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