'Hmmmm. Do you not have a girlfriend?' said Gallie conversationally.
Howard raised a disconcerted eyebrow. 'No, not anymore.'
'Have you split up with someone?'
'Well, I had a fling on a couple of occasions, but nothing
worked out. Why, are
you going out with anybody?'
He had been aching to ask and was delighted that the question
slipped naturally into the conversation.
'I've a boyfriend back home in Hensford.'
'Oh!' He was unable to mask the deflation of his spirits.
'But we're sort of drifting apart now. We don't see much
of each other.
He's working and
I'm stuck here.'
'Too bad!' said Howard, his eyes lighting up, his voice upbeat
and enhanced.
'I know,' signed Gallie. Her eyes sank to the ground.
'How about you, Karen?'
He changed the subject to Karen because he didn't wish to
appear too keen to learn about Gallie. The matter made
him uneasy. He told himself it was better to appear cool and
aloof towards Gallie, and that showing a romantic interest
in her might backfire. By affecting a disinterested aspect,
his powerful emotions of attraction might remain secret, where
they could do no harm to his chances.
'Well,' said Karen, whose words poured forth in a frothing
torrent, 'actually I have vastly better luck with men than
Gallie. I have to be really sensitive when Gallie's here because,
you know, it's easy to hurt her feelings. Anyway, I imagine
it must be completely dreadful to be left on the shelf like
that. So I have to be, like, really diplomatic, so I don't
end up accidentally upsetting her!'
As Karen spoke, Gallie's saddened eyes lifted from the floor
to the ceiling.
Karen continued her oration without pause. 'But enough about
Gallie! Yes I have a boyfriend! I'm going out with a cutie
- a guy called Steve - bless him! He's a really fab, kind,
sensitive and caring bloke! Much nicer than my last boyfriend,
who was obnoxious at times, who had totally no social grace
at all. He dumped me, the male chauvinist pig! Anyway, Steve's
not like that, he's great! He wears these trendy clothes
and I think he makes them look really good on him, with such
a fab body. I think clothes always look totally trif on Steve.
I wish they always did on me. But apart from that I like
Steve because he's so
cool! Actually he understands
the things that other fellas just don't dig at all. I can
run any idea past him and he, like,
knows! He understands
everything. He understands
me. That's why
he likes me. Anyway, I think he's the cleverest guy on earth,
and he's all mine actually! Why he isn't at Oxford or Cambridge
is anyone's guess, I can't figure it out at all!'
'Perhaps he's
too good for the likes of Oxford and Cambridge,'
suggested Howard sarcastically.
Karen took the question to be genuine. 'Yes, Steve says
he wouldn't want to go to a place like that actually, what,
with all the snobs hanging around the dons and the cloisters.
So he deliberately underachieved at his A-levels so that he
could have fun here! He says Redater's a more genuine place
to study but they wouldn't let him in if he was, like, overqualified.
He said that too many "A's" on his UCCA form would look no
good for a start. Too many A's wouldn't fit with his artistic
image he's trying to project.'
Howard glanced at Gallie. She glanced back. They exchanged
a small, knowing smile.
Karen continued, 'I mean, golly! What a really fantastic
sacrifice of Steve's to just totally put his feelings and
artistic integrity in front of his career prospects like that!
But that's Steve! I say his gamble has paid off brilliantly!
After all, he wouldn't have, like, met me if he went dallying
around Oxford would he? Steve's such a genuine guy. The world's
full of philistines like Greg. Greg's always making fun of
Steve behind his back. And to his face. I think it's just
so
not on!'
'Yeees, but Greg takes the mickey out of
everybody,'
said Gallie diplomatically.
'Well, Greg can go and take a running jump!' sniffed Karen.
'
Jump?' said Greg, appearing at the lounge doorway.
He was dressed in a white suit, light brown leather shoes,
black shirt and a thin black tie. 'Go and jump where, darling?'
'Off the Post Office Tower if you'd be so kind,' said Karen.
'
I will if
you will poppet. Hey Howie, you
ready for the maddest Thursday night out of your life? Cleo's
waits for no man!'
'Do they have beer at Cleo's?' said Howard.
'The beer's shit.'
'Women?'
'Whores, all of them.'
'OK, I'm in!'
'All right! That's the spirit! Haha, We'll be sweeping the
talent off its high heals before it knows what's hit it!'
'Probably,' hedged Howard.
'Wanna come along for the
ride, girls?' Greg thrust
his hips upon saying this.
'I think I'd rather just hang around here and smash my head
against the wall,' said Karen.
'Don't wake the neighbours.'
'Get stuffed, fatso!'
'Why don't you take a bath with an electrical appliance sweetheart?
C'mon Howie, what we hanging around here for? Time to
party!'
Howard nodded goodbye to the women.
Outside sodium streetlights flushed their monochrome glare
through the darkness. The looming silhouettes of leaf-shedding
trees beckoned the winter.
They walked down the Chillington Road. A gaggle of female
students lay ahead.
'Watch this!' Greg winked
Walking up to the group, Greg addressed one of them, a beauty.
Her white dress lovingly hugged her curvaceous figure. Tightly
curled blonde locks bestowed upon her an awesome, exotic appearance.
'Fancy a fuck?' enquired Greg.
A pregnant pause ensued. Howard recalled only too well the
painfully unfavourable reaction he had received upon using
such a line on Gallie and Karen. He awaited Greg's crushing
humiliation to materialise with a smug expectation.
The blonde woman showed no reaction, no doomy expression
crossed her countenance. Then, like an emotional dawn, a beaming
smile broadcast an almost supernatural signal of contentment
and goodwill.
'Aw, go on then, you smooth talking bastard!' she cried.
Everyone screamed laughing. Apart from Howard. His eyes widened
and his jaw dropped.
Another of the group said 'Hey, Greg darling, want a snog?'
'Is that your friend, Greg? Phwoar, what sexy guys,' opined
another in a pseudo-erotic voice.
Greg spoke. 'Hi Sue' (to the curly blonde). 'Hi ladies.
What drinking establishments you terrorising tonight?'
'The Dragon. How about you?'
'The very same!'
'Super!' said Sue, stroking her tightly coiled hair. 'You
can get the drinks in, ducky!'
Greg beamed. 'Such a small price to pay for such saucy company.
Is
sex thrown in?'
The girls bawled and giggled.
'You wouldn't even get a peck on the cheek for
that,
lover!' said Sue. 'Who's your handsome friend?'
Howard did not perceive himself as handsome and felt embarrassed.
'This is the famous Howie!' said Greg. 'He moved into our
pad yesterday.' Greg introduced Howard to each of the women
in turn.
The group walked towards the center of town. They turned
into an alleyway and took a shortcut through the grounds of
a Hall of Residence, weaving between its mini-tower blocks
of students' rooms. One side of the alley was defined by
a six-foot stone wall. A man clung spread-eagled to it, keeping
his feet just clear of the ground. Clad in garish rock climbing
gear and loaded with ropes, carabiners, cams and other paraphernalia,
he edged along the wall. His hands and feet felt for footholds
and grips in the uneven stone face.
As Howard's company walked past, Greg got everyone's attention
in the group.
'Sorry, mate,' boomed Greg to the climber, 'but this wall's
already been conquered by Sir Edmund Hilary, back in the fifties.'
The girls screamed hysterically. The climber glowered at
Greg who was laughing the loudest of all.
***
*****
***
Situated at the edge of the city centre was a musty old pub,
the George and Dragon. Greg led the way to the bar. Howard
held the door open for the women who filed in.
'Aren't you getting the drinks?' Sue asked Greg.
'D'ya
know what five double bacardi and cokes comes
to? No dice. Us blokes will stick to our honest to goodness
ale thank you very much. What you want Howard?'
'A Nukie.'
Greg addressed the barmaid. 'That'll be two Nukies and a
vodka please. Make that a double.'
The drinks were bought and the company sat on wooden chairs
around a copper topped table.
'Hey Greg, you haven't done your essay yet and the deadline's
tomorrow. Slapped wrist for you!' said one of the girls.
'Oh yeah? How do y'know?' Greg said.
'Gallie told me. And anyway I guessed. You're always handing
essays in late.'
'Malicious gossip is rife amongst womankind.'
'You do sociology?' asked Howard.
'I'm supposed to be, yeah,' said Greg.
'The same course as Gallie?'
'We both have the same Lectures.'
'Except,' said Sue, 'Gallie attends
and Greg does not. Then he moans until she lends him her
essays to copy.'
'
Sodom and Gomorrah!' said Greg, 'what's up with you
chicks tonight? Can a man not go out for a bleeding jar without
being flogged for his sins?'
Howard narrated the story of how Karen gave Greg money not
to sing in the bath. The girls condemned Greg for displeasing
Karen again, and accused him of extortion.
'Well I have to listen to her
whinging,' protested
Greg. 'She goes on. And on. And
on. She does it
to pump the air from her head before it explodes.'
'Well,' said Sue, 'whatever Karen gets upset about its your
fault and you should be grateful she puts up with you. I've
told you off before about upsetting poor Karen.'
'
Sodom and double Gomorrah! You girls make a show
of always sticking up for each other. When you're not sticking
knifes into each other's backs!'
'We don't do that, we're
nice!'
objected Sue.
'
You said Karen was a pretentious
cow the other
day.'
'I did
not!'
'Oh yes you did!' laughed Greg.
'You're a bad boy!'
'I'm a magician too,' said Greg. 'I can put out a fire by
blowing right through my pint!'
He produced a box of matches and struck one. Holding the
flaming splinter close to the far side of his half full beer
glass, he lowered his head so that his mouth was level with
the match on the other side of the glass. Taking a gulp of
breath with a theatrical wheeze, he hesitated to build up
tension and, when everyone was transfixed on the match, he
exhaled. White smoke puffed from the charred stalk of the
extinguished match. The girls cheered raucously, inspected
his glass and muttered darkly of fake matches.
Greg smiled like one bored with the adulation he received.
Then, with the same air of ennui, as if casually commenting
on the weather he said, 'That's not the end to my mystical
powers. I can also foretell the future: I'm a toothsayer!
'Don't you mean soothsayer?' corrected Sue
'Yeah I'm one of those too.' Greg made a spooky
whooo
whooo-ing noise, then with an extravagant manner exclaimed,
'I can see the future! The mist clears! I see Sue!
Oh dear!'
'What is it Greg?' asked Sue.
'Best I
don't say!'
Sue pestered him. Finally, in a regretful tone, he declared,
'Sue's about to dump her boyfriend!'
She gazed at Greg with astonishment irradiating her eyes.
Her girlfriends gasped and asked her if it was true. She
blushed and mumbled an unwilling and unconvincing denial.
Then she underlined the ambiguity of her denial by qualifying
it with a comment about the fickleness of the future.
'So when you dumping him?' chipped in Greg when there was
a pause in the girls' conversation.
'Why do you say that?' asked Sue through narrowed eyes.
'Simple. You've
permed your hair. Beware the girl
who's got a new thatch! You mark my words, she'll dump her
match!'
Everyone looked at Sue.
'It's a
terrible hairdo!' Greg opined.
He said it with kind eyes and in such a good-natured way
that no offence was taken. If anything Sue seemed glad at
the change in emphasis the conversation had taken. One of
the girls fiddled with her own hair and lamented it was frizzy
and 'horrid'. She bemoaned that whereas Sue's perm was gorgeous,
if temporary, her own hair could not be fixed no matter what
she tried. The conversation on hairstyles waxed but Sue's
easy laugh was subdued.
A couple of drinks later Greg declared, 'We'd better be
getting going away to Cleo's,' he said. 'I'll be seeing you,
girls.'
'Must you be going all ready?' said Sue.
'Yeppers, Thursday night is el cheapo grog night at Cleo's.
Note we're in decent garb. This isn't pub-wear you know.'
Greg downed his vodka and swilled it down with the dregs of
his Newcastle Brown. 'Take it easy, girls, and be good.'
Howard, who had struggled to keep up with Greg's drinking,
even sans chasers, staggered to his feet. He gave a little
wave and he and Greg left to a chorus of farewells from the
girls. They set off along the dark streets into the city
centre. All the shops were shuttered up. Other small groups
of revellers sauntered about their business of achieving the
next drinking objective.
'That was a good guess about Sue leaving her boyfriend,'
said Howard.
'Haha! It's easy mate. When you understand chicks, guessing
their antics is simple. It's what my razor-sharp instinct
is all about. You can't get 'em in the sack if you're not
one step ahead! That, my friend, is the art of pulling!'
'I feel sorry for her soon-to-be-ex boyfriend, poor chap.
Sue's so good looking! What's
he like?'
'I've seen him around at parties. Funny looking bloke with
NHS specs and masses of hair. He's obviously no longer up
to Sue's exacting fuckability standards.'
'I never twigged you and Gallie are doing the same course,'
said Howard.
'Yup, but I try to avoid her in lectures, which is easy.
I'm not exactly a regular. Living in the same house
and
doing the same course is too close to a relationship for my
liking.'
'Talking of women in lectures, I borrowed some notes yesterday
for the astronomy lectures I missed. This girl lent them
me: Jacintha's her name. Thing is, she's frosty, but she's
a pretty sporty number! I sat next to her at the lecture
and I could hardly keep my minces off her.'
'She's a tasty astronomy chick?'
'She's a doll, a
doll I tell you. She's gorgeous.'
'Get right in there mate! Let me tell you Greg's law of women
in academia. If she'll show you her notes, she'll show you
her tits.'
'I didn't come away with that impression, somehow.'
'Prepare for action! There's Cleo's.'
Across the night cityscape a magnificent pillar of Egyptian
style neon letters glowed madly. They formed a single blood-red
word:
CLEOPATRA'S. As they neared, Howard saw Drijk,
white hair swept back, enter the club. On his arm was a longhaired,
long legged blonde.
 | | | | |
| From: |
MadPole | Subject: | 2001-05-13 09:25:53 |
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| From: |
isolani | Subject: | 2001-05-15 17:50:04 |
| | | | |
| From: |
Knoeier | Subject: | 2001-05-18 07:26:25 |
| | | | |
| From: |
Knoeier | Subject: | 2001-05-18 07:29:10 |
| | | | |
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