12: The Pitch Guy thought he now had a pretty good idea of what being rolled over by a Zamboni would feel like. He felt cold and tingling all over. The sheer magnitude of the folly he had involved himself in was slowly coming into focus, and quite frankly, he felt like he should be going on a quest to find that lone village out in the Cotswolds that was being deprived of an idiot. He was trying to get his mind around what Christopher had just said. He would have laughed out loud, but something about the room he was in seemed to prohibit it. Perhaps it was the way everything seemed to stand out, unnaturally stark, in the harsh artificial lighting. Maybe it was simply Christopher’s brook-no-nonsense expression, but all of a sudden he could feel his stomach churning, and could only appreciate the thin coating of irony that laced the situation. He was going to give the man before him a hundred grand, staking his entire life savings and money he didn’t have besides, for a woman he barely knew but had felt some sort of esoteric, it-must-be-Fate connection with. And here he was, this pin-stripped bloodhound he had hired, with his lacquered hair and expensive watch, spouting utter rubbish about a scenario he was to participate in in order to win her heart- or, at the very least, her pants. Guy wasn’t sure what a hundred grand represented to Christopher, but at that moment, he just felt like getting up and shouting that it was nothing to sneeze at. He couldn’t laugh, but it was patently absurd. He forced himself to get a grip. It wasn’t too hard. Looking very much the penitent though he had done nothing wrong, he shrugged in a way that was anything but light offhandedness, he said, “I pay you nearly fifty grand, and this is what you come up with? I don’t think I quite understand where this is going to lead.” Though he spoke the words in a voice that was level enough, Guy felt his nervousness turn to acid fear. He felt like Michael Douglas’ character in The Game- trapped inside a monstrous theatrical production he had in effect signed up for, with disastrous results. Obviously it was an elaborate scam he’d been sucked into- who knew what would happen next? At that moment, his shoulders slumped, and he lost all will to live. All the while Christopher stood watching him, his expression blank and unreadable. It seemed like an eternity before he spoke next, in a voice that- despite carrying no inflection at all- sounded like he was reasoning with a very young child. “Look, Mr. Collins. Let me explain it to you in terms I think you will understand. Forgive me for speaking so bluntly, but we are a highly professional organisation and we do not mess around. We are the very best at what we do, I assure you, and we guarantee results. “Understand this. We will engineer fifteen minutes for you alone in a lift with Vanessa. You may use that time in any way you like. You may choose to discuss the political situation in Albania or the semiotics of French new wave cinema, but chances are that your dream girl will either slit her wrists or climb out through the elevator shaft long before you have made your point. You could dress smartly, put on some nice cologne and hope that a shy smile will win her affection. Granted, it might work...” Christopher shrugged his shoulders, making it fully obvious that he thought there was a better chance of Guy getting it on with Wynona Ryder, “but only by following our instructions are you guaranteed to end up dating this woman.” Automatically, Guy started- “But...”- and then stopped, realizing he had no idea what to say next. He mopped at his brow with a handkerchief he had dug out of his pocket during Christopher’s spiel. There was silence, but for the low buzz of a fax machine at the far end of the room and a clock on the wall ominously counting down the seconds before Guy simply broke down crying at the sheer waste- Oh God, what had he been thinking?- of money this had been. He had never felt more like a rabbit in a snare than he did then, and could only look at Christopher in the pleading manner affected by dogs about to be put to sleep. Christopher chose to ignore his client’s discomfort. In truth, his patience with Guy was wearing very thin indeed. He’d seen all kinds of things in his business- fat men wishing to bed models, old rich lechers running after pretty young things, genuinely decent men looking for genuinely decent women- but Guy was in a category all his own. There was no way in hell he was ‘meant’ to end up with lovely, sparkling Vanessa. And yet, he’d told his client the truth: there was no way the elevator scenario could fail, if Guy did as he was told. He was willing to stake the balance of his fee on it. The balance... Softening his gaze and giving Guy a warm smile that contrasted sharply with his earlier near-contempt, he turned to indicate a large pile of ring folders that were stacked haphazardly against the wall. “Our research is thorough and complete. All options have been considered. It is up to you, Mr. Collins, to trust us. I assure you, this will work. There’s no need to look so worried; shall I show you those figures again? The ones indicating our 100% success rate?” Guy shifted awkwardly in his chair, suddenly remembering that he hadn’t breathed for several seconds. His mind was trying to process everything he’d heard. Maybe he was out of his depth here. Chance Meeting ... it had somehow all sounded so innocent. Part of him wanted to get up and run straight out from the building, but something stronger kept him sat where he was. What this man suggested sounded like a cross between the X-Files and the Twilight Zone- and yet, the banality of his existence crashed in on him again and images flickered through his head- Chocolat, reddened eyes, ready-heat dinners for one, until he was as wrinkled as a prune with his hair white as snow. That, and the fact that he felt like he’d read through the entire Internet alphabetically already, slowly made him come around. It dawned on him that there had to be more to life than this- maybe, just maybe, if he did something crazy, something like this, then he could expect the unexpected. With practiced ease, Christopher rescued a bottle of scotch from behind the filing cabinet. He poured out a small measure of Johnnie Walker into a glass and offered it to Guy. “Mm, thanks.” Guy rarely drank, certainly not spirits and certainly not this early in the day, but he felt grateful for the burning trace left by the alcohol as it filtered down to his stomach, followed by a warm explosion as it touched bottom. Composing himself at last, he said, “Okay. Right, I’m sorry for sounding so sceptical. I’m willing to give it a go; It’s just that this is all a bit new for me.” Christopher smiled, returning the bottle to where he’d picked it up from. “I appreciate that you’ve put a lot of trust in our organisation and have invested a lot of money with us. Believe me when I say that the needs of our clients are our very first priority in everything we do here. In plain English,” Christopher gave Guy a dry accomplice’s smile, “we do not piss about.” Guy nodded. And then, he ran over Christopher’s revelation again in his mind. It still didn’t really make any sense. “This sneezing business ... frankly, it all sounds so bizarre... Are you sure?” Christopher gave a reassuring smile and gave a dismissive wave. “Of course we’re sure. With your agreement, we can put phase two of this operation into action. We’ll need to sort out a number of details in order to bring this off, so I’ll be in touch as soon as I have a time and a date for us to... go into battle.” Guy shivered and took another hearty swallow. The alcohol was beginning to blur his senses. “Are you sure it’s going to work? I mean...” he cast up his eyes, trying to catch Christopher’s ice blue ones, “it is a hundred grand, after all. And she’s so beautiful...” Realizing he sounded like a parody of a used car salesman, Christopher gave Guy his brightest smile. His eyes, however, remained hard, not a drop of good humour filtering through. “Let’s just say that in this line of business you come across many strange things. Fantasies, fetishes, peccadilloes – most people have certain buttons you can press. Our job is to infiltrate their defences, to find out what those buttons are.” He paused, lowering his voice a fraction. “And when you manage to break in, Mr. Collins, then that person is yours to do with whatever you wish. And that can be anything at all, really. Anything you want it to be.”
Guy kept stirring the froth on his cappuccino in a quasi-obsessive manner. Although his mouth was dry, he couldn’t actually face drinking any of it as his stomach was stuffed with butterflies. To make matters worse, even the ice cool Mr. Galen seemed to be distracted by something. Guy suddenly had a very bad feeling about everything that was about to happen. “Um, there’s no chance anything could go wrong today is there?” he asked. Christopher frowned and smoothed a stray crease in his suit. The hard mask of professionalism slipped back into place with an almost audible click, and he chastised himself inwardly for having let it slip in the first place. “We’ve covered every last detail of this operation. I think you’ll agree the briefings we gave you were... thorough.” Guy nodded slowly and gave his coffee a further pointless stir. “Look, I brought you here for two reasons. Firstly to calm you down before you ... er, get in there. Secondly, to run through one final time the details of what we’re about to do-” he gave Guy a meaningful stare- “to ensure there are no misunderstandings.” Guy felt his heart sink. All around them the coffee shop was filled with people having normal conversations. He longed to be able to join in some mundane discussion about the weather or last night’s big football match (topics he usually abhorred), but Christopher was continuing with his speech and Guy forced himself to listen. “Okay, this is what you’ve got to remember. You enter the building, show the pass we gave you to the security guard at reception and then make your way through to the lobby. To your right will be the lifts, to the left a reception area. You take a seat in reception and wait for our signal. Which is...?” Guy looked across at Christopher and blinked. “Um, two rings on my mobile phone.” “Right. The phone will ring twice and then stop. You cross the lobby and press the button to call up the lift. One of my assistants will have ensured there is no one else waiting to climb in the lift with you. At this point, you should use the spray we’ve given you. It’s finely ground up pepper and will probably take about 2 or 3 minutes to have an effect. “Once you are in the lift, you should – ” “Press the button for the fifth floor,” Guy cut in, feeling the need to show he had been paying some attention during their earlier briefings. “Correct. Vanessa will enter on the second floor. Shortly afterwards the lift will become stuck somewhere between the third and fourth floor. You need not concern yourself with the details; suffice it to say it will take maintenance engineers at least fifteen minutes to arrive on the scene and fix the... ‘fault’.” “Should be a piece of cake,” Guy joked, mustering as much false bravado as he could manage. “Thanks to your great organisation, I shall soon find myself in the arms of the delightful Vanessa.” “Indeed.” Christopher exhaled quietly. An image of Vanessa leaning across to kiss him on the cheek flashed through his mind. It was followed by a familiar tingling sensation at the back of his nose. He sniffed abruptly to head off the sneeze and forced himself to get back to the matter at hand. “While you’re together in the lift you have three objectives. The primary one is to fix up a date at the Atlantic restaurant. Given the circumstances, I have every belief that Vanessa will accept your offer. Your secondary objective is to make sure you give her your business card. It represents the perfect fallback. If for any reason you don’t succeed in arranging a date on the spot, at least she will have your number and I guarantee she will want to call you. Your third objective – and forgive my bluntness here – is to steer well clear of any conversations concerning philosophy. I know you pride yourself on your grasp of such matters, but I can assure you that real people tire very quickly of all that meaningless bullshit you spout.” Guy felt hurt by this last point. What was it the poet Rimbaud had once said... But then he looked across at Christopher’s stony face and thought better of saying anything. Why, he wondered, did the man suddenly look as if he hated him? What had he done? He gave another dry swallow, meaning to ask him if he’d made an obvious faux pas, but then thought the better of it as Christopher looked at his watch and went on. “Now while you finish off your coffee, I have a few final arrangements to make.” Christopher stood up and flexed his fingers. “You should wait at least thirty minutes before leaving here.” Guy nodded. “Aren’t you going to wish me good luck?” Christopher turned round and gave him a cold stare. “Actually Mr. Collins, I despise the word ‘luck’. If my clients had to rely on luck, then they might as well take out life membership for the local singles’ bar. That way they could at least sit together through a thousand happy hours until their hair turned grey and all their teeth fell out.” And with that he headed purposefully for the door, leaving Guy staring open-mouthed at his retreating figure. Well screw you Mr. Grumpy Galen. Guy suddenly felt light-headed. Today, even Christopher couldn’t rain on his parade. He was about to spend fifteen minutes in the company of the most beautiful girl in the world! It was almost worth paying a hundred grand for that privilege alone. But afterwards there would be more. So much more! His heartbeat soared just thinking about the countless possibilities spreading out before him. He finished off his cappuccino in one, only vaguely aware that it had long since gone cold.
It was so quiet in the lobby that Guy almost jumped out of his seat when his phone rang. He swallowed hard. This was it – his big moment. He tried to affect an air of serene calm as he walked towards the lift and pressed the button. From his pocket, he pulled out the small sprayer he’d been handed in the coffee shop. Would this really work, or had Christopher Galen just been winding him up all this time? He did not strike Guy as the sort of person who indulged in practical jokes. The sprayer produced a fine white cloud of dust. It did not seem to smell of anything, but already Guy could feel a faint tingling sensation at the back of his nose. He tapped his foot nervously, waiting for the lift to arrive. The lobby was so silent that he had a brief feeling of being the only person left alive on the planet. It reminded him of something the philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre had once spoken of... but luckily, the lift arrived before his mind could wander off on that particular weird tangent. He had to remain focussed. The doors opened and Guy found himself staring into a small, dimly lit space. He hesitated a moment. It suddenly occurred to him that he should’ve told Christopher he suffered from claustrophobia. Oh well, it was only fifteen minutes - surely he’d be fine. In the meantime, to take his mind off any such thoughts, he ran back over some of the instructions Christopher had given him in the coffee shop. “Your primary objective is to fix up a date at the Atlantic restaurant.” ... “I have every belief that Vanessa will accept your offer.” ... “Make sure you give her your business card.” ... “I guarantee she will want to call you.” Slowly, the lift began its upward journey. “I guarantee she will want to call you.” He followed the little neon light as it highlighted first ‘G’, then ‘1’ and finally ‘2’, before the lift came to a gentle stop. His heart was pounding so hard he feared it would burst out through his chest. He tried taking deep breaths to calm himself, but it didn’t really seem to help. The lift doors slid open and, stood there waiting to climb in, was Vanessa. She was radiant in a bright top and impressively revealing short skirt. Without thinking, she moved so that she was standing right beside Guy. He could feel her eyes surreptitiously studying him from her close vantage point. He pretended not to notice that she was eyeing him up; if the briefing notes he’d been given were accurate, this was standard practice for any new males she met. Still, he still couldn’t help automatically straightening his shoulders and tilting his chin up a bit. The doors closed and
the lift continued its journey on towards the fifth floor. Guy silently
watched the light move over from ‘2’ to ‘3’. The tension was unbearable.
Then- Phuttt... It was a comically innocuous noise, but the accompanying jolt confirmed that the lift had indeed come to an unnatural halt. Vanessa sighed. “Ooh, these lifts... so unreliable.” She made weary eye contact with Guy, as though looking for reassurance that she hadn’t been trapped with some kind of madman. He put on his best smile and shrugged in a what-can-you-do-about-these-things manner. “Are you new here?” Vanessa asked. “I don’t think I recognise your face.” “Um, I’m here as a guest speaker at one of the management conferences.” Vanessa smiled cheerfully at him. “Oh well, I’m sure they’ll get the lift going soon enough. That’s the trouble with these hi-tech offices; nothing in them ever works properly.” He shrugged again, and prayed that he wasn’t perspiring too heavily. Vanessa was so near that he could’ve reached out and embraced her there and then. God, up this close she was even more beautiful than he could’ve believed possible! He suddenly felt rather faint. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to have noticed his discomfort. She appeared to be more interested in getting to know the rather pale, but cute-in-a-bookish-sense stranger. Broad shoulders but a bit too thin, as if he seldom took the time to sit down for a proper meal. He had an aura about him that suggested he needed to get out more, but the man had a nice face and sensuous lips. Though not quite handsome, he wasn’t without a certain appeal, and Vanessa couldn’t help but warm to him. “My name’s Vanessa. I guess we might as well get acquainted - we could be stuck here for a while.” “Um, I’m ...” Guy was so excited that his mind had temporarily gone blank. It was ridiculous, but he couldn’t even remember his own name. In desperation, he stole a quick glance at his business card, hoping to God that she wouldn’t notice. “I’m ...” And at that precise moment he realised he was going to have to sneeze. Try as he might, there was no way to stop it. “I-... ha-chuff!” Vanessa jumped, surprised. “Bless you!” “Sorry. It’s Guy. Guy Collins.” Was it his imagination, or were the walls closing in on him? He was having trouble breathing, and yet now there was also this maddening itch in his nose. He needed to get a grip before the situation got out of hand. He’d paid a hundred grand to be here for God’s sake! Perhaps it was time to try out one of the lines he’d been rehearsing back at his flat. “Well I suppose if I had to be stuck in a lift, there’s no one I’d rather be in here with than a pretty looking young lady.” “Well, that’s very sweet of you to say,” Vanessa replied. She was about to say something about how she hoped the maintenance men would hurry up and fix the lift, when she was suddenly reminded of something Christopher had said to her the other day: “You could be walking down the street and bump into someone or you could be stuck in a lift with the man of your dreams…” She suddenly gave a sharp inhale, struck by the irony of the situation. Was this a sign? Could fate finally be on her side, arranging a chance meeting of hidden portent? “I mean it,” Guy was saying. “You’re a very... a very... huh!” The itch in his nose was intolerable; he couldn’t help trying to hold it back, but it was a losing battle. “Huhh-chuh!” “Oh dear, bless you,” Vanessa cooed. “That doesn’t sound good.” “Er ... hay fever I’m afraid. Always bad at this time of the year.” He tried to sound casual about the whole thing, but he couldn’t help noticing the way Vanessa was now staring at him, like she’d just found a shiny parcel under the Christmas tree. A parcel that demanded to be immediately unwrapped. “Does it affect you badly?” she asked, that tiny bit of superfluous interest betraying her. Guy was perversely pleased, but could feel his face contorting, twisting the smile he was trying to give her into another pre-sneeze grimace. “Well it’s a minor thing really... Hutchoo!... Uh, it’s just sometimes I can’t stop... Huh-umchoo!... just can’t stop sneezing.” “Oh.” Vanessa’s mouth hung half open, a squashed oval shape that simply refused to close again. Guy wondered how long they’d been in the lift. He felt decidedly queasy and the constant need to sneeze was not helping. Should he ask Vanessa out now, or just let her rip his clothes off then and there in the lift? Judging by the look on her face, it seemed like an offer she might easily accept. And then, Guy suddenly had a clear vision of two things. One, Christopher Galen was clearly a genius and the hundred grand fee had been money very well spent and two, he might very well die before he got out of this confounded tight space, but what a fantastic way to go. Sensing a need to keep the conversation going, he called upon another of the lines he’d been practising. “I really thought this was the kind of thing that only happened in the movies.” “Huh?” Vanessa still seemed incapable of forming any coherent words. “Oh, you know, two strangers stuck in a lift. Next thing you know I’ll be inviting you out to dinner.” As if some reflex had been struck, Vanessa looked him square in the eye and gave him a heart-stopping smile. “And I’d have to accept, of course.” Was this really happening? Guy was lost for words. The gap was conveniently filled by another sneeze, this one more powerful than the last. “Huhhhchooo!” “Oh, you poor thing.” Vanessa’s hand was slightly raised, as if she wanted to reach out and stroke his back. Oh, if only she would! Propriety demanded restraint, however, so Guy pretended not to notice. It was perhaps a bit too early in the game; minding Mr. Galen’s advice, he wanted to at least be able to give her his card. Feeling himself to be on the verge of another strained sneeze, Guy rescued a handkerchief from his pocket and quietly blew his nose. The irritation in his sinuses momentarily abated, to his immense relief. “That line about the movies... I hope you don’t think I was trying to proposition you or anything. Just making polite conversation.” Vanessa smiled, a tad weakly Guy thought. “Oh, of course. Obviously!” She gave a few quiet notes of self-deprecating laughter. Oh no! Had he gone too far? Quickly, he tried to mend this perceived mistake. “Not that I wouldn’t be honoured to accompany such a beautiful young woman as yourself to a nice restaurant! It’d be, well, an honour. Naturally.” Vanessa frowned, not sure she was reading Guy’s signals correctly. Had he just asked her out or not? If fate was throwing her that one golden opportunity, she had to make damned sure she didn’t waste it. “You know, just because it’s the kind of thing that happens in movies, there’s no reason why it shouldn’t happen in real life,” she said, cocking her head to one side and smiling fetchingly. “I suppose not,” came Guy’s nonchalant reply. Though his heart was jack hammering in his chest, he did his best to make it seem as though Vanessa was the one making all the running. Which in effect she now was – just as Christopher had assured him she would. He felt so happy he could almost cry out for joy. If only the floor hadn’t just started spinning! His claustrophobia was really beginning to kick in. He tried desperately to remain calm, a slick sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead as he said, “Actually I do know a rather fine restaurant in the West End. They serve the most wonderful sushi.” “Mmm, I so love Japanese food.” “Shall we make it a date then?” Guy could barely believe he was being this bold. In fact, it was a miracle that he could even speak without his voice cracking up. Unfortunately, his sinuses chose that precise moment to rebel and expel the remnants of the inhaled irritant, and he just had to turn aside and sneeze again- “huh-chissh!” Vanessa smiled, her deep brown eyes flashing with excitement. “Yes, why not.” Guy retrieved his handkerchief, this time to mop his brow. “You really don’t look too good,” Vanessa said with concern. “I’m fine, honestly. Nothing to worry about.” He felt far from fine. His nose was itching like mad, the lift seemed to be spinning in on itself and it was impossible to breathe. All the tension inside him seemed to be channelling itself towards one final, massive explosion. “Huh ... huh ... hah-chiiishoooh!” As though the kinetic force of the sneeze had provided the necessary jolt, the lift suddenly ground back to life and resumed its upward course. And with that, Guy promptly lost all consciousness and slumped down into Vanessa’s outstretched arms. Twenty seconds later, the lift doors opened and Vanessa found herself staring straight into the disbelieving eyes of Christopher Galen. She tried to think of something intelligible to say, anything at all really, but had to settle for plastering a look of pure innocence across her face. As though it were the most natural thing in the world for a nice-looking young man to have passed out in her arms.
Guy checked his watch, feeling a sudden surge of adrenalin. He hoped he wouldn’t be late; on a first date, that would be absolutely unforgivable. The cab should be arriving any moment now, taking him out into the great beyond. Wallet:
check. He was in a state of heightened excitement. Two months ago, Vanessa had just been a woman he had sometimes seen walking past his office window – a vision of beauty to dream about during coffee breaks. Now, eight weeks and fifty grand later, fantasy was merging with reality. He was about to spend quality time with her at a classy restaurant. Afterwards, he had every intention of casually asking her back to his, and from there, who knew what might happen? He felt as though his whole world had just been turned on its head. Maybe that was why he suddenly felt vaguely nauseous. To dispel the nervous energy pulsing through him, he picked up one of his academic journals from the floor and tidied it neatly away among an impressive stack of magazines. It seemed silly to think about how much all this had once meant to him. Who really cared that he’d had fifteen research papers published, two of them in the terribly prestigious Philosophy Today? What did it matter, that he earnestly believed he might one day write this century’s first truly great novel? Maybe Christopher Galen was right– maybe it was all bullshit. He was entering a new world now. It was time to leave the past behind. He checked his watch again and peered outside. The cab was there! Grabbing his coat, he practically fell in his haste to run out towards the waiting vehicle. Vanessa was waiting. * Christopher searched his kitchen in vain for some paracetamol, rifling through his drawers like a man possessed. The background noise of the scanner, tuned into random conversations from strangers, provided a backdrop that was as disjointed as he felt. At last finding the small yellow Boots’ packet he had been looking for, he shook it open and then cried out in sheer frustration upon finding that it was empty. He slammed the drawer shut full-force, catching his index finger in it in the process. “Oww, FUCK!” Sucking on his injured finger, erratic patches of red standing out sharply against the usual pallor of his fine-boned cheeks, Christopher groaned as he reflected that it was indeed true that misery loved company. There was now a throbbing pain in his hand to match the dull ache at the back of his head. This day was just getting better and better, and the cynic in him just couldn’t wait to find out how it would end. He was cross, tired, and now hurting to boot. Part of it was his own fault; he’d been up late into the night preparing for this evening’s dinner date between Guy and Vanessa. For some reason, he kept compulsively running through all the data he’d collected, speeding through pictures of Vanessa that were stored on his computer, re-reading his own hand-written notes... and yet he wasn’t sure why. He felt like he was trying to pin down the elusive answer to a non-existent riddle. “Why is the raven like a writing desk?” he said out loud, and then felt slightly chilled as he recognised that talking to oneself was one of the first signs of encroaching schizophrenia. And yet he wasn’t crazy. Not quite yet. Something was eating at him, something obvious, so close he could almost touch it, but what? The detached businessman in him told him that nothing was wrong; over the last couple of days, everything had been falling neatly into place. It would be another successful assignment, he was certain of it. Guy would leave the restaurant and walk off into the night with Vanessa. He could happily bank the money and move on to find new clients. Job done. 100% success rate maintained. It should’ve been enough. It had always been enough. So why did he suddenly feel like London’s most abject and immoral pimp? What was this fuzzy void in his life that stubbornly refused to dissipate? He found himself wanting to cry and that scared him. The random voices on the scanner were no longer a comfort. He switched the machine off and searched for his keys. * Vanessa gave herself a final once-over in the mirror. No doubt about it, she had outdone herself this time. A small, satisfied smile bloomed on her lavish thirty-minute lips; it might have taken her a couple of hours to get the look just right, but it had been worth it. She would take Guy Collins’ breath away. She smoothed back her long honeyed hair, half of it drawn up to suggest a casual elegance that was anything but (casual, that is). Her big brown eyes, enhanced by the kohl liner and compulsory mascara, were positively arresting. The understated diamond studs sparkling on her lobes combined with the subtle shimmer of her face powder to make her look both glamorous and alluring. Vanessa gave herself a winning smile; she could sweep any man off his feet looking like this. Of course the hideously expensive little black dress, all décolleté and floating wisps of silk, didn’t hurt either. She was stunning and she knew it. And then, just for a moment, her smile faltered. Despite all the excitement, there was something troubling her. She’d dated many men more attractive than Guy... but no, that wasn’t the problem. As Christopher had tactfully explained, she should look beyond, well, “looks”. And yet a part of her worried that she had now moved on to a different type of superficiality, that maybe she was going to all this trouble for a different category of similarly wrong reasons. Could you really build a lasting relationship on such a flimsy premise as a man’s propensity for allergies? It did seem silly when put like that... but then, she couldn’t erase the lift incident from her memory. It was that ephemeral look of helplessness, the way the man had looked so exquisitely trapped, as one sneeze after the other had built up and demanded to be released. It did funny things to her, inside her, making her feel alive, liquid and warm all over... Yes, she thought, she had definitely chosen to go out on this date with Guy because of “looks”. To be more specific, that look, that “Oh no, I’m about to sneeze!” look. It was frozen, indelible in her mind, like a series of Polaroids she mentally ran through again and again- it made her quiver just thinking about it. She had to laugh at herself over this; how incredibly naughty of her to not only recognise her shallowness but embrace it as well. This just wouldn’t do! And yet no matter how hard she tried to convince herself that she was out to discover an actual person, a smaller, darker part of her consciousness kept whispering that she knew nothing about this man. This sly, secretive voice told her that it would probably be yet another wasted evening, nothing other than the familiar morass of mechanical pretending, smiling and laughing until she felt like bursting out into tears of sheer frustration at another shattered illusion. And yet maybe this time would be different. Perhaps she’d get lucky. Perhaps Guy would be sneezing again... Vanessa sighed and forced herself to do what she did best: she smiled and stopped thinking.
Ominously dark clouds were shrouding the London skyline. A thin drizzle had petered out, only to be replaced moments later by heavy rain. Guy hurried to cover the brief distance from the taxi to the restaurant; he did not want the smart suit he was wearing to get wet. Inside the Atlantic, Vanessa was already sat at a window table waiting for him. He barely glanced at the handsomely appointed décor of the restaurant; his eyes fixed straight on Vanessa and he couldn’t take them off her. She was like an angel, radiating a shimmering aura of supreme beauty. He felt his throat go dry and his heart skip a beat as he wondered how on earth he had managed to get into this situation... before reminding himself that it had been thanks to money well spent, and that he was fully equipped to successfully handle the situation. He was no longer the shy young academic of yore, the one who wasn’t too lucky with the girls, the one who often ended up completely rat-arsed in his local on Friday nights, boring his small circle of friends silly with revelations from Descartes and Hegel. Tonight, he could do anything, be anyone- and he was going to be Vanessa’s dream date. He was going to be the guy who finally got the girl, who swept her off her feet and into the Land of Happily Ever After. This night and all the opportunities that had yet to unfold were his. He had worked for them. He had paid for them! Now was not the time for faint hearts. He swallowed dryly, pressing his hands together to stop them shaking. He motioned to the Maitre D’ that he was joining the luscious young lady near the window, and the other man gave him a knowing smile. Vanessa spied him immediately as he made his way over to her and gave him a jaunty little wave. He greeted her with a simple kiss on the cheek. “You look absolutely divine.” She gave him a casual smile. “You have to make the effort for a place like this.” “Indeed. Indeed,” Guy said as he sat down. Damn- his mind had gone blank again, and he couldn’t seem to think of anything to say. Vanessa went on, her limpid brown eyes alight. “It’s a great choice. Smart restaurant, fine food, soft candlelight – you really know the way to a girl’s heart.” Guy did his best to match Vanessa’s nonchalant tone despite thinking he was finally discovering what it felt like to suffer arrhythmia. “As long as you enjoy yourself. That’s what counts.” They exchanged stilted small talk- topics being supplied mainly by Vanessa- as the ostentatiously camp waiter brought them a bottle of wine (“Superb choice, dollinks!”) and the dinner menu. Guy sipped at the wine, nodded to indicate his approval, and then the waiter left with a smile and a flourish to allow them time to decide on the main course (“I recommend the salmon- it’s just mwouah! Fantastique!”). Guy poured out a glass of golden white for each of them. He was more than just a little embarrassed when, his hands trembling lightly, a few drops landed besides Vanessa’s glass. And yet, as soon as he’d managed a couple of mouthfuls, he felt a little more relaxed. If he could just keep on top of the situation, everything was going to be... Vanessa, sensing Guy’s tension, leaned across and ran her hand over his in an effort to soothe him. Instincts honed by hundreds of dates with near strangers told her that they needed to get a real conversation going, and soon. Maybe she had gone a bit over the top in showing off her looks; Guy Collins was a picture of first date jitters if she’d ever seen one. He seemed nice enough; maybe once he’d loosened up a bit, they’d get along well. And then, before she could stop it, she mentally added, “Especially if his hay fever starts acting up again.” Taking things in hand, she said, “I do hope your meeting turned out okay the other day. Were you late in speaking, finally?” Guy found himself blushing at the memory of the incident in the lift. He pushed it quickly to the back of his mind. “No, no, it was close. But I was right on time. Plenty of time. It was fine. Just fine.” He realised he was babbling, and forced himself to slow down. He took another hearty swallow of his wine, gave Vanessa what he hoped was a bright smile, and tried again. “I was mostly there as an observer. Our college likes to maintain links with the business community.” Much better. “So you’re an academic then?” she asked, smiling encouragingly. “Of sorts. I like to experience all sorts of different milieus, but philosophy is my area of expertise.” “Ooh, you’re a deep one. I bet there’s a lot going on in that brain of yours.” Guy shook his head, doing his best to look modest despite the fact that he was ridiculously pleased by Vanessa’s offhand compliment. “Ah well, everyone knows it’s mostly just words and theories. No one has the answers, really, and sometimes you just have to be brave, like Socrates, and admit that you know nothing.” Vanessa frowned. “Socrates? Is he that Greek guy from Eastenders?” “Hmm, no.” Guy felt a flicker of annoyance, more at himself than Vanessa. A voice inside his mind- sounding suspiciously like Christopher Galen’s- was telling him he was going down the wrong track and getting nowhere fast. He needed to remember not to stray onto such subjects, because “real people tire very quickly of all that meaningless bullshit I spout.” It seemed that sometimes he just couldn’t stop himself. Perhaps some more wine would help to focus his mind. He offered the bottle across to Vanessa, but she only shook her head, so he poured out another generous glass for himself. It suddenly occurred to him that perhaps he was drinking a bit quickly considering he hadn’t had any lunch, but he banished that thought along with all the other warnings his fevered brain was emitting. Vanessa, who had been staring at a non-existent speck on the ceiling while Guy was lost in his self-deprecating reverie, suddenly gave him a smile that seemed a little bit too bright. Gracefully unfolding upwards as she laid her napkin on the table, she said, “Do excuse me, Guy, I just need to pop into the ladies’. I’m terribly sorry; the wine seems to have gone straight through me. I’ll be back in a sec.” Guy smiled to himself. This was it- the moment he’d been subconsciously waiting for. Everything would be going uphill from this moment on; the ever so competent Mr. Galen had assured him of it. He checked to make sure no one was watching him and then pulled out the sprayer from his pocket. He pushed the top gently, but nothing seemed to happen. He tried again, this time with more force. Still nothing came out. Damn, what was wrong with the thing? He tried shaking it and then pushed again, desperation beginning to creep in, but it made no difference. Perhaps the nozzle had become blocked.... He peered at it close up, but in the dim light of the restaurant it was impossible to tell. His heart was racing and he could feel himself breaking out into a light sweat. Vanessa would be back in a moment and his chance would be gone. He tried one final firm push. At last it seemed to work. A small cloud of dust rose into the air. Unfortunately Guy had pointed the sprayer in the wrong direction. The pepper drifted straight into Vanessa’s path as she walked back from the toilet. He groaned inwardly and hastily hid the sprayer back in his pocket. The triumphant smile that had lit up his face when Vanessa had left was now replaced by an equally disproportionate expression of thorough misery. He was doomed! Or perhaps not. Vanessa didn’t seem to have noticed anything... though- did he imagine it?- he saw her nose give a light twitch. He forced himself to smile again. Maybe it wasn’t so bad after all. Now that they were getting to know each other properly, deceptions about hay fever and allergies were surely unnecessary, weren’t they? His natural charm and intelligent conversation would be more than enough to win her over. Yes, he told himself brightly, that was the best way to look at it, from a philosophical standpoint. For a man who had been quoting Socrates barely a few minutes ago, Guy was blissfully unaware of the irony of his situation.
Christopher pushed the car into third gear. He was riding past Vauxhall Bridge, the rain splashing off his windscreen in angry sheets. He felt cocooned in his car, driving around London’s grey streets for no good reason other than to give his mind something, anything, to focus on. It was a dark, cold and dismal spring evening. The heavy rain showed no sign of abating. He wanted to move up another gear, to pick up speed until all the streetlights bled into each other and the night gave him some peace. The spiralling clouds seemed to mirror Christopher’s inner turmoil, and yet no matter how far or how fast he drove, he couldn’t seem to break away from either of them. How could he ever escape when what he was running from was locked inside his mind? Excuses and places to hide were running out at a most alarming rate. Christopher felt exhausted. For a moment, there was a strong urge to let go of the steering wheel and – He breathed heavily, forced himself to concentrate. They were just futile, empty gestures. He was acting like a love-struck adolescent. He was a professional man, someone who prided himself on the way he carried out his business, for God’s sake. Nothing brought him more satisfaction than a job well done. He opened the car window and allowed the cool rain to splash across his face. Slowly, he marshalled his thoughts together. Watch the road. Follow the signs into the centre of the city. Right turn, left turn, stop and stay. Within minutes, he was parked in his familiar spot directly opposite the Atlantic restaurant. He sat for a moment, his damp forehead resting against the dashboard as the wheel pressed into his chest. Christopher could feel his heartbeat slowly dropping to a reasonable rate; his mind felt clearer than it had in days. He turned on the car radio so that the silence wouldn’t disturb him. In the dark, through the rain’s curtain, he could just make out the vague shapes of Guy and Vanessa outlined against the window of the restaurant. He tried to imagine what conversation they might be having, whether they were enjoying themselves, whether Guy was able to draw out Vanessa’s rich, warm laughter. Perhaps it was ringing through the Atlantic at that very moment, and just thinking of it made a small smile appear on his face. In his head, he still had an image of Vanessa drawn from his computer the night before. Try as he might, it wouldn’t go away. All he could see were those deep, deep brown eyes seeming to bore right through his skin and into his soul. He felt a shock of excitement. Immediately, the familiar sensation he dreaded followed. His nose itched maddeningly. He let out a sneeze. “Uhshoo!” And then, the sensation escalated, and it seemed he couldn’t stop himself. “Hushoo! ... Mmmshoo!... Damn!... Huh-uhchooooo!” No one heard him, no one saw, but still Christopher felt himself flushing hotly. One big explosion after the other crept up on him, and all he could do was sit there and wait until the fit passed. He buried his face in his hands, ashamed, as the entire car rattled to the sound of his sneezing. This, he thought, just had to be rock bottom.
There was another awkward pause as both Vanessa and Guy stared at the breadbasket. Each of them tried to look interested, as if discovering properties of bread crust heretofore unknown to man. What delicate grooves, what complex ridges. It was really a marvel of forced fossilisation, when one stopped to consider it... Vanessa couldn’t help wondering for the first time if perhaps her expectations for the evening hadn’t been set too high. For once, she’d agreed to go on a date with a man who didn’t work in the media industry, whom she guessed didn’t have a wallet full of platinum cards, and who was not quite as good looking as Michael Owen. And yet she was sorely disappointed, for this evening was turning out to be everything but what she’d imagined a date with a regular guy would be like. To make matters worse, he hadn’t yet sneezed. Maybe it was just nerves. The wine had helped, but she couldn’t help noticing that Guy was putting a fair amount away himself. Perhaps he was nervous too. “How silly we are,” she thought. “We should just be ourselves.” She sniffed awkwardly. Something was suddenly making her sinuses itch like crazy. This was so unfair. She was loathe to sneeze in public; she hated doing it with a passion. It made her feel naked, exposed- and, if someone saw her do it, violated. She knew she was going over the top, but still... It wasn’t fair. Guy was the one with the allergies and he hadn’t sneezed once all evening! Vanessa turned her head away and desperately stifled a sneeze. “Hmmmpf!” Fortunately, Guy seemed oblivious to her discomfort. When Vanessa looked up, she saw that he had a dopey grin on his face. She decided she did not find it the least bit attractive. He’d been sporting it for much of the evening, and it was driving her bonkers. The waiter came with a bustle and a flourish, like an angelic saviour with a notepad and a bow tie. He took their order, cooing appreciatively at their choice, (“You’ll love it, dollinks!”) and Vanessa found herself sorry to see him leave. Though they looked and acted nothing alike, she was reminded of her other gay friend Christopher, and she immediately grew wistful thinking about how easy he was to talk to. If only Guy were as skilled in the realm of easygoing banter, she would be having the time of her life. Except for that inexplicable urge to sneeze again, slowly mounting in the back of her throat, making her expression slowly fold in on itself. And then, as if on cue, Guy picked up the conversation again. “Vanessa, you strike me as an intelligent young lady. Do you ever find yourself suddenly stopping to consider the significance of apparently ordinary human activities?” She shook her head, more concerned at that moment with the growing discomfort she felt in her nose. Though she gave it a discreet but forceful rub, there was nothing she could do about it. Furiously uncomfortable, she realised she needed to sneeze again. This time it was stronger, and stifling it was somewhat painful. “Heh-mmmph!” Guy poured himself some more wine and gazed absently across the table at her. “I mean take something as simple as our – if you’ll excuse the rather banal expression – ‘date’ tonight. It’s the same ritual that humans have been going through in one form or another since the very beginnings of time...” Vanessa turned her head in vain as another sneeze caught her unawares. “Hah-tshooo!” Guy frowned and waved a hand in front of his face. “Bless you,” he muttered awkwardly, taking in Vanessa’s slightly watery eyes and reddening nose before continuing with his monologue. “You know, it’s at the heart of what us modern day thinkers are always striving for. A chance to experience a true union. That rare moment of gestalt.” “Ges ... Haaiiishoo! ...Oh, sorry- Ges ... what?” “Gestalt. You know, the idea that the whole is greater than the sum of the individual parts?” “Oh. Right...” Actually she had no idea what he was talking about. Guy continued on, oblivious. In fact, he was rather pleased with himself. “I think it’s central to everything. You see, it’s vitally important to be able to grasp the symbolism of each action you take.” “Is it?” Vanessa was struggling to hold back another rising sneeze and follow the conversation at the same time. “Sure. I mean take the way we met in the lift. It was fate. Karma. The gods were up there sending us a message.” Vanessa smiled. “Yes, I think I see what you mean. It’s like it was written in the stars.” She dropped her voice to a confidential whisper, “You know I always have to check my horoscope before I go out.” He patently ignored her attempt to steer the conversation into a more Vanessa-friendly direction and took another swallow of wine, draining his glass. His cheeks were getting quite flushed now, and she could see a light sheen of sweat on his brow. Guy’s eyes were wide and alert as he looked at her, leaning forward and shaking his head. “No, no! Wrong! That stuff’s all wrong. It’s a symptom of how narrow our thinking has become.” Guy patiently poured out more wine before continuing. “Just look at the Egyptians. All those pyramids they managed to construct out in the middle of the desert. How would you go about building something like that today?” Vanessa stifled another sneeze. ‘Hep-mmmpf! Uh... I really haven’t the faintest idea.’ ‘Exactly. I think that proves my point.’ Vanessa sighed. She really hadn’t a clue what point it proved. In fact, she had no idea exactly what Guy’s completely irrelevant point was! What had she been thinking? This date was a disaster; Vanessa couldn’t remember having been this bored since A-levels. She wished she could go home to her comfortingly familiar room, lie on her bed surrounded by her glittering accessories and flickering candles, and curl up into a little ball. And then, she’d do her best to try and forget this whole evening had ever happened. Meanwhile, Guy was off again. He might as well have been speaking Sanskrit for all the sense it made to her. She stared numbly at her long, manicured nails, a plastic smile pasted on her face, nodding at regular intervals. Obviously the gods were laughing at her somewhere. You could call it fate or karma or whatever the hell you wanted – the truth was, it bloody well sucked. She tried to console herself with some more wine, but it seemed Guy had finished off the third and final bottle. She shook her head, forcing herself not to cry so as not to ruin her exotic eye makeup. She might have already decided she was going to go home alone, but she’d go out in style. The sooner it was all over the better. * When the sneezing finally abated, Christopher rubbed his bleary eyes and decided the best thing to do was drive back home. He looked and felt a mess, skin unnaturally pale except for a few brilliant flares up on his cheeks. He decided he could skip the usual rituals involved in completing an assignment; he really had no reason to be here anymore. He told himself it was because he’d done such a top-notch job in arranging this Chance Meeting and mapping out Vanessa’s ‘weaknesses’... but deep down, he knew better. He needed sleep and a chance to get his head together. In the morning things might seem better. He turned the key in the ignition and began to reverse the car out into the road. It was still raining heavily and he had to keep the windscreen wipers set at full speed just so he could see. The road ahead appeared to be clear. He stepped on the accelerator ... and then, catching a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye, stopped. Christopher held his breath. Something very strange had just happened. In the rear view mirror of his car, he’d just seen the unmistakable silhouette of Vanessa leaving the restaurant. Alone. His foot was pressed down on the break so hard as to be painful, but he wasn’t aware of it as he focussed all his energy on watching her through the downpour. He saw her take a few hesitant steps, shoulders hunched under her coat, the heavy curtains of rain making her cringe. She peered up and down the street for a few seconds and then climbed into a waiting Black Cab. Christopher suddenly remembered to breathe as he watched the taxi speed away into the night. A single word ricocheted throughout his otherwise blank mind, growing softer and slower with each repetition until it escaped through his lips in a nearly silent whisper: “Alone!”
It was a wretched feeling for someone who’d carefully maintained the world’s most expansive blind spot when it came to his own affaires de coeur. It had dawned on him like a lightening bolt of realisation, hitting him so hard as to take his breath away: he’d somehow managed to fall in love with the very woman he’d delivered into Guy Collins’ arms. It tore at him, making him want to scream and laugh at the same time. He’d done it to himself, of course, and that was why it hurt, like battery acid poured onto a wound that had gone unnoticed until it was too late. It was still raining hard when Christopher knocked on Vanessa’s door. He was shaking, not quite sure what he was doing. His heart was beating furiously, and he felt as if he were suffocating as he heard footsteps coming close. Vanessa opened the door, her mouth forming a surprised ‘oh’ shape when she saw him standing there, soaking wet. Funnily enough, he seemed just as surprised to see her; he blinked three times in quick succession, as if wondering how he’d gotten there. “Oh, hi...” she said. “Hi.” They stared at each other for a moment, caught in each other’s headlights, frozen. “Do you, um, want to come in?” Vanessa asked. Christopher nodded. He was shivering, she noted, suddenly frightened by the wild glow of his eyes and the fevered flush on his cheeks. It was the first time she had ever seen her friend not looking like he’d just stepped out of the pages of GQ. “Is everything okay?” she asked, opening the door wider to allow him to enter. “Here, come in. You look a sight! I’ll put the kettle on, shall I?” “Sure.” What was he doing? Suddenly, he felt terrified. Ever since he could remember, he had always tried to breeze through his life, never forming attachments, never letting himself become trapped. He was an expert at always keeping everything under perfect control, at arm’s length, never truly risking being hurt. He’d just as soon try to eat his own right hand than walk thus into the lioness’ den with his tender underbelly exposed. And yet, here he was, with that omnipresent phrase in his mind... “I’m a heterosexual man!” Vanessa gave him a once over, taking in the drops of water clinging to his long lashes, the locks of black hair haphazardly stuck to his forehead. He was wringing wet, obviously miserable. Suddenly switching on, she excused herself, ran to the kitchen to fill the kettle and then dashing to her room. She came back about fifteen seconds later, bearing a man’s shirt. “Here, you poor thing, put this on. It’s not mine,” she explained, looking a bit embarrassed Christopher noticed, “but I think it’ll fit you.” “Thanks.” He quickly took off his coat and jumper, and then stopped. What a curious thing it was, to stand half-undressed in front of Vanessa. Though he still had his trousers on, he had never felt so naked. Quickly, as though it would shield him, he drew the shirt over his head. Something caught in his throat- those unspoken words he’d thought one million times. Their respective discomfort suddenly became so intense as to be almost palpable. As if it had just occurred to her, Vanessa asked, “So what are you doing here?” “I just... I needed to... I...” Christopher couldn’t stand it. He felt himself breaking out in a deep, hot flush, and couldn’t seem to make sense of the thunderstorm going on inside his head. He closed his eyes and turned around, his fevered brain calling out, “Coward! Coward!” as he prepared to walk away and leave it all behind. “Sorry. I’ve gone daft. I’m... I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ll just... just leave.” He had his hand on the doorknob when he felt Vanessa’s hands on his waist. “No, stay,” she said, her voice low and soothing. “Please.” Was it always going to be this way? Would he spend his whole life walking away from what he wanted, just because despite appearances, despite what he liked to think, he was desperately afraid of being hurt? Vanessa spoke again, anxious, a little bit frightened. “Look, I don’t know what’s wrong, but I wouldn’t mind a chat, Chris. The water’s ready; come on, let’s have a cup of tea. I can tell you about my date, if you want; it was awful, it’ll make you laugh. Or you can just tell me about you. I know I’m always talking, but I know how to listen too.” She didn’t know what to make of him. Was he drunk? She couldn’t smell alcohol on his breath; only a kind of sour fear that seemed to radiate off of him as his gaze fluttered between her and the floor. She sensed that something was desperately wrong; it was the way his entire body seemed filled with kinetic tension, his lips pressed tightly together, his eyes wide and troubled. This entire evening had been one weird incident after the other, but even Guy really couldn’t hold a candle to Christopher in terms of oddity at that moment. And then, something seemed to become unstuck. Vanessa still had her hands on Christopher when he suddenly coughed out those words he’d been aching to say for so many weeks. “I’m heterosexual.” “Huh?” Her surprise was genuine. Of all the things she had expected him to say, that was the last thing she could have thought of. He said it again, eyes downcast, his cheeks still burning in that unnatural way. “I’m heterosexual, and I love you.” “What?” Her mind was reeling. She let go of him and backed away, suddenly frightened. Christopher went on. “It was all a lie. I lied. Because... I wanted to get to know you. I had to. I had to because...” and he stopped, defeated, lost. Vanessa looked at the drowning man before her, still soaking wet, looking oddly young in the ill-fitting shirt he had put on. He was no longer shivering, but he still looked intensely vulnerable. Heterosexual, he had said. It was her turn to blush. A million images raced through her mind- the hours spent drinking coffee at the office. Shopping trips. Meaningless chitchat, trading tips on how to find the perfect guy. That wonderful evening they’d spent eating pasta and indulging in girl-talk. Suddenly, she saw him in an entirely different light- all along, he’d been a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He’d heard her talk endlessly about men, moaning, laughing, and she wondered what he’d really been thinking all those times he’d sat there, nodding companionably. Vanessa stared at him and he stared back. His eyes were hard. “Throw me out!” they seemed to say. “I deserve it. Go on. I dare you.” She took him in, as if seeing him for the first time. Realising there was an element of truth in that, a single thought flared up in her mind. “Fucking bastard!” That was quickly followed by, “And he went shopping with me and helped me pick out shoes.” “Heterosexual,” she said. Her glacial tone turned his blood to ice. “Yes.” “Well it’s about time you came out of the closet. You are such an arsehole.” “And you’re a spoiled, selfish bitch. You deserved what you got. I’ve never met anyone as blind as you.” And then, he was on fire as Vanessa jumped him, pressing her lips roughly to his. She felt good, a sweet taste, and everything was changing as he looked at her face. She was furious. So was he. Both of them were filled with an intense loathing of each other at the exact same moment, hers fraught with anger at his deception, his of what she represented. Their barriers had exploded, driving bitter shards into the very core of their being, and they were out for blood. They fell to the floor, a tangle of limbs and mouths and tongues. Though they’d only known each other for a few weeks, it felt like the culmination of years of frustration. Vanessa practically tore the shirt off him, purposely digging her long nails into his skin. He retaliated, biting her shoulders hard as he peeled away her outrageously skimpy dress. Then he had to stop, caught completely off balance by a savage sneeze that seemed to rise straight from his very core. “Huh-uhchooooo!” She pinned him to the floor, ripping his trousers as she undid his fly, and pushed them down. He didn’t stand a chance. Within seconds, she pulled him up and dragged him, stumbling, to her room. He pushed her roughly onto the bed, but she had the advantage as her legs were unencumbered. Even worse, every time he tried to assert his strength another sneeze would leave him defenceless. “Hmm-shooo! Hushooo!” Struggle as he might to have the upper hand, it was she who was on him, grinding him into the mattress, her eyes shooting daggers. They didn’t make love- they fucked, hard and fast, like animals. When it was over, Vanessa burst into tears. “Who are you to do this to me?” she said, her voice shaking with emotion. “How dare you?” Still lying on his back, Christopher held her tightly. “I’ve had this feeling for such a long time now,” he said. “It’s eating at me day and night.” He paused, desperately smothering another strong sneeze- “Huh-mmmmpf!”- before continuing: “You have no idea what it feels like; you just go through your life looking for what’s right in front of your nose the entire time, and then you have the nerve, the audacity, to tell me I’m the idiot here. Well guess what, honey, I’ve got news for you.” And then, it was her turn to surprise him. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I just want to be lost? That I don’t want anyone to find me? Did you ever stop to think, just for a moment, that maybe I’m not the dumb blonde you and the rest of the world thinks I am? Well you can just fuck off, Christopher. Maybe there’s a reason why I always want what I can’t have. Maybe what I want just doesn’t exist.” Her denial made him furious. “You can. It does. And I love you.” He felt her body slump against his, defeated, desperate. “No, no, no...” And then Christopher realised that she was right- he was a complete idiot. He thought he’d been the only one with carefully erected defences, perennially lonely, scared of losing control. He held his breath as this realisation washed over him, suddenly feeling as if a hundred kilogram weight had been lifted from his chest. For a moment, he suddenly felt so free, it was all he could do not to burst out laughing. The anger melted away as quickly as it had overtaken him, leaving a gentle warmth in its stead. It was a sweeping sense of calm after the world’s biggest thundershower. He felt her melt into him as the nature his hold on her changed. And then, so softly he would have missed had his entire being not been focussed on her at that precise moment, he heard Vanessa whisper, “I love you,
too.” It’s three in the morning, mid-April, after a very strange day. Outside it’s pouring rain; inside it’s cosy and warm. The city’s birds are silent, either sleeping or watching rain fall to the ground. The entire world seems to be poised on the brim of something momentous as London waits impatiently for dawn to come. Vanessa is lying wide-awake, her arms around the still, slightly damp body of a man she’s glad to have in her bed. She’s listening to the patter of drops against her window, savouring the sounds of Christopher’s breathing. Each exhale, as delicate as a lover’s kiss, makes her conscious of their respective vulnerability. Vanessa is feeling both happy and terrified, buoyed by an exhilaration she hasn’t felt since she was sixteen years old. The future is cloudy; the future is bright. Christopher is dead to the world. He is dreaming about helping a woman he doesn’t know, who is struggling to push a baby carriage up the steps of a dark tube station. He’s feeling confident and strong, helping this stranger bring a small being full of brilliant promise into the light above. Christopher shifts in his sleep, giving a small moan. The woman is a treasure trove of possibilities; the baby reflects avenues within himself he has never dared to explore or cultivate. The future is scary; the future is his. Guy is again up way past his bedtime. He is reading Paolo Coehlo’s The Alchemist, completely absorbed. Through books, he allows himself to dream, and he wonders what dreams he might be able to share with others were he only able to write books of his own. The thought saddens him; he is still searching for his own Personal Legend. He reaches the end of a chapter, and forces himself to stop reading. He feels giddy and tense, and decides to surf the Internet for only a few minutes before going to sleep for the night. Guy turns on his PC, brings up the navigator, clicks on a few random links just to see if there is anything on the web he hasn’t yet read a thousand times, in one form or another. And then, his heart begins to race again. His hand cups the plastic mouse as if it were a lover’s breast. Click-click-click. His mouth hangs slightly open, his pupils dilate. That he should have stumbled across this, tonight of all nights, is surely a sign. The future is only a click away, and Guy can’t believe his eyes... (please click!) |