‘Dali was the opposite of all these things. He is the most famous Catalan there has ever been, more famous even than Carreras. It’s good you are interested in him.’
He paused. ‘What did they say about him in his obituaries? Salvador Felipe Jacinto Dali i Domenech, born on the eleventh of May, 1904, at number 2 °Carrer Monturiol, Figueras. Died in his apartment in the Dali Museum on the twenty-third of January 1989. A genius, self-proclaimed, yet also by acclamation. The greatest surrealist artist of all time. He was larger than life, he was a showman, he was a great egomaniac, he was an internationalist, and he was generous to a fault. Everything that normally the Catalan is not.’
I stared at him. ‘You knew him?’
He smiled. ‘I could tell you everything there is to know about Dali. But it is better that I show you. Yes, Oz. Someday soon I will show you.’
He walked me back to join Shirley and Prim. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘it is time for Davidoff to rest. The little vampire must go back to his box to prepare for the night.’ He blew a kiss to Primavera, turned on his heel and walked, straight-backed, off to the summerhouse.
24
‘You know, Oz, you men will never cease to amaze and amuse me.’
Prim was at the wheel of the Frontera, driving along the beach-front of Riells as we wound our way home from our afternoon with Shirley Gash and Davidoff. She shot a sidelong, smiling glance at me.
‘What d’you mean?’
‘It’s your attitudes.This male thing you have about perceived rivals. You’re like bloody lions, all of you. I thought you might have been different, my Oz, but you’re not.’
I growled, deep in my throat, grinning at her.
‘No, seriously,’ she said. ‘You men, you sit there, at the head of your pride — Christ, you even call me your lioness, on occasion — looking ever so sure of yourselves, but all the time really insecure: because every time another young lion comes along, you react instinctively to him as a threat, someone who has to be seen off. Look at the show you put on with Steve Miller last night. That was a classic example of it.’
That riled me. ‘Come on, that guy is a balloon.’
‘Of course he is,’ she countered. ‘He’s a smarmy, conceited prat who thinks he’s God’s gift to women. But did you consider for a minute that I might have been capable of working that out for myself, and of seeing him off? No you didn’t. Your involuntary male reflex came into play. “Cor’, there’s another young lion after my lioness. Better see him off sharpish.” Straight away your chest was puffed out, your eyes were burning, and your whole posture was aggressive.’
‘And you women, you resent that, do you?’
‘On one hand, yes; because it implies that you men see us as possessions. On the other hand, no; because it’s good for our egos, and because secretly most women are taken by the thought of men fighting over them, even if it is only handbags at ten paces. But that’s not my point.’
‘Then what is?’
‘That it’s an ageist thing.’
‘Eh?’
‘Think about it. You ran Steve Miller, a guy your own age, right out of town because he showed an interest in me. Yet this afternoon, Davidoff kissed my hands in the most seductive way imaginable, and you laughed. Then he walked me round the garden and into his boudoir, and you sat there chatting to Shirley.
‘Why? Because he’s an old lion, as old as Methuselah, and so you didn’t perceive him as a threat. You felt vulnerable with Steve and complacent with Davidoff, and you were dead wrong, twice.’
I laughed, although something told me I shouldn’t. ‘You fancy Davidoff, do you?’
‘Don’t make a joke of it,’ she snapped. ‘Steve Miller repels me, Davidoff is fascinating. He’s charming, wise, considerate, and flattering. Guys like Steve shape themselves to suit the circumstances and to gain their own ends. Davidoff is constant, unshakable and ageless, and he’s got the gift of making a woman feel wanted for herself, not just for her …’ She paused, searching for her words.
‘What he tells a woman, by his whole behaviour towards her, is that if she permits him to please her in any way, she is bestowing a great honour upon him. That’s a hell of a lot more romantic than the slobbering kisses of a dozen Steve Millers, I can tell you.’
‘Mmm,’ I mused. ‘Shirley says the old fella’s balls don’t work any more.’
She withered me with her glance. ‘There’s more to it than balls, my man. Jan and Noosh would be the first to tell you that.’
I felt my skin flush, and it must have showed, even in the car, because her look became quizzical. ‘You still haven’t come to terms with that, have you?’ she said, with a note of surprise in her voice. ‘Your ex taking up with another woman. I don’t suppose there can be a bigger blow to the male ego than that.’
She parked the car outside our apartment. She didn’t know it, of course, but she had given me the perfect feed, the perfect opportunity to tell her of the sea-change in Jan’s life and of the confusion into which mine had been thrown as a result. I suppose if I was as honest a bloke as I’ve always liked to think myself, I would have taken it. But right then, Flora Blackstone wasn’t looking over Prim’s shoulder, telling me to do the right thing.
For all that, I should have told her as soon as I got off the plane, back there in Barcelona airport. But I didn’t, as I couldn’t then, because I wasn’t ready.
You might think that it’s every young man’s dream, to be in love with two really gorgeous women. Wrong. Actually it’s a nightmare, because all the time you know that sooner or later, you’ll have to choose. Worse, one of them — God forbid, both — might choose for you. Whatever happens, down the road someone gets hurt. Chances are everyone gets hurt. Chances are, when the smoke clears, you wind up sleeping in a mostly empty bed, back in the life of carry-out kebabs, frozen pizzas, and too many bevvies with the lads.
I knew all this, but I still … or was it because of it … I climbed our winding stair and kept my trap shut. You see, I still didn’t know the answer, the reason that Jan had talked about. It was in there, but I just couldn’t find it. To my great relief at that moment, though, Prim must have thought that she’d gone too far, since she chose to resume our discussion of the functionality of Davidoff’s nuts.
‘Anyway,’ she insisted. ‘He would tell Shirley that, to make her feel completely comfortable around him. Think on this, too; even if it is true, there might just be a few women who would welcome the challenge of reviving them.’
With that remark, I decided that a tactical sulk was called for. The strategy seemed to have worked, for no sooner was the door closed than Prim wound her arms around my neck, pulled me to her and kissed her.
‘Just in case you were getting the wrong idea,’ she murmured, unbuttoning my shirt, ‘I’m not thinking about trading you in for an older model.’ She unzipped my cotton trousers. I couldn’t help it; I flipped the waistband button of her Bermudas.
‘Mmm,’ she whispered, with the beginning of the wicked smile that I knew so well. ‘Now that’s no challenge … no challenge at all.’
She rose to it, nevertheless.
Afterwards, as we lay outside in the evening sun, I thought back to Prim’s theorising on the drive home. ‘Hey, what you were saying earlier,’ I teased her. ‘Since you’re so hot on ageism, how come you left me alone with Shirley, after the welcome she gave me?’
She laughed. ‘One, because Shirley’s still too much in love with her husband to look at any other man, two, because underneath that outrageous front, she’s very much a lady, and three, because I trust …’
She stopped as the telephone rang, and as I jumped up to answer it.
‘Oz, s’at you?’
‘S’me, Eddie. Any luck?’
‘Luck’s got luck all to do with it. I told you our database is the best in the business. Your man Starr’s on it … in a way.’
‘Eh? What d’you mean in a way? He’s either on it or he isn’t.’