‘I wonder,’ he said, ‘whether the gratification of one’s desires is really what life is all about?’
‘You have to admit that it’s not a bad way to pass the time while you’re wondering, mmm?’
‘Do you think my place would do? I doubt that I could survive the hassle of moving house.’
‘Your place would be lovely; it’s a great location and it’d be the best possible arrangement. What about the finances? Will you give me a lump sum or do you want to do a contract of some kind? I don’t want to sound too heartlessly practical but if you were to hop the twig without putting something in writing I’d be left high and dry, wouldn’t I.’
‘I won’t leave you high and dry, Melissa. That’ll all be taken care of
She kissed him again and hugged him. ‘Whatever you think of me, Harold, I really am very fond of you. Underneath all the surface crap there is something good between us, isn’t there?’
‘Yes, Melissa, there is.’
‘And do I taste good?’
‘Delicious.’
‘Perhaps you should refresh your memory.’
He refreshed it. The room took on warm colours; almost his tinnitus was like a canary.
‘Show me the website setup,’ he said.
‘Through here.’
Beyond the bedroom were a tiny kitchen and a small room in which were two computers with modems, a printer, a scanner/copier, a fax machine, and three telephones. These occupied a long table and there was also a drawing table with a lightbox on it. There were two chairs; the rest of the space was filled by filing cabinets. ‘This is where it all happens,’ said Melissa.
‘Amazing. I was expecting a much bigger setup, more like the control room for the national grid.’
‘This is all you need — it’s mostly in the software. We can’t use a British ISP so we’ve got a file-transfer-protocol access to a Dutch server. We put everything together here and shoot it over there and it ends up on the Net where professorial types like you can drop in for intellectual stimulation. As I’ve said, we could really use one more person for the filing and the housekeeping on the database; it’s difficult doing this and my job at King’s as well.’
‘How long have you been running the website, Melissa?’
‘It’s only about six months although it seems longer.’
‘And what got you started on Angelica’s Grotto?’
‘I told you, Harold, I stabbed my father twelve times.’
‘In other words, you’re not going to explain.’
She cocked her head, closed one eye, and made a little noise out of the side of her mouth. ‘My history is not part of the deal. Mystery yes, history no.’
‘Will you tell me, at least, why you chose the Ingres painting of Ruggiero and Angelica for your website?’
‘Yes, I will. For centuries, Harold, women have been chained to the rock of male fantasies, so I thought I might as well use naked Angelica to attract the types I wanted to study.’
‘Emotionally dysfunctional types like me.’
‘Right. So far I’ve compiled data on the eighty-one men who’ve been answering my questions as you did. Their fear of women and their feelings of inferiority are shown in how they react to the website material and what they say when we talk one to one — all of them feel less than equal to the female.’
‘Do you think men ever will feel equal to women?’
‘Obviously they can’t feel equal until they are equal, and whether or not that’ll ever happen I can’t say. But before any change can happen there has to be recognition of the present situation, and that’s the object of this study.’
‘I’m afraid I’m too old to change, Melissa.’
‘Nobody’s asking you to. I’m not exactly a role model either and I’m too perverse to change, so I guess the two of us will have to carry on being less than perfect.’
‘Is it possible that perversity is natural, that everything generates its own variations?’
‘That’s something else I’d like to look into but it’ll have to wait until I finish this project.’
‘While we talk there’s nobody minding the store.’
‘At this time of day we just let the website run itself. Later we’ll do one-to-ones and take phone calls.’
‘Where’s Leslie now?’
‘He’s working in a porno flick and won’t be back till this evening.’
‘Don’t you worry about AIDS?’
‘We both get tested regularly and we always take precautions.’
‘I can understand the appeal of rough trade, but he’s so, so …’
‘He’s so what, Prof? So black? So well-hung? So good at giving me satisfaction?’
‘Is he producing or performing in this porno flick?’
‘Performing, and he’s a very reliable performer, believe me — much in demand.’
‘The people who make these films, do you associate with them at all?’
‘It’s a company called Labyrinth. They put me on to Lydia. She’s the female lead in ‘Monica’s Monday Night’. She also appears under different wigs in the other picture stories. She’s very good but she’s not cheap.’
‘Who’s Angelica?’
‘That’s Shannon. I got her from Labyrinth too.’
‘She looks like a Waterhouse nymph.’
‘Who’s Waterhouse?’
‘A Victorian painter. You must have seen reproductions of Hylas and the Nymphs or The Lady of Shalott here and there?’
‘I don’t recall but the Tennyson poem is certainly a load of crap. If she wanted Lancelot she could have found better ways of getting his attention than dying. That poem is a kind of snuff movie but it’s respectable because they never actually get down to business. Typical wanker chauvinist piggery. And I doubt that Waterhouse’s nymphs ever got up to or down to what Shannon does in a day’s work.’
‘At Labyrinth, are there any women called Kimberly or Tiffany?’
‘Several. Do you want their phone numbers?’
‘Not yet.’ Klein’s mind, like a tongue going into a cavity, kept giving him pictures of Melissa and Leslie doing what the Lady of Shalott and Lancelot didn’t. ‘You said that Leslie was an employee. Does his pay cover sexual services?’
‘Yes, it does. With men I take nothing that I don’t pay for.’
‘What about Lydia? Do you pay her for sex?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Some things I’ll explain, Harold — others not.’
‘And you’re paying me with sex in advance for what you expect to get from me.’
‘I’ve told you: you’ve got the quids and I’ve got the quos. We also have something more but don’t try to define it and don’t try to romanticise it, OK?’
‘OK, Melissa, I promise not to. If you’ll drive me to Oval Underground Station I can make my way home from there.’
‘Leaving in a huff, are we?’
‘In a train, if you’ll drop me off at the station.’
‘So where are we, Prof?’
‘In Rubicon Grove, Lola. I’ll let you know when I’ve made the crossing.’
Nobody said anything in the van on the way to the station. Melissa took Klein’s hand and put it on her thigh and he let it stay there while he spoke to himself in silence.