I have no idea.
Before the night was out Dodge’s clothes had grown on her. She asked if I would lend her something attractive for the next day so we went to my bedroom and tried some things on. They were her size. She left the skullcap that matched her nictitating membrane where it was and chose a pair of brick red flannel slacks and a helio cardigan. I gave her some stockings and a pair of vamp Oxfords with buried welt stitch and bevelled edges I had been saving for a special occasion. We skipped dinner and slept in the same bed with the light on.
In the morning we went down to the liquor shop for a bottle of champagne. We took a turn around Fitzroy Gardens, where an old woman walking her dog smiled at us nostalgically if not altogether conspiratorially as she bent with a plastic bag on her hand, emerging from her supple fur covered with the spoors of late spring. Morning. Morning. I told you I intended to leave no stone unturned. We drew all the curtains but one, the better for a sense of depth. Promise. In uncertainty, at least, hope. Doing my best not to whistle too loud I twisted Eliza’s hair in plaits, wound them up into a bun, tried to show her how to step in heels. There are certain signs. Réveillent des faits anciens. When at last the doorbell rang I opened the door to the fattest man yet. He was panting. Lift broke. His name wasn’t Lawson but he was not, he said, unrelated. You’ve met my boy. A suave nod from over his boss’ shoulder brought Paul’s haggard face into the hall light for a moment. More than we were expecting. Came up by the Metro. Thought some air would do us both a service. I led them into the living room and the fatter man jumped at seeing Eliza standing behind one of the striped poplin armchairs. Hello, I’m Frank Masters. Frank.
Hello. I’m Eliza. Hello.
Hello.
I had positioned myself at the mouth of the corridor, so when Frank glanced behind him I had a clear view of what was unmistakably a gleam of pure terror. But he didn’t budge, turned back to Eliza to tell her what a handsome apartment it was, had never had the pleasure of being inside, admired it from a distance, the building, like every other local with any taste for the exceptional. He linked his fingers together in the small of his back. He wasn’t going anywhere. I went to get the champagne, then I called Eliza for a hand with the glasses. They’ve got the creeps, she pointed out. Be putty if we can keep them.
Frank clapped his hands once at seeing us reappear, evidently feeling the belated effects of a sort of resurrection. Boy they know how to do hospitality in the Cross! When was the last time you were up here Paul.
He umd and ahd. Terrible. It must be a few years now. I saw Rex Wrenall’s show at Patches, him and two others, what were the girls’ names.
Yes. You don’t mean. Not the one from the Pink Panther, same time, end of the seventies. Had a solo on a horned. Hung from the ceiling. Super fit. Magic place. Streets are a riot. Wouldn’t know what you had. All spread their legs at sundown. Pardon. Forget where I am. You two ladies keep the old flame burning. Ah it’s not what it used to be. This, this is very civilised, lovingly received. Thank you. It brimmed over the lip of the glass and down his fingers.
Eliza asked Paul if he would like to see some of the material. He had taken a seat in the Chesterfield and she perched opposite him to pour champagne one handed into a glass he held so far out it trembled. Watch it. Frank and I sat on the striped poplin. In the last shuffle the night before Dodge’s dolls had gone in the china cabinet. If Paul started looking around for an excuse he found one there because he pointed through the stained glass to the piggy bank and said well I don’t remember reading that, you’ve got a nig. A moneybox. He has a sister, you know, Dinah. Same thing. I have a friend who collects those. There are all kinds apparently, hardly rare, but you know a collector is always looking out for new specimens. One man’s trash. He came back from Paris the other year with an armful. He said he found them in a junk market on the Seine. An Uncle Sam with a nutcracker mouth and a stars and stripes carpet bag springs open with a hidden lever, a gas station attendant, lifts the lid on the oil reservoir or some such. Queer fish. Not my thing. You don’t have any Disney figurines do you, porcelain. You know, Donald Duck, the Little Mermaid.
Watch you don’t spill that. I thought he might have been afraid to go alone so I invited Frank, who obviously couldn’t wait for a chance to keep changing the subject. He put his half full glass down on the occasional table and stood up. Your sales will certainly benefit from their surroundings. Place has atmosphere. If we can pitch it right we’ll have them running.
Eliza lifted at last an admonishing finger. That won’t be possible I’m afraid. We’d like to hold the auction in your rooms.
Whatever for.
I have a sick mother. We don’t want to disturb her and we can’t move her.
Frank spun around so fast he stubbed up the end of the Saraband and had to grab the standard lamp to stop himself from falling over. Paul might have yelled if his blasted thropple hadn’t amphigoried such a natural reflex into something resembling a distant trill. He surely would have taken hold of Eliza if the fern tub hadn’t got in the way, his fingers rustling through the fronds to thin air. Eliza stifled her laughter with Mrs. Sullaman’s report and evaluation. Daft. Pardon. Frank chuckled, the painted shade swinging crazily above his fist. Fuit comata silva. A bub in the woods. O theoi neoteroi. Excuse me. Of course. But for Physical and œconomical purposes. He didn’t say that. A shame really. He shut his eyes. A real pity. What resembles spinach. It’d probably be better not to do a tour then. Wouldn’t want to disturb her.
She’s in quite a different part of the flat, it wouldn’t be any trouble. We live here after all.
Ah well all the same. Better not. We can organise to have it all brought over to us quite quickly. When did you envision having the auction.