‘Well, if this isn’t it you sure as hell better do something pretty soon because Lola’s not someone you can fool around with.’
‘I’m not fooling around.’
‘What else would you call it if you don’t mean what you say?’
‘I do mean what I say.’
‘Wonderful, and the things you’ve said to Lola don’t leave any room for side trips, do they.’
‘Feelings aren’t that simple,’ says Max.
‘Gee whiz!’ says his mind. ‘I never knew that. It’s good that I have you to explain these things to me.’
‘You and I,’ says Max, ‘don’t seem to be getting along too well right now.’
‘That’s because I’m right and you’re wrong. There are times when you know you’ll be sorry for what you’re going to do but you do it anyhow and then you’re sorry.’
‘William Blake said, “If the fool would persist in his folly he would become wise,”’ says Max.
‘Wise and all alone,’ says his mind.
14 Research
February 1997. Lula Mae Flowers is a man-puller. That’s what she does. She should really have that on her passport as her occupation: men are drawn to her as iron filings to a magnet. Max is somewhat off her beaten track but in the National Gallery she felt his eyes on her as she walked away and she’s confident that he’ll make contact soon.
The offices of Everest Technology are in Holborn, and two days after meeting Lula Mae, Max needs to research that part of town for a scene he might write in the novel for which he hasn’t yet written Page One.
‘I’m not going to ring her up,’ he says to himself. ‘I’ll just stop by her office and probably she won’t even be there. I’m leaving this entirely to chance.’
‘What do you want,’ says his mind, ‘applause?’
Max enters the majestic glass tower of Everest Technology, goes to Reception, and says, ‘Would you ring Lula Mae Flowers in Sales, please, and tell her that Max Lesser is here.’
‘Is she expecting you?’ says the receptionist.
‘I think so,’ says Max.
The receptionist rings up Lula Mae, then says to Max, ‘Have a seat, she’ll be right down.’
Max sinks into some expensive black leather and picks up a copy of Fortune. THE FUTURE IS NOW, says the cover as Lula Mae steps out of the lift and he feels a rush of blood to his head. He’s read that the Sultan of Morocco once cited Virginia Mayo as tangible proof of the existence of God. Lula Mae is actually better looking than Virginia Mayo was.
‘I had to do some research in this part of town,’ says Max, ‘so I thought I’d stop by and ask you to lunch.’
‘I thought so too,’ says Lula Mae, ‘but I insist on taking you because you’re my first writer.’
‘That’s surprising,’ says Max, ‘because there are a whole lot more of us than there are of you.’
Lula Mae flashes him a smile that makes him dizzy, takes his arm, and marches him off to The Garibaldi, her favourite lunchtime spot. There are lots of male pedestrians on the way, and when she passes, each one she passes says, ‘Ah!’
The Garibaldi has a red signboard and a small statue of the hero of the Risorgimento in its window. ‘Avanti, populo,’ says Max.
‘Remember the Alamo,’ says Lula Mae.
When they’re seated and holding menus almost as big as the signboard, Lula Mae says, ‘Do you like Chianti, Max? Say yes.’
‘Yes,’ says Max.
Lula Mae almost nods and a red-shirted waiter appears with a bottle, opens it, pours a taster, and offers it to Max. ‘The lady will taste it,’ says Max. Lula Mae gives him an approving look, tastes the wine, almost nods again, and the waiter pours. Lula Mae and Max raise their glasses to each other.
‘“There never was a horse that couldn’t be rode; there never was a cowboy that couldn’t be throwed,”’ says Lula Mae.
‘“By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down,”’ says Max. Clink.
‘So,’ says Lula Mae, ‘this girl you were with in the National Gallery, she’s your girlfriend?’
‘Yes,’ says Max.
‘But here you are,’ says Lula Mae.
‘I didn’t know how not to be here,’ says Max. ‘You’re a man-puller and you pulled me. If I’m too small you can throw me back.’
‘Actually,’ says Lula Mae, ‘I like your non-Euclidean geometry.’
‘I like yours too,’ says Max.
‘My flat is just a short walk from here,’ says Lula Mae. ‘A good place for research, quiet and out of the crush.’
‘My kind of place,’ says Max. By now they seem to have eaten something and finished the Chianti and off they go. Lula Mae’s flat is tasteful and expensive. Among the books on her shelves Max sees George Eliot, Elizabeth Gaskell, Margaret Oliphant, Elmore Leonard, Buddhist Wisdom Books, Ortega y Gasset, H. P. Lovecraft, Robert Aickman, and Lafcadio Hearn.
‘Jesus,’ he says. ‘You’re a dark horse.’
‘There’s more to me than my going-away view, Cowboy,’ says Lula Mae.
‘When I was in high school,’ says Max, ‘girls like you only hung out with football heroes. If we’d been in the same school at the same time you wouldn’t have looked at me.’
‘Maybe not,’ says Lula Mae, ‘but I’m looking at you now.’ There’s music: Dusty Springfield singing, ‘If you go away on this summer day, then you might as well take the sun away …’ The song stops and is followed by some muted bossa nova. ‘Grappa?’ says Lula Mae.
‘Yes, please,’ says Max. ‘How insensitive …’ sings Astrud Gilberto, and is cut off short by Lula Mae.
‘I like it better without music,’ says Max.
‘Me too,’ says Lula Mae. She seems different now and Max is touched by the change. He kisses her gently, one thing leads to another, and here he is a little later, shaking his head on the Piccadilly Line.
Max’s mind is silent for a while, riffling through the afternoon’s action. Then it sings, ‘But if you stay, I’ll make you a day like no day has been or will be again …’
‘What’s this?’ says Max.
‘Just trying to remember the rest of that song,’ says his mind. ‘Are you wiser now, Cowboy?’
‘Too soon to say,’ says Max.
15 The Scent of Lula Mae Flowers
February 1997. Another Sunday, Hyde Park. Max and Lola at the Round Pond, watching the model boatmen and their model boats. ‘Models are mysterious things,’ says Lola.
‘How so?’ says Max. He enjoys the sight of the sail models tacking, the steam models chugging.
‘Look at that Thames sailing barge,’ says Lola. ‘Totally realistic, and because it believes in itself there comes into being a model Thames running down to a model sea bounded by model continents on a whole model planet. Are you a model, Max?’
‘What do you mean, Lola?’
‘Is there a model Max-world extending outward from the realistic details of you?’
‘Lola, I don’t know what you’re getting at.’
‘No matter. Sometimes I talk crazy.’ Her profile is needle-sharp in the lens of the chilly afternoon.
‘Are you OK?’ says Max.
‘Do you mean, am I an OK person or are things OK with me?’ She’s looking past the boats and boatmen into the distance. The wind is blowing her hair in a way that goes to Max’s heart.
‘Are things OK with you?’ he says.
‘I don’t know, Max. I can’t help noticing that you’re different today.’
‘How am I different?’
‘Do I smell Lula Mae on you?’
‘You can’t,’ says Max. ‘There’s nothing to smell on me but me.’ It’s been a couple of days since he was with Lula Mae and he’s had a shower this morning.