He looked at the door and I smiled. He said,
‘I’m Anthony Trent.’
‘You say that like it’s supposed to mean something.’
‘It don’t mean shit to me.’
‘Oh sorry, of course... I lived in the flat before your flat.’
‘And now you want... what?’
‘If I might just collect some things.’
I drank some more of his lager, asked,
‘Why’d you leave in such a hurry?’
‘I got in over my head to Mr Norton.’
‘How much is over your head?’
‘Ten large.’
‘So you skipped.’
‘Mr Norton has some heavy friends.’
He was staring intently at me and I said,
‘What?’
‘I believe you’re wearing one of my sweatshirts. Don’t tumble dry it.’
‘Well Anthony, that’s a sad story but it will get sadder if you follow me again.’
‘Yes... of course, I understand. So might I grab some items from the flat?’
I took a moment, then said,
‘No chance.’
The hooker hadn’t helped. I couldn’t get Lillian Palmer outta my head. I mean... what? I fancied an old bird? Get real.
But deny as I tried that knowing smile kept returning. She knew I’d been aroused. Each time I blew it off, the wanting to ravish her came pounding back.
I rang Briony, asked if she’d like to come over for dinner. She asked,
‘You’re cooking?’
‘Sure. How does stir-fry sound?’
‘Oh Mitch, I’m vegetarian.’
Naturally. ‘How does vegetarian stir-fry sound?’
‘Wonderful Mitch. Shall I bring wine?’
I thought she said ‘whine’. I gave her the address and she said,
‘Poor Mitch, is it a grotty bedsit?’
‘Something like that.’
‘I’ll bring flowers, brighten it up.’
A thought hit me and I asked,
‘You won’t be stealing this stuff... will you?’
Silence.
‘Bri?’
‘I’ll be good, Mitch.’
‘Okay.’
‘Frank likes me to be good.’
‘Yeah... right... see you at eight.’
By the time eight rolled round, the flat seemed downright cosy. Pots on the cooker, kitchen smells permeating, the table set. I opened a bottle of wine, poured a glass. It tasted bitter, which was fine. With booze, I had to keep a tight rein. My jail time was a direct result of booze.
When I drink whiskey, I get black-outs. I remember the day clearly. Norton and I had pulled off a caper that netted us three large.
Each.
I was drinking lights out. Even Norton had said,
‘Jeez Mitch, take it easy.’
I didn’t.
Come that evening, I remember nothing. The story goes that I got into a barney with some guy. We took it outside.
Norton followed.
He managed to stop me from killing the guy, but only just.
I got three years.
I’m not arguing the toss. Thing is, my hands were clean.
Not even a grazed knuckle. I mentioned it to my lawyer, who said,
‘You used your feet.’
Oh.
Men find all sorts of ways to get through the nights in jail. Be it
hooch
a cissy
glue.
Me, I worked out all day till my body was exhausted. Some men prayed, if quietly. I took a mantra from Bruce Chatwin’s ‘The Songlines’.
Like this:
‘I will see the Buddhist Temples of Java. I will sit with Saddhus on the Ghats of Benares. I will smoke hashish in Kabul and work on a kibbutz.’
Mostly it worked.
The doorbell went. I opened it to Bri. She was dressed in a black trouser suit, pink sweatshirt. She handed me a huge bouquet of flowers. I said,
‘Come in.’
When she saw the flat, she went,
‘Wow... this is great.’
I poured her some wine and she sipped, asked,
‘Does wine mix with ’ludes?’
‘Ahm...’
‘Cos I wanted to be mellow, not to freak out.’
This sounded very promising, if unlikely. She sat down, said,
‘I’ll move in with you.’
‘What?’
She laughed out loud. Her laugh was one of the good ones, deep down and only the faintest hint of hysteria. She said,
‘Lighten up Mitch, these are the jokes.’
‘Right.’
I went to check on the food, it seemed under control.
Bri shouted,
‘Sure smells good, Mitch.’
I said,
‘Should be set in about ten minutes, how’d that be?’
‘Lovely.’
When I came back, she was arranging the flowers. I sat down, rolled a cig. Bri asked,
‘Do I seem different?’
‘Ah... no... you seem... fine.’
‘I’ve been having therapy.’
‘That’s good, isn’t it?’
She put her head down, said,
‘I’m not to mention Frank anymore.’
I wanted to say, ‘Thank Christ for that,’ but what I said was,
‘Okay.’
She did a tour of the flat, went in the bedroom. I could hear the closet doors opening. When she came back she said,
‘You sure landed on your feet, Mitch.’
‘The crust on its uppers.’
‘What?’
‘It’s the title of a Derek Raymond book.’
‘Who?’
‘Never mind.’
She poured more wine and pointed to the books, said,
‘Will you read all those?’
‘I plan to.’
Then her face looked sad. I said,
‘Bri, I want to read them, I like it.’
She was shaking her head, said,
‘It’s a pity.’
‘What?’
‘You won’t have time.’
‘What are you on about, Bri?’
‘At the party, a man said you’d be lucky to last six months.’
I tried to lighten it.
‘I’ll easy read them in six months.’
It didn’t work.
‘I don’t want you to go back to prison.’
I went and put my arm round her, said,
‘Hey, come on, I’m not going back.’
‘Promise.’
‘I promise. I have a regular job.’
‘I don’t do so good without you, Mitch.’
‘Let’s eat... what do you say?’
The food was good. I’d done garlic bread and garlic mushrooms. She liked them best. I opened more wine and we chowed down. The stir-fry was limp but it sneaked along. Bri asked,
‘What’s your job?’
I told her. When I got to Lillian’s name, she said,
‘I’ve heard of her, she was the best Blanche Du Bois the West End’s ever seen.’
Every time I had Briony figured, she’d surprise me. I asked,
‘How do you know that?’
‘I love the theatre. Will you sleep with her?’
‘What? Jeez Bri, she’s older than me.’
Bri looked right at me, asked,
‘What does she look like?’
‘Well, like Gina Rowlands, not bad at all.’
‘So you will sleep with her?’
For dessert there was
Greek yogurt
cheesecake
black forest gateau.
I asked, ‘Which?’
‘All of them.’
She wasn’t kidding.
After, I went to make coffee. Got that squared away and brought it out on a tray. The tray had Lady Di on the front and I knew Bri would like that. She was curled up on the sofa, snoring lightly. I picked her up and carried her to my room. Covered her with the duvet, I watched her for a bit, then said,
‘Sleep precious well.’
I decided to leave the dishes. I settled on the couch and turned on the TV, keeping the sound low. It was NYPD Blue and Denis Franz was massacring a hotdog and a perp simultaneously. Turned it off. I wasn’t in the mood for cops. Not even Sipovitz.