‘Because if you were saying that,’ said Julio, ‘that would be a very serious accusation.’
‘I forgive you, Peter,’ said Jerome, putting his hand soothingly on Peter’s back. ‘Come and meet Shalene.’
‘Shalene, this is my very good friend Peter.’
‘Hello, Peter,’ croaked Shalene, almost as hoarsely as Jerome.
‘Hello,’ said Peter. ‘You’re a friend of Sabine’s, are you?’
‘That’s right, honey,’ said Shalene, taking a cigarette out of her velvet evening bag, and leaning over to Peter for a light. Her jaw was square but clean-shaven, her make-up thick and white.
‘So, eh, when do you think…’ Peter began, but Shalene leant over coquettishly and interrupted him.
‘Do you want me to suck your cock?’ she asked.
‘No, thank you,’ said Peter, fumbling with a book of matches on the counter. ‘It’s awfully kind of you but—’
‘Do you want to suck mine?’ said Shalene immediately, as if to save embarrassment.
‘Yours?’ said Peter. ‘No, I’m afraid I don’t.’
Clearly, Shalene was still saving up for the full operation.
‘So what are you doing here?’ asked Shalene, suddenly dropping her exaggerated femininity for a male aggression which was equally exaggerated, if only by the backdrop of false lashes and paste bracelets.
‘I’ve told you…’
‘Who the hell is Sabine? She’s making me jealous,’ said Shalene, pouting. ‘You gotta tell me your fantasy. That man told me to say I knew Sabine, that’s all I got to work with…’
‘Where is Jerome?’ asked Peter anxiously.
‘He left. Was Sabine another girl like me who was a special friend of yours?’ persisted Shalene.
‘No,’ snapped Peter, realizing the implications of Jerome’s departure.
Caroline drifted over to the bar casually.
‘They’re on their way,’ she said through gritted teeth.
Shalene’s manner had changed to open hostility.
‘If you don’t wanna have sex, what the fuck are you doing here?’
‘Look,’ said Peter, feeling Shalene’s indolent and well-built girlfriends closing in on them with sympathetic hostility. ‘Normally I would, of course, I mean you’re frightfully attractive and all of that, but I’m with Caroline this evening and I think she might be shocked.’
‘Maybe she’d like to watch,’ said Shalene, narrowing her eyes and twitching her lips seductively.
Christ, she has an answer for everything, thought Peter.
‘I don’t think so,’ he said firmly.
‘Ask her,’ said Shalene, with a stiletto in her voice.
‘Caroline,’ gulped Peter, turning round slowly, ‘Shalene wants to know whether you’d like to watch while she sucks my cock.’
‘Humm,’ said Caroline, and to his horror Peter could see that she was thinking of taking her revenge. ‘I … I don’t think so,’ she said, smiling at Shalene. ‘Thanks anyway.’
‘Aren’t you in Cop Story?’ asked Shalene.
‘Yes,’ said Caroline reluctantly.
‘Oh, my God, you’re Lootenent McMurphy’s English wife.’
‘Yes,’ said Caroline.
‘I love your work,’ cooed Shalene, clasping her breast and rolling her eyes to heaven. ‘We’ve got a star at the bar!’ she called out.
The other girls swooped down hungrily.
‘Mrs McMurphy from Cop Story,’ said Shalene with a flourish.
Everyone was thrilled.
A black girl, six foot four tall, with blonde hair and a diaphanous bodystocking revealing the glories of a full operation, came mincing out of the corner with a silver hairbrush.
‘Can I brush your hair?’ she asked.
‘Why not?’ said Caroline, rather pleased to be the centre of attention.
Peter slipped towards the door to check for the cab.
‘I’m sorry to break this up,’ he said triumphantly, ‘but our cab’s arrived.’
‘Ohhh,’ groaned the girls. ‘Can’t you stay a little longer? Don’t you like us?’
‘It’s been such a lovely evening,’ said Caroline, autographing Shalene’s cigarette packet, ‘but I’m on set at dawn tomorrow.’
‘We understand,’ said the girls.
Caroline and Peter left together, surrounded by appreciative comments.
‘She’s such a lady,’ said the hairbrusher, with a crack in her voice as deep as the San Andreas fault.
‘I discovered her,’ said Shalene proudly.
For a while in the back of the cab, Caroline couldn’t disguise her relief, but she soon worked up a rage at the fear she had experienced earlier in the evening.
‘You must be fucking crazy chasing this German girl you hardly know…’
The cab screeched to a halt.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Peter.
‘I’m going to have to ask you to get out of the cab,’ drawled the spotty young driver.
‘What?’
‘I can’t have any abusive language in my cab.’
‘I promise we won’t say another word,’ said Peter.
‘Abusive language is the belching of Satan,’ said the driver. ‘I’m going to have to ask you to leave.’
‘Oh, for … for our sake, please make an exception. It’s raining and we’re both very tired. Show a little charity, please. Look, here’s an extra fifty dollars.’
‘Please leave the cab,’ said the driver, turning round with a can of mace in his hand.
‘Do you have Christ in your heart?’ said Caroline.
‘I certainly do, ma’am,’ said the driver, ‘but I believe that you have Satan in your heart.’
‘But you know,’ said Caroline, breathing hard, ‘being with you I feel this tremendous pressure in my chest, and I think it’s Christ trying to enter my heart. Are you going to let Satan win my soul, or are you going to win a soul for Christ?’
‘Well,’ said the driver, confused. ‘Are you ready to be baptized?’
‘Oh, yes,’ sobbed Caroline.
‘Will you swear,’ said the driver, putting away his can of mace and taking out a copy of the Bible from the glove compartment, ‘that you will accept Christ into your heart?’
‘Let’s walk,’ said Peter.
‘You walk,’ said Caroline. ‘I swear.’
‘Oh, I suppose I swear as well,’ said Peter.
It was four in the morning when they were dropped home.
‘Fucking wanker,’ said Peter as he closed the door.
‘Arsehole,’ added Caroline, kicking the cab door.
‘This is my kind of town,’ said Peter. ‘I’m seriously thinking of coming to live here.’
‘Well, you’d better look for another address as from tomorrow morning. “Let’s walk”, you idiot!’
The tumble-drier groaned to a halt and Peter collected his warm shirts from inside the drum.
5
Barny approached the overflowing park bin with an air of half-defeated curiosity. Scattered on the downtrodden mud of Clapham Common, polystyrene fast-food cartons trembled in the chill breeze.
‘Barny!’
Jason tried to sound angry but he was cut short by the faint wagging of Barny’s tail as he sniffed at the nostalgic odour of something like meat.
Poor Barny, did he dream of butchers’ shops? Was he kept awake counting uneaten sheep? Did he dangle all night from the meathooks of memory? Some memories had to be searched for, thought Jason; others find you wherever you are.
Haley had said that they were responsible for Barny’s ‘spiritual welfare’. After a long debate about what a dog’s spiritual welfare might be, she had triumphed as usual, and Barny had been put on the Veginugget Vegan dog-food diet. A once happy hound who used to bark excitedly in the hall, his nails scratching the Victorian tiles and his black Labrador’s tail beating loudly against the door frames, Barny now moped about, his forehead ridged with fleshy furrows of self-pity and bewilderment.