“Um, I was wondering if you’d like to come and have some tea with me,” he said.
Oh, yes? I thought. But then he’d asked so politely, so I said I would.
He took me to his college, which wasn’t very far away. They’re nice, these colleges that they live in — amazing lawns, not a weed in sight — and very quiet. We went up a little narrow stone staircase to his room. It was quite pleasant — a bit old-looking, though, and very untidy with lots of books and papers. I had a look through his bookshelves when he went out to make the tea but we obviously had different tastes in reading.
We had a few cups of tea and a piece of sponge cake (“Oh, there goes me diet,” I said, and would you believe it he blushed). He said his name was Gordon and he told me a bit about his work and asked me some questions about the fair. He was slim and about medium height, was Gordon, and I quite liked him. I kept wondering when he would make his move.
It took him quite a while, but eventually he worked it so we were sitting side by side on the sofa. But then someone knocked on the door and stuck his head into the room. It was another guy with specs and he said,
“Oh! Jesus … sorry, Gord. Didn’t know you had company,” and popped out again. Gordon had leapt to his feet and looked more embarrassed than ever. I’ve never known anyone quite like Gordon for going red, honestly. Anyway, I put him out of his misery and told him I had to get back.
On the way to the booth he asked if he could meet me when the fair shut down. I told him we had to pack up tonight, as we were setting up in Northampton tomorrow. He looked disappointed at this but said he’d still like to come and say goodbye. That was fine by me, I said. He had nice manners, had Gordon. He hadn’t once mentioned our little episode with the swimsuit.
Gordon was waiting for me at eleven o’clock when the fair began to shut down. I was carrying Arthur in a small parrot’s cage. I was a bit worried in case Trev might have shown up but there was no sign of him. I told Gordon he could carry Arthur to Reen’s car, which was parked some way off. Gordon said he knew a short cut.
We walked through the fair. As usual Gordon wasn’t saying much. Stalls were coming down and the big lorries were backing slowly along the street. A few groups of young kids hung round watching it all. The ground was covered in litter: tickets, squashed toffee apples and bits of coloured paper and burst balloons. It always makes me a bit sad when the fair comes down so I just walked along quietly beside Gordon.
We turned up this narrow alley that led between two of the old colleges. It was dark, as there was only one street light and huge black chestnut trees hung over us. It felt a bit spooky so I linked my arm through Gordon’s and you’d have thought I’d stabbed him in the back. His knee banged into Arthur’s cage and I could hear Arthur scrabbling around trying to keep his grip.
“Hold on a sec, Gordon,” I said. “Put Arthur down for a moment. Let him get settled.”
Gordon put the cage on the ground and I knelt down to peer in at Arthur. Gordon knelt down, too, and muttered something about Arthur being a fascinating creature.
We got up together and I thought, poor sod, and leant up against him ever so slightly. He put his arms round me and we sort of stood there for a while. I could feel him all shivery and excited and I ran my hands through his hair. It felt lovely.
The next thing I knew he wasn’t there. He’d been torn out of my arms and I gave a little scream when I saw it was Trev. Trev, who had him by the back of his jacket and was spinning him round and round. Then he let him go and Gordon careered into the wall with an awful thump that sent his specs flying to the ground.
Trev stood in front of him swearing and spitting. “Okay Trace,” he shouted over his shoulder at me. “Where do I give it him first. You tell me, Trace.”
Christ, really, Trev looked amazing. He’s a big lad and he had tight black jeans on and a white T-shirt with KUNG-FU written on it. His chest was heaving up and down and his hair was sort of wild.
Gordon leant up against the wall half-crumpled, as if he’d been pinned onto it. He didn’t stand a chance.
I didn’t say anything though. Gordon must have seen me standing there all excited because he tried to get to his feet. Trev gave him a push and he fell onto the ground.
“Don’t boot him, Trev,” I yelled, because I could see that was what he was about to do. “Get his specs, go on, get his specs.”
Then Trev saw Gordon’s specs on the ground and he just stamped on them. Bang. Once. Like he was squashing a beetle crawling across the floor. Then he kicked them up the alley.
He turned and looked at me. “See you at the car, girl,” he says, all harsh and angry. “Bloody pronto.” And he walks off just like that.
I felt my heart was going to punch itself out of my rib cage. My head felt all light. He can do that to me, can Trev. Amazing sort of bloke.
I went and got Gordon’s spectacles. There was no glass in them and they were badly bent. When I handed them back to him I could see the red marks they had made on his nose. His eyes were all watery and blank-looking.
“Sorry, Gordon,” I said. “But it was better that he done your specs. He’s mean, is Trevor, and he’s my boyfriend.”
Gordon nodded without saying anything and pushed his glasses into his pocket. I helped him up and straightened out his jacket. There didn’t seem to be much to say. Trevor must have seen us at the stall and followed.
“I’d better go,” I said. Trev would be waiting, I knew. I picked up Arthur and began to walk off.
“Tracy,” I heard Gordon wheeze. “Just a moment.”
I went back to him. He did look quite different without his glasses — sort of ordinary, not so intelligent.
“Next year,” he said. “Will you be back next year?”
I was astonished. “I don’t know,” I said. “Why?”
“I thought …” he began to say. Then: “It’s just that I shall be here.” Then he gave a grim little laugh. “In fact I shall probably die here.”
That made me feel all sorry for him — he had no excitement in his life apart from me — and so I decided not to tell him about Felaine la Strade and the Ecole de Dance. Better to let him dream a bit. He might be here still, but there was no way you’d catch me as bat-girl again next year, no chance. I’d be in London, the big smoke, a dancer or something.
But I reached out and patted Gordon’s arm. “Don’t worry,” I said. “Me and Arthur’ll be back. We’ll have tea again. See you next year.” Then I turned away and walked back up the alley to where I knew Trev would be waiting. Just before I turned the corner I looked back, and there was Gordon, standing there — he hadn’t moved an inch — staring at me, just staring at me like the first time he had come into the booth. It still gave me the shivers. He was quite a nice guy, was Gordon. It was a pity really — yes, the whole thing was a pity.
Love Hurts
10 August 1973
It was sometime in the hot freedom of July that I introduced Cherylle to Lamar. I think it was at my delayed welcoming party that AOD were throwing. Cherylle was an out of work actress who rented the apartment below mine with two other girls. Quite spontaneously I had decided to invite one of them along — I had as yet made no friends since arriving here from England and felt I needed an ally of sorts at this gathering of off-duty American executives and their brittle, frosted wives. Cherylle was the only girl at home when I knocked on the apartment door. Such are the tricks time plays. She is marrying Lamar tomorrow.
Cherylle: tall, bony, a shock of wild blond hair. Twenty-five years old? Typically Californian flawless skin. I find her an oddly attractive girl without really being able to say why — a product of the curious vectors of a face: the arc of an eyebrow, the prominence of a cheekbone. There is a simmering feral gleam in her gaze, a sense of coiled, ticking energy within her which only truly strikes you on a third or fourth meeting.