Lisa has said to me, “Doesn’t cost anything to be gentle now and then. It’s not a weakness.”
Oh yeah.
“Look Lisa, I don’t know any gentle types. It’s not a quality there’s much percentage in. Gentle people cost.”
She gave a mild sneer.
“Cost... the white man’s price on everything.”
“Hey, you think I’m kidding here Lisa. You get to know these people, you get to like them but they’re casualties. No matter how you watch for them, they go down. One way or another. Then you hurt. No, stay clear.”
She’d begun to roll a joint and then took a small phial from her bag.
“Seasoning?” I asked.
“Liquid demorol, they give it to cancer patients.”
“And you flavour your dope with it... very fucking gentle.”
The booze had mellowed me and I cleared the debris from the kitchen. Fixed some food for the guest. He was in a yoga position, the picture of tranquillity. He said, “Do I remind you of the panther?”
“What, ’cos you’re black?”
“Rilke’s panther... listen... can you hear him... see
‘As he paces in cramped circles
over and over, the monument of
his powerful soft strides
is like a ritual dance
around a centre in which
a mighty will
stands paralysed.’”
“Give it a rest, eh.”
He considered, then nodded his head, said, “I made Benny’s acquaintance.”
“I heard.”
“Her age is indeterminable. I’ll kindly venture forty. Martin Amis tells us that by that age, we have the face we deserve.”
“He’d know. I told her I didn’t think she looked that. She said it’s what forty looks like nowadays.”
“There is a fact of nature I’m going to share with you.”
“Don’t bother.”
“I must insist. It is possible to sneak up on a fox. But a vixen, never. No matter what direction you come from, she’ll always have her eyes on you.”
He was well pleased with this little nomily. I asked, “What am I to make of that?”
“Perhaps that he who hunts with the hounds might yet run with the hare.”
“You want this food or not, age isn’t improving it.”
“What culinary delight have you devised to whet my gastronomic juices?”
“That means ‘Wot’s to eat?’... Right? It’s yer favourite... eggs. No toast due to an industrial accident.”
Then I left him to it. I rang his wife and read her the Riot Act. “Don’t contact the police... Type of bills, denominations... Be ready in twenty-four hours for the drop.”
Kidnapping kind of stuff.
To all she replied “Yes.”
I figured she was a) in deep shock b) on drugs c) couldn’t care less.
Only a) could be in our interest.
I heard shouting from the basement... I didn’t go down, just roared.
“What, what is it now?”
He bellowed, “‘Only at times/the curtain of the pupil lifts/ — quietly.’
“That’s the part of the poem you should remember my bouncing Lothario.”
I thought he’d finished but no.
“One more thing.”
“Jesus, wot?”
“You might try to remember one little item.”
“Oh yeah, and what might that be?”
“The mask, try and wear it the odd time, just for the appearance of the thing... OK.”
I didn’t even know where it was any more or for that matter, the position of anything else either. I went back to bed, I wanted to go back to the brandy but some sanity ruled. The phone jerked me awake. Late evening.
Bonny.
In a cold voice she said, “I’m going to leave London in a few days. Perhaps on my return I’ll read about you in the papers.”
I struggled to wake.
“Lisa... Lisa... oh shit... sorry, I’m half asleep Bonny... I meant Bonny, it’s that I’m still groggy here.”
There was a sharp intake of breath from her. I felt it like a razor then.
“That says it all.”
“Don’t worry about Dex... I’ll make sure he stays away.”
“It’s not Dex I’m afraid of.”
Then she hung up.
I told myself, “This is good... she’s safer away... till I get things sorted... it’s good... definitely I’m well pleased... things couldn’t be better.”
I was wrong.
Bonny was wrong.
All dreadfully so.
I went downstairs. Dex and Lisa were rolling a joint. I said, “We do it tomorrow.”
Dex answered, “Oh yippee, I’ve got my little bag with ‘swag’ printed on it all prepared.”
“The plan is the same, no variation. Now get the nick out of my house.”
The remainder of the evening is lost to me. I guess I fed Baldwin, and no doubt he fed me the usual poetic bullshit. It’s a given that I fed my neuroses. Fighting the urge to get drunk all over again. A quiet voice promising if I started, I might never stop. I wasn’t sure I’d want to.
Was it torment?
Dex had said you couldn’t truly understand torture till you heard William Shatner’s version of “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.”
Maybe I hummed a few bars.
Next morning I asked Baldwin if his wife would pay.
“She’ll pay.”
“You’re very sure.”
“It’s my business... certainty.”
“I dunno Baldwin, she doesn’t say a whole lot. I gave her instructions, to have old unmarked bills. No consecutive serial numbers. All the usual stuff. She only ever says ‘yes’... nowt else... just that friggin’ ‘yes’.”
“She doesn’t talk to garbage. It’s why I married her.”
This said without even bothering to look at me. A tap on the head might have got his attention but I wasn’t up to it. As I turned to go he said, “Goliath... ponder this as an epilogue, if not a conclusion. My Rilke was fascinated with contained energy. Ah, if I had but the time or inclination to recite. ‘The Gazelle’, or ‘The Flamingos’.
“Living creatures confined by restriction.”
He shook the leg chain and gave a grim smile. One that never touched his eyes.
“There is much I should like to say, but as time goes by, I become more distrustful of myself — monster that I am, having never been so deeply, painfully and unceasingly concerned about any creature as about myself.”
I didn’t reply. The word was so crucial to him.
Lisa and Dex arrived early. We ran through the plan again. She was wearing a formal black two-piece suit and looked like a highly successful businesswoman.
Or, a dominatrix.
Dex and I wore sports jackets, slacks, open shirts. A Marks and Spencer’s mildly comfortable look. Not rich, but not hurtin’.
At noon, I made the call.
“Mrs Baldwin, you have the money?”
“Yes.”
“OK, it’s 12 now. At 1.30, you are to enter Marks and Spencer’s flagship shop at Marble Arch. You’ll have the money in one of their bags. Go to a changing room in the women’s department. Leave the money on the floor there. Walk out of the store and then right. Keep walking for exactly five minutes. Then you’ll be contacted. Any questions?”
A flood: “When do I get my husband back? How can I be sure he’s alright — have you hurt him?”
I considered my reply carefully and then I said “Yes”.
And hung up.
I turned to my merry band, said, “OK pranksters, let’s hit the bricks.”
At 1.30, Lisa and I had already purchased a dressing gown. It rested in the large bag. We were standing near to the escalator. Lisa moved suddenly.