Fine Lines

by Simon Beckett

  "Why should it? You're her boss, for Christ's sake, you don't have to account to her. Just make it something simple, and leave it at that."

  I stood up as Anna returned. "Anna, I've suddenly remembered I've got an appointment in half an hour. I'm going to have to go. I'm afraid you'l have to open the gal ery yourself. You don't mind, do you?"

  If it was flimsy, Anna did not appear to notice. "No, of course not.

  I'd better be getting back, anyway. I've had far too long as it is." She began to pick up her coat.

  "No need to go this minute. There's no hurry. Finish the wine first.

  I'm sure Zeppo won't mind running you back, wil you, Zeppo?"

  "Of course not. My pleasure." I left them at the table. Not without regret and, I admit, a touch of jealousy. But I dismissed both, and instead tried to think of somewhere to go. There was a cafe opposite the gal ery that was as good a place as any. I parked some distance from it, so Anna would not see the car, and began to walk back. No sooner had I set off than it started to rain. By the time I reached the cafe I was soaked.

  I bought a cup of coffee and sat in a window seat, uncomfortably damp.

  From there I could look over the road at the gal ery. I doubted I would be noticed. Plants cluttered the window sil , and the glass itself was so misted I could barely see through it myself. I sipped the appal ing coffee and settled down to wait.

  I was just beginning to suspect that Zeppo might have lured Anna off somewhere when I saw his car pul in further down the road. A moment later they were both running towards the gal ery, sheltering under Zeppo's coat. I was pleased by this unexpected intimacy, and felt more kindly disposed towards the rain. I watched as they went inside, and then the lights came on against the dark afternoon. Now I could see them clearly through the gal ery's large windows, a silent pantomime. I wished I could hear what they were saying. Both of them seemed to be smiling a great deal. The telephone must have rung, because Anna suddenly picked it up and began writing something in the messages book.

  Zeppo watched her for a moment, than moved to the window and looked out. I drew back but he did not see me. After a while Anna hung up, wrote some more, then said something to him. He answered, nodding.

  They laughed.

  I took another sip of coffee, and was surprised to find it was

  cold. I was. about to order another when I saw someone else going into the gal ery. I could see it was a woman, but she had her back to me, and it was only when she turned to acknowledge Zeppo that I recognised her. It was Miriam, the rather ridiculous designer who had been at my party. I hoped she would leave once she found I was not there. But she showed no inclination of doing anything of the sort, and when Anna disappeared and came back with three cups on a tray, I knew Miriam was planning to stay.

  I cursed her and looked at my watch. Enough time had passed to justify me going back, and now that Anna and Zeppo were no longer alone there was no reason not to. I left the cafe and walked back to my car, getting wet again in the process. I parked around the back of the gal ery and let myself in.

  "Wel , this is a ful house," I said. "For one happy moment I thought you were customers."

  "Sorry to disappoint you," Miriam said. "I was passing, so I thought I'd stop by and see if you were in. Anna was a lifesaver and made me a cup of coffee. Good God, Donald, you're soaked!"

  "Yes, I got caught in it," I took my coat off and gave it a shake.

  "It'l teach me to find a nearer parking space in fixture."

  "Would you like a coffee?" Anna asked.

  "I'd love one, please. I take it your lunch partner didn't arrive?" I said to Zeppo. It was only after I spoke that I realised I wanted to catch him out. But he fielded the question smoothly.

  "No, but it was probably my fault for being late. I must have missed him. How was your meeting?" Now he had caught me unawares. "Oh ... unproductive."

  "That's a shame. It didn't take very long, did it?" He sipped his coffee. The observation could have been innocent.

  "Not as long as I would have liked. But never mind." I turned quickly to Miriam. "This is a pleasant surprise. I didn't expect to see you so soon after the party. Is it a purely social visit, or do you have an ulterior motive?"

  "You are a cynic, Donald. Actual y, it's both. It's a purely social visit, but I do have an ulterior motive."

  "That sounds intriguing."

  "Don't get excited. Some friends of mine phoned yesterday and invited themselves up next weekend. So I thought I'd have a few people around for dinner. Take the burden of entertaining them off me for a while. I wondered if you'd like to come?"

  I was about to make an excuse when Anna returned with my coffee. Before I could answer, Miriam added. "I was going to ask if Anna and her boyfriend Zeppo, isn't it? wanted to come as wel ?" There was a moment's silence. Miriam had obviously seen them together at the party and drawn the wrong conclusion. Zeppo smiled.

  "You've got the name right, but I'm not Anna's boyfriend. I'm afraid."

  "Oh, I'm sorry, I thought ..." Miriam went red. Anna and Zeppo smiled at each other.

  "It's okay. You did meet her boyfriend, but only for a minute. He's cal ed Marty." A flush of colour had touched Anna's cheeks as wel , descending to her throat.

  "Oh, yes, of course, how stupid of me," Miriam blustered. "Wel , if you and Marty would like to come, you're very welcome. And you too, of course, Zeppo." Zeppo looked amused.

  "Thanks, I'd love to." I fol owed his lead. "So would I. Miriam's an excel ent cook." In fact she was nothing of the sort, but it would be worth risking indigestion to bring Anna and Zeppo together again.

  Miriam laughed. "I think Donald's being kind, but I'l do my best not to poison you. Wil you and Marty be able to come, or have you anything planned?" I wil ed Anna to accept. "No, I don't think so," she said. "Thanks very much." I looked across at Zeppo. He held my eyes for a moment before looking away.

  It seemed that fate was on our side.

  Chapter Five

  The dinner party was a disaster. Miriam's guests seemed to have been

  selected with the same sense of foolhardy experimentation that she had used to decorate her house. It was a beautiful old Victorian vil a that had been spoilt by the combination of period features and a more severe, modernistic style. Bauhaus chairs rubbed shoulders with panel ed doors, and splashes of vivid, designer art hung below the original delicate wal and ceiling mouldings. It was amish-mash that might pass for stylish in some circles, but which grated on my nerves.

  The guests themselves were similarly il -assorted. One of them, a crop-haired, overweight woman, was especial y offensive. She appeared hostile to the world in general, and men in particular. It was quickly apparent that she had taken a strong exception to Zeppo.

  "And what do you do?" she demanded, almost as soon as they had been introduced.

  "I'm a model."

  "A model?" The woman spat the word out with distaste. She looked at Zeppo as though her worst suspicions had been confirmed. "Is that an artist's model, or the other kind?"

  "Wel , I don't do life classes, so it must be the other kind." He gazed back at her with an amused expression. It was not calculated to improve matters.

  "You're a fashion model, then." It was an accusation.

  "More photographic, real y."

  "What's the difference?" A trace of condescension entered Zeppo's voice. "Wel , I don't do catwalk stuff. I do shoots for magazines. Advertising. That sort of thing."

  The woman appeared unimpressed by the distinction. "Doesn't it bother you at al ?"

  Zeppo looked puzzled. "Why should it bother me?"

  "Because the entire concept is sick. How can you justify doing something which is so total y non-productive?" I saw Miriam glance over from the far side of the room, a worried expression on her face. But Zeppo only gave the other woman a dazzling smile. "It pays wel . Excuse me." He brushed past her and came to where I was standing, alone for the moment.

  "Keep the fucking dyke aw
ay from me." For once I found his profanity almost understandable. "She does seem to have taken a dislike to you, doesn't she?"

  "Because I'm a man, and good-looking, and she'l never be either." He scanned the room and quickly turned his back on it. "Jesus, what a bunch of losers. I hope you realise what a sacrifice I'm making. I could be somewhere having a good time. Christ knows why I'm here."

  "To quote you, because it pays wel ." He snorted. "I just hope Miss Muffin over there leaves me alone." It was a vain hope. I had planned to sit near Anna, Marty, and Zeppo, but Miriam, with a designer's love of arranging things, had her own ideas. She seated everyone apart from friends and partners, obviously with the intention of forcing conversation. I was relieved that, either accidental y or by design, she put Zeppo and the crop-haired woman at opposite ends of the table. Unfortunately, it made no difference.

  The woman waited only until the first course had been served before tackling him again. "So you don't think that model ing is basical y immoral, then?" Her voice cut across several other people and conversations, but she seemed unconcerned about this breach of etiquette. Zeppo leisurely finished chewing and took a drink of wine before answering.

  "No more than a lot of other things." He smiled around the table. "I know one or two models who are, though." The woman refused to either lighten up or be drawn. "I'm not talking about individuals, I'm talking about the profession as a whole. If you can cal it that. Doesn't it worry you that you're helping to foster false ideas of sexuality every time your picture appears in a magazine?"

  "I'm not helping foster anything. People pay me to do a job, and I do it. If other people decide to take offence about it, that's up to them. You can't please everyone."

  "That's just a cop-out. You can't be given vast amounts of money without accepting responsibility for what you do." Zeppo smiled deprecatingly. "Wel , I wouldn't exactly cal it a "vast"

  amount of money."

  "It's more than a factory worker or a coal-miner wil get for what they do. How much exactly are you paid to have your photo taken?" Zeppo's smile had become set. The two of them were now the focal point of the table, it varies."

  "Yes, but in general how much? You must have a basic union rate, or something, mustn't you?"

  "Perhaps Zeppo doesn't want to discuss his finances," Miriam said, giving the other woman a shut-up look. She did not notice.

  i don't see why not. I don't mind anyone asking me how much I'm paid."

  "And what do you do?" asked Zeppo.

  i'm a poet." She spoke with a pride that chal enged criticism.

  "Real y? What do you write about?" His tone was one of polite enquiry. But I had learnt enough in the past few weeks not to trust it.

  "Truth. I write about the hypocrisy of society, and the sadistic repression of women by a male-dominated world." It was a gauntlet thrown. No one else spoke.

  Zeppo cocked an eyebrow. "Oh." Everyone waited, but he seemed content with that response.

  "Actual y, I've read some of Jessica's stuff. It's very good," Miriam said into the silence.

  "Have you had anything published?" Anna asked. The crop-haired woman looked away from Zeppo reluctantly.

  "I've had one volume published, and I'm working on another now."

  "Do you have much of a fol owing?" asked another woman.

  it's growing. But most people don't like to face up to reality."

  "Surely though, that's just what you perceive as reality," a bearded man interposed. She dismissed him without a glance.

  "Truth's truth. But people are too conditioned by the money-orientated patriarchy to want to listen to it.

  "People like me, you mean?" Zeppo said, smiling. She seized on the question.

  "Yes, like you! It's the attitude of take-the-money-and-run. Money is al , and be damned to whatever harm you do in the process! Tel me what use model ing is? What actual good does it do anyone?"

  "It's done me quite a lot."

  "Exactly!" She stabbed her finger at him, unaware of the half-suppressed smirks around the table. "A typical y male attitude.

  Self. The self is al !"

  "What about al the girl models? Do they have a typical y male attitude as wel ?"

  "They're victims of social conditioning. They're just letting themselves be exploited."

  "So when I get paid to lie on a beach, I'm being selfish, but when a girl does it, she's being exploited?"

  "You can be as facetious as you like. You're just proving my point about avoiding the truth." Zeppo's smile was indulgent. "But what gives you the right to tel people what the "truth"

  is?" She glared at him defiantly. "Someone has to do it."

  "That's how I feel about model ing." He grinned. "Thank God it's me." The crop-haired woman's indignant answer was lost in the sudden, relieved laughter. "I think we're ready for the next course," Miriam said, hurriedly. "Jessica, do you think you could help me?" Red-faced, the other woman rose and fol owed her into the kitchen.

  Presumably either a warning or entreaty was made, because for the rest of the evening she studiously ignored Zeppo. That made the meal a little more pleasant, although not much.

  Merciful y, it did not go on for too long. It was a relief for everyone when it was over.

  "What a fucking waste of time that was," Zeppo said, as we prepared to leave. Only I was within earshot. "I must have said al of three words to Anna."

  "It's stil quite early. Perhaps I broke off as Anna and Marty joined us to say that the taxi we were sharing had arrived.

  Together we said goodnight to Miriam and the few remaining guests and went outside.

  "I can't pretend I'm sorry that's over," I said, as we drove away.

  Zeppo and I were in the pul -down seats, facing Anna and Marty. "I'm afraid Miriam's taste in friends is no better than her taste in art." Anna smiled. "I don't think Jessica liked Zeppo, did she?" He smiled back. "Wel , I don't think I'l be putting her on my Christmas-card list either." I looked at my watch. "It's stil only early. Would anyone like a nightcap?" Zeppo took the hint. "Wel , if anyone's interested, I'm a member of a private club not too far away. It's open til late. We could go there, if you'd like." I did not like. I could wel imagine the sort of club Zeppo would belong to. But I feigned enthusiasm. "That sounds like a good idea to me." I looked across to Anna and Marty. "Shal we?" She glanced at him. He had been quiet al evening. I thought he seemed a little intimidated by Zeppo. I took a petty satisfaction from the idea. "Wel ..." he began.

  "Come on, let's go," Zeppo coaxed, looking from him to Anna. "We deserve a drink after that. Just one, then you can get a taxi from there. It's practical y on the way. Okay?" Without waiting for a reply he turned and gave the driver fresh instructions. Marty looked at him, then at Anna. They exchanged a smile. It excluded everyone else. I saw Marty put his hand on Anna's knee and give it a little squeeze. When Zeppo turned around again, they were sitting as before.

  "Al set. We'l be there in five minutes," Zeppo said. Marty readjusted his glasses.

  The club was not quite as bad as I feared. I had been expecting a nightclub, and was relieved when there were neither flashing lights nor loud music. But it was stil very much in keeping with the sort of place I imagined Zeppo to frequent. Garish, brash, and superficial. It was ful of glittering young people, liberal y decorated with enough mirrors to satisfy even the most demanding narcissistic appetite. I felt utterly out of place, and Marty looked it, whether he felt it or not. Zeppo, however, was obviously very much at home.

  "Hey, there's some friends of mine," he said, and set off towards a crowded table. We were left to fol ow.

  "Have you been here before?" I asked Anna as we made our way over.

  "No. I didn't even know it existed." She lowered her voice. "God, is everyone here a model?"

  "I'm not." Marty murmered. "I don't think Donald is, either. Do you think they'l serve us?" Anna stared as a striking black girl in a bikini top and miniskirt went past. "I feel positively drab."

  "You've no ne
ed to," I said. "You put most of these girls to shame." I meant it. Their sharp, characterless looks left me untouched.

  Zeppo had already arranged seats for us at the table. "Everyone, this is Anna, Donald, and Marty." He ran through a list of names I immediately forgot. Marty and I received dismissive smiles and nods:

  Anna merited more attention.

  "I'l get some drinks," Zeppo said, and disappeared without asking what we wanted. The people at the table continued their animated, slightly hysterical conversation as though we weren't there. Only when Zeppo returned did we exist for them again.

  "The drinks are on their way." He suddenly seemed bristling with energy. "God, we've just been to the worst dinner party in the world," he announced. The group listened deferential y as he gave an exaggerated account of our ordeal. It was greeted with wild shrieks of laughter. "Honest, I thought she was going to go for me over the mange-tout!" The drinks arrived. I found myself presented with a Mexican beer. "How come you know Zeppo?" a bronzed young man asked Anna.

  "Through Donald." She indicated me. "I haven't real y known him very long, though." The young man showed no interest in how long I had known him. He was about to ask Anna something else when Zeppo cut in. "Donald's an amazingly rich art dealer." They looked at me rather more appreciatively. "Anna's lucky enough to work for him. And Marty here's an anthropologist." Marty looked embarrassed as attention switched to him, pinning him like an insect under a microscope. He studied his untouched drink.

  "Anthropology? Oh, wow, that must be real y interesting." A vacuously pretty girl stared at him wide-eyed. Her hair was bleached white and cut close to her scalp, contrasting her thick dark eyebrows.

  "I've always been fascinated by that sort of stuff. You know, body-language and things like that."

  A young man with dreadlocks looked at the others. "Can you believe this?"

  "She reads one book and she thinks she's an intel ectual," a blond boy said.

  She lightly punched his arm. "Oh, piss off. You don't know anything."