Fine Lines

by Simon Beckett

  "Okay, I'l phone after the' The line went dead. I held the receiver to my ear for a moment longer, reluctant to relinquish the link between myself and Anna, before setting it back in its cradle. In spite of the news of my unwanted acquisition, it had been good to hear from her. If this was what it was like when she was away for a matter of days, I dared not imagine how I would feel if she went to America.

  A mood of restlessness settled on me. In the past I had never lacked for anything to do. But now, with two days to go before Anna returned, and a day and night before I learned how successful Zeppo had been with Marty, the hours stretched endlessly in front of me.

  Boredom made me eat an il -advised lunch, after which my stomach steadily deteriorated. Acid seared my chest, and by early evening my fears of an ulcer had given way to something more sinister. I contemplated cal ing for a doctor, half convinced I was having a heart attack. For a while I al owed the thought to occupy me, losing myself in fantasies of hospitals and death-beds, and as my thoughts became more morbid, so they were taken from the subject that had prompted them. Either that or the indigestion tablets final y did the trick: it was almost with surprise that I realised the pain had final y eased.

  I felt better stil when I realised my maudlin self-indulgence had occupied a considerable portion of the evening. Suddenly, the morning no longer seemed a lifetime away. Almost cheerful now, I made a light, bland snack and considered how to pass the rest of the time. The anodyne of television has never appealed to me. I refuse to have one in the house, preferring instead to read or listen

  to music. Or retreat into an even more private world. It was this last I chose now.

  My private gal ery is in a windowless room on the first floor. Inside are the pieces that comprise my secret col ection, started when I bought that first snufibox. I let myself in and turned on the lights.

  The atmosphere was cathedral quiet; restful. The anxieties of the day sloughed off as soon as I closed the door, and I paused for a moment to savour the feeling.

  In my preoccupation with Anna, I had not been in the room for weeks.

  Now it was like a homecoming. I knew every painting, every line-drawing intimately, but their attraction had never pal ed. Each was erotic in its own way, some strikingly so, others more subtle in their appeal. There was an eighteenth-century pastoral scene, typical in every way but for the shepherdess' bare breasts, and the shepherd's hand beneath her petticoats.

  Next to it, an engraving of Leda embracing the swan, burying her face in its feathers as its neck twined around her back. Further along was a scene of two naked girls supine on a bed, sensual and languorous after their passion.

  I lost myself amongst them, sometimes lingering over a particular piece, sometimes only pausing briefly before moving on to the next.

  One, however, drew me back time and time again. It showed a couple making love in front of a fire, while from behind a screen a man watched unseen. Gradual y, I forgot about the other pictures. After a while I moved a chair closer and sat down to study it more comfortably.

  The watcher's face was rapt as he crouched behind the screen, only feet from where the couple lay. They appeared oblivious to him. The man's head was thrown back in the extremity of his passion, the girl's eyes closed in ecstasy. One arm curled around her lover's neck, the other lay flung out, apparently in abandon. Or was it? Palm upwards, stretched out towards the screen, it could just as easily have been extended in invitation. It was that ambiguity that fascinated me. That outstretched arm transformed the entire picture, implicating the watcher in the lover's union, elevating him from mere voyeur to an actual participant.

  I gazed at the scene, hypnotised. The girl became Anna, the man Zeppo.

  The fantasy took form, began to move. I crouched behind the screen, invisible. I moved closer, lingered on the edge of Anna's outstretched hand. On a level with them, I looked directly into Anna's face as her head turned, her eyes opened, and she smiled at me ...

  I woke with a start. I was stil in the chair, facing the now flat, two-dimensional picture. My neck ached. I rubbed it gingerly, my thoughts stil sleep-muddied. I had a vague impression that something had woken me, and then I heard the noise again. Muffled and distant, a faint chiming noise, fol owed by a dul but violent banging. The last wisps of sleep disappeared, and I stood up.

  Someone was at the door.

  I looked at my watch as I hurried downstairs. It was two o'clock.

  Uncaring of the time, the banging grew louder as I neared the front door. I unlocked it without thinking. I suppose I already knew who it had to be.

  As soon as I opened it, Zeppo pushed inside. He was soaking wet.

  "Have you any idea what the time is?" I said, closing the door on the rain. His hair was flat to his head, trickling water over his face. It was already pooling around him. "Look at the mess you're making on the carpet!" I was aware of how inane I sounded even as I spoke.

  Zeppo was breathing heavily, his lips curled. "Fuck the carpet!" Strangely, I did not feel surprised to see him. Nor was I in any hurry to hear why he was there. "Take your shoes off and get yourself a drink in the lounge," I said. "I'l get you a towel." When I came back from the kitchen, the trail of muddy footprints on the pale carpet told me that Zeppo had ignored at least one of my instructions. He stood in the centre of the lounge, drink in hand, clearly daring me to object. Restraining myself, I handed him the towel.

  "Wel ? I presume this isn't a social cal ?" Zeppo glared at me. "He's fucking straight!" I poured myself a drink. "What are you talking about?"

  "Oh, take a fucking guess! Where have I been tonight?"

  "You mean Marty?"

  "You're like fucking lightning, aren't you? That's right, Marty. I saw him tonight, just like you wanted, and guess what? He's not queer.

  He's straight. Hetero. So can you guess what happened when I made a pass at him?"

  I felt amazingly calm. Even his language failed to bother me. "I presume al this is a preamble to tel ing me it didn't work."

  His face twisted. "Of course it didn't fucking work! I knew it wouldn't! I never should have listened to you!"

  "As I recal , it was you who claimed he was gay in the first place, so you can hardly blame me because he's not. I refuse to be a scapegoat for your failure." Zeppo's glass shattered against the wal . "Don't start, or I'l break your fucking neck!" He faced me with clenched fists, his face contorted. Surprisingly unconcerned, I went to the cabinet and poured him another drink. I took it over to him.

  "Try not to throw this one. It's a rather good malt, so if you feel the urge to break something, tel me and I'l get you a blended whisky in a cheap glass." For a moment he did not move.

  Then, reluctantly, he accepted it. A little of the violence ebbed away from him. I sat down.

  "Now, if you feel capable of it, why don't you tel me exactly what happened?" He hesitated, then flopped into a chair. "Jesus, what a fucking night." He rubbed his hand across his face. "I met him in this gay club in Soho '

  "Did you have any difficulty persuading him to go?"

  "Not real y. He was a bit wary at first, so I told him there was something I wanted to talk about that I couldn't discuss over the phone."

  "What time was this? After Anna cal ed him?"

  "Yes! I'm not fucking stupid, now do you want to hear this or not?" I said nothing. Nostrils flared, he continued. "I got to the club early, so I could watch his face when he came in.

  There's no way you can miss what sort of a place it is, but he didn't bat an eye. Didn't even flinch. Just ordered a mineral water and sat down. So I thought Stevie must have been right."

  He took a drink, grimly shaking his head. "Anyway, he asked what I wanted to see him about, so I said I wanted to apologise for being a bit of a bastard the last time I saw him, and that I didn't want him to get the wrong idea about me." He snorted. "Christ, him get the wrong idea about me.

  "Then a stripper came on, so I said, "He's good, isn't he?" and

  he said, "Yeah
, I've seen him before"." Zeppo spread his arms, carried away by his narrative. "What the fuck was I supposed to think? I thought he was letting me know he bent both ways. I asked where he'd seen him, and he told me it was at the Pink Flamingo. That was where Stevie has spotted him. I said I'd never been, but I'd heard it was pretty good, and said we should both go sometime."

  He closed his eyes. "Jesus, I can't believe I let myself in for this." He emptied his glass and held it out to me. I refil ed it, this time pouring the blended scotch instead of the malt.

  "Then what?" Zeppo took a swig of whisky. "He said, "I didn't know you went to that sort of place", so I said, "Wel , sometimes it doesn't pay to advertise". He looked a bit uncomfortable, and asked why I was tel ing him al this, but I thought he was just embarrassed at being found out.

  So I said oh, shit I said, "Because I was jealous when I saw you with Anna." His face screwed up at the memory. "Oh, fucking hel , why did I listen to you?"

  "What did Marty say?" Zeppo blew out a long breath. "He started stammering that he thought I should know he wasn't gay, or anything. I thought he was stil trying to pretend, or something, so I asked who he was trying to kid, and said oh, Jesus I said Anna need never know about it." He took another gulp of whisky. "I thought he was just another queer trying to fool himself he was straight."

  "Are you sure he's not?"

  "Of course I'm fucking sure! The little shit started patronising me! Him! Patronising me! I couldn't believe it! He said I'd got the wrong idea, and he was sorry if he'd given me that impression, but he real y wasn't gay. So I asked how come he went to places like the Pink Flamingo then, and guess what he said?" Zeppo looked at me, thin-lipped. "He's doing it for research. Fucking research! He's been going to different types of nightclubs to study "behaviour patterns". Not just gay clubs. Al types. It's part of his fucking thesis!" He spat the word out and finished the rest of his whisky in one go.

  "Could he have been using that as an excuse?" I asked, not real y believing it. Zeppo gave a terse shake of his head.

  "No. I could tel he wasn't lying. He got al involved when he started tel ing me about it. I wasn't even listening by then, though.

  I just couldn't believe what a cunt I'd made of myself."

  "I wonder what his thesis is actual y about?" I mused. Zeppo looked startled.

  "Does it fucking matter? He made a fool of me! He even had the fucking nerve to say he was flattered! Christ, I should think he was!"

  "Calm down."

  "Why? I've just been humiliated by that little runt for something I didn't want to do in the first place!" He ran his hand through his hair. "I told you it'd be a mistake, but you wouldn't listen, would you?"

  "We've already been through that."

  "Fuck that! You weren't the one who had to sit there while some little shit made you look stupid, were you? No, you just got me to go out and do it instead!"

  "Did you try to deny it?" I asked, hoping to distract him.

  "How the fuck could I deny it after I'd just made a pass at him? I just sat there like an idiot and wished you were dead. Then he said he thought he'd better go, and that he wouldn't tel anyone about our

  "misunderstanding"."

  "Wel , that's something, at least." He stared at me. "Oh, yeah, it's a great consolation. And I bet he means it."

  "Don't you think he does?"

  "Oh, come on, Donald! You seriously think he's not going to tel Anna? I would. It's too good a chance to miss. I can just imagine it. "Oh, you know Zeppo, the macho male model?

  Wel , he made a pass at me, and I turned him down." Then Anna can say, "That's funny, so did I". Face it, Donald, we're fucked." Abruptly, he stood up. "Where's the toilet? I need a piss." I answered without thinking. "Upstairs, at the end of the landing." He went out. I mul ed over what he had told me. For some reason I did not feel surprised. It was almost as though I had expected it. But before I could fol ow this line of thought further, a far more urgent one seized me. The toilet was on the same floor as my private gal ery.

  And I had left the door open.

  I almost ran upstairs. The bathroom was at the far end of the hal .

  The door was closed. Relieved, I hurried to the room that housed my col ection and froze. Zeppo was inside, standing in front of the cabinet that held my snuffboxes.

  I tried to keep my voice level. "The toilet is at the end of the corridor." He turned and grinned at me. "I know." I held the door open. "If you don't mind, I'd like to lock up in here now."

  "Not yet. I haven't finished looking." I could feel myself shaking. "This is my private col ection. It's not for public viewing."

  "I'm not surprised." He laughed. "You dirty old bugger, Donald! You've kept these quiet, haven't you?" I moved towards him. "Wil you please get out of here?"

  "Hey, hey, hey, no need to be hostile. The door was open, I saw the pretty pictures, and came in to look. That's what art's for, isn't it?" He peered at the print next to him. "Is that swan shafting her, or what?"

  "Get out."

  "Donald, don't be so pushy. I'm not hurting anything. I'm interested, real y I am. I've never seen antique porn before."

  "This is not pornography!"

  "Wel , it's not Enid Blyton, is it? Is there a Readers' Wives section as wel ?" He strol ed around the room. "God, look at the size of that fat bitch! You should have told me you were into this sort of stuff. I could have got you the real McCoy. None of this soft porn shit. I mean, there's not one penetration shot in the lot of them. And those dykes look like they've fal en asleep."

  "I told you to get out!" He looked at me. His smile was unpleasant. "I heard you. But I like it here. I feel more at home." To prove his point he pul ed over the chair I had fal en asleep on earlier and sat down on it. "Don't let me keep you, though, Donald. You go if you want to." There was nothing I could do. The more I let him see how much his presence there bothered me, the longer he would stay. "If you insist on being childish, I suppose I can't stop you."

  "That's right, you can't." He looked around. "So this stuff turns you on, does it?"

  "Not in the way you seem to imagine. I find it aesthetical y stimulating, if that's what you mean."

  "Bul shit, Donald. If you're only interested in their "aesthetic value", how come they're al about people having it off? Or is that just a coincidence."

  "I don't deny that they're erotic. But first and foremost, they're erotic art, although I don't suppose that distinction means anything to you."

  "So you're trying to tel me it's only the art you're interested in, and not the erotic?" He laughed.

  "I would hardly expect someone like you to understand what I mean."

  "Now, now, don't get snotty. If you get your rocks off over blue paintings, that's up to you. Far be it from me to cal you a dirty old man." He stretched out his legs. "Anyway, down to business. You and me have got some settling up to do, haven't we?"

  "Settling up?"

  "That's right. For services rendered." He leaned forward. "I want paying. Then I'l leave you to enjoy your "art" in private." I laughed. It did not sound too unconvincing. "I'm sorry, Zeppo, I'm not with you. I was under the impression that our arrangement was for payment on completion."

  "It's as complete as it's going to be."

  "Do I take it that you intend to give up?"

  "Give up? Donald, what the fuck are you talking about? There's nothing to give up. It's over, and you owe me."

  "Owe you? What do I owe you for? As I recal , the agreement was for you to seduce Anna. You haven't. Then we agreed that you would do the same to Marty. Again, you haven't. So I'm afraid I don't real y see how I owe you anything." My refusal was motivated as much as anything by a desire to hit back at him. I felt a spiteful pleasure as his complacency began to crack.

  "Don't stick the blame for Marty on to me! That was al your idea!"

  "Based on your information that he was homosexual. Which was apparently wrong." He took a deep breath. "Look, I've been fucked around enough. If you think I'
m going to let you welsh on the deal, forget it."

  "How am I welshing? I hired you to do a specific job, which you haven't done. And now you want paying for it?" I knew I was provoking him, but I did not care. I shook my head. "I'm sorry, Zeppo, but as I see it you're the one who's "welshing". I'l gladly pay you when you've done what you said you would."

  He threw up his hands. "Oh, for Christ's sake! Tel me what else I could have done! Come on, tel me!"

  "I've no idea. That's why I hired you."

  "Jesus Christ, Donald, don't you listen? Look read my lips forget it! I've tried everything I could. There's not enough time left for anything else. They're only interested in each other!

  That's it! Finito!"

  "And you're prepared to accept that?"

  "Yes!"

  "In that case I fail to see why I should pay you a penny." The chair toppled over as Zeppo jumped to his feet. "Fuck this!" His voice was low, his face hard. "So I've not slept with that frigid bitch. I don't care. I want what you owe me. Now." With a shock, I realised he was close to attacking me. And with that threat of violence, the thought that had been at the back of my mind began to push its way forward. I shied away from it, reluctant to confront it too soon, even while I accepted its general direction.

  "I must say, I expected more of you, Zeppo," I goaded, conscious now that I was walking a very fine line. "After al your boasting, I certainly didn't think you'd let yourself be put off so easily." He was glaring at me. "You're real y starting to piss me off, Donald."

  "The feeling's mutual. Although I'm more disappointed than anything else. I didn't think you were the type to let someone like Marty beat you. Obviously, I came to the wrong man."

  "Don't push it." I sighed. "Wel , if you're prepared to admit that an American academic, who is half your size and indisputedly unattractive, is a better man, perhaps we should part company after al . If you can't even cope with competition like that you're no use to me anyway. I'l pay you a settlement fee. Let's say ten per cent for trying, shal we?"

  "Let's say al of it, or I smash every picture in here and then start on your fucking face!"