Acquired Tastes

by Simone Mondesir

  'Fergus?' Vanessa looked away from the mirror; she could scent sex at twenty paces. 'Who's Fergus?'

  'Dr Fergus Archibald,' Alicia said proudly, 'is a lecturer in the Psychology Department at Heartlands University. He should have been departmental head, but there are certain people …' she lowered her voice and looked around as though 'they' might be hiding somewhere in the restaurant, 'who are jealous of his brilliant mind.'

  Vanessa waved a hand dismissively at what were, to her, matters of little import. 'Are you and him …?'

  The unspoken word trailed in the air like a blazing comet.

  'Vanessa,' Alicia protested, flushing deep red.

  'Well, don't you think it's about time you got laid? They don't give prizes for saving it, you know, and Prince Charmings are at the top of the endangered species list. So,' demanded Vanessa scooping another helping of cream, 'is this Fergus person the one …?'

  Alicia scooped up another spoonful of cheesecake. It was double chocolate cheesecake and well worth its name. 'It's a bit too early to say. I've only known him two terms.'

  'And you haven't been to bed with him! Is he queer or something? You do have a way of picking them, Alicia.'

  Vanessa's reference to an earlier disastrous crush that she had formed on a fellow scholar of dubious sexuality, caused Alicia to bridle.

  'Fergus is very masculine,' she burst out. It was a rare act of defiance and quickly recanted. She lowered her eyes, 'It's not him, it's me. I'm not like you, Vanessa. You've always been so confident about, well… men and things.'

  By 'things', Alicia meant sex. Something Vanessa had been aware of from the moment her mother had dressed her in pink satin and lace, strapped her plump little toddler's feet into silver patent leather shoes and urged her to smile and 'ask daddy nicely'.

  Vanessa had needed little further bidding and quickly learned that daddy wasn't the only male who, for the price of a smile or a girlish kiss, would press whatever it was she wanted into her outstretched hands. Being sent to St Aloysius had temporarily denied her the requisite males on whom to try out her rapidly maturing charms, but Vanessa had soon found that girlish adoration could be quite as heady.

  In the hothouse atmosphere of a girls' boarding school, matters bodily and sexual counted more than academic diligence, which was just as well for Vanessa. For while she was a walking encyclopaedia on the former, she would have come near the bottom on the latter if not for Alicia's willingness to 'help' her with her homework and sit next to her during exams.

  While the rest of the Upper Fourth greeted the changes wrought on their bodies by the sudden rush of hormones like an ancient Greek chorus, plucking helplessly at the unwelcome flesh on their thighs, keening at the eruption of pimples, and hiding their faces with shame as they were forced to deal monthly with a part of their bodies that hitherto they had been taught to pretend didn't exist, Vanessa watched, untouched by angst as her olive-toned skin remained unfairly clear, and her body grew long and sleek. And with the confidence born of having started her periods first, Vanessa confidently predicted that she would be the first to wear a bra.

  But for once, her confidence was unfounded.

  No matter how much she thrust out her chest, or how many times she swung her arms backwards and forwards, silently chanting 'I must, I must improve my bust' in the privacy of her cubicle at night, the rosebud-trimmed cups of Vanessa's Modern Miss bra remained resolutely unfilled.

  Meanwhile, in her cubicle next door, Alicia sat hugging herself in silent misery as her breasts not so much budded as sprouted alarmingly. Whilst mindful that some female saints who had prayed to be relieved of their femininity so as to avoid unwelcome suitors had woken up to find themselves with luxuriant beards, she, too, prayed for a miracle. But even attending early morning mass on twenty-seven successive days failed to have any effect on the pronounced and unwelcome change in her anatomy.

  Up until their unwanted appearance, Alicia had happily managed to survive largely unnoticed. While consistently in the top three students in her year, she had never sought popularity or friendship other than with Vanessa.

  Vanessa had lots of other friends but Alicia never felt jealous. In fact, she was rather proud that she had a friend who was so popular and when Vanessa needed help with schoolwork, Alicia was only too happy to help. She felt that in some way it repaid Vanessa for being her friend and she had much to be thankful for - helping Vanessa had made her consider teaching as a vocation, something she might not have otherwise considered.

  But while Alicia felt no jealousy of Vanessa, Vanessa’s jealousy of Alicia's growing breasts almost brought an end to their friendship. Vanessa considered them a personal affront, as did their housemistress, Sister Mary, who considered them unbecoming in a young lady in her charge.

  Unfortunately, Sister Mary's disapproval had no more effect on the size of the offending breasts than Alicia's prayers, and so it was that one Sunday morning after mass, an embarrassed Alicia found herself standing in front of the thin-lipped triumvirate of Reverend Mother, Sister Mary and Sister Gertrude. They gazed sternly at the buttons on the front of her blouse, which steadfastly refused to stay done up. Tears of shame pricked Alicia's eyes and she had clenched her fists and willed herself not to cry.

  Reverend Mother had peered over the top of her half moon glasses. 'Perhaps we ought to leave it in the hands of her mother, a letter …?' Her tone was patient although tinged with asperity.

  She liked to keep Sunday morning audiences for matters of a moral or a spiritual nature, it seemed only right and fitting. Alicia Binn's breasts were of a distinctly temporal nature and well within the province of a housemistress to resolve.

  Sister Mary's nostrils flared, 'Her mother is in Singapore.' She enunciated the words like an accusation of a dereliction of duty.

  Reverend Mother let out a little 'Ah' and sat down behind her desk. She fingered the crucifix around her neck for a few moments and then looked up at Sister Gertrude, whose chief duty was the supervision of habits for the nuns and school uniforms for the girls.

  'I think we should pray for guidance,' suggested Sister Gertrude brightly.

  Sister Mary gave the older nun a look that was less than charitable, but joined Reverend Mother in lowering her head.

  Alicia screwed up her eyes and clasped her hands tightly together. Perhaps praying in the presence of three holy women might help as her own prayers had not worked so far. She had even added a rosary to her already lengthy nightly prayers, and had taken to saying them kneeling, bare-kneed on the hard and splinter-ridden dormitory floor, rather than lying in bed, offering up her discomfort as a sacrifice to God if he would only grant her wish to be flat-chested again.

  With a loud, 'Amen', Sister Gertrude finished. 'I always find a little prayer to St Jude, patron saint of hopeless causes, helps,' she beamed.

  Sister Mary gestured impatiently at Alicia's still-tumescent chest. 'What we need, Mother Mary Gertrude, is a practical solution. I won't have one of my girls making such a vulgar display of herself.'

  Alicia miserably pulled her cardigan across her front and tried unsuccessfully to button it up.

  'The Upper Fourth needlework project,' Sister Gertrude announced triumphantly. 'We'll make liberty bodices this term. It's the sort of thing which will be useful for all the girls when their time comes. There's always a solution if you look in the right place.' She smiled sweetly at Sister Mary. St Jude had been vindicated yet again.

  'Praise be to God, Mother Mary, let this be a lesson to us all. The power of prayer succeeds where mere human endeavours fail.' Reverend Mother held up her hands as though in benediction, but it was also a sign that they were all dismissed.

  'The Lord sends us trials so that we can overcome them,' intoned Sister Gertrude.

  'Amen to that,' Sister Mary added, as she took Alicia by the shoulder and marched her out of the room.

  Unfortunately, neither the Lord nor St Jude had allowed for the Upper Fourth's needlework skills. They took up the
challenge of making a bodice with considerably more imagination than expertise and the resulting garment bore little resemblance to the portion of Alicia's anatomy that it was meant to confine and minimise.

  However, the misshapen bodices restored Vanessa's equanimity and, as she explained to a mortified Alicia, it was a well-known fact that large breasts were distinctly common - no man from the right sort of background liked them.

  Although one of the kindly younger nuns later took Alicia on a shopping expedition, which resulted in the purchase of some suitably supportive, although depressingly ugly bras, the whole episode confirmed publicly, and humiliatingly, Alicia's private opinion of herself - she was fat and unattractive and would never be any different.

  Since then she had been in full retreat from the world, affecting shapeless clothes like the calf-length peasant-style dress she wore today. She kept her light brown hair long, so that any movement of her head caused it to fall in a veil across her face. It was useful when she wanted to hide her face and gather her thoughts before speaking. Now, having thought, she tucked her hair behind her ear and looked up at Vanessa.

  'I'd like you to meet Fergus sometime, I'm sure you'd like him. He's at work on a radical new examination of the meaning of sexual fantasies. He says it will revolutionise thinking about human sexuality.' She lowered her already soft voice. 'Confidentially, Fergus is considering turning his paper into a book. It's already been turned down by the reactionary old academics who edit most of the big psychology journals, but he thinks it's about time he went public, so to speak. If the book is a best-seller, the university hierarchy will be made to look very silly.'

  'Sexual fantasies?' Suddenly alert, Vanessa stopped admiring herself in the mirrored restaurant walls and fixed her gaze on Alicia. 'What kind of fantasies?'

  'I really couldn't describe them over the dinner table. Some of them are, well, really very odd.' Alicia's voice was so low, Vanessa was forced to lean across the table to hear her. 'I really can't understand how people can think some of the things they do, but Fergus says we are socialised into being ashamed of our perfectly natural desires, and that we should be able to bring them out into the open and enact them if possible. He says we would all be much healthier if we did, and that many so-called illnesses are just cases of sexual frustration. He intends to call the book Terminal Diagnosis- A Report on the Nation's Sexual Health.' Alicia's voice had sunk to a whisper.

  Vanessa leaned back in her seat and stared into the distance. Either this man was trying the most complicated come-on with Alicia she had ever heard of, or …

  She snapped her fingers at a passing waiter. 'Pen,' she demanded crisply, and when it arrived, began scribbling on her napkin.

  Assuming she had once again lost her friend's attention, Alicia was just about to change the subject when Vanessa looked up. 'I'd like to meet this Angus person of yours sometime, maybe read a copy of his research too.'

  Alicia was about to point out that his name was Fergus, but before she could say anything, Vanessa looked at her watch and groaned.

  'Oh god, late again. Look, I've got to get my skates on. I've got an ideas meeting with PP and the rest of the team.' Vanessa picked up the bill and slapped down some large notes. 'My treat this time. Put it on expenses.'

  She ushered Alicia, who was still struggling to find her purse, through the restaurant and out on to the pavement.

  'Call you soon, lovely to see you.' Vanessa kissed the air beside Alicia's cheeks while hailing a taxi.

  Left alone, Alicia stood bewildered for a moment, dazzled by the bright sunshine and the noise of traffic on the Old Brompton Road. Then she thought of the cool quiet of the British Museum Reading Room, and tightly clutching her bulging briefcase, headed for the Underground.

  Two

  'Beautiful day, isn't it darling?'

  Dark eyes flashed at Vanessa in the driving mirror. A pudgy forefinger casually guided the steering wheel, beefy forearm resting on the open window. As the taxi shuddered to a halt in the traffic yet again, the taxi driver leaned back in his seat and half turned his head.

  Vanessa glimpsed a Mediterranean profile.

  'Had a good lunch? That place is a bit too expensive for my tastes, but I bet a good-looking woman like you doesn't pick up the tab too often.'

  The voice was pure Balls Pond Road.

  Vanessa toyed briefly with the idea of deflating his over-active libido, but she had far too much on her mind. She leaned forward and snapped the glass partition firmly shut.

  As she did, the large cluster of diamonds on her right hand glittered as it caught the light. The ring had been a little reward to herself for divorcing Jeremy. It was about the only worthwhile thing she had got out of her relationship with him, and even then she had bought it herself. It was the story of her life.

  Why Alicia always had to ask about Jeremy when they met, she did not know, although she suspected Alicia might once have had a crush on him. On the occasions that they met, whenever Jeremy spoke to her, Alicia had blushed and stammered even more than usual - if that was possible.

  She should have known she was making a mistake with Jeremy right from the start, Vanessa mused. After all, they had met at a cricket match and she thought sport in any form was pointless, and cricket was the most pointless sport of all.

  If she remembered rightly, she had only gone to the cricket match nearly eight years ago because her then boyfriend, Gavin, had been captain of the host team, and as his father was rumoured to be mega-rich, she was prepared to tolerate almost anything, even cricket. Gavin had coyly suggested that it was traditional for the wife of the captain to provide tea for all the players which seemed like a pretty big hint, so she enlisted Alicia to help. Alicia had toiled for days making pork pies and quiches, several trays of iced fairy cakes, four Victoria sponges, and gallons of lemonade made from fresh lemons. On the day she had also buttered enough bread to make a mountain of brown and white bread sandwiches with assorted fillings.

  Since nobody actually asked her whether she had made the tea, Vanessa saw no reason to mention Alicia washing up in the tiny, lean-to kitchen behind the pavilion. She merely tied a frilly apron around her middle and stood behind the table in the pavilion smiling graciously as everyone 'oohed' and 'aahed' at the sumptuous spread. Gavin was pink-faced with pride, and went on and on about her being 'absolutely spiffing' and 'a jolly good sport' then whispered that he hoped she might consider wearing her apron when they got back to his place - just your apron, he emphasised.

  Tea over, Vanessa steeled herself to sit through yet more, tedious cricket. Wrapping herself up in Gavin’s very expensive cashmere sweater - she was wearing a fetching slip of a cotton dress and it was freezing despite being May - she ventured outside again. She was just in time to see a tall, dark-haired man with satisfyingly broad shoulders and a determined look on his handsome face, thundering down the field. His arm had shot up and then his back had arched rather fetchingly as he leapt into the air and bowled a blistering delivery that scattered the stumps of the opposing batsman, stopping him reaching his threatened half century.

  The small crowd of spectators had risen cheering to its feet and Vanessa joined in, even if her appreciation was more for the perfection of the bowler's buttocks than his delivery. It was only then that she noticed that the batsman who had been bowled out was Gavin.

  Gavin trailed dejectedly back to the pavilion, but if he hoped for any solace from Vanessa it was not forthcoming. She had made allowances for his shortness of stature, but why she had not noticed before that he had such a round, nondescript face with a weak chin which was already reproducing itself, and that his wispy, pale brown hair was already receding at an alarming rate, she could not understand. She barely acknowledged him before pushing her way through the crowd of admirers around Jeremy to introduce herself.

  Jeremy was engaged to a pretty blonde called Chloe whose titled parents owned a large pile in the country whose upkeep they could not afford, but which they hung onto, living in
the unheated servants' wing, for the sake of the family. Chloe was used to making do and had spent two years designing and making peach and dove grey antique lace-trimmed outfits, based on a Gainsborough painting, for her six bridesmaids and four page boys. But Chloe - despite being an 'Honourable' - had not stood a chance against Vanessa. Two months after the cricket match, Vanessa and Jeremy plighted their troth in the very marquee that should have witnessed the sit-down lunch for two hundred, with dove grey table linen and peach rose floral displays lovingly planned by Chloe.

  Jeremy had felt guilty about using the same marquee, but Vanessa pointed that if it hadn't been for Chloe's last minute cancellation, how else could they have got a marquee in June and anyway, he had said her parents were bankrupting themselves to pay for their daughter's wedding so now they would be able to feed their six golden Labradors as well as themselves.

  But while Vanessa at first congratulated herself on seizing Jeremy from the Hon Chloe's fragrant clutches, she soon began to rue her precipitate action in marrying him. To her disgust, Jeremy's killer instinct on the cricket pitch did not extend to the money markets where he worked. While all around him in the City were getting rich in the get-rich-quick Eighties, he was content to remain in a back-water division of the merchant bank in which several generations of male Swifts had served, safe in the knowledge that a directorship awaited them no matter what their skills, or indeed, their lack of them.

  Jeremy proved immune to Vanessa's relentless urging to make more money. For some reason that was beyond her, he claimed to be perfectly happy. When she brought the subject up, he would wait for her to finish and then smile that silly, lopsided smile of his, ruffle her hair or kiss her on the end of the nose and say something irritating like 'as long as I have you Vee, I'm the richest man in the world'. It drove her mad.

  Forced to accept that Jeremy was not, and never would be, a financial firebrand, Vanessa had decided that her only hope was Jeremy's father. Before their wedding, she had checked on Swift senior's financial standing, which, although not quite in Gavin's father's league, was not inconsiderable. He was also a lot older than Jeremy's mother, and at the time of their wedding had appeared to be close to his demise having to be pushed around in a wheelchair. But he proved tougher than he looked. Vanessa had been forced to wait a further three years before Swift senior met his fate at the age of eighty-three, falling off his horse in pursuit of hunt saboteurs while riding to hounds.