The Strange Year of Vanessa M

by Filipa Fonseca Silva

  “Or do like I do,” said the guy who’d just told the story, keeping up his horror-film voice. “When she really pisses you off, just remember she’ll be in the news one day: Woman Found Dead at Home – Month-Old Corpse Partly Eaten by Starving Cats.”

  This set the whole company shaking with laughter. Vanessa forced a laugh, but the truth was she now felt pity for the Hellcat’. You had to be in a pretty dark place to opt for such a tragic course of action, and Vanessa knew such places only too well. What if she ended up like her? And she never managed to rebuild her life? What if she’d thrown it all away and would one day end up all alone, talking to the walls? At least she wouldn’t have to worry about cats eating her nose off; she was allergic to them. Mental note: don’t get any pets while I’m living alone.

  Noticing she looked a little upset, Johnny whispered in her ear, “What are you doing tomorrow night?”

  “Tomorrow? Saturday?” she asked. She didn't want to admit she had absolutely nothing planned. She never did, on the weekends she wasn't with her daughter. Still, you have to cultivate a certain mystique and pretend you live a busy life. “I think I have some people coming over, why?”

  “Just that we’re coming into town for a few drinks; me, those two and a couple of friends of mine, all great folk. I think you’d like it. Why don't you come?”

  “Well, my girlfriends won't be staying too long after all, so if I don't have dinner I can come and meet you afterwards,” she lied.

  “Great, sounds like a plan! I’ll text you tomorrow with the name of the place.”

  Vanessa smiled and drank off the rest of her stout in a single go to hide her slight embarrassment. She was embarrassed because she didn't understand why she’d felt the need to make up the story about her friends coming over, firstly; and secondly because Johnny’s voice in her ear had sent a tingle right through her, from head to feet. Her mind was sending her alarm signals, giving her reasons for not getting involved with him, beginning with the fact that he was ten years younger than her. Meanwhile, her body wanted him to stay exactly where he was, sitting with his leg rubbing against hers.

  Sometimes the effort we expend on pleasing others verges on the ridiculous. And we forget that if someone wants to be friends with us it’s because they were interested in us in the first place, even if we had a stain on our blouse or a spot on our forehead at the time. And even then we’re unable to avoid succumbing to one of the Seven Deadly Sins, and we spend hours in front of the mirror before a date.

  Vanessa felt like a virgin getting ready for the evening of her deflowering. She waxed, put on perfume, chose the sexiest lingerie in her drawer – which after ten years living with the same man was not exactly anything too sophisticated – and spent an hour looking at her wardrobe. She could wear her sequin top and jeans, but if they went to some grungy little bar she’d look totally out of place. With a white blouse she’d look too thirty-something. And after all, jeans aren’t a good choice when we want someone to put their hands up our legs. It would have to be a dress. Would red be too foxy? She didn't want to make it obvious she was trying too hard, although that’s exactly what she was doing. Probably nothing will happen and you’ll only end up annoyed with yourself for having wasted so much time choosing a stupid top, she thought.

  When she got to the living room her aunt’s praise sent her back to square one. “Wow! Look how pretty you are!” That meant she’d tarted herself up too much. She went back to her room and decided on the grey dress, some flat sandals, and loose hair. She ran out before she changed her mind again and drove slowly into town. It wasn't nine yet, so she had to use up some time so she could pretend she’d been busy until then. At what she thought was a reasonable time to appear, she drank a vodka miniature so everyone would think she’d been with her friends before getting there, and walked into the restaurant Johnny had indicated, pretending not to see him.

  With the vodka working on an empty stomach, Vanessa soon loosened up and got into the spirit of the group. Fortunately her instinct had been right and Johnny hadn’t invited her just to be nice. They spent the evening making jokes and light-hearted banter, each of them inviting a certain physical contact. Vanessa even used the childish trick of pretending to trip and grabbing on to his arm. In the next bar they only had eyes for each other. By the time they got to the club they’d lost everyone else and in the car, as Johnny’s hand wandered up her thighs, Vanessa thanked her lucky stars she hadn’t worn jeans. She was getting more and more excited, not just because Johnny really was very, very cute, but also because the whole atmosphere of the scene, the lust and the steamed-up window, was something she hadn't experienced since she was a teenager. As she was debating with herself whether they should do it right there or in a motel, his phone rang. He ignored the first ring, then the second, but on the third he took the call.

  “I know… it’s six in the morning… yes… I know… I’m out with some friends…there’s no noise cause we’re in the car, we were just about to go home… right… yes, Dad, I heard you… I’ll be right there.”

  He rang off, heaved a sigh and said, “Sorry Vanessa, but I have to go.”

  “What?”

  “That was my dad, if you didn't understand…”

  “How old are you anyway?”

  Johnny didn't understand it was a rhetorical question and spent the entire journey home trying to explain, while Vanessa bit her lip with rage. He lived with his parents, and so on and so forth. His mother wouldn't be able to sleep until he’d got home, etecetera etcetera. And etcetera etcetera and so on and so forth, and no hotel after all and blah blah blah. She stopped the car outside the building he’d indicated. Sitting there in the shadows she saw a curtain twitching on the third floor. As soon as he got out of the car she took off as fast as she could, her tires squealing like in the films. She only slowed down a few miles later, pulling the car onto the pavement to smoke a cigarette and curse life.

  It was two in the afternoon when she awoke to a strong smell of curry from the kitchen. She couldn’t remember how she’d got home, but from the window she could see her car, intact and even neatly parked. At least, it wasn’t taking up two spaces and was parked at a slightly rakish angle, but nothing too serious. The smell of curry was beginning to turn her stomach over; just the normal physical symptoms of a hangover, of course; nothing to do with sexual frustration. She wandered into the kitchen to drink all the water she could manage. Her eyelashes were sticky with eyeliner.

  All she said to her aunt was, “So when are you going to introduce me to this cute neighbour you mentioned a while ago?”

  3.

  Vanessa’s aunt didn’t take long to set up a meeting between her niece and her neighbour. This time, Vanessa wasn't expecting much, maybe a half-witted second-rate lawyer, good looking and with decent abs, but balding and with bachelor ways already. How else to explain a handsome successful man over thirty-five still being single? If he was divorced, fair enough, but single with no long-term relationships to his name would be very strange.

  They arranged to meet for a coffee at the beach bar at the end of the day. When she got there, it wasn't difficult to see whom she was meeting. Among all the surfers and hippies, he was the only one wearing a suit, perfect cut, no tie, white shirt with the top button undone, and Italian shoes. He was drinking a tonic water and absorbed in his iPad. Vanessa approached him slowly and greeted him with a smile:

  “Hello, I’m Vanessa. You must be Miguel?”

  “Ah! Hello, Vanessa!” he said, getting out of his chair. “Yes, I’m Miguel. Great to meet you.” And chivalrously he pulled out a chair for Vanessa to sit down.

  So far so good and cute was putting it mildly. This guy was hot. He looked like he’d stepped out of a Hugo Boss catalogue, which despite making Vanessa blush, she continued to find intriguing. The question was how come no other women had noticed? He had to be a cad, a heartbreaker, exactly what Vanessa wanted. There was no risk of her ending up with a broken heart, it was under lock
and key and she had no intention of opening it.

  It was a perfect date. The lawyer was charm personified, handsome, intelligent, and witty. Vanessa let the flirtatious talk go only so far. She knew exactly what she wanted. Although her experience with men amounted to ten years with her estranged husband, she wasn’t exactly naive. She decided not to throw herself head first into things and they arranged to meet for dinner the following week.

  At the office, Vanessa began avoiding Johnny and the rest of the group. Everyone had realized what had happened, except the part where nothing had happened, and they interpreted Vanessa’s remoteness as embarrassment at having gone to bed with a co-worker, and one ten years younger than her at that. Obviously Vanessa was never going to tell anyone about some pathetic kid in his twenties who was afraid of his parents and preferred running off home with his tail between his legs to a night of raunchy sex with an older woman. Johnny kept trying to speak to her, explain his situation. He’d invited her to lunch, supper, to smoke a cigarette on the balcony. He’s texted her, called her private number, her mobile, even at home! He’d even sent her flowers with a note saying he was in love. At this point Vanessa had to act. She caught him in the lift and gave him a piece of her mind.

  “Listen, what’s your game? A few kisses and suddenly you’re in love? I told you I’m not interested in you. It was just a night’s drinking that ended badly.”

  “But Vanessa, how can you deny the chemistry between us? Think of how I felt when you looked at me – touched me – that was no lie.”

  “Johnny, I know you’re young and maybe you’ve never really been in love before, but believe me, what happened between us was not a declaration of love. It was just a reaction caused by too much alcohol and it’s never going to happen again. Firstly, because I’m never going to go out drinking with you again and secondly, because I’m old enough to be your mother. All right, maybe not your mother but your older sister, and I don't want to get involved with a kid. I have enough on my plate with my daughter, my divorce and the mess my life is in.”

  “But I can make you happy. I can help you. I want to be with you.”

  “Cut that out or I’ll tell everyone what really happened and I’ll say you couldn’t get it up either!”

  “Vanessa, I love you!” he cried, pushing her against the wall of the lift and kissing her passionately.

  At this point the lift opened and Vanessa found herself face to face with ’the Hellcat’, standing beside one of the company’s biggest clients. Vanessa slapped Johnny in the face and dashed out the lift, looking ahead, confidently, keeping her composure, even if she desired with every fibre of her being to disappear into some hole somewhere.

  It was obvious now that her days in the company were numbered. It was only a question of when ‘the Hellcat’ would spread the news. Rather than suffer the humiliation of being dismissed she began to make plans. She made the most of every minute of every break, every train journey, to organize her cake business, which was beginning to prosper as news spread over the grapevine (mothers were a powerful and influential group, as Vanessa was now discovering). The problem was the kitchen. She couldn’t keep working at her aunt’s place. But until she’d got some money together, it would have to do. And at her dinner with the lawyer the next weekend she’d ask him about her rights and obligations in the event she left or got fired. And as for Johnny, he’d find out what the cold shoulder meant. Finally she had the chance to use on someone else that powerful, and so familiar, weapon of her mother’s.

  July

  1.

  Her phone beeped on the stroke of eight. I’m waiting outside, read the message. Vanessa had been ready for half an hour. She had been anxiously smoking one cigarette after another, but she couldn’t go downstairs as soon as she got his message. She had to make him wait for five minutes, give the impression she’d had a very busy day and was still getting dressed. She took one last peep into her room. She’d made the bed with the satin sheets (which would finally be put to their proper use), lit a scented candle, and even imposed a certain order in the living room and bathroom, which was no easy task as her aunt’s house was so full of trinkets and bric-à-brac that no matter how tidy it was it always looked ready to explode at any moment.

  The lawyer was still drop-dead gorgeous, though more informally dressed this time. He held the car door open for her, which struck Vanessa as a little excessive and was obviously a habit he’d acquired from going out with young women and bimbos who are dazzled by the slightest show of chivalry. Fortunately, Vanessa had (or used to have) a husband who’d always treated her like a princess, and therefore it was difficult to impress her that way. In the next few seconds, alone in a strange car as the lawyer walked round to the driver’s seat, Vanessa felt a sudden panic. Despite all the desire she’d felt for Johnny on that night she’d rather forget, she realized this evening was probably going to end in sex. It would be the first time she’d made love with a man other than her husband, her first and only boyfriend. What would his body be like? How would he touch her? Would he be rough? Would he be big? Would he come too soon? Sex with her husband had become an organic thing; each knew the other’s body so well that everything fitted together perfectly, effortlessly, their bodies, their breathing, the rhythm of their movements.

  She was unable to relax during dinner, and later, outside the house, when she invited him to come in her hands were shaking. She hid them behind her back, hoping he wouldn't notice. To give herself courage, she imagined Sheila cavorting in her husband’s bed, her enormous breasts bursting out of a black lace bra. They’d obviously been to bed with each other already. She let him kiss her as they walked up the stairs.

  “Isn’t your aunt here?” he asked, to find out whether he was really going to get lucky.

  “No, she’s gone to some retreat or other.”

  “Good, that way we have all night…”

  Panic again. What did he mean by that? All night? Surely he wasn't one of those insatiable types that wanted sex until dawn? Vanessa decided to cool things a little.

  “Can I get you a drink?”

  “Only if I can drink it off of you…”

  “Easy now, we’ve plenty time,” Vanessa said, trying to control her nerves.

  She served two whiskies, although she didn't like whisky. But it was the only thing in her aunt’s house right now, except for the evil-looking liqueurs that Frank made. Anyway, she’d always thought a woman drinking whisky looked sexy. Back on the sofa, the lawyer’s hands were like tentacles. Wandering all over her body, as if looking for a way in. Well, that was what this was all about, after all. Vanessa wriggled free and straightened her blouse, which was already unbuttoned.

  “You’re a little nervous, aren't you?” he asked. “We don't have to do anything if you don't want to.”

  “It isn't that... of course I want to,” Vanessa answered “It’s just that this is the first time I’ve been with someone since I separated. That’s all.”

  “Are you sure that’s all?”

  “No… To tell the truth, this week I met my ex for dinner to discuss the terms of our divorce. I always wanted to be free and now I can't bring myself to get out of a doomed relationship. I thought it would be like having a weight lifted off of me, but all I feel is anguish at having thrown it all away.”

  And at this, without knowing why, she picked up her wedding album, which was hidden beneath a heap of her aunt’s astrology magazines. Maybe it was her subconscious; trying to tell the lawyer she wasn’t some madwoman who’d take any guy home, or some lonely thirty-something who’d been left on the shelf. She was a respectable woman, who until recently had lived a normal life. The album was so close at hand, ready to bear witness to her past, and Vanessa used to leaf through it almost every evening, looking for those two smiling people. Perfect strangers, they seemed to her now. So young and stupid, thinking they’d be happy ever after. Thinking it would be different with them, because with them it was love.

  The lawye
r tried to hide his surprise at this sudden change of status from male on copulation standby to intimate friend you pour your heart out to over a wedding album, and he even managed to feign some interest as Vanessa told stories about her wedding day. He was looking eagerly at her cleavage, trying not to let the ridiculousness of the scene kill his excitement. Vanessa came to her senses and realized how silly she was being. Here she was with a gorgeously handsome man who was burning with desire for her, and what was she doing but showing him a stupid photo album and crying about the end of her marriage, instead of just jumping on top of him. On an impulse, she stood up from the sofa, took off her blouse and pulled the lawyer towards her.

  Now she couldn’t do it quickly enough. His boxers caught in his fly, her hair caught on his shirt button, they stumbling at the door of her room, the bra Vanessa tossed into the air like an experienced stripper but which landed on the candles, starting a small fire. Even so, despite the occasional head-butt here and knee in the balls there, it didn't go too badly for a first time. It was even pretty good, for Vanessa, at least and for the lawyer too, presumably, as he soon wanted seconds instead of fleeing from this madwoman with her wedding album. And he even called her the next day to make another date. When she put down her phone on that post-coital Sunday morning, still a little bewildered by what had happened, Vanessa smiled victoriously, languidly entwining herself in the satin sheets. Then she got up and moved to the sofa. It was true. Satin sheets were cold and uncomfortable.

  2.

  “What a lovely smile, Vanessa; I do believe I’ve never seen it before” said her analyst as she walked into the room.

  “Thank you, Doctor,” she answered, embarrassed.

  So was it true, then, that people can tell when you’re having sex? Was it so obvious? She didn’t feel like discussing her sex life with her analyst. Not a bit. Talking about her marriage was one thing, about how she’d been feeling – but sex? No way with this particular analyst? She’d always found him a little creepy. Who in their right mind enjoys listening to nutcases banging on about their dysfunctional lives? Sitting there taking notes on all kinds of perversions, manias, and phobias. That’s got to have an effect on you. It’s impossible not to take people’s problems home with you. And the thought of sharing intimate details with him made her feel very uncomfortable. She imagined her analyst with his sweaty upper lip and his chubby hands and long fingernails, masturbating in his single bed, getting off on the exciting details Vanessa had shared with him.