by Ryder, H
S turn on the haunches 180 degrees, does that sound like yoga to anyone?
I shift in my seat as if uncomfortable, but I’m trying to halt the effect the growing attraction is having on me. Focus on something else, why am I here? It's not for the tea that's for certain.
Where is the tea?
"I am she," I try to sound calm and professional, which I don’t feel, my heart is beating, thumping in my chest and my temperature elevated, those soft full beautiful lips, slightly curved into a smile. I'm wondering what it would feel like to kiss him, stop it!
Proceed in medium walk.
I take a deep breath and I raise my hand to shake his, I notice a large silver skull ring, tattoos creeping down his hand from under the cuff of his shirt, and along the inside of his middle left finger. Nice, I’m thinking, very nice indeed, and he smells of man and exotic earthy Tom Ford cologne. His tattoos are intricate and fine, a study in themselves, I ask my mind to stop wandering and it obeys, but for how long I can't tell. He re-snaps the strap on his watch, it doesn't close true.
Proceed to medium walk. Did I do that already? Bloody hell he's gorgeous. Stop looking, stop looking, stop talking to yourself.
I of course know about RANDom Denim. A menswear label, exclusive, small runs, collectors pieces, an under-the-radar cult following. Traded by e-mail and text alerts and in members-only small trade fairs, that shift location like illegal raves in the 90's used to. A different site every time, invitation only, back-stage-passes the whole nine beautiful yards of ring spun indigo left hand twill.
CM working trot. It's not working! Trot or otherwise.
But this is a new venture, women of course had been buying RANDom jeans if they could find them. Some jeans have rumoured to have passed hands for ￡1000 each. All the dry-processes hand-treated here in London, with laundries in California so the word is. The denim itself woven on old narrow looms in an undisclosed location, buy an artisan nobody knows, using organic cotton and recycled denim giving the surface of the twill a slubby, open and antiqued appearance that is so gorgeous.
But women want more. We want super stretch and lightweight, an antidote to the heavy unyielding menswear. We want super skinny and sexy, and that is Milk&Honey, or it will be, only one style of jean has ever been released a serial stamped small run of fifteen pairs only, mine I recall to myself are no.8.
Bloody phone, it just won’t stop its silent hum, its white noise, I keep my eyes on his, unflinchingly calm, ignore.
This man I’m looking at, easy with his body and relaxed and confident, handsome, but more than handsome, stunning, I feel my chest tightening again.
His smile makes me glad I’m already sitting down. Slim, he is slim, with wide shoulders. His jeans are a RANDom denim dark authentic dark indigo blue, with a red cast, skinny, very skinny with a tiny turned-up twisted hem and sit low, very low on his slim hips, his stomach almost concave where it reaches his waistband. Kept in place with a worn studded leather wide black belt.
I guess his black fitted shirt to be Prada judging by the skinny collar with no topstitch and concealed button placket. Open at the top button, black shabby tux jacket, winkle picker boots, old and scuffed. A tattoo inches its way out from his collar up nearly to his right ear, it's a wing from a great bird or mythical winged serpent at a guess, with some intricately worked weird markings, I’d really like to see the rest of that inked piece of his body...there I go again! Concentrate Tharie!
His handshake is soft and warm, he smells great. He hasn't shaved today. I’m embarrassed, this man is so beautiful I can't stop staring. He looks at me, I give him a gentle version of my warning smile, the smile my Mum tells me should unnerve anyone.
MV medium trot.
But he just laughs too, such a lovely honest laugh, his face has creases beside his eyes, he lowers his gaze, I get the feeling he doesn’t know what to ask me. ...Mum was right... Shut all confrontations down with a smile...the ultimate defence mechanism. If that fails, use humour.
I'm going to need tea quite soon.
"I’ve been recommended by a good friend to talk to you about developing the jeans for Milk&Honey Tharie.” He leans toward me elbows on the desktop.
What friend, I ask myself?
His attention turns to his device.
“A friend who says you're the only one to speak to." He is looking at his phone as if the script were written there, he frowns, and starts to say something...
"I guessed that Daniel." I say with mild sarcasm in my voice, I really don’t like wasting my time and I easily get bored and impatient with people. "This is a very small community, and there aren't that many denim designers out there."
"This isn't an interview Tharie, I am already offering you the job, your work speaks for itself, I just wanted to meet you to see if we could work together”...He looks at me unblinking, “and now we've met," he pauses and his expression changes, it's as if he's seeing me for the first time, he takes in my whole face, I catch a breath as I notice, "I’m certain we can." He says.
Is he going to offer me a cup of tea or what!? How rude.
I am attracted to this man, I’m trying my best to conceal it, “OK.” I’m finding it hard to think clearly and sound smart. Instead when I speak I sound snappy and defensive. “Thank you,” what am I defending myself against? Him? I’m unnerved by the effect he's having on me. I’m looking at his mouth now, wondering what it would feel like to kiss him. Those lovely full soft lips, that turn into a great smile as I linger on them, he's caught me staring. It snaps me out of my head instantly. I take another deep breath.
Halt at A, rein-back 4 steps, forward into working trot.
Rein-back isn't working either!
"I brought some work," I turn my head to indicate a much lugging of portfolios and laptops was accomplished with great struggle for this 'not an interview' and my expression suggests it would be rude not to at least look at my toils... "To show you what I’m up to currently," and I begin unzipping the perimeter of my portfolio case.
"I’ve seen all I need to," I look back up at him, his expression a smouldering sexual darkness, dilated pupils, looking directly into me, not at me. He must be used to being gawped at I think, at least he has the decency to break the hold he has on me, ignore it and try to carry on.
Working canter at C, immediate left 20 metre circle, medium canter.
He takes a swallow of cold tea, I’d do that too, no point wasting tea. "Come, let’s get some dinner, I’m starved." He stands and begins putting on his jacket, then I hear music: She Sells Sanctuary - The Cult, my all-time favourite song. Taking it from my jeans pocket, I look at my phone the screen remains dark, it's not mine.
It's the ringtone of my personal iPhone...but it's his phone that's ringing, that's spooky, I was about to get all contemptuous, then mine rings too, Bring Me Sunshine - Morecambe and Wise, my work phone. We fail to answer, paused with our phones close to our ears we just stare at each other as if in quiet understanding. Sizing each other up.
I am falling for this man already, blimey, how desperate am I? I try not to answer my own rhetorical question. Glance sideways at my phone it's work…"I have to get this, it's work..," he just nods, and swipes the answer bar on his own phone, I notice his is black too like mine.
I turn and answer...."...yes? ...hello...I Face him, he has finished his call, that was quick, and he's just looking at me,... suddenly aware I have my boss on the line, I reconnect with the conversation..."…yep, not a problem, I present a board to them tomorrow, yep. OK, see you then, bye Cherry."
HV medium canter.
Cherry my boss, is sharp featured with perfect shiny dark hair in a twenties bob, and wears her style smarter casual. Chambray shirts, ironed, and stiff raw denim clean jeans in a homage to the Margaret Howell image of the 90's, with a turned up selvedge hem and burgundy polished Gucci loafers, you know, the ones with the little tassels on the top... She doesn’t understand me, and I don’t get her. We tiptoe around each other and prett
y much stay out of each other’s way. She hardly ever speaks to me, so to call me and ask for my help was very rare. A hint of guilt starts to creep over me bearing in mind where I am and what I am doing...I Look back at Daniel. Or want to be doing.
VKA collected canter.
I shake it off, and kick it under the desk with the point of my beautifully sculpted, this seasons, just delivered, had to be on the waiting list to get them, boots as if my thought were a tangible object. Such beautiful boots. Concentrate you nerk!
I look at my gold watch, yes, that'll stall him.
"Sorry Daniel, I have some work to do for tomorrow, but I’ll have time for a quick drink?" Aware how forward this sounds as soon as I’d said it, I begin rewinding my thoughts to add a caveat to the deal, only Daniel grabs his keys, a Landrover logo fob and a strange looking key sit alongside his car key, lifts my luggage easily in his strong arms and says "come on then, a drink would be great, we'll leave your bags in my car and the driver will take you home afterwards."
I don't think so.
A command not a question, I resist immediately, it's just my nature, shake my head, and he'll know exactly where I live, not ready for that yet, a control freak, that’s all I need. One's enough, have you met my Mum?
"That won’t be necessary Daniel, but thank you.” I try to sound grateful, but fail miserably, “I live in deepest darkest Essex, it's not just a few stops on the central line." Plus, no one tells me what to do. (Except of course Mum).
He pauses as if not used to being turned down, thinks better of a different response and says, “I want you to be safe.” He tells me protectively, looking at me hoping I’d cave, but of course I’m stubborn. ”OK, he'll drop you wherever you want." That's better, good boy.
"Thank you." I smile, but this is my real, happy smile which my Mum tells me is exactly the same as my disarming one, but it feels different on the inside I tell her. I’m glad he doesn’t want me wandering about in the dark on my own, he has no idea about my life clearly, but that’s for another day!
It seemed to me I’d been sitting with Daniel for a short time, but it is gone 6pm now and outside the sky is already darkening to black rapidly, and faint twinkly glimpses of stars are beginning to appear in the darkened blue. The air smells of crisp cold, autumn leaves and Daniel blimey he smells so good, I just want to kiss his neck and breathe him in.
Down the centre line at a counter canter.
Daniel rakes his hair, nice, and his watch strap comes undone, and he snaps it back in place, it doesn't close with the correct volume or tone of click for my liking, something's not right. Daniel is frowning and retrying it.
“You need to take that to Baby Chris” I tell him helpfully, “in Hatton Garden.”
“You know Baby Chris?” he asks surprised. Blimey, there's something other than denim we have in common.
“Only through Blossom, yes.” I look at my own watch, I wonder...?
“Yes, it needs fixing before I lose it.” He closes it again hoping it had healed itself, but of course it hasn't. “I'll call Blossom tomorrow.” Get on that waiting list, good luck. “Let's go!”
"I’ll have one drink then I have to go." I try not to sound sharp, but it’s my protective side warning me not to get involved with something I don't understand. I’m only really comfortable when I know how something works, and Daniel was working me in a way that I have no experience of. I have to get away as soon as is polite, to take stock and control of my head I tell myself in a not too convincing way.
"Your life must be very busy, if you have to celebrate your new job with only one drink,” he says, sliding his phone and Rolex into his back pocket, “do you have a boyfriend?" An odd question I think suddenly, a come on? He has a charming face, warm and intelligent, I begin to imagine...then shut that thought down immediately, I have animals to feed and I’m a long way from home. Boyfriend? Bloody hell.
"No!" I answer a little too emphatically, "I have horses and cats, that even with their own habits of self-gathered supplementary feeding require me to feed them again, it doesn’t count unless it comes in a bowl!" I explain with a giggle.
HC working trot.
“Horses eh? Very nice.” He seems sincere, but you can never quite tell. Never know what to expect when I tell someone I have horses, stupid comments often follow. But what nobody understands, is that horses are the things little girls love the most, and when they grow up they just add boys and clothes to that list, well real girls do. In my view.
We jump into his car, the driver puts all my bags in the boot, I feel oddly comfortable with this man, his straight forward confident demeanour, manly stride, sensual soft mouth. Stop it Tharie!! I say thank you to the glass partition between us and the driver, but he either can't hear me or is pretending not to, I wonder if it's how he is trained. Then I decide it was the driver Daniel was talking to on the phone just now. Was it a foregone conclusion I would say yes? I hate that. I stop thinking about it. He merely nods his head and pulls out into the non-existent traffic. Outside, it's still and deserted. The air super chilled.
'Into my heart, the air that kills
From yon far country blows
What are those blue remembered hills?
What spires, what farms are those?'
We don't speak, we just sit there in awkward silence, two people who have things they want to say but neither of them says it. The air crackles with an atmosphere, I’d love to bite his earlobe, what is wrong with me? I choose not to answer my own question, preferring only the simple ones this time of night
'Happy highways where I went, and shall not come again' Housman. There's my brain, quoting literature to gain control. It's not working.
My phone buzzes, thank goodness.
Note to self, hug that person whoever it is as a thank you later.
PF: “Drink?” I appear to be a popular choice for drinking companion tonight.
TC: “Sorry babes, can't” keep the conversation short, it’s rude.
PF: “You’re stalling” she’s good.
TC: “In the east end still, heading home for an early night” hope that satisfies.
PF: “We’ll talk about how rubbish you are at keeping something from me another time!” Busted.
TC: “Do you have special powers?” Bet she has a cape too.
PF: “And an outfit!” Bingo.
TC: “Call you tomorrow honey” naturally.
The late bit before chapter one, last Thursday: 17thoctober2013, 6.20pm pub
Close by we draw up outside an old bar, it has a very narrow front frosted window and dark stairs leading underground into the bar. The kind I like with sticky carpets a live rock band with some talent on the 'Fender' and smelling of whiskey and dominoes. Strange I think that he likes this type of place he seems so straight and tight, his tattoos another contradiction, glad he wasn't the clean neon wine bar type, I ask the barkeep for a double ‘Jack’ straight up. I turn to ask Daniel what he wants, fully intending to demonstrate how I’m a bit different from his norm dates, dates? No! And pay too, he says "Gary, that’s two of those please, add them to the tab." I decide protesting would be a waste of time, clearly this man is used to paying, likes it, and no questions are ever asked about it, my sense of ‘me’ takes a step back, it’s in disorder, but it’s fun...for now.
“I pay Tharie, that’s just the way it is.” That told me didn't it? He must read my expression, but I didn’t offer an expression. He read my mind? Spooky, hope he likes Housman, and the rest of it up there, it's a bit messy. He'd better not touch anything!
Sliding sideways into a cracked leather bench seat with a table between us, the sounds of a classic Jam cover fills the air, I approve. “When you work for me you'll have to get used to doing as I say.” He smiles at me as if his comment is perfectly acceptable.
I can’t stop myself giving him an answer, well I have my ways too. “Good luck with that.” I toast him with my drink and my best smirk, only my Mum can tell me what to do, aren't we all t
he same? Perfectly normal, our heavy glass tumblers in front of us as a defence, what did I need to defend myself against? I breathe, pretend I didn’t hear him say that, and what if he did? He'll only be my boss right? We begin a pleasant conversation about denim, and how we both got into this world of indigo. “What about you Daniel, do you have a girlfriend?” I regret the question as soon as I ask it, bloody alcohol, two slurps only left now, and I’m feeling warm inside, and my ears feel numb, that's the tell.
He pauses his drink on his way to those lips, “not currently, no.” He smiles at me, those haunting beautiful eyes, searing right through me. He takes a slow provocative sip.
Bloody hell.
I take another sip, I can chat about denim all day so stick to the indigo stuff, I love it, but strangely denim isn't what I want to talk about, which isn’t like me at all.
I've got to get out of here. Need tea. And soon.
I look at the face of my father's old gold watch, far too big for me but when he died it suddenly felt like the most important thing to do was to wear it. I have to twist my wrist to move the face round, I haven’t had the strap altered to fit me, instead its loose links spin round like jewellery. It’s an odd layered design of rotating faces with many protruding knobs and adjusting’s, if only I knew what they are all for. Perhaps Blossom could answer that, why haven't I shown him this before? It is gone 7pm! The boys will be tapping their hooves wondering where I am. How did we talk for so long, saying nothing?
My phone buzzes, thank you, I tell the universe. One must be polite to the universe after all.
JG: “Tharie, you coming home tonight, just drove past your place and the boys look hungry, and the Haybars are empty?” she is so brilliant.
TC: “Thanks Jinni, I am coming home, just be a bit late” I now feel even guiltier, my horses are my life.
JG: “That’s what I thought, so I just gave them more hay and left” see?