Being Alexander

by Nancy Sparling

  And what if I don’t want to feel like a piece of meat with women ogling my muscles? Where’s my men-only night? Hmm? Tell me that.

  I’m a male, yes, that’s true. But it’s not my fault. I’ve done nothing wrong simply because I don’t have two X-chromosomes. It’s not a crime being a male. It’s not fair that we’re punished, that we’re treated worse than everyone else, that we’re told we have all the advantages and it’s only fair that every bloody fucking other person in the world gets a leg up, but not us.

  Women get their own time alone in the gym. Hell, even beginners get their own night on Saturdays where for three hours the gym is reserved for new members. I’m normally busy on Saturday nights or too lazy to work out, but it’s not fair. I’ve paid my money; I’ve got as much right as the next person to use the equipment.

  What about my rights? What about me?

  being alexander week two

  Monday morning I wake up in Camilla’s bed with Camilla sprawled half on top of me and half on her pillow. With her face relaxed in sleep and her mouth hanging open slightly, she looks different. Innocent. Not how she appears when she’s awake.

  My body starts to wake up and I become aware that she’s naked, that we’re both naked, and that I can feel the weight of her breasts resting on my left arm. I shift slightly, trying to ease myself out from under her so that both hands are free. She mumbles and snuggles closer. I haven’t the heart to wake her yet so I make do with one hand. As if of its own volition, it glides across her curves, gently, ever so gently caressing. Her nipples harden and she makes a little moan, half awake, but not yet sure that this isn’t a dream. My head lowers and my mouth moves to her breast as I fumble in her top drawer for a condom. My fingers find what they’re looking for and then I’m tearing open the packet and putting it on. As I slide inside Camilla her eyes open, her mind now as ready for me as her body is. She smiles and kisses me and her breath is sweet, none of that odious morning-after halitosis that afflicts some people.

  An hour later I can’t say I’m sated, but the desperation of my desire has been temporarily subdued. As tempted as I am to bunk off—and I know Camilla would skip work in an instant if I asked her to—too much is at stake. I’m not a playboy. I’m a man of power. I have things I have to do.

  As I’m finishing the coffee Camilla made for me, I can sense that she wants to ask me something. Probably something along the lines of when-will-I-see-you-again. I don’t make it easy for her. She has to want me. She has to work hard to get me, for the harder she has to work, the more she’ll appreciate me. I’m never going to be taken for granted again. Never. Not ever again.

  “Alexander?”

  The word is music to my ears. She never knew me when I was Alex. She has no preconceived notion of Alex’s failures and foibles. She doesn’t expect me to be nice.

  “Yes?”

  “You will phone Charles St. John, won’t you?”

  “Sure,” I say, draining my coffee.

  “Please. Phone him today. I know you’re busy, but phone today. He could do a lot for your career. For your company.” This isn’t what I expected her to say, but I take it as a good sign. Of course I was already planning on phoning him, I’m not a fool, but let her think she’s convinced me.

  “If you think I should,” I say, slowly, deliberately, as if I’m considering the situation.

  She sets her coffee cup down and then slides on to my lap. “Please?” she says, eyes wide. “For me?”

  “For you.” I smile and kiss her and when she eventually pulls back, smiling, I ask, “Why?”

  She blushes. She actually blushes. “I just want you to do well.” She can’t quite meet my eyes. “I want Daddy to like you.” Daddy. That’s what she said. Honest. When grown women call their father Daddy I get rather concerned. Those are the sort of fathers you expect to show up at the door with a shotgun and a vicar to protect their darling daughter’s honor.

  I freeze for the briefest instant but she notices. She picks herself up off my lap and begins to clear away the coffee mugs, but I can tell she’s embarrassed. We’ve known one another only a few days. I bet she hadn’t planned on mentioning her parents yet. Is she having matrimonial fantasies already? I decide to be flattered rather than scared. I don’t kid myself, she had been ready to dump me last night if Charles had found me wanting, but now that I’ve passed that little test she wants to keep me around.

  If, at this exact moment, someone stuck a gun to my head and said I had to choose someone to marry, it’d definitely be Camilla. (I don’t really know anything about her, but the sex is great and she knows people. And, let’s be pragmatic here, there’s always divorce.)

  “I look forward to meeting both your parents,” I say.

  And it’s true. I do. They could do a lot for me.

  She turns and I watch her face carefully. Her eyes light up and she grins at me, really grins at me.

  My heart does a little flip in my chest—she’s so gorgeous, physically she’s like the ideal woman—and I suddenly wonder whether this is what she’s always like in new relationships, if she’s always desperately hoping that they’re special, that they’re The One. Inwardly I pull back. Don’t be a fool, I tell myself, Alex would be susceptible to tender emotions, but I am not. It’s not my heart that’s at stake, only my loins and I’ve plenty of other opportunities for wild sex. It’s just that Camilla is useful to me. She is. That’s all it is. That’s definitely all it is and I won’t let the sex and her beauty fool me into thinking otherwise.

  She kisses me on the nose. “When will I see you again?”

  I knew that one was coming. “When do you want to see me again?”

  “Tonight?” she asks.

  “Why not?” I say.

  “Really? You’re not tired of me?”

  Oh, Milla, Milla, you’re the best shag I’ve ever had. How could I be tired of you? “Tired of you?” I say, and laugh as I pull her back on to my lap, nibbling her ear. “How could I be tired of you?”

  She wiggles and squirms and I can tell it’s going to be some time before I’m ready to leave. I glance at my watch. I can spare another hour.

  another day closer

  Once I finally make it home it’s nearly lunchtime. It’s good to be your own boss, but it’s risky, I mustn’t let myself be distracted by pleasure. Not too often.

  (Enticing as it is.)

  I have work to do, lots of work to do, and if I want to get where I’m planning on going I have to buckle down.

  But I can do it. I know I can. I will succeed.

  It’s tempting to work on ideas, to come up with more campaigns, but it’s not a day for creativity. It’s a day for details. Details and phone calls.

  First I ring my four targets of the week and manage to cajole, flatter, and persuade them all to meet with me. It’s short notice, but I am in the zone and I convince them that my concepts are hot (they are). I schedule two of the meetings for tomorrow, one each for Wednesday and Thursday, and that leaves me with a free day on Friday.

  No more lazy mornings with Camilla. Not this week. I don’t have time.

  I’m not going to allow sex to rule my world. It’s only hormones. Ephemeral. Power is the constant I desire.

  I ring a temping agency and arrange for a PA/receptionist to start work for me on Friday. I insist on someone with experience, stressing the need for a mature woman who’s capable of dealing with the whole office on her own. The older the better as far as I’m concerned, wanting someone grandmotherly and benign but also superefficient. I don’t want any sexual vibes resonating around the office trying to distract me from my work.

  I’m keen to start looking around empty office suites so I nearly put off ringing Charles St. John until later in the afternoon, but then I change my mind, Camilla’s words ringing in my ears. Clients. I need clients. Clients and exposure. The rest can wait until another day.

  To my surprise I’m put straight through.

  “Alexander,” says Charles, in
his booming voice of authority. “Good to hear from you.”

  “You asked me to phone today,” I say, not wanting to bother with the small talk I hate and guess he hates as much as I do.

  “Yes, I want you to do something for me. I’m involved with the launch of a new charity to promote ethics in genetic engineering.”

  “What’s the name?” I ask.

  “That’s just it,” says Charles. “We don’t have a name, not a real name, nor a slogan, just an idea. One of the members of the board has asked Kenneth Wilmington-Wilkes to tackle the matter.”

  I clutch the phone. Why is Charles telling me this?

  “You’ve hired Kenneth?” I ask.

  “No, Kenneth is making some proposals. Nothing is concrete. There’s been no contract.”

  I’m thinking quickly. I can do this, I know I can do this. “And you want me to submit my own proposals?”

  He wants me to give Kenneth some competition. If I do this it’ll be showdown time, high noon at the OK Corral, and I’ve already got a loaded gun.

  Look out, Kenneth, your time is coming. Your time has come. Enjoy your last few days at the top.

  “Exactly,” says Charles, his voice booming approval. “We’re having a little dinner at my country estate on Saturday. I’d like you to come. And Camilla, of course. Her father will thank me for dragging her out of town.”

  “May I ask you a question?” This is important. I’m sensing an ally here, but I need to know why.

  “Certainly.”

  “Why don’t you like Kenneth? What has he done to you?”

  There’s a long pause.

  “Let’s just say we’re old rivals and leave it at that,” says Charles.

  I know there’s more to it, that this is something personal, but I’m not about to push. And I don’t really care. Kenneth is an easy man to hate. I smile. By the weekend I’ll be ready for Wilmington-Wilkes to learn about the new me. I almost laugh aloud as I picture Kenneth’s face when he sees me. My smile falls. Assuming he recognizes me.

  Will he even remember my name? Alex Fairfax wasn’t very memorable. Oh, sure, Kenneth will remember the sacking, but he probably won’t recall me. I was a faceless, nameless employee, one more piece of driftwood to throw out to sea.

  I feel sick as I remember that day.

  Stop it. Stop it. I shove the thoughts away. I am no longer that man. I am not he. I am me. Me. I am Alexander.

  I think Elizabeth Wilmington-Wilkes will know me instantly. She’s the one who was humiliated in front of her friends. She’ll recognize me. I hope she has nightmares, doomed to experience the exact moment of the bursting of her pride bubble again and again and again.

  I smile to myself. I did that. I brought her down a peg or two.

  It was Jed’s plan, but I was the instrument of her humiliation and just for a second I can admire Jed’s cunning. Until I recall the consequences, until I remember that I was the one Jed was setting up, that Elizabeth was just an unfortunate side effect.

  Revenge is going to be, oh, so sweet. Against Elizabeth. Against Kenneth. Against Jed.

  “Well, Charles,” I say, “I can’t blame you if you don’t like the man. I’m not too fond of Kenneth myself. Now tell me more about this charity of yours.”

  it’s not sour grapes

  (i really don’t love her now)

  Once I’ve quizzed Charles about the goals and prospects of his latest philanthropic venture I ring Sarah. Not at home. Not on her work number. On her mobile. Knowing that she carries this phone everywhere, knowing Jed’s seen it, touched it, probably used it, I get a little thrill as she answers. I’m the one making the illicit phone calls now. A couple of weeks ago it would have been Jed ringing her on her mobile, not wanting the people in her office to know how often he called. Now it’s my turn.

  “Hello?” says Sarah.

  “Hi, Sarah.”

  “Oh, hi, Alex.” She recognizes my voice instantly. I can picture her sitting forward across her desk, tensing up, still expecting Alex to break down on her. But doesn’t she know? I’m not that Alex anymore.

  “How are you?” I ask, wanting to prolong the moment. She won’t be rude to me. It would be so unsporting to be rude to such an understanding ex-boyfriend.

  “Good,” she says. “You know. Good. And you?”

  “Great. Great.”

  There’s a pause. I won’t make this easy for her; she deserves to suffer. She deserves to suffer more than this. Much, much more.

  “So,” she says, after a moment or two, “anything I can do for you?”

  Well, I think, you can hack off Jed’s penis with a carving knife while he’s sleeping but apart from that, nope. Nothing.

  “Actually,” I say, “I’d like to meet up. Just you and me. No Jed.”

  “But why?” I can tell she’s wary.

  “I wanted to have one last chat about everything. Tie up some loose ends. Come on, Sarah, we used to be friends, you know I won’t bite.”

  I hear her sigh, giving in, knowing she owes me that much, that so far she’s got off lightly. “Okay. Let’s meet.”

  “Lunch on Wednesday?”

  “Sure.” Her answer is unnaturally bright and I know she’ll dread the rendezvous as much as I’m looking forward to it.

  “I have a meeting in the morning,” I tell her, “so I’ll give you a ring when I’m finished. If it gets too late go ahead and eat and we can pop out for a snack or something later in the afternoon.”

  “What sort of meeting?” she asks.

  I smile to myself. I’ve got her curious now. But I’m not about to give the game away. She’s Jed’s girl now and I’ll never forget it. Never.

  searching for space

  As soon as I end my call with Sarah my phone rings and I half expect it to be Sarah herself, canceling our date.

  But it’s Charles St. John.

  “Good news, Alexander,” he says. “I’ve found you an office.” His voice booms out, loud and authoritative, and I wish for one instant that my voice was like his. He speaks like a high-ranking member of the old East India Company. He sounds right, established, his accent is perfect, indicating to one and all that he’s got it made.

  He has got it made.

  Why is he being so helpful?

  I’m not a fool, I’m not Alex, I know it’s not because he’s taken a shine to me. It’s not because of me. It’s for one of two reasons: Camilla or Kenneth. And I’d put my money on Kenneth. Men come and go in Camilla’s life and he’s no reason to single me out and try and promote my cause, it’s nothing to him.

  But as for Kenneth, well, Charles wants me to help him make Kenneth suffer. It’s as simple as that. But I don’t mind letting Charles think he’s using me when all along I’m the one who’s using him.

  I’m the one who wants revenge. I deserve revenge, but if Charles St. John wants in on the action that’s okay with me.

  During my earlier conversation with Charles, I’d mentioned, in passing, that I was looking for an office.

  I don’t know about this. I’m my own man. I don’t need anyone else doing favors for me. I don’t want anyone else trying to do things for me. I will be beholden to no man.

  But wait a minute, one of the keys to success is to accept aid where it’s offered. I won’t owe Charles St. John for this or for anything else. I’ll use him as he’s no doubt trying to use me. I won’t be under any obligation to him. I feel no need to pay him back for assistance he’s giving me of his own free will. I’m not Alex, I don’t keep track of favors. Not unless they’re owed to me.

  “It’s in Golden Square,” says Charles. “You know it?”

  “Yes. Just behind Piccadilly Circus.” The rents must be astronomical. I want an office and I must have an office in a good location, but can I afford it? Of course I can. My clients are rolling in.

  “I’ve managed to get you the bargain of the century. One of my friends, Hugo Tarpington-Jones, owns the building. This office—it’s on the third floor—h
as been vacant only a day, a surprise and abrupt end of a tenancy I’m told. It’s not been advertised yet, but I’ve called in a favor and Hugo says you can have it for half of the usual rate. Half, my boy. You won’t find anything like this again.”

  “I could view it this evening.” I don’t want to be pushed into anything, but I’m not stupid. If it’s as good an offer as it sounds (I can’t trust him that the rent is cheap, I’ll have to do my own checking), I’ll take it.

  “This evening? I don’t know if Hugo’s boys will be around after seven.”

  “Then make it quarter to seven.”

  He hesitates. “Done. And if Hugo’s management company can’t make it I’ll get the keys myself. Or give them to Camilla.”

  Camilla. Not exactly the person I’d want to take scouting for offices, she might get the wrong idea, but then again, maybe she’s exactly who I need. She’ll be just the person to judge whether or not they’re good enough. No sense getting an office she and her kind won’t approve of.

  “I’ll give Camilla a ring myself,” I say. “We have plans to see one another tonight, so maybe she’d like to come along.”

  “When Wilmington-Wilkes hears of your new address, he’ll be furious that you’re doing so well for yourself. He hates it when ex-employees succeed without him.” Charles chuckles, unable to contain his delight at the thought, confirming my assumption that he’s out for Kenneth’s blood.

  We discuss the rent and the building in further detail.

  There’s more to this than meets the eye. But, hey, what do I care? Charles can have his secret agenda against Kenneth. It doesn’t bother me. And an office at cheap rent? Who am I to say no?

  Now I have some phone calls to make. Letting agents, letting agents, what are your prices?

  it’s not nagging,

  it’s another friendly reminder