Twisted Agendas

by Damian McNicholl

  Susan, I’m not ready at this stage in my life. London has shown me this. I’m too young. I don’t want the responsibility. It would be a great mistake for us to get married. I understand it makes financial sense to our fathers that we marry, but a loving relationship can’t be premised on economies of scale. You are a very practical woman and I know you well enough to know you’ll see I’m right about this.

  It may be you’re thinking you’ll wait for my return, or that you’ll give me more time (to come to my senses?). If this is the case, while I appreciate your generosity, I do not ask or want it. I can’t guarantee I’d marry you at the end of the time.

  Please know I’ve enjoyed the times we shared and hope you have, too. I want you to know I’ll never discuss the circumstances of our breakup with anyone and would appreciate if you’d do likewise. Certainly, our fathers don’t need to be involved in our personal lives any further. We’re adults now.

  However, should you decide it necessary to blame the breakup entirely on me, I won’t contradict you in any way.

  I know this letter isn’t what you want but honesty is always the right way. I know this now.

  Sincerely,

  Danny

  All his doubts were gone. He replaced the letter in the envelope, sealed it and waited to buy the stamp.

  Julia and Clive were in the living room when he returned, Clive fashioning a joint from a mound of cigarette tobacco mixed with hashish. A lighter and Rizzo papers lay next to him, beside a small lump of hashish wrapped in cling film. They’d been smoking already. The air was unpleasantly acrid and a blue-grey smoke as thick as a summer mountain haze hung above the dining room table at the far end of the room.

  “Hello there, handsome.” Clive licked the edge of the joint.

  Danny nodded.

  “What have you been doing lately?” Clive laughed. “I mean who’ve you been doing?”

  Julia’s friend was bright but Danny disliked his juvenile need to play the clown. In his thirties, he was no longer exactly young.

  “Would you like some vino, Danny?” Julia called from the kitchen, over the thump of the harsh house music she loved to play when she smoked hash.

  “Yes, please.”

  “Coming right up.”

  Clive began to roll another joint. He noticed Danny watching. “Supplies for later.” He removed the joint from the rollers, “You ought to come clubbing with me one night.”

  “Me?”

  “Why not?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  Clive looked nonplussed for a moment. “Lots of straights go to gay clubs.” He winked mischievously. “It’s just a straight man’s fantasy that gay men are always trying to get into their pants.” Clive peered with mock salaciousness at Danny’s crotch. “Absolute fantasy, mate.”

  Danny glanced toward the kitchen.

  Clive held out the joint for Danny to take.

  “Thanks, I don’t partake.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t partake.” Clive’s mouth hung open for a moment, and then he lolled back his head and guffawed. “You sound like a vicar’s daughter who’s just been asked for a shag.” He lowered his head again and jiggled the joint to indicate Danny should take it.

  “Give it a go, mate. People need to try everything once, if you get my drift.”

  “I don’t think… ”

  “Come on. See what you’ve been missing.”

  Julia came in with a tray containing two glasses of wine and a plate of sliced cheddar and crackers. “Are you corrupting my flatmate?”

  “So far, unsuccessfully.”

  Julia and Danny laughed. Clive took a deep pull of the joint and then held it out for Danny to take. He jiggled his fingers as if he were enticing a puppy with food.

  An image of Danny’s father sitting in his study with a tumbler of scotch came to mind as Danny regarded the joint. It was five years ago. His father was giving him a lecture before he left home for university. He warned him he’d encounter students who habitually took drugs and he was to stay away from them. Lest that warning wasn’t sufficient, he finished by saying, ‘I’ll break your back if I ever hear you’ve been taking them.’ Danny recalled what he’d said, how London was full of degenerates who took drugs, how it was a trap for naive young Irish people.

  Danny took the joint and gingerly placed it between his lips. He was instantly repulsed by the tip’s unexpected wetness. He willed himself to ignore the sensation, and closed his eyes as he carefully inhaled. The smoke hit hard against the back of his throat and he immediately expelled the rank tasting air.

  He held it out for Clive to take back. “I don’t feel a bit different.”

  “You need to take a few more hits.”

  A hollow thumping not in synchronisation with the loud beat of the music commenced.

  “Oops, pissed off Mrs. Hartley again,” Julia said.

  “Take a few more puffs,” Clive said to Danny.

  He did as Clive suggested, happier now that the saliva on the remainder of the joint was his own. While Clive and Julia watched, he took deeper pulls, breathed in and held it for a moment before expunging the smoke.

  “Excellent,” Julia said, taking the joint from him.

  It felt like he was back in school and had just been praised by a teacher for some extraordinary work he’d done. As he watched Julia tilt back her head and expel a funnel of smoke toward the ceiling, a sensation of warm serenity overtook Danny. His head felt very light. He blinked lazily as he watched her pass the joint to Clive.

  An assembly line commenced, Danny taking the joint every time Clive finished his turn. Then he passed it on to Julia. The serenity intensified and his ears started to buzz.

  “This is fantastic,” Danny heard himself say. It sounded as if he were outside his body.

  “What’d I tell you, mate?”

  “Oh God, we’ve corrupted him,” Julia said.

  Someone knocked on the front door.

  “Mrs. Hartley’s persistent,” Julia said.

  As Danny watched Julia go into the kitchen, she seemed to glide in slow motion. It also seemed to take her forever to return. When she did, she had a can of air freshener. She spritzed the room liberally. The door was knocked again, more persistent this time.

  “I’m coming.” Julia went to the door. “Mrs. Hartley, I’m not playing… Katie?”

  “Julia.”

  Danny pulled himself up on the sofa.

  Clive pulled a mock-terrified face at Danny.

  “You never return my calls,” Katie said. “Can I come in?”

  “Clive and Danny are here.”

  Another silence before Julia stepped aside allowing her to enter. She greeted the men with a nod.

  “Sit,” Julia said, and she walked over to where she’d been sitting on the sofa beside Clive.

  Danny’s buzz dissipated. The cozy atmosphere felt suddenly awkward. Clive tilted his head and pushed against the sofa back. Katie took a seat across from Danny.

  “Smells interesting in here,” Katie said.

  “We’re corrupting Danny,” Julia said.

  “You are?” Katie laughed, but it sounded anxious to Danny.

  “He’s a pro now,” Clive said. He fished in the breast pocket of his shirt and retrieved a new joint. “Do you want a puff, Katie?”

  She looked over at Julia as if needing permission, but Julia remained deadpan.

  “Just a quick one, then,” Katie said. “I mustn’t take too much because I have to drive home.” She glanced at Julia again.

  The delicious buzz Danny had previously experienced returned. He adjusted the cushion and settled contentedly into the armchair. The music on the CD player changed to techno, its energetic tribal beat making him want to dance. He began to sway in time to the beat.

  Clive watched him. “You go, girl.”

  “Why don’t we all go dancing later?” said Julia.

  “I can’t.” Katie crossed her feet. “Not tonight.”

  “Isn’t Mr
s. Ratcliffe looking after the children?”

  “Harry is.”

  “Call and tell him you’re coming out tonight.” Julia took a long drag of the joint.

  “You can stay here.”

  “It’s not that simple, Julia. I was hoping we could talk.”

  Crystal clear, fully formed thoughts streamed through Danny’s head as he swayed it back and forth. Soon Susan would receive the letter and the last bonds between them would be severed forever. His father’s face loomed now. He was wrong about England. He knew nothing about London life. Danny should have lived here years ago. He should even have gone to university here. What had he been so afraid of? He knew the answer. His father had made him afraid. Fear was his father’s weapon. The hash allowed him to see very clearly. He should have smoked it in Belfast.

  “Don’t you think she should call her husband, Clive?” Julia’s voice seemed to arrive from Mars.

  “You should, Katie.”

  Clive was a nice guy but totally obsessed with his sex life. That thought made Danny realise he wanted sex, too. Badly. He hadn’t had it for ages. He felt suddenly horny. Finty’s pert breasts and gorgeously firm arse sprang into Danny’s mind. He wanted to fuck her. His testicles crawled. He grew erect. But it wouldn’t happen. She was uninterested. She was far more interested in her puppy, wanted him only as a friend to study vocabulary with. His hard-on began to subside. His thoughts segued to Katie.

  “What do you think, Danny?” Julia asked.

  Katie shouldn’t be here is what Danny thought. She was selfish. She had responsibilities at home.

  “Danny?”

  He opened his eyes and saw everyone was staring at him.

  “Miss Ireland’s out of her bloody tree,” said Clive.

  Julia and Clive began to laugh.

  He blinked fast. “I don’t appreciate you addressing me like I’m female, Clive.”

  Their laughter grew until tears began to stream from their eyes.

  Danny and Katie looked at each other in astonishment and then turned in unison to regard Clive and Julia. He watched until they managed to rein themselves in, both wiping away their tears with their fingers.

  “Don’t you think Katie should ring her husband and tell him she’s staying over with me tonight.”

  He was smart enough not to get embroiled in a nasty argument. “Well, I can see your point about that… and then again, I can see Katie’s, too.”

  “Very decisive, that is,” Clive said.

  “Katie’s got kids,” Danny said. “Not everybody can be free and easy like you, Clive.”

  Katie took a tissue from the pocket of her jeans. “Julia, I came here to talk but I see you’re enjoying making me feel bad. Rupert told Harry he saw us kissing at the river. I’ve only yesterday managed to convince my husband our son was mistaken. I can’t stand it that you don’t return my calls. I’ve tried to make things work as best I can so nobody gets hurt. I’d even decided I’m prepared to leave my husband one day.” She rose and went quickly to the front door. “It’s clear now you don’t give a damn about me.” Pulling the door open, she ran out to the street.

  Julia went after her.

  Making plans

  She regarded Todd’s profile as he slept, bathed in the orangey glow of the streetlight filtering through the window. His breathing was barely audible, his chest glistened with sweat. When she touched his cheek, he stopped breathing for a long moment before settling back into a peaceful rhythm.

  It had been bad again. No, bad wasn’t the right word. That was too final, a pronouncement, a judgment, something that could never change, would never change. Why could she not get into what was happening when they had sex? She was twenty-three. She’d been with eight men in her life up to now. All the Americans except the two Hispanics were within five years of her age, the rest older up to forty-five. Piper drew the line at forty-five no matter how athletic the guy’s body. There’d been one professor, a Broadway singer, one muscled NYC sanitary worker, two African and one Asian-American NYU students. Three had had varying shades of blonde to red hair including Todd, one was silver-grey and another had even been bald. The variety was deliberate. Piper felt she should have been turned on by at least one man by now.

  She realised she couldn’t blame the hang-up on anything physical, certainly not penises. That body bit induced neither curiosity nor repulsion. Piper didn’t especially desire or loathe touching them during foreplay, whether flaccid or rigid. Nor could she blame her inability with Todd on the pressures of taking final examinations. They were over and all that remained was her dissertation Ireland at another Crossroads… which she’d already provisionally outlined.

  Todd was a great guy, intellectual without being boring, funny and he had a nice body. He didn’t snore. Her father would approve of him. She passed her index finger over his cheek. To her surprise, he responded, touching her thigh.

  “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  He yawned. “How long have I been sleeping?”

  “Half-an-hour.”

  “What’s up, hon?”

  “I’m thinking of when I go back home… seeing my dad again and stuff.”

  “When we go back, you mean?”

  “That’s what I meant.”

  He turned on his side and kissed the top of her shoulder. It was a gentle kiss. Without expectation. A car drove by on the street below, followed moments later by another. The silence closed in again. She listened to the tick of the clock on the bedside table.

  “Can I ask you something?” she said.

  “Sure.”

  She closed her eyes and parted her lips to speak but then clamped them shut again.

  “I’m waiting.”

  “When we… when we make love… how do you feel?”

  He reflected a moment. “Are you serious?”

  “I wanna know.”

  “I feel good.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I enjoy it.” He kissed her shoulder again.

  “Is it enjoyable every time?”

  “Why are you askin’?”

  Her skin felt cold on the place where his mouth had kissed her shoulder. “No reason.” She faked a yawn.

  “Hey listen… ” He reached out and put his hand on her cheek, turning her face gently toward him so she could see his. “No complaints here.”

  She turned away and stared blankly at the window. The bed felt suddenly vast. The clock’s tick irritated her.

  “You awake still?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Sleep tight.”

  Two weeks after her final exam, a group of them including Todd, met at the library to do research for their dissertations. Afterwards they’d gone out to the Three Tuns because the booze at the student pub was cheaper and then to a club. He’d insisted on spending the night at her place. But rather than go directly to bed, he’d wanted to drink coffee and talk. The subject of her future plans came round. She’d known it would, just hadn’t expected it that night. While Todd knew she intended to return to London after her visit home, (they planned to travel together to New York where he’d stay for a few days before continuing on to his folks in San Francisco) he needed to know if her plans included him, and whether they were officially ‘an item’. If they were, he told her he’d also return to England (a month or so after her) because he’d found out it wasn’t in any way detrimental to start his career in Mergers and Acquisitions with a US subsidiary in London, as opposed to the main New York or San Francisco office.

  As she’d listened, Piper wondered how he could be so certain about them. Had her mother been as certain when she got involved with her father? She also wished she could be as sure as he about what she wanted to do with her life. Soon, she’d graduate from the LSE and yet was still as uncertain as she’d been at NYU about a career. A cornucopia of possibilities daily ran through her mind: work at a bank just like Todd, analyst with a brokerage house or one of the start-ups o
n the web, some kind of political research, a position with the European Commission given her dual citizenship. All these possibilities were open. And then there were the alternatives, enticingly offbeat, even ironic alternatives like writing the great American novel while living in London or the biographies of famous American politicians she admired. She could become a reporter for a serious magazine or national newspaper. Maybe even try her hand at acting while she was young enough. A Masters in History of International Relations mattered little with these options and every time she considered them, the realisation she’d have to find a good paying job with flexibility and minimum stress to pay the bills and loans became more pressing.

  A growing draw toward the offbeat choices was fuelled in part by the high she’d experienced during her unsuccessful attempt to interview Paisley at Westminster and partly by irritation arising out of the content of her mother’s email. Especially its opening paragraph, where she’d asked what Piper intended to do after she graduated, and then answered it by expressing a hope it’d be something ‘useful connected to her diploma.’

  Piper knew decisions had to be made now. It was only fair to Todd. She feigned tiredness to spurn his advances when he awoke next morning. After he left, she called her next-door neighbour Sonia Berg at the hospital and they arranged to meet when the doctor was next free.

  Womb sack therapy

  When Sonia Berg answered the door she was dressed in a cream-coloured dressing gown which had ‘SB’ monogrammed in royal blue and an embroidered sunflower on each sleeve. There was also a palpable stink in the house that grew more intense as Piper drew near the staircase, parma violet or lavender combined with something clinical.

  “What’s that smell?”

  “My birth oil.” Sonia’s eyebrows lifted in positive anticipation. “You like?”

  “What did you say?”

  “I am a Leo and this is the essential oil of my birth. Whenever I have a crazy day, I put it in my bath water because it soothes.”