The Intimates

by Guy Mankowski

  “I don't know who I mistook you for.” I step around the statue of Barbara as Carina resumes her movement. I see now that it is a slightly drunk, faltering dance that she is conducting as she cradles a glass of champagne in one hand. It seems tonight is affecting each of us in very different ways, revealing how we each deal with unusual situations.

  I want to speak naturally with her, but can't find a way to penetrate that cloud. I am so used to her feeling distant from me. For so long both of us have managed to stay intimate, while also keeping one another at an arm's length. But now the trick of the mist has drawn me into her, and I am not sure if I should escape.

  She opens her mouth as if to speak, but instead cocks her head to one side and bites her bottom lip. I look back to the house, to the gold silhouettes just visible within it, and wonder if I should go inside. But I know that I won't forgive myself if I do.

  “Your statue looks so serious.” She leans round to it, swinging on Barbara's elbow. “Does this statue suggest that she sees you as a critic?”

  “I think this statue suggests that she sees me as gay.”

  “Then what,” Carina says, swinging round to the elegant sculpture of herself, “could this possibly say about me?”

  “I don't know.” I consider the statue of Carina. It depicts a ballerina in flight, holding a pose which seems to defy gravity. Carina appears in the mist behind it, smiling curiously. The mist seems to have distilled on her face, giving it a pale sheen that for a moment makes her resemble another statue. “I don't know,” I say again. “Perhaps it alludes to some flamboyant temperament that you keep hidden?”

  She doesn't smile, but slips a slender arm over her statues shoulder. She pouts next to its face. She seems more playful than usual; I wonder if it is the drink. That would explain her dancing alone, outside, with a series of ice sculptures. “She's prettier than me, isn't she?”

  “No she isn't.”

  “Well she's certainly more flexible. That's not a pose I have been able to pull off for quite some time.”

  “Then tonight is the night to try,” I venture, setting down my drink. She smiles. “Put down your glass Carina. If you need me to show you how to pull off this move, then that's just what I'll have to do.”

  She laughs brightly, and considers herself. Then she flicks a foot forward and with flashing eyes raises the hem of her dress above her knees. Slowly, like a swan dipping into a pool, she eases up her back thigh and gradually extends her leg. Her sudden focus, her sudden professionalism, is really quite attractive.

  “Thank God you didn't need me to do that,” I whisper.

  “I'm not there yet,” she says, her Spanish accent suddenly distinct. “It still hurts at this point.”

  I pass alongside her leg, and gently lift her knee a little higher. “Does that hurt?” I ask.

  She pauses. “No, that helps. I'm sure it can still be done.”

  I gently squeeze her knee, feeling a pulse run through me as I take in the scent of her body. Up close the combined effects of her movements are overwhelming, and I wonder if a woman's body has ever had such an effect on me. “Slightly higher,” I murmur. “And you have to look more serious when you do it.”

  Carina winces as I ease her knee a little higher, and then something in her body seems to click. “I think I'm there,” she says, holding the pose.

  “I think that's it,” I say, and we both start to laugh, out of synch. This makes us laugh more.

  She straightens up, jumping a few times with happiness. “I didn't make it look easy, did I?” She laughs, “but I did it.”

  “You didn't make it look unfamiliar,” I answer.

  “That makes me feel better than any drink. Come on.” Then Carina takes my hand and pulls me into the mist.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “You'll see.”

  The summer house looks crooked and spectral, as if it came straight from the pages of a fairy tale. It looks as if we have caught it pulling off some strange pose that it now has to hold for the duration of our visit. Carina holds my hand as she leads me up its wooden steps, to the dilapidated bench on its porch.

  We peer within its windows. Inside we can just about make out rocking chairs and a maypole, the multi-coloured ribbons now faded. I wonder if these objects were left by the previous owner and if so what they reveal about his life. “Something tells me Francoise has preserved this summer house exactly from our last visit,” Carina whispers. “You see – there's the champagne bottle that we drank on the lawn.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “Francoise has these pet little obsessions, doesn't she? And I suspect we are one of them.”

  We sit on the bench, and for the first time our rapport starts to feel unbridled.

  “She did make a rather pointed reference to the two of us in her reading.”

  “That's not what I meant,” she replies. “I meant that The Intimates are an ongoing obsession of hers.”

  “Oh.”

  “Although I think you might be right. I've always wanted to be like Francoise, but was never any good at being manipulative. My mind is full of these vague preoccupations, and she always has an agenda. Her reading made me think about the signals we unwittingly give off to our friends though.”

  “Are you talking about us now? I should check this time.”

  “Yes, I'm talking about us now.”

  “And do you think her portrait of you then was accurate?”

  She flashes a glance at me, looks down. “I think that other people can sometimes see things about you that you don't see yourself, yes.” I feel my heart lift and I instinctively try to move closer to her, but the arm of the bench stops me. “Did you think her reading was effective?” she asks.

  “Effective? I think it has made us see ourselves in a new light. It certainly reminded me of the ambitions I had when I was young, and what became of them. I realised that you never see yourself in focus, as you obscure your own vision.”

  “Her little speech made me understand the egotism of youth,” she replies. “She accurately portrayed me as someone with an underlying sense of entitlement. At that age I was sure that fate would take a hand in making sure all my desires were satisfied. And now I see that the world is more chaotic, and more self-involved than that could possibly allow. I was so arrogant!”

  “I think all of us felt that when we were young. It's just that most of us could never have put that into words.”

  “All those times when you looked at me and thought I was miles away; I was probably just working these things out in my head.” She taps her head as she says this.

  “Something always told me that we had the same take on things.”

  “Really? But we never spoke. We should have found the time to open up to each other. But something always got in the way.”

  She swings her legs down and steps to the window. I wonder if she's going to try another ballet move, but instead she puts her hands over her eyes and peers within. “Let's go inside.” I feel a rush of exhilaration as she takes my hand again.

  We have to work to open the door; time has sealed it shut. I try to open it in one faultless, masculine gesture and Carina laughs when I revert to pushing it open with my shoulder. I almost topple inside the darkness when it bursts open, but her hand restrains me.

  “This is like stepping into a time portal,” she says.

  “It's like a Victorian toy box,” I answer, composing myself.

  The room is lit only by the faint light from the house, which makes each toy look unsettling. Spinning tops lay on their side, as if having drunkenly failed in their ambitions. Dolls houses without roofs reveal their intricate interiors. Carina stoops to inspect them, gasping with wonder at their dusty secrets. She disappears behind a small Punch and Judy theatre, and tries to scare me with a crocodile puppet. Being barely able to see her when she emerges, somehow gives me confidence. It allows me to treat her as the person I tend to in my mind, and as I do so she becomes that wo
man. We toy with masquerade masks, and I make her scream with laughter when I surprise her with a gargoyle one while emitting what I intend to be a monstrous sound – which sounds more like a weak gargle. She brushes dust from dolls that have long become expressionless. “What is this place?” I ask.

  “The owner of this house lost custody of his daughter when his wife left him,” she says, putting on a mask. “Francoise told me that he kept this summer house full of toys in the hope that she would one day return. Isn't it tragic?”

  “There's something quite melancholy about the whole house. It seems to almost be a monument to irretrievable times.”

  Carina steps out of the shadows and reveals her face from behind the mask. The two of us spot a large wooden elephant, its trunk coiled triumphantly in the air. Carina claps her hands; we straddle it and face one other.

  “I know what you mean about how something always got in the way,” I say. “Do you remember the last time that happened?”

  Through the darkness, I think I see her smile. She seems tempted to hide her face with the mask again; she holds it inches from her nose. “What night was that?” I wonder if she really knows.

  “That night the six of us came to see you dance.” She smiles faintly; it seems she's not replayed the memory as much as I have. The mere reminder of that evening seems to make her flinch with caution, and it's a painful sight. She looks at me silently.

  “It had been a long time since the two of us had properly spoken. That night I tried to make it happen though, didn't I?”

  “I think I can distinctly remember wanting us to talk properly that night too,” she says, raising the mask.

  “Do you remember how it happened though? You'd just finished the show and everyone was talking about how exquisite your dance was. Francoise was practically bursting with pride. And you looked so flushed with happiness.”

  “It did go well,” she whispers.

  “And on the way home we all walked along the river. It had those gold lights back then, the ones that lined the boulevard right up to the city wall. Something happened that night, which made the two of us fall behind the others. We sat down for a while by the river, looked out at it. I got the sense that something had been unleashed in you during the dance. I think I was hoping to unleash something else as well.”

  “You said some very sweet things that night Vincent. Things that suggested you'd been thinking about me a lot. That you saw me in a way I had never seen myself. I was worried that you thought there was more to me than there actually was.”

  “I knew you were worried about that.”

  The darkness is growing deeper now, but I can sense her moving nearer and further away as the scent of her perfume rises and fades.

  “No man had ever spoken to me like that before. No-one had ever said that I could mean that much to them. I didn't think I had it in me.”

  “You were dating that guy, weren't you? You seemed a little reluctant to hear what I had to say.”

  “Not reluctant Vincent. Just unprepared – and perhaps a little overwhelmed. Your feelings were so intense, and you were so clear in expressing them.”

  “I remember.”

  “Don't be embarrassed by that.”

  “I remember that we ended up pinned against each other, lying on the wall we'd been sat on. And we spoke for a few minutes, inches apart from each other. I wondered if I was going to kiss you.”

  “A little like now?”

  “Yes. And I was just wondering if I should kiss you when – ”

  She laughs. A laugh so resonant and bright that it suddenly dispels any doubt that I've ever had about the two of us. “And then Graham came round the corner, didn't he? Drunk as a lord.”

  “Drunk as a lord,” I whisper. She looks down, and gathers her dress before dismounting the elephant. We trail outside to the silver-lit porch, and sit down slowly on it.

  “This isn't easy,” she says. Her expression is serious. “For us to talk openly, there are years of cobwebs to part to one side.”

  “But don't you see? You were right when you talked about the egotism of youth. We believed that everything we desired would come to pass. I've since learnt that sheer bravery is needed to make that happen.”

  She smiles faintly, as if anticipating something.

  “You know what I want to say, don't you Carina?”

  “I know that you are probably caught up in the evening.”

  “It isn't that. When you say the two of us were never able to speak, you must be aware that isn't true. We've both been afraid to, and so have contented ourselves with circling one another from a distance.”

  She looks at me, her eyes wide and vulnerable. We draw closer, and my hand rises to touch her cheek. She closes her eyes as it does. I watch, with the precision of a voyeur, as her eyelashes flutter at my touch.

  “Don't,” she whispers. “We can't. What about Elise?”

  “I'm not sure anymore that Elise and I are right for each other.” She flashes me that glance again, and closes her eyes as my fingers trail down her neck. And then her body instantly dissolves, slipping beneath me. Her legs part, wrap around me, and as she lies down on the bench I press against her again. I'm not sure if she has suddenly submitted to my need to dominate her, or if this is simply the end of one long movement of intimacy.

  “What about James?” she whispers, her lips inches from mine. “He would lose his mind if he saw this. Vincent, we can't.”

  “Everything that's happened tonight has told me that we must.” But I can see fear moving backwards and forwards behind her eyes, like waves that can't be quelled.

  I wonder if Carina's mysticism can be explained by this motion behind her eyes, whether for a long time she has been locked into a reverie by it. I see how hard it will be to quell that rhythm; that I must not try to suppress it but instead shape my expressions to merge with it. I know I will then propel myself into those waves, to be tossed and banded at the mercy of long-restrained emotion. The desire to give myself completely to her comes with the realisation that I do strongly believe we must be together.

  This realisation extends into the sweep of my hand onto her fine skin, which settles and troubles her with such brutal synchronicity. Those long awaited, finally realised moments tremble from me as if sourced from the essence that we so rarely reveal. I think I am caressing her to part the waves of doubt that have washed backwards and forward behind her eyes for years. I wonder if I have the strength to do it, if I have the strength to also face my own future. But as the stroking continues – incessantly, rhythmically, with a sensuousness almost ill-fitting for such a gesture – I finally believe I can assure her until she calms. And I'm sure Carina also senses that resolve, that she is aware her own desires are played upon her skin like open nerves that I'm soothing. The trembling in her eyes suggests the sudden, overwhelming knowledge that I can settle all of her doubts. And in this moment of near clairvoyance I feel something move in her face. She parts from me.

  “What about James?” she says. “And Elise? There are too many other people to consider before we can cause this pain.” She rises to her feet, stroking the back of her hair as if to recreate my movements.

  “Are you saying you won't give us a chance?”

  She looks away from me. “I want to Vincent, I want to so much. But how can I be sure it is the right thing to do?”

  “Carina, I feel tonight as though I've been given a second chance. I've learnt that I must seize the opportunity to have the life I want, even if it means confronting my father.” She looks at me, as if frightened in advance.

  “I'm asking you to face what is right for you in the same way, if it is us being together. You said yourself that our hidden desires do not naturally come to light; we have to push for them to be satisfied. That is what I am doing now. Even if we agree to try, we have no guarantee that will be enough; but we must try at the very least. If we don't, both of us will continue to spin through the world with no direction, unable even to relate to
ourselves.”

  “I don't know if I'm strong enough to do that,” she says, suddenly looking resolved. “My dancing was more important to me than anything, and fate took it away from me. It took it despite the fact that it was the only thing that made sense to me, despite the fact that without it I've been trapped in a world without meaning. I'm afraid I'm not able to put my faith in fate again Vincent. If we're together, I will also have to face James, and everything about him that utterly terrifies me. It will mean the end of our group, you know that, don't you? The group that has held us together for so long.”

  “That has held us back.”

  She nods, looking back at the house. Her expression is the same as the one that darkened her face when she tried to mimic the Turkish dancer. I realise that I cannot expect someone to swallow pain that I have never experienced.

  “We should go back inside,” she whispers. “We should go back and join the rest of them. If you want to?”

  “Yes, I do,” I say, with some reluctance.

  We step down from the summer house and walk slowly back into the mist. As it gradually thins, revealing the lights of the house, I start to count every step. Carina moves wordlessly at my side, and I wonder if she knows that by counting I'm trying to preserve the sensation of being at her side for as long as I can.

  Francoise is waiting with pursed lips at the door, as if she's also been measuring the length of our conversation. “A drink, Carina?” she says, giving me a knowing smile as she opens the door for us.

  James is lingering on the patio, and looks as though he has been pacing up and down. From a distance I wonder if he is smoking, but as I approach him I see that he is clasping his fist to his mouth and blinking hard. It is only as I draw up to him that I see he is also breathing fast. As I get closer he begins to turn away from me.

  “Are you alright?”

  “Is that Vincent?” he asks, his pale eyes passing blankly over me. A trembling smile plays upon his lips.

  “Yes, it's Vincent.” I wonder how he was able to guide himself so precisely through the library and yet be so slow to recognise me. I wonder if it's a trick, but then berate myself for my cynicism. He is shivering violently, and as I draw near the fist flies back up to his mouth.