Pricks and Pragmatism

by J. L. Merrow

  “Jesus, Russell, it’s just sex!” Sod it. Now I’d lost my appetite. “It’s not like I’m a bloody virgin—although I might as well be, with the amount of action I’ve been getting lately!”

  I stormed to my bedroom and slammed the door. What the fuck was it to him if I let some bloke he’d never met do me? If you’re not hungry, get out of the fucking kitchen.

  I met Amit in a wine bar in the centre of town. Amit was even less of a Frog and Frigate type than Tom was. He was wearing a grey suit with a soft mauve shirt and deep-toned tie that set off his dark skin to perfection. He was as smooth and charming as I remembered, holding out my chair for me as I sat and ordering a bottle of Pinot Noir.

  “It was good to hear from you again, Luke,” he said, smiling. “I heard from Sebastian that you two were no longer together.”

  I smiled. “No, well, I don’t think that was ever going to last. So how have you been, Amit?”

  We chatted on about this and that for a while, because one thing I’ve learned is that you can’t rush this kind of negotiation, and we were getting near the end of the bottle when Amit reached across the table and stroked my hand briefly. “You seem a little out of sorts tonight. Is something amiss?”

  Bloody Russell. He even had me off my game. I smiled. “Just had a bit of an argument with the bloke I’m living with before I came out tonight, that’s all.”

  Amit raised an eyebrow, and his hand on mine stilled for a moment, then retreated decisively. “Oh? Is that why you wanted to see me?” His lips tightened, although he looked concerned rather than angry. “Luke, how can I put this? You’re very beautiful, and extremely pleasant company, but I prefer to live alone, I’m afraid.”

  I had to laugh. “It’s okay. Thanks for being so tactful about it, but I’m not looking for a place to stay. Russell just got the hump about me coming out tonight for some reason. He’s not going to chuck me out on the streets.”

  Amit tapped a finger on his glass. “Russell? I don’t think I know him.”

  “No, I can’t imagine you do. He’s a bit of a—well he’s not rich, or a player, or anything. Just your average bloke, really. He works up at the Oil Refinery in Fawley.”

  “You surprise me.” Amit sat back in his chair, a smile playing around his lips. Something seemed to have changed in his attitude, and I wasn’t sure what or why. “So tell me, why did you want to meet me tonight?”

  I leaned forward on the table, fixing him in the eye. “I need a job. A proper job. I want to be a journalist, and I know I can do it well. I’ve had a couple of articles published already, and there’d have been more if I hadn’t been busy studying. I just need introductions to the right people, that’s all.”

  Amit nodded. “I do have one or two contacts at the Daily Echo—if a local paper is what you’re after. Is that what you’re after? I should have thought a young man as ambitious as you seem to be would want to try his luck with the nationals in London.”

  I shrugged. I had originally planned to go up to London after Finals, but it hadn’t seemed so important lately. “The way I see it, a smaller paper’s going to be more hands-on. Give me a greater breadth of experience. If I got taken on by a national with no experience, I’d probably be stuck making tea and doing photocopying for the first couple of years.” And whatever happened, it wouldn’t hurt to stick around Southampton for the summer, see what was available here. I could still head up to London in September when everyone got back from their holidays and was feeling a bit more focussed on the job.

  “I’d agree you’d be wasted doing that,” Amit said with a knowing smile. Then he stood. “I’ll see what I can do for you. It was a pleasure to see you again. Now, why don’t you go home and make your peace with Russell?” We shook hands and he tossed a couple of notes on the table for the bill before leaving.

  I sat again and picked up my glass. This wasn’t how I’d expected the evening to end. It was like I didn’t know the rules of the game any longer, and I hated it. He’d thought I was with Russell. He’d thought that made me off limits, so instead of getting laid I was sitting here on my own getting drunk on red wine. “Fuck you, Russell,” I muttered to myself. I mean, Christ, what the hell gave him the right to change the bloody rules? I wanted to run after Amit and tell him Russell was fucking nothing to me. He was just the loser I lived with.

  I wanted to be back in control.

  So when this bloke walked up to my table, looked at the two glasses and me sitting on my own, and said, “Lonely?” I just gave him a slow look up and down and smiled. “Not anymore.”

  He slipped into the seat opposite me, making a show of moving Amit’s glass to one side and substituting his own. “I’m Suq.” He was tall and skinny, his features slightly too large for his angular face but not bad-looking, on the whole. Not, to be honest, up to the usual class of bloke you met here, but he was trying to be. His hair was thick and slightly curly, and he’d used just a little too much gel on it. As he played with the stem of his glass the candlelight glittered off the gold rings he wore. If Russell had done that, it’d have looked shy, nervous. Suq made it look like foreplay. “So, you like Asian men, do you?”

  I smiled. “I like all sorts of men, Suq. White, Black, British, Polish. And Asian,” I added after a significant pause.

  “What happened to the bloke you were with?”

  “Blunt, aren’t you? He had to go. He’s just a friend, anyhow.”

  Suq raised his glass. “Here’s to friendship.” He smiled, showing a gold tooth. His eyes didn’t crinkle up at the corners. Not even a little bit.

  I shrugged. “I’ve got plenty of friends. I’m not looking for any more.” Not ones in knock-off designer gear who enjoyed playing to men with a dark skin fetish. I smiled back at him as I spoke, so he’d know it wasn’t a brush-off.

  “Are you going to finish that?” Suq nodded at the bottle.

  “No, I’m done,” I told him. Shame to leave it, it was decent stuff, but the taste had gone sour after Amit had left. I stood. “Coming?”

  “Have you got a place near here?”

  “Nah, I live in Totton. And we can’t go there anyway. My flatmate’s on early shift this week.” I wasn’t letting him any closer to Russell’s flat than we were already. “You?”

  He met my lie and raised it. “Actually, I’m just visiting my sister here. Don’t think I’d be too popular if I brought anyone back. Sorry.”

  Or maybe in his case it was the truth. Whatever.

  I let him have me in the toilets. The place we were at was too nice for the loos to smell bad, but it was cramped, and every five seconds the outer door swung open to let in a blast of sound and a bloke needing a piss. Suq didn’t seem to be one for wasting time on the preliminaries, so at least I didn’t have to suffer it for long. He wasn’t that big, but then I was out of practice, and it hurt like fuck when he pushed into me. Eased off eventually. Suq left me to bring myself off with my hand while he slammed into me, his breath hot on my neck and reeking of cheap lager mingled in with the sickly aftershave he wore. I don’t think I felt any pleasure when I came. It was a release, nothing more.

  Afterwards, he dropped the condom in the toilet. I watched it floating there as I straightened myself up. Some things never flush away.

  Behind me, Suq zipped up his flies. “Cheers, mate. I’ll see you around, all right?”

  God, I hoped not.

  When I finally got home, Russell was watching À Bout de Souffle and eating peanuts in the dark. Jean-Paul Belmondo was just telling Jean Seberg that if she didn’t smile by the time he’d counted to eight, he’d strangle her. I wondered what would have happened if he had. It would’ve been a whole different film, that’s for sure. Maybe she’d have been happier, in the end. Or maybe that was just the three vodkas I’d downed post-Suq talking.

  I slumped down on the sofa next to Russell, probably reeking of alcohol and God knows what else. “He didn’t fuck me, okay? Amit. Happy now? Because he’s too fucking noble and principled.
Is there some club you all go to?” I belched. “So I let Suq fuck me instead. Whoever the hell he was. He wanted to take me home, but his flatmate had an early shift.” I don’t know why I said all that. I really don’t.

  “How can you do it?” Russell asked, still staring at the TV.

  “What, shag people?” I laughed. “It’s not that hard, Russell. People do it all the time. Some people even enjoy it.”

  “I just don’t know why you sell yourself so cheaply—”

  I swung my head ’round to glare at him so sharply I got a crick in my neck. “I do not sell myself, you self-righteous bastard. What the fuck do you think I am? Some bloody rent boy wiggling his arse on a street corner? Think Suq paid me, do you? Want some yourself? I could do you a special rate, seeing as we’re mates and all—”

  “I’m going to bed.” Russell stood, knocking his bowl of peanuts off the arm of the sofa. It caught the edge of the coffee table on the way down and the cheap china bowl shattered, sending peanuts and pale blue fragments flying. They scattered in all directions, across the carpet and under the furniture.

  “We’re never going to be able to fix that,” I told Russell moodily. He didn’t answer. “’Night, then,” I muttered, giving his back the finger as it disappeared into his room.

  I woke up late next morning with a crashing headache, knowing I’d been a bastard, although I wasn’t sure I really understood why. I’d upset Russell, that was clear, but it seemed to me he’d been mad at me even before I’d laid into him verbally. I tried to replay the conversation mentally, but last night was shrouded in a haze of alcohol and bad sex. The sooner I forgot that last one, the better, so I dragged myself out of bed and made some strong coffee, then stared at the TV until I felt vaguely human.

  It wasn’t until the post came that I remembered my degree result was due out. I held the envelope with its official Uni stamp and just looked at it for a moment. A couple of months ago I’d have said this was the most important thing in my life. Now…well, yes, I cared, obviously. But a lot of the marks are on your dissertation and the professor had told me privately I’d sailed a First on that, so what I was really waiting to find out was whether I’d bagged a First, or only made a 2:1. Putting it that way, was it really going to make that much difference to my life? I considered leaving it until Russell got home, but I decided that would be just daft, so I ripped the envelope open. And then I nodded to myself and put the letter carefully in the letter-rack in the kitchen.

  I spent most of the afternoon clearing up peanuts and shards of china from the living room floor. Of all the things I could have been doing for Russell while on my knees… Still, at least he might actually appreciate this. I went shopping too, and got some steak in, because it’s not good for you to eat pasta every night. And I’d been wanting to try out a peppercorn sauce. After all that I was a bit sweaty, so I had a quick shower and changed into my blue shirt before Russell got home.

  He was back dead on time, thank God. I know some blokes who’d have spent the evening in a bar just to piss me off after last night. Of course, I’d been sleeping with them, so it was different, wasn’t it?

  “Hey, Russell,” I said cautiously as he walked in. He looked at me warily, so I carried on quickly. “Sorry about last night. You know, the coming home drunk and abusive.” I paused. “I was out of order. It won’t happen again.”

  Russell’s moustache seemed to be perking up a bit. He gave an awkward sort of laugh. “No, don’t worry about it. You were right. It’s none of my business what you do with, with people. I shouldn’t have said—”

  “No, it was my fault. I’d had too much to drink and I was in a bad mood, and I took it out on you. You don’t deserve that.” I was relieved to see he was smiling properly now, even if it did look a bit hesitant still. “Anyway, I’ll go and get dinner on. We’re having steak, so it shouldn’t be long.”

  Russell seemed to thaw completely over dinner. Way to a man’s heart, and all that. “Thanks for clearing up, by the way,” he said as he mopped up the last of the sauce with a bit of French bread.

  I shrugged, pleased he’d noticed. “Well, I had plenty of time, didn’t I? Shame about the bowl, though.”

  Russell laughed. “Probably cost less than the peanuts.” He stood and carried the plates into the kitchen. I heard them clatter into the sink, probably a bit more carelessly than was really good for them, and the tap was turned on, run for a while, then was turned off again. There was a bit of tuneless humming, and then a silence.

  Russell burst back into the living room brandishing my results letter, his face split with a huge grin. “You did it! You got your First! That’s fantastic! Well done, Luke!” I think Russell was actually happier about it than I was. I mean, I was pleased, but as I said, it didn’t seem quite as important as it once had. But Russell’s grin was infectious.

  “Thanks!” I told him.

  “That’s amazing. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me right away!”

  I shrugged.

  “Hold on there, I’m getting a bottle of wine. We’ve got to celebrate this.” He disappeared back into the kitchen and returned with a bottle of Merlot. “Sorry it’s not fizzy, but it’s definitely alcoholic,” he said, eyes crinkling as he pulled out the cork and poured us each a glass. “Congratulations,” he toasted me.

  I took a cautious sip, mindful that my liver probably wasn’t going to be too pleased with a fresh onslaught. I didn’t need the alcohol, anyway. I felt fantastic already.

  “You don’t get a lot of Firsts in English,” I mentioned, feeling I could get away with blowing my own trumpet a bit now. “What’s it like in Engineering?”

  Russell folded my letter carefully back into its creases. “Oh, you know.”

  “So what did you get? Back in the Dark Ages, when you took your degree?”

  “Um. Well, a First,” he admitted, like he was owning up to having herpes. “Although in my case, it was more a comment on my social life than any reflection of academic ability.”

  “Your social life?”

  “Yes. I, er…” He sighed. “I didn’t have one.”

  Chapter Five

  “Do you fancy seeing me in a gown and a dodgy hat?” I asked over breakfast one Saturday. I was eating wholemeal toast and marmalade, but I still hadn’t managed to wean Russell off the Frosties.

  He looked up, a tiny droplet of milk clinging to his lower lip. I didn’t want to lick it off. Not at all. “Starting a drag act, are you?”

  “Close. I’m graduating. Nineteenth of July. They’ve sent me a couple of guest tickets.” I waved the envelope at him and laughed. “Don’t worry. I’m not actually expecting you to take me up on this.” These things were boring as hell unless you were a doting parent, and probably even then. It wasn’t the sort of thing you expected your mates to endure cheerfully. I took a swig of coffee and frowned, realising it was going cold. “Still,” I found myself saying, “it’s not like I’ve got anyone else to ask, so if you fancy taking a day off work to be bored out of your mind…”

  Russell grinned. “Well, to be honest I’d rather see the drag act, but I’ll put it in my diary.”

  “Great! Um, thanks.” Suddenly I wasn’t sure what to say. I didn’t want him to think it was a huge deal for me, him coming along, because it wasn’t, obviously, but I didn’t want him to think I wasn’t grateful, either.

  He hesitated. “You could send the other one to your dad, you know.”

  Suddenly, I’d had enough to eat. “Waste of a stamp, Russell. I’m making some more coffee—you want some?” I headed off into the kitchen without waiting for his reply.

  I got a call from the Daily Echo that afternoon. Good old Amit. Or maybe they’d just been impressed by my CV, although I doubted it. Academically, I’m pretty solid, but then so are an awful lot of other people. I’d taken it ’round to their offices a couple of days after I’d seen Amit, so they’d have it to hand if he did get around to mentioning me to his contacts.

  I’d flirted
enough with the receptionist that day that I thought she’d remember me, and she did, a smile splitting her face as I walked in the glass doors. “Well, someone’s impressed with you,” she said archly. “Not many people get an interview with the editor himself straight after finishing Uni.”

  I leaned on her desk to return the smile. “Oh, I can be impressive, all right.”

  “Now, why do I get the feeling I’m never going to find out for sure?” She gave me a look that seemed to see right through me and picked up the phone. “Richard? Luke Corbin is here.” She listened a moment, then put down the phone. “He’s ready to see you. Down there, second door on the left. Go straight in.” She paused, and her smile softened. She reminded me a bit of my mum, just then. “Good luck.”

  When I walked into the office, its owner was standing by the window looking out, in typical Big-Man-of-Business pose. He was about my height, sandy hair thinning on top and the middle-aged spread just starting to show. His suit was a decent quality, but it could have been a better fit. Still buying the size he used to wear, I guessed.

  He turned and nodded at me. “Richard Matlock.”

  “Luke Corbin,” I said in turn. His handshake was cool, dry, and very definitely straight.

  “Well, sit down, sit down.” He perched on the edge of his desk where he could look down on me, but I don’t intimidate easily. All blokes are the same when you’ve got your mouth ’round their cock, at least in my experience.

  Not that I was expecting a blowjob to be part of the interview, but it’s the principle of the thing.

  “I expect you know you’re here because Amit Anand asked me to give you a chance. Do you want to know what he said about you?”