Goodbye Lucille

by Segun Afolabi

  She glared at me, hands-on-hips. I had never seen her before.

  ‘Bratwurst and fries please. And a small salad. And a beer. And extra fries.’ I glanced at Clariss.

  ‘Nothing for me thanks,’ she said. ‘We’ve eaten already.’

  The waitress sped away.

  ‘Have to eat lunch by one or else it upsets my balance,’ Clariss said. ‘I get uncentred. Know what I mean, sweetie?’

  I decided it wasn’t worth the effort.

  The waitress returned with the beer, then raced off again. A man emerged from the washroom, dressed in a navy blazer and check trousers. His hair was peppered grey and from the shade of his skin, he appeared to have spent his entire life under a sun lamp. He moved jauntily across the bar on the balls of his feet. By the time I realized he was heading in our direction, it was too late to interrogate Clariss.

  ‘Frank, honey,’ she beamed. ‘We have a guest.’ She unfurled one arm and wafted her fingers towards me. She made the same motions to Frank with her other hand. ‘Frank, Vincent. Vincent, Frank.’ The span of her outstretched arms made her seem like some great prehistoric bird.

  ‘Ah, delighted, I must say,’ Frank said, still standing. He looked about sixty, though he might easily have been seventy-five. Maybe older. It was difficult to tell with the tan and the impish, shifting smile.

  I felt obliged to get up and shake the man’s hand since he seemed intent on standing. His eyes were level with my collarbone; I wondered whether he walked on tiptoe to give the illusion of extra height.

  In a swift, practised manner, he unbuttoned his blazer and sat down. It occurred to me he had buttoned up solely to make his way across the room.

  ‘Any, ah, acquaintance of Miss Clariss is, ah, surely an acquaintance of mine,’ he said.

  ‘Ah … yes,’ I said.

  Clariss beamed.

  ‘Bratwurst and fries,’ the waitress announced with unnecessary volume. She flung several plates in front of me. ‘Salad. Extra fries.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, unable to establish eye contact with her for more than a fraction of a second. She stood glowering as if waiting for me to taste the food.

  ‘A bottle of wine, ah, miss, please. White wine, quite chilled, ah, yes? Something cool and refreshing for the warm afternoon, hmm? What ah, what weather we’re experiencing.’ He touched his brow with pygmy fingers as if he were about to expire.

  The waitress glared at him. ‘Very well,’ she barked and reeled about.

  ‘I remember guys like that in the army,’ Clariss said. ‘All they need is some good lovin’. All it takes. That’s my advice. Am I right, Frank?’

  ‘You are never wrong, my cherie.’

  Clariss had been a colonel at one stage in her life. Her name had been Theodore then. But all that was past, save for the precipice of her Adam’s apple.

  ‘Frank here’s in the movie business, Vinny,’ Clariss said.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Ah, well now. Come, come,’ Frank said. ‘Small projects here and there, you know. Very minor, ah, productions.’

  ‘Movies, schmoovies! It’s all the same thing,’ Clariss purred. ‘You said so yourself, honey, didn’t ya.’ She reached out and squeezed Frank’s thigh. He gasped. I gulped my beer.

  ‘Yes, ah, I suppose I did. But it’s all interrelated, isn’t it?’ He chuckled nervously.

  ‘Look, is that your handsome friend, Vinny?’ Clariss asked.

  We turned and sure enough there was Tunde standing motionless in the doorway as if he had been caught in the glare of headlights. It seemed to take him some time to move in our direction. He was wary of Clariss; he had probably walked into the bar, spotted her, then tried to back out.

  ‘Hey,’ he said when he finally reached us. ‘I’m late, I know. It’s all her fault, okay?’ He tilted his head towards a petite blonde trailing behind him. She giggled.

  ‘We haven’t seen you in such a long time,’ Clariss said. ‘Frankie, this here’s Tundi.’

  Frank rose to shake hands. He greeted the woman, whose name still eluded us.

  ‘Tunde,’ Tunde corrected, ‘“ay”, “ay”.’

  ‘Well Tundi, honey, Frank was telling us about his movies. He makes movies, you know.’ Clariss reached out to Tunde’s friend. ‘I’m sorry, candy. Didn’t catch your name.’

  The woman glanced anxiously at Tunde, then turned back to Clariss. I wondered whether she spoke English.

  ‘Linda,’ she said at last, making it sound like a question. She tugged the sockets of her sleeveless pink T-shirt and rubbed her palms along her slight arms as if she were unaware of the afternoon heat. Tunde reached out and placed a hand on her knee. She stopped fidgeting.

  I turned to Frank. ‘What films have you made, then?’

  ‘Well,’ he said, pouting. ‘I am, well … ah, there is not such good distribution, and the market being what it is … Mostly they go to the United States.’

  ‘Oh, honey!’ Clariss yelped. ‘Baby! Even better!’ She looked at Linda and mouthed a silent ‘Ho-lly-wooood.’ She turned back to Frank. ‘A house in Beverly Hills, haven’t ya hon?’

  ‘Yes, of course, and, ah, yes, not to forget St Tropez.’

  ‘Boaster!’ Clariss cried and rocked in her chair. She was like a child on its birthday; she didn’t want the excitement to end.

  The waitress marched back and set down three wine glasses and the bottle of white wine. She took Linda and Tunde’s orders, then hurried away.

  ‘She’s new. She won’t last the week. I won’t let her,’ Clariss said.

  ‘Ah, the wine!’ Frank clasped his hands together. ‘The little joys of life. They’re quite, ah, rare, you know. Hmm …One always appreciates the simple pleasures. Good food and drink. Pleasant company, yes?’ He glanced round the table, then stole a long, yearning look at Clariss.

  I winced.

  ‘What are these films you make?’ Tunde asked, salvaging the previous conversation.

  ‘Yes,’ Linda prompted. ‘Tell us.’ She seemed an odd choice for Tunde – pretty, but not devastating.

  Frank pursed his lips and squinted. He tapped the edge of the table with his middle fingers. His eyes did not settle on anyone. ‘Now, let me see. Let me see. One of my, ah, more memorable endeavours. Something, perhaps that has achieved some, ah, some degree of recognition. Hmm.’

  Clariss studied him, rubbing her hands rapidly against one another as if rolling pastry dough.

  ‘Ah, yes, of course! How forgetful. There have been so many, naturally, you understand. Bestsellers.’ He turned to Tunde. ‘Now, hmm … Hot Nights in Havana? It rings bells, yes?’ He raised his eyebrows optimistically. ‘Starring Kimberly Koenig?’

  ‘Oh, yes honey! Yes!’ Clariss shrilled before he had even finished his sentence. She began to clap wildly. ‘You did that one, sweetpea? No! I don’t believe it! Really?’ It was obvious she had never heard of the film, but it seemed important for her to play along.

  Linda tittered, her eyes darting anxiously from person to person, not really understanding, but laughing aimlessly. I wondered what had become of Famke and Isabel.

  ‘Hot Nights in Havana?’ I said. ‘Are you making a film at the moment?’

  ‘Well, as it happens, we are scouting for locations … right here in, ah, Berlin of all places.’

  ‘Not just locations, honey,’ Clariss said. ‘Tell him.’

  ‘Well, true my dear, as you well know,’ Frank smiled. He looked at each of us in turn as if we were children. ‘We have, ah, as is often the case, run into slight difficulties in the casting process. The principal actor, ah, actress in this particular scenario, is still unaccounted for, yes? It has been mentioned that in this case the role should perhaps not be given to someone of, ah, how should I say it – considerable renown. No! We, yes, my producers and I, feel that someone quite new and refreshing is needed. Someone who might inject some much required vitality and realism, yes, into things. Don’t you think? Look at Otto, ah, Otto Ostermeyer. What he did for Wende
rs, yes? A complete unknown.’

  I had never heard of Ostermeyer, or Wenders for that matter.

  ‘You have some ideas?’ Linda asked warily, ‘about this actress?’

  ‘Well, my dear. Let us just say that it is something we are working on at present.’ He turned to Clariss. ‘But we are, ah, very nearly there.’ He gave her hand a prolonged squeeze.

  ‘Oh?’ I said. I looked at Clariss in disbelief. Clariss, a film star – I could see it now – her face, her near seven-foot frame splashed across every magazine cover in town.

  She gazed at Frank, drinking him up, then peeled her eyes away from him to register our reactions.

  ‘Very nearly there,’ Clariss repeated in a kind of chant.

  ‘Let me see,’ Tunde said. ‘You’re shooting a film and you need a woman for the main part?’

  ‘Ah, yes, quite right,’ Frank replied. ‘But not simply a woman, you understand – a heavenly creature. Someone to light up the screen.’

  ‘No problem. I know some actresses,’ Tunde said. ‘Very beautiful. You will not be disappointed.’

  ‘Well, yes, we can always do with more faces on the set,’ Frank said.

  ‘Yes, but as Frank was saying, Tundi honey – you might not have understood,’ Clariss said, ‘is that he’s more or less made up his mind about the lead. Isn’t that so, sweetheart?’

  ‘Of course, yes,’ Frank added hastily. ‘You see Mr Tindi, Miss Clariss has very kindly agreed to a screen test. She’s perfect for the part.’

  ‘It’s Tunde – “ay”.’

  ‘I’m perfect for the part, don’t you see?’ Clariss echoed. ‘But Tundi, your friends could be useful too. Frankie always needs extras, don’t you, sugar?’

  ‘Quite right. Absolutely. Another face or two always adds a new, ah, should we say, a new dimension to the picture.’

  Tunde chewed his food and frowned.

  ‘That silk, sweetpea?’ Clariss reached out and twisted the material of Tunde’s ochre shirt between her fingers. ‘Oh,’ she pouted. ‘My mistake.’

  11

  THE ATMOSPHERE in the Atlantic was different on a Saturday night. Gone was the salsa and the sense of warm shores. In its place were old disco tunes and modern dance tracks. Michael Jackson and DeBarge rubbed shoulders with the Bee Gees and Earth, Wind and Fire. The club filled with a different clientele at the weekend – a younger, more boisterous crowd that could only dance to hits played at full volume.

  Angelika looked on in horror as we approached the dance floor. It already seemed full, but I knew in an hour there would be many more flooding through the doors.

  ‘I can’t breathe,’ she shouted at B.

  ‘You’ll get used to it in a minute,’ I yelled. I didn’t think she would want to get used to anything here.

  ‘Let’s go up,’ Tunde gestured. ‘You will like it better there – more quiet, less smoky.’ He pulled Linda by the arm and the rest of us followed.

  Angelika sniffed and squinted as she allowed B to guide her upstairs. ‘You know it’s a pity Lucille had to leave so soon.’ She swivelled round to me. ‘Otherwise we would all be couples now. It must feel very strange to live apart like this. I could not do it.’

  ‘Well, you get used to it,’ I said. ‘Anyway, I might get lucky tonight.’

  She started, then looked away. Tunde sniggered. B pretended he hadn’t heard.

  ‘I’ll get the drinks,’ I said. ‘What’s everyone having?’ I would have to get drunk, I thought, if all we were going to do was mollycoddle Angelika.

  On the way to the bar I had to steer past a group who seemed to think a staircase was the perfect place to congregate. They made a great show of moving to one side when I appeared, then re-formed like a wall of army ants, to block the stairs again.

  The DJ played A View to a Kill, which cleared the dance floor, and I had to scramble to the bar because of the sudden crowd.

  ‘I’ll get these. What are you having?’ I heard a man call in English.

  He was speaking to two men who were further away from the bar. The accent was pure Yorkshire.

  ‘I’ll have a lager,’ one shouted, but the other took an eternity to decide before saying, ‘Make mine the same, then.’

  I wondered whether they were army or tourist. I couldn’t think why else they would be here.

  The Supremes sang Baby Love and people began to drift back to the dance floor and I was able to surge forward.

  ‘Push in, why don’t you,’ a familiar voice complained.

  I wasn’t sure whether to flee or simply ignore it. I could never forget Sylvie’s acrid tones after that day at the beach.

  ‘Hello,’ I nodded. She had done something with her hair – a perm or a frizz – so that it shot out of her head, then cascaded all around her.

  ‘There’s no getting away from you, is there?’ she said.

  I didn’t even attempt to smile. A woman standing next to her stared at me. They must have been friends, but there was no introduction. There was no sign of Claudia, either. I caught the barman’s eye and ordered.

  ‘The least he could do is get us a drink,’ the friend shouted. ‘Honestly, after pushing in like that.’

  ‘Never mind,’ Sylvie said. ‘There are gentlemen here, but they’re not so easy to find.’

  ‘Look, what would you …’

  ‘Two Bloody Marys and a pina colada if you insist!’ the friend screeched. She was an older version of Sylvie – her own bleached hair was similarly styled, but shorter, more plain. She looked nearer thirty, but she didn’t have the self-assurance of the younger model.

  ‘Drinking for two then, are you?’ I said.

  ‘We can’t leave Claudia out, can we?’ Sylvie said beneath the angry scream of hair. ‘She’d be heartbroken to think you’d forgotten all about her.’ She seemed capable of anything at that moment – a smile or a spit in the face.

  The barman delivered the first round of drinks and I ordered again. I turned, but could not see Claudia.

  ‘You come with anyone or you here on your own?’ Sylvie’s friend attempted to make conversation.

  ‘On my lonesome,’ I said. She had seen the drinks on the counter, so I wasn’t impressed by the disingenuousness.

  ‘Oh … I see,’ she said, looking puzzled by the lie, but she had no retort.

  ‘You in for a drinking marathon, then?’ Sylvie said. ‘You gonna to carry all those glasses yourself?’

  ‘I’ll manage.’

  Their Bloody Marys arrived, followed by the cocktail. I felt like a fool standing there, wondering what to do with the other drinks.

  ‘Here you go. One for you, and one for you, and, ah, one for Claudia.’ I winked. ‘She’s drinking alcohol now?’ From what I could remember, she had stuck to fruit juice that night.

  ‘It’s just a milk shake as far as she’s concerned,’ Sylvie said. She pointed. ‘Isn’t that your friend?’

  I turned and there was Tunde.

  ‘What’s taking so long?’ he asked, all the time squinting at Sylvie. I could see he was trying to work out who she was – he was waiting for introductions – the slow worm of recognition rising to the surface.

  ‘Well, now your helper’s arrived,’ Sylvie said to me. ‘Come on Gudren. We’re overwhelmed with gentlemen here.’

  And they were off, Gudren craning her neck for another peek at Tunde.

  ‘That one again,’ he said, as if he had completely forgotten about her personality. ‘That’s one foxy chick.’

  I looked at him. He could spend the night with Sylvie even if she hated him and he wouldn’t care.

  Angelika had commandeered Linda by the time we returned.

  ‘I see you have driven her away again,’ B said.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘“Who?” he says. Lucille, of course.’

  I swigged my lager. ‘She had to go back a couple of days early. Work and stuff.’

  ‘I see,’ B said. ‘Wasn’t that the excuse last time?’

  A gang of men ran
past, shouting. One of them yelled, ‘I’m taken tonight,’ and the others guffawed as if he were being absurd.

  I wanted to be taken too, occupied with another, instead of being a spare wheel on this motley vehicle of friends.

  ‘These places, they attract rough types, yes?’ Angelika said. ‘Honestly, dear, we should have gone to the jazz club.’

  ‘Next time, dear. But really, on a Friday night it’s completely different. We’re here on the wrong night. Isn’t it?’ he appealed to me.

  ‘Well, I like it,’ I said.

  Angelika sniffed.

  ‘I think it’s quite fun, this place,’ Linda piped up. ‘The music really gets you moving.’ She had been jiggling in her seat all evening.

  Tunde didn’t respond. He was usually first on the dance floor.

  ‘Well, I’m going to dance,’ I said. ‘Anyone else?’

  ‘Later,’ Tunde said.

  ‘Linda?’

  ‘Okay.’ She glanced at Tunde, but he only waved her away. ‘He’s being distant,’ she said as we manoeuvred past the crowd on the stairs.

  ‘He gets moody sometimes,’ I lied. ‘It never lasts. How long have you known each other?’

  ‘Just over a week – that’s why it’s so strange; it was going great until yesterday. Suddenly he’s Mr Ice. I don’t understand.’

  She was sweet, Linda. I hadn’t taken much notice of her before perhaps because she was eclipsed by the glamour of Famke and Isabel. I guessed this was probably the last time we would see her. Tomorrow she would be yesterday’s news. She would be hurt, but not heartbroken. Tunde was always careful never to get too involved.

  ‘Let’s dance and forget about it,’ I said. ‘I’m sure he’ll come round.’ We started to move to Shalamar’s Dead Giveaway, and she began to laugh after a while, which made me feel good.

  ‘It’s funny,’ she said. ‘He says you’re from the same place, the same country I mean. You sound so different.’

  I shrugged. ‘I lived most of my life in England. Tunde grew up in Lagos. We’re not so different, though. We’ve both ended up in the same place, and basically … basically, we want the same things.’

  ‘I suppose so. But no one wants exactly the same things. I know I don’t.’