It would take her at least twenty minutes or so to walk around the whole garden that adorned green shrubs and trees. One particular tree towered over their large Edwardian house, it was her favourite tree in the garden and reminded her of an enchanted forest.
For a few moments, she looked up at the sky and admired the fluffy clouds. They looked like flakes of snow massed together, and there the sun shone through. The leisurely walk would do Mary some good. July 19th was right around the corner and it was Tony’s birthday in less than a week. She was finding it a strenuous task to finalise the arrangements for his surprise birthday party.
The party would be held in the garden. A marquee had been hired and no expenses spared for the hundred or so people invited.
One of the best caterers in England had been booked, well over a year ago. Fresh lobsters were being imported from Italy and an array of magnificent cuisine which included salmon, chicken salsa, rack of lamb, and other fine cuisine would be provided by the best chefs. The finest puddings would play host to everyone's palates, such as Peach Cobbler, Gooseberry Fiddly, Chocolate Tiramisu and Brandied Raisin Pudding. She was sure she had gained a few pounds just thinking about it.
The Siberian belly dancers were also booked and a Shirley Bassey lookalike would sing them: ‘Happy Birthday.’
Unfortunately the real Shirley Bassey was in concert in Japan. Well, that was the information conveyed to Mary by Shirley’s personal assistant. So, she booked Marilyn Monroe from the Lookalike Entertainment Agency to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ but she died a few weeks ago from a heart attack. The extremely efficient agency forgot to mention that small detail. It was only when she rang the agency to confirm the booking that she learned of her death. Such a young age to die, aged 33.
Then, the agency suggested a Bassey lookalike and agreed to knock 15% of the price for the inconvenience caused. They couldn’t guarantee that she was a good singer but she was a damn good lookalike. They were willing to throw in Jack Nicholson but he underwent a sex change and was still recovering. The whole thing was ludicrous but Mary was running out of time, she had no choice. It was either Shirley Bassey or whoever they could get. The risk was too high.
Her fashion designer, created an elegant and superb black dress with an open-cut back and a few diamonds sewn onto the cuffs of the sleeves which tapered neatly down her hands. It would captivate everyone's attention but she would not steal the show, after all: Tony was the star.
His designer created a magnificent suit with a crisp edge. It was emerald green with blue tones and an ivory silk shirt, teamed with a striking cravat. The whole outfit was sure to make Tony the next male catwalk model of the millennium – well maybe not, thought Mary, but to her he would be.
There were so many things to remember. She needed to telephone the cleaning agency to confirm they’d be at the house, at the crack of dawn but she’d need to think of a way to get him out of the house. That was the least of her worries. She had a few days to play with some ideas but now there were more pressing things on her mind. She needed to telephone the florists, the gardeners, London’s orchestral band, oh and she desperately needed to contact Holly Oaks Community Gospel Choir, to confirm they’d be singing one of her favourite songs, ‘Oh Happy Day.’ Sadie would confirm the finer details, such as the balloons and decorations and her brother had friends in the photography business so that was one less hassle to deal with. If the photography service wasn’t up to scratch, then her brother would feel her wrath.
She’d been grateful for Sadie’s support. Sadie was an Angel and during the past few months they became friends. Tony’s disillusionment with his life had diverse effects on his work and Sadie found herself inundated with appointments and designs. She was taking on far too many assignments.
In two and a half weeks she would be going to New York to do a design for a large marketing company. She found herself taking on the more delicate designs; she wasn’t accustomed to. In between her busy schedule she assisted Mary with the arrangements for Tony’s surprise birthday. Only last week she had received a phone call from Brian Connelly, confirming his attendance. Sadie was horrified when he told her, he’d bought Tony a medallion chain for his birthday, she cringed at the very thought, but Brian Connelly was Brian Connelly, the funny man with a crazy sense of humour. Somehow, Sadie couldn’t quite envisage Tony wearing a medallion; as expected the red-blooded young Raymond was looking forward to his father’s surprise birthday party. It would be the perfect opportunity to meet some older, more sophisticated women. He was bored with young girls. He felt ready to tackle the older women and prove he was a real man, whatever that meant.
Christine was pretty much excited about the whole thing and Mary couldn’t wait until it was all over. She was tired and was now beginning to feel the effects of what had been a harrowing few months.
Tony’s journey of self-examination had put a strain on the family. His snapping at Raymond became more and for the past week or so, he refused to take calls. Mary wasn’t a psychologist or psychotherapist and she didn’t need a PhD to know, that right now, Tony didn’t know who he was any more or maybe he couldn’t face who he’d become; and for her the most frustrating thing was, she didn’t know how to help him except, love him.
She read most of the books she’d ordered on the male menopause and of course the subject matter created an arena for a medical debate but whether the male menopause was fact or fiction, Tony’s behaviour signified the symptoms that were associated with it. He was sleeping a lot more. He was withdrawn, indecisive, disillusioned and frustrated. His libido was at an all-time low. Although his erections returned they were only held for moments. He tried for her sake to initiate lovemaking but it lacked the passion that she once knew and desired. All the signs led her to believe that he was suffering from a mid-life crisis, and she may have contributed to his depression. Was he unhappy with her? Did he have regrets? There were so many questions and no answers. She blamed herself for not picking up the signs sooner. They had been married for 20 or so years and at the first sign of his lack of physical sexual energy she accused him of having an affair and yet she worried if Tony would be back to his old self or, if a new Tony emerged, would she like him? She’d always love him, but would she like him?
Of late she reminisced about their first meeting. They met at college and he in toe, followed her around like a lost dog. She found him irritating and at the time, she really wasn’t keen on boys with the pretty look, as she called it. Back then his brown hair was long and his eyes were strikingly bright. He was so full of life and hope and passion. When he’d asked her out on a date for the eleventh time she said yes. He’d picked her up in an ancient white Mini and off they went to a small pie and mash shop in Fulham. Times were hard back then and although it wasn’t the most conventional of places to take a young lady on a first date, it was the most memorable day of her life. Tony was witty, intelligent, charming. She’d quickly fallen in love with him and a year later they were married. It had been a small wedding with no trimmings but the sun welcomed their invitation to shine on their special day.
Now, as she made her way back towards the house the thought dawned on her: what she would do without him? She was losing him and she wasn’t sure how to reach out to him.
‘Miss Manning, there's a gentleman at the door. He says he’s a masseur,’ shouted Clarisse from the kitchen window.
‘Drat,’ said Mary. She completely forgot that Carlos the masseur was coming to give Tony a full body massage. Tony of course argued against it but with careful persuasion Mary convinced him it would help him to unwind a little. He was so tense and anxious and it showed. She hired the best masseur, recommended by a fellow celebrity who had been under a lot of stress due to false accusations of stealing from a leading supermarket. It had been headline news at the time and the star was convinced that good, regular massages helped him, especially during those times of stress.
‘Can you pop him in the lounge Clarice, I’ll be right there.’
Mary ran upstairs to the bathroom, combed her hair, put on some plum lipstick and gave her eyelashes a touch-up with mascara. Now she felt confident to meet him.
She rushed back down the stairs and into the living room and there he was, Carlos, a well-built man with a body of an athlete sitting on her pale cream settee.
He was very much tanned and his skin was smooth. He immediately stood up when Mary entered the room, knocked his leg against the coffee table then walked over to Mary and shook her hand.
‘I’m terribly sorry to have kept you.’
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Manning.’
‘Likewise and your name is Carlos, right?’
‘That is correct, Mrs Manning.’ Mary was intrigued by his accent and wondered which country he was from. He looked Spanish, but then again he could be Greek.
‘I like your accent, where are you from?’
‘I’m from Malta.’
‘Really, is Malta nice?’
‘Magnificent, it is beautiful. Some describe it as heaven on earth.’
‘I’m sure.’ Mary turned around to look for Clarice who was standing by the large oak doors. ‘Oh there you are, Clarice, can you go upstairs and inform Mr Manning that Carlos the masseur is here and that I’ll be sending him up in five minutes. Is that OK, Carlos?’
‘Yes madam.’
‘Would you care for a cup of tea?’ She asked but Carlos was intrigued by the oil paintings on the walls and so hadn’t heard the question, but he was even more bemused by Mary's wedding photo as it captivated the wall above the grand fireplace.
‘You are pretty, Mrs Manning, and your husband is very handsome. You make a good couple.’
‘I’m afraid I was pretty. That was twenty years ago.’ Carlos shook his head.
‘Mrs Manning, you are beautiful.’ Mary blushed and looked away.
‘I’m sorry, I’ve embarrassed you.’
‘No, I’m flattered Carlos.’
‘I admire your husband’s work. He is, as they say in my country, a gem.’
Clarice reappeared and made her presence known by coughing. ‘Humm, Mrs Manning, Mr Manning says Carlos may come up now.’
‘Wonderful, in which case, Clarice, can you kindly take Carlos upstairs? Then again, I’ll take Carlos upstairs that will be all, Clarice. I’ll see you next week.’ Clarice smiled at Carlos and left the room.
‘She’s a sweet old dear, follow me, Carlos.’ Mary led the way up the winding stairs to the landing on the first floor. He admired the whitewashed walls and gold frames that decorated the hallway; the ceiling and the etched carvings of angels on the walls. The combination of antiques with modern decor created a home tailor-made for a designer such as Tony. The feel was classy, fresh, delicate, inviting and instantly adored by all who entered. His feet sank into the plush red carpet and the smell of lavender lingered in the air.
It was a home fit for a king and Queen.
Mary led him down a long hallway to the fourth bedroom on the right.
‘Here we are, you’ll be glad to put your bag down now. It must be awfully heavy.’
‘It is no problem, Mrs Manning.’
Mary opened the bedroom door. There was Tony standing by the balcony window in his dressing gown.
‘Darling, I’ve brought Carlos.’ Tony turned around and Mary noticed his eyes looked brighter than they did this morning. He walked over to Mary, kissed her on the cheek then walked over to Carlos and smiled.
‘OK, let’s go. Where do you want me Carlos?’
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ said Mary. She gently stroked Tony’s face, said goodbye to Carlos as she gently closed the door behind her. She hoped the massage would help. Tony hadn’t been sleeping properly at nights and dark circles were now appearing around his eyes. Mary wasn’t aware that he lay awake at night, staring at her, mulling things over in his mind, trying to map out his future. It was difficult without any directions. His course had changed and he couldn’t find a map that would direct him to his new place of thinking. Maybe there were no directions and he would simply have to find his way; at least, that’s what Tara told him during his fourth counselling session and although he had good days he had bad days too and when they were bad they were very bad.
Mary stood by the stairs for a while. She was admiring some of the art paintings that adorned the walls when Christine came charging down the hallway.
‘Mum, where’s Dad?’
‘Christine, be quiet.’
‘What’s the matter?’
‘There's a masseur in the room with your father.’
‘Is that so? Is she a blonde?’
‘Really Christine, the masseurs a man.’
‘Oh, Ok, well I’m off now so I guess I’ll see you later.’
‘Is there anything I can help you with honey?’ There was no reply. Christine ran down the stairs and slam went the door.
Tony watched as Carlos took his jacket off and placed it across the back of the chair. It had been years since he had had a professional massage. The last time he recalled was when he and Mary had been on holiday in the Cayman Islands. He vowed then that he’d have his own personal masseur, only the pressure of work in the studio and jetting from one country to the other left him with no time for anything relaxing other than curling up on the sofa with Mary when he came home from work.
Carlos prepared the massage table in the next room adjacent to their master bedroom, as instructed by Mary. He told Tony to take off his gown and when Tony felt comfortable he was to lay face down on the massage table.
‘Mr Manning, I must say, you have a beautiful home.’
‘Thank you, Carlos.’ He wrapped a towel around his lower body then hung his dressing gown on a hook at the back of the bedroom door and did as Carlos instructed. He lay face down on the massage table and waited for Carlo’s hands to do as they pleased, within reason.
Carlos opened his large canvas bag and out popped various oils. He lined them up on the marbled side table, placing great emphasis on which oils he would use. He rubbed his hands together before pouring some scented almond oil in the palm of his hands. His hands glided down the centre of Tony's back, up and then down, round his broad shoulders and down again, each movement poised with detail. His thumbs pressed into the lower part of Tony's back and then up towards the nape of his neck. With every motion Tony felt totally relaxed and totally at ease, his mind floated in mid-air and the knots in his neck and the stiffness in his shoulders quickly disappeared. Carlos never uttered a word, he concentrated on every nerve in Tony's back, releasing energy and then relaxing the muscles, releasing, relaxing, each move precise. The hour passed by in no time and Tony felt completely relaxed.
‘That was wonderful, Carlos, you must come again.’ Tony patted him on his back.
‘You like.’
Tony nodded. ‘I like very much.’
‘I am happy you like. Maybe next time I can give you a facial.’ Tony smiled. ‘Mr Manning, facials are good for the skin, I do you a good facial, Mr Manning.’
Tony wondered, was that Carlos’ way of saying his skin was bad. He slipped back into his dressing gown and walked into the bedroom but noticed that Carlos was having trouble zipping up his bag.
‘I think you need a bigger bag Carlos.’
‘I think you are right, Mr Manning.’
‘I’ll walk you out, Carlos.’
‘Ah, there is no need Sir, I can see myself out.’ Carlos hesitated before opening the door.
‘Umm, Mr Manning I was wondering if you could design my mother's’ bedroom.’ For a moment Tony froze and looked away. It was an awkward moment.
‘I know that you are working hard already but my mother is ill.’
Tony’s reply was curt. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t.’
Carlos did not understand. ‘I can afford your prices, Mr Manning.’
‘No Carlos, I just can’t do it.’ Tony was sorry and Carlos seemed disappointed but he quickly shrugged it off.
�
��Arh, I see you again, I hope.’
‘Yeah, see you again.’
Tony closed the door, walked into the bathroom and addressed himself in the mirror. Why can’t I pull myself together? But he collapsed on the bed and was too tired to go the whole twelve rounds with his conscience right now. There was something so incredibly wrong with his life and he couldn’t pinpoint what it was. It was several things and nothing and the worst thing was, he didn’t feel like a man, he didn't feel strong, he didn’t feel powerful, he felt empty.
He was sick of the phone calls, sick of feeling responsible for everyone's emotions; tired of being told he was the best interior designer and frustrated because he didn’t feel as though he was. He was angry and didn’t know why and his anger made him weary and suspicious. Mark called a few times and Martin paid a visit but Tony gave them both feeble excuses not to meet up; claiming he had a headache and was unable to talk. He didn’t feel attractive and wondered why Mary still fancied him, when his hair was receding so much and yet he knew he was hurting Mary. She was the last person in the world that he wanted to hurt and yet he had no control. He couldn’t even see to it that Larry stayed up for more than a full five minutes. He asked himself, why did everyone pretend they hadn’t noticed the change in him; why had those closest to him betrayed him?
Martin assured him that things would be all right, it wasn’t all doom and gloom. His doctor told him that men suffered from the male menopause, it was less extreme than the female menopause but it existed and Tara, well, she was beginning to pee him off. Her fees had gone up to £250 an hour. He wasn’t quivering about the money, it wasn’t an issue for him but for the rate she charged he wondered why she wasn’t providing him with answers. He needed answers and he needed them now, not next month, not in six months but now.
It was 4.40 pm when Mary entered the bedroom with a tray of hot food. She busied herself making dinner after his massage with Carlos and left Tony to rest for most of the afternoon. She placed the tray on the floor near the bed and sat down beside her husband. She admired his ragged sexiness, and actually to her, he looked sexier than ever as she watched him sleep. He was unperturbed by her presence in the room or the smell of steak in tartar sauce, new potatoes and carrots. She made a small bowl of salad and hoped that Tony would be impressed by her home-made vinaigrette dressing.
Those Mid-Life Blues Page 10