White Eyes
Page 5
Chapter 5.
It wasn’t a grimy pub where they met. That’s what Nat would have chosen, if he’d actually known what to choose. He didn’t know enough about the town he lived in (what, ten years and still can’t work it out), he wouldn’t have known where to say, but Joshua was already somewhere, waiting for him, sitting on a chrome stool, resting his glass of red wine on a brushed chrome bar, his hair slicked back, his face clean shaven, his clothes neat and tidy, and SMART. Really smart, like some model from a fashion magazine advertising the latest shirts, or trousers, or loafers, or even watches, the ones that go from generation to generation of handsome, rich, successful men.
It took Nat a couple of seconds to spot him, even though he was right there, it was one of those places. No dress code but there was a code, and you knew instantly if you fitted in or not. And as a consequence, everyone there fitted in. And of course, everyone looked the same, they all probably subscribed to the same men’s, or women’s, fashion magazines, Just Men, or Successful Women, or How to Be Rich, ones that Nat didn’t even dare pick up from the shelves. So here they all were, this is where they spent their time, mystery solved, and Joshua, perfect man, was lost in the crowd.
Unlike Nat, who felt immediately self-conscious, and had to suffer the suspicious glances as he stood in the doorway. Should have shaved, he thought. Should have maybe cleaned up, maybe changed some clothes, maybe slept. He did sleep to be fair, maybe just a few hours, but looking down at himself, at his stained t-shirt, his jeans still wet, the clothes he slept in, his mouth that felt suddenly dry and dirty, his teeth that felt mucky, his odour that he suddenly became aware of. Whoops.
“May I help you sir?”
The barman, a different species, this guy, with a white shirt and bow tie, movie star looks in the Italian young, groomed, perfect way, standing suddenly next to him with a faint, disapproving smile on his lips. This guy, this guy, had actually left the bar, empty, unmanned, and walked to the entrance of this place (a place too upmarket to have a door policy. Things had moved on from there. Nat knew this much. In the post-feminist, post capitalist, post everything world, everything was now understated and understood. You had to know your place, and his clearly wasn’t here) – the barman (probably not what he was called, probably something fancier like Maître D’) had been so shocked at his entrance that he had to intervene. Did he not know his place?
“Do you not know your place?” the Maître D’ asked. He had an Italian accent.
Nat blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“I said, is there anything I can help you with today, sir?”
Nat felt flustered. “Erm, I well, I’m just going to have a drink.” Why did I say that? Jesus. Why couldn’t I say I was meeting someone, then find Joshua, why did I have to lie. Help!
“I doubt that, sir, I doubt you would be able to afford a drink in this establishment.”
“Excuse me?”
“Are you hard of hearing as well as a slum boy?”
Nat gulped. “What?”
“Sorry sir, I said, welcome to X2. I think we’re actually completely full at the moment, I’m afraid. There’s a lovely public drinking house about 50 miles away.”
“Erm, well, actually, I’m just meeting a friend.”
“Are you sure? I doubt anyone like you knows anyone in here.”
“Say that again?”
“I said sir, maybe I could help you find him. Shall we take a look?”, and the Maître D’ took Nat’s hand and gently but firmly moved him back towards the door.
“Hey, Hey, Marco” (yes, that really was his name) “he’s with me. Nathan, how are you? I see you’ve dressed up for the occasion.”
“Oh, Mr. Reeves, my apologies, we were just about to look for you.”
“Yeah, yeah, no problem. Just so you know, I wasn’t having a drink on the street.”
Marco blushed, sort of blushed at least, his tanned handsome face turning very slightly pale, but like a true professional he recovered immediately. “Of course, Mr. Reeves. I will make a note of that fact for the future. Can I offer you both a drink?”
Joshua nodded at his stool. “Another red wine for me. That one you recommended. Its name passes me by.” He nodded at Nat, and Marco looked expectantly at him.
“Erm, a … beer?”
Marco nodded, ever so slightly. “Any particular kind, sir?”
“Erm – Carling Black Label?” Nat knew he had said something wrong because Joshua coughed and Marco smiled, ever so slightly. Joshua smiled. “Marco, why don’t you fetch my friend a pint of Estrella Reserve?”
“Of course, sir.” And, thankfully, he was gone.
Joshua smiled and took Nat gently by the arm. “Shall we?”