‘That’s good, sounds just right, wouldn’t you say? I want the words in 164 Bodoni MT Ultra Bold. Now, in addition, I want you to make up another set of posters. Five thousand, do the same, yes, exactly the same. All I want for those is the following: “Who is Oscar Babel?” Got that?...That’s all, yes. Tubes again. And everywhere else. I don’t care, bribe grannies, put them in bistros and boutiques, anywhere that will have them. Up vicars’ arses, for all I care. Right. Don’t foul up. How’s the website coming?...That’s right, get Johnson to mention the ashram in Kerala, like I said. And all the rest. Sanskrit, blah, blah, blah. Au revoir.’
The cab moved on unsteadily, as if buckling under the weight of Rees’s loquacity.
12
Albertine’s restaurant, off Regent Street, looked like a conservatory. Dozens of resplendent, sub-tropical plants sat in the corners, serpentine stems flourishing. Hibiscus hung from the ceiling, anchored in slowly twirling terracotta pots. Their white petals were so luminous that they seemed to cast a counterfeit light.
On first taking their seats the radiance of their surroundings practically overwhelmed the diners. There were sleek, brightly polished mirrors everywhere so that wherever the eye strayed it met with a cluster of animated faces advancing happily through the menu. The walls were painted in a dazzling off-white and the floor consisted of orange and black ceramic tiles. Many people found that the mere fact of being in the restaurant lifted their conversation to previously unscaled heights. Invariably, later on, they could never recapture the magical quality of that evening’s performance, or find within themselves the same reserves of wit, intelligence and charm.
The reason he had booked a table here (with enormous difficulty) was because he thought it would please her, given how the decor chimed with her life.
As they sat there Lilliana realized she still didn’t know his first name.
This insane scheme was actually going ahead; it was no longer just an abstract concept. She felt faint and cold. Before it had all been theoretical, but now she was dangerously close to that moment when reality would start summoning its own agenda, with all the anarchy and loss of control that this implied. What if they asked questions to which she could give no answers? What if she was revealed as an impostor? What if their accounts conflicted? The only thing they had rehearsed was how they had met: at a poetry reading.
Furthermore, all that she really knew about him, she realized, was all that she could not dwell upon: that he was a homosexual, and a charlatan.
She considered the enigma of not having properly prepared her role; what could she have been thinking? Why hadn’t she seized the available time to make sure she wouldn’t now be feeling like this, terrified of making a mess of everything? They had kept on postponing a meeting and in the end had only managed to exchange a few words on the phone about tonight’s performance. She glanced around at the other diners, all enjoying themselves, dressed in white summer jackets, shimmering, flimsy dresses, and expensive denim. Conversation was flowing like a frothy, everlasting river. But the baroque surroundings only added to her agitation. She looked at him. He was fumbling nervously with his toupee.
‘Mr. Sopso, I still don’t know your first name.’
‘What?’
‘What’s your first name?’
‘Well, you must know that by now,’ he insisted in his high-pitched, diminutive voice.
‘I really don’t.’
‘Really? How strange that neither of us...’
‘There’s a million things I don’t know about you that I should know, but I think it would probably be a good idea if we could manage to establish your Christian name before your parents get here.’
‘Of course, of course, but why didn’t you think to ask me before? And when we spoke on the phone – ’
‘It was something to do with the sign on your door. You know: “Mr. Sopso, Fortune Teller.” I always thought of you as plain old Mr. Sopso.’
‘How interesting. You were probably...My first name’s...’
‘Alexei!’ a voice bawled out with incredible force. A few heads turned in amazement.
‘Alexei! Alexei! Alexei!’
It was like some primitive battle cry.
‘Oh dear God,’ Mr. Sopso whispered, then turned slightly pale.
Two figures were advancing from the far end of the restaurant, moving with startling speed.
He and Lilliana had arrived at eight; he had told his parents to get there at eight-thirty, to give Lilliana and himself enough time to get settled. His parents were early by twenty-four minutes.
Lilliana glanced at her companion. His bearing had completely altered – his body had locked itself into a defensive spasm. She turned back to watch this elephantine couple brushing against the plants, dislodging napkins from tables, scaring small children.
Mrs. Sopso was dressed in a fur coat, a pair of glittering, gaudy boots, and a vast, billowing skirt. Sopso senior was wearing brown cords, trainers and a green combat jacket. Mrs. Sopso’s make-up was so thick and fastened onto her face that it looked as though only surgery could have removed it.
Lilliana and Mr. Sopso stood up awkwardly to receive them.
‘Hello, Mum, D-d-dad, let me introduce you to Lilliana, my fiancee.’
Lilliana stretched her arm out but Mrs. Sopso was already reaching for a kiss which landed awkwardly on her cheek.
‘At last our son’s getting hitched,’ she said. She seemed agitated, as if she had left a pan on the stove somewhere and would shortly have to go and attend to it. Mr. Sopso shook Lilliana’s hand, then said to his son, ‘Fine-looking woman. Not a bad place.’
Instantly Lilliana was feeling extremely uncomfortable.
‘Yes,’ she said, doing her best to appear responsive to Mr. Sopso’s last remark, ‘it’s a lovely place Alexei introduced me to...’
‘Oh, you call him Alexei too? I thought it was only his mother who called him Alexei,’ said Mrs. Sopso, donning a slightly wounded air.
‘She alternates between Alexei and Alex,’ said Alex Sopso.
Lilliana nodded, assimilating this information quickly and decided that ‘Alex’ would be better, considering the pain etched onto his mother’s face.
‘Well,’ said Alex, ‘let’s all sit down.’
‘Oh, Alexei, aren’t you going to take my coat for me? That’s a good boy,’ said Mrs. Sopso.
‘Alex, take your mother’s coat. You know how she likes to have her coat taken. That’s one thing, Lilliana, about her: she likes people to help her both on and off with her coat. Don’t ask me why.’
Alex duly assisted his mother while Lilliana monitored his growing discomfort, which in turn fueled her own. Having wrestled with the coat he didn’t know what to do with it, so he waddled off in search of a waiter, welcoming the chance to escape the radioactive presence of his parents.
They sat down, Lilliana doing her best to look calm and composed.
‘So, Lilliana. Nice name. By the way, has Alex told you our names yet?’ asked Mr. Sopso.
Oh God, it’s starting already, she thought.
‘No, I’m afraid he hasn’t.’
‘Well, that’s not very good,’ said Mrs. Sopso.
‘I’m Harvey and my wife’s name is Nina. Has Alex told you about Geoffrey?’
Lilliana decided it would probably be best to lie at this point, having failed to pass the first test.
‘Oh, yes...Geoffrey...yes, he has.’
‘What do think of him then?’
‘Well, he’s very nice.’
‘So you’ve met him then?’
‘Well, not exactly.’
‘And yet you say he’s very nice.’
‘Well, he sounds nice.’
‘What do you think of his profession?’
‘Remind me again what it is...’
‘For God’s sake Harvey, give the girl some air,’ said Nina.
‘He’s a priest! How could you forget! What could be more noble?’
‘O
h course, a priest, very...very...virtuous.’ She suddenly remembered that Alex’s parents were religious.
‘Virtuous, that’s a good word for it, a word I might have used.’
A waiter, with hair as dark and smooth as blackcurrant jam, arrived with the menus. This created some space in which to breathe. Alex had yet to re-appear. At that moment he was splashing cold water over his face in the men’s room.
As they were looking over the menu, written in French (which annoyed Harvey excessively), Nina spewed out words as a machine gun spews out bullets.
‘Have they managed, my dear, to stuff the whole of the hanging gardens of Babylon into this restaurant? I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a magnificent collection of flowers. There’s as much of God’s creation here as there was in the garden of Eden, I dare say. All these plants remind me that while I’m in London I must find some China roots.’
‘Oh, I know a good place, a health food store, very near where I met – ’ Lilliana stopped abruptly.
‘Where you met? Who?’
‘Oh, just a friend of mine, the other day. It’s off the Tottenham Court Road.’
Alex re-appeared, his shirt and collar conspicuously damp.
‘Sit by Mummy, Alexei dear, that’s it, and what about a little hug? That’s better. It’s been so long since we had a little hug, hasn’t it?’
Alex wore a pleading expression in his eyes, as of a man being told he is about to be fed under a set of giant rolling pins. Lilliana stared at him pointedly.
‘They say they’re a miracle cure for arthritis...,’ said Nina.
‘What’s a miracle cure for arthritis?’ Harvey said, looking up from the menu which he was attempting to decode, with negligible success.
‘China roots! Don’t you listen to a thing I say? A miracle cure for arthritis and syphilis. I’m only interested in the first of those ailments, though. Eucalyptus is also very good. I used to go to the Eucalyptus room at the spa in Dortmund before they knocked it down. To make way for an Internet cafe! It did wonders for my sinuses, unblocked them. Not the kitchen sink! For that you need acid, though it can leave a nasty stain. How I like to talk. The menu looks interesting, doesn’t it? Probably delicious. French food always is. But we must resist temptation. Do you like french fries? Of course I can’t eat the sort of things I used to. Great godfathers! Great big banquets, rich sauces, lobster thermidor, steak au pauvre, french fries. My doctor won’t allow it. I’ve a fragile stomach. But hush, I shouldn’t mention it, or it might go off again. And I’ve only just managed to get it to quieten down. That’s what comes of eating well for thirty years.’
‘You mean that’s what comes of me taking you out to restaurants for thirty years,’ Harvey snorted.
There was a lull. The colorful surroundings could do nothing about the jaundiced mood fast taking hold.
Lilliana asked, ‘Have you been married all that time?’ She had decided that the only way to make the evening bearable would be to shift the focus completely onto the parents, while trying to keep a very very low profile.
‘Thirty years, that’s right,’ said Harvey, ‘and why not? What are your thoughts, then, on marriage?’
‘Oh, I doubt if I’ll ever...if I’ll...be able to wait until our wedding,’ she spluttered, the gaps in her sentence causing Alex to practically fall off his chair.
‘That’s nice. Alex told us you were a religious girl.’
‘Did he now?’
‘How far have you taken that religiousness?’
‘Well...I go to church every now and then.’
‘Only every now and then?’
‘Lilliana doesn’t like to discuss it; she thinks it devalues it,’ said Alex, springing to her aid.
Harvey considered this viewpoint, clearly one he had never encountered before. He considered a counter-attack, decided against it, returned to his menu and belched with staggering force.
Nina said breezily, ‘That’s nice, not discussing it. I like a bit of mystery myself.’
Alex smiled knowingly at Lilliana, a smile that luckily escaped the attention of his parents. It was going to be all right.
The waiter re-appeared with a selection of bread rolls and a jug of iced mineral water. A rigorous series of questions from Harvey Sopso about the menu began. At first the waiter was more than happy to comply. But when the questions touched on cooking time, ingredients, and the state of the vegetables a labyrinth appeared through which he saw no hope of finding his way. Finally the waiter muttered, ‘Perhaps you’d like a few more minutes,’ and withdrew.
‘Lilliana, didn’t you think that waiter was a bit rude?’ asked Nina.
‘Yes, I suppose he was.’
‘By the way,’ said Harvey, ‘do any of you know who Oscar Babel is?’
‘What?!’ Lilliana very nearly spat out the gulp of mineral water she had just taken.
‘I keep seeing these signs everywhere – on the subway, in cafes – and all these things say is, “Who is Oscar Babel?” Well, who the hell is Oscar Babel anyway? I mean what is the point of a poster that just says, “Who is Oscar Babel?”’
‘I know who Oscar Babel is,’ said Lilliana, dabbing her mouth with her napkin.
‘She’s very well up on current affairs,’ said Alex, trying to summon up a suitably proud look.
‘He’s a friend of mine.’
‘Really?’ said Nina, ‘tell us more.’
‘I met him at the flower shop ages ago.’
‘So why the hell is his name everywhere?’ Harvey demanded.
‘I hadn’t noticed. I don’t get out of the shop much.’
‘What shop?’
‘The Sun Well. I run a flower shop.’
‘Alex, you didn’t tell us your fiancée owned a flower shop. Imagine, Lilliana, all he said was that you were a good cook. Alexei, why are you always so secretive?’ Nina demanded.
‘Oh yes, the shop’s a beautiful place – full of asparagus – parsley,’ said Alex in a fluster.
‘Well, we’ll have to see about that.’
‘Well, Mum, you haven’t got very long in London and...’
‘No, no,’ said Lilliana, who decided to agree to avoid problems, despite the fact that consenting now would inevitably lead to more problems later. ‘That’s fine, Alex; of course your parents should see the shop.’ She had decided she could and would master these obnoxious people.
‘That’s nice, a flower shop,’ said Harvey. ‘Better than being a fortune-teller. Alex, why couldn’t you have been a priest like Geoffrey, or a dentist, or an accountant or something like that. But no, you had to go swanning around with Ouija boards and God knows what – ’
‘Dad,’ said Alex, his voice reaching breaking point, ‘let’s try not to make this a bore for Lilliana, all right? And you know that I don’t have anything to do with the occult. I just indulge in occasional palmistry and tarot readings.’
‘At least,’ said Harvey, carrying on regardless, ‘when you were in the art world, you were respectable. But what kind of vocation is fortune-telling? You’ll be reading the entrails of cats and dogs next, or monitoring the movement of sea gulls and crows. I can’t understand why you can’t find another, proper.. ’
‘Please shut up, Harvey,’ said Nina with unexpected majesty.
A new waiter appeared (the original waiter had begged his colleague to take his place) and another prolonged process of inquiry got under way until at last the orders were trotted out with a collective sigh of relief. Some kind of peace reigned. Alex looked as depleted of energy as a minutes-old mother.
‘So, tell us more about this Oscar character,’ said Nina.
‘Well, as I explained,’ Lilliana began, starting to feel rather sorry for Alex and beginning to realize the extent of the sufferings he must have received at the hands of his parents, ‘he’s a friend, but I don’t know why these posters are up everywhere. When I last saw him he told me that he was doing some nude modeling.’
‘Nude modeling? More of the devil�
��s handiwork. What is it with men of today? Are they all turning into women? Since when has exposing yourself been a proper pursuit for a young man? It’s an abomination. I mean to say, why don’t they all go home and read some St. Augustine or something, or tuck into the Bible with a cup of tea?’ said Harvey.
‘Forgive me, Mr. Sopso,’ said Lilliana, succumbing to a rare degree of irritation, ‘but wasn’t St Augustine a self-confessed sinner who then found salvation? Shouldn’t one be less hard on those who haven’t yet seen the error of their ways? I mean, doesn’t the Christian viewpoint preach forgiveness and tolerance? Didn’t Christ say judge not lest you be judged?’
This seemed to have a profound effect on Harvey. He lapsed into silence, though his mind reeled with a thousand insults. I mean, who exactly did this nonentity, this nobody, a flower girl, for God’s sake, think she was? Did she think she could sit and lecture an old man?
‘Hear, hear! Lilliana,’ said Nina Sopso. ‘You know, Alexei, I like this girl; she’s different from all your other girlfriends. Well, the other one anyway. You’ll have to come and visit us in Dortmund, my dear. I like you; you have spirit. Now, Alexei, don’t go and lose her, will you. She’s an angel. And she has the most beautiful white skin, doesn’t she?’
‘I know,’ said Alex, ‘I know that she’s an angel, gazing up at all the stars. That’s why I gave her that painting; you know, the one of the two saints.’
‘How lovely,’ said Nina. ‘I’ve always had a soft spot for that painting. It’s by Picasso, isn’t it? Alexei always loved it. I’m glad it came to you, Lilliana.’
Lilliana felt flooded with different emotions. She felt a sadness for the measly quality of Alex’s father and at the same time a growing affection for Alex as she saw him in a new light and realized how special the painting really had been for him. Her eyes were moist with tears which had welled up but were not full enough to drop, so that they glimmered in the light of the restaurant. And now for the first time there was silence, a welcome alcove which Lilliana huddled into.
The Fabrications Page 17