Twisted Agendas Page 8

  “Why is this?”

  “I’d learn faster.”

  “This is not so possible. I am looking always to improve my English.”

  Danny concluded that her directness, although perfectly logical, might be to do with her German culture. Certainly, she wasn’t a typical psychiatrist, revealing as she had over dinner that she supplemented her modest National Health Service income by conducting a psychotherapy practice from her home. Danny wasn’t even sure what a psychotherapist was or how it differed from a psychologist.

  “I want to play this now.” Jean-Pierre held up an Elton John CD.

  “That’s fine,” Julia said, and she turned back to Sonia. “I think I will go back to the gym after all.”

  Jean-Pierre turned up the volume and began to dance.

  “You must not play it so wery loud, Lieb,” Sonia said. “It’s late.”

  “The volume’s perfect,” Julia said. “What a great idea, Jean-Pierre. Let’s all dance.”

  Julia, Clive and Danny formed one cluster in the small empty space between the living room and dining area, Sonia and Jean-Pierre another. Possessing no sense of rhythm, Danny shuffled his feet and tried to copy Clive’s movements. He hoisted his hands above his head and shook them. After the second song, Jean-Pierre left the dance floor and went into the kitchen. Sonia sashayed over to Danny, eyes misty from drinking too much wine, and grabbed the sides of his hips. Using his body as if it were a tree trunk, she lowered her own in a bizarre squat-like dance until she was almost on her knees. Loud thuds commenced from the wall adjacent to the stairs.

  “What’s that noise?” said Danny.

  Everyone fell silent. He could feel the pressure of Sonia’s nose pressing against his mid-thigh.

  “It’s nothing,” Julia said, as the next song began to play. “Just the water pipes.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Sonia announced it was time for her to leave. The others left, too.

  “I’m knackered,” Julia said, as she shut the front door.

  “Me, too.”

  He collected the glasses and dishes off the dining table. The kitchen was a mess, its floor tiles sticky and the side piled with dirty pots, pans, knives and measuring jugs. He decided he’d do the washing up and Julia could dry. After he’d finished two large pots and a roasting pan, there was no longer any space on the draining board to place any more items. He looked to see what she was doing and was glad to see her approach.

  She came to the kitchen threshold and stood clutching her shoes in her right hand. “We’ll have to do dinners on a regular basis.”

  “That’ll be fun.”

  She yawned. “See you in the morning, then.”

  “What about the dishes?”

  “I’d let them soak overnight if I were you.” She yawned again. “Good night.” She stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “Don’t forget to put the lights out in here before you go to bed.”

  A strange emergency

  He was sweeping crumbs into a mug of unfinished tea Julia had left sitting on the coffee table for two days, when the front door was flung open. Julia rushed inside, tossed her linen jacket over the chair and crossed to the dining room table where she began searching through the pile of books and magazines laying upon it. Not finding what she was looking for, she peered about the room.

  “Have you seen the phone book?” Her plumy voice was unnaturally shrill.

  “No.”

  “Help me find it?” She fell on her knees and began searching in the CD cupboard. “I need the nearest FPA fast.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Family planning clinic.”

  He began to search the shelf underneath the coffee table. Now she’d misplaced something she desperately needed, he seized the opportunity to indirectly highlight her untidy nature. “We really need to keep things in their proper place, don’t we? That way… ”

  “The damned condom burst.”

  He stopped searching and gaped at her.

  “Shit, I just saw it the other day.”

  “You’ve got a boyfriend?”

  “An American I just met.” She moved to another cupboard. “I was processing passengers coming off a New York flight yesterday and this bloke just started flirting with me… ah, here it is.” She flicked through the yellow pages and then began to run her finger down a page. “Long story short, I ended up spending the night at his hotel.” She picked up the receiver and dialed. “We fucked again this morning but the condom tore and I need to get the morning after pill… Oh, good morning… ” She brandished her hand like a traffic warden.

  Danny couldn’t have spoken anyway. The words ‘tore’ and ‘fucked’ were still ricocheting around his head.

  Canapés at Tiffany’s

  The staircase was slick with city grime turned muddy and it was raining heavily when she emerged from the Underground. She had six minutes to get to work or she’d be late, her progress impeded now by having to dodge people grasping umbrellas held inches above their heads. Piper found London and Manhattan similarly unpredictable this way; one could leave home with not a rain cloud in the sky, take the subway downtown or travel on the tube into the West End and emerge into a deluge that would often end as quickly as it’d begun. True, London got a lot more rain than Manhattan, the one downside of living this side of the pond.

  Working a catering job wasn’t what she’d wanted to do tonight. Her first exam had gone well and she’d have preferred to stay home and revise but she needed the cash. Notwithstanding she’d got a partial scholarship from an organisation in the United States as well as three small British grants and occasional cheques from her father to help pay the tuition that ran to nearly $4,000, she’d had to take out a loan to cover the balance. On top of these bills came the rent and living expenses, which took a huge chunk out of her budget. Living in London was far more expensive than Manhattan.

  Piper considered flagging down a black taxi but one glance at the slow-moving traffic along Piccadilly made her realise it would be futile as well as expensive. Her mobile rang as she turned into Old Bond Street. She checked the number, hoping to call the person back later, but saw it was her father, Kevin.

  “Hey, Philomena. How’s it going?”

  “It’s Piper now. Remember?”

  “I don’t see why you gotta go changing your name.”

  “Whatever.”

  “You done something illegal I don’t know about?”

  “You’re hilarious, Dad.”

  “I can’t get used to the name, honey. Sorry.”

  “I’m gonna legalise it.”

  There was a silence. Other than a note and enclosed cheque for $400, it’d been six weeks since she’d heard from him. That wasn’t unusual. When she’d been at NYU, they’d met only once or twice a month even though he worked at a midtown precinct. Piper knew it was his way of giving her space and appreciated it.

  “Todd got me a catering gig so I can’t talk long.”

  “You still seeing that guy, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s a record for you, ain’t it?”

  There was dead air, as if he expected her to agree or protest.

  “I’ll have to meet this guy. Give my seal of approval.”

  “It’s early yet.”

  “I’ve got news.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Your mom’s demanding I sell the house.”

  Piper stopped abruptly. Though her mother Philomena Kathleen and father were married nearly 26 years on paper, they’d actually separated eight months after her brother’s death. Piper remembered the evening her mother left as vividly as the night five years ago when her brother died. It was during her last week of high school. She’d come home high after being out late with her friends and found her father hunched at the kitchen table. He was still in his NYPD uniform, a crumpled sheet of paper in his hands.

  Without speaking, he handed over the sheet of paper. It was a note from her mother stating she didn’t love him, hadn’t
for years, that their marriage was a shell but she’d stayed. She went on to say Piper was going off to NYU, that she’d done her ‘duty by our daughter even though she’s selfish and forever getting high,’ and she was leaving him to find whatever happiness a forty-two-year-old single woman could find in Manhattan. The words brought Piper down instantly. She didn’t know if her parent’s marriage had turned bad while she and her brother were children or who exactly was to blame. Certainly there’d been horrid arguments, but there’d also been good times. Her eight-year-old brother’s death had been a catalyst. Or was she the true catalyst? The word ‘duty’ had stung most even though she’d always been much closer to her father.

  “Sell our home, for real, Dad?”

  “She says the market’s hot and it’ll go fast.” There was a slight pause. “You know anything I don’t?”

  She checked the time and began to walk briskly. “She and I hardly ever talk.”

  “I’m gonna list with a broker next week.” He sighed. “I’m real cut up about it.”

  Piper knew it was not the prospect of leaving his house, a home he’d restored after the damage caused by the terrible fire that hurt her father. It was the reality that any hopes of reconciliation he’d been harbouring were irrevocably dead. She also knew her mother hadn’t pushed for a divorce because Piper’s maternal grandmother and her father’s family came from strict Catholic backgrounds, the sort that believed marriage really did last till the death of one of the spouses. Piper resolved quietly to spend more time with her father when she planned to visit New York in late July.

  “I’m so sorry, Dad.” She arrived at the entrance to Tiffany’s but couldn’t bring herself to cut him off.

  “One good thing is, I might make detective at last,” he said. “A buddy who knows what I’m going through is going to put a word in for me with some people. That’s important to me. Real important.”

  Her father had been working to make detective for years without success. “Got my fingers crossed for ya. I gotta run, Dad. See you real soon, okay?”

  “Love you, hon. Wish you were here now.”

  A lump formed instantly in her throat. She swallowed it away.

  “Where’ve you been?” Todd said, when she came down the stairs to the basement.

  Young men and women dressed in black and white attire were forming two lines across the room. Chefs were slicing meats, chopping vegetables, whipping sauces and adding garnish to items that had been prepared beforehand. The aroma of roasted lamb and fresh oregano made her ravenous. After she gave her name and signed the staff register, they were told to join the lines of waiters and await instructions from the event manager.

  Five minutes later, an effete, narrow shouldered man came down the stairs and walked up to them. He clapped his hands for silence before announcing they’d be serving the cream of London society, possibly even a member of the Royal Family. A lecture on politeness and unobtrusive efficiency ensued as if they were morons.

  “Any wannabe actors and pop stars, be warned,” he said. “You’ll be sacked on the spot without pay if I see you loitering near the likes of Judy Dench or George Michael.”

  “George Michael is so eighties?” said someone behind Piper.

  There was a ripple of laughter.

  “You people mean only one things to these people,” the manager said. “Drinks and food. Is that understood?”

  No-one spoke.

  “Is that understood?”

  A grudging ‘Yes’ went round the room. Piper was appointed to drinks. Todd was too, though only for the first hour. Thereafter, he was to move to canapés because he had experience weaving through a crowded room with a large platter.

  “Okay people.” The manager clapped his hands. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

  It was a groupie’s paradise. Famous and wealthy unknowns were packed in like sheep in a shearing shed. Two British sitcom actors chatted to a female MP and an American film director. A gay British actor and his companion reached out and lifted drinks off Piper’s tray as she passed by, even though their first ones weren’t finished yet. His friend was dressed head-to-toe in a red tartan suit and tam-o-shanter. Now used to the British penchant for drinking as much free booze as possible at events, it didn’t surprise Piper that famous personages did the same.

  It struck Piper as ironic that the displays of outrageously expensive commodities on the shelves had the same disconcerting sparseness as a Soviet era supermarket, the sparseness for diametrically opposite reasons admittedly. She threaded diligently through a coterie of power women, their husbands and toy boys, navigating the silver tray back and forth as skillfully as she could.

  “What are you doing here?” The manager approached with his palms out and rising slowly. “You’re supposed to wait in the diamond launch room.”

  “No-one said anything.”

  “We really must listen more carefully, mustn’t we?”

  “Dude, no-one told me. Okay?”

  She was rewarded with ‘What an obnoxious American’ look. “Go.”

  “Where is it?”

  He scrutinised her drinks tray and ordered her downstairs to replenish the champagne. Piper longed to sit. Downstairs, she dropped her tray off at the bar and headed to the makeshift kitchen while the barman swapped her empty flutes for new ones. She hovered, one eye on the table laden with food and the other on her drinks tray. When the chef turned his back and began to garnish a platter, she devoured two canapés, caviar and crème fraîche on sliced French bread, as payback for the manager’s rudeness.

  “How’s it going?” Todd asked, as he set his serving platter down on the table to be refilled. He ran his hand up and down her back.

  “Can you do my feet, too?”

  He nodded at the caviar. “Hope there’s some of these left to take home.”

  “Fat chance. Eat now.”

  “Been doing that,” he said, and winked.

  “Oi,” the head barman called over. “Yeah, you. Think you’re a bleedin’ guest or what?”

  As she made her way upstairs, Piper quenched her thirst with a flute of champagne, finishing it just as the manager appeared at the top of the stairs.

  “You’re not in diamonds yet?” he asked. “What’s this?” He retrieved the empty flute with his long, skinny fingers.

  “Bar guy must have missed it.”

  “Your job’s also quality control.” He sighed as he gesticulated to his left. “Go.”

  A European ex-supermodel remarried or divorced from a New York tycoon (Piper couldn’t remember) and her equally stick-thin sidekick were standing just inside the room as she entered. They were chatting to a local evening news show anchor who looked decidedly healthier on television. Both women were in their early fifties and wore pancake concealer. The hemlines of their flouncy party dresses stopped just short of the globes of their asses. The ex-supermodel was holding court and ignored Piper as she held up the tray. Piper walked away.

  The flawless profile of a woman seated on a stool to the left side of the bar made Piper stop abruptly. In her early thirties, she had high cheekbones and gleaming raven hair cut in a bob. Dressed in a snug, jet black dress, long matching satin gloves, she wore a long rope of pearls around her neck and posed with an upward tilted, fourteen-inch ebony holder containing an unlit cigarette. She looked like a flapper out of a 1920s Harper’s Magazine.

  Piper was equally intrigued and unsettled by the woman’s svelte femininity. Despite her best efforts, as Piper moved about the room, she could not peel her eyes off the stranger’s face. A man to her left touched her arm lightly for some champagne. The glasses on her tray were empty and she needed to go downstairs again for more. The quiet animosity she felt toward the man surprised her.

  When she returned, a handsome, young man in a caramel-coloured linen suit was talking to the beautiful woman. After serving the man his drink, Piper approached the couple.

  “Sir, would you like some champagne?”

  “Lovely.�
� He looked Piper up and down as he took a glass off the tray. “I watched you in the other room earlier. You’re very good at your job.”

  The woman remained frozen, her face a mask, the exaggerated cigarette holder pointed toward the ceiling as if she were a mime artist.

  “Ma’am, some champagne?”

  The woman’s head turned instantly. Her liquid eyes fell to the tray. “Oh, why not,” she said, in a cultured English accent. “It’s pretty decent stuff.” As she put the flute to her lips, she held Piper’s gaze to the cusp of brazenness. An unexpected electric shock whipped through Piper.

  “We own a private club in the West End,” the man said. “We’re always on the lookout for pretty waitresses.”

  Piper’s instinct was to set the record straight and inform him this wasn’t her regular job until she remembered her place in the pecking order and didn’t speak.

  “Don’t you think she’d fit in nicely, Annabel?”

  When the woman looked into her eyes again, another electric shock darted through Piper. It was bizarre. She needed to get away.

  “You’re very attractive in a pixie sort of way,” the woman said. “Our members would love you serving them drinks.”

  “Is my waitress disturbing you, Lady Annabel?” the manager said, as he approached.

  “On the contrary, actually, we’ve been detaining her. You’re awfully lucky to have her.”

  Attractive in a pixie sort of way. The woman’s words circled in Piper’s head as she went downstairs, simultaneously welcome and unwanted.

  “Almost over,” Todd said.

  “I can’t wait to get outta here.”

  Piper put her tray on the counter and looked at Todd. They’d been dating for nearly three months and he’d been patient.

  “You wanna eat the leftovers at my place?” she said.

  “Fine by me.”

  “You can… you can stay over too, if you like.”

  His eyes shot wide open. “For real?”

  “I’m ready,” she whispered in his ear.

  “I thought you wanted to revise.”