to know that I haven’t taken these off for four days and that includes sleeping and a court appearance,’ he says, nodding his head at me to make his point, so I completely understand the gravity of his action. The whites of his eyes are riddled with red veins like worms inching around his massively dilated pupils.
‘Fucking hell,’ he says, shaking his head now. ‘Are you in an actual relationship? Do people still do that? We should definitely talk about that – I’m interested. Just not right now. But let’s definitely talk later. Who are you?’ He asks me with the accent on ‘are’, as if I may be an imposter, or an alien, or it might actually be important to somebody.
Gavin answers before I can. ‘New Make-up for Dolly.’
And I don’t sound that important after all. I’m not even the original. I’m a replacement, sloppy seconds – again.
‘Right, right, right, right.’ Tristan nods with each word, with complete understanding. ‘What happened to Old Make-up?’ he asks Gavin seriously.
‘She quit.’
‘But why?’ Tristan asks.
‘Dolly spiked her drink.’
Tristan’s eyebrows rise simultaneously and a smile tweaks the corners of his mouth.
‘With what?’
‘The doctor said it was probably speed.’
‘Lucky bitch,’ Tristan whispers and gazes off to one side, as if remembering some long-forgotten afternoon with a long-forgotten lover in a long-forgotten field, somewhere long forgotten. He turns back to Gavin.
‘Who’s Dolly’s dealer?’ he asks seriously.
‘I don’t know, Tristan,’ Gavin replies, with no more expression in his voice than if he were reading the Ikea instructions for a self-assembly three-drawer chest, but Tristan doesn’t seem to mind.
‘Right. Right. Right.’ He nods his head again, computing the information.
‘Make-up,’ he turns to me.
‘Yes?’
‘Who’s your dealer?’
‘I don’t … I don’t really have one …’
‘Right. Okay. Two things. Number one – watch your drinks. If you think she’s spiked it bring it to me and I’ll test it … Let’s go to Gerry’s later and we can talk properly then. You do go to Gerry’s, right? Next door to the Subway at the bottom of Dean Street? Fucking Subway, how did they get to be everywhere all of a sudden? But I do love their meat!’
Gerry’s is a bar in Soho that is open all night for people like me, and Tristan, and anybody really. People who need to carry on drinking for a little while after the curtain goes down.
‘Yep.’
‘Good.’ He nods and turns to leave.
‘What was the second thing?’ I ask before he goes.
He pivots on his heel and fixes me with another smile, sucking on the arm of his plastic glasses.
‘Are the pillows real?’ His eyes jump down to my chest and he moves his glance from one to the other as if a tennis match is being conducted across my cleavage.
‘They’re all mine,’ I say with a smile.
‘Good for you. Lady luck. No jogging, though, Make-up, it could be carnage. Gerry’s then. Gavin! I’ll be back in ten, I need to do a thing.’
He pushes on his glasses and walks towards the front of house, disappearing quickly through a set of swing doors.
Gavin and I stand in silence and watch him go. I feel exhausted. Something crashes loudly on the stage behind us.
‘Maybe he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings,’ Gavin says while still staring at the swing doors.
‘Tristan?’ The pillow talk could have offended less of a girl than me. I’m used to it, however, from Ben.
‘No, your bloke. This Ben.’
‘And just drifting on without any kind of emotional investment isn’t hurting my feelings?’ I ask, still staring at the swing doors myself.
‘I don’t see a gun to your head …’ Gavin turns to me as if breaking out of a trance. I snap myself out of it as well. I wonder whether Tristan has opium sewn into his suit. He has left us both dazed and a little cloudy.
‘But …’ I shake my head to clear it, ‘but I love him, Gavin …
‘Fucking hell,’ he says, shaking his head now. ‘Are you in an actual relationship? Do people still do that? We should definitely talk about that – I’m interested. Just not right now. But let’s definitely talk later. Who are you?’ He asks me with the accent on ‘are’, as if I may be an imposter, or an alien, or it might actually be important to somebody.
Gavin answers before I can. ‘New Make-up for Dolly.’
And I don’t sound that important after all. I’m not even the original. I’m a replacement, sloppy seconds – again.
‘Right, right, right, right.’ Tristan nods with each word, with complete understanding. ‘What happened to Old Make-up?’ he asks Gavin seriously.
‘She quit.’
‘But why?’ Tristan asks.
‘Dolly spiked her drink.’
Tristan’s eyebrows rise simultaneously and a smile tweaks the corners of his mouth.
‘With what?’
‘The doctor said it was probably speed.’
‘Lucky bitch,’ Tristan whispers and gazes off to one side, as if remembering some long-forgotten afternoon with a long-forgotten lover in a long-forgotten field, somewhere long forgotten. He turns back to Gavin.
‘Who’s Dolly’s dealer?’ he asks seriously.
‘I don’t know, Tristan,’ Gavin replies, with no more expression in his voice than if he were reading the Ikea instructions for a self-assembly three-drawer chest, but Tristan doesn’t seem to mind.
‘Right. Right. Right.’ He nods his head again, computing the information.
‘Make-up,’ he turns to me.
‘Yes?’
‘Who’s your dealer?’
‘I don’t … I don’t really have one …’
‘Right. Okay. Two things. Number one – watch your drinks. If you think she’s spiked it bring it to me and I’ll test it … Let’s go to Gerry’s later and we can talk properly then. You do go to Gerry’s, right? Next door to the Subway at the bottom of Dean Street? Fucking Subway, how did they get to be everywhere all of a sudden? But I do love their meat!’
Gerry’s is a bar in Soho that is open all night for people like me, and Tristan, and anybody really. People who need to carry on drinking for a little while after the curtain goes down.
‘Yep.’
‘Good.’ He nods and turns to leave.
‘What was the second thing?’ I ask before he goes.
He pivots on his heel and fixes me with another smile, sucking on the arm of his plastic glasses.
‘Are the pillows real?’ His eyes jump down to my chest and he moves his glance from one to the other as if a tennis match is being conducted across my cleavage.
‘They’re all mine,’ I say with a smile.
‘Good for you. Lady luck. No jogging, though, Make-up, it could be carnage. Gerry’s then. Gavin! I’ll be back in ten, I need to do a thing.’
He pushes on his glasses and walks towards the front of house, disappearing quickly through a set of swing doors.
Gavin and I stand in silence and watch him go. I feel exhausted. Something crashes loudly on the stage behind us.
‘Maybe he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings,’ Gavin says while still staring at the swing doors.
‘Tristan?’ The pillow talk could have offended less of a girl than me. I’m used to it, however, from Ben.
‘No, your bloke. This Ben.’
‘And just drifting on without any kind of emotional investment isn’t hurting my feelings?’ I ask, still staring at the swing doors myself.
‘I don’t see a gun to your head …’ Gavin turns to me as if breaking out of a trance. I snap myself out of it as well. I wonder whether Tristan has opium sewn into his suit. He has left us both dazed and a little cloudy.
‘But …’ I shake my head to clear it, ‘but I love him, Gavin …
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