S.O.S. (46 page)

‘No no – not at all. I think I know exactly what you're saying.'

Finally I get to meet someone
sane
. Typical, isn't it? So much wasted time. Where was David when I was making such a bloody fool of myself with the boy-child Earl and, oh Christ – evading the plague that is Nobby? Still: couple of days to go (never say die, yes?).

‘Get you a drink, Jennifer?'

And no: no. No – I am
not
going to find myself attracted to this bloody woman,
actually
. Christ – I haven't got enough on my plate? What do I imagine?
A fourth
entanglement on board would just add the final garnish to the dog's dinner I seem to so bloody effortlessly make of just bloody
everything?
I don't really think so.

‘Well I
suppose
there's time for one more. She's actually normally quite punctual, Stacy –
I'm
the one who just loses all track. But I think that's another thing about this ship, you know. You start to behave, I don't know – um …?'

‘Uncharacteristically? Vodka you're drinking, is it?'

‘Uncharacteristically – just so. Very good. No – actually it's gin and tonic. Haven't had one in simply ages and I just got that
taste
, you know?'

‘Whisky man, myself. Scotch, I used to drink. Seem to be on Bourbon, now …'

‘See what I mean? This ship.'

David nodded. ‘I think you could be right.'

He ordered the drinks from this increasingly miserable little turd of a barman – bloody
Sammy
, he's called, is he? All smiles just a few days ago: look at him now. And that's a helluva shiner he's got. Probably deserved it. Tell you something, though – OK, Nicole is history: we know that. And Trish, yes all right – she's gone the way of all flesh. Suki, mm – gorgeous, granted … but Jesus, just a baby, really. Well
isn't
she? And is cherishing, actually, now what I'm praying for? It's someone like this Jennifer I should've gone for: more my speed. Too late now, though: too late now.

‘So tell me, David – what is it that you actually
do
?'

‘Oh heavens – you don't want to hear about all that. Terribly dull.'

‘No no – I wouldn't have asked. Tell me – go on.'

David took the usual deep breath. ‘Well I, uh – well what I actually am is a financial, um – consultant.' The flat of Jennifer's hand flew to her breast. ‘Man of my
dreams
,' she orated. ‘I'm just hopeless about
anything
to do with money in any shape or form.'

David nodded eagerly, and his eyes were wide and sincere.

‘Oh me
too
. Absolutely. Can't get a hold of it – not one bit.'

‘Oh come on – you're just saying that! No – what
I
mean is – I've no idea from one day to the next whether I've actually got any money or not.'

‘Well I'm exactly the
same
. It's
awful
, isn't it?'

‘When a bill arrives,' pursued Jennifer (puzzled, yes OK, but pursuing it anyway), ‘I simply can't bring myself to even
open
the thing.'

‘No – nor me. I stick them all away in a drawer. Can't even look at them.'

‘Yes! Yes! Just physically
incapable
 – '

‘ – of even so much as
touching
the thing. Yes – I know exactly what you mean.'

And they both sort of laughed at that. What an
intriguing
man, she thought. Odd, oh yes – but intriguing, very.

‘But look – did I mishear you? I thought you said you were a – '

‘I did, yes. A financial consultant. It's just that … cheers, Jennifer, cheers … it's just that, well – I didn't say I was a
good
one, or anything, did I? Completely hopeless, if you want the truth. This year alone I've sent two companies to the wall single-handed. They were shocked to find themselves suddenly in receivership – me, well, I was completely astonished. Didn't see it coming. Still can't make head or tail of how it could have happened. Christ – I don't know why I'm laughing. It's all a bloody tragedy, really. Isn't it?'

But they
were
laughing, the two of them – and really enjoying it, seemed like to Jennifer. David's face was the first to cloud over: he had espied something sour from afar.

‘Ah …!' he sighed, with real regret. ‘Sorry, I have to, ah – said I'd, um …'

‘Wife?'

David hissed like a let-down tyre: it was as if his wheeze was rumbled.

‘Wife, yes. Yes indeed. Said I'd have an early dinner, for once.'

Jennifer glanced in the direction of an agitated woman standing by the door, and very reluctant, it seemed, to venture further.

‘Well,' she said. ‘Wives, I understand, don't at all like to be kept waiting. I was one myself, once. Well twice, actually. So I should know.'

Now look: leaving a bar for the sake of Nicole was never a very easy thing for David to do – but this time, somehow, it seemed even harder.

‘Bye,' he said. God – she's very fine, you know, this woman. Very fine indeed – the way she sits, the way she drinks: just my speed. ‘It's been … nice.'

Jennifer smiled and raised her glass. ‘Very,' she said.

And it annoyed her – watching this rather attractive and God, absolutely
normal
man bustle away with his head down, and into the maw of his wife. Mm. Maybe say die, yes? I don't think he's the type to stray. Jennifer drank her gin and tonic, and sadly shook her head. Christ. It's all a bloody tragedy, really. Isn't it?

*

‘Outstanding
! Yeah oh yeah – very nice, very nice …'

Earl's eyes were wide with real appreciation. This little lady I did not expect to be seeing again – but hell, now she's here (and what she said is, she come looking for me) – well, let's go for it, momma – see what's shaking down.

Stacy smiled, and ceased for now her pirouette. She was wearing the black short skirt with that peachy, clingy angora top: result wear.

‘I'm glad you like it,' she said. ‘You hang about this bar a lot?'

‘Nah. Cuppla beers. Buy you one?
Stace
, right?'

‘Stacy, yes. Well thank you, Earl. Maybe a Diet Coke.'

‘Sure thing. Maybe getcha triple vodka, go with that?'

Stacy's eyes were cast down; then they rose and twinkled at him: two of her fingers alighted briefly on the knobbly bones at his wrist, just by the steel and massive chronometer. Yeh he is, she thought: he's a good-looking bloke. Never really noticed it before.

‘Don't need it,' she said.

‘Whatcha got in the bag, Stace? It's a kinda big bag.'

Stacy held his gaze of amused enquiry.

‘Tate & Lyle's,' she giggled. And then she giggled again.

‘Tatum
what?
What in hell's that?'

‘It's a syrup. Got it from the kitchens. Want to taste?'

And Earl was momentarily thrown.

‘Do I, er …? Well look – I gotta beer, here …'

Stacy had gently prised open the lid of the catering-size can of Golden Syrup.

‘Just a taste …'

Earl was eyeing her extended finger, coated in gold. He then glanced nervously to the left and right of him: this was getting kinda – what? Well – just not the kinda thing people do in
bars
, right? Like – she just
got
here? But hell – way she's looking … and that finger, it's coming straight on tord me … hell, it's just on my lips now, boy – well look, way I figure, just
suck
on that mother, yeah?

Stacy's whole face was sparkling at him. ‘You like …?'

Earl closed his eyes in acquiescence. ‘Big time,' he said. ‘Say, uh – you reckon maybe we go someplace a little more, uh …?'

Stacy was already gathering her things.

‘Perfect,' she said.

Which is pretty much all that was said. Once or twice, as they silently padded their way down one more corridor of hush, Earl threw in a couple of things on the lines of ‘Er –
so
, uh …?' or ‘Well, I guess this is …' But there was sure no kickback, here, so hell – let's just go for it and see what's cooking.

‘Nice cabin …' approved Stacy.

Earl glanced about, as if all this were new to him.

‘Yeh. Nice. It's cool.
So
, Stace – what do we do?'

‘What do you want to do, Earl?'

And this she said straight, so damn straight – all the ooze and schmooze has quit her, which is kinda freaky.

‘Well hell, Stace. I mean –
duh
! Way you was coming on to me, I didn't figure we'd wind up playing
chequers
, you know?'

‘OK,' smiled Stacy (and hey – I think it's OK again: sure looks foxy to me). ‘Let's play a different game.'

‘Yo! Way to go, Stace! C'mon over here, honey.'

Stacy was rummaging around in her bag.

‘Whatcha looking for babe? Hey, c'mon – we don't need one of
them
things …'. And Stacy's eyes were upon him, as there rose up and around his face a slit-eyed, twisted and wholly lascivious gaping leer. ‘Mean to
say
, Stace … it ain't as if you don't know where I
been
…?'

Stacy stood stock-still for barely a second.

‘Lie down, Earl. Lie down on the bed.'

‘More like it! Hey – what's that thing, Stace?'

‘It's a blindfold – you like games, don't you, Earl?'

‘I …
guess
… it's kinda like in the movie, right?'

‘Right. Yes. Well lie
down
, then. Now tell me if it's too tight, OK? Is that all right? Comfy? Now Earl – taste this …'

And from his dark cocoon, Earl was all senses, now. He opened his mouth and received her syrupy finger.

‘Now, Earl – while you're sucking me off, I want to watch you take off all your clothes. Do it, Earl. Do it now. Get the clothes off, Earl.'

Earl started to unbutton his shirt. Is this hot, or what? Well – tell you truth, I ain't too sure. All English women like this? I couldda gotten my clothes off a whole bunch easier a while back, you know? Like – when I was
standing
? So what the hay? I unbutton, I unzip – I can tug hard at these mothers: yeah sure – this I can cut. But wait up: where hell is she now? I got the syrup in my mouth, but the finger I lost.

‘It's OK, Earl. I'm just getting pillows.'

‘Pillows, huh? That's cool. OK, Stace – reckon I'm nekkid. Come get me, honey. Bliss me
out
.'

‘Mm,' approved Stacy. ‘Magnificent.'

Her fingers very lightly grazed the softness of his thighs, and then she shuddered at the sight of the hardness in between. Earl just barely whimpered – tautened briefly, and then relaxed into an easy and gloating anticipation. Which means now just has to be the moment to
do
it.

Earl felt more syrup slid into his mouth, a little bit more.

He just had time to half splutter out
Hey
, Stace – maybe enough with the goddam syrup, huh? But by then Stacy had upended this vast and heavy tin of Golden Syrup right over the centre of him – sweeping it down over his legs and then rapidly back again over his chest and arms, and still there were great and gobbety masses of the stuff to fill up his mouth to glorious gagging point, as well as just obliterating his hair with the final slick of it – and
Christ
, now: just before the concussion of shock and revulsion is swept out by sheer fury – and it's happening, yes, it's happening right now – I must just very swiftly crack the bastard hard across the jaw with my already they feel bruised and aching knuckles and fast, very fast, utterly blanket him with these slit-open pillows and catch my last sweet glimpse of him rasping and choking as the feathers that cling to him and invade are making him retch, and making him roar.

She ran to the door as the ferociously enraged and puking monster rose up like Swamp Thing and quickly slithered badly in the mess of his own goo as a dizzy cloud of feathers was sent up into his face, wiping out his eyes. Stacy stood poised at the door, just one snarl and a grapple away.

‘You hurt my
Mum
, Earl. And I don't like it. Not a bloody
bit.'

And then she was out of there and running:
yeah
, you sod – I just wish you could've gone halves with your bloody
sister
. By the time she reached the lift, Stacy was not just thrilled and laughing but also, she noticed with delight – apart from the fist that had slugged the creep – not even in the slightest bit sticky.

*

‘I'm not saying I
won't
, Nicole. I didn't say I
wouldn't
. I merely observed that I think it's rather stupid having to dress for dinner every night, that's all. Just think it's daft.'

‘It's what you
do
, David. That's why they call it a
dinner
suit, you see: you wear it to
dinner
. Not a very difficult concept, surely. Who's your new friend?'

‘Yes I know but it's all so self-
conscious
, isn't it? Everyone's prancing about with a sort of ‘look at me: I'm all dressed up for
dinner
' bloody fool look all over their faces. It's just so forced.'

‘Well I'm terribly
sorry
, David. Next time I win a luxury all-expenses-paid cruise I shall try to persuade them to give me one of the lower class cabins and then you can probably roll up to dinner at the self-service place wearing bloody
overalls
, I shouldn't wonder. Rather like your new friend, whoever she was.
Very
casual …'