The Fly Guy (15 page)

“Right on cue,” said Martin as she took it out and answered. As she spoke she turned away from Martin.
Yes, we’d love to,
she was saying and then she started talking about where the car was parked. Martin watched people’s backs go through the glass doors in couples and groups as the last of the audience left the theatre. It was so quick, the transition from full to empty,
But I guess that’s what happens when the show is over,
he thought. The bar staff closed the shutters and after the rattle and the click there was a thick silence, broken only by Alison’s voice.
Okay,
she said, then she turned to him.

“He’s outside now, we can take a lift with him.”

“What about the car?”

“We’ll just leave it here and come back for it later. Andre says it’s 24-hours.”

“I think I left my phone in the car.”

“Really?” said Alison and started to dial his number.

“Oh, actually, it’s in my inside pocket.”

“Let’s go then.” Alison held her arm, he took it, and they walked to the exit. Outside was a long black car. The back door opened as they approached. Andre Exor’s balding head appeared and he beamed at them.

“Hey, you guys, come on get in!” The back of the car had sets of seats facing each other. Alison and Martin sat in with their backs to the driver. Andre sat facing them, with Cassandra next to him, her body angled away from him, so she had to turn her head to smile at them.

“Very good of you to invite us,” Martin said, as the car pulled away from the front of the theatre. “Where is it we are going?”

“It’s a lovely little place, great drinks, some food if you want it. Run by a lovely Greek guy, Savas. It’s members only, so you’ll have to sign up to be a member on your way in, but it’s nothing really. What did you guys think of the opera?”

“Oh I loved it,” Alison said. “So intense, it really drew me in.”

“And you, Martin?”

“Yes, it was quite something. Maybe a bit serious.” They all laughed. “A bit of slap-stick might have been good.” There was more laughter.

“We’re here,” Andre announced, and the car stopped.

“Wow, that was quick,” said Alison. They all got out of the car. Martin looked back up the road the way they had come. The theatre was just a few hundred metres away. When he turned back Andre was walking across the pavement with Cassandra on one arm and Alison on the other. They were walking toward an elaborately designed door with a golden plaque above it. As he walked closer to the door he could make out the detail of the carved motifs. There were waves and spirals, and in the centre a circular sun sending out straight lines to the edges of the door.

Andre waited for him to join them before pressing the bell which was in the centre of a cast of a flower on the wall. Martin could see that Alison was nervous with excitement. The door opened and Andre stepped confidently through, taking the women with him. Martin followed. There was a smartly dressed man at a counter, who smiled broadly and said, “Mr. Exor, good to see you, sir, and Madame Cassandra. You look stunning as always.”

“Thank you,” said Andre, “I have with me two special guests who need to enlist.”

“Certainly, sir, shall I put you down as their advocate?”

“Yes.”

“Well then, sir and madam, if you would step forward and fill out these membership forms.” His eyes slipped from Alison to Martin and lingered on him for a moment. Andre saw this and said, “This is Martin Tripp, the author,” as if the gentleman at the door would then recognise his name. “They didn’t know I was bringing them here tonight.”

“Very good,” said the man, “It is a pleasure to welcome you both.”

Alison filled in her form in a matter of seconds, confidently and efficiently. Martin stepped to the counter and started to fill in his. Under occupation he hesitated before writing
Author.
At the end of the form there was what seemed to be a confidentiality clause, the breach of which would mean expulsion from the club. Martin scanned the thick paragraph of legal speak before signing the end, with a queasy feeling that he had put his signature to something without understanding fully what it was.

The man thanked them again and stepped aside, extending his arm and revealing the staircase. Andre took the lead. Alison linked her arm with Martin. He leaned into her and said, “You okay?”

She nodded and said, “It’s all very exciting.”

When they reached the top of the staircase the room opened up in front of them. It was a large lounge bar, with plush sofas around small glass tables, wooden panelling on the walls, and vibrantly coloured prints with lights embedded behind them, so that they glowed. There was a long bar with mirrors behind it which stretched to the ceiling. The room was populated with smartly dressed men and women in expensive dresses, their wrists and ears laden with sparkling jewellery. Andre took Cassandra and Alison by the arm again and strode to the bar. Martin followed.

“I’m buying, what do you want?” Alison and Cassandra chose their drinks, then Cassandra said she was going to freshen up. Alison said that she would, too, and they walked off together. Andre watched them go, then whistled an intake of breath, looking at Martin.

“Hey?” he said, “Hey? You got a great woman there, Martin.”

“I know, I know,” Martin replied. Andre turned back to the bar and ordered their drinks then turned back to Martin. “Some interesting people in here, let me show you.”

He started pointing people out to Martin and naming what they did. There was the deputy chief planning advisor for the city, drinking with the transport secretary. Over there was the editor of the city’s biggest selling daily paper, laughing with the manager of the city’s largest investment trust. Just sitting down near the back of the room was one of the judges from the big television talent show with a bunch of hangers-on, and that guy there with the purple shirt was one of the producers of the show. Coming out from the restaurant room was the furniture designer who set up the Make a House a Home chain. Martin asked, “Do you come here a lot?”

“Enough. I’ve been a member since the start, so it feels comfortable. It’s a good place to network. But hey, you, Alison says you’re working on something big.”

Martin dug his hands in his pockets and winced. “Em, it’s, well to be honest, I don’t like talking about it until it’s done if you know what I mean.”

Andre took his elbow and leaned into him. “I know. I know exactly what you mean.” He squeezed then let go. He picked up his drink from the bar and handed Martin his. “You’ve got to guard your intellectual property, I know. I’m not going to ask you about it. Believe me, I know. You start talking about it, next thing you know there’s a TV show all about that idea that’s taken you years to craft. And a bad TV show, too! One that turns what should have been a genius idea into something mediocre and run of the goddam mill. One that uses a half a dozen mediocre writers to patch together a bad script acted by the same old TV faces. Then all the impact of your idea has been taken away and you’re left with something no-one wants to touch. I know, I know, and it’s the best thing, not to talk about it. What it does tell me though is that it’s gonna be great, eh? Am I right? Am I? Go on, tell me I’m wrong.”

Martin zipped his lips shut. Andre slapped him on the back. “Haha! I like you, Martin. I wish I had that creative gene. Just a little bit of it. I can see it in your eyes. Those eyes. You see things differently. I spend all my time dealing with concrete and steel and numbers. Once a building is up, then it’s a numbers game. The numbers can move, but the building never does. But ideas … ideas can grow and move, they can change things, change the way people see things and if a person sees things differently, well, it can change that person, and you! You are the change. You are the idea that made that change.

“You know, a building, ah the building only starts fulfilling its potential when the numbers hit a certain point, and most people who work for me only see the numbers. Your Alison, on the other hand, she sees the people behind the numbers, and that makes her different. Because she does that, she sees options that others who are chasing numbers just don’t see! Then next thing, the numbers come back rearranged in an order that no-one who was chasing the numbers could have put them in! You know what I mean?”

“I know what you mean.”

“Of course, you do, because you’re an artist! You see beyond the ordinary stuff, beyond the money machinery, the profit margins, the dividend yield, the QMV, and IPUs, you see past all that, and I envy that, I wish I could. All I seem to do is make money, money, but is there any learning in that? Is it filling anything other than my pockets? I honestly don’t know.”

He looked into the middle distance, as if for dramatic effect. Martin sipped his drink, at a loss for anything to say. He saw Alison and Cassandra coming back.

“Cassandra seems lovely, how long have you been together?”

Andre put down his drink, looked past Martin, opened out his arms, and with a beaming smile said loudly, “Well, what a picture! Really I feel like I am in the presence of royalty with you two beautiful ladies.” He handed them their drinks while saying to Alison, “There are some people I must introduce you to, come with me.” Then he turned to Martin and Cassandra, “Excuse us.”

Martin watched as he manoeuvred Alison across the room toward where the transport secretary and the deputy chief planning advisor were sitting. Cassandra was looking at them too.

There was a silence before Cassandra said, “Do you smoke?”

Martin shook his head. “No, no I don’t.”

“I want a cigarette. Shall we go up?”

“Up?”

“Outside.”

“Okay.”

Martin followed as Cassandra walked across the room and up another set of stairs. The stairs wound around and around until they were in the open air, on a rooftop terrace, where bunches of people stood around the tables and chairs, and Chinese lanterns glowed from behind a little bar. The rooftop was dwarfed by the buildings around; they rose up into the night sky on either side. Martin thought of the stage he had just seen, and the size of the actors compared to the theatre.

Cassandra walked to the edge of the terrace, and leaned against a barrier. Martin followed her. He could feel the thick hum of traffic in the air, as if he could reach out over the barrier and take a handful. He could see the car park from here. He could guess where his car was, where Zoe was still trapped. Cassandra put a cigarette to her lips and lit it.

“Well it’s nice to meet Alison’s boss at last,” Martin said. “He does know how to talk, doesn’t he?”

“He likes the sound of his own voice.” She exhaled. The smoke stayed as a little cloud before drifting and then being swept into the night, upwards toward the buildings beside them. She was older than Martin had first thought. Her face was smooth but she had a hardness around the edges which could only come with age. Her nose turned up at the end and her lower jaw protruded, making her bottom lip stick out and giving her a look of self-disgust. “He always knows what to say, no matter who he’s talking to.”

“That’s quite a talent. He seems like a very successful man.”

“There are different measures for success. As you gain it, the measures change.” When she drew in on the cigarette, the end glowed and her cheeks hollowed. Martin thought he saw the edges of her eyes pull down into her face. He felt her looking at him.

“One is how you dress, I guess. I wish had known we were coming here. These are my comfy pants, you know, for sitting in theatres.”

She didn’t say anything, just continued to look straight at him.

“So how long have you guys been together?” Martin asked.

She exhaled another cloud of smoke. “So you’re a writer. Do you make a good living from that?”

Martin felt his face go red. “No,” he said, “not yet. Am I wrong then? About you two being together?”

“Yes and no.”

“Ah, it’s complicated.”

“No. It’s very straightforward.”

“So you’re with him. Or you’re not with him.”

“Anything else you want to ask?”

“Just making conversation.”

“Then talk about the weather or that god-awful drag of a show we saw,” she said, flicking her cigarette over the edge. “Tell me how beautiful I look in this dress and ask who the designer is, talk about how what you’re writing is going to start a new literary trend, tell me the growth predictions for the company you’re associated with or something; that’s making conversation.”

Martin didn’t say anything for a moment, just sipped his drink.

She stared at him then said, “I’m going to get another drink.” She turned and walked away. Martin saw the dark patches of liver spots on her shoulders, and the creased and bunched skin around her shoulder blades, and where her dress cut into her back. At the top of the staircase she turned and said loudly, “Are you coming then?” Martin saw faces on the terrace turn to him, and he shrugged and followed her.

Once down in the main room again he looked around for Alison and Andre. Cassandra said to him, “A dry Martini,” before giving an elaborate and enthusiastic greeting to a fat man in a sweaty suit, smiling and letting him kiss her cheek as if a switch had just been flicked inside her.

Martin didn’t go to the bar, but wandered around the room, slipping unnoticed between the lush dresses and dripping jewellery and the dark suits, whose heads and hands could be severed and swapped and still look the same.

He saw Alison and Andre in a huddle with two other couples. Andre was holding court, engaging them in a story which, Martin could tell as he approached, was building to a punchline. The two couples and Alison were rapt with attention, and Martin held back. Andre’s arms were bent at the elbow, his hands facing upwards, moving in repetitive circles as he spoke, as if lifting the air around him again and again. Alison’s eyes were growing wider as she watched him, and when the climax of the story came, his hands made fists and shot up, and Alison erupted with laughter, as did the other two couples.

As the laughter subsided, Martin stepped in beside her, putting his arm around her waist. Andre opened his hands again and put his arms out wide. “Martin! Hey Martin, let me introduce you! Brian and Casey, this is Martin. Brian and Casey run Venus Models, and this is Ted and Rosie. Ted is in printing, snapping up all the contracts that used to be sourced outside the city.
The Tube Times
, and
Night Out
, the freebies, you know the ones, they’re all coming out of the Crown Estate now. I’ve tried to get him to tell me his secret, but he’s not giving anything away, are you, Ted?”