The Penultimate Chance Saloon (25 page)

Bill felt suddenly clumsy, gauche, the adolescent on a date. ‘I don't know if you fancy,
er ... He'd
never before invited a woman back, but ...' My flat's just round the corner. We could –'

Ginnie placed one finger gently on his lips. ‘Not tonight, no.' Obviously he could not hide the disappointment in his face, because she went on, ‘For purely practical reasons. The main one being that I'm still totally knackered and I've got a six o'clock make-up call for a shoot tomorrow morning. A commercial for a new Honey and Ginseng Health Drink, would you believe.' She smiled her famous smile. ‘I want our first time to be special, don't you, Bill?'

‘Yes,' he breathed.

‘How's Saturday for you?'

‘Good.'

‘Come to my flat sevenish. I'll do dinner for you ... amongst other things ...'

All right.' He grinned. ‘And do you know what will have happened by then?'

‘Surprise me.'

‘I'll have my proper veneers in.'

‘Excellent. We'll give them an appropriate christening on Saturday.'

They found her a cab. Another lingering kiss, full of adolescent anticipation, and she was gone.

Bill Stratton returned to his flat in a state of ecstasy. Unbelievable though it might seem, he was on a promise with Virginia Fairbrother.

... and, by way of contrast,

a woman in Gateshead who was having

difficulty selling her house offered A

Night of Love as an inducement to potential purchasers.

The house is still on the market.

The day after his were fitted, Bill Stratton had lunch at the Turkish place with Sal to compare veneers. She was impressed and told him not to worry about the expense. He'd soon pay it off, because the cosmetic transformation would lead to a lot more work in front of camera.

She was still very pleased with her own veneers, but, Bill noticed, seemed set to discolour them as quickly as the originals they covered. She was smoking more than ever, even insisting on what she termed an ‘intercourse cigarette' between their mezes and their mains.

‘I thought you were giving up.'

‘Yes, I was, Bill, but I've just read this book called
Deadly Sins: Six Out of Seven Can
'
t Be Bad.
Its premise is that to avoid all seven is impossible, so choose one you really don't want to give up, stay with that and stop doing the others.'

Sloth, Gluttony, Lust, Envy ... I don't recall Smoking being one of the Deadly Sins.'

No, the writer's redefined them for the twenty-first century.' ‘Oh yes? What've they come up with?'

‘Booze, Smoking, Doing Drugs, Screwing Around, Racial Intolerance, Road Rage and Obesity.'

‘And you're only allowed to do one?'

‘Yes. As you may have noticed, I chose Smoking.'

‘So that means you've given up Screwing Around?'

‘Chance'd be a fine thing. I haven't given up voluntarily.' She cocked a thoughtful brown eye at Bill. ‘Funny we've never done that, isn't it?

‘What?'

‘Screwed around. Shagged each other.' Apparently she reckoned he still looked uncomprehending. ‘Been to bed together.'

‘Yes, I did actually know what you meant.'

‘Well, it is quite odd, isn't it? We've known each other a long time.'

‘Sal, there are lots of people I've known for a long time who I haven't been to bed with. And I'm sure there are plenty like that in your life too.'

‘Hmm...' She didn't sound so convinced that there were. ‘Well, do you think we should try it one day?'

If she'd asked him that on any other occasion since the end of his marriage – except during his period of virtual mourning for Andrea – he'd have leapt at the chance. He always had found Sal attractive, and he couldn't forget the feeling of her body against his when he had told her that he loved her. Yes, on any other occasion he would have been urgently discussing the logistics of love – where and how soon.

On any other occasion, he thought with only a trace of wistfulness, as he treated her suggestion as if she'd been joking. But on this occasion he wasn't interested. He was on a promise with Virginia Fairbrother.

Thoughts of her filled his waking hours, which were extensive, because he didn't sleep a lot on the nights running up to the promised Saturday. Him and Ginnie ... everything just seemed so logical. They had been meant for each other from way back. He still remembered the slight pang of lust when Andrea had first introduced him to ‘her friend', that quickly-suppressed disappointed feeling that he hadn't got ‘the pretty one'.

And, over the years, yes, he and Ginnie really had got on. The two of them had so much more in common, exchanging showbiz gossip, than they'd ever had with the conversations of Andrea and her NHS coven.

And to think Virginia Fairbrother had actually been holding a candle for him all this time ... as soon as she told him that, he realised how big a candle he'd also been holding for her. And they'd both spent so many years hiding their lights under their individual bushels ... God, they had a lot of time to make up.

There had been many occasions during his marriage when Bill and Ginnie had been alone together, but the thought had never occurred to him to make any advance towards her. Partly, he was faithful to Andrea, but also ... well, he wasn't in Ginnie's league. And, besides, their relationship worked. Just friends. That way, nothing could stop them going on seeing each other forever. Nothing was broken, and nothing needed fixing.

Now he couldn't believe that he hadn't seen the logic of their being together earlier.

Virginia Fairbrother, though ... imagine turning up to a film
première
or a book launch with her on his arm, and letting the press know that they were an item. Bill Stratton had always been diffident about the press's interest in him. He didn't really think what he did was worthy of their attention. But as the partner of Virginia Fairbrother ...

He was busy during that week, but the time still didn't go as quickly as it should have done. His final gluing session with the Australian cotton bud took quite a while. He had a couple of after-dinner speaking bookings, which once again he did on automatic pilot, though this time for reasons of excited preoccupation rather than alcoholic despair.

And on the Friday he paid his first visit to the BWOC office since Andrea's funeral. As he went through the door the mix of Carolyn's cigarette smoke and perfume was as safe and welcoming as ever.

She looked up from her computer, for once surprised by his arrival. No reference to 'the big boss'. ‘Are you okay?' she asked.

‘Fine.' Wouldn't anyone be fine if they knew they were going to be making love to Virginia Fairbrother the following day?

‘It's just ... you seemed so upset at the funeral ... and you haven't returned my calls and I was worried about you ...'

Bless your little heart, thought Bill. I've never heard you sound less cynical. ‘That's very kind of you, Carolyn, to think of me. Yes, I was very down for a few weeks –'

‘Did you keep smoking?'

‘No, I didn't. Drank a bit too much, but no ciggies. Though I would still like to thank you for the one you gave me after the funeral. It was precisely what I needed at the time.'

‘My pleasure. But you're feeling better now, are you?'

I am actually – for reasons that I can't possibly tell you – feeling on top of the world. But all he said was, ‘Yes. I was very down for a few weeks, but then I thought ... hell, life goes on.'

‘Doesn't it bloody just?' said Carolyn, instantly resuming her customary tough exterior.

‘Anyway, reason I'm here ... I did a couple of after-dinner gigs this week and, you know, I've been doing the same lines for so long that I'm sick to death of them. I thought maybe I'd interpolate some new ones.'

‘That's bold, changing a winning formula.'

‘I'm feeling bold at the moment.'

‘Good for you, Bill.' Her blue eyes gazed quizzically at his. ‘What's got into you then ...?' She could never resist the obvious innuendo. ‘Or should I ask what you've been getting into?'

Oh, if you only knew ... but he gave her some reply about having got over the shock of the funeral and feeling more positive by the minute. Then he asked if she'd had any good ‘by way of contrast' lines in recently.

‘A few.' She shuffled through the papers on her desk. Bill was once again aware of the luxurious curves of her back. Carolyn really was a very attractive woman. He felt very warm towards her. Part of him wanted to reach out and touch her. He might even have suggested their going out for a drink ... if he hadn't been on a promise with Virginia Fairbrother.

‘I quite like this.' She proffered a sheet of paper.

Bill took it and read, “‘A giantess in a Ukrainian circus married the company midget, but then divorced him because he didn't come up to her expectations.” Very good. Funny, a lot of the recent ones read more like made-up jokes than genuine news stories. Still, it just goes to show that truth is stranger than fiction ... and various other such platitudes ...' He passed the paper back. ‘Could you print me out a list of ... I don't know, say twenty of the new ones you think are up to standard and email them to me? Then, next time I'm doing a gig and think of a new one, I'll try slipping it in.'

‘Yes, I've heard that about you.'

It took him a moment to recognise the
double entendre.
‘God, I do set them up for you, don't I? Should have learned not to do it by now 'cause we've known each other ... how long is it?'

‘You tell me,' said Carolyn, with an enigmatic, almost insolent smile.

* * *

Virginia Fairbrother had a house in Docklands, backing on to the Thames. In her fifties, she had benefited from one of those recurrent phases when Hollywood fell in love with British character actors. She'd had a lot of supporting roles in some very bad films and a couple of half-decent ones. Those had paid for the house.

Bill had been there before a few times. The house-warming party had taken place while he was still unsuspectingly married to Andrea, and they had gawped at the gallery of showbiz stars who had graced the occasion. He thought they'd both had a really good time, but in the taxi back to Putney Andrea had gone on about all the people there being ‘false' and ‘artificial' and ‘not engaging with the real world'.

But he'd never before approached Ginnie's house feeling as he did that Saturday night. As ever, punctual to the point of being early, he had asked the cab to drop him a couple of streets away, and dawdled towards the door, reckoning ten past seven would be about right for her ‘sevenish'. Not so late as to appear casually uncaring, nor so early as to look puppyishly eager ... though that was how he felt.

He rang the doorbell, new veneers gleaming, heart pounding with a fizzing cocktail of emotions. There was excitement close to ecstasy, and almost unbearable lust, both swept along on an undercurrent of anxiety. The last time he'd made love to a woman ... or to be more accurate, the last time he had failed to make love to a woman ... had been that final night with Leigh.

When she opened the door, Ginnie took his breath away. She had always looked wonderful, but never like this. Her skin, still tanned from Croatia, glowed through a simple full-length dress in the finest white linen with a vaguely Arabic cut. The auburn hair, which had grown a little since the filming ended, was skilfully spiked, half Peter Pan, half street urchin. And her jewellery that night was silver; light filigree necklace and bracelets, dangling earrings as insubstantial as spiders' webs.

A musky, smoky perfume enveloped Bill as she leant forward to kiss him and led him into the candle-lit Aladdin's cave behind her. Music billowed around them. Mozart almost definitely. A Clarinet Concerto perhaps.

Their kiss had been formal, almost perfunctory, as if they both knew there was no hurry. The ending of the evening was pre-ordained, there was no urgency, they could luxuriate in heady anticipation.

She had champagne opened and on ice. They drank easily, not to excess, and the liquor worked its age-old relaxing magic. The food she produced was perfect, very light. Little filo pastry pies of cheese and spinach, tiny courgette fritters, and dips of spicy vegetables prepared them for the beautifully glazed cold salmon with delicately buttered new potatoes and subtly piquant salad that followed.

Whether Ginnie had assembled this feast herself or bought it in Bill did not know. Nor did he care.

They didn't move on to another wine. They continued to drink champagne.

And they talked, again without pressure, inconsequentially, subjects constantly varying, as they do between two people who care for each other, and have been friends for a long time.

Bill had been worried about the transition from dining room to bedroom, but he need not have done. He was in the hands of an expert stage manager. As soon as he had refused her offer of coffee, Ginnie disappeared into the kitchen and returned moments later with a newly-opened bottle of champagne. Elegantly scooping up their two glasses as she passed, she announced easily, ‘I think it's time we went upstairs.'

She pointed out a guest bathroom to him, but Bill didn't need it.

‘Come through to the bedroom then. I'll just use my bathroom.'

‘And what do I do the while?'

She grinned at him. ‘You could do worse than take all your clothes off and get into bed.'

The bedroom had not been neglected by the punctilious stage management. The walls were rich terracotta, lit by the tremor of many candles. White muslin flowed down from a central point over the big white bed, which faced large windows shielding a balcony that looked out over the Thames. An almost silent procession of Saturday night pleasure boats animated the view. From the largest, a brightly-lit party vessel, the sound of a distant jazz band filtered through into Virginia Fairbrother's eyrie. The air was redolent of musk and rose petals.