The Fool - Chapter Six ====================== I - The escalators at Holborn Tube station are longer than ever before, but I am late, and I take them two at a time. By the time I reach the top I am completely out of breath. I am dizzy, lightheaded. She is waiting for me just outside the entrance, tall and serene, stunning in her white scarf, long black coat and knee-boots. Her long blonde hair flows over her shoulders, and I gasp in involuntary shock, feeling my stomach twist inside me. Can this astonishing creature really be waiting there for me? I take a deep breath and move towards her; she turns, smiles, and, almost in slow motion, drifts into my arms to kiss me, then rests her head on my shoulders a while. Time stops. "Oh Adam," she says, eventually. "I've had such a shitty day." I hold her a while longer, stroking the back of her neck softly, until she pulls away, grabs my arm, and says, "Let's just walk." "Where are we going?" "I don't know. Let's just walk." We strike off in the direction of Tottenham Court Road, and the Friday night crowds grow stronger and thicker; the sense of tension is palpable, and the mixed aromas of aftershave, perfume, urine and chips seem to give everyone a permanent frown and a powerful urge to push through the crowd to somewhere clearer and cleaner, with less chips, less angst. But Beth seems quite at home here, navigating me skilfully past the milling throng by the tube station, across Oxford Street and up an alley. "There's a place here," she says. "It's not too bad I suppose." II -- She leads me down a staircase to the smallest bar I have ever seen. There is barely space for three tables in front of the bar area, and most of the remaining space is taken up by a jazz trio, all of whom Beth seems to know. "Get some wine," says Beth, as the saxophonist puts his instrument down and extends his arms to embrace her. Deftly she sidesteps the embrace and grasps his right hand in hers as if to shake; with a practised grace he rotates her hand and leans down to kiss it. "Hi Darren," says Beth. "Beth," says Darren, smiling. The bassist and drummer smile and nod at her, without dropping a note or missing a beat. I am standing awkwardly at the bar behind her, suddenly invisible, desperately trying to fight back a wave of irrational naked jealousy. "What can I get you?" says a voice from behind the bar. "A bottle of house red, please," I say, after a slight pause, turning to face the counter. The barman seems incredibly familiar, but I just can't place him. "Certainly sir," he says, with just enough emphasis on the 'sir' to make me squirm with embarrassment. "How many glasses?" He indicates Beth and Darren, who are engrossed in conversation - Darren has just whispered something in her ear that has made her double up in hysterics. "Uh, two please, I think." III --- "Darren is such a sweetie," Beth says, as we finally settle ourselves down at the last remaining table. "A fine sax player too," I say. "Yes," says Beth. She raises her glass and looks me squarely between the eyes. "Cheers," she says. I hold her gaze and raise my glass to meet hers. "Cheers." The wine is not bad at all, another Montepulciano, although I am already trying to forget how much I just paid for it. In a supermarket I'd expect to get three or even four bottles for the same price. "Cheers," I say again. "So, why was your day so shitty?" "Oh, nothing much," she says. "I just hate my boss, my colleagues, and the organisation I work for. That's all. I don't really want to talk about it. How was your day?" "Well, same old same old, really," I say. "There was some data. I inputted it. When I'd done that, there was more data, so I inputted that too. And so on, all day." She frowned. "I don't know how you can do that," she says. "I suppose it makes it easier that there's three of you there." "Oh no," I say. "The other two have gone now. It's just me." She is silent a moment. "That's awful, Adam. What about Peter Chapman? Did you see him today?" "No," I said. "Actually I saw no-one today. No-one but you." She laughs. "What, did you skip lunch?" "Alright, so you and the woman behind the counter at the caff. But..." She leans forward and places her forefinger on my lips. "Shush," she says, rising. "Let's dance," she says, as I rise to meet her, taking my hands and placing them on her shoulders. "O..." I say, but she places another forefinger on my lips and draws me closer to her in a slow-dance embrace. "Shush," she says. We dance. IV -- I am intensely aware of her breath, hot and sweet against my cheek, as we shuffle slowly around the tiny floor area. As we rotate I can see that Darren is barely able to take his eyes off her. All at once my eyes meet his, and I steel myself for a jealous glare, but his eyes are smiling at me as he plays. Beth holds me more tightly, and I lean back slightly in her arms to look at her - her eyes are closed, head held to one side. I brush her cheek with my mouth and she opens her eyes, raises her head and kisses me full on the lips, holding the kiss a long time. My penis stiffens awkwardly in my jeans and my balls ache. I feel a tingle run the length of my spine as our tongues touch. Millions of miles away a saxophone is going bezerk as we dance on, at once still and at once spinning, staring with mixed hope and fear into one another's eyes. With a crash of cymbals the kiss ends, and we separate, holding both hands, eyes still locked. V - "You promised," says Darren, handing Beth the microphone, and in a second she has taken it and turned to face the rest of the bar, and I am sitting back at the table, sipping at the wine, barely tasting it, my mouth still numbed and in awe from the kiss. The band strike up an old slow tune, which I cannot place. "All of me," Beth sings. "All of me..." and her voice is huge, clear and powerful. I gasp involuntarily as the room begins to fold in on itself strangely. I can see nothing and no-one but Beth; I can hear nothing and no-one but her voice, though the words she is singing wash over my mind without sticking, and I cannot tell the difference between the parts with lyrics and the parts with scat vocals. The song ends in a flurry of applause; even the barman is clapping, and Beth returns to the table flushed and smiling strangely. "Wow," I say. She raises her glass to mine. "To life," she says. "To being alive." We drink. VI -- The bottle is finished, and Beth is hungry, so we leave the bar and head across the road and down the street to a small restaurant with a piano player. He also seems to know Beth and waves to her as we pass by him to our table, off in one corner, lit by a single candle set into an empty flask-shaped wine bottle. "It's such a cliche," says Beth, "but I do like this place." Soon we have another bottle of wine, and plates of steaming pasta are placed before us, conchiglie for her, fusilli for me. I have no idea what sauce Beth is having - something white, with chicken in it. Now I think of it, I'm not sure what I ordered for myself, though it is something tomato based and spicy, with anchovies, garlic and fresh basil. "I love this food," says Beth. "I love this place." I nod, filling my face with forkfuls of fusilli. "And Jack," says Beth, indicating the pianist. "Jack is..." She looks at her food for a moment and stops. "Jack is Jack," she mumbles, and looks at me in the eyes as if begging me not to ask her to go on. "He can certainly play the piano," I say, leaving it open. "Yes," she says. "He can play the piano." VII --- As we leave the restaurant I am struck with the thought that she can reasonably bid me goodnight at any point from now onwards, but instead she takes my arm, and we drift back across Oxford Street to the bus stop in a silent dream. Once there she turns to hug me and asks in a small voice if I will see her home. Of course I will, I tell her, and all at once we are kissing again, lost in one another's arms amid the sea of drunk Friday night partymakers, clasped together, riding above the waves of bitterness and jealousy beaming from each lonely eye among the singletons at the bus stop. The bus arrives, and by some miracle we get to sit at the front on the top, and watch through a cinematically large plate glass window as Central London slowly becomes North East London. "I'm so tired," says Beth, resting her head on my shoulder. "It's been such a long week." "Seven days of it," I say, and she murmurs softly, though I do not catch her words. It doesn't matter. VIII ---- As we reach her door, she turns, saying, "You'd better come in," and although she makes a show of putting the kettle on and talking about coffee, she returns from the kitchen, takes me by the hand, and leads me firmly up the stairs to her bedroom. We kiss for a long time, and the awkwardness in my jeans is resolved by her hand opening my fly and gently pulling the constricting underwear downward. All at once she has pulled away from me, stripped naked in a whirl of dazzling flesh and discarded clothing, and has dived into the bed, hiding herself under the duvet, as if embarrassed. "Come," she says, and I strip off to join her, my heart filling my throat, desperately trying to hide the fact that my knees are no longer properly supporting me. In bed she a tiger, insatiable, scratching and purring by turns, as if hunting some invisible prey with infinite care and infinite patience, and I am lost deep in her arms, in her smell, in her body, breathing deeply, try to be calm, holding back a little here, being extra gentle there, trying to match her breathing with mine, and while her first orgasm is an obvious fake, the second one, seconds later, is surely real. So I tell myself as I too come, inside her, finally, shuddering. "I felt that," she says, with emphasis, smiling as if satisfied. I withdraw from her slowly, fumbling with the condom, which seems small and pungent and stuck to me uncomfortably. I kiss her forehead. "You are beautiful," I say. She is. IX -- I am lying back in a post-coital haze, watching her roll a joint, breathing slowly, trying to ignore the part of me that wishes to die right now at this moment now, when I cannot think of a single thing that could make the world better. "Hmm?" she breathes, turning to me a moment, then pushing me gently away as I try to kiss her, saying "Hang on," and expertly licking the sticky strip on the joint and finishing the job with a twist of the exposed paper at the end. She passes it to me. "You light it," she says, and I bite the end off, taking the lighter from her hand, lying back again and sparking the thing up in complete bliss. I pass it back to her, and sit up to kiss the back of her neck as she smokes. "Mmm," she moans. "That's nice." I kiss the back of her neck again. Soon we are making love a second time, more slowly, more gently now, before finally falling asleep entwined in one another's arms, breathing in step, for all the world as if we really were one flesh. X - I dream I am flying, and there is a huge angel with an outstretched sword blocking my way. He has big hair, curly and auburn, the colour of autumn leaves, and his wings are red and vast. He is riding on a cloud, and I am forced to stop. "Hello Adam," says the angel. "Hello," say I. "Where were you before," says the angel, and vanishes. All at once I am surrounded by the inky blackness of space, and I feel an irrational fear gripping my throat and my heart. The fear rises and I begin to feel a real panic. I cannot breathe. I cannot even see. I wake up. Beth is still with me, entwined in my arms, breathing softly. I kiss the top of her head and she mumbles something meaningless in her sleep and twists away from me suddenly, shifting awkwardly across my right arm, which feels dead and tingling. I lie back in wonder and in awe at the great mysteries of the universe. How is it that such a simple thing as sleeping with a woman can make the whole world change so completely, I wonder, fumbling across Beth to reach the ashtray and the remains of the spliff we fell asleep before finishing. The world is a completely different shape now, for me. I light the spliff and smoke slowly. Nothing will ever be the same again. Blowing the smoke carefully away from Beth, I realise that this is the identical thought process I have gone through every single time I have ever slept with anyone for the first time, but I don't care. I am unable to wipe the cheesy grin from my face as I gaze awe-struck at Beth's astonishing body slumped naked across me. I sigh, and stub the roach out, not bothered whether I am able to sleep or not, praying this night will last forever. At length my eyes finally close, and I fall into a sleep more deep, more whole, than I can remember.