Angelica's Grotto (23 page)

‘There’s always work to be done but it doesn’t always take two people to do it.’

‘Then all I can say is, good luck and I hope you won’t be sorry.’

‘I feel lucky already, Leon, and I’ve given up feeling sorry.’

Melissa drove skilfully and with assurance, taking the van smoothly up the Embankment, over the Vauxhall Bridge, thence by various turnings to Camberwell New Road and Camberwell Grove. The day was delicately grey with a light rain, Klein’s favourite kind of weather; the auguries were good, he felt, and things were definitely moving forward. Camberwell was lively with shops and off-licences; the colours were intensified by the rain and all of his senses were heightened.

‘Well,’ said Melissa, ‘there’s no turning back now: once you know where I live you’ll always be able to find me.’

‘Does that bother you?’

‘No. We’ve come a long way from your first visit to Angelica’s Grotto and this is where we are now.’

‘Every life is a winding road, Melissa.’ She was wearing a short denim skirt and black stockings as always. He put his hand on her thigh and she let it stay there.

She was able to park close to the house, a Georgian one with three storeys and a front garden. ‘The flat’s in the basement,’ she said as they went up the steps to the front door.

Knowing for the first time where Melissa lived and
actually being in her place overwhelmed Klein with its intimacy, made his heart beat faster. He thought of her dressing and undressing; he thought of her naked in the bath. He recalled their telephone conversation when she’d been with Lydia: he’d imagined a huge bed in a large room full of warm colours – orange, rose, crimson. There were silk sheets and oriental cushions and flowers, possibly a canary as well. Their bodies had been golden in the lamplight of his mind.

Melissa led him through the hallway, down a narrow staircase, and suddenly they were in the bedroom. A bit of the front garden was visible through a small window that allowed a little grey rainlight to reveal a threadbare green carpet, a double bed in cracked white enamel with a rumpled India-print bedspread, a night table, a chest of drawers, and a chair with a white T-shirt and a pair of jeans draped over the back of it.

Smells funky,
said Oannes.

On the floor by the chair were a pair of trainers several sizes too large for Melissa. ‘Whose are those?’ said Klein.

‘Leslie’s.’

‘He’s your partner?’

‘He’s an employee. We work late hours and he spends a lot of time here.’

‘Much of it in bed with you.’

‘I never promised you a nunnery, Harold. I need regular servicing.’

‘I see.’

‘That’s a very unfriendly “I see”. Is one displeased?’

Klein was imagining the two of them in bed, Melissa with her legs wrapped around Leslie. He heard her orgasm, watched the kissing that followed, heard her sighs of satisfaction.

‘Harold,’ she said,
‘are
you displeased?’

‘I don’t know – it’s just that I hadn’t realised that I’d be subsidising Leslie as well as you.’

‘He’s part of Angelica’s Grotto. And it’s not as if we’re proper lovers, you know – he’s not the only one I take to bed.’

‘Yes, of course that makes a big difference.’

‘Are you going to sulk now?’ She put her arm around him and brought her face close to his. He affected indifference. ‘Don’t be that way, Harold – be nice.’ She kissed him and it was impossible not to return the kiss. There was a pounding of feet overhead. ‘Children,’ she said. ‘Three of them. I’d love to get out of here. Wouldn’t you like to have me closer to you?’ She kissed him again and put his hand on her breast. ‘Wouldn’t it be good if you and I and Leslie were all under one roof? We could all work in peace and you’d be able to keep an eye on things,’ another kiss, ‘night and day.’ He looked into the middle distance. ‘Come on, Harold, you know you’ve been longing to see me do it with a stallion.’ He looked at the ceiling, noted the cracks. ‘And of course,’ another kiss, ‘there’s a lot to be said for three in a bed.’

‘I wonder,’ he said, ‘whether the gratification of one’s desires is really what life is all about?’

‘You have to admit that it’s not a bad way to pass the time while you’re wondering, mmm?’

‘Do you think my place would do? I doubt that I could survive the hassle of moving house.’

‘Your place would be lovely; it’s a great location and it’d be the best possible arrangement. What about the finances? Will you give me a lump sum or do you want to do a contract of some kind? I don’t want to sound too heartlessly practical but if you were to hop the twig
without putting something in writing I’d be left high and dry, wouldn’t I.’

‘I won’t leave you high and dry, Melissa. That’ll all be taken care of

She kissed him again and hugged him. ‘Whatever you think of me, Harold, I really am very fond of you. Underneath all the surface crap there is something good between us, isn’t there?’

‘Yes, Melissa, there is.’

‘And do I taste good?’

‘Delicious.’

‘Perhaps you should refresh your memory.’

He refreshed it. The room took on warm colours; almost his tinnitus was like a canary.

‘Show me the website setup,’ he said.

‘Through here.’

Beyond the bedroom were a tiny kitchen and a small room in which were two computers with modems, a printer, a scanner/copier, a fax machine, and three telephones. These occupied a long table and there was also a drawing table with a lightbox on it. There were two chairs; the rest of the space was filled by filing cabinets. ‘This is where it all happens,’ said Melissa.

‘Amazing. I was expecting a much bigger setup, more like the control room for the national grid.’

‘This is all you need – it’s mostly in the software. We can’t use a British ISP so we’ve got a file-transfer-protocol access to a Dutch server. We put everything together here and shoot it over there and it ends up on the Net where professorial types like you can drop in for intellectual stimulation. As I’ve said, we could really use one more person for the filing and the housekeeping on
the database; it’s difficult doing this and my job at King’s as well.’

‘How long have you been running the website, Melissa?’

‘It’s only about six months although it seems longer.’

‘And what got you started on Angelica’s Grotto?’

‘I told you, Harold, I stabbed my father twelve times.’

‘In other words, you’re not going to explain.’

She cocked her head, closed one eye, and made a little noise out of the side of her mouth. ‘My history is not part of the deal. Mystery yes, history no.’

‘Will you tell me, at least, why you chose the Ingres painting of Ruggiero and Angelica for your website?’

‘Yes, I will. For centuries, Harold, women have been chained to the rock of male fantasies, so I thought I might as well use naked Angelica to attract the types I wanted to study.’

‘Emotionally dysfunctional types like me.’

‘Right. So far I’ve compiled data on the eighty-one men who’ve been answering my questions as you did. Their fear of women and their feelings of inferiority are shown in how they react to the website material and what they say when we talk one to one – all of them feel less than equal to the female.’

‘Do you think men ever will feel equal to women?’

‘Obviously they can’t feel equal until they
are
equal, and whether or not that’ll ever happen I can’t say. But before any change can happen there has to be recognition of the present situation, and that’s the object of this study.’

‘I’m afraid I’m too old to change, Melissa.’

‘Nobody’s asking you to. I’m not exactly a role model either and I’m too perverse to change, so I guess the two of us will have to carry on being less than perfect.’

‘Is it possible that perversity is natural, that everything generates its own variations?’

‘That’s something else I’d like to look into but it’ll have to wait until I finish this project.’

‘While we talk there’s nobody minding the store.’

‘At this time of day we just let the website run itself. Later we’ll do one-to-ones and take phone calls.’

‘Where’s Leslie now?’

‘He’s working in a porno flick and won’t be back till this evening.’

‘Don’t you worry about AIDS?’

‘We both get tested regularly and we always take precautions.’

‘I can understand the appeal of rough trade, but he’s so, so …’

‘He’s so what, Prof? So black? So well-hung? So good at giving me satisfaction?’

‘Is he producing or performing in this porno flick?’

‘Performing, and he’s a very reliable performer, believe me – much in demand.’

‘The people who make these films, do you associate with them at all?’

‘It’s a company called Labyrinth. They put me on to Lydia. She’s the female lead in
‘Monica’s Monday Night’.
She also appears under different wigs in the other picture stories. She’s very good but she’s not cheap.’

‘Who’s Angelica?’

‘That’s Shannon. I got her from Labyrinth too.’

‘She looks like a Waterhouse nymph.’

‘Who’s Waterhouse?’

‘A Victorian painter. You must have seen reproductions of
Hylas and the Nymphs
or
The Lady of Shalott
here and there?’

‘I don’t recall but the Tennyson poem is certainly a load of crap. If she wanted Lancelot she could have found better ways of getting his attention than dying. That poem is a kind of snuff movie but it’s respectable because they never actually get down to business. Typical wanker chauvinist piggery. And I doubt that Waterhouse’s nymphs ever got up to or down to what Shannon does in a day’s work.’

‘At Labyrinth, are there any women called Kimberly or Tiffany?’

‘Several. Do you want their phone numbers?’

‘Not yet.’ Klein’s mind, like a tongue going into a cavity, kept giving him pictures of Melissa and Leslie doing what the Lady of Shalott and Lancelot didn’t. ‘You said that Leslie was an employee. Does his pay cover sexual services?’

‘Yes, it does. With men I take nothing that I don’t pay for.’

‘What about Lydia? Do you pay her for sex?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Some things I’ll explain, Harold – others not.’

‘And you’re paying me with sex in advance for what you expect to get from me.’

‘I’ve told you: you’ve got the quids and I’ve got the quos. We also have something more but don’t try to define it and don’t try to romanticise it, OK?’

‘OK, Melissa, I promise not to. If you’ll drive me to Oval Underground Station I can make my way home from there.’

‘Leaving in a huff, are we?’

‘In a train, if you’ll drop me off at the station.’

‘So where are we, Prof?’

‘In Rubicon Grove, Lola. I’ll let you know when I’ve made the crossing.’

Nobody said anything in the van on the way to the station. Melissa took Klein’s hand and put it on her thigh and he let it stay there while he spoke to himself in silence.

‘“The sense of danger must not disappear: …”’ said Klein to Melissa on the telephone.

‘“The way is certainly both short and steep,”’ she replied, ‘“However gradual it looks from here; …”’

‘“Look if you like, …”’

‘“But you will have to leap.” Are you leaping?’

‘It seems that way. When can you and Leslie move in?’

‘Are you sure you want us to?’

‘Yes, I’m sure, Melissa.’

‘It’s a strange situation.’

‘That’s what life is, isn’t it?’

‘I mean, I know I’m taking advantage of you but at the same time I know that you want me to.’

‘That’s exactly right – I have no illusions about you and me and this is how I want it.’

‘Well, we can do it tomorrow evening if that’s a good time for you. We’ve only got the website gear and some clothes – no furniture except the tables and file cabinets.’

‘Fine, come ahead whenever you’re ready.’

‘You’ve got two phone lines, right?’

‘Right.’

‘We’ll need four more. I think it usually takes about a week before they can install them.’

‘I’ll order them now.’

‘Thanks. I’m really looking forward to this move, Harold.’

‘So am I, Melissa. Being an old fool is the most fun I’ve had in a long time.’

‘If you’re having fun maybe you’re not such a fool. See you tomorrow. Kiss, kiss, kiss.’

He kissed her back. ‘See you tomorrow.’

That Melissa had been able to quote the Auden poem with him pleased Klein greatly, made him feel that whatever was between them was growing and continually opening up new territory. After he rang off he paced the house restlessly, considering the working and sleeping arrangements. The front bedroom where he and Hannelore had slept would be for Melissa and … ? Him? Or Leslie? A hot wave of irritation flooded over him; he resented having to consider Leslie, resented the idea of yielding place to him. On the other hand, the thought of claiming a regular place in Melissa’s bed in payment for a roof over her head embarrassed him; also the thought of his old body beside her young one every night made him squirm. No, the front bedroom would be for Melissa and Leslie. He would take the back bedroom and the website equipment could be set up in the guest room.

The house now wore a look of surprise and expectancy; encountering him in odd places scratching his head and muttering to himself, it found his presence changed. Standing before the Meissen girl, Klein was argumentative. ‘Why,’ he said, ‘is there such a contradiction in you? You’re a porcelain oxymoron: you’ve got a body that’s made for sin and a face like the Virgin Mary and you’ve never looked at
me once in all these years – you’ve always got your eye on those invisible balls on that invisible pitch that’s behind me when I stand in front of you. What’s your message? Are you trying to tell me that the game is elsewhere, that I’m missing the point?’

Her eyes entranced and dreamy as always, she looked past Klein at the unseen world behind him.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘Maybe I’m mad. It’s the natural state.’

Just don’t get too natural,
said Oannes.