Sugar Mummy (23 page)

Seth decides he can handle this one himself. 'Mainly rock. Some
might see elements of grunge or even R&B in it but we don't want to be labelled.'

'No,' says Libby gratefully.

 
'Oooof, you don't want
to be labelled,' says Vinny, as if it's a problem he's frequently suffered from
in his career.

'Oh, no,' I add, 'I hate being labelled.'

'Detest it,' says Vinny with feeling. Libby looks at us both
for a moment.

'Where have you played?' I ask. Seth gives it some thought. Libby
also looks quizzical, taking her cue from him after a quick, sideways glance.

'Well, er, Christ, it's not easy in London at the moment. My
drummer's got a contact at the Dublin Castle so we're hoping something'll turn up
there but, er, you know it's difficult. We gigged at North London Poly last month,
that was OK.'

'They have a battle of the bands, once a month,' explains Libby
sweetly. Seth stiffens slightly and Libby realises that she has rather given the
game away on that one.

'Do you do birthdays and bar mitzvahs and the like?' asks Vinny.

Fortunately at that moment the girls come back with our drinks.
Pints all round. I would have preferred a Bud or a Scotch but after the fifty-pound-note
episode I decide to play it safe and try to fit in. Even then I haven't got it quite
right: they have bitter, I have lager. Suddenly I have a longing for ice-cold champagne
served in one of Marion's heavy cut crystal glasses.

In his usual gloomy, deadpan way, Vinny tells a story about being
in the kitchenette at work and reaching up to the cupboard for the coffee jar and
accidentally grabbing this fierce old bag's tit or 'ample bosom', as he describes
it on the third retelling. Vicky and Jane are in hysterics. But I don't think that
it is just Vinny's story that is making them giggle so helplessly, that's just an
alibi for a private girly joke.

After a while Jane suggests we check out the jukebox. I volunteer
to go with her. We squeeze out and cross the crowded, smoky bar to the machine.
A bloke in a blue blazer knocks into me and then gives me a scornful look by way
of apology.

'Hope you don't mind the pub,' she says above the noise.

'Mind it? Why should I? It's fine.'

'I thought it might be a bit of a come-down for you. I'm sure
you're used to something slightly more upmarket.'

 
'Not at all,' I mutter,
wondering how much she knows then ask, 'Has the board allocated resources for this
little extra, then?'

'Heh?'

'Have you budgeted for the jukebox?'

'No, I haven't, actually. Give us some money,' she says, leading
the way.

'Oh, OK,' I say.

'And it doesn't take fifty pound notes, I don't think.'

'Ha, ha.' Better to make a joke of it. She consults the list.
I find two pound coins and she takes them silently. 'Now, what would you like?'
she muses.

'I don't mind, what are you into?'

'Well ...'she says, still looking down the list, beginning to
frown with concentration and then disappointment that nothing leaps out at her.

'Let me guess,' I say, 'nothing too mainstream, too commercial.'

'Well, not Boyzone, I don't think.'

'And not Abba.'

'Wrong! I like Abba, actually.'

'Oh, that's interesting.'

'And what about you? Something nice and safe and yuppie. Have
they got any Dire Straits, I wonder-' I laugh indignantly and try to interrupt but
she carries on '- or Enya.'

'Wrong on both counts.'

'What do you like, then?'

I consult the list. 'Erm. Brand New Heavies?'

She pulls a face and mulls it over. 'A bit self-consciously trendy.
I don't quite believe that.'

'Don't, then. Look, here's one for you - Radiohead.' I point
to it on the list and immediately my Rolex peeks from under my sleeve, its face
catching a stray spotlight. Jane doesn't notice - or at least pretends she doesn't.

'Not bad. A bit over-exposed now, though. Even my mum's read
about them in the Daily Mail. I bet they've got some of those old early eighties
dance tracks for you - Cool and the Gang or, er, oh look, Randy Crawford. Perfect
for dancing with the secretaries from work on a Friday night when they've dragged
you off to a club.' She begins to sway about, rolling her eyes and smiling insanely.
I can't help laughing.

'Well, you can't like Madonna,' I say. 'What about the Cranberries?
I can see you almost dancing to them at the Students' Union.'

'Ha, ha. I do like Madonna, actually. She's such a strong woman,
a post-feminist role model.'

'Right on, sister.' She gives me a sarcastic smile.

'What's that?' she says, pushing my hand gently away. I feel
a slight thrill as we touch but if Jane does too she doesn't give anything away.

'Blimey, Morrissey,' I say. 'A bit before your time.'

'No, quite like him, actually. Even though I don't know what
"before your time" means, you patronizing bastard. How old are you?'

I think about it for a moment and I realise that, actually, I
don't have to lie this time. 'Twenty-four - and you?'

'Twenty-two. There's nothing in it.' Still looking down the list,
she hesitates for a moment as we both realise what that sounds like. 'No, I used
to listen to my older sister's tapes all the time.'

'Why do you work in Paperchase?' Why did I ask that? She looks
slightly surprised and turns back to the jukebox.

'Why not? It's quite fun. It pays the rent. Besides, I don't
know what I want to do yet. I might go travelling next month.'

'Where to?'

'Probably South America. One of my friends from university is
teaching English as a foreign language in Buenos Aires.'

'That'd be fun - the Paris of the Southern Hemisphere.'

'Sorry?'

'That's what they call Buenos Aires - the Paris of the Southern
Hemisphere.'

'Oh, right. Well, I haven't actually done any research about
it yet, like I said - I'm still thinking,' she says slightly irritably. What did
I do? Did it sound like I was showing off? 'Here, let's have the Eurhythmics, I
love them. My sisters used to play them all the time.' She consults the chart and
presses the code. 'Why do you sell space?'

'Media sales?'

'Media sales, then. S'cuse me.' She pulls a face.

'Oh, fuck knows. It's a job. I wanted to get into advertising.
Once upon a time. I suppose I just fell in to it. My mum and dad think it's a good
thing.' I don't dare tell her that it was the promised salary which caught my eye
first. There is a pause as we both look through the remaining songs. I wonder again
what Vinny has told her. I suggest our final track and she casually agrees. We get
back to the table.

I turn to say something to Vinny but he is talking very intently
to Libby. 'You see most people think you start with the big things and then move
up to the smaller ones, you know - your croutons, corn, grated cheese, bacon bits,
whatever. I might even include kidney beans in that.' He thinks for a moment. 'Yes,
kidney beans too. But in fact you start with these because they provide you with
a good solid foundation. Then you can add the larger pieces. Myself I'd go for tomatoes,
cucumber, whatever. Then you can balance the really big pieces like lettuce leaves
on top.' Libby looks at him the way most people look at their financial advisers
after they've been urged to put a bit more aside: for a pension.

'Vinny knows what he's talking about,' I say to Libby. 'He can
pile it up a foot high at Pizza Hut.'

'I've been banned from the salad bar in three branches in Central
London,' says Vinny proudly. Vicky looks at us both in amazement and then at Jane.

When my choice comes on the jukebox it's not what I thought it
was. It's a muzacky soul track and I feel embarrassed about requesting it. It's
such a responsibility choosing these things.

We leave the pub at closing time - our kitty runs out quite a
bit earlier so we spend the last three quarters of an hour or so smoking a couple
of furtive joints courtesy of Vicky and absent-mindedly tearing up beer mats while
we talk - or the others talk and I watch, wondering what Vicky and Jane have been
talking about. Libby, who works at the DSS in Neasden, tells us about a man who
completely lost it and leapt over the counter to attack the bloke who was talking
to him.

'That's terrible,' says Jane. 'What happened?'

'Oh, well, he was suspended.'

'What? Because a claimant attacked him?' demands Vicky.

'No,' says Libby in her little girl's voice, 'he was working
for the DSS. The guy he attacked was a claimant. He was, you know, really getting
on his nerves.' Vinny and I laugh. Libby looks bemused and Vicky mutters, 'Jesus.'
I think she is talking about Libby.

Somehow a round-the-table quiz starts. We start with the first
record everyone has bought, and then the worst record. Mine is 'Eye of the Tiger'.
Everyone laughs, including me. Confession must be good for the soul.

'That is bad,' says Jane.

'What was yours?' I ask.

'Probably "The Final Countdown".' We all laugh again
and I catch Jane's eye for a moment. She looks away.

After that, the conversation is slow and full of longrunning
in-jokes, so I don't say much. But when we get up I find the thick, warm atmosphere
of the pub and the long evening of slow boozing has left me pleasantly mellowed.

Outside, Vinny and I wish Seth good luck with the band and then
he, Vicky and Libby set off for the Tube station and the three of us walk back to
ours. I am glad that our farewell consists of waves and shouts of 'Cheers'. I don't
even mind Vicky winking and miming a telephone receiver at Jane. Kissing Marion's
friends goodbye is always so exhausting even if you can remember who does single
kisses, who does double kisses (usually a safe bet) and who triple kisses, it still
takes forever to say goodbye and then if you have done all yours you still have
to wait, an awkward spectator, while everyone else finishes their elaborate choreography
of handshakes and kisses. I am sure that is why evenings with Marion's friends
seem never-ending.

We walk back in silence and I notice that Jane has put her arm
through Vinny's in a sisterly sort of way. We stop for a takeaway curry. Jane has
a vegetable thing, I have a chicken bhuna and Vinny has his usual, which he doesn't
even have to ask for now because they recognise him as soon as he walks in. He describes
it as a Chernobyl vindaloo. Then he makes his usual joke about nuclear 'phal' out
and burps violently.

'Vinny!' says Jane.

'Fucking animal,' I add.

We eat them in the kitchen at Jane's insistence, saying little
as we realise how hungry we are and then we retire to the living room with mugs
of tea to see if there is anything on telly. At about half-past eleven Vinny yawns
and says 'night'.

'Goodnight' say Jane and I in unison. Embarrassing. It only emphasizes
the fact that there are just the two of us now, sitting in a darkness broken only
by the flickering light of the TV.

We stare at the box where two alternative comedians discuss wanking
and zits with a studio audience of thirtysomethings who are obviously wondering
why they splashed out on a babysitter for this rubbish. Eyes fixed on the picture,
slightly embarrassed, we half-laugh every now and then. If we're not laughing why
are we watching? And if we don't watch, what else do we do? I find myself wishing
Vinny was still here.

"Scuse me a minute,' I say and leap up off the settee. I
dash upstairs to find Vinny, who is in the bathroom brushing his teeth.

'Vinny,' I whisper urgently, half-closing the door behind me.

'Ussh?' he says, through a mouthful of toothbrush and froth.

'What have you told Jane about me?'

'Usshing,' he says, looking alarmed.

'What? Didn't tell her about my, you know, other job?' I can't
bring myself to say 'escort' even to Vinny.

'No.'

'Oh, good. Thanks. Did you tell her I was seeing someone else?'

He looks slightly apologetic and then removes the toothbrush
and spits out, a procedure which seems to take about half an hour.

'She wanted to know, mate. Wondered where you were going the
other evening when she was just arriving.'

'Oh, OK.'

'Sorry,' he says.

'Oh, don't worry.' My mind is racing. Jane must be wondering
what we're talking about. I'd better get back.

'Thanks.'

Halfway down the stairs I turn and run back.

'Ow wha'?' says Vinny, his mouth full of toothpaste again.

'Did you say how serious it was?'

He spits out once more. 'No, I just said you were seeing a woman
and that's where you were off to that night, s'all.'

'OK.' I think about it. Vinny picks up the toothpaste again.

'Woman? Did you say how old she was?'

'No, 'course not, I don't know how old she is.'

'No, sure. And you didn't say where she lived?'

Vinny looks exasperated. 'No, I don't know her bloody postcode
either. For Christ's sake, Jane obviously likes you. Just get back there and don't
come back - I'm running out of toothpaste here. Jesus! She's a lovely girl. I'm
not going to tell anyone you're playing away from home.'

'I'm not playing away from home, it's not that kind of relationship,'
I say quickly.

No, it's not that kind of relationship. It's not going to last
for ever with Marion, certainly not after what Channing said. I almost shudder at
the memory of our dinner. Besides, I've already been unfaithful to her once. In
fact, thinking about it, I might just cut my losses now. To be really brutal about
it, it was fun while it lasted, we had a good time together. Having the Rolex is
great, assuming she doesn't want it back, and Paris was brilliant but ... well,
it can't go on forever. I know that.

I'm pretty self-conscious about being seen in restaurants with
Marion - especially when she gets the menu with the prices and I don't. A normal
relationship with a normal girl suddenly seems so attractive, so right. No more
playing lapdog and no more evenings spent with a bunch of extras from Dynasty. Instead,
someone I could relax and be myself with, someone I just have something in common
with. Besides, after Helen, I've got some catching up to do in the snogging stakes,
haven't I?