The Perfect 10 (29 page)

An awful song finishes playing as he stands in the doorway.

Christian and Sunny, who have for some reason been slow dancing in the middle of the shop, stare at him moronically. The only noise he can hear is the drip drip drip of water from his saturated woollen sleeves onto the tiled floor.

‘Been jumping in puddles again, Cagney?’ Christian asks.

‘More like swimming in shit,’ he replies, staring coldly at Christian, before glancing at Sunny Weston. She is staring at his wet crotch with her mouth wide open and her eyes even wider. While losing the battle to suppress a smile, she is winning the fight against outright laughter.

‘What?’ Cagney demands, glaring at her. She manages to drag her eyes away from his groin, and meet his gaze.

‘You’re not wearing any trousers,’ she says, incredulous. Cagney spots Christian glancing at her conspiratorially, and she rams her fist into her mouth and bites down hard, turning away to face
Titanic
and
Giant
, in the Leonardo DiCaprio and James Dean section.

‘I am actually seriously cold,’ he says evenly. ‘I would approximate that it is no more than ten degrees outside, leaving me open to any number of infections.’ Cagney lifts up his sopping arms to highlight his predicament.

Christian stares at him with bulbous eyes, his face resembling a cartoon character whose eyes are about to pop out on stalks, as his mouth falls open in unexpected delight. Sunny isn’t making any noise, but he can see her shoulders shaking.

‘Am I allowed to ask what happened?’ Christian examines his manicure to concentrate on not laughing.

Cagney sees Sunny turn around sheepishly, as he opens his mouth to speak, but shuts it again quickly. He is inexplicably reluctant to retell his tale in front of her.

‘Seriously, Cagney, are you OK?’ she asks, with a sudden
look of concern. And rightly so! Who is she to stand there, with his best friend of all people, laughing at him? And why is she all dressed up? She wears a black dress that wraps around her body snugly, and crosses at her chest. He can see the swell of her breasts above the material, and the ravine between them. She wears slouchy boots, ugly but modern; he has seen other girls wearing them, but not so well. She has a scarf twisted at her neck, grey with silver sparkled lines running through it, and two small hard hearts hang from silver strings in her ears. Her hair is very dark. Cagney hasn’t noticed how dark it is before now. She had it pulled back into a ponytail on the day that he first met her, and the dinner party had been candlelit. Her eyes are large and round, almond coloured, the best chocolates in the box, speckled with honey. Her skin tone is even and creamy, she looks like she has just returned from a weekend in Madrid, or Rome, or some hot European city.

‘Can you count my fingers? Can you feel your toes? Are you going to finish your strip?’ she asks earnestly. There is a momentary pause, and then Sunny and Christian simultaneously burst out laughing, and Cagney turns away disgusted.

‘Why are you even here?’ Cagney rounds on Sunny, his blood bubbling with rage. ‘Just to laugh at my expense?’

‘Well, I’ll be honest, I didn’t come with that intention, Cagney, but now that I’m here, and you’re putting on such a good floor show …’

‘Fine. Laugh it up. It hasn’t occurred to you that I might be seriously hurt?’

‘Are you?’

‘That’s hardly the point.’

‘It’s completely the point! You look ridiculous, and if you aren’t hurt, I am going to laugh at you! Or is nobody allowed
to laugh at the great Cagney James? Do you ever even laugh at yourself? My God, it must be such a wild party in your head!’

‘It’s still more fun than the party in his pants,’ Christian mutters under his breath, and moves to the front of the shop to turn the ‘Open’ sign to ‘Closed’.

‘Oh, fantastic. I thought we hadn’t had any psychoanalysis for a while. I love it when you tell me everything there is to know about me, when you have never actually been quiet long enough to hear a word I say.’ Cagney scans her face for a reaction, but she doesn’t bite.

‘Sorry, Cagney, but there is only so much time in the day, I have to prioritise what I take in: the worthwhile and informative, and generally the pleasant and entertaining. Unfortunately the archaic shallow emotionally retarded machismo falls to the bottom of the pile, but then, somebody always has to come last.’

‘I’m shallow? And yet I’m not the one starving myself to death to look like some magazine cover.’

‘I swear you are more obsessed with what I eat and what I weigh than anybody I know! If I go upstairs will there be pictures of me all over your walls, Cagney? Have you been hiding behind cars with your filthy long lenses, snapping me when I’m not looking?’ She bites down on her lower lip, and puts her hands on her hips. Cagney swears she is thrusting her breasts towards him.

‘I couldn’t be less obsessed by you, Sunshine! You couldn’t be further from floating my boat if you were a six-foot Thai girl with an Adam’s apple and hairy hands. You leave me so cold they could store meat on me in July.’

‘It’s my pleasure.’ Sunny smiles sweetly at Cagney.

‘I could see that from the way you were looking at my crotch, Sunshine. Your eyes lit up like fireworks.’ Cagney crosses his arms and raises his eyes.

‘In fairness it looks like more of a sparkler than a rocket, Cagney. A slow fizz rather than a big bang. Still, damp as it is, I imagine you’d have trouble getting it lit anyway …’

Cagney admits it quietly to himself. He likes her nerve.

‘Oh, it rockets for the right kind of sunshine, Sugar, but mouthy and manly don’t pump it up for me. I like my ladies to be ladies.’

‘Once, twice, three times, I’ve heard! I saw your divorce lawyer the other day, parking his Ferrari. He said to send you his best.’

‘And I saw Geoff Capes, and he was asking for his arms back.’

‘Oh, you think me too toned? Although they could never be big enough to support the chip on your shoulder.’

Cagney takes a step forward, and Sunny does the same. They are both growing red in the face, their breathing fast and shallow.

Christian leans forwards on the counter, cupping his chin and is momentarily distracted by the side door slowly opening, and a plaster cast entering the room. Iuan is attached to it, and balances precariously in the doorway in a long black transparent kaftan. Thankfully, Christian can see underpants. Iuan has a crutch under each arm, and hobbles towards Christian.

‘I heard raised voices. Gagging for a bit of excitement, been sat up there all day, wondered what was going on – what is going on?’ Iuan whispers, the whole time watching Cagney and Sunny, who circle, fuming and spitting like rutting bulls in a Spanish ring before him.

‘A kind of magic,’ Christian says, without taking his eyes off them.

Cagney snarls, ‘There was a chip, but it’s gone now. I thought you ate it.’

They have gradually edged forwards. There is barely a
foot between them, less as their heads tilt forward as they do now.

‘I wouldn’t put anything that belonged to you in my mouth, Mr James. I’d worry you’d make me marry you!’

‘And I’d worry about getting it back! Tell me, Sunshine, are you keeping me here because it’s the last time you’ll see me in my boxers, or is there something you want? Your cheeks are a little flushed – I’d hazard a guess you’re excited. That cheat you call a boyfriend not quite cutting the mustard? Or has he just decided to save it for the girl he loves?’

‘I apologise if I’m keeping you, Cagney. Feel free to move along, as any other man might have done, if he were wearing wet shorts and not much else. I think it’s more a case that you can’t drag yourself away. Bewitched and bewildered, by a woman that answers back?’

‘I’m just waiting for the sun to set to see what you turn into.’

‘And I’m just waiting for you to kiss me, so I can slap you hard enough to determine whether those flecks in your hair are your age, or your scalp.’

‘I told you, Sunshine, I’m not brave enough to put anything of mine within three feet of your mouth. You’d chow down on my tongue like a canapé, and then demand a main course!’

Sunny’s face, which was charged with excitement, falls. It breaks the trance, and the whole room inhales at once, coming up for air.

‘Are fat jokes the only jokes you know how to make?’ she asks him.

Cagney looks at her, but doesn’t respond. His face doesn’t betray any emotion, not confusion, nor guilt.

‘Because you didn’t even know me before, and I know I’m not fat now. I mean, is it just the best way you know
of hurting me? Because you’re laughing at who I am …’ Sunny bites her lip quickly, and gulps.

‘I wasn’t the only one making snide remarks,’ Cagney says firmly.

‘You just want to make sure that they really hurt,’ Sunny says, and turns quickly to Christian, who leans next to Iuan on the counter: they both look exhausted from bouncing their heads back and forth, as if they were watching a final on Centre Court.

‘Have you got
Seven Brides for Seven Brothers
? I fancied watching it tonight.’ Sunny looks anywhere but at Cagney.

‘I’ll check.’ Christian clicks the mouse, and taps a few keys, reading the monitor intently. Sunny stands with her head down, biting her lip, ready to leave, while Cagney stares at her, motionless. But she refuses to meet his eye.

Christian looks up after a long quiet minute, embarrassed. ‘Sorry, darling, it’s out … and kind of … overdue …’

‘Oh. Do you know when it’s due back?’

‘Ahh, no, not really. Cagney?’

Cagney turns his head towards Christian. ‘What?’

‘When are you going to bring
Seven Brides for Seven Brothers
back? It’s just that … Sunny wants to rent it … and it’s a couple of weeks overdue …’

Sunny’s jaw locks. Cagney stares at Christian. Iuan looks confused. Christian slowly smiles a small smile.

‘You’ll have it tomorrow,’ Cagney says, and stalks out of the room, with Christian in hot pursuit.

I look at my feet, and try not to cry. I don’t understand why every word I say to him comes out coated in venom, and why he spits back as he does. I like him and I should just admit it, and not be ashamed, or apologetic. I should march up those stairs now, and throw open his door, lean on the
doorframe with the light behind me, and say, ‘I like you, Cagney. Kiss me.’ And not be scared that he will laugh and tell me to leave …

There is a crazy guy standing behind the counter, smiling at me. He is wearing a sheer black dress. His hair is ginger and spiked, and a pair of crutches lean either side of him. He is really staring at me. He may be having a minor epileptic fit, the kind that leaves its victims motionless for a minute, and then they snap back into life wondering what the hell just happened.

‘I’m Sunny,’ I say, and smile.

‘Oh, I know. I saw that.’

I don’t know what that means. He has a lovely voice; he doesn’t speak, he sings.

‘I’m Iuan. I work alongside Cagney.’

‘Oh, you too? What a shame.’ My disappointment in anybody involved with Cagney’s business is tangible. I can’t imagine what role Iuan performs, but I think it must be administrative, or even legal … or possibly phone sex? He might be good at that, whispering naughty words in a beautiful baritone.

He is still smiling at me.

‘Are you on painkillers?’ I ask.

‘Lots,’ he says, and I smile and nod my head. I knew.

‘What have you done?’ I gesture at the plaster poking out from beneath the counter.

‘I’ve broken my foot.’

‘How?’

‘I was showing Cagney my full moon.’

‘OK.’

‘So you’re Sunny?’

‘Yep. Why, have you heard of me?’

‘Howard, another associate of myself and Cagney, well … he thinks that Cagney might fall in love with you,
although Cagney said not in a million years or something. It’s my birthday next Saturday.’

‘OK.’ I think I need to speak to Howard, whoever he is.

‘Would you like to come to my party?’

‘Where is it?’

‘In here. Christian is clearing away the stock for the night. It’s fancy dress.’

‘What’s the theme?’

‘Wales.’

‘OK.’ I say again.

‘Don’t come as a leek, though. I already have two of those.’

‘OK.’ I may go. It might be a laugh. He looks as if he might know an odd crowd. The costumes at the very least will be entertaining.

‘I’m not just asking you to make trouble. I mean, between you and Cagney.’

‘Can I bring my boyfriend?’

‘No.’ He means it, he isn’t kidding.

‘Right, I’m going to go.’

‘Great. I’ll see you on Saturday from eight then. I’ll be thirty-three.’

‘I’ll see you then.’

I walk quickly home. As I pass the entrance to the alley I notice that somebody has scrawled ‘LOVE LANE’ on the wall in big white childish handwriting. I want to run the rest of the way home but I don’t. I walk quickly with my head up and wish I had somebody, just at this moment, to hold my hand.

Christian narrowly avoids the door to Cagney’s office slamming in his face. He pushes it back open without knocking. Cagney is already standing behind his desk, and the golden light from the streetlamp outside his window gives him an ethereal glow.