The Critic
By
Clive William Carr
Smashwords Edition
The Critic
Copyright © 2012 by Clive William Carr
Smashwords Edition
License Notes
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‘Ah come in come in good, good. I’m so glad you were able to make it at such short notice.’
‘How could I refuse…’ the man in his early thirties replied with more than just a hint of irony as he was ushered into the study full of cigar smoke and dim halos of inadequate lighting.
‘Yes yes quite.’ the other older man agreed with little in the way of an apology if any. ‘Well be that as it may and all that, but what I needed to know just couldn’t wait. I hope I haven’t pulled you away from anything too important have I?’ standing silent the younger man took a moment to study the other’s face as he wondered if this really was the right time to acquaint his senior with the intricacies of his personal life? No was the answer. ‘Oh but where are my manners? Please take a seat. Would you like a drink or a cigar? Sorry I forgot you don’t smoke do you? Well I hope you don’t mind if I do? Well do you?’ the older man bullied.
‘Of course not no sir, why should I? I mean.’
‘Yes yes good good.’ the older man blustered for a final time as he at long last realised that possibly, in this particular situation this was not the correct approach. ‘Sorry, sorry.’ he apologised before clearing his throat so as to begin again. ‘No, that wasn’t quite the right tact in this particular circumstance, now was it?’ (I really don’t know sir.’ the other was thinking of replying, but instead he decided to do as he usually did in all those other previous situations just like this.) ‘No, no, what we need to do if we are in any way to resolve this issue, is to approach it on a level playing field as though we are both equals.’ the man of letters unintentionally flattered with his use of the words ‘we’ and ‘equals’ as he thought aloud. However, after a certain amount of time had passed with nothing else being said, the younger one timidly enquired:
‘Sir?’ even raised his hand. ‘I say Sir?’
‘Yes what is it?’ the older man returned to his usual irritable self.
‘Well if you don’t mind me asking, what is all this about, exactly?’ the younger man replied in a tone that not only surprised them both, but also signalled a new development in their working relationship. ‘I mean why am I here? What is it you want? Is there a crisis a problem or what? I mean at this moment in time I am totally in the dark, at a loose end, up a…’
‘Enough.’ the other man smiled. ‘I’ll tell you. No, I’ll do better than that I’ll show you. No, no, I’ll go one better than that even, I’ll do the one thing I’ve never done in my whole entire life before. I’ll give you as much information on a subject as I have and allow you the opportunity to come to your own conclusions. What do you say to that?’
The younger man searched for the correct response and at long last found it.
‘I’m honoured.’ His senior smiled broadly as though satisfied that he had taught him well. ‘So what is it?’
‘This.’ A small slim file was slapped in the young man’s hand as he now sat effeminately in a leather chair with his thin legs crossed high at the thighs like a woman with a skirt on. ‘It’s something I came across whilst going through a few of the personal belongings that had been bequeathed to me on Zimmerman’s death and I had rather carelessly been too busy to concern myself with them before. Unbelievable I know, considering the debt I owe to the man, but at the time there was just so much going on I just got all caught up in the excitement of the moment.’ The older man pulled himself away from his reminiscences. ‘But as you know I am now attempting to write the definitive biography on the man. And it was whilst I was sifting through all the information I had on him I at long last took the time to read through them in the hope of gaining just a little more incite and background detail on the man. Something that might finally explain what it was that made him tick.’
‘And did you?’
‘Did I what?’ the man enquired somewhat vacantly.
‘Find what made him tick?’
‘No not exactly.’ the man smiled as he poured out the drink he had promised earlier. ‘This won’t cloud your judgement will it?’ he asked just before he handed over the glass.
‘No.’ the other replied all too seriously, unaware he was being made fun of.
‘So what is it then?’ he asked as he moved to put the glass on the table at his side.
‘It’s a sort of…’ the man stalled as though lost for words, well the right words at any rate. ‘I’ll tell you what, why don’t you just read it first. I can tell by your hands that you’re dying too. It won’t take long and everything is in there.’
‘Everything?’
‘Yes even some incite into your own personal obsession: ‘Wrey’.’
‘What honestly?’
‘Oh yes, I know all about your own personal infatuation with her and your desire to make your mark in the literary world by writing a ground breaking biography of someone I have been told you think has been unfairly overlooked.’
‘I. I. I…’
‘It’s alright I don’t take it personally, a bit of ambition is good in a man, so is some healthy competition. So please’ he waved his hand. ‘Read on, I’m sure you’ll find it as illuminating as I did.’
‘And you?’ the man looked puzzled for a moment.
‘Oh I see what you mean. What will I be doing in the meantime? Well I’ve got a copy of some notes I need to reread through. Oh and talking of notes, there are a few pages I slipped in the back of a first draft I once wrote, which I unthinkingly added when I noted he had put his obituary in there. But since I bothered to read the rest of it I’m not too sure. See what you think anyway?’
They both looked at each other as one silently demanded greater clarification from the other. ‘Also because of the nature of its contents I can not afford to let it out of my sight for even one moment, so I’ll just be sitting here. Particularly as much of my very own success and reputation, as will yours, have no doubts about that young man, hang on how you interpret the information disclosed within. And I use the word ‘interpret’ most cautiously. So as I’ve already said previously: read on. I mean I wouldn’t have called you at this hour if I didn’t want your full and immediate attention now would I?’
‘No, I would suppose not.’ the younger man replied thoughtfully before finally opening up the file to read whilst the older man at last sat back in his own chair to smoke his cigar and watch him.
Title: The Critic
Everyone, or so they say, has at least one book inside them. Now whether that book would be of merit, is not really for me to assert, unless of course, I was requested to do so in my professional capacity as an ‘Art Critic’. Then if that was the case, and I was charged with the task of making a critical appraisal of the work, I would initially request to ‘defer judgement’ until I had had the opportunity to engage in some extensive research so I could be assured of making an ‘informed’ judgement of the ‘work’. As there is nothing I detest more than a poorly researched, hastily tacked together analysis and critique of any artistic endeavour.
Now in order for me to make any form of critical assessment, I would usually start by first examining the ‘author’s’ supposed artistic ‘credentials’ and background to ascertain whether they in fact meet all the ‘standard’ criteria. And when I say ‘examine’, what I really mean by that is: investigate their educational achievements, political affiliations, religious teachings and sexual leanings, as well as their general standing in their own particular field of expertise. As nothing is more telling of a persons talent than their background (upbringing, education and status in society.)
Now in reference to my own literary endeavour, I can not, no matter how much I may desire to do so to the contrary, be anything less than totally subjective. That said, being I must also adhere to the system of assessment roughly laid out above, I have to come to the only conclusion possible, which is essentially; being I have already ticked all the ‘right’ boxes in terms of my ‘background’, I must have a story that is worth telling.
Moreover, I would personally think myself something less than a fraud, if I did not feel justified in arguing that this story truly is of merit. Simply because it attempts to describe; not only how a man can lose the only happiness he’d ever known, but that he would do it simply to pacify his own vanity’s distorted requirements for revenge.
Now in order to do my story justice, I feel I would do well to follow some of the ‘classic writers’ lead and start by first introducing the book’s main protagonists, their flaws, as well as give a thumb nail sketch of the world which they inhabited.
In order to do this I think I should start by saying that the first time I ever saw Wrey, was in the foyer of the building I and everyone I ever associated with, worked in at one time or another. I and my long time associate Matine, -I won't dare to embarrass either of us now by calling him my friend anymore,- were both standing in thoughtless silence at the head of a tiny crowd patiently awaiting the elevator. When much to everyone's annoyance, a woman who was dressed in the fashion of someone a lot younger than herself, came along and rudely stood right in front of us. That person, as if she really needed any introduction, was Wrey.
Not that I actually knew that at the time. No, all I knew then was that she was an inconsiderate bitch. Who, judging by her general demeanour and geometric good looks of acute angles and deep set piecing eyes, was well used to getting her own way. Though why I should make the point of saying that, I really don't know? Particularly as everyone I ever associated with always seemed to get precisely whatever they wanted and whenever they asked for it, simply because all of us belonged to a particularly privileged section of society. However and be that as it may, on this particular occasion and for some peculiar reason it really did annoy me. Why? Oh I don't know why. Maybe it was simply the way she looked to be really enjoying puffing away at her cigarette. Or maybe it was because it brought into sharp focus how the rest of us were so scared of being labelled a ‘reactionary fascist’ if we even thought to infringe on another’s civil liberties, that we each forced ourselves to ignore the ‘No Smoking’ sign she was posing under.
Though what I can now admit was possibly closer to the truth, was the fact that she, along with my ‘best friend’, epitomised that one thing I could never aspire to even if I wished to.
Now in order to describe that very thing, I must first point out that when one moves in a privileged section of society, where supposedly all the playing fields have been levelled. Then somehow the basic rules of defining superiority must once again be somehow, surreptitiously reinvented. This can of course most easily be done by simply moving the goal posts. (I do apologise for my excessive use of sporting analogies. But they are always so popular and often a most excellent method of conceit on my behalf, especially when I wish to convince myself that I really do possess the ‘common’ touch.) Now what that actually meant in real terms was quite simply: where everyone was of a high social standing, it became obvious that who you ‘were’ really mattered very little, compared to how you looked whilst you were being it, which really began to matter a great deal.
Or, to put it even more bluntly: Matine with his healthy athletic good looks, I won’t bother to describe his hair or eye colour as that like fashion changed every week, had everything going for him, just as Wrey did with her lithe, fit body. Whilst I, with my small eyes, thin nose and thick set body, was not so lucky.
Well, whatever the actual reason was why I was so annoyed doesn’t really matter now. What does matter though, was just at the moment when I felt just about ready to make to make my move and communicate to Matine all my displeasure. I realised I’d have to bite my tongue. Moreover, I quickly deduced, via a number of subtle observations I’d made, that I would also have to put my ill defined argument on ‘hold’ for a while at least, and just simply wait like a junior in a law firm, whilst he began to wind up his well tried act.
Though here again, I wonder why I should have to talk so disparagingly of a system I had personally seen work time and time again without fail, is also beyond me. Maybe it was because at the time I was jealous of his success. Or what was more likely, I was simply just so bloody annoyed to think that he was not even going to bother to listen to, let alone concur with my rant on inconsiderate and selfish people. Or as Matine was always happy to describe it, especially in the company of others:
‘Oh you mean subject number three in your all time top ten of winging complaints.’
Which in itself is really pretty rich, when one realises that the same insult was coming from a person whose favourite opening gambit was usually: ‘Do you come here often?’ But being even he could see that a line like that was somewhat inappropriate for those travelling in a lift, he went for the more 'hands on' approach of 'unintentionally' manoeuvring her into a comer. Then after the lift had already passed at least two floors, and both had grown accustomed to the fact that their all too intimate predicament was going to remain unresolved for quite some time to come, Matine at long last felt it right to make his move by tentatively seeking out her gaze. Where upon, the instant he had assured himself that he had her full and undivided attention, he then moved in with one of his most enchanting of smiles and held it until she eventually, -even politely perhaps,- reciprocated. After which it really wouldn't have really mattered what he had said, as he knew as well as I did, that he had won. Not that Matine had ever been brought up to be as complacent as that, not even in the one thing we both knew he was more than just good at, and just to prove it, he added almost in a whisper:
‘I really don't think it’s right for you to flirt with me so, and yet not even give me your name.’
Yes that was all it seemed to take for him, oh and not forgetting his unbelievable good looks of course, to break the ice and get back on track with the rest of his usual routine. Furthermore, in terms of what I am attempting to relate here, it was also the process via which both of us gained our first introductions to Wrey and the ‘uncomfortable’ world our association with her would draw us into. I use the word ‘uncomfortable’ as opposed to ‘strange’, as by the time our associations with each other had all but run their natural courses, all three of us had been forced to endure a period in our lives that in one way or another would defeat us all.
Though why I am already introducing the circumstances of our relationships demise is beyond me. Particularly as I like to pride myself on having a reputation for being almost over zealous in my desire to reach a well researched methodical conclusion to whatever task I am set. Furthermore, being that is the case, I now propose to clarify just how I personally came to get involved with Wrey, as that particular detail of our liaison still remains unclear. Especially as from what has so far been written, it would appear that Matine was the person who was the main protagonist in this set piece. And the main protagonist he would have stayed, if it wasn’t for the fact that whilst arranging his first date with Wrey, he rather stupidly forgot to consult his ‘personal planner’. Now if he had, he would have instantly realised that he had stupidly double booked their clandestine meeting to clash with another engagement he had already arranged. One, that due to his own overblown idea of what was ultimately ‘appropriate’ for him in regards to his own long term social status, he knew he could on no account fail to attend. And that was doubly true, if he wanted to keep both his and her respective families totally happy or ‘entirely sweet’ as he was keen on saying.
‘Oh dear Matine, what a tight little spot you seem to have gotten yourself into.’ I remember scoffing as we continued down the corridor to our appropriate areas of work. ‘Oh and tell me one more time if you will, just why it was, that you thought it so important that neither of you should take down the others details, like a phone number, or last names at least?’
‘Oh come on Corporal don’t be so...’ whined Matine pathetically. ‘You know w…’
‘Oh yes I remember now. It’s all part of your infallible patented ‘technique’ that you’ve built upon during your years of intensive study into the psyche and makeup of women.’
‘That’s ri…’
‘Yes if I remember rightly. You honestly believe that your line of approach works better than most simply because you make it so bloody difficult for a prospective victim to refuse your invitation. Even if they do have second thoughts afterwards.’
‘Clever eh?’ he suddenly perked up. ‘You see I base a lot of my early groundwork on one: establishing guilt. And then two: reinforcing the emotive idea that it would be very wrong of them to disappoint me. You see, I know as well as the next person, that up until then, I’ve not really given them the chance to say no. But in the interim, -the ‘cooling off period’ as us professionals like to call it,- the ‘punter’ is more than likely to have seconds thoughts and wish to decline my initial offer.’ ‘Yes.’ I remembered nodding with blatant disinterest as I pushed open another fire door and he stepped through gesticulating with enthusiasm. ‘But being that I have made it almost impossible for them to tell me so other than face to face, they are left with no alternative, unless they are extremely rude that is, other than to meet me.’
‘And?’
‘And what?’ he replied un-appreciatively as he looked me up and down, and then a second later, as though he had been politely slapped out of a trance and told to remember his manners, he added chirpily: ‘Oh yes, and of course they never are that rude because I have already judged by our first encounter what kind of person they ultimately are.’
‘So?’
‘So what?’ he again echoed absently.
‘So what do you do in situations like this?’ I found myself asking through gritted teeth. Though by the time I’d got to offering: ‘Just let her get away?’ I was pleased to note my tone had mellowed appreciably.
‘No!’
‘What do you mean ‘no’?’ I asked as I pushed open yet another fire door. ‘What does it matter to you if now and then let one slip away?’ Yet the instant I said it, I realised, just as though it was the value of ‘Y’ I’d been attempting to deduce from an equation I’d been wrestling with, that I had been approaching the whole matter from completely the wrong angle. More to the point, for the first time ever, I realised with some surprise, how he personally viewed the whole business as a matter of pride. Which again was rather remiss of me, especially as when I did consider it, I very quickly realised that his whole persona was very much rooted, identified with that of being a ‘ladies man’. Not that I was actually given much more time to muse on such things, as by then Matine had already stopped us both by laying a hand on my shoulder so he could once again look me up and down and shake his head as if to say:
‘You just don’t get it do you?’
And I suppose that up until then, I hadn’t got it, had I? The same as I didn’t get that because the conquest of this woman, like all the women who had gone before, meant so much to him, he was even prepared to take the risk of using me as a temporary substitute, his ‘proxy’ as he laughingly called me, whether I cared for it or not.
So it was that that evening and despite my half hearted arguments to the contrary, it was I instead of Matine, who turned up rather later than even he had suggested, in a bid to be ‘fashionably’ late. The same as it was I rather than Matine who moved towards Wrey in a manner that betrayed a lot more of my underlining emotions than even I would have wished to have displayed. If only I had been aware of them at the time. Luckily for me though, Wrey gave me only the most cursory of glances as she momentarily broke away from her mobile phone conversation to take a sip from her cocktail and another less hurried drag from her cigarette.
God, I really must admit that I personally, really did find her quite stunningly attractive with her rich auburn hair and exquisitely proportioned features. Yet, saying that, I still remember remarking to myself at the time, just like I was once playing the aloof expert scrutinising a piece of ‘Objet d’art’; that she still lacked that one, small, intangible something that would have made her truly beautiful. Which was lucky, I suppose, as it at least gave me cause to remember why I was there in the first place. As well as allow myself the opportunity to add another item to the list of things I found contemptible about her. Not that I actually needed too, as I had already decided long before I had even met her, and as I’ve said already, that she was your typical get whatever you want without really trying type of person. Furthermore, it also meant, that apart from any number of other self-contradictory traits that she was bound to exhibit, she was also extremely superficial. So superficial in fact that I had already discerned from my brief observation of her, that she possessed a personality and spirit only slightly less shallow than the weight of her own lip-gloss.
Oh yes, I had definitely decided from the very first second I noticed her standing in front of us in the foyer of the XXX building, that it didn’t matter how much I personally found her physically attractive, and I did find her physically attractive. Let me assure you of that. My more ‘morally ethical value system’ had already decided that she was an absolute whore. Furthermore, she was the type of Whore; as if there can be any other, who by association, sold herself and anyone she ever came into contact with, cheap.
‘Wrey?’ I politely enquired.
‘Yes’ she stretched the word rather wearily. Then a moment or two later, after I had been left waiting whilst she finished texting a message, she looked up from her phone and instantly recognising me from the morning, added particularly tactlessly, well I thought so at any rate. ‘Oh it’s you. I thought I recognised you from this morning. You’re Matine’s hanger on aren’t you?’
‘What?’ I recoiled with just the right amount of discomfort, though I had already begrudgingly given her points for originality, no matter how much I was loathed to do so. ‘What do you mean: ‘hanger on’?’
‘No sorry, I shouldn’t have said that should I?’ she apologised with a cold smile on her face. ‘No, what I really should have said was stooge.’ she smirked.
Stooge?’ I again overreacted like a blustering buffoon, though once again I felt myself being somewhat swayed by her rather engaging style of approach, albeit it being completely incongruous with the character I had so far endowed her with. Though that was of course its attraction and charm as I well knew. As I’d often deliberately insulted people whose feelings and opinions I cared very little for, only to find them flattered by all the attention they were receiving, just as though it was four columns of ‘bad publicity’.
‘No not stooge? Well how about toady or sycophant? Whichever you think suits you better.’ she continued to smile tauntingly as she played with the empty cocktail glass in her hand and gloated over the effect she was having upon me. Right up until the moment that a waiter interrupted her vision as he moved between us to take away one glass and replace it with another. It was just a few seconds, but that was apparently all the time she needed to extinguish one cigarette and light another of the many I could see she had smoked whilst waiting. -Though I later discovered and not to my amusement, that she smoked just as many whether she was waiting for somebody or not.
‘So what are you here for?’ she enquired with well-practised indifference. ‘Is it by any chance to tell me that Matine is unable to make it?’ I nodded. ‘Oh what a surprise.’ she again smiled to herself knowingly, as she first blew out some smoke and then rudely turned away from me for a second to look into the crowd and compose her next set of thoughts. During which time she also took another sip of her crystal clear cocktail with a cherry and slice of lime floating on top. ‘I don’t suppose you have by any chance been asked by Matine to make his apologies for him, have you?’ I answered in the affirmative. ‘Oh I see.’ she again smiled to herself as she moved her head to direct her gaze down upon the table. ‘And would it really be that much more presumptuous of me if I was to also proffer, that between the two of you, you had furthermore come to the conclusion that maybe, if I wouldn’t mind, possibly just this once and this once only, you could stand in for him and attempt to entertain me for the night, -have you um?’ she enquired in a distant, distracted manner that I personally found a whole lot more easier and comfortable to deal with. In fact, despite my own self opinionated rationale, that told me for my own sake to loath her, I couldn’t help but warm to the idea of spending an evening in her company. I mean, what harm could it do? It was all a game of chance and she really did possess a certain something.
Why yes.’ I smiled reading all the ‘signs’ and moving to place my hand on the back of the chair opposite her and sit myself down. ‘That is precisely what we thought, how astute of you. And there was I thinking you were really quite…’ but before I could finish my somewhat backhanded compliment, I had already been interrupted.
‘No not really!’ she shook her head dismissively. ‘It’s just I often find myself in this position.’
‘Really?’ I replied my curiosity whetted.
‘Oh yes, it seems I’m always attracting the kind of loser who has to get his best, and I must say, as in this case here, typically much more attractive friend to make a date for him. And then lo and behold just when I’ve got myself already for expecting something special, who should turn up with all the usual spiel about the other being unable to attend etc., but the loser, the hanger on, the… Oh and tell me, had we as yet decided on whether you were more the toad or the sycophant as yet?’
‘er, er, er…’ I stumbled, surprised at how unusually difficult I was finding it to come up with something suitably witty and scathing to say in reply. Not that she appeared to have any intention of listening to it, even if I had been able to come up with anything, which I hadn’t. No, instead she was more concerned with quickly finishing off her drink and making moves to retrieve her clutch bag from my side of the table. Though before she did finally take her leave of me, and so leave me feeling totally bereft of any justice in the ‘fair is fair’ department, she did just add, so that neither of us should have any doubts as to just how popular she truly was:
‘It really is rather degrading of both you and Matine to think that a woman of my standing can be treated in such a way. And what is even more insulting to my mind, convince yourselves that I really wouldn’t have anything better to do with my time than waste it on the likes of you. Not to mention the fact that I’d already had a premonition about tonight and thought that something like this might occur. Which is why, I’m pleased to say, I had the good sense not to cancel my previous invitation to something altogether a lot more worthwhile, thank you very much.’
Immediately after which, I was then treated to the wholly spectacular sight of her smartly standing up and smoothing the creases from her dress as she told me in no uncertain terms, that I could pay for her drinks as compensation for her inconvenience. To which she added a second later as she popped another black cigarette in her mouth:
‘Of course if you do feel that you have somehow been cheated, you can always try and get the money off Matine later, as some sort of compensation for yourself. I know I’m going to, even if it’s only as a matter of principle.’
‘No, that’s all right,’ I smiled, finally regaining my voice in the face of adversity and the comfort of failure. ‘I’m big enough to concede my mistake.’
To which she replied with every kind of connotation imaginable, just so she could throw me completely off the track again:
‘I wouldn’t be surprised if you were. Big enough I mean.’ she added thoughtfully, just before she took another long sultry drag on her cigarette and appeared to be showing all the outward signs of having a conflict of intentions. ‘You know, I’m starting to think that I might have read you all wrong and I could just sit back down again and possibly even spend a pleasant evening in your company.’ Then, just as she made a move back towards the chair she stopped herself. ‘But no, I don’t want to spend just a pleasant evening in someone’s company, I want a really great time. So no Mr, Mr? I’m sorry, I don’t even know your name?’ I informed her, but she still didn’t catch it. ‘I must decline your silent invitation and go before I find myself caught for the evening in the company of someone I possibly cannot stand, hate even.’ she suggested as I silently watched her make her second attempt to leave. Though again just before she did, she once again stopped to turn and ask in an almost concerned voice that could have meant so many things. ‘Aren’t you even going to try and convince me not to go? You do know what I mean don’t you? You know by saying something along the lines of: shouldn’t I at least be prepared to take a chance, as I don’t know what I might find. No?’ she shook her head to mimic mine.
‘No.’ I replied absently with a smile. Though even as I did, I could feel myself once again regretting all I didn’t have the balls to say.
‘Oh well if that’s your attitude so be it. But just don’t tell yourself, that I didn’t even give you an opportunities to even try and redeem yourself, because I definitely did.’ she brusquely conclude as though she was the one who had been insulted. A moment or two after which and when she felt she had given me all the time she could possibly spare, she finally left. Though I must just add, as much for my own ego as anything else, even then she couldn’t just leave without looking back towards me at least twice, as though she was surprised I hadn’t as yet started to follow her. And to tell the truth, I still wonder, even now, why I didn’t. But at the time all I remembered telling myself was that there was still a chance she could come stomping back to the table and with a poke in my shoulder say: ‘Oi are you coming with me or what?’ or words to that effect, as I doubt, fashionable retorts or not, that she would ever have said; ‘Oi!’.
So it was at precisely seven filter cigarettes past four cocktails, that my second encounter with the intriguing Ms Wrey ended, and no matter what else I may have decided about her and her contrary ways, I couldn’t help but admit that; despite myself and all that I wanted to think, she had definitely had an effect on me. Not that I ever really had any intentions of doing anything about it. Nor would I have done, if it hadn’t been for Matine and yes, I think I can at long last admit it, my often quite irrational jealousy of him and his unbelievable, even by his associates’ standards, hedonistic life style.
That is not to say that there weren’t moments when even I had found myself craving all the things that deep down inside myself, I knew were superficial and hollow. I.e. all the things that both Wrey and Matine revelled in. But, I had kept up the pretence of being so far above that sort of thing for so long that there was just no way I could turn back now. Though every now and then, like a bad habit, I craved the opportunity of, for once in my life, doing so and just simply saying:
‘Oh fuck it all, it’s all bullshit anyway. Let’s party!’
Of course, even as I’d mouth those words to myself in silence, I knew that those, or any others like them for that matter, would have sounded terribly hollow coming from my lips. So, instead, I just had to accept my fate and sit in my ivory tower and observe everything from a distance. A place where I could remain completely unimpressed with everyone and everything I observed no matter what. Unless that was, I noted that everyone else was doing the same. Then as anyone else with as many letters after their name as I, would have most probably predicted, I would then do quite the opposite, and enthuse for hours about that which I was positive the majority never understood or got the gist of, no matter how many times I attempted to explain it to them.
Of course that’s not to say that the majority of the time I was only posing and it was all just as dull for me as it was for everybody else. No far from it in fact, I really did enjoy it. But that doesn’t also mean I wouldn’t have enjoyed doing some of the other more superficial things that people like Matine and Wrey, revelled in as well. God no, I mean if it wasn’t for all the things I’d stupidly said before, I expect I could have walked both sides of the line and had my cake and eat it too. But I suppose an excess of arrogance in an earlier period in my life had caused me, on one too many occasions, to make too vehement a stand against what I would have then called ‘trite’ and ‘fatuous’ fun. So that from that moment on I could never, -well not without losing a great deal of face,- retrace my steps and be a bit more like everybody else.
This as an explanation, should go at least some way to clarifying why I was so jealous of the one person so many others thought I was such a good friend of. Now that doesn’t mean, that up to then, I had ever conspired in any way to harm or hinder him. No, that was never the case. But what it does highlight is that often I was not really as genuinely pleased with his victories as I may well of outwardly appeared. Furthermore, it was also why, when another opportunity arose some days later to, in some way, frustrate his progress with Wrey, I felt untypically compelled to do so at any cost. Especially as it also appeared possible, if I was extremely fortuitous, that I could even snatch his prize away from him and claim it for myself. Which, and though I was still in denial about that particular aspect of my character, had become my very wish ever since she had stood in front of us just a few days previously.
Anyway, why shouldn’t I? I mean there had been plenty of times in the past when, despite my best attempt to impress upon someone my honourable intentions towards them, he had just come barging in with his spectacular good looks and bravado and simply whisked them off their feet and on their backs no doubt. Though whether he actually ever even noticed that I’d made the effort, or wondered what all that role playing and ambiguous ramblings I’d been working through were leading to, I never knew. And even if he had, or I’d ever had the courage to tell him so, I wouldn’t have been surprised as if he had still hadn’t said to me:
‘So? What’s your worry? You can still have her can’t you? I haven’t stopped you have I?’
But that was never the point and he, just as well as anyone should have known that. Which is I suppose why, when I was once again given the chance, I did all I could to make her my own. I mean it wasn’t as if what they were going to have together was really going to last was it? And I really did find myself quite exceptionally drawn to her like no other I had known before or since. Though why that was, is still a mystery to me and possibly also the reason I haven’t as yet tried to explain. Maybe it really was just fate and all the events that followed were just destined to happen.
In fact, maybe now when I think upon it, -and I know I’m digressing here, but forgive me, it’s only for a few lines,- that’s all love really is: The desire that stirs a person to go all out in their attempts to attain whatever they truly desire. That thing that just clicks in, possibly out of desperation, and says: ‘Right, this is it, make or break, your final opportunity. You’ve had your chances before and you’ve ‘muffed’ them all up, now go for it!’
Of course it could be something else, something else much more chemical, primitive even. Like the way I knew that from the moment I arrived at another private showing and although I didn’t turn round even once to look at her, I just knew she was there watching me. Of course it could also be said that everyone has those feelings now and then at one point or another in their lives, and ninety nine percent of the time we are proved completely wrong, off the mark. But that evening, I just knew she couldn’t keep her eyes off me.
‘Oh Corporal I thought you’d be here stalking about. Oh look its Corporal, I said you’d be here.’
‘Who the hell you talking too?’
‘Wrey, I’m here with Wrey, over there.’ Matine pointed towards a table of drinks and my eyes instantly flew to those of Madame Wrey as she slinked towards us drink in one hand, cigarette in the other and looking even more physically alluring than even my imagination could equal. ‘Oh yes I met up with her yesterday.’ Matine stupidly informed me. ‘In the lift again. Would you credit it? She was pretty annoyed at me when we first met and I must admit the conversation did crackle a bit, -which I’ve no need to tell you got me extremely excited. But then once I explained the situation.’
‘What you told her all about…?’
‘No stupid. Sorry,’ he overacted as he put his hand to his forehead. ‘I forgot I was talking to Mr Literal here. No, what I should have said was: once I explained ‘a situation’, she became all sort of soft and light like bubbles again.’
‘You mean malleable as in: ‘to manipulate’, bend to your will.’
‘Precisely.’ Matine admitted freely as he completely misread my intent. ‘She even took a sweet, short intake of breath when she recalled how sharp she had been to you. In fact that’s why we’re here tonight. As I suppose you can guess this is not usually my scene so late in the day. But I told her you would be here by way of conversation, and she said she just had to meet you again and hopefully be given the opportunity to apologise. Make amends even.’
‘And you don’t find that odd?’ I remember trying to hint as if I was saying: you better watch yourself, as this time I’m playing to win. But I should have known better than to think that the idea of me as a challenger would ever have worried him. Though on saying that, what I said must have struck some kind of chord, as I remember him momentarily being distracted from his observations, as he tried to fathom out what it was I could possibly have meant.
‘Find what odd?’ he queried with a cocked head. ‘I mean it’s not as though you’re going to steal her from me or anything are you?’ he again smiled as though it was something totally improbable as to be verging on the ridiculous.
‘No, I suppose not.’ I mumbled meekly as we both acknowledged Wrey’s presence with a smile.
‘Matine said you like these, so I got you one as a peace offering and to partially make up for the drink I forced you to buy that other evening.’ she smiled back as she feebly offered me the glass in her hand.
‘But it’s a free bar.’ I pointed out matter of factly. ‘What’s the merit in that? I mean you’re trying to impress me by making a gift of what you yourself have just been given.’
‘Don’t push it Corporal.’
‘No sorry Matine. Let me have my say. I mean I don’t want to seem the stupid one here. But couldn’t I have just as easily gone up and got the drink myself? No?’
‘Look, if you don’t want it just say and I’ll have it. I can drink these too you know?’ after which she instantly raised the glass to her lips and took a sip. Then when I had still not reacted to her threat, she took a sip more. ‘I’m telling you it’ll only take me another couple of sips and it will all be gone.’
‘Go on Corporal say you’ll have it and do us all a favour.’ Matine spoke from the corner of his mouth as though he was transfixed by what he saw and couldn’t take his eyes off her.
‘Ok I’ll have it.’ I cried as she moved to knock the remainder back in one. ‘Thank you.’ I begrudgingly smiled as I took the glass from her hand and acknowledge her kindness for a second before I contemplated the glass.
‘Yes I’m sorry about the lipstick.’ she smiled.’ ‘But you can always drink it from the other side.’
‘It wasn’t so much that as the cigarette ash I was concerned about.’
‘Oh I hoped you weren’t going to notice that.’
‘Corporal notices everything.’
‘I’ll get you another one.’
‘No that’s all right, this’ll do me fine.’ I again begrudgingly smiled as I continued to work on my, ‘trying to be nice for the sake of it’ routine. The one technique that no matter what people had told me to expect to the contrary, was the only one I had ever had much success with, even if it was limited. But this time it was working like a charm, even better than even I would have imagined. For a start, it didn’t seem to matter how much I deliberately tried to exclude her from the conversation by deliberately insulting her, talking over her and taking her for a complete and utter simpleton, she still kept trying to gain my attention and prove worthy of whatever minor errand I might see fit to give her.
‘No, no, I know precisely what you mean. I mean I’ve so often felt the same.’
‘What you?’ I sneered.
‘Yes me.’
‘Ha! Get over it Wrey.’ scoffed Matine. ‘I mean even I can see you’re being ridiculous now.’
‘Pardon?’
‘He said: ‘even he can see you’re being ridiculous.’ -Now take this as you will, and the way I imagine you’ll take it, is that I’m talking down to you, but I assure you that that is the last thing I wish to do.’ I lied terribly. ‘But you must be able to see it from our point of view.’
‘Which is?’ she asked curtly.
‘Which is?’ I repeated thoughtfully as though I’d been put on the spot and was searching for the best way to spare her feelings. ‘Well look at it from this way. As you would imagine it would take an incredible leap of faith on both Matine’s and my part to,’ I deliberately stumbled to find the correct choice of words as my open hand moved to gather in more information. ‘To imagine that you, coming from a certain privileged background as you do,…’
‘Like we all do.’ She butted in critically. Yes was agreed thoughtfully by both Matine and I before I continued,
‘But we are talking about you in this particular instance, aren’t we? And what I was about to say before being interrupted, was it would be difficult to imagine that you would ever have made, let us say, the same types of mental choices similar to those faced by one of the greatest artists and thinkers of our time. So that both we, I and Matine would in anyway feel comfortable to agree with your assertion that you, of all people, could truly empathise with such a person.’
‘But I do.’ she wined emphatically.
‘Look Wrey, I know you mean well.’ Matine offered out his hand. ‘But I must agree with Corporal on this one. I mean it’s just so unlikely that you, born into a world of privilege and wealth, could ever empathise with a person, who not only lived the impoverished life of a no one, but died a no one as well. I mean, I know I can be rather presumptuous at times, but even I wouldn’t be foolish enough to expect to convince others that I could empathise with such a person. I mean it’s just so damn incongruous as to almost seem bloody minded!’
‘What then, what then are you saying? That I’m incapable of feeling!’ the sense of her annoyance could be felt rising. ‘Is that what you’re saying, is it? That I’m incapable of having a true emotion because I’m well off, privileged?’ she emphasised the ‘privileged’ with a sideways shake of her head.
‘No Wrey we never said that now did we?’ I barged in with my best condescending tone of voice. ‘All we’re merely saying is…’
‘Is you’ve got absolutely no right to say what you just said.’ broke in Matine with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. Though I must admit I personally thought it lost none of its resonance for that.
‘What!’
‘It’s true, you just don’t understand these types.’
‘Oh and I suppose you do?’
‘No, no I never said that either did I?’ defended Matine. ‘Simply because I would never be so presumptuous as to say that I empathise with the likes of them. I mean we are just so different from each other and I’ve learnt to respect that.’
‘Bollocks’
‘Pardon?’
‘Bollocks, I said bollocks!’
‘Oh Wrey you’re so amusing.’ sniggered Matine truly amused by what she had just said.
‘And you?’ she asked rounding on me. ‘And you, do you also think I’ve got a nerve saying what I just did?’
‘I’ve already told you what I think.’
‘Oh yes, and what is it that you think? Oh I know, don’t tell me, that it is impossible for someone as superficial.’
‘I never said that.’ I tried to correct.
‘…as superficial,’ Wrey reemphasised with a sideways glance intended to ward off anymore interruptions. ‘As I, to firstly believe they are able to identify with, and then possibly worst of all, say that they, I, truly empathise with such a person. Yet at the same time you who share, I would guess, approximately the same background as I, not only have the nerve to tell me that you do empathise with such a person. But have actually set yourself up as quite an authority on such matters! Made a career of it no less.’
‘Yes that may be true. But when I say I empathise with the person, I mean on a purely intellectual level only.’
‘Ha-Ha!’ she roared at a volume that shook the room and stole everybody else’s attention as she continued to act the excited, spoilt child creating a scene. ‘But empathy is an emotion, an idea based on feelings not thoughts. And you can’t empathise with someone’s intellect can you? Everyone knows that!’
‘Oh you’re splitting hairs now…’
‘But you can’t can you? Unless you are a complete moron, I mean a complete oxymoron.’ She laughed as though it was her favourite funniest joke of the moment.
‘No, but… I’ I stumbled as I attempted to find the best way to introduce the convoluted route to my defence. When the very last person I expected to turn against me in my hour of need, piped up and set the co-ordinates for the remainder of our relationship:
‘She’s right though Corporal isn’t she? All these years I’ve listened to you telling me why and how these people think. And I’ve never once questioned why you, instead of anyone else I know, even me, should have the monopoly on such a subject?’
‘I think it’s because he’s worked so very hard at setting himself up as such an authority upon the subject, that people have forgotten his own history and become oblivious to his own origins.’
‘I do have to spend most of my working life dealing with those types you know.’
‘Oh those types.’ A voice quipped sarcastically.
‘Yes well, so do thousands of others, but you don’t hear them arguing for them as if they were their appointed spokesperson do you?’
‘She’s right again Corporal, isn’t she? I mean tell me, how can you honestly justify what I’ve heard you argue a thousand times before, that you’re personally in tune with the way they think, when you’ve got about as much in common with them as I have?’
‘But I have.’
‘But how?’
‘Oh I don’t know, I just have! I just feel it’s inherent within me.’
‘Oh you mean the same as I could just empathise with... You terrible hypocrite you.’ smiled Wrey knowing she had won.
‘Oh Corporal, we do seem to be losing it today don’t we?’ mocked Matine.
‘Yes, well, it’s not fair.’ I openly joked. ‘She keeps asking me all the questions I don’t usually have to answer. And what is even more annoying,’ I turned to confront her. ‘She is not giving me even one opportunity to allow any of my usually unhindered assumptions, generalisations and vagaries to go by unquestioned.’
‘No, and don’t think I ever will.’ she smiled back.
‘So,’ she resumed after a short, thoughtful silence. ‘Shall we all agree that I can, if I wish, say that I do empathise with... and know precisely where ‘they’ are coming from?’
‘No.’
‘No!’
‘No?’
‘No.’ I repeated quite calmly. And then just before they both started I added: ‘But just to prove I’m not a total hypocrite. I’ll bargain that if you don’t keep on with this ridiculous quest to get us to agree with you, that you can personally empathise with one of the greatest artists of any time. I’ll in turn, promise to stop this charade, if that’s what you’d like to call it, of pretending that I too have a superior knowledge and understanding of how those of the lower classes think and act.’
‘What? You’re joking aren’t you?’ asked Matine stupefied by my gambit.
‘Hold on a bit.’ Wrey moved to clarify. ‘You mean to say, now don’t feel afraid to correct me if I start to wander from the plot here, but what you’re honestly proposing is that: you’d rather lose, dare I say it, some of your intellectual influence and social standing with amongst others Matine.’
‘I think that’s already happened don’t you?’ I stated matter of factly as we both turned to look his way.
‘All right then, well let’s just say: amongst others, shall we? Than allow me the opportunity to stand in front of you and proclaim: that in some small way I imagine that I could in anyway empathise with a man of substance. And so in that way taint your oh so precious image of him?’
‘Yes, that’s precisely it. In a nutshell as they say.’
‘Well well done you. You really are a smart bastard after all aren’t you?’
‘How so?’
‘Oh you know all right.’
‘No? I don’t think I do.’ I replied with all honesty whilst hiding behind my best smile, as I really didn’t have the least idea as to what she was getting at, it must be said.
‘Oh don’t come the old innocence with me. Look Matine, I can even see him smiling. Can you see him smiling?’
‘No.’ stated Matine flatly as he attempted to concentrate on something apart from his own desires momentarily.
‘He is, he is, I can see it. Oh he’s clever all right.’ she smiled broadly as she wiggled her little finger at me from the side of her glass. ‘That’s not to say I’m not just as clever because I’ve spotted it.’
‘How so?’ asked Matine foolishly. Though he soon wished he hadn’t when he felt the shrivelling effect of the look she gave him.
‘You see what he’s managed to do don’t you?’ she started again but this time without the embarrassing interruption from Matine. ‘He’s managed to side step all the real issues. And then even more cleverly destroy what little glory I could ever have hoped to gain from bragging about this little scenario to all our mutual acquaintances. Simply by diverting all the emphasis of the argument, which we must remember I won. Let’s never forget that shall we?’
‘No.’ both Matine and I agreed with a confused shake and then a nod of our heads as she continued.
‘And instead he’s brought forward the notion that he would rather destroy his own career, than allow a great artist’s reputation to be in any way tainted by what he would consider to be an ‘unworthy’ association.’
‘Yes, what a great gesture that really was.’ Matine stupidly agreed already impressed by the merits of something he really did not care for or understand.
‘See!’ she turned back to me as if I was to blame. ‘Look I can already see it now. There I am happily explaining all about how I cleverly managed to manoeuvre you into such a position where you had to admit your hypocrisy, and refute any of the undeserved credibility and influence you might unduly possess in certain circles. And all people would say is:
‘Did he really say that? Well I never. You mean he’d rather embarrass himself than see a 'someone' he personally admires and looks up to humiliated in such a way. How courageous, how humble of the man. You really must admire him for that?’
‘But of course I couldn’t, as I’d still be smarting from that other, more hurtful, unspoken insult that would be silently perpetuated by whoever I dared to tell the story to.’
‘Which is what exactly?’ enquired Matine stupidly.
‘Which is what? Which is what?’ her voice grew more frustrated. ‘Matine are you trying to be deliberately stupid or something? The insult that I am alluding to, and which you have so clearly failed to detect, and so for that very reason already perpetuated, is the well known, if silent, universal assumption that someone like me could in no way ever be expected to empathise with such a great mind. Moreover that type of lazy thinking automatically leads to the totally ‘reasonable’, even if I don’t personally hold with the view myself, idea that I am either an idiot or a liar. Neither of which are the kind of personal traits I care to be labelled with. But what I personally detest and don’t hold as being reasonable at all, is the notion that most people are more likely to assume that he was actually humouring me and let me win. Rather than I actually pinned him down to a submission in an argument.’