DEATHLOOP (26 page)

Geoff’s comment about people deluding themselves and making out they were one thing when in fact they were something else was, as usual, right on the money. Zack had spent a lifetime doing just that, but at least he had stopped deluding
himself
.

For years Zack had justified his bad behaviour as pragmatism, survival really, with all its romantic connotations, but being a bastard is not remotely romantic, and Zack was a bastard through and through. Had he be born that way or made that way? Probably, he decided, a bit of both.

He had always been head and shoulders above his contemporaries at school, and as a child he had used his fierce intelligence to try to redress the balance in competition with the sorry list of dunderheads his mother continued to take up with, and in just about every other lousy circumstance he found himself. His looks helped of course and he cottoned on to that early on. No one could think ill of such a beautiful child, especially when he flashed his special, wide eyed smile that he used to practice in the bathroom mirror, and no one would ever know that he was crying crocodile tears when he was accused of being a little shit to one of the boyfriends by putting Vim in their dinner, or pushing them out of bed when they were asleep, or cutting them with knives when they were crashed out, pissed.

And he was so adept at pleading innocence his mother would always jump to his defence, often taking a beating for him. Although he made out he hated this he continued to do it, admitting only to himself that causing his mother further suffering was his way of getting back at her. After all, she was responsible for these stinking interlopers who had no business in his life or in her life, and who he wished on a daily basis he could do away with. Of course he didn’t tell Veronica any of this. He told her enough to satisfy her curiosity and to imply his sensitivity, his humility and his contrition, but no more.

A couple of days after Zack had ‘come clean’ to Veronica, there was a private show at her gallery and Zack offered to help. It wasn’t really his scene but he wanted Veronica to think he was a supportive kind of guy and so he mucked in, sweeping floors, touching up the walls with a bit of paint, hanging canvasses and generally making himself useful.

When Veronica, Zack and Miriam opened the doors to the great and the good at 7pm, determined to make the evening a success, Zack tried his hand at selling too. A dumpy middle aged woman, dripping wealth, with a loud voice, and nasty jewellery latched on to Zack and after half an hour of blatant flirting, he finally got her to agree to pay an inordinate amount of money for a squiggle on a piece of paper, (the woman privately conceding that she would have paid the same amount for the back page of The Sun had Zack asked her to).

Out of the corner of his eye Zack watched Veronica as she charmed her way round the room. One jaded old man with dyed black hair and ghastly shiny shoes taking out his cheque book moments after they engaged eye contact, although Zack got the distinct impression that the huge canvas he had agreed to buy was of no interest to him whatsoever and would end up in his loft, swaddled in bubble wrap, while he fantasized endlessly about the beautiful woman who had painted it.

Earlier in the day, when two sculptures had arrived from Venice, Zack had managed to dump them in the basement out of the way under crates and boxes, purposely forgetting to alert Veronica to their arrival, (the knowledge that he had managed to scupper the Italian’s attempt to sell his monstrosities adding hugely to his enjoyment of the evening).

As the last of the punters left and they locked the doors behind them a little after 10, Veronica was delighted at how things had turned out. She had sold three of her own paintings and various other pieces had gone too, thanks to Zack.

“A natural born salesman,” said Veronica to Miriam, “don’t you think?”

“Not bad for a greenhorn.”

“Damned with faint praise eh? Thanks a bunch.”

“Y
ou were wonderful darling,
” said Veronica, with a cod French accent, coming up and kissing him.

“That’s better,” said Zack, “that’s heaps better.”

“I’m starved,” said Miriam, “and we’ll lose our table won’t we, if we don’t get going.”

Keen to get things back on an even keel with Sam and Clarissa, Zack had called Sam and suggested they all meet up. Sam had been reluctant at first, mainly because he and Clarissa were barely speaking but the more he thought about it, the more he thought it might help draw a line under things. Clarissa too was encouraged by the prospective olive branch, spending much longer than usual to get ready. It was the first time they had returned to Bellini’s since Susan had worked her mischief and Zack was looking forward to it.

Sam and Clarissa were already there at their usual table when they arrived, starting on their second bottle of Sancerre. Sam got up as they approached, everyone smiling as introductions were made, but there was a tension as they took their seats which culminated in a rather solemn silence.

“I’ve heard so much about you,” said Veronica to Clarissa, trying her best to break the ice.

“All bad I expect,” said Clarissa, with a dismissive little laugh.

“Not at all,” said Veronica, wracking her brain to think of something else to say.

“You should have come tonight,” said Zack, irritated still that Sam had turned down the invitation, “it was fun.”

“Not my cup of tea I’m afraid.”

“Sam’s a philistine, basically,” said Zack to Veronica, with a little smile.

“No I am not,” said Sam, “not a bit of it, but splodges on canvas I can do without.” Everyone smiled, but the tension had gone up a notch.

Clarissa decided that Veronica was by far the most beautiful woman Zack had ever dated and that was saying something. She was rather intimidated by Veronica and found herself loathing her for no real reason other than her desirability and a deference Zack was showing her she’d never seen before.

“Where is your gallery?” asked Clarissa, rather awkwardly, as though she wasn’t remotely interested in the reply.

“Not far from Zack’s… Puddlewell Lane. It’s a great location, but the cellar floods when it rains so storage is a bit tricky.”

Inwardly, Zack brightened at this, hoping for a storm of Derbyshire proportions which would render the Italian sculptures completely worthless with a bit of luck.

“And are you an artist too?” Sam asked of Miriam, rather pompously.

“Interior design,” she replied.

“
Ah
,” said Sam, as if that explained everything.

“You work with Zack, Sam,” said Veronica, ploughing on after a few moments.

“Yes, I do, but mostly I catch him when he falls… and that’s pretty much a full time occupation these days.”

Zack nailed Sam with the nastiest look in his repertoire and Sam was well aware of this even though he chose to look elsewhere. When the waiter came up they ordered and now without menus to hide behind, conversation ground to a halt.

“What do you do, Clarissa?” asked Miriam, attempting to move attention elsewhere.

“Absolutely nothing at all,” said Sam, before Clarissa could reply. “Any more questions I can help you with?”

“
So
…” said Zack, to no one in particular after a brief silence.

When Sam got up and excused himself, Zack followed right behind, leaving the women smiling stiffly at each other.

“Should we be worried?” asked Veronica of Clarissa, nodding after them.

“A tiff, that’s all,” said Clarissa, grandly, “boys eh?”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” said Zack to Sam, pushing him into the gents.

“There’s nothing wrong with me!” said Sam, turning on him.

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Sam, you agreed to come here so be civil to my girlfriend if you don’t mind.”

“
Girlfriend? Oh please
…” spat out Sam, “you’ve only known her for two minutes.”

“And?”

“
And
… she’ll be on the scrap heap this time next week with all the other screwballs.”

“No she won’t because we’re getting married for your information.”

Sam’s eyes widened in disbelief then he threw his head back and roared. “Don’t be an idiot,” said Sam, “you’re married to yourself, mate, and you always will be.”

“If you don’t make a bloody effort we’ll get up and walk out, I’m warning you, Sam, stop pulling rank.”

When they were in their second year at Cambridge, a new guy, Nick Mallik, handsome and charismatic, began vying for Zack’s attention, which put Sam’s nose out of joint straight away.

Ostracised from his own set for stealing and general louche behaviour he decided to ingratiate himself with Zack. Zack’s head was turned by the glamorous newcomer, especially as Nick’s drug habit was prodigious and second only to his own. One night, when they were all seriously stoned on some lethal skunk, rightly presuming Zack to be out of it, Sam threatened Nick by telling him that Zack and he went back a long, long way… “
so what I say goes, and what I say is this you bastard… just fuck off out of it and leave Zack Fortune alone before I do it for you,
” said Sam, drawing a finger from one side of his neck to the other.

Earlier in the week, Nick had shared a tab of acid with Zack only to be freaked out by Sam who had traipsed round after them all afternoon like a persistent stray. Nick had complained to Zack that Sam was a malevolent little goblin with evil powers and he was shit scared of him. Possibly this was why Nick ran out into the street that night and flagging down a taxi, left Cambridge never to return. Following Nick’s disappearance Zack accused Sam of pulling rank to get rid of his new best friend.

“So what if I did?” said Sam with a shrug, “bloody worked didn’t it?” And it did, it worked every time.

“Listen, mate, I don’t give a shit about the new girlfriend.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Oh I think you do. I saw the way you looked at us when we came in.”

“Bollocks,” said Sam, annoyed that Zack had clocked this.

“You know it’s different this time, you knew that right away, so
bollocks to you, you fucking little midget
.”

Two young gay guys walked in catching the tail end of the argument and throwing them an inclusive smile which was enough to send Zack and Sam stomping back out again into the restaurant, frustrated at losing their venue mid row.

Luckily food arrived soon after they returned to the table but Clarissa knew immediately they had had words and serious words at that. Clarissa had often longed to have Sam to herself but now that seemed more likely she found herself curiously depressed at the prospect, and as she gazed over at Zack she became increasingly panicked at the thought of losing him for good. Zack met her gaze and rolled his eyes which said ‘that bloody Sam Stein’, and she smiled back which said, ‘yes I know, you don’t have to tell me’. They didn’t even have to speak these days they knew each other so well, and here they were within a whisker, or so it seemed to Clarissa, of throwing it all away.

“I’d love to come to the gallery and look around,” said Clarissa to Veronica a few moments later, “if that’s okay.”

“Oh sure, any time, you’re very welcome,” said Veronica thinking that Clarissa was trying to make it up to her for Sam’s rudeness, but the truth was, she was trying to make it up to Zack.

Everyone was relieved when the meal was over. Refusing dessert and coffee they stood up to go.

“I’ll pay,” said Zack.

“No you won’t,” said Sam.

“I will, Sam, so shut up about it.”

“Let’s split it,” said Sam, knowing full well what Zack thought about that.

“Bugger off, dwarf,” said Zack under his breath, relieved that the girls were in the lobby and out of earshot.

When Sam threw his credit card at a passing waiter’s tray, Zack put his hands up in surrender, turned on his heels and followed the girls outside where they all went through the motions of wishing each other goodnight.

Neither Veronica nor Miriam made mention of the dinner in the taxi on the way home, in fact it was only when Veronica and Zack arrived back at Claremont, after dropping Miriam in Islington, that they felt safe enough to say anything at all.

“I’m really sorry about that,” said Zack, “I don’t know what got into him tonight, pissed maybe. He was a little threatened by you I think… well, I don’t think, I know.”

“Clarissa was, certainly. Is she always so jealous of your girlfriends?”

“What?”

“She adores you, Zack.”

“Clarissa?”

“Clarissa.”

“We’re old friends, sure we are, but nothing else.”

“You want to bet?” she said, with a grin.

In their cab on the way home Sam accused Clarissa of being unnaturally interested in Veronica.

“You couldn’t take your eyes off her,” said Sam, “not turning gay in our old age are we, dear?”

“Oh and you could?”

“I had nothing to say to the woman.”

“Nothing pleasant, no…”

“Yeah, well… maybe the joke’s beginning to wear a bit thin.”

“Meaning?”

“The disaster that is Zack Fortune of course…”

Clarissa had never heard Sam say anything detrimental about Zack before and to hear this now seemed almost surreal. “So the party’s over at last?” said Clarissa, quietly, “is that it?”

“Looks like it is Clarissa,” said Sam, tapping her on the knee, “so there we are, be careful of what you wish for, old girl.”

As Zack made his way up to Nymans in the lift on Monday morning he felt relieved and confident and raring to go. Despite all his misgivings about his role in life this was just what he needed right now, order, routine, and purposeful goals. The two police matters notwithstanding, Zack felt things were beginning to settle down. His weekend with Veronica had been wonderful, despite the awkward dinner at Bellini’s on Friday night. And even that, when he analysed it, encouraged him. Sam was, as usual, being Sam, threatened by anyone who might steal him away, so it was flattering really, it meant that the guy still cared. That Clarissa cared that much at all however was something new, and Zack had found himself allowing more thinking time to this than he should have done.