The Art School Dance (40 page)

‘
There’s
nothing much wrong with Virginia,’ Griff believed. ‘You’re surely
not comparing her to Bobby, are you?’

‘
No, not
really,’ McCready conceded. ‘I mean, look at her, there’s really no
comparison between the two.’

McCready was
gazing over Griff’s shoulder as he spoke, and Griff turned, perhaps
hoping to see me, instead dismayed to see Bobby approaching their
table, beaming broadly.

‘
Christ!
Can’t she leave me alone for one minute?’

‘
Hi
sweeties!’ Bobby said, smiling her toothy grin as she sat with them
and arranged plates of food before her.

‘
Hi
Bobby,’ Griff sighed.

‘
Hey,
that’s a bit half-hearted isn’t it? You’re not still sore at me
over what happened in the tutorial, are you?’

‘
No, I
suppose not,’ Griff said, and apologised for the
argument.

‘
Aw,
think nothing of it,’ Bobby said, with a dismissive gesture of one
hand while the other forked food into her mouth. ‘You shouldn’t
have come out with all that crap about poetic criticism, though. It
stank.’

‘
He was
waxing lyrical, was he?’ McCready smiled.

‘
You
know what Edith’s like,’ Griff said to him, excusing himself.
‘She’s fond of the safe sentimental stuff. It’s what keeps her
happy.’

‘
Oh fuck
her!’ says Bobby, and started to laugh. ‘Yes, screw her and her
prim opinions. She needs to get laid once in a while, that’s what
she needs. Now can you imagine that?’ she said, spluttering over a
mouthful of food and raising a hand to her mouth to catch the
debris. ‘Imagine someone giving dear old Edith a poke!’

Griff was none
too happy with the way the conversation was going, along its single
grubby track. He got to his feet, said, ‘You coming, McCready?’

McCready
nodded and stood.

‘
What’s
the matter, boys? My talk getting a little too close to the bone,
huh?’

‘
Bye
Bobby,’ they both said politely, and had almost got to the end of
the canteen before she thought of another funny one.

‘
Hey
Griff!’ she called out, and he was foolish enough to pause and
turn, many eyes upon him. ‘What do you do when your bone sticks
out? Hang your towel on it to dry?’

*

Poor Griff.
Bobby sensed embarrassment rather than insult in his reaction, and
if her accusation has struck a little too close to home then she
almost regretted it. The sad little virgin, she thought, the shy
and sensitive artist. Probably still hadn’t got his end away after
a whole year away from home. She grinned as she walked along the
corridor, then paused as she heard music coming from the art
history lounge. She approached the room, listened, tried the door
but found it locked.

‘
It’s
George Gershwin!’ she recognised, and rapped on the door. ‘Let me
in!’

‘
Go
away!’

‘
Barney?
Is that you? It’s me, Bobby! Let me in!’

‘
Piss
off Bobby!’

‘
Open
up, you rat!. You’ve got a bottle in there!’

‘
No I
haven’t!’

‘
Open
up!’ she insisted.

The door was
unlocked and Bobby darted in with a pink-gummed grin, her head
swivelling about to scan the room and then her hands rummaging
around to search for the bottle she was sure existed. She tried the
cupboards, the bookshelves, the console; beneath the seats. Found
nothing.

‘
It
sounded like a party in here,’ she said. ‘I was sure you had some
booze.’

‘
It’s a
private party,’ Barney told her. ‘No booze. Just me and the
music.’

Bobby was
disappointed that there was no drink, but happy enough with the
music. She sat down and listened, remembered, thought of home,
memories tugging her lower down in her seat and disarming her more
than any amount of drink could.

‘
Strange, the way music affects us,’ she said, sprawling
across the sofa, closer to Barney. ‘More so than anything
visual.’

Barney nodded,
reading her observation as vindication of his belief that the
traditional visual arts were now so inefficient as to be
redundant.

‘
Bobby?’

‘
Yes?’‘Can I ask you something?’

‘
Sure,
honey. Fire away.’

‘
Do you
ever, er, get the feeling that there’s something inadequate about
sex?’

Her eyes had
been closed, as she listened to the music, but now she opened them,
swivelled her head around to look at him.

‘
You
mustn’t be doing it right, Barney,’ she said with a smile. ‘Or not
often enough.’

‘
Oh,
there’s nothing wrong with the technique,’ Barney boasted, not
seeing her smile broaden. ‘We’re getting around too it often
enough, too, now that Julia’s got over the birth of the
baby.’

‘
What’s
bugging you then?’ asked Bobby.

‘
You
might as well ask what got Kant in a knot, or what disturbed
Descartes. It just seems that after it’s over there’s something
missing.’

‘
Like a
spoonful of sperm, maybe?’

Barney frowned
at her. ‘Do you want to be serious about this? I’d like to be.’

‘
Sorry,’
Bobby said, her brow creasing in earnest concentration. ‘Carry
on.’

For a moment
Barney seemed uncertain, as though reluctant to continue with the
subject, but slowly, hesitantly, he explained. There was something
lacking, he felt, after the brief flash of orgasm there was always
the feeling of being cheated, as though the orgasm had been nothing
more than a taste of some brighter illumination which could be
better achieved by other means.

‘
When
it’s over I always get the urge to go away and do something more
important,’ was how he sums it up.

Bobby was
silent, not smiling, not saying anything at all.

‘
Well?’
he prompted.

She shook her
head. ‘I fuck because I want to fuck. When I do, I know what’s
involved and I know what I’m going to get out of it. It’s a
pastime, Barney, an entertainment and nothing more. I’m not going
to bed with someone looking for a blinding insight into the meaning
of life, just to enjoy myself.’

‘
You
never get this feeling afterwards, then?’

‘
Only if
I go to bed with an incompetent fucker,’ she said, quite
seriously.

Barney
was thoughtful, giving serious consideration to her answer whether
it deserved it or not. Bobby’s head was almost in his lap, her hair
already was, tumbling over the cushion which separated them and
slipping like silk across his trousers. He twitched a little and
shifted slightly, but each movement seemed to bring her closer, as
if this was what he wanted. He found himself leaning towards her,
wishing that he
did
have a
bottle in the room.

Then the mood
was broken.

‘
Who’s
in there?’ shouted Edith Billington, after the fumbling of her key
in the lock had passed unnoticed. Barney’s key on the inside was
keeping anyone else’s out.

Recognising
the voice, Barney pressed his hand over Bobby’s mouth, not knowing
why, simply thinking it the wisest course.

‘
Mm!’
Bobby mumbled deliciously.

‘
I said
who’s in there!’ Edith cried again, and by juggling her key against
Barney’s she forced her way in, steadied herself as she fell into
the room. ‘You!’ she said, seeing Barney, and almost in the same
breath, triumphantly, as she saw he was with Bobby, ‘And
you!’

‘
Leave
us alone, Edith,’ said Bobby.

‘
Not
until I know what’s going on here! Adultery?
Infidelity?’

Outside, in
the corridor, Griff heard the accusation and felt his cheeks redden
with shame, as if it has been levelled at him.

Chapter 10

Griff found
Rose, McCready and one or two others huddled in a tight group in
the common room. They were all talking feverishly, animated despite
the early hour. He paused a moment before approaching, checking
that I was not among the group; he had contrived to avoid me for
days, since the trip to London and our night together, no doubt
feeling it would be easier to come to term with his feelings if I
was not around to confuse them.

‘
Good,
now we have a quorum,’ said Rose, on seeing him.

‘
A
what?’ Griff said, going to the coffee machine.

‘
We’re
having a meeting,’ she tells him.

‘
Balls
to that,’ he said, sitting down to drink his coffee, but Rose
insisted that it was important, Teacher’s secretary had been told
to expect them and he must go along with the deputation.

‘
The art
school is going to become a part of the polytechnic, see,’ she told
him, taking him by the arm and dragging him along with the rest of
the group.

‘
So?’

‘
So we
lose our autonomy.’

‘
Art-onomy,’ said McCready with a clever grin.

‘
Ah. I
see.’

The procession
passed along the corridor and into Teacher’s office, where they
found the Principal a little drunk, a little earlier than
usual.

‘
You’re
soon at it, boss,’ Griff remarked.

‘
Asseyez-vous, mes amis
,’ Teacher smiled, spreading out his arms in welcome and
spilling whisky onto the carpet. ‘You’ve heard we’re going to
become part of the polytechnic, I take it? Join me in a celebratory
drink, why don’t you?’

Rose sternly
told him that the prospect is no cause for celebration, and he
laughed; it was no celebration that he said embarking on, he said,
but a wake.

‘
A
wake?’

‘
A
requiem for the job I’m about to lose.’

‘
Oh come
on you miserable little piss-pot!’ said Rose, snapping at his self
pity. ‘Don’t be so melodramatic!’

‘
It’s no
melodrama, Rose, but fact. The first thing they do, when we merge,
is swap Principal of the school of art for dean of faculty. You
don’t think for a minute they’ll keep me on, do you?’ Teacher shook
his head. ‘No chance, not with those pin-striped polytechnic pricks
overseeing the appointment.’

‘
You
mean you’re going to have to apply for your own job?’ said
McCready.

‘
It’s
already advertised,’ Teacher told them, tossing a newspaper onto
the desk. No one bothered to look at it, not even to check what the
salary was. ‘But sod applying for the job. It’s about time I was
out of this fucking hole anyway.’

He lapsed into
a miserable silence, as though considering his future, or
regretting his wasted past.

‘
This is
going to cause problems for us as well, though,’ said McCready, as
selfish as an artist should be. ‘Okay, you’re leaving. But what do
we do?’

‘
Forget
it,’ Teacher advises. ‘Learn to live with it. There’s fuck all you
can do. It’s a
fait accompli
.’

‘
There’s
nothing at all we can do?’

‘
Not a
fucking thing.’

He was
wrong, though, there
was
one
matter to be considered, one aspect of the future in which they
might have a say.

‘
The
money in the student union fund,’ Rose reminded them. ‘Once the art
school combines with the polytechnic then the two student unions
will also merge. All our cash will go into a central
fund.’

‘
Do we
have any cash?’ McCready asked her.

Rose nodded.
‘Enough not to want to give it away. Wisest thing to do is spend it
before amalgamation takes place.’

‘
Wisest
thing,’ Teacher nodded.

‘
But
how? On what?’

Suggestions of
paint or film or equipment for the art school were dismissed as too
sensible, Teacher’s suggestion of crates of whisky not quite
sensible enough.

‘
What we
could do, though,’ says Rose, ‘is have a bit of a do in college. We
could call it an arts ball or something like that, just to make it
seem official and organised.’

The general
agreement was that this wasn’t a bad idea at all, and would make a
nice farewell for Teacher too, if he really insisted that he was
going.

Touched
by the gesture, Teacher’s eyes became brightly moist. 'Oh!
Mes enfants, mes
amis
!’ he said, smiling
drunkenly into each of their faces.

Discreetly
they withdrew, leaving him alone with his tears.

*

‘It
should be quite a binge,’ said McCready to Griff, as they go
upstairs to the studio. ‘A nice end to the term. You’ll be going, I
take it?’

‘
Sure,’
said Griff. ‘Why shouldn’t I?’

‘
Well,
we’ve not seen much of you over the past week or so. Not even at
the house, let alone anywhere else. We thought you were sulking or
avoiding us.’

We? McCready
and I, the girl he had let fuck him? Griff was ready with his
excuses, of being busy, of having work to do, but they weren’t
needed, for as the two of them reached the studio they found the
doors locked.