The Art School Dance (57 page)

'Well, er,
that’s very nice of you, but really quite unexpected.'

'Of course,
you must forgive me, it was terribly rude of me.' She smiled a sane
and friendly smile. 'You must think I’m crazy.'

'No. Just...
unexpected, like I say.'

Again Virginia
apologised for likening the girl’s hair to happiness folded softly
against her neck, as comforting as a child’s blanket.

The girl was
confused, people had never spoken to her in such a way before, and
she was a little worried, too, as Virginia’s fingers reached out to
touch, trembling slightly to prove how hesitant and shy she herself
was.

Her hair was
soft, it was warm and silky, and Virginia said that she could see
by the smile that she had her secrets.

'Secrets?'

'With your
hair.'

'Oh no, just
shampoo and conditioner,' the girl blushed.

'Ah, the
conditioner is the thing. But now I’d better leave you alone. Once
again, please forgive me for bothering you.'

'But-'

'Yes?'

The girl
laughed and shamefully confessed, she thought Virginia had been
trying to pick her up; there were women like that, she knew.

Virginia put
one hand over her heart, cupped her other over the girl’s hand and
told her with sincerity that this had not been so.

'Oh.'

Disappointment?

'Not that you
aren’t attractive,' Virginia added hastily, and the girl lowered
her eyes in modest agreement. 'Of course you’re attractive, but I
approached in admiration, nothing more. No, picking up anyone, male
or female, is far from my mind at the moment.'

'It is?'

'Yes. My
spirits are far from soaring, you see, my soul is not exactly
rapturous.'

'You’re
unhappy?' the girl intuited.

'Desolate.'

'Can I
help?'

Virginia
smiled, sadly, and shook her head. 'It was the most darling man who
reduced me to this pitiful state, you see. He was beautiful, he was
handsome, and he was taken away from me this very week.'

'Taken?'

'By a wicked
trick of fate, by some malevolent deity. He was driving too fast as
he came to meet me.'

The horrible
truth dawned on the girl. 'You mean he’s dead?'

'And his
parents blame me, of course. I lived with him and his parents, you
see, and now they want me gone.'

'You lived
with them and they’ve thrown you out?'

'It’s
understandable. My presence can only serve as a painful reminder of
their dead son.'

Virginia’s
expression was noble and defiant; she would survive, already she
was learning to forget.

'It must be
difficult.'

'Yes,' she
admitted. 'It’s just your hair, you see. It’s so much like
his...was.'

A ponce of a
man he must have been, to have hair so long, but the girl said,
'I’m sorry.'

'Please, don’t
be. There was no pain in the memory.'

'Then it might
have helped?'

'Yes, I
believe it might have.'

But there were
some memories which had to be erased, some mementoes which had to
go. She showed the hairdryer, a present from him and the last
painful memory she had of him. Perhaps the young woman might like
to have it, Virginia thought. There was such a resemblance about
the hair that it would be like giving it back to her lost love.

Of course the
girl could not accept it, it was obviously a good and expensive
machine.

'That it is,'
said Virginia. 'But it’s of no benefit to me, it would be too
painful if I was to use it. Please, take it.'

'Well let me
pay you for it, at least,' said the girl, fumbling in her
purse.

'I couldn’t do
that.'

She turned her
face disdainfully from the offensive brown note which was waved
beneath her nose. It had an unmistakeable odour.

'Please. I
insist.'

'You do?'

'Yes.'

'Very well,
then,' she said, already plucking the note from the girl’s fingers.
'But only on one condition.'

'What?'

'That you
allow me to buy you a drink.'

They exchanged
smiles and the transaction was concluded. She went to the bar with
the portrait of the dear old Queen clutched in her hand and bought
drinks. When she returned to the girl’s side they introduced
themselves. The girl’s name was Constance, she blushed to offer
such a ridiculous mouthful, but Virginia thought that it was not
ridiculous, she told her that it was beautiful and timeless. As she
was, she continued, with her white teeth sparkling and moist, eyes
clear and bright and cheering up the dismal bar whenever she
smiled. And how might her body glow in the dark hush of a bedroom?
Virginia itched to find out. After Trev she had had enough of men
for the time being.

'And what will
you do tonight?' Constance asked her.

'I’ll be okay,
don’t you worry yourself about me. I’ll probably find some cheap
boarding house. Or sleep down at the Pier Head.'

'But you can’t
do that! Come with me. You can sleep on the settee.'

'No,
Constance. I’m a stranger, you hardly know me.'

'I know that
you’re kind. And sad.'

Virginia
kissed her on the cheek to show that she appreciated the gesture,
her lips against the golden down, while Constance touched a hand to
hers and insisted that she wanted to help. Still Virginia declined
her offer of accommodation, though she did accept her invitation to
a cup of coffee and a sandwich.

Things would
develop from there; she might just be persuaded.

'Good,'
Constance smiled.

And so might
life be, good, with just a little luck, and she escorted Constance
through the darkly hostile streets, her arm enfolding her both for
the protection it afforded and the pleasure it gave. Constance made
no complaint and Virginia’s arm crept on a little, around the
slender back and up to the warmth of an armpit, there to nudge the
soft swell of a breast.

She whistled
softly, to frighten away any childhood ghosts, one of her favourite
tunes: ‘Thanks for the Mammaries’.

Constance wept
and Virginia cursed when the girl’s mother refused to let her stay
the night, but what was the use? Nothing could be done with a
matron in attendance, so she went home, up the rope ladder and to
her solitary bed, a few pounds and pence in her pocket to make life
easier for a while. It could only be for a short while, though, she
accepted this and the knowledge kept her awake. Unable to sleep she
searched her room for more saleable items, but there was nothing of
any value to be found. Indeed, there was little of anything left,
no furniture in which anything might be hidden, all the furniture
having been disposed of over the past few weeks. She slumped down
on the mattress, which was all she had left, too tattered to be of
any worth.

What a mess,
she thought. twenty four years old and what did she have? The use
of a small flat, for which she paid and paid -sometimes- but which
could never be hers. Surely she should have some capital by now,
she was old enough to deserve a little security, but no, her
possessions were slowly decreasing in number rather than
multiplying.

She took stock
of what she had, or rather of what she did not have: she had no
home, no car, no savings. Not even a husband and kid, which was
perhaps her only blessing. But there again, perhaps she should have
married some years ago, found in-laws that her parents would have
liked and respected; she would have found herself a home, this way,
a nice place for friends to visit, somewhere she would have been
happy to stay. Advancement, career prospects, a faithful husband
and a stable life.

Stable, eh? As
in manger? Some place where animals and other base creatures could
huddle together for comfort? No, that was the defeatist way, and in
her anger she pounded on the wall with her fist.

The wall
pounded back, or someone on the other side. Goomer? Maybe he owed
her money, or could lend her some, or had something worth stealing.
She jumped up from the mattress and went from her room to his.

Goomer was his
usual amorphous shape in the bed, hidden beneath the silks and
shawls and excuses for blankets.

'Go away,
Virginia. It’s too early.'

'I just called
about that ten pounds I lent you,' she said, sitting on the edge of
the bed. There was not much room, which led her to believe that
there were two bodies in there, Goomer and Dean.

'What ten
pounds?' asked Goomer. The bed covers crept down below his chin and
a second head came into view.

'Is he still
here? I told you, he’s weirdo.'

'You never
lent me ten quid.'

'I didn’t?'
She shrugged. 'Must be thinking of someone else, then. Lend me ten
pounds until I can get it back.'

'Get it back?
Who from?'

'Whoever I
lent it to,' she said, with an imprecise wave of the hands. 'Lend
me a tenner until the end of the week.'

'No. I haven’t
got it.'

'What about
Dean?'

'You surely
wouldn’t borrow money from him, would you? He’s a weirdo.'

'There’s no
need for sarcasm.'

Goomer slipped
lower in the bed, hiding his head again in the warmth of the covers
and the body beside him. He told her to go.

Virginia stuck
two fingers up at the ruffled sheets, then turned and walked
towards the door. Stopping by the stereo unit, she flicked her
fingers silently through the stack of records which were beneath
it.

'And keep your
thieving mitts off my records!' was the muffled warning from the
bed.

Virginia left
loudly, annoyed, empty handed and still no more prosperous. Back in
her own room, on the mattress again, she had difficulty in getting
comfortable. The tingling between her legs was getting in the way,
its excitement brought upon by the near presence of two young men
in bed. Oh Christ, that again, was it? She groaned, unzipped her
trousers, then quickly zipped them up again. No, she would not
resort to such measures, it was too demeaning. She paced back and
forth across the room, searching for some other outlet for her
frustrations.

How about that
more aesthetic illumination that Goomer had sometimes spoken of? If
she could not take his money or his goods then she might as well
take his advice. There might even be a profit to be made, if Gerald
found the result to his liking, so she took her sketch-pad from
beneath the mattress, pencils from her jacket pocket and began. As
morning light outshone the naked bulb overhead a drawing developed,
its beauty becoming brighter by breakfast time.

*

'Not bad,' she
decided. 'Yes, quite marketable.'

Tearing two
hardboard panels from the door she tucked the drawing between them
to stop it creasing or tearing. With such an encumbrance under her
arm any descent by rope ladder was impractical, of course, so she
stepped confidently into the corridor and down the stairs, sure
that no one would be about so early in the morning.

'I’ve been
listening to you wrecking the place!' someone shouted, through a
narrow crack in one of the doors she passed, and she ran down the
remaining flights of stairs, out onto the street where the sight of
the cathedral calmed her.

'Fuckers,' she
muttered, and made her way more sedately into town, the soft blue
sky tempering her mood.

Blue skies
were always the most promising of all.

Gerald’s staff
were idly tidying the shop, waiting for the first customers of the
day, and one of them pointed Virginia down a steep flight of
stairs, telling her that the boss was in the basement. She found
him unpacking prints, adding to the disarray which covered the huge
table in the centre of the room.

'Delightful,
aren’t they?' he said, lining up a series of three prints by
Russell Flint.

'Not bad,'
Virginia admitted grudgingly, refusing to be impressed by them.

Gerald
laughed. 'Dear old Virginia. You get a handful of drawings
exhibited in a scruffy wine-bar and you’re unbearable.' He noticed
the hardboard she carried beneath her arm, asked, 'What’s
that?'

'I did what
you suggested. Some more work.'

She slid the
drawing out and conceitedly placed it on top of the middle of the
three Russell Flints.

'It’s Goomer,'
said Gerald.

'Is it? No it
isn’t.'

But the face
which had come from dreams and ideals did bear a slight
resemblance.

'Anyway,
despite the subject it’s really quite nice.' Gerald’s finger went
to his lips, as it always did when it was time for consideration.
'Yes, it isn’t bad at all. Not totally original, of course, a wee
bit reminiscent of the designer portraits you get in Waring and
Gillow. Still, it has a certain appeal.'

Virginia
grinned and shuffled her feet; the soles always itched at the
prospect of money. 'So? What about it?'

'What about
what?'

'How
much?'

'Now? You want
money now? Virginia, darling, you must realise that it isn’t as
simple as that. There’s a publisher to be found for the drawings,
prints made, postcards or posters or whatever, before any cash can
come your way.' He picked up the drawing and slipped it into a
cardboard folder. 'Leave it with me for a month or so and I’ll see
what I can do.'

'A month?
Shit, Gerald, I’m skint, I need money now.'

'Well, I do
happen to be short of a girl in the shop at the moment, if you
fancy helping out.'

'I’m
serious!'

So was Gerald.
'Well? Do you want to earn a few pounds?'

Virginia
thought, but not for long. She shook her head. 'It’s too nice a day
to spend indoors.'

'What you mean
is that it’s beneath you to do such a banal job. You really must
learn to swallow your pride, Virginia, and slip back down to our
level.'