‘Where are you meeting him?’
‘I’m calling round to Testosterone Central, and then we’re going out. Coming?’
‘Depends. Is this a date?’
‘No, just going for a couple of drinks with him and forty-nine of his closest friends. Please come.’
‘Well, all right, but I’m not going to sleep with Joey just to oblige you.’
‘Aw, please, Brigit,’ I begged. ‘I’m sure he fancies you. It would be lovely, it would be so romantic.’ I paused. ‘It would be so handy.’
‘You selfish bitch,’ she exclaimed.
‘I’m not,’ I protested. ‘I’m only saying that… well, you know, you and I live together and Luke and Joey live together and…’
‘No!’ she exclaimed. ‘No way. We’re adults, you and I…’
‘Speak for yourself.’
‘And as adults we don’t have to do everything together. That means that we can go out with men who aren’t friends with each other.’
‘Fine,’ I said sulkily.
We sat in silence for a few tense minutes.
‘Well OK,’ she sighed resignedly. ‘I’ll think about it.’
49
I was mad keen for Brigit to get off with Joey, because I was still slightly mortified to be going out with one of the Real Men. If I could have roped in a friend of mine to go out with another of them, I’d have felt a lot more comfortable.
I didn’t like being the only one.
Of course I knew I was shallow and a horrible person and all that, but I couldn’t help it.
Brigit and I had our showers, which was kind of pointless because five minutes later we were sweating like pigs again. We put on the minimum of clothes, then swam through the heavy humid air to Luke’s.
I felt nervous and shy as I rang his bell. He always made me feel that way. A strange compulsive mix of lust and reluctance. Revulsion, nearly. A tiny little flicker of it playing around in the lining of my stomach.
We exited the lift slowly, too hot to go any faster. The door of the apartment was open and Luke was lying on the floor, wearing just a pair of denim cut-offs. His tanned chest and legs were bare and the fan whirred over him, blowing his long hair into his eyes. When I came face-to-face with him, his eyes darkened, then he smiled at me. Meaningfully, with a promise in his look and a bulge in his shorts. I felt a violent rush of desire and nausea.
‘How’s it going, seventies throw-back?’ Brigit greeted Luke.
‘Seventies sling-back,’ Luke replied.
‘Seventies bad-back,’ Brigit riposted.
‘Seventies out-back,’ Luke managed.
‘Seventies clutch-bag,’ Brigit chanced.
‘No,’ Luke was firm. ‘That’s cheating.’
Luke and Brigit got on very well. Which sometimes pleased me.
And which sometimes didn’t.
It’s a narrow line. Well, but not too well.
Then I did what I did every time I went to Luke’s apartment. I pretended to slip in a testosterone slick.
Luke obliged me by laughing. Then Brigit and I both wobbled around for a bit, windmilling our arms, shouting things like ‘Mind out, there’s another pool of it over there!’
‘Jesus,’ said Brigit, looking around the cluttered, macho apartment. ‘This place gets worse. There’s so many male hormones in the air that my balls will drop if I stay here too long. Any chance of a glass of iced coffee?’
‘Oh God, I don’t know,’ Luke said, rubbing his stubble in a perplexed gesture that I found so sexy I wished Brigit would go away for a while and leave me and Luke to do some horizontal surfing. ‘We don’t do much home catering.
‘I could run out to the corner and get a take-away for you,’ he offered. ‘Or how about a beer,’ he offered eagerly. ‘We’ve got lots of beer.’
‘Why doesn’t this surprise me?’ Brigit asked drily. ‘OK, a beer it is.
‘Am I seeing things?’ Brigit had picked up a leather jerkin that had ‘Whitesnake’ on the back of it. She shook her head almost sadly and said ‘What year is it, Luke? Just tell me what year it is.’
This was only a matter of time. She did it every time she saw Luke.
‘1972, of course,’ Luke said.
‘It’s not, you know,’ Brigit said briskly. ‘It’s 1997, actually.’
Luke looked horrified. ‘What manner of rawmaysh are you talking, woman?’
‘Pass me the paper, Rachel,’ she ordered. ‘Lookit here, you poor sad throw-back, see where it says the date…’
Luke did his usual reeling and clutching of his forehead and I decided I was tired of being left out.
‘Where’s the lads?’ I enquired.
‘Out,’ Luke said. ‘Back any minute.’
Just then there was a commotion at the door, noises of stumbling and shouting; instructions and exhortations and complaints. And an ashen-faced Gaz was half-led, half-dragged into the apartment by Joey and Shake.
‘Not far more now, man,’ Joey was saying to Gaz.
Each of them, in turn, tripped over a pair of biker boots that were thrown in the middle of the floor.
Each of them in turn muttered ‘Jayzis’.
I wondered how they could wear so much denim in this heat. In fact, I wondered how they could wear so much hair in this heat.
‘We’re home, man,’ Shake said.
‘Thank fuck for that,’ Gaz mumbled, then put the back of his hand to his forehead, just like a Victorian spinster who’d been flashed at and was about to swoon. His eyes fluttered closed and his knees buckled under him.
‘He’s going, he’s going,’ Shake declared, all drama, as Gaz crumpled and hit the deck.
Gaz had fainted! What a laugh.
Luke, Brigit and I raced over for a closer look and to find out what it was all about.
‘Give the man some air, man,’ Joey ordered.
‘Come on, man.’ He hunkered down beside Gaz. ‘Keep breathing, man, come on, man, deep breaths.’
Gaz obliged by wheezing like an asthmatic.
‘Loosen his stays,’ I murmured.
‘What’s up?’ Luke demanded.
I had thought it was just the heat that had Gaz in such a state but, when Joey said huffily ‘Let the man have a bit of privacy,’ it was obvious that something far more interesting had happened.