LAYERS
By A.G.R. Goff
For Andy
Just hang in there
In the end everything will turn out all right
It's not death that a man should fear,
But he should fear never beginning to live.
- Marcus Aurelius
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
22 September 2015
It's a perfect day for taking a swim in the nude. The sun has burnt away every cooling shadow remaining from the day before, leaving the streets exposed and unwelcoming. The centre of the village, a small lake, seems to be the only protection from the heat. Nobody lingers outside disturbing the peace and the water looks as inviting as an oasis in the desert would look to a lost Berber. A young woman walks past the lake's banks towards a small, crooked cottage. She has deep-red hair glaring like fire in the sun. It's difficult to say from such a distance but she might be eighteen or nineteen, maybe younger. She doesn't care about the weather and she isn't going to jump into the water to cool off. Her big ocean-blue eyes stare at the old, red door in front of her. When she reaches it, she stops and waits. She stands there for a while and moves her hands only to wipe the sweat from her forehead. Her breasts are small but firm and push through her thin blouse. Little drops of sweat have turned it a bit transparent but she doesn't care. She doesn't want to seduce anybody. Well, not today anyway. The days of seducing men are behind her. Her eyes focus on the red door. The house it belongs to is nothing spectacular. In normal circumstances, it wouldn't have caught her eye or anybody else's for that matter. She turns around, scanning the building for something to hold onto. Her eyes travel from left to right and back again, trying to take in the surroundings. The village is picturesque but boring, nothing compared to the city life she is used to. People who love close-knit communities would think it to be paradise. It would be easy to hide something in a small place like this.
Nobody would suspect someone like him to live here. Maybe that's the reason why he chose to spend his final days in this carefully painted cottage. She turns around on her left heel. The ducks dosing at the lake’s bank make it look sickly peaceful. Anybody could hide here. It looks like a painting in a children’s book. Creepy. A bit like something could hide behind all this beauty and jump out when you least expect it… These books always started nice and pleasant, just to make the reader feel secure and then turned out to hide a scary secret. Not that she'd read many books in her childhood and it didn't matter now. She steps away from the front door and walks around the house. The house has just received a lick of fresh paint. A light grey. It looks…nice. Too nice. As if, the owner is trying to give no reason for people to look closer. The palms of her hands are cold despite the hot weather. She isn't quite sure what she was hoping to find. Everything seems like it's being looked after by someone who really cares or maybe by someone who doesn't want people paying too much attention and poking their noses into something that's none of their business. Her eyes wonder away from the back garden to the house. She almost overlooked the ramshackle shed. It's overgrown with ivy and completely out of place in this otherwise perfect scenario. But it also doesn't make her feel better. She feels like she's looking through a window and seeing something she wasn't meant to see. The shed doesn't fit in here. But maybe it is the only thing that shows his true character, the only thing that doesn't look staged. Sweat is now running down her legs. Her feet move closer without her making the conscious decision to walk. There's a bell she could ring but somehow she's afraid to make a loud noise and knocks instead. Knock, Knock. Nothing. Knock, Knock. She strokes her fingers because her knuckles are starting to feel a bit sore. She's about to give up when she can hear someone coming downstairs. The salt and pepper haired man who opens the door looks like he's in his seventies with wrinkles covering his sun-tanned face. His eyes are the shade of a clear blue Swiss lake. They have the capacity of appearing cold and intimidating but for now they are warm and without any hostility. He had clearly been attractive when he was younger and probably had his fair share of women.
“Hello?” His light blue eyes are piercing through her body. His stare makes her shiver but perhaps this is just because she knows what is going to happen. He looks at her and frowns in a curious but friendly way. “Can I help you?”
She swallows the big lump rising in her throat. It has a bitter taste judging by the look on her face. She twists her hands, straightens up and looks into the old man’s eyes. “My name is Miranda. Miranda Richardson.”
“Yes and?” The man’s face is blank. She frowns. “Don't you know my name?”
“No I don't. Have we met? Should I know it?”
“I'm not sure. Maybe it was changed?”
“Changed?” The man is clearly confused now. The girl takes a deep breath, rolling her eyes. She's a bit irritated. She never had much patience.
“Yes, my name might have changed. I'm not sure. It's possible. I've been…. The reason why I'm here is… well, I think I should come in,” she whispers, seemingly scared by her own courage, clutching her handbag. The man stares at the girl with wide eyes but behind the mask of shock, he doesn't seem to be very surprised.
“I thought this might happen one day,” he mumbles, biting the inside of his mouth. “Come in. Just be careful, this step here is a bit loose.” He points down. “My name is Dave Hutchinson, but I guess you know that already.” He opens the door a bit wider so she can step in. She hesitates for a second but then she follows him into the house. There is no way she would turn around now. After all, that's why she came here and she wouldn't wimp out, not now after coming so close to finding the missing puzzle piece. She doesn't feel hot anymore and tries to take it as a good sign. Her blouse has dried by now and she looks like a good girl. But this is not how she feels and from the angry look in her eyes, it's clear that she isn't here to make friends. It will be an interesting evening.
“I know,” she just says quietly while walking past him. She doesn't look up and her unmoving eyes look frozen like black glaciers just staring straight ahead. “My parents have never hidden anything from me. They loved nothing more than the truth and they told me early in my life what I needed to know. They wanted to be as honest as possible so our relationship could grow without baggage. I've no doubt they've always loved me. I certainly felt taken care of and they were good at showing positive emotions. But after they told me a little bit I wanted to know more and I started digging, my parents knew about …her and how she had this car accident and that she loved me. So if that hadn't had happened I wouldn't be here today and maybe you wouldn't have to numb your feelings with booze… My…the other…I mean the guy,” she glares at Dave and her eyes tighten, “is another story.” She clearly wants to hurt or at least embarrass him, but his reaction surprises her. A little wave of guilt rolls through her body when she looks into his sad, empty eyes. Maybe there was more to all of this and she should listen to what Dave has to say. He doesn't look like a drunkard who didn't care about anything. Maybe he can tell her something she needs to know. “They told me you looked after me for a couple of weeks, maybe even months after it happened but apparently you didn't feel responsible enough and couldn't cope. Or maybe you just didn't want to. My parents thought maybe you were an alcoholic but they were not a hundred percent sure. They were not allowed to ask too many questions at the time and accepted it, because all they wanted was to have me back home. For them it didn't matter where I was before and why it all happened, as long as everything was normal, well as normal as it could be for them. They just wanted to have a few details so they could answer my questions once I was old enough to ask. And it doesn't matter now. They are both dead.” She sits down on a scruffy looking, green velvet chair and looks straight into his face. Dave swallows hard.
“I'm sorry. About your parents, I mean, that they are dead.” Miranda just waves her hand in a dismissive gesture.
“I don't want to talk about them.”
“Well, I drank too much, I know that. But am I an alcoholic? To be honest, I don't know. I just stopped when my wife and I split up and I've never wasted any more thought on it. It was easy. I never missed it much. I still drink the occasional glass of red wine, but that's it. So I guess no, I wasn't an alcoholic. But I assume I was pretty, damn close to becoming one.”
“Did she leave you because of her? Your wife, I mean. Did you cheat on her?” Dave’s lips curl up in a sad smile. “No. I mean yes, unfortunately, that's one reason. She left me because of you. However, it wasn't what you think. I didn't cheat. The trust was gone and we didn't have anything in common. All that had kept us together was trust and money. And when that was gone…I mean the trust not the money…she left. It was strange because we were together for a long time. But it was better that way. You have to believe me I didn't cheat on my wife. Not once. She misunderstood everything and I never told her the truth. Not all of it anyway. I guess she sensed there was something I had not told her and came to the wrong conclusion. But it didn't matter. We would never have made it anyway.” He suddenly shakes his head. “Why the hell am I telling you all this? I just met you.” He pauses grasping his cup of tea, which is clearly cold by now. He has not taken one sip. “Well, I guess it doesn't matter. You see, she didn't want to understand.” His voice turns raspy and he looks like his mind might have wondered off. He is more speaking to himself now. Then he realises where he is again and looks at the young woman. “It just made us both unhappy and there were so many things going on at the time and of course, it turned even worse later, but our relationship had been so unhappy over a long time. We just didn't want to see that it was over. Never mind. But I guess that's not why you are here. You don't want to hear about me and my marriage problems. I got over that a long time ago and I'm sure you are not really interested in my feelings anyway. I'm still alive and that's all that matters.”
“You are right. I'm not interested in how you felt when your marriage broke down, unless it had something to do with why I'm here. But it is interesting how I didn't have to say much and you knew almost straight away why I'm here. It would be too easy if your wife had anything to do with it. But I’m sure people would have asked questions a long time ago and we wouldn’t be sitting here. No, I want to find out as much as I can about her. That’s all. I want to know what happened to her and I will not stop until I know. No matter what it costs.” Dave gasps. “Okay.” He obviously can’t think of anything else to say. He looks as if he is going to throw up at any minute but manages to contain himself. He takes a deep breath and just gestures for her to continue.
“So, let’s jump right in and start with why you handed me over that easily. I mean it would have been hard to do it all on your own, but you could have looked after me without her. You might not be super-rich, but I know you have enough money to afford a nanny. Well, at least you did back then.”
“A nanny wasn’t the problem. That would have been the least of my issues.” Dave looks at her like one of those Labrador puppies straight out of a commercial. Her face looks grey and exhausted. She clearly doesn’t feel sorry for him. “I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t. It wasn’t my decision in the end. I just did what I had to do.” He sighs. “I think we should have another cup of tea. Mine has gone cold. Here, have some brandy with it. That might help you to feel better. Well, it certainly makes me feel better. After all I’m an alcoholic, right?” He tries to grin but it doesn’t work and makes his face look even older. “It’s a long story and I need you to understand every bit of it. Twenty years have passed but everything that has happened follows me into my dreams almost every night. It still feels as if it was just last week.”
“You mean how one wrong decision can ruin someone’s life forever or sometimes even the lives of a whole family?” Her eyes tighten but there's no sign of regret for her outburst.
“Not exactly. I'm not sure if it was just one wrong decision. There were many events that folded into each other. None of us wanted this and people still suffer. But I can’t change the past, as much as I would like to.”
“People?” She frowns. “If you mean me as one of those people, I've never…suffered. Not because of this. I’ve had a nice life so far. My childhood was great. I had fun and my parents loved me but I'm curious.” Unconsciously she rubs her hands together and she struggles to look Dave into the eyes. “I need to know where I was born, my origins. I need to know where I spent the first few weeks of my existence. And I just want that one question answered. What happened? I don't know much about the circumstances of my birth but I know about my mother. She was a photographer. She wasn't very successful but I think she was good. I mean she could make a living from her art but she wasn't famous or anything. I couldn't find many pictures of her but the few I could find on the internet gave me a warm feeling. She was talented but so are many people who never make it big. So, on that note I don't think I can find out a lot more unless I speak to my grandparents. But they never tried to stop any of this, so I guess they aren’t really interested in me. Maybe they were too busy with their own lives. I don't know. Or…,” she hesitates. “I think my mother was born a Muslim, so maybe they didn't approve of her choices in life. I'm sure her parents were pretty conservative. But of course I can’t ask her and I don't even know where they live. Maybe they are dead.” She shrugs as if it doesn't bother her. “I just made stories up in my head over the years. It gets more and more unreal to the point where I don't know what's true and what's not. But my grandparents don't matter to me. I can’t really tell you why I'm not interested in them. But there's nothing I know about you and I do want to find out a few things. Just who you are and why you did whatever you did. You were the only person my parents talked about. The only one who might know what happened. Of course, I want to know why you gave me to them in the end. And I can accept any explanation. I just want to know the reason, have peace of mind and close that chapter of my life, whatever happened. Whatever you have done, whatever they've done, it doesn't matter.” She blows out the last bit of air and sighs. This nicey, nicey stuff turned out to be hard work.
“I can understand you, Miranda. We all like to know who we are. But sometimes knowing everything doesn't give you peace of mind. It makes things worse.” Dave puts a thump on his lower lip and strokes it slowly. “I just didn't expect all this at my age. To open up like this. But of course it's something that had to happen eventually.”
“Just tell me, Mr… gosh, this sounds wrong. I can’t call you Mr Hutchinson”. Miranda winces.
“Just call me Dave, okay. Makes it easier for both of us. I cannot even remember the last time someone called me Mr Hutchinson. Dave is fine, honest. I don't mind, and you don't need to make this any more uncomfortable than it is already. I've heard a lot worse in my life.”
“I will call you Dave. Makes it more real,” Miranda winks at him coldly. She put her hands on her stomach as if she feels sick.
“I bet you like this little game. Dave is fine. I think it's okay for the situation we are in. Well…,” he gets up and turns down the gas fire a bit. “Do you feel hot? I do.” He turns back to Miranda.
“No,” she whispers and swallows the big lump that had returned to her throat. “Why don't you just sit down and tell me my story.”
“Your… story.” He looks thoughtfully at her with his piercing eyes. “Hmm, well I guess you could call it your story in some ways. You might be right. No, you are right. You need to know so you can make up your own mind. But I have to warn you. Some parts are not very pleasant.” She sighs again. “Look, I've no idea what has happened to me the first few months in my life, I've seen some pretty shit things in my life and my mother died in a car crash. Of course, it's not going to be pleasant. I'm prepared for anything. Just go ahead.” She nods at him, hoping it looks reassuring but her hands feel slippery like an eel.
“Okay.” He takes a deep breath patting her hand absentmindedly. She stiffens a bit but manages not to pull away. “To start with I have to tell you about a good mate of mine, Gerald. He is a very, very good friend and he's the central character to… as you say …your story. I met him the first time when we went to drama school and our friendship has been going strong ever since. I know this might be confusing but understand your story we have to start with him. He told me most of this and of course some of the stuff that went on is just a guess on my part.” Miranda straightens her back. Maybe this story would give her some clues about her mother. She clearly didn't expect Dave to tell her the whole truth, especially if he was the one who was involved, but he might mention something that would help her. She gestures at him to keep going. “Well,” he stands up. “I think I should give you something. Maybe it's better than me telling you everything and getting it wrong. Wait here a second.” Miranda sinks deeper into her green velvet chair and her eyes keep scanning the door he has shut. What is the man doing? He comes back just a few minutes later but to her it seems like hours. What did he plan? Obviously nothing dangerous as she finds out, when he hands her a battered, brown cardboard-bound diary with his hands shaking. Maybe it was just old age. Maybe. “I think it's better if you read this first. Don't take it home. Read it here. I'm sure you will have questions. He wrote a lot more diaries. Mostly about his job and some thoughts he had about becoming a playwright some day. But I think this one is the most interesting for you. He told me once he hoped it would make a great biography one day. Probably after he died. Or maybe he could publish it when he ran out of money because nobody would want to see him acting. Well, he didn't - even though it would have sold well. We all know that and I'm sure you would agree as well. Well, that's before all this mess happened. It changed everything. Everybody was devastated when they found out. Everybody who liked him, of course. His friends and family. But I guess at the point when it happened he didn't care. I'm not even sure, why he continued writing it. Maybe it was for you or maybe it was just habit. I never asked him. Maybe I should have. Thinking about it, it might have been a good idea. If the police had found it, it could have got us into trouble. But they never did. It was well hidden. Anyway, I don't know. I will make you another cup of tea. Yours is cold.” The police? This old man clearly knew a lot more than she anticipated. Why should the police have got involved in the story he was talking about. She looks at him questionably, clearly confused as to what he meant. But she doesn't say anything. Maybe it was better not to give anything away at this point. She just settles deeper into her chair, takes the diary and opens it.
Chapter 2
Gerald
22 May 1993
I know people think I'm quite handsome but sometimes it feels more like a curse than a blessing. Of course good-looking people are usually treated better in this world. They have it easier. Well, not all the time but very often and I guess men have it better in that respect. We are still valued for what we are and do. It's not overshadowed all the time by how we look like. But I guess to get where I'm now, looking better than average helped a bit. Of course it's not all that counts, otherwise I would be in deep shit. Ageing is not pleasant, I know that much.
And some days are better than others. Today I felt like an old man just wanting to go to bed and sleep, after having finished my play. I had had worse days, but I felt so tired as if I had not slept for days. I just wanted to go home after signing a few of those stupid autographs, put my slippers on and behave like the old man I'm. But that woman just didn't want to let me go. Stupid cow. She stood in front of me, wearing the tinted glasses of loved up people, which must have messed up her brain and I could see how she struggled to say something. She was just too awestruck. I knew she didn't see me like I am - ageing, tired and with grey hair. She just saw a fantasy. Martha was standing next to me, clearly finding it amusing. She has been my lady-friend for so long now and is used to it. Sometimes I think she's so bored of it, she doesn't even realise something is happening. She usually ignores my fans. The woman pushed her bosom out a little more so I would pick her out of the crowd. She didn't have a great chest and she wouldn't enjoy what I would like to do with it anyway. It annoyed me, because that bitch ignored Martha, even though she stood right next to me. I can’t stand rude people. But never mind. It's a job. I straightened up. As usual I smiled a professional smile - nice but distant. The woman, however, in the group of usual middle-aged women, didn't realise that I couldn't wait to get back into the theatre or jump into a taxi. They never do. It's so tiring. Why don't they understand that I'm not interested in sex, not the kind of sex they want anyway? It doesn't get me anywhere. Even though sometimes I wonder how far they would go to please me.
It was freezing but all the women wore short skirts. I will never understand that. It's so embarrassing – middle-aged women in minis. Yuck. I signed all the autographs and even joked with some of my normal fans, but I wanted to be somewhere different. I know there's routine in my behaviour. But I can’t help it. I tried to keep warm by wrapping up in my scarf and rubbing my hands together when I could get a little break from signing all those magazines, programmes and photographs. It was a wasted effort. But it didn't matter. And after all I made many women happy tonight. I do like this part of my job, not the crazy girls and woman who would jump into bed with me and do almost anything I would ask them to do at any given opportunity, but the fans that come to see me play and feel happy afterwards. The fans I meet after a play, who tell me that they had the evening of their life and would never forget it. I love their shiny eyes and friendly smiles. Of course some dream about love and holding me in their arms at night. But I know it's not really me they want, it's an illusion. That's what films and theatre plays do; they make you dream and forget reality. But what I really want to write about was this other woman. She was young and had dark brown hair. Her age was difficult to guess, but I guess she was in her mid-thirties. I didn't see her getting out of her blue Polo. And at first she was just one of many people coming here to see me. I had concentrated on the woman in front of me with the blond, short hair, who gushed at me and asked me to sign one of her booklets. The neckline of her shirt was too deep and I almost yawned with boredom. It's always the same. One looked like the other. I smiled pretending not to notice her desperation and listened to her telling me how much she admired me: “You were fantastic tonight. I mean you are always fantastic but tonight you were better than usual. I must have seen almost every one of your performances in “The Duke in the Dark” and tonight you really excelled.” Bladibladibla. I didn't really listen to be honest. “Oh, just tonight?” I mocked her. Light, harmless flirtation is part of my routine. Martha doesn't mind. She just squeezed my hand and grinned. She knows me so well. Sometimes I don't even realise I'm doing it. And I've to be careful not to appear arrogant and blasé. But of course the woman’s reaction told me that I had delivered my lines just right. She looked like she was almost going to faint. “Oh, no I didn't mean…,” she stuttered. Silly woman. She wouldn't be my type anyway and I guess she wouldn't really adore me as much if she knew what I really liked. They all live in cloud cuckoo land.
And then it happened. All the boredom just disappeared into the back of my twisted brain. This woman. Wow. I mean it was as if she was there grabbing me and twist every cell of by body to get my attention. I remember every word she said. Her voice cut sharply through the laugher and chatting of all the people around me, who suddenly didn't seem to be important at all: “Ah, there you are Bekka. I've been waiting for over twenty minutes. I'm cold and I'm starving. Let us make a move. The show has finished ages ago. What are you waiting for anyway?” I looked around to see where the voice was coming from and it took me a few split seconds to realise it came from below. I looked down into the biggest brown eyes I've ever seen. It was strange, because the woman they belonged to seemed to be unusually small. But I had no time to wonder about this because I suddenly had problems breathing and my chest tightened. I think this is how it must feel to have a heart attack. It couldn't have been anything else. My whole body tingled. My hand cramped around the booklet I had just been about to sign. But as suddenly as the feeling had started, it subsided. I had been wrong. I wasn't about to die, what a relief. I wasn't ready to go just yet. I tried to compose myself, by putting my arm around Martha trying to resist the urge to look down and concentrated on the woman in front of me again. She didn’t notice a thing. I tried my hardest to sound relaxed, when I said: “I think your friend is talking to you.” The woman sighed and rolled her eyes. I found it difficult not to laugh. “I know…she doesn't understand how important this is. How important you are…to everybody…to me. She doesn’t appreciate what a wonderful actor you are. It's probably because she isn't really into theatre or television. Actually, I don’t think she has one.” “Doesn’t have one?” I frowned. “Exactly, I can’t believe it either.” The woman had obviously misunderstood me completely. “I mean everybody has a television. After all we live in the twenty-first century. And it's a blessing; otherwise we would miss your wonderful performances. I would never have watched your play today if I hadn’t have seen you in “Straight” in this nude scene. You looked gorgeous by the way - and I wouldn't be talking to you now”. Martha chuckled beside me. “Did you use a body double? It's not what I see every night.”
“Which would be a shame”, I said, trying not to be sidetracked by Martha’s snide comment. Sometimes she has a strange sense of humour and it wasn't always funny, even though she would think otherwise. Most of the time we were on the same wavelength, so I guess it doesn't matter that she annoys the hell out of me sometimes. A thought came into my head and I smiled a bit. Pinching her nipples might shut her up. No, nothing of that. Concentrate. Perfect flirting, I'm good at that. I had been practising it for years. The woman looked at me and showed a bleached white, sparkling smile. It was good that she couldn't read my thoughts. She would have run away screaming. “Exactly, it would have been a real shame. My life wouldn't be much fun. Pretty boring. I guess I wouldn't know what else to do.” I could see that her friend with the chocolate-brown eyes looked slightly annoyed. I had to look down but somehow my neck was going in that direction automatically. I couldn't help it. Concentrate. Thinking about it now, it was a weird situation. I pretended to be busy signing the tiny booklet in my hand, watching her out of the corner of my eye. She was just another fan after all. But I still wondered why she was so small? I shrugged. Maybe she'd one of those illnesses. What was it called? One of the actors in “Game of thrones” has it. Ah, yes of course – dwarfism. I almost said it out loud. Well, people came in all sorts of sizes. She was still kind of cute. And I didn't mean cute like a pet that's unusually tiny. I never understood why people would waste their time getting attached to animals they could crush at any moment. “Bekka. Did you not hear me? I really would like to go now. You have got your autograph. Can we go, please? It's freezing.” She certainly liked to be heard. “I agree. It's very cold”, I tried speaking in my best actors deep baritone. I knew women found it sexy. But it felt strange. Why did I get involved at all? Normally I played people like puppets on a string. And here was this woman, who was making me do things I didn't want to do. Martha coughed. I looked at her and frowned. Her lips curled up in a strange smile but she didn't say anything. “You must be the object of Bekka’s desire. Herold Tounsend, right?” the small woman asked me. “Gerald, but the Tounsend is correct,” I replied feeling slightly annoyed. Why did it bother me so much that she obviously didn't watch my movies or plays? I didn't know her. And I always wanted to be able to walk down the street without being stalked by hordes of women. Well, I wasn't a celebrity as such, so it was still possible, but people started to recognise me more and more and I didn't really like it. Or at least that's what I had told myself for the last few years. And now there was one woman who didn't know who I was and I felt angry. I smiled to hide my confusion and just said: “I assume you have not seen my play tonight.” Yes, that's the right thing to do, small talk. I moved in known territory now. She laughed a deep, hearty laugh which made me realise the lower half of my body had not died yet, even after all those years without having sex. She just chuckled: “No, I'm sorry. It's not really my kind of thing but I'm sure you were fantastic. According to Bekka you are always fantastic.” The woman called Bekka growled at her friend. I don't know why, but I said: “Well, if you are hungry there’s a lovely restaurant in the theatre. You can come with us. I want to eat something anyway.” Why did I say that? I had planned to go home with Martha after signing autographs and doing my duty, just having a nice glass of wine and some home cooked dinner. “Eh, well I'm not really sure,” the woman frowned, looking at Martha. I'm sure your wife would rather spend the evening with you.” “No, that's fine. Martha is not my wife and she's used to entertaining lots of people.” I really didn't think about it when I said that. Suddenly I could feel a hard pull when Martha jerked her hand away from mine. What was the matter with her? This was a normal part of my job. She'd always understood that. “Oh yes, we are sure. Of course, we would love to accept your generous offer. Many thanks.” Bekka grinned. She reminded me of the cat from Alice in Wonderland. She looked like Christmas, Easter and her birthday had all happened at the same time. It made me smile as well. Sometimes these things were just too easy. I was definitely a one-woman man and had been faithful to Martha for a long time but I did like women and certainly liked to flirt with them. They seemed to melt in my hand like butter in the sun. It was a great feeling to know they would if I would let them. I was the one in control. Everything else I liked wasn't important anymore or so I had convinced myself. “Shall we go now? By the way, this is Isar.” Bekka just threw this in as if it didn't matter, but to me it mattered a lot. I loved the sound of it. Isar, it was a very pretty name. Even though she looked a bit miserable. She obviously didn't want to be here. Oh well, I will entertain her, I thought to myself. Most people were curious about theatres and to be invited by a known actor would be something really special. Okay, I wasn't exactly famous like Tom Cruise, but people were still interested, especially about the sort of theatre I was involved in. But Isar didn't seem to be too impressed. She just stretched and said in a loud clear voice: “I'm really sorry but I can’t go out tonight. I've to get up early tomorrow morning for work. But it was nice to meet you.” And then she managed somehow to move her wheelchair and pull her astonished friend with her. I just stood there looking like a twat gaping at them with my mouth wide open. “What the hell…?” I'm sure my polite mask had dropped for a moment. Not one of my finest moments.