"She was the last one in the hot tub." Donovan said.
"And it couldn't be anything else. It just had to be fate."
"I know you're mocking me but yes." He said holding his wine glass near his cheek, "She was the last one in the hot tub."
It had happened so gradually that Sarah had barely realised. Donovan stopped shouting at the cat when it approached him and he cleaned the dishes in the sink when it was full. He was patiently waiting, cleaning up after himself and engaging in amiable small talk. He was quiet and polite and on occasion would wear her slippers. Sarah didn't say anything regarding the contact she had promised to make. The conversation in which she had failed to make anything happen. Sarah realised that until she told Donovan something significant about the woman he was searching for she had a roommate. For the most part it was less of a burden than she had expected. She almost appreciated the company.
"And this was the first time you saw her after the..." Sarah trailed off. The first time Donovan had met Her had been a hit and run according to the police. The security force took no interest in what they termed 'an accident'. The Quadrangle was designed to protect people from outside forces and a petty road traffic accident slipped under their radar. Luckily the media had also ignored the incident and Donovan managed to escape the incident unscathed by the law and by society.
The police investigation studied the footage from the street but the cameras didn't provide a clear angle on the incident. Aside from Donovan's statement there was nothing to investigate. Donovan said nothing further about the woman, other than that she bolted. The details he provided concerning her appearance were vague at best. He wasn't asked anything further. His father made a discreet payment to the family of the deceased man. He was under the impression that Donovan was at least partially responsible. Donovan remained oblivious of his generosity. The incident gradually faded from memory and was never mentioned by father or son.
In the following months Donovan found a new lease of life. He said yes to every opportunity his friends formulated. Raucous weekends on the continent, drag racing by the docks in their sports cars, taking drugs and irritating the patrons of the members only clubs in the Quadrangle. Whether this was directly connected with his recent experience or it just happened to be an idle summer in which he had no job or anywhere to be were negligible and barely dwelt upon.
It was Tristan's birthday blowout balls-stravaganza and Donovan found himself sitting on a sofa in a penthouse suite in a lavish hotel based in the Quadrangle. It was a late evening and there had been a bar and restaurant beforehand which he was certain they couldn't go back to but could not recall why.
A bunch of girls had been called and told to wait in the hot-tub in their underwear. Donovan drew the short straw and was last in the queue therefore having no choice. He would be responsible for taking up the leftovers. Upon approaching the hot tub one was presented with a bevy of girls holding champagne flutes, their feet dangling in the bubbles as they sat on the edge. Taut stomachs and big bosoms, all smiles. The other men had seen a skeletal drawn out woman with sunken cheeks and grey eyes avoiding their gaze. Unsurprisingly the buxom blondes and busty brunettes surrounding her were swiftly selected and led away.
Donovan didn't recognise her in the first instance but rather than feeling disappointed by the runt of the litter he was delighted by the girl with bubblegum pink curls and a devilish smile.
"Good evening mister." She had said in her low husky tone. Donovan was besotted.
He admitted to Sarah he had been very high. The scar on her neck was covered by a black lace choker but he vaguely recognised the shape of her mouth and the scent of her skin. He had jolted as the recollection of their first encounter flooded back to him in an alcohol infused haze. She had stroked his chest and exhaled next deeply next to his ear. The memory of leather car seats and static on the radio flashed through his mind. He didn't feel fear or regret, instead She felt familiar and intoxicating. His brief brush with danger had been an adrenaline boost rather than a trauma.
"I don't doubt that." Sarah said with a strained smile as he waxed lyrical about Her undeniable magnetism.
"I need to see her." Donovan said as he refilled his glass holding the neck of the wine bottle unsteadily.
"I know you do." Sarah agreed but sounded incredibly fatigued, she leant forward and took the bottle from him to place it back on the coffee table. She had half filled her glass and barely drank any. The bottle was now empty.
"I miss her." He said, his voice higher than he had anticipated. His body furled into itself, his limbs shifting toward his stomach. Sarah sat opposite him silently.
When Donovan had mentioned it had been 'Tristan's' birthday party and he had ordered the girls Sarah vaguely recalled the story from Her perspective. She had mentioned the penthouse and the hot tub with the other girls. She had been coy about the details and had not mentioned any of the salacious details of the job therefore Sarah was unaware that Donovan had been there.
One of the five girls had dropped out at the last minute and for one night only 'Candy' took her place. The wig had fitted the theme but She had looked disdainful even before she left. Sarah had done her best to daub her in enough make-up to make her look less than exhumed corpse. It was early days and She was suffering from withdrawal. The suite had four bedrooms with king-size beds which shared two en-suites. Donovan had been relegated to having sex in the living area and sleeping on the large corner sofa. She had described the living area briefly as being a room made of windows.
She adjusted her pink wig as Donovan snored gently on the floor with a towel covering his hips and a dazed smile on his face. She propped a cushion under his head before strolling toward the bedrooms. She explored the suite and found Tristan in the final room she pressed her ear to. He was still busy it would seem but She stumbled into the room and acted as if this was accidental. It hadn't mattered to Tristan and She had joined the pair and spent the night with them.
Tristan's balls-stravaganza, as it was known, lasted three more days and ended when Tristan was found in a hotel room unconscious from a drug overdose. Donovan had been sleeping off his hangover elsewhere when it happened. He found out via a news bulletin on the television the day after the fact. Donovan didn't seem to connect the events nor had he seemed aware that his (brief) night of passion had been followed by another encounter.
Sarah sipped her wine and remained quiet. She had learnt that Donovan would grasp what he wanted with both hands, he rarely let sorrow or regret enter his mind. He was a child distracted by delight and unaware of danger. She envied his conviction and focus. He had burrowed his way into her apartment and into her life and she had let him. As he curled into a ball on her sofa with his wine glass she wondered how long this could last, how long he would last. His eyes squeezed shut as his arms folded around one of the throw cushions embedded against his stomach.
"Donovan?" Sarah said softly.
His eyes remained closed, his lips pressed together but no intelligible sound was produced.
"What's going to happen?" She asked him, "What do you think is going to happen if you find her?"
"She was the last one in the hot tub." He mumbled quietly, his wine glass clattered to the floor.
Sarah swore and grabbed the glass from the floor and hurried into the kitchen to grab some paper towels. She returned to mop up the deep red spillage creeping across her expensive rug.
Sarah looked at Donovan wearily as she rose to her feet. He was sleeping gently with a rumpled forehead. She tugged the throw from the back of the sofa to cover him and walked away.
Donovan awoke in the morning aching and sore in several uncomfortable places. The muscles in his neck clicked loudly as he shifted on the sofa. He couldn't remember falling asleep but he found he was still fully dressed in yesterday's clothes and he smelt of body odour and wine. Sarah was busy in the kitchen, the kettle was boiling and she was obnoxiously rattling glasses and shifting saucepans.
Donovan rolled off the sofa onto the floor and groaned loudly. She looked over her shoulder to see a mound of haphazard blonde hair bobbing behind her sofa. Donovan approached Sarah in the kitchen with the intention of obtaining a glass of water but intercepted him before he could reach the sink and shoved something crumpled and damp into his hands. It was a small scrap of paper covered with greasy fingerprints and scrawled handwriting entitled 'Bitch List'.
Under Sarah's bed there was a small lock-box and inside was several gun cartridges, a small stack of gold bullion and a pearl necklace. Donovan was groggy and barely noticed when she gave it to him. He couldn't get past her and she was blocking the sink. He looked helplessly as he was denied the prospect of sticking his head in the drum and running cold water over his scalp. Sarah immediately realised that this was a terrible idea but this was all she had.
"I can't help you." She said firmly, "But I think this might." He felt a sharp jab in his gut as she pressed her fingers under his rib-cage the scrap of paper unfurled precariously.
He grasped the paper and looked down to observe it.
It was a list of names followed by addresses crammed underneath in miniscule scrawl.
"It's in case of an emergency and..." Sarah looked at the scrap and paper and considered snatching it away from him and ripping it into tiny pieces. Donovan stood dumbfounded glancing at the paper and then at her. His hangover was severely delaying his cognitive skills.
"They are people who might be able to help." She said reassuringly taking a step back.
He remained silent and studied the paper intently trying to decipher the meaning of the random hieroglyphics in black ink presented to him. He looked at her again and back at the paper and then clutched his forehead and laughed inadvertently.
Sarah threw her hands up in exasperation and walked away. "You're welcome." She said slamming her bedroom door.
Monday, 18 June 2018
Sunday, 17 June 2018
The Liability
"Not my problem." She said dismissively.
Sarah coughed, her champagne had caught in her throat, she could feel it burning the inside of her nose as she grabbed her napkin from the table. "Are you kidding me?" Sarah choked.
"Well that's that then." Helen said and nodded toward Sarah.
Sarah crushed the napkin in her clenched fist as the two women sitting across the table from her avoided her gaze. The older woman was reading her menu with fascination, her green eyes darting up and down barely settling on anything. The younger woman with a blonde bob of haphazard curls staring at the ceiling and counting the light-bulbs dangling from ropes around the restaurant hovering over each booth.
The three women had gathered at the restaurant reluctantly. Helen had ordered a bottle of champagne declaring it a special occasion. It was extremely rare for them to be in the same room but Sarah had insisted on bringing them together much. Helen had determined that it must be a celebration of some sort. Her optimism had been doused upon seeing the barely concealed frustration on Sarah's face and her associate's impudent nonchalance.
Helen didn't know why she was there if it was a matter between the two women. She much preferred to be kept out of any dispute which did not concern her. Sarah had been firm on the matter and ordered a taxi to pick Helen up from her house in the suburbs to ensure she arrived on time.
Helen had been staring in the mirror trying to perfect her makeup but removing her fake eyelashes frantically when she heard the taxi driver lean on the car horn outside. Her children were stampeding up and down the stairs, her husband was yelling ineffectually, the dog was barking and the television was chattering in the background it's volume far too loud. Helen pressed her forehead against her vanity table and lifted her head to observe her top lids gummed together with glue and her eyes down-turned in dismay. She tried to jam an eye-shadow palette which was too large into her sequin covered purse.
The taxi driver had refused to let her turn his interior light on in order to allow her to apply her makeup in the passenger seat. Helen muttered about not giving him a tip under her breath but both of them were aware that Sarah had prepaid for the trip through an app on her phone. Helen didn't understand how it worked and was too embarrassed to ask how technology enabled such a transaction. Couldn't Sarah have picked a more amenable taxi-driver?
"When was the last time we were all just... having a meal together?" Helen asked, attempting to break the angry silence fomenting between her associates. She had bolted into the toilets before taking her seat. The glue was not coming off her eyelashes but it was successfully camouflaged by a layer of black eye-shadow. Neither woman had said anything but Helen was exceedingly self-conscious every time they looked at her.
"Do you hate me?" Sarah asked, "Is that why you are doing this?"
The blonde woman remained silent, her eyes gliding back to the table lazily tilting her head at Sarah. She remained coolly indifferent, forehead smooth, grey eyes rimmed with royal blue eyeliner.
"No one hates anyone." Helen said admonishing Sarah with a frown.
"Look, you just need to get him the fuck off my couch." Sarah said irritably.
Helen had an impulse at that moment to demand to know why she had been summoned. She had been dragged away from an evening with her family. She had shaved her legs and put on an evening dress. Not to mention the ongoing threat that her eyelids could possibly forever remain glued shut. Her first evening free in what felt like months and yet she was here playing referee.
The blonde perm with the penetrating gaze remained silent. She was wearing a silk scarf around her neck and a golden halter neck top. She looked like she had stepped out of a time machine but her nonchalance and intensity made it seem as natural as her skin. Helen noted that her attire always felt like costume as if she were an alien from a world beyond reality who merely wore what she expected humans to dress like from watching old films and reading ancient magazines. She never followed the current trends and seemed to actively avoid dressing in anything modern. Tonight She looked like an extra from an old film who was in the background at a disco. At least she had graduated from dressing like a homeless person.
"She broke the rules Helen." Sarah was exasperated and was looking directly Helen who appeared to be bewildered with red hair and gummy eyelids. If Sarah couldn't rely on Helen for assistance in these circumstances all hope was lost.
"Rules?" Helen asked confused.
"What the fuck?" Sarah cried. "Yes, the rules!"
"What did you do?" Helen asked in a business-like tone turning to the woman sitting next to her. The blonde woman shrugged and turned to look at Sarah who sat opposite them. The young blonde and the older red head pierced Sarah with concerned gazes of different intensities. Helen looked like she was about to cry but her eyes were barely open.
"Look, I'm not dealing with this. This is all so fucked. I'm out." Sarah placed her palms on the table in front of her, "I just wanted you both to know that. I'm out."
The blonde took a sip from her champagne flute. Helen's shoulders sagged and she cast her gaze between the two women glowering at one another across the table. This felt significant. It was the first time Sarah had even expressed that she didn't wish to be a part of their arrangement. Helen was mortified.
"Are you threatening us?" The woman asked.
"No, I'm just done." Sarah said shaking her head. "We're standing over a chasm and it's time to walk away before we all fall in. I'm not falling."
"And if I get rid of him?" She asked, Helen sighed with relief.
"I'm just done." Sarah said and laughed, "God, I'm so out of this."
"We can't just shut this down Sarah." Helen said frantically. She felt like she had been punched in the gut, winded and afraid. The fortifying sips of champagne she had taken weren't enough to steady her, she needed something stronger. Something to settle her stomach which was churning with anxiety, something which would cauterise her insides.
"We managed fine without you." The woman said.
"Yeah sure, I'll just take my contacts and see how long you two last without me." Sarah said, she was grabbing her bag.
"Stop it!" Helen snapped. "Both of you!" Sarah paused before exiting the booth. "I have no fucking clue what is going on but you need to sit the fuck down Sarah. And you-" Helen turned to the woman who was trapped in the booth by Helen's person, "You need to tell me what the fuck is going on."
"He has lost it and you are ignoring him." Sarah said. She had returned to her seat, she had slung her purse onto the seat beside her with a flourish.
Helen had ordered tequila, her triple which hadn't been satisfactory. The knot in her stomach had tightened further as the girls had continued to bicker viciously. Sarah was sipping from a Cosmopolitan and She had a gin martini.
"He'll get over it." She said.
"His uncle died." Sarah responded, a softness had entered her voice.
"I don't need to know this." Helen sighed.
"He'll be fine." She said.
"He knows too much." Sara said her voice hardening.
"Then you deal with him." She said bluntly. Sarah could visualise the gun she had left in her sock drawer. Donovan wouldn't look there she hoped. He had found her stack of hat boxes and proceeded to try them all on and take photos of himself posting them online to his large following. He wouldn't do the same with her stockings. Definitely not.
"Not my job." Sarah said as coolly as she could. The gun was for self-defence.
The blonde perm swung back and forth as she shook her head.
"What? You can't?" Sarah asked. "You've gone soft."
This prompted a frown, Helen sense her tensing next to her, she flagged a waiter to the table.
"Same again but twice for me." Helen advised. "It's tequila." She handed her empty glass to the waiter.
"Vodka." Sarah sputtered. "Vodka and soda, double!"
"Same." She lifted her martini glass and nodded.
Sarah coughed, her champagne had caught in her throat, she could feel it burning the inside of her nose as she grabbed her napkin from the table. "Are you kidding me?" Sarah choked.
"Well that's that then." Helen said and nodded toward Sarah.
Sarah crushed the napkin in her clenched fist as the two women sitting across the table from her avoided her gaze. The older woman was reading her menu with fascination, her green eyes darting up and down barely settling on anything. The younger woman with a blonde bob of haphazard curls staring at the ceiling and counting the light-bulbs dangling from ropes around the restaurant hovering over each booth.
The three women had gathered at the restaurant reluctantly. Helen had ordered a bottle of champagne declaring it a special occasion. It was extremely rare for them to be in the same room but Sarah had insisted on bringing them together much. Helen had determined that it must be a celebration of some sort. Her optimism had been doused upon seeing the barely concealed frustration on Sarah's face and her associate's impudent nonchalance.
Helen didn't know why she was there if it was a matter between the two women. She much preferred to be kept out of any dispute which did not concern her. Sarah had been firm on the matter and ordered a taxi to pick Helen up from her house in the suburbs to ensure she arrived on time.
Helen had been staring in the mirror trying to perfect her makeup but removing her fake eyelashes frantically when she heard the taxi driver lean on the car horn outside. Her children were stampeding up and down the stairs, her husband was yelling ineffectually, the dog was barking and the television was chattering in the background it's volume far too loud. Helen pressed her forehead against her vanity table and lifted her head to observe her top lids gummed together with glue and her eyes down-turned in dismay. She tried to jam an eye-shadow palette which was too large into her sequin covered purse.
The taxi driver had refused to let her turn his interior light on in order to allow her to apply her makeup in the passenger seat. Helen muttered about not giving him a tip under her breath but both of them were aware that Sarah had prepaid for the trip through an app on her phone. Helen didn't understand how it worked and was too embarrassed to ask how technology enabled such a transaction. Couldn't Sarah have picked a more amenable taxi-driver?
"When was the last time we were all just... having a meal together?" Helen asked, attempting to break the angry silence fomenting between her associates. She had bolted into the toilets before taking her seat. The glue was not coming off her eyelashes but it was successfully camouflaged by a layer of black eye-shadow. Neither woman had said anything but Helen was exceedingly self-conscious every time they looked at her.
"Do you hate me?" Sarah asked, "Is that why you are doing this?"
The blonde woman remained silent, her eyes gliding back to the table lazily tilting her head at Sarah. She remained coolly indifferent, forehead smooth, grey eyes rimmed with royal blue eyeliner.
"No one hates anyone." Helen said admonishing Sarah with a frown.
"Look, you just need to get him the fuck off my couch." Sarah said irritably.
Helen had an impulse at that moment to demand to know why she had been summoned. She had been dragged away from an evening with her family. She had shaved her legs and put on an evening dress. Not to mention the ongoing threat that her eyelids could possibly forever remain glued shut. Her first evening free in what felt like months and yet she was here playing referee.
The blonde perm with the penetrating gaze remained silent. She was wearing a silk scarf around her neck and a golden halter neck top. She looked like she had stepped out of a time machine but her nonchalance and intensity made it seem as natural as her skin. Helen noted that her attire always felt like costume as if she were an alien from a world beyond reality who merely wore what she expected humans to dress like from watching old films and reading ancient magazines. She never followed the current trends and seemed to actively avoid dressing in anything modern. Tonight She looked like an extra from an old film who was in the background at a disco. At least she had graduated from dressing like a homeless person.
"She broke the rules Helen." Sarah was exasperated and was looking directly Helen who appeared to be bewildered with red hair and gummy eyelids. If Sarah couldn't rely on Helen for assistance in these circumstances all hope was lost.
"Rules?" Helen asked confused.
"What the fuck?" Sarah cried. "Yes, the rules!"
"What did you do?" Helen asked in a business-like tone turning to the woman sitting next to her. The blonde woman shrugged and turned to look at Sarah who sat opposite them. The young blonde and the older red head pierced Sarah with concerned gazes of different intensities. Helen looked like she was about to cry but her eyes were barely open.
"Look, I'm not dealing with this. This is all so fucked. I'm out." Sarah placed her palms on the table in front of her, "I just wanted you both to know that. I'm out."
The blonde took a sip from her champagne flute. Helen's shoulders sagged and she cast her gaze between the two women glowering at one another across the table. This felt significant. It was the first time Sarah had even expressed that she didn't wish to be a part of their arrangement. Helen was mortified.
"Are you threatening us?" The woman asked.
"No, I'm just done." Sarah said shaking her head. "We're standing over a chasm and it's time to walk away before we all fall in. I'm not falling."
"And if I get rid of him?" She asked, Helen sighed with relief.
"I'm just done." Sarah said and laughed, "God, I'm so out of this."
"We can't just shut this down Sarah." Helen said frantically. She felt like she had been punched in the gut, winded and afraid. The fortifying sips of champagne she had taken weren't enough to steady her, she needed something stronger. Something to settle her stomach which was churning with anxiety, something which would cauterise her insides.
"We managed fine without you." The woman said.
"Yeah sure, I'll just take my contacts and see how long you two last without me." Sarah said, she was grabbing her bag.
"Stop it!" Helen snapped. "Both of you!" Sarah paused before exiting the booth. "I have no fucking clue what is going on but you need to sit the fuck down Sarah. And you-" Helen turned to the woman who was trapped in the booth by Helen's person, "You need to tell me what the fuck is going on."
"He has lost it and you are ignoring him." Sarah said. She had returned to her seat, she had slung her purse onto the seat beside her with a flourish.
Helen had ordered tequila, her triple which hadn't been satisfactory. The knot in her stomach had tightened further as the girls had continued to bicker viciously. Sarah was sipping from a Cosmopolitan and She had a gin martini.
"He'll get over it." She said.
"His uncle died." Sarah responded, a softness had entered her voice.
"I don't need to know this." Helen sighed.
"He'll be fine." She said.
"He knows too much." Sara said her voice hardening.
"Then you deal with him." She said bluntly. Sarah could visualise the gun she had left in her sock drawer. Donovan wouldn't look there she hoped. He had found her stack of hat boxes and proceeded to try them all on and take photos of himself posting them online to his large following. He wouldn't do the same with her stockings. Definitely not.
"Not my job." Sarah said as coolly as she could. The gun was for self-defence.
The blonde perm swung back and forth as she shook her head.
"What? You can't?" Sarah asked. "You've gone soft."
This prompted a frown, Helen sense her tensing next to her, she flagged a waiter to the table.
"Same again but twice for me." Helen advised. "It's tequila." She handed her empty glass to the waiter.
"Vodka." Sarah sputtered. "Vodka and soda, double!"
"Same." She lifted her martini glass and nodded.
Saturday, 16 June 2018
The Summit
It had been one of those nights that felt like a year had passed in the space a mere handful of hours. How it had begun Donovan could never be sure, like a dream it had already started before he had realised what was happening. The devil's greatest trick was convincing the world he didn't exist. Her greatest trick was entering entering your orbit without your knowledge and leaving a crime scene in her wake all without anyone batting an eyelid. She would burrow under your skin and into your memories without even breaking a sweat and then that was it. She had you.
Donovan had never really had a voice in his head weighing up the consequences of his actions. His father would wade in and fix whatever mess was left in his wake with handshakes and chequebooks. Perhaps that's what made them so well suited. Their predilection for unwitting carnage.
He had been at a function his father had asked him to attend, the guarantee had been that it would be blessedly brief. Showing his face at such events would be an opportunity to network and glad-hand to cement his future prospects, or so he had been told. It had seemed a somewhat gruesome exercise to Donovan who was keen to skip the thing all together if he could manage it.
A cigarette break had evolved into a brief check he hadn't left something in his car which had then somehow resulted in him driving around the roads late at night in the Business District, unlit cigarette still hanging from his lips. When was the last time he had just driven around for the sake of it? The joy of driving his extremely expensive sports car was what he was missing from his life. This is just what he needed to sustain him. Then he might go back. If he felt like it.
A young woman in a t-shirt and shorts smeared with blood was kneeling next to a man lying in the middle of the road. The figure miniature and pale in the darkened streets grew bigger as he sped along the road. He had screeched to a halt and jumped out of his car and ran toward the scene.
Her bob of hair knotted in ochre curls plastered to her glinting face in the cloying heat of the summer evening. She was illuminated by street lamps and headlights and even then she was a glorious sight to behold. Her grey eyes were rimmed with smudged black and unspent tears, she was breathing heavily, her body was almost vibrating as he crouched beside her.
Her bob of hair knotted in ochre curls plastered to her glinting face in the cloying heat of the summer evening. She was illuminated by street lamps and headlights and even then she was a glorious sight to behold. Her grey eyes were rimmed with smudged black and unspent tears, she was breathing heavily, her body was almost vibrating as he crouched beside her.
It was the middle of the night and it was unnervingly quiet. She careened forward and her cheek hovered next to the man’s face, his mouth next to her ear. The man was elderly and grey haired, he was wearing a suit jacket and a cravat. Donovan would always remember the paisley pattern of the fabric, a meld of emerald green and royal purple. He looked like he had stepped out of a catalogue for older gentleman who lived on wooded estates.
She pulled her phone from her pocket as Donovan knelt next to her. He noted her fingers were smudging the screen with swipes of red as he surveyed the crumpled man laying before them. A stream of blood was cascading down the man's face from his wrinkled temple.
“Hello, yes! I need an ambulance, there’s a man he was. He was run over. I think he was run over by a car. Uh…” She turned and looked at Donovan, grey blank eyes with mascara tracks stained her pale cheeks. She thrust the phone into his hand and scrambled to her feet.
“Hello, yes! I need an ambulance, there’s a man he was. He was run over. I think he was run over by a car. Uh…” She turned and looked at Donovan, grey blank eyes with mascara tracks stained her pale cheeks. She thrust the phone into his hand and scrambled to her feet.
He could vaguely hear the slap of her sneakers against the tarmac as a woman on the end of the line asked him where he was. He looked around wildly uncertain of what was happening. He had stopped his car and left it idle when he dashed to help with the best intentions.
“We’re downtown in the Business District. I think it’s near Kings Road.” He babbled, he heard the familiar growl of a car engine starting and turned to see his tomato red convertible speed away. He swore loudly and apologised to the woman on the phone, “Someone just stole my car!” He shouted exasperated.
“We’re downtown in the Business District. I think it’s near Kings Road.” He babbled, he heard the familiar growl of a car engine starting and turned to see his tomato red convertible speed away. He swore loudly and apologised to the woman on the phone, “Someone just stole my car!” He shouted exasperated.
He was advised to stay put and the emergency services would be there in eight minutes. He was asked if he knew CPR and if anyone else was nearby. The prospect of doing CPR at that moment was beyond his capability. He told the woman he didn't know what that was. “That’s the thing with the chest pumps right?” He asked sheepishly.
The woman on the phone was very soothing and authoritative as he stared wildly around him confused and terrified. He frantically explained to the woman that the man was not breathing and there was an abandoned car nearby. She told him that the police would come to sort that out and talked him through the motions and actions for CPR. The woman on the phone emphasised the need for him to stay put and remain calm. Her advice seemed rote but she sounded genuinely concerned about his situation, perhaps she had been trained to do that, he couldn't quite tell.
He placed the phone on the floor next to him with the speaker turned on as he pressed his balled fist against the man’s chest. He heard a sickening crunch as he lent into the motion and panicked. An irrational part of him had been convinced that the broken ribs he had undoubtedly contributed to the man's death. The coroner disagreed and said something about internal bleeding, or shock, or organ failure. But Donovan was fairly certain he had pierced something with his physical force.
The body was declared deceased upon arrival as the paramedics invited Donovan to sit in the ambulance as they awaited the police. "You're just leaving him there?" Donovan asked frantically. He was gently advised to sit with the paramedics and they would talk to him. "You can't just leave him there..." He had mumbled.
He was offered a bottle of water. He requested something stronger and was granted a grim chuckle. One of the men was rearranging their equipment in the back of the vehicle, “It’s going to be a long night mate.”
“I didn’t kill him, did I?” He asked worriedly the words making him feel nauseous.
“Probably not.” The paramedic said reassuringly. He wanted to ask more questions. How many call outs had they had? Was this the most gruesome one? Had there been any other 'Dead on Arrivals?' Is that what they call them still? Would they let him borrow their uniform for a fancy dress party he had at Lottie's house next weekend?
“Probably not.” The paramedic said reassuringly. He wanted to ask more questions. How many call outs had they had? Was this the most gruesome one? Had there been any other 'Dead on Arrivals?' Is that what they call them still? Would they let him borrow their uniform for a fancy dress party he had at Lottie's house next weekend?
The police arrived and cordoned off the street with yellow tape and blue flashing lights. Donovan was asked repeatedly if the abandoned car with the dented windshield was his. He responded emphatically that it was not, he would not drive something so ugly, it was a rectangular grey people carrier. His car had been stolen, were they not writing this down? He described the sequence of events repeatedly until the men with notepads and furrowed brows were satisfied. His voice was hoarse, the bottle in his hand warm against his skin and full of water he had forgotten to drink. They advised they would still have to take him to the station for a statement and that someone would be with him shortly.
"But I gave you a statement." He grumbled glancing at the sky. He had been removed from the ambulance and sat on a bollard next to the roadside. He couldn't see any stars, the sky was an inky black canvas with a haze of streetlights distorting it.
"But I gave you a statement." He grumbled glancing at the sky. He had been removed from the ambulance and sat on a bollard next to the roadside. He couldn't see any stars, the sky was an inky black canvas with a haze of streetlights distorting it.
He was assured by a young woman in black fatigues that everything would be okay but Donovan remained unconvinced. He asked if he could go home and tried to explain that his apartment complex was only a few streets away. The woman asked a colleague and a familiar voice repeated that he would have to stay and wait to be taken to the station for a statement.
At this point Donovan rummaged in his pockets and couldn't find his carton of cigarettes but managed to feel smooth edges of his phone. He did what he had been putting off for as long as he could. His phone had been intermittently buzzing for the past hour but he hadn't felt it.
“Dad, hey! Yeah, I'm alive." He laughed cautiously.
"So there’s been a car accident and uhh…” He took a deep breath while the tirade of recriminations began. “Yeah but the thing is... I just want to say… Dad I’m serious!” He held the phone away from his ear as a familiar sensation of impatience began grow in the pit of his stomach.
"So there’s been a car accident and uhh…” He took a deep breath while the tirade of recriminations began. “Yeah but the thing is... I just want to say… Dad I’m serious!” He held the phone away from his ear as a familiar sensation of impatience began grow in the pit of his stomach.
“Hi, Mr Policeman, hi yeah, my dad is on the phone, he just wants a quick chat with you." He thrust the phone into the woman's hand. "Yeah, you just take that, thanks.” She looked bewildered and looked around for backup with little success. Donovan backed away from her as she held the phone to her ear and terror struck her features.
Donovan ducked under the police tape cordoning off the street. He managed to walk down the road and turn off without so much as a shout in his direction. For whatever reason at that moment the scattering of people milling around the crime scene were all distracted. A part of him felt slightly stung that no one had tried to stop his exit but then again his intention had been to sneak away.
To remove yourself from a situation it was best to throw your shoulders back and walk with confidence. Donovan had plenty of experience strolling away from many situations by acting like he was strutting down a catwalk without a care in the world. His niece's school play had been a particularly awkward example of this.
Donovan felt that the air was thicker around him, as if walking through a oppressive fog. His skull particularly attuned to each minute movement but his peripheral vision completely lost. It was not dissimilar to having drank two or three shots of tequila in quick succession and then trying to find his way to the toilet. The block was the longest he had ever walked down but as soon as he found a turn off he bolted into the next street.
Donovan ducked under the police tape cordoning off the street. He managed to walk down the road and turn off without so much as a shout in his direction. For whatever reason at that moment the scattering of people milling around the crime scene were all distracted. A part of him felt slightly stung that no one had tried to stop his exit but then again his intention had been to sneak away.
To remove yourself from a situation it was best to throw your shoulders back and walk with confidence. Donovan had plenty of experience strolling away from many situations by acting like he was strutting down a catwalk without a care in the world. His niece's school play had been a particularly awkward example of this.
Donovan felt that the air was thicker around him, as if walking through a oppressive fog. His skull particularly attuned to each minute movement but his peripheral vision completely lost. It was not dissimilar to having drank two or three shots of tequila in quick succession and then trying to find his way to the toilet. The block was the longest he had ever walked down but as soon as he found a turn off he bolted into the next street.
He had left his phone with the police officer but that was not a big loss to him, he could get another phone. Or perhaps when a member of his father's staff had picked him up in the morning he would have it returned at the police station. That would be ideal. He could go one evening without his mobile phone, of course he could. Or if he was lucky they would go to the police station without him and then pick up his phone and he wouldn't have to talk to anyone. At what point would it be appropriate to charter the private jet to an exotic island? Could he walk to the airport from here?
Of course Donovan had no idea where he was and without his phone to produce a map to guide him he had no way of knowing how to get home let alone to a runway. He wandered the streets strolling into alleyways without a care in the world. Since the 'Security Force' had been installed in the Quadrangle, the inner city was the safest place to be on the planet. Not that it was recommended to wander aimlessly in the Business District in the middle of the night, especially when theoretically descending into a potential post-traumatic disorder. Donovan had also read that it was safe to wander the streets alone but this could have easily been propaganda to prop up the martial law that had been installed in the inner city since the creation of the Quadrangle.
A flash of light caught his eye as he strolled past an alleyway. He paused and looked down the street to see his tomato red convertible with it's headlights blaring. It was wedged in among some wheelie bins and carrier bags of takeaway containers.
He approached the vehicle in a daze and rapped on the blackout window with his knuckle his heart beating in his throat.
“Good evening officer.” The woman with ochre curls appeared at the window wearing a large pair of sunglasses and crooked smile on her pink lips. The sunglasses were branded and broad, specifically designed for the travelling high class gentleman. It was clear she had found them in the glove compartment.
“This is my car!” He snapped with a burst of unrestrained somewhat unexpected fury. Donovan's fatigue and confusion evaporated and he suddenly felt frustrated and prickled with fury. He had woken from his dreamlike state and was alert and furious. “Get the fuck out of my car!”
“This is your car?” She asked tilting her head to observe the edges of the window framing her. She was resting her arm on the car door holding up her chin with the tips of her fingers.
“Yes, that’s my car. Out, get out.” He sputtered.
He couldn’t see her eyes, her lips were pursed in an ‘o’ as if about to whistle. She looked like a child being reprimanded. Then it set in a thin line and she shook her head, bouncing curls wafting to and fro. “Nah, I don’t think so.” She said distractedly.
“This is my car!” He snapped with a burst of unrestrained somewhat unexpected fury. Donovan's fatigue and confusion evaporated and he suddenly felt frustrated and prickled with fury. He had woken from his dreamlike state and was alert and furious. “Get the fuck out of my car!”
“This is your car?” She asked tilting her head to observe the edges of the window framing her. She was resting her arm on the car door holding up her chin with the tips of her fingers.
“Yes, that’s my car. Out, get out.” He sputtered.
He couldn’t see her eyes, her lips were pursed in an ‘o’ as if about to whistle. She looked like a child being reprimanded. Then it set in a thin line and she shook her head, bouncing curls wafting to and fro. “Nah, I don’t think so.” She said distractedly.
“This is my car. Get the hell out of my car.” He stammered. He couldn't think of anything further to add to his accusations. He was at a loss but enraged.
She lifted the sunglasses from the bridge of her nose, her brow furrowed, her eyes focused on him. He launched forward and grabbed the door with both hands which caused her to jolt backwards into the black leather cavern behind her.
She lifted the sunglasses from the bridge of her nose, her brow furrowed, her eyes focused on him. He launched forward and grabbed the door with both hands which caused her to jolt backwards into the black leather cavern behind her.
“Just get out now, for fuck sake.” He grunted moving away from the car and surveying the alleyway which was empty. The wind shifted an empty beer can which skittered over a puddle.
He heard a crash of metal and turned to see her arm outstretched from the window. His keys had landed on the dark damp road opposite the vehicle.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” He walked over to the keys and bent over to the pick them up and turned to her. He pushed the button on the key fob and the door began to slide upwards. She yelped and burrowed into the inky black of the car interior. As the door shifted and the street light flooded in he noticed she had pushed the front seats completely back so that they were horizontal. She was curled up in the foetal position with her hands over her face.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” He walked over to the keys and bent over to the pick them up and turned to her. He pushed the button on the key fob and the door began to slide upwards. She yelped and burrowed into the inky black of the car interior. As the door shifted and the street light flooded in he noticed she had pushed the front seats completely back so that they were horizontal. She was curled up in the foetal position with her hands over her face.
“Right you’ve had your fun.” He muttered, “Get out.” He approached the car.
“Wait!” She bolted upright and raised her palms to him. “I just needed somewhere to stay tonight. I was going to give your car back to you. Honest!” She smiled and took the sunglasses off, folded them up and held them out to him. “Honest.” She repeated.
“You were going to sleep in my car?” He asked warily.
“Yeah...” She rummaged in her pocket and produced a bag of white powder. She was biting her lip and he noticed her legs tucked under her, the sliver of bare thigh peeking out. She appeared delicate and harmless.
“Did you run that guy over?” He asked bluntly.
“No.” She responded promptly, “Sorry I didn’t stick around...” She nodded at the bag in her hand stretched in front of her. She smiled, it took up her whole face, all teeth. He clambered into the car beside her without further argument pulling the door down behind him. He immediately flicked the switch to turn the headlights off and took the bag of white powder from her as she levered onto the passenger seat opposite him.
She commented about how she wasn’t sure how to put the seats back up. He turned the radio on and lay down fiddling with the seal of the bag distractedly. He asked her if she was homeless and she didn't answer. She lay on her seat and they remained horizontal and parallel for some time. Their conversation was stilted nonsense.
In the end he couldn't remembered taking the drugs with her. He couldn't recall the first time they kissed or the first time they had sex. He didn’t even notice the scar on her neck. A thin deep pink line embedded in her flesh. It was took dark in the car and he was too high, too lost in the moment. But in years to come he would see a red welt across the neck of every person he had sex with. As if every person he engaged with had suffered at the executioner's axe.
The memory that remained with him was waking up in the morning next to her. She was breathing gently and unconscious. His lips pressed against her shoulder, his legs entwined with hers. Her hair stroked his forehead, the taste of her in his mouth, the warmth of her skin. The sensation of her vulnerable and at peace in his arms embedded in his mind.
As it had happened it had simply been a sequence of events that he had stumbled through with no idea of their significance. It was the chemical reactions he would recall as more powerful than when they had occurred. The thrill of her crouching over a dead body. The fear as she had sped away in his car. The adrenaline that had mounted within him as the severity of the situation had set in. The shock that followed as he sat on the side of the street dazed and bewildered. The rage in finding her and the release in fucking her in the cramped convertible. He couldn't imagine his life feeling more real than that which he experienced when he was with her.
“Yeah...” She rummaged in her pocket and produced a bag of white powder. She was biting her lip and he noticed her legs tucked under her, the sliver of bare thigh peeking out. She appeared delicate and harmless.
“Did you run that guy over?” He asked bluntly.
“No.” She responded promptly, “Sorry I didn’t stick around...” She nodded at the bag in her hand stretched in front of her. She smiled, it took up her whole face, all teeth. He clambered into the car beside her without further argument pulling the door down behind him. He immediately flicked the switch to turn the headlights off and took the bag of white powder from her as she levered onto the passenger seat opposite him.
She commented about how she wasn’t sure how to put the seats back up. He turned the radio on and lay down fiddling with the seal of the bag distractedly. He asked her if she was homeless and she didn't answer. She lay on her seat and they remained horizontal and parallel for some time. Their conversation was stilted nonsense.
In the end he couldn't remembered taking the drugs with her. He couldn't recall the first time they kissed or the first time they had sex. He didn’t even notice the scar on her neck. A thin deep pink line embedded in her flesh. It was took dark in the car and he was too high, too lost in the moment. But in years to come he would see a red welt across the neck of every person he had sex with. As if every person he engaged with had suffered at the executioner's axe.
The memory that remained with him was waking up in the morning next to her. She was breathing gently and unconscious. His lips pressed against her shoulder, his legs entwined with hers. Her hair stroked his forehead, the taste of her in his mouth, the warmth of her skin. The sensation of her vulnerable and at peace in his arms embedded in his mind.
As it had happened it had simply been a sequence of events that he had stumbled through with no idea of their significance. It was the chemical reactions he would recall as more powerful than when they had occurred. The thrill of her crouching over a dead body. The fear as she had sped away in his car. The adrenaline that had mounted within him as the severity of the situation had set in. The shock that followed as he sat on the side of the street dazed and bewildered. The rage in finding her and the release in fucking her in the cramped convertible. He couldn't imagine his life feeling more real than that which he experienced when he was with her.
Wednesday, 13 June 2018
The Complex
"Come on Winston! It won't be long, it'll be ten minutes, tops. Honest!" Donovan stood in the doorway of apartment complex, the doorman jamming the door with his foot refusing him entry. Donovan had no choice but to respond with force by leaning into the door with his full weight.
"Someone is going to walk past any second now and wonder what's going on here Winston. You know me Winston, you know who I am!" His breath was fogging the glass as he pressed his face against it. Whether Winston could see him was negligible at this point. Those rubber bottomed steel enforced shoes were standing very firm and to be fair Winston had some considerable weight on him.
The door loosened and swung open, Donovan stumbled into the lobby his scuffed trainers slipping on the marble floor. Winston placed a large hand on his shoulder and steadied him, "Ten minutes." The taller man said calmly. Donovan nodded appreciatively. He had no idea what time Sarah would be back but at least he was in the building. Plus, once Winston got talking it would be easy enough to keep him distracted.
Sarah's building was situated in the Financial District suburban sector if it can be called that. It was a few streets crammed together where young professionals lived in one bedroom apartments close to their offices. Otherwise the skyscraper apartment complexes were bought up as second homes for businessmen to stay overnight while their nuclear families waited in the actual suburbs. Winston was more than aware of the revolving door of lovers and one-night stands which took advantage of the inner city location. Being situated close to the Quadrangle increased the rent but the convenience was undeniable for those with deep enough pockets.
Donovan paced the lobby as Winston returned to his desk.
"Sooo Winnie. How long has it been?" Donovan asked casually watching his feet flick in front of him as he danced around the hall.
"Not that long Mr D." Winston didn't mind calling him by his enforced nickname. As far as nicknames went it was juvenile but the blonde man with his dazzling smile had stuffed a lot of money in his pockets the last time he had said it.
Donovan laughed loudly, "Oh Winnie. I'm going to make a honest woman out of that girl tonight."
"Miss Sarah?" Winston asked uncertainly. He was aware that Donovan had been a frequent house-guest of Miss Sarah but the pair had not given any indication of any romantic relationship. "Yeah, shotgun wedding and everything. I think it's true love. You can be the godfather!"
Donovan was babbling, he needed a reason to keep himself in the lobby until Sarah arrived. Winston looked shocked more than anything which was the correct response. Shock leads to uncertainty, uncertainty leads to inaction, inaction means he might let Donovan use the staff toilet.
"Congratulations!" Winston beamed deciding to mask his scepticism with an earnest smile. As long as the young man didn't cause any trouble he would let him stay in the lobby. It wasn't worth the bother of trying to remove him. Miss Sarah had explicitly told Winston that she did not wish for Mr D to be allowed on the premises but perhaps things had changed since the time she advised this. There was talk of marriage and if a baby was involved, well it was only fair to let the boy have his say.
Donovan ended up sitting on Winston's desk talking to him about the unlikely nuptials which he was planning with Miss Sarah. He advised that it felt right and that Sarah was under no obligation to wear white or invite her family. It'll be just a few friends in a registry office and then drinks by the river.
Of course the very idea of such a low key wedding was a complete anathema to Donovan's expectations of his wedding day. It would undoubtedly be the social event of the year and every single person he had ever clapped eyes on would be invited. His wife would have her breasts resting under her chin and be encrusted in white lace and diamonds. Marrying a social climbing desperado to the chagrin of his father with the attached spectacle was his ambition. Maybe he'd impregnate the lucky woman but he hadn't decided if her being 8 months pregnant at the end of the aisle would be too much.
Winston was nodding and smiling jovially but his attention was focused on the array of security screens situated on his desk under a running shelf. Donovan careened off the desk trying to lean over to the get a good look at them. Winston had become quite irate as Donovan clattered to the floor in a heap and asked him to sit somewhere else in polite but warning tone.
Sarah had asked the security staff not to let Donovan in the building. Winston was aware of this but at the same time Donovan had tried to ram raid the door which would have caused bad publicity for the building and more importantly might reflect on Winston poorly. If he complained to management it would be Winston's job which would be at stake. Plus the young man with his broad smile and blonde hair didn't seem to be causing any trouble. He had settled on a chair with his feet resting on a large potted plant near the lifts.
"Heeeey!" Donovan crowed and Winston observed him trot over to the petite woman who stood in the cavernous lobby, her shoulders slumped, her head tilted as she struggled to keep her head straight. She turned and looked towards Winston, her face was writ with disappointment. Winston mouthed his ineffectual apologies and shook his head from the safety of his desk. She turned to the louche and greeted him with a plastered smile, her posture straightening and walked him to the lifts.
They stood in the lift together in silence, Sarah stood with her back to the mirrored wall opposite him. Her face was impassive but her fatigue was unmistakable, her silence was contagious. Donovan took the opportunity to decide with some finality whether she had changed at all over the past few months since he had seen her previously. She had lost weight, her cheeks were even more pronounced, her lips still as full as they had been with that pleasant shade of pink making them pop against her dark skin. Her knees were still knobbly and her ankles pronounced, she was still extremely skinny but in a way that made her look delicate and approachable rather than freakish. Even tired, her eyes remained inviting and warm.
Sarah led him to her apartment, he fell into step directly behind like a reprimanded child. She shoved the door open into the cramped hallway. He noted that the mound of sandals and heels were still wedged behind the front door. The light bulb when turned on flickered and provided a dim ineffectual glow which illuminated very little. She disappeared into the living area beyond leaving him to remove his shoes and close the door behind him. Manners would smooth this over surely.
The living area and kitchenette existed together in an open plan space. Sarah hadn't decorated in so much as she had bought an overly large white leather sofa and left it in the middle of the room with a few fluffy cushions. Aside from the coffee table and television there was nothing else of note in the windowed box.
Sarah had frequently declared that they were not friends and Donovan refused to believe this. They had been connected via intersecting social circles at university which had led to them being invited to the same parties but that was as close as they had been for quite some time. Donovan felt that had he had the opportunity to take a good look at her, he would have definitely gotten to know her much sooner. It felt like fate had drawn them closer together in the end, almost like it was meant to be.
"Cup of tea?" Donovan called, "Or something harder...?" He mumbled staring at the bottle Italian white wine and pint of milk in the otherwise empty fridge.
He turned and Sarah was standing behind the sofa, she had changed into an oversized t-shirt which swamped her frame and leggings, her hair scraped against her skull into a ponytail. She held a pistol in her hands, arms straight in-front of her, legs apart, the stance of a young child at a carnival stand.
"I don't know what's going on Donovan but you need to keep me the hell out of it." Sarah said successfully maintaining an even tone even though there was a slight air of panic emanating from her.
"Okay Sarah... That's fine. Just put the gun down." He held his hands up, palms on display. "Calm down and put the gun down." He said in his most soothing voice.
"I am calm." She said firmly, her resolve calcified.
"That's great. You just need to- AGH!" He yelped and flinched. A pin prick pierced his foot and he looked down to see a large white cloud sitting on his feet. It looked up at him with a grumpy face and meowed loudly.
"Walter." Sarah sighed deeply, she walked over to the kitchen, placing the gun on the counter and picked up the cat.
"I see you haven't got rid of that..." Donovan said glaring at the feline.
"He's the love of my life." Sarah smiled, her fury had abated, she finally looked like she wasn't about to murder him or flee without looking back.
Donovan turned to the kitchen counter and grabbed the kettle, while holding the ball of white against her chest she nodded.
They sat on the large white sofa both in each corner with a mug of tea in their hands.
"Were you really going to shoot me?" Donovan asked her.
"You were pissing me off." Sarah said dismissively.
"Come on. Don't pretend like you didn't miss me." He said.
"It's not me you're looking for." She said with a frown.
Silence descended and hung between them. Donovan didn't want to take the bait as tempting as it was but Sarah wasn't volunteering anything further. It would be an ideal moment for him to apologise for what had happened and make some kind of amends but he couldn't bring himself to.
"I saw you at Uncle Jasper's funeral." He said quietly, "Thanks, you didn't have to."
"Oh yeah, I was sorry to hear about that." She mumbled.
That had been the last time he had seen Sarah, months ago in a line next to a grave, family members on either side of him. She had been near the back of the congregation among his father's work colleagues who felt obligated to attend. Donovan hadn't been sure as she had kept her head lowered and melted in and around the throng of black suits and coats.
When the priest had finished the ceremony she had looked up and Donovan recognised those cheek bones from a mile away. He didn't see her for the rest of the day. Hindsight had tortured him, he wished he had said something to her. He should have strode over to her and taken her hand and said something to her. Anything would have done. He wasn't sure if it was friendship that had compelled her to be there but the fact that she hadn't stayed or spoken to anyone had felt significant.
"I don't know what I can do." Sarah said abruptly, "You know I would help if I could but..."
"Do you know what even happened? Do you know what she did to me?" Donovan asked.
"I uh... I don't know Donovan." She say noncommittally.
"She locked me in a bathroom with another dude!" He said loudly. The cat on Sarah's lap jumped up and darted under the coffee table.
Sarah said she wanted to help but that there were rules and she couldn't make contact at that moment in time. She sounded earnest enough that he almost forgave her for holding a gun toward him. Sarah suggested that Donovan go home and she would get in touch when she had anything further.
"Nah, I'm good." He said stretching his legs out on the sofa. He was testing her patience and as he suspected, the gun was not turned on him for his insolence. She threw a bundle of blankets at him and told him if she hadn't heard anything in the morning he would still have to go home.
"Or...?" His eyes settled on her bedroom door.
He felt a hard thud against the back of his skull, she walked away with the gun dangling loosely in her hand.
"Someone is going to walk past any second now and wonder what's going on here Winston. You know me Winston, you know who I am!" His breath was fogging the glass as he pressed his face against it. Whether Winston could see him was negligible at this point. Those rubber bottomed steel enforced shoes were standing very firm and to be fair Winston had some considerable weight on him.
The door loosened and swung open, Donovan stumbled into the lobby his scuffed trainers slipping on the marble floor. Winston placed a large hand on his shoulder and steadied him, "Ten minutes." The taller man said calmly. Donovan nodded appreciatively. He had no idea what time Sarah would be back but at least he was in the building. Plus, once Winston got talking it would be easy enough to keep him distracted.
Sarah's building was situated in the Financial District suburban sector if it can be called that. It was a few streets crammed together where young professionals lived in one bedroom apartments close to their offices. Otherwise the skyscraper apartment complexes were bought up as second homes for businessmen to stay overnight while their nuclear families waited in the actual suburbs. Winston was more than aware of the revolving door of lovers and one-night stands which took advantage of the inner city location. Being situated close to the Quadrangle increased the rent but the convenience was undeniable for those with deep enough pockets.
Donovan paced the lobby as Winston returned to his desk.
"Sooo Winnie. How long has it been?" Donovan asked casually watching his feet flick in front of him as he danced around the hall.
"Not that long Mr D." Winston didn't mind calling him by his enforced nickname. As far as nicknames went it was juvenile but the blonde man with his dazzling smile had stuffed a lot of money in his pockets the last time he had said it.
Donovan laughed loudly, "Oh Winnie. I'm going to make a honest woman out of that girl tonight."
"Miss Sarah?" Winston asked uncertainly. He was aware that Donovan had been a frequent house-guest of Miss Sarah but the pair had not given any indication of any romantic relationship. "Yeah, shotgun wedding and everything. I think it's true love. You can be the godfather!"
Donovan was babbling, he needed a reason to keep himself in the lobby until Sarah arrived. Winston looked shocked more than anything which was the correct response. Shock leads to uncertainty, uncertainty leads to inaction, inaction means he might let Donovan use the staff toilet.
"Congratulations!" Winston beamed deciding to mask his scepticism with an earnest smile. As long as the young man didn't cause any trouble he would let him stay in the lobby. It wasn't worth the bother of trying to remove him. Miss Sarah had explicitly told Winston that she did not wish for Mr D to be allowed on the premises but perhaps things had changed since the time she advised this. There was talk of marriage and if a baby was involved, well it was only fair to let the boy have his say.
Donovan ended up sitting on Winston's desk talking to him about the unlikely nuptials which he was planning with Miss Sarah. He advised that it felt right and that Sarah was under no obligation to wear white or invite her family. It'll be just a few friends in a registry office and then drinks by the river.
Of course the very idea of such a low key wedding was a complete anathema to Donovan's expectations of his wedding day. It would undoubtedly be the social event of the year and every single person he had ever clapped eyes on would be invited. His wife would have her breasts resting under her chin and be encrusted in white lace and diamonds. Marrying a social climbing desperado to the chagrin of his father with the attached spectacle was his ambition. Maybe he'd impregnate the lucky woman but he hadn't decided if her being 8 months pregnant at the end of the aisle would be too much.
Winston was nodding and smiling jovially but his attention was focused on the array of security screens situated on his desk under a running shelf. Donovan careened off the desk trying to lean over to the get a good look at them. Winston had become quite irate as Donovan clattered to the floor in a heap and asked him to sit somewhere else in polite but warning tone.
Sarah had asked the security staff not to let Donovan in the building. Winston was aware of this but at the same time Donovan had tried to ram raid the door which would have caused bad publicity for the building and more importantly might reflect on Winston poorly. If he complained to management it would be Winston's job which would be at stake. Plus the young man with his broad smile and blonde hair didn't seem to be causing any trouble. He had settled on a chair with his feet resting on a large potted plant near the lifts.
"Heeeey!" Donovan crowed and Winston observed him trot over to the petite woman who stood in the cavernous lobby, her shoulders slumped, her head tilted as she struggled to keep her head straight. She turned and looked towards Winston, her face was writ with disappointment. Winston mouthed his ineffectual apologies and shook his head from the safety of his desk. She turned to the louche and greeted him with a plastered smile, her posture straightening and walked him to the lifts.
They stood in the lift together in silence, Sarah stood with her back to the mirrored wall opposite him. Her face was impassive but her fatigue was unmistakable, her silence was contagious. Donovan took the opportunity to decide with some finality whether she had changed at all over the past few months since he had seen her previously. She had lost weight, her cheeks were even more pronounced, her lips still as full as they had been with that pleasant shade of pink making them pop against her dark skin. Her knees were still knobbly and her ankles pronounced, she was still extremely skinny but in a way that made her look delicate and approachable rather than freakish. Even tired, her eyes remained inviting and warm.
Sarah led him to her apartment, he fell into step directly behind like a reprimanded child. She shoved the door open into the cramped hallway. He noted that the mound of sandals and heels were still wedged behind the front door. The light bulb when turned on flickered and provided a dim ineffectual glow which illuminated very little. She disappeared into the living area beyond leaving him to remove his shoes and close the door behind him. Manners would smooth this over surely.
The living area and kitchenette existed together in an open plan space. Sarah hadn't decorated in so much as she had bought an overly large white leather sofa and left it in the middle of the room with a few fluffy cushions. Aside from the coffee table and television there was nothing else of note in the windowed box.
Sarah had frequently declared that they were not friends and Donovan refused to believe this. They had been connected via intersecting social circles at university which had led to them being invited to the same parties but that was as close as they had been for quite some time. Donovan felt that had he had the opportunity to take a good look at her, he would have definitely gotten to know her much sooner. It felt like fate had drawn them closer together in the end, almost like it was meant to be.
"Cup of tea?" Donovan called, "Or something harder...?" He mumbled staring at the bottle Italian white wine and pint of milk in the otherwise empty fridge.
He turned and Sarah was standing behind the sofa, she had changed into an oversized t-shirt which swamped her frame and leggings, her hair scraped against her skull into a ponytail. She held a pistol in her hands, arms straight in-front of her, legs apart, the stance of a young child at a carnival stand.
"I don't know what's going on Donovan but you need to keep me the hell out of it." Sarah said successfully maintaining an even tone even though there was a slight air of panic emanating from her.
"Okay Sarah... That's fine. Just put the gun down." He held his hands up, palms on display. "Calm down and put the gun down." He said in his most soothing voice.
"I am calm." She said firmly, her resolve calcified.
"That's great. You just need to- AGH!" He yelped and flinched. A pin prick pierced his foot and he looked down to see a large white cloud sitting on his feet. It looked up at him with a grumpy face and meowed loudly.
"Walter." Sarah sighed deeply, she walked over to the kitchen, placing the gun on the counter and picked up the cat.
"I see you haven't got rid of that..." Donovan said glaring at the feline.
"He's the love of my life." Sarah smiled, her fury had abated, she finally looked like she wasn't about to murder him or flee without looking back.
Donovan turned to the kitchen counter and grabbed the kettle, while holding the ball of white against her chest she nodded.
They sat on the large white sofa both in each corner with a mug of tea in their hands.
"Were you really going to shoot me?" Donovan asked her.
"You were pissing me off." Sarah said dismissively.
"Come on. Don't pretend like you didn't miss me." He said.
"It's not me you're looking for." She said with a frown.
Silence descended and hung between them. Donovan didn't want to take the bait as tempting as it was but Sarah wasn't volunteering anything further. It would be an ideal moment for him to apologise for what had happened and make some kind of amends but he couldn't bring himself to.
"I saw you at Uncle Jasper's funeral." He said quietly, "Thanks, you didn't have to."
"Oh yeah, I was sorry to hear about that." She mumbled.
That had been the last time he had seen Sarah, months ago in a line next to a grave, family members on either side of him. She had been near the back of the congregation among his father's work colleagues who felt obligated to attend. Donovan hadn't been sure as she had kept her head lowered and melted in and around the throng of black suits and coats.
When the priest had finished the ceremony she had looked up and Donovan recognised those cheek bones from a mile away. He didn't see her for the rest of the day. Hindsight had tortured him, he wished he had said something to her. He should have strode over to her and taken her hand and said something to her. Anything would have done. He wasn't sure if it was friendship that had compelled her to be there but the fact that she hadn't stayed or spoken to anyone had felt significant.
"I don't know what I can do." Sarah said abruptly, "You know I would help if I could but..."
"Do you know what even happened? Do you know what she did to me?" Donovan asked.
"I uh... I don't know Donovan." She say noncommittally.
"She locked me in a bathroom with another dude!" He said loudly. The cat on Sarah's lap jumped up and darted under the coffee table.
Sarah said she wanted to help but that there were rules and she couldn't make contact at that moment in time. She sounded earnest enough that he almost forgave her for holding a gun toward him. Sarah suggested that Donovan go home and she would get in touch when she had anything further.
"Nah, I'm good." He said stretching his legs out on the sofa. He was testing her patience and as he suspected, the gun was not turned on him for his insolence. She threw a bundle of blankets at him and told him if she hadn't heard anything in the morning he would still have to go home.
"Or...?" His eyes settled on her bedroom door.
He felt a hard thud against the back of his skull, she walked away with the gun dangling loosely in her hand.
Monday, 11 June 2018
New Beginnings
There she was, just sitting at the bar with an empty martini glass. She had her back to him and he noted that it was hunched, shoulders up against her ears. Her fingers loosely clasped the stem of her glass, her head bowed. Donovan took a deep breath and pushed through the glass door into the bar and strode toward the young woman who clearly wished to be alone.
"Heeey!" He grasped the woman's bare shoulders, her skin was clammy and warm. She flinched and shifted away from his shadow. "Fancy seeing you here gorgeous." Her face turned and she glowered at him. Such a beautiful face with a perfect scowl. He held his hands up and took a slight step back, "Sorry!" He said. Her expression remained the same.
"Why...?" She closed her eyes and looked away.
"It's been such a long time since we last saw each other, isn't it?" He beamed, "Miss me?"
"How?" She said firmly. Her palm pressed against her forehead as she rested her elbows against the bar. He tugged at the stool next to her and pulled himself onto the seat.
"Well, since you asked. This establishment is walking distance from your apartment, popular with the Quads and it's discreet. Plus I talked to the manager and it turns out you have an arrangement... So, not that discreet then."
"Fucking Bill." She groaned.
"Hey, don't be like that with Bill."
Donovan felt strangely protective of Bill. The guy hadn't been particularly forthcoming in the first instance. It had taken a large wedge of rolled up bills to get him to talk and even then it had been through gritted teeth. It was that or he had said it very quietly just to be obnoxious. "Come on Bill, speak up." Donovan had told him and the man earned his exceedingly large tip.
This had been the fourth bar he had frequented and it had taken some time to determine how she operated. Regardless he had attracted some attention and his nights sitting in bars until closing time in the Financial District had been a fruitful expedition. He hadn't had to pay for all of the company either.
She preferred midweek and somewhere quiet with a high class clientele. Donovan had no interest in such quiet bars and these were not on his usual rotation when in the city. Luckily his father's secretary had been more than willing to suggest nice bars for quiet 'dates'. The secretary would have loved an invite but her teeth were too big for her mouth, Donovan didn't like the way her face looked when it broke into an uninhibited smile. Didn't she get dental as part of the company benefits?
This bar wasn't the worst one he had sat in. He noted that the lighting had a soft golden hue which was both flattering and alluring. She looked entrancing regardless of the lighting but this was extremely complimentary. Although he was struggling to read the drinks menu without squinting. Perhaps he would ask her what she was drinking. Couldn't go wrong with a martini to be fair.
"Donovan!" The menu slipped from his hand and slapped against the metallic bar. She sighed, "I'm busy. You need to leave." She said firmly, her eyebrows knitted together in a frown, her mouth set in a full lipped pout. He admired how the shade of pink complimented the tone of her skin and didn't make her look at all cheap like it would have done on any other woman.
"Come on, I just got here." He said, "I'll buy you a drink." He then quickly added, "As a friend."
"I'm meeting someone in," she checked her phone, "Ten minutes."
"Whatever he's paying, I'll pay double." Donovan said smoothly.
"No." She replied.
"Triple!"
"Donovan!" She snapped, her palms slammed against the bar and her back straightened.
"Sarah!" He responded, bolted upright to attention.
"Why are you doing this?" She was pleading with him. "Please, please just go."
"Hmm. No." He smiled. "I offered you triple. Come on, that's a good deal."
Sarah picked up her phone and tapped furiously at the touch screen.
"Cancelling?" Donovan asked hopefully. Perhaps this was an aggressive approach.
"I will tell you where she is if you leave me alone right this second." Sarah said looking at him sternly. He took a moment and exhaled slowly. This cat and mouse game suddenly fell apart quite quickly. But-
"If I leave this second you won't have time to tell me. That wouldn't work." He said. He couldn't stop a smile spreading across his face.
"I don't know where she is right now, but I will tell you when I do." Sarah said. She looked tired.
"So you want me to leave and then you'll tell me? When will you tell me?" He asked.
"As soon as I know." Sarah said firmly and gave her phone a quick shake. She glanced at the door across the room and rose to her feet. She waved at the bartender, "Please could I have the same at my table?" The bartender nodded as she sidled past Donovan. "I will let you know." She said under her breath as she walked away.
"I'll have what she's having." Donovan said to the bartender. He was presented with a martini glass with a wedge of lime and filled with water. He nodded with an impressed smirk. Clever girl.
"Heeey!" He grasped the woman's bare shoulders, her skin was clammy and warm. She flinched and shifted away from his shadow. "Fancy seeing you here gorgeous." Her face turned and she glowered at him. Such a beautiful face with a perfect scowl. He held his hands up and took a slight step back, "Sorry!" He said. Her expression remained the same.
"Why...?" She closed her eyes and looked away.
"It's been such a long time since we last saw each other, isn't it?" He beamed, "Miss me?"
"How?" She said firmly. Her palm pressed against her forehead as she rested her elbows against the bar. He tugged at the stool next to her and pulled himself onto the seat.
"Well, since you asked. This establishment is walking distance from your apartment, popular with the Quads and it's discreet. Plus I talked to the manager and it turns out you have an arrangement... So, not that discreet then."
"Fucking Bill." She groaned.
"Hey, don't be like that with Bill."
Donovan felt strangely protective of Bill. The guy hadn't been particularly forthcoming in the first instance. It had taken a large wedge of rolled up bills to get him to talk and even then it had been through gritted teeth. It was that or he had said it very quietly just to be obnoxious. "Come on Bill, speak up." Donovan had told him and the man earned his exceedingly large tip.
This had been the fourth bar he had frequented and it had taken some time to determine how she operated. Regardless he had attracted some attention and his nights sitting in bars until closing time in the Financial District had been a fruitful expedition. He hadn't had to pay for all of the company either.
She preferred midweek and somewhere quiet with a high class clientele. Donovan had no interest in such quiet bars and these were not on his usual rotation when in the city. Luckily his father's secretary had been more than willing to suggest nice bars for quiet 'dates'. The secretary would have loved an invite but her teeth were too big for her mouth, Donovan didn't like the way her face looked when it broke into an uninhibited smile. Didn't she get dental as part of the company benefits?
This bar wasn't the worst one he had sat in. He noted that the lighting had a soft golden hue which was both flattering and alluring. She looked entrancing regardless of the lighting but this was extremely complimentary. Although he was struggling to read the drinks menu without squinting. Perhaps he would ask her what she was drinking. Couldn't go wrong with a martini to be fair.
"Donovan!" The menu slipped from his hand and slapped against the metallic bar. She sighed, "I'm busy. You need to leave." She said firmly, her eyebrows knitted together in a frown, her mouth set in a full lipped pout. He admired how the shade of pink complimented the tone of her skin and didn't make her look at all cheap like it would have done on any other woman.
"Come on, I just got here." He said, "I'll buy you a drink." He then quickly added, "As a friend."
"I'm meeting someone in," she checked her phone, "Ten minutes."
"Whatever he's paying, I'll pay double." Donovan said smoothly.
"No." She replied.
"Triple!"
"Donovan!" She snapped, her palms slammed against the bar and her back straightened.
"Sarah!" He responded, bolted upright to attention.
"Why are you doing this?" She was pleading with him. "Please, please just go."
"Hmm. No." He smiled. "I offered you triple. Come on, that's a good deal."
Sarah picked up her phone and tapped furiously at the touch screen.
"Cancelling?" Donovan asked hopefully. Perhaps this was an aggressive approach.
"I will tell you where she is if you leave me alone right this second." Sarah said looking at him sternly. He took a moment and exhaled slowly. This cat and mouse game suddenly fell apart quite quickly. But-
"If I leave this second you won't have time to tell me. That wouldn't work." He said. He couldn't stop a smile spreading across his face.
"I don't know where she is right now, but I will tell you when I do." Sarah said. She looked tired.
"So you want me to leave and then you'll tell me? When will you tell me?" He asked.
"As soon as I know." Sarah said firmly and gave her phone a quick shake. She glanced at the door across the room and rose to her feet. She waved at the bartender, "Please could I have the same at my table?" The bartender nodded as she sidled past Donovan. "I will let you know." She said under her breath as she walked away.
"I'll have what she's having." Donovan said to the bartender. He was presented with a martini glass with a wedge of lime and filled with water. He nodded with an impressed smirk. Clever girl.
Tuesday, 5 June 2018
A Very British Scandal
A Very British Scandal is a recent three part BBC drama based on true events regarding a curious case in British political history involving sex and subterfuge in the corridors of power. It's been well-received and well-reviewed and Hugh Grant's performance has been lauded.
In the 70's a bizarre incident was brought to the attention of the public when the leader of the Liberal party was accused by his secret ex lover of trying to have him assassinated. The attempt was botched but unfortunately the lover's dog was caught in the crossfire. If you haven't picked up on it yet, the central love affair between two men. This, along with the Profumo Scandal which also escalated and and destroyed the career of a Member of Parliament, always stuck out to me as a fascinating curio. But I think the main feeling I take away from these events, aside from relishing a bit of juicy gossip, is that 'you had to be there'.
I went through a period of reading a lot of books about British history post World War II. I had a compelling desire to find out how the modern world I came to exist within was brought about. Whilst I am aware that everything is always changing and the world is constantly on the move. I'm also aware that a long of things stay the same and more to the point, people tend to stay the same. History is my passion because the more I learn about the past and what has gone before, the more I can make sense of the world I am in now.
My knowledge of the events depicted in A Very British Scandal and my general understanding of what happened between Jeremy Thorpe and Norman Scott was that it was all just a bit odd. The curiosity and the fascination derived from the fact that it was a love affair between two men and a dog died but from my recollection none of it really added up.
Russell T Davies wrote the three part drama as a proud gay man (thanks for Queer as Folk Russell!) and it is abundantly clear that lying Jeremy Thorpe is the villain and Norman Scott (proud gay man) is hero of this story.
Perhaps it's the historian within me questioning every narrative placed in front of me, or perhaps it's my compulsion to empathise with every person I encounter, but I really feel awfully terrible for Jeremy Thorpe. No,not the character Hugh Grant was playing in this TV drama but the actual real life man who lived and walked on this earth. A man who didn't have an easy life and is now deceased unable to defend himself.
The whole debacle is written with Jeremy Thorpe as a manipulative and conniving man who hid his homosexuality and had a jolly good time reaping the benefits of a political career that the establishment afforded him until it all came crashing down. The drama unequivocally indicates that it was the Establishment who orchestrated the cover-up and Thorpe was completely guilty of trying to murder to Scott. Thorpe hid the relationship and was so intent of keeping it a secret because being gay was illegal at the time of the relationship and also it would have been a PR nightmare. In addition Norman Scott intermittently harassed Thorpe about his National Insurance card and Thorpe's superiority and ignorance meant that this wasn't resolved maintaining an unwanted connection between them. (Am I to understand no one in the history of the world had ever lost their National Insurance card and contact with their employer and had no other option to obtain one?)
The most irritating aspect of the whole drama was the dialogue. Why would such a man rant about wanting to have someone murdered? Why would he casually chat with his mate about planning to marry a beard, sorry, respectable woman? Why do people keep extolling the virtues of Norman Scott being so vocal about his homosexuality? It could just be exposition to service the plot and compel the drama but it didn't feel like natural conversation at all. It really irritated me that some of the characters were simply saying things to fit the agenda of the writer. Not that the characters had much about them aside from the actors playing them.
There has never been a definitive confirmation of what happened and why it all happened in such a way. Jeremy Thorpe, as can be expected, ignored the whole incident in his memoirs and we're working from details which have been revealed after the fact. There's a part of me which doubts whether or not Thorpe intended to have Scott assassinated. In my mind I always figured it was a case similar to that unfortunate incident involving Thomas Becket... But I suppose that wouldn't make an interesting drama (although Blackadder wrung some comedy out of the Becket incident).
Perhaps I'm just naive and a bit emotional at the minute, but A Very British Scandal was a virtue signalling piece of propaganda lauding the bravery of those who speak out (in this new era of #metoo) and ignoring the human beings in the mix. I was hoping for a fair and interesting insight into a confusing and event. Perhaps it was the time constraints which hampered a deeper investigation but it just felt lacking, at least to me. Good drama needs good guys and bad guys but real life involves ordinary people and unknowns. I really think there could have been more to Jeremy Thorpe, some complexity, some humanity but there wasn't a chance to really explore that. I suppose I felt bad for the wrong person in the end. I hope that doesn't make me bad.
In the 70's a bizarre incident was brought to the attention of the public when the leader of the Liberal party was accused by his secret ex lover of trying to have him assassinated. The attempt was botched but unfortunately the lover's dog was caught in the crossfire. If you haven't picked up on it yet, the central love affair between two men. This, along with the Profumo Scandal which also escalated and and destroyed the career of a Member of Parliament, always stuck out to me as a fascinating curio. But I think the main feeling I take away from these events, aside from relishing a bit of juicy gossip, is that 'you had to be there'.
I went through a period of reading a lot of books about British history post World War II. I had a compelling desire to find out how the modern world I came to exist within was brought about. Whilst I am aware that everything is always changing and the world is constantly on the move. I'm also aware that a long of things stay the same and more to the point, people tend to stay the same. History is my passion because the more I learn about the past and what has gone before, the more I can make sense of the world I am in now.
My knowledge of the events depicted in A Very British Scandal and my general understanding of what happened between Jeremy Thorpe and Norman Scott was that it was all just a bit odd. The curiosity and the fascination derived from the fact that it was a love affair between two men and a dog died but from my recollection none of it really added up.
Russell T Davies wrote the three part drama as a proud gay man (thanks for Queer as Folk Russell!) and it is abundantly clear that lying Jeremy Thorpe is the villain and Norman Scott (proud gay man) is hero of this story.
Perhaps it's the historian within me questioning every narrative placed in front of me, or perhaps it's my compulsion to empathise with every person I encounter, but I really feel awfully terrible for Jeremy Thorpe. No,not the character Hugh Grant was playing in this TV drama but the actual real life man who lived and walked on this earth. A man who didn't have an easy life and is now deceased unable to defend himself.
The whole debacle is written with Jeremy Thorpe as a manipulative and conniving man who hid his homosexuality and had a jolly good time reaping the benefits of a political career that the establishment afforded him until it all came crashing down. The drama unequivocally indicates that it was the Establishment who orchestrated the cover-up and Thorpe was completely guilty of trying to murder to Scott. Thorpe hid the relationship and was so intent of keeping it a secret because being gay was illegal at the time of the relationship and also it would have been a PR nightmare. In addition Norman Scott intermittently harassed Thorpe about his National Insurance card and Thorpe's superiority and ignorance meant that this wasn't resolved maintaining an unwanted connection between them. (Am I to understand no one in the history of the world had ever lost their National Insurance card and contact with their employer and had no other option to obtain one?)
The most irritating aspect of the whole drama was the dialogue. Why would such a man rant about wanting to have someone murdered? Why would he casually chat with his mate about planning to marry a beard, sorry, respectable woman? Why do people keep extolling the virtues of Norman Scott being so vocal about his homosexuality? It could just be exposition to service the plot and compel the drama but it didn't feel like natural conversation at all. It really irritated me that some of the characters were simply saying things to fit the agenda of the writer. Not that the characters had much about them aside from the actors playing them.
There has never been a definitive confirmation of what happened and why it all happened in such a way. Jeremy Thorpe, as can be expected, ignored the whole incident in his memoirs and we're working from details which have been revealed after the fact. There's a part of me which doubts whether or not Thorpe intended to have Scott assassinated. In my mind I always figured it was a case similar to that unfortunate incident involving Thomas Becket... But I suppose that wouldn't make an interesting drama (although Blackadder wrung some comedy out of the Becket incident).
Perhaps I'm just naive and a bit emotional at the minute, but A Very British Scandal was a virtue signalling piece of propaganda lauding the bravery of those who speak out (in this new era of #metoo) and ignoring the human beings in the mix. I was hoping for a fair and interesting insight into a confusing and event. Perhaps it was the time constraints which hampered a deeper investigation but it just felt lacking, at least to me. Good drama needs good guys and bad guys but real life involves ordinary people and unknowns. I really think there could have been more to Jeremy Thorpe, some complexity, some humanity but there wasn't a chance to really explore that. I suppose I felt bad for the wrong person in the end. I hope that doesn't make me bad.
Friday, 1 June 2018
May 2018
Stressful month.Watched most of Parks and Recreation. I was strongly advised to ignore season 1 so I did. As of the end of the month I only have season 7 left, a half season set in the hypothetical future. The only reason I'm still watching is for Aubrey Plaza.
I'm still having bad days but not half as many as I expected. My new job officially starts as of the end of June, currently temping and it's surprisingly relaxing. I'm having a lot of time to read.
1/5 Lucifer (Season 1 – 3 episodes) City of Angels (1998) Jane the Virgin (1) This Is The End (2013)
3/5 Thor: Ragnarok (2017) Riverdale (1)
4/5 Primary Colors (1998)
5/5 Closer (2004) Kodachrome (2018) Maid in Manhattan (2002) Who Wants to be a Millionaire: 20th Anniversary (1)
6/5 A Bigger Splash (2016) Jane the Virgin (1) Whiskey Tango Foxtrot (2016)
7/5 The Tarnished Angel (1957) Joel McHale Show (1) Parks And Recreation – Season 2 (6)
8/5 How to be Single (2016) The Marvellous Mrs Maisel (4) Parks and Recreation (5)
9/5 The Heart is Deceitful Above All Things (2004) Prisoners (2013)
10/5 I forget…
11/5 Absence of Malice (1981)
12/5 Eurovision Song Contest 2018
13/5 Lost River (2014) Bad Neighbours 2 (2016) Parks and Recreation (1) Nightcrawler (2014) BLOG POST– novel chapter 1,150 words
14/5 Atlanta – Season 1 (2) Parks and Recreation (9 – season 2 finished)
15/5 Call Me By Your Name (2017) BLOG POST– novel chapter 1,235 words The Florida Project (2017) Maps to the Stars (2014) Parks and Recreation (8 – Season 3) The Marvellous Mrs Maisel (1)
16/5 The Marvellous Mrs Maisel (3) Parks and Recreation (8 - Season 3 finished)
17/5 Command and Control: The Story of Nuclear Weapons and the Illusion of Safety Eric Schlosser (2013) 485p Parks And Recreation – Season 4 (6)
18/5 Joel McHale Show (1) Riverdale (1)
19/5 Royal Wedding Coverage: Prince Harry and Megan Markle, Parks And Recreation (10)
20/5 Sunday Politics (1) The Penguin Book of Classical Myths Jenny March (2008) 557p Parks and Recreation (11)
21/5 Parks and Recreation (6)
22/5 Deadpool 2 (2018)
23/5 Hail, Caesar! (2016) Parks and Recreation (2)
24/5 Can't Remember
25/5 Deadpool (2016)
26/5 Solo: A Star Wars Movie (2018) Parks and Recreation (5) Touch of Evil (1958) Broken Flowers (2005)
27/5 Parks and Recreation (4) Social Network (2010) Inside Llewyn Davis (2013)
28/5 Parks and Recreation (5)
29/5 Parks and Recreation (4)
30/5 Parks and Recreation (3) Citizen Emperor: Napoleon in Power 1799-1815 Philip Dwyer (2014) 563p
31/5 Parks and Recreation (6)
I'm still having bad days but not half as many as I expected. My new job officially starts as of the end of June, currently temping and it's surprisingly relaxing. I'm having a lot of time to read.
1/5 Lucifer (Season 1 – 3 episodes) City of Angels (1998) Jane the Virgin (1) This Is The End (2013)
3/5 Thor: Ragnarok (2017) Riverdale (1)
4/5 Primary Colors (1998)
5/5 Closer (2004) Kodachrome (2018) Maid in Manhattan (2002) Who Wants to be a Millionaire: 20th Anniversary (1)
6/5 A Bigger Splash (2016) Jane the Virgin (1) Whiskey Tango Foxtrot (2016)
7/5 The Tarnished Angel (1957) Joel McHale Show (1) Parks And Recreation – Season 2 (6)
8/5 How to be Single (2016) The Marvellous Mrs Maisel (4) Parks and Recreation (5)
9/5 The Heart is Deceitful Above All Things (2004) Prisoners (2013)
10/5 I forget…
11/5 Absence of Malice (1981)
12/5 Eurovision Song Contest 2018
13/5 Lost River (2014) Bad Neighbours 2 (2016) Parks and Recreation (1) Nightcrawler (2014) BLOG POST– novel chapter 1,150 words
14/5 Atlanta – Season 1 (2) Parks and Recreation (9 – season 2 finished)
15/5 Call Me By Your Name (2017) BLOG POST– novel chapter 1,235 words The Florida Project (2017) Maps to the Stars (2014) Parks and Recreation (8 – Season 3) The Marvellous Mrs Maisel (1)
16/5 The Marvellous Mrs Maisel (3) Parks and Recreation (8 - Season 3 finished)
17/5 Command and Control: The Story of Nuclear Weapons and the Illusion of Safety Eric Schlosser (2013) 485p Parks And Recreation – Season 4 (6)
18/5 Joel McHale Show (1) Riverdale (1)
19/5 Royal Wedding Coverage: Prince Harry and Megan Markle, Parks And Recreation (10)
20/5 Sunday Politics (1) The Penguin Book of Classical Myths Jenny March (2008) 557p Parks and Recreation (11)
21/5 Parks and Recreation (6)
22/5 Deadpool 2 (2018)
23/5 Hail, Caesar! (2016) Parks and Recreation (2)
24/5 Can't Remember
25/5 Deadpool (2016)
26/5 Solo: A Star Wars Movie (2018) Parks and Recreation (5) Touch of Evil (1958) Broken Flowers (2005)
27/5 Parks and Recreation (4) Social Network (2010) Inside Llewyn Davis (2013)
28/5 Parks and Recreation (5)
29/5 Parks and Recreation (4)
30/5 Parks and Recreation (3) Citizen Emperor: Napoleon in Power 1799-1815 Philip Dwyer (2014) 563p
31/5 Parks and Recreation (6)
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