Strawberry Tattoo Read Free

atmosphere of money and renown.
    “Bit of a mixed blessing, though,” said Rob, who obviously considered himself the voice of reason. “He always wants to buy up most of your stuff. Then it sits in a basement for years, where no one can see it, and if he dumps you all in one go your value drops like a stone.”
    “Yeah, well, I know that,” Mel said acidly. “But what I couldn’t do with all that dosh …and the space is brilliant.”
    “If you ever get to show in it. I mean, you might just stay in the basement for ever.”
    “I wouldn’t turn him down if he made me an offer, Rob. Would you?” Her tone was even more cutting.
    “I dunno, actually,” he said. He had short ginger hair which contrasted with his pink face so that it was hard to see if he was blushing or not. Now he fiddled with his heavy black-framed spectacles, looking embarrassed. “I might,” he said finally.
    Mel gave a snort of disbelief. I didn’t. Somehow I thought Rob meant it.
    Lex returned triumphantly with all four glasses pressed tightly together between his two hands, the way amateurs or boys showing off carried them. He dumped his burden onto the table, foam splashing from his pint into Rob’s Guinness. Rob flicked it off ostentatiously, but Lex ignored this by-play.
    “So, how’s it all going?” he said. His presence raised the energy levels of everyone round the table; there was a charge coming off him which we could not help but acknowledge. I observed his body language, the legs once more straddled across the stool as if it were as wide as a Western saddle, the way his easy gestures—reaching for his pack of cigarettes, bumming a match off Mel—took in more than his own share of space. As he lit his cigarette, ducking his head to the match, he looked up at me from under his eyelashes, his big dark eyes unashamedly flirtatious. Lex Thompson was a raging tart.
    “Anyone else but me met this Carol Bergmann woman?” he was saying.
    “Oh, you know her?” Mel said. Her voice changed, softened, whenever she talked directly to Lex. We were each responding to him in our different ways; when I fancy someone I tend to get tougher with them, even more sarcastic than usual, and tonight was no exception.
    “Mm. Met her in New York last year,” Lex was saying. “Great place. Went for a couple of days and stayed for a fortnight. Can’t wait to go back. We should hit some clubs when we get there, hang out a bit.”
    He winked at me and Mel. It was automatic for someone like Lex to flirt with every attractive woman he met, and the wink was general enough to have no meaning beyond a friendly gesture. But Mel blushed slightly and looked down at her drink.
    “I was wondering about that, actually,” Rob said. “Because they’re only taking us over for a couple of days, right? For the opening, basically. But I was wondering if we could change our tickets and stay on.”
    “Have to sort out your own accommodation,” Lex said knowledgeably. “Carol’s putting us up in the Gramercy Park, but she won’t run to longer than she’s already agreed.”
    “Is that what the hotel’s called?” Mel asked, her eyes still dropped.
    “Mm. Great place.”
    “Where exactly is it?” I said innocently, having sensed something a little vague about Lex’s response. I was forming the impression that he was the kind of person who loathed not knowing more than anyone else about the subject under discussion. Especially if it was a cool, happening kind of subject.
    “It’s, uh, on Gramercy Park,” Lex said, as if this were the most obvious fact in the world. Still, he was avoiding my gaze.
    “Is it near the gallery?”
    “Oh, well, uh, it’s pretty central. Cool. Carol always puts up her artists there. Can I have a light, Mel?”
    Clearly the precise location of the Gramercy Park Hotel would have to wait till we arrived.
    “I’m not staying there, anyway,” I announced. “I’ve got a sub-let.”
    All eyes turned to me.
    “How come?” Rob