Success Read Free Page B

love my face lives on another planet. She doesn’t mind. She wants lots more where that came from. Such people will take your money, take your body and take your time, but will they take your hint? Not them,
oh
no. I’m too tender-hearted. I just weather these hormonal storms. No wonder I get exploited.
    I dialled seven digits. I spoke in whispers to Adrian — sulking, as usual — and established that whereas the wealthy Torka would not be home that evening, the redoubtable Susannah, a new discovery of ours, most assuredly would be. ‘Perfect,’ I murmured, dropping the receiver into place as I heard Terence clump up the stairs.
    ‘What time’s she coming?’ he asked.
    ‘Any minute. She just rang.’
    ‘How did she sound?’
    ‘As if she were having a nervous breakdown, naturally.’
    ‘Excellent.’
    ‘Uh, “Terry” …’ I paused, frowning. ‘Are you actually ready?’
    I unconditionally promise you that Terence was wearing Sherwood-green velvet trousers, a flounced orange shirt, and a red corduroy jacket. He
was
. But then Terence’s taste in clothes, as in most other things, has always been quite beyond the pale. He possesses, for instance, a leatherene belt with a silver buckle on it the size of a hearth-grate; because of his want of inches he is moreover obliged to wear stilt-like yob’s boots — you can do that if, like me, you’re already very tall, but not if, like him, you’re actually very small (Terence, in fact, is, oh, 5′ 7″; I of course am six-foot-one-and-a-half); also he favours paint-by-numbers colour schemes — an absurd motley of nigger primaries and charwoman pastels — andis fond, too, of cute appurtenances (braces, scarves, lockets) which he tends to sport all at once, like a tinker. He is quite prepared, you know, to wear dark boots with light summer trousers. He’ll put on V-neck jerseys over T-shirts and think nothing of it. He’s perfectly capable of doing up the middle buttons of his —
    ‘How do we swing it then, Greg?’
    ‘Simple,’ said I. ‘A row will be precipitated. Miranda shall be rendered hysterical. I then stalk out. At this point you, “Terry”, sweep in with tequila and sympathy. What could be more agreeable?’
    ‘What, get her drunk, you think?’
    ‘You might as well — it would put the matter beyond serious doubt. You’ve got masses, I expect?’
    ‘You bet. Drink is one thing I’ve got plenty of. Drink I’ve got.’
    ‘I recommend white wine. She’ll drink herself sick on that purely out of natural greed. Also I’ve got some smoked salmon you can give her. She likes that too, because you can have bread with it.’
    ‘Mm?’
    The bell rang.
    ‘Let’s go,’ said Terence.
    ‘Ah. Come in,’ I called.
    I heard Miranda thank the lingering Terence in the hall below as she started to make her heavy way up the stairs. Me? I stood rocking on my heels by the window, the black cape already thrown over my broad shoulders, the keys of my custom-built car jinking in my hand, the pewter-tipped cane leaning ominously against my desk.
    ‘Hello,’ she said — obviously in particularly dazzling form.
    ‘Well? And what do you imagine we’re going to do now?’
    Miranda’s porcine good looks were minimally in evidence tonight: yellow scarf of hair, those fat lips of hers, scared eyes. She sat down with a grunt on the edgeof my bed, her ridiculous denim knapsack tumbling to the floor.
    ‘I don’t mind,’ she said. ‘Whatever you want to do.’
    ‘My God,’ I began, ‘that’s just what I can’t bear about you. Why must you be so hopelessly null?’
    ‘I’m sorry. Why don’t we have dinner somewhere? Or that film you wanted to see is on at the ABC. Or we could do something different — we could go bowling.’
    I averted my appalled gaze. ‘Oh, we could do that, could we?’
    ‘Sorry. Or we could stay in. If you’re tired, I’ll just cook you something.’
    ‘That sounds absolutely riveting, I must say. Just what I feel like after