Simon Beckett - Fine Lines

Then I remembered my meeting that evening with Zeppo, and suddenly my collection, Dryden, and his wares seemed unimportant. Even the unsettling influence of the dream finally faded into the background in the face of this much more real crisis. This was the watershed. Everything depended on Zeppo’s reaction to what I told him.

Shaking off the last wisps of my earlier abstraction, I focused my energies on preparing myself for the coming confrontation, imagining almost every permutation of Zeppo’s possible reactions to what I had to say, and preparing my arguments in advance. There was one, however, that I shied away from considering too closely. Refusal.

Even so, fear of it was very much with me later that afternoon as I said goodnight to Anna, closed the gallery, and drove to Zeppo’s flat.

He answered the door with a sardonic grin. “Nice of you to drop by.” I had nothing to say. I followed him inside silently. “Drink?”

“A brandy, if you have it.”

“Oh, I think I might just be able to rustle one up.” He went over to a black table that held a vast collection of bottles. From what I could see, they were all costly and famous brands. But not necessarily the best. His knowledge of quality seemed to depend largely on name and price, and I reflected that his modelling career must pay better than I expected. The room too was expensively, if rather gauchely, decorated. But I was not really concerned with that just then. He handed me a drink and sprawled on the huge black leather settee opposite. He smiled, condescendingly.

“So. Confession time.”

I looked into my glass. “It’s hardly a matter of confession. More making sure we understand each other.”

“Donald, you can call it whatever the fuck you like so long as you tell me what you’re playing at.”

“I’m not “playing” at anything.”

“Well, you certainly seem to have been making up new rules as we go along. So come on, let’s have it. What’s been going on in that devious little head of yours?”

“You’re making this sound much more Machiavellian than it is. I’ve not been plotting anything, I assure you.”

“What is it then? Second thoughts?”

“No, not at all. Far from it.”

“So what’s wrong? Either you still want me to get Anna into bed or you don’t. Which is it?”

I could not look at him. “Yes. I do.”

“Then why all this pissing about?” There was an impatient edge to his voice. I could feel him staring at me. There was no avoiding it now.

“Because...” I stopped. The words refused to come.

“Yes? Because?” Zeppo prompted. “I’m waiting, Donald.”

I wondered if he already knew. It would be like him to torment me.

“Because I want to watch,” I said.

When there was no immediate response I looked up. He was staring at me, dumbly. I felt a small flicker of satisfaction. Obviously he had not guessed after all.

“You want to watch?” he echoed.

“Yes.”

His poise reasserted itself. The smile came back: he relaxed into the sofa. “Fine. I’m sure Anna won’t mind. We’ll just put a chair by the bed for you. Would you like some popcorn, as well?”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. Is there anything else you’d like while we’re at it? Any more surprises you’ve got lined up for me?”

“No.”

“Oh good.”

“I don’t find your facetiousness amusing.”

He snorted. “Well, what did you expect? Congratulations? Jesus!” He looked sharply over at me. “You do just want to watch, don’t you? You’re not thinking about joining in as well?”

“Of course not!”

“Don’t look so appalled, Donald. You’re hardly in a position to start with the moral outrage routine.” He gave an incredulous laugh. “All your prudishness when I’ve talked about fucking her, and it turns out you’re nothing but a dirty old man who gets his kicks by watching someone else shaft the girl he fancies.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Oh, no, of course it isn’t. What is it, then? Scientific interest?”

“I’m paying you. I don’t have to explain my motives as well.”

“Donald!” His tone was teasing. “You want to share a beautiful moment with me, and you won’t even tell me why? Shame on you!”

I could feel my face burning. “You already know why. This... this is the nearest I can get to... to possessing Anna myself. I don’t think it’s too much to ask.”

“Oh, don’t you?” Zeppo gazed at me, a half-smile on his face. “And don’t you think Anna herself might have something to say about it? Or do you seriously think she won’t mind you having a ringside seat?”

I looked into my glass. “Anna doesn’t have to know anything about it.”

Zeppo’s smile grew. “Ahh, I get it now. You want your own private peep show! You sly old voyeur, you!”

“Do you have to demean everything?”

“What is there to demean? Having someone’s boyfriend bumped off so you can hide in a closet and slobber while she’s serviced by a paid stud is hardly a noble enterprise, is it?”

“I don’t think your moral record entitles you to criticise anyone.”

“Who’s criticising? All it boils down to is that you want to get your rocks off, and if this is how you like doing it then that’s up to you. I’m just pointing out that you’ve got nothing to be pious about.”

“I didn’t expect you to understand.”

“Oh, I understand all right. Probably better than you do.” His smirk was infuriating.

“Whether you do or you don’t doesn’t concern me. All I want to know is if you’ll co-operate.”

The leather hissed and creaked as he lounged further back on the sofa. “What if I don’t?”

“Aren’t you forgetting the little matter of certain photographs?”

“Fuck ’em. You daren’t use them now. So like I say, what if I say no?”

I kept my face deadpan. “Then I’ll find someone else.”

“You think you can?”

“It would be inconvenient, but I don’t see why not.”

“And what about what you owe me so far?”

“I expect a settlement could be made. But since you wouldn’t have done what I originally employed you for, it probably wouldn’t be very large.”

“And what about Marty?”

“I’d take that into consideration. But that was a side issue, not the main one.”

Grinning, Zeppo shook his head. “Donald, you’re unbelievable. A prick, but unbelievable. All right, it’s no skin off my nose. If you want to watch an artist at work, who am I to spoil your fun?”

His tone was indulgent, an adult conceding a favour to a child, but I did not care. I took a drink of brandy to steady myself and hide my relief.

“There’s still the little problem of Anna, though, isn’t there?” he went on. “How do you propose working it so she doesn’t realise she’s on Grandstand? Unless you’ve changed your mind about drugging her?”

“No,” I said, firmly. “Nothing like that.”

“Why? She wouldn’t mind what we did then. You could even have a go yourself afterwards, if you wanted.”

“That is a disgusting suggestion!”

He laughed. “I thought you’d like it. Don’t worry, I’m only kidding. I don’t think I could face the thought of a threesome with you. But I still think doping her might not be a bad idea. It’d make things much easier.”

“No. That’s out of the question.” I had not gone through all this just to see Anna in a drug-induced stupor.

Zeppo shrugged. “Okay. It was only an idea. But while we’re on the subject...” There was a small, lacquered wooden box on the low coffee table. He opened it and took out a mirror and a quantity of white powder. I watched as he divided the powder into two thin lines on the surface of the mirror, and with a smile at me sniffed them sharply, one with each nostril.