Alex George - Working It Out

‘Johnathan’s a lawyer,’ called Topaz from the other side of the kitchen. ‘Aren’t you?’

‘Well, yes,’ said Johnathan apologetically.

‘What sort of law?’ asked one of the men, who spoke with an accent that made Leslie Phillips sound like an East End barrow boy. He wore a thick roll-necked sweater and a fashionably tatty green corduroy jacket.

‘Commercial stuff, generally,’ said Johnathan. ‘Buying and selling companies, that sort of thing.’

‘Do you do any Legal Aid work?’

‘Well, not really, no. We don’t do any of that sort of stuff.’

‘Oh. Why not?’

‘Well,’ said Johnathan as politely as he could, ‘we just don’t.’

‘So you’re one of life’s takers, then, not one of its givers.’

Johnathan reeled. What was this? Bash a Lawyer Week? Before he could reply, Topaz appeared by his side, and handed him a glass of what appeared to be Listerine. ‘There you go,’ she cooed. ‘Tell me what you think of that.’ Johnathan eyed the green, viscous liquid suspiciously, and sniffed it. It was Listerine.

‘It’s Listerine,’ he said.

Topaz laughed. ‘No, silly, it’s TAG 69. It’s this amazing drink Libby found on her last assignment in Paris, wasn’t it Libby?’

The girl in the nightie nodded.

‘It’s just like crème de menthe, only more so,’ continued Topaz enthusiastically. ‘We can’t get enough of it now, can we?’

The girl in the nightie shook her head.

‘Well, I’d better leave you to it,’ breezed Topaz and swept off towards the stove with a regal wave. Johnathan took a hesitant sip of his drink, uncomfortably aware that Libby was staring at him with a disarming directness. The drink was intensely minty, very sweet, and clearly very alcoholic. OK, thought Johnathan, so it’s worse than Listerine.

‘What was your assignment in Paris for?’ he asked Libby, ignoring the man in the corduroy jacket.

‘I’m a model,’ said Libby.

What for, Crematoria R Us? wondered Johnathan. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘What sort of stuff do you model?’

‘Clothes,’ said Libby, lighting another Marlboro.

He changed tack. ‘Did you enjoy Paris?’

‘Yeah.’ Puff puff. In contrast to the dazzling sparkle of Topaz’s jade, Libby’s eyes were a lifeless blue. They flickered dully when she spoke, weighed down by half a tube of mascara on her eyelashes.

‘Did you get the chance to go to any of the museums? Paris is full of wonderful museums.’ Please say yes, prayed Johnathan. The conversational options were rapidly dwindling.

‘No,’ said Libby.

‘Oh,’ said Johnathan, defeated.

‘I don’t go for museums much,’ said Libby.

‘Did you know that the French Government puts as much money into the Louvre as the British Government puts into all of the museums in England put together?’ said the man in the corduroy jacket.

‘Really,’ said Johnathan. There was a pause. ‘Well,’ he continued affably, ‘it is a pretty large museum.’

‘I suppose the British Government has better things to spend taxpayers’ money on,’ said the man. ‘Illicit payments, backhanders, jobs for the boys. Greasing the palms of corrupt officials, or bent lawyers.’

‘Careful Gavin. Your nostrils are flaring,’ said one of the other girls. ‘It’s not very attractive.’

‘Neither is the sight of the rich getting richer, parasites feeding off the carcass of the nation while everyone else is suffering.’

‘God, give it a break, will you?’ said the same girl. ‘Change the record. Any more of life’s iniquities and I’ll throw up.’

‘Your trouble is,’ said Gavin, ‘that you’ve just given up fighting the status quo.’

‘Wrong. I haven’t given up. Because I haven’t begun. Nor do I intend to. Politics bores me.’

‘This is more than just politics, Kibby. This is about life.’

‘Well, yes, I suppose you’re right, if life, as you so dramatically put it, is about the sort of vapid banalities that you obsess about.’

Gavin sat back in his chair, too mortified to reply. Johnathan decided that he liked Kibby.

‘What about you, er, Libby,’ he said to the waif next to him. ‘Are you interested in politics?’

Libby ground her cigarette in the ashtray. ‘Not really,’ she said. ‘I don’t go for politics much.’

‘Shan’t be long,’ shouted Topaz cheerfully as she crashed around on the other side of the kitchen. ‘What are you lot talking about? Can’t hear from over here.’

‘Gavin is presenting his blueprint to salvage the country from the clutches of the filthy capitalist pigs who are bleeding society dry,’ said Kibby.

‘Jolly good,’ said Topaz. ‘Best to get it out of the way now while I’m doing this.’

‘Ha ha,’ said Gavin.

There was an embarrassed silence as everyone examined their glass except for Kibby, who was looking directly at Gavin. He was studying the health warning on Libby’s cigarette packet. Johnathan shot an admiring look at Kibby. She caught the movement, turned towards him, and winked at him. Immediately Johnathan looked away, blushing furiously.

‘Right, everyone ready to eat?’ demanded Topaz as she sailed towards the table. ‘We’ll have to rearrange ourselves a little bit. Libby, why don’t you go there, Gavin here, Sibby there, and Johnathan over there?’ Topaz issued directions with the assurance of a born hostess. People obediently moved into their designated positions. Johnathan sat next to Kibby. Gavin huffily moved to the other end of the table. Wine glasses were filled. A large pepper grinder was plonked on the table. It was at least two feet high. Gavin lit the candles in the middle of the table with Libby’s lighter as Topaz staggered over with an enormous orange dish.

‘Here we are,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Only lasagne, but at least it’ll be edible. Riddled with shredded tofu, as usual. Not so much as a whiff of cow.’

Oh hooray, thought Johnathan.

Topaz began doling out portions on to the elegant plates which blended seamlessly with the kitchen’s colour scheme. The plates were passed around the table. As Johnathan handed Kibby hers she smiled. ‘So Mr Lawyer,’ she said. ‘You buy and sell companies.’

Johnathan nodded. ‘Afraid so.’

‘Sounds interesting.’

‘Well. It can be. Sometimes.’

‘Do you have interesting clients?’

Johnathan considered. ‘Not especially. They’re all large corporations. Individuals couldn’t ever afford the fees.’

‘I see,’ said Kibby, prodding her lasagne with her fork. ‘No juicy divorces, stuff like that?’

‘God no. The partners decided a long time ago that human misery wasn’t nearly lucrative enough.’

‘Well, human misery is what some of us specialize in.’ Kibby nodded up the table towards Gavin. ‘Welcome to the world of the insufferably self-righteous.’

Johnathan smiled. ‘I’m used to it. It does rather come with the territory. Although I must say that your friend over there was less backward in coming forward than most.’

‘Oh, you can always rely on Gavin to call a spade a spade. Or a bimanual broad-bladed gardening implement. I’m sure “spade” is quite unacceptable nowadays.’

‘I wish I could be so frank,’ mused Johnathan.

‘I’m not so sure,’ said Kibby. ‘People like Gavin regard frankness as a huge virtue. They see it as a means of avoiding accusations of hypocrisy. They believe that if they spend all their lives facing the truth head-on, and then confronting everyone else with it, the world is somehow going to be a better place.’

‘And you don’t think it will?’

‘Why should it? Discretion has its merits. Apart from anything else, Gavin has a highly idiosyncratic idea of what constitutes truth. All it means is what he happens to think this week. Gavin just cannot shut up, and all that really illustrates is his unshakeable belief in his own convictions. And his inability to listen to anyone else’s opinion without butting in halfway through.’ Kibby sipped her wine. ‘Believe me, Gavin talks an awful lot of self-justifying, narrow-minded bollocks.’ At the other end of the table Gavin was leaning towards Topaz, talking urgently in a low voice. Topaz looked bored.