Surface Tension - Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The light bleeds through from the street outside.  Sealed here in the room it’s hushed.  I smile at Bill's outstretched body, her skin seems to  be almost translucent, reflecting light back into the room.  Her hair has fallen across her face, delicately caressing it. She's beautiful. Things have changed.   As imperceptible as it may seem dawn is coming, night retreating.

We’re sitting in the club’s plush bar. On the table in front of us are two large wine glasses. They’re empty.

“I'm hungry,” announces Bill, seemingly to no one in particular, though given I’m the only person in the vicinity it must be meant for me.

            “I'm light headed.”  

            “You do look a bit off. How many fingers am I holding up?” Bill puts both hands in front of her face.

“Ha, ha!

“You should eat something.” She stares at me. “Did I mention I’m hungry too?” I don’t move. She sighs, “Clearly the age of chivalry is dead. She scrabbles from her deep seat and goes looking for assistance.

Thomas had brought us here to complete the negotiations. As we sat down a fragrant girl had wafted up and presented us with two goblets of wine as 'courtesy'.  

Despite his best efforts neither Thomas’s smooth talking nor the complimentary wine made me budge from the bargain bucket entry level membership. He wasn't that down hearted.  He'd got us pegged as out of our class.

His mission completed, Thomas left us to enjoy our new surroundings which bore an uncanny resemblance to the bar where this had all started. White pine and all things Scandinavian, at least there was no throbbing disco beat to put up with. 

            The clock on the wall proclaimed that is was nearly 6:30.  Bill returns, sinks back into the chair opposite and tosses a menu to me.

            “You won't like it,” she says ominously.

            I glance over it, “See what you mean. I can have whatever I want as long as it's a salad.”

            “Remember Tony, your body is a temple.”

            “Yeah, well sometimes I like to worship with roast beef, Yorkshire pud and two veg, apple crumble to follow.”

            “If that's what you want you shouldn't have joined the club.” Bill smirks. I think about a 'look' but bury my head in the menu instead.

            We order. The salads come and 40 minutes or so latter I lean back in my chair, pat my stomach and look plaintively at Bill.

            “I know, you're still hungry. I promise we'll stop on the way home for whatever you want, even if its a greasy kebab from Ali's.”

            “Sold! Well shall we go?” I start to fight my way out of the chair.

            Bill leans forward contradictorily and whispers, “How about a steam and then, you know the locker?”

            And my hunger disappeared.

            I’d forgotten that this was the reason we were here that that’s why we’d joined and that we were on the verge of resolving Bill’s mystery. There was a twinge of fear, the fact that this could go either way but at the same time the pull of resolution was greater.

            “Alright, you’re on.”

We talk sotto voce as we work our way back to the facilities. We collect towels and robes and stuff. The men’s changing room is busy, so we agreed to leave it for now, try latter. I’m surprised at how suddenly I want to know what’s in there but the timing has to be right. So like kids on Christmas Eve we wait.

            We sit together in the steam room, allowing ourselves to be engulfed in the heat.  With others present we sit in silence, pressed up to each other to maintain contact.  On our own we allowed the conversation to drift amiably; nothing of consequences, no reference to Liz, work, Jonah or what we might find.  We let the heat reach in and hold us.  We drift out, feeling pretty serene and content ready to slump into one of the big chairs in the bar.  We sit opposite each other, blessed by the excellent stock of whiskeys that the club surprisingly keeps.  We mellow together.  Inconsequential conversation floats between us; Bill teasing me over how I looked in the steam room, the different characters who flowed through the bar but all the time, just below the surface is the key.

            The clock says 9:45 when  Bill leans forward and asks in a husky malty voice: “So what about it? Now?”

“You think?”

“Yeah, bar’s busier, suggests that things in their have got quieter. Don’t you think?”

 “Now then?” Bill nods.  I pat my pockets finding the key buried deep in the towelling.   “OK lets go.”

As we round the corridor to the changing rooms two sweaty guys, talking weights, presses and curls, push past us disappearing into the men’s changing rooms. 

            Bill pauses, squeezes my hand and says “You're on your own kiddo.” There's a fleck of disappointment in her eyes.

            A voice remotely announces that the club is due to close shortly.  We pause by the changing room doors.  I push the door open.  The two blokes are sitting talking in the open part of the changing room, there's no chance of Bill coming in.  She shrugs, what will be will be and what has to be done has to be done.  She turns away.