1982 Janine by Alasdair Gray Page B

embraces her from behind, folding his arms round her waist, pressing his face into the back of her neck. She sighs patiently and stands absolutely still. He whispers, “Terry, I’m sorry I said that, you look great, really great. Please stay with me this one weekend, Terry. I need you.”
    She remains perfectly still until he releases her. She gets into the car saying, “Some other time, Max. Momma expects me.”
    She drives off dressed exactly as her lover wants her, all nude and ready under the one-piece denim dungarees.
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    At six o’clock exactly (to hell with 18.00 hours, I hate digital clocks) she drives into a multi-storey car park knowing that Charlie has checked in two minutes earlier. She sees his car before docking her own in a nearby space. She recalls his last words on the phone: “I don’t want you wearing anything but those dungarees, right?”
    An excited little smile comes to her face. “ Right ,” she whispers, and slips off her shoes before leaving the car. A feeling of cold gritty concrete underfoot, a feeling of fear as she quickly crosses a cold space to the red rolltop twoseater. Car parks are inhuman places, bleak warehouses for machines, a setting for any kind of evil. But Charlie opens the door to her, she slides into what she thinks is safety, the door closes, they kiss. His hands touch her briefly all over. She whispers, “I’m exactly like you told me to be.”
    â€œGood,” he says, withdrawing a moment.
    â€œWhere are you taking me?”
    â€œNowhere yet.”
    He reaches across the car, snapping shades down over all the windows. A dim red light above the windscreen makes her suntanned skin look warm negro, the dungarees look pink. The two seats are upholstered in thick fleece with very high backs which he folds down flat. I suppose the gearlever between the seats can be unscrewed or folded down so that he can take her in his arms, unbutton, undo her etcetera. Will I imagine their lovemaking in detail? Certainly not.

    68 GREANT ENJOYMENT
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    Thousands of people must enjoy imagining what mouths, hands and pricks do to other mouths, breasts and cunts because long descriptions of this activity fill magazines sold on station bookstalls. It strikes me as innocent stuff but no fun at all, mere sliding anatomy. Yes yes yes the greatest and most essential good in the world is two people feeling safe enough, at home enough, to give and take delight in each other’s bodies without haste, worry or greed. Once I could enjoy such lovemaking for over an hour, it led to sleep from which I emerged into more of it. I grew so thin and lean that when I went home one weekend my mother asked if I had taken up football? When I said I had not she looked at me closely then said, “Aye well. Just you be very careful,” and we dropped the matter. So I cannot read these descriptions without feeling completely separated from what I most enjoyed. In this bed in Selkirk or Peebles I only find entertainment in sexual dramas between selfish bitches and sneaky plotters, between lustful bullies and their slaves. But it will not bore or overexcite me to imagine that Charlie, in his smart red rolltop woo-grotto, makes love to Superb like I made love to Helen in the two years after we married. During the last fortnight of a magnificent summer – a summer more rich and strange than any millionaire, president or king ever enjoyed – I loved her shyly, wonderingly, without ever once touching her. I was unable to believe she cared a damn for me. But after she came to my closet, after the threats, tears, hypocrisy, the false smiles and falser speeches we lay side by side in a bed legalised and blessed by the Church, I was still almost unable to touch her. Sometimes I placed an arm across her shoulders feeling a lonely pity for us both. We were victims of a complicated trick which nobody had planned. But I could not, would not make love