then?’
The same routine as usual, and all harmless. It was well known that Rymble was too afraid of catching syphilis to actually sleep with anyone; and they had grown so close that she had begun to appreciate his more elaborate and competitive insults. She loved him really.
Coffee was already being served for the morning shift, with fried flat-breads and kippers. This place never closed. Two young couples sat together by the entrance, hangers-on who looked inquisitively and hopefully at the art scene gathered here.
Suddenly it occurred to Beami that she didn’t know what she was doing here. She had desperately wanted to speak to someone, anyone, and was now disappointed at the small crowd available. Today there was only really Rymble she knew well – until Zizi entered just then from the back, wearing her fur coat and high-heeled boots. Even in her fifties, Zizi was still one of the most glamorous women Beami had ever known. She’d made her name on the stage, still used her stage name, in fact. Her milieu was both theatre and choreography, and she was responsible for several dances that had become popular throughout the Boreal Archipelago. Then she gave up that passion for the love of her husband, a rich banker from Villjamur – who, after marriage, promptly left her for a younger woman. Zizi, lovelorn and with a shattered heart, never danced again. Beami considered herself as strong-minded as Zizi though, and it worried her to know that someone like her could give up a career for love. She never wanted to use her sexuality in order to get on in this patriarchy; she wanted to earn her place, and so Zizi’s story always saddened her.
Knowing each other’s moods so well, Zizi took one look at the expression on Beami’s face, and the brunette woman immediately suggested they sit down and talk. While Rymble slumped into a slumber, Beami informed her friend in rapid whispers that Lupus was back.
A startled expression came over Zizi’s face, then she said jokingly, ‘Honey, you’re far too pretty to be a one-man woman.’
‘I’m not like that,’ Beami snapped.
‘Easy, darling.’
‘Sorry. I’m just not that kind of woman. I know Malum and I have had some problems—’
‘Problems? You bloody hate the man.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘Well we all do. He’s so weird, so sinister.’
‘He’s not. You just don’t know him like I do.’ On more than one occasion, the others had encouraged her to leave Malum, and one night Rymble had even kindly offered to venture into their house and stab him – then immortalize the act with poetry.
More seriously, Zizi continued, ‘Look, I know you have your problems, but you either walk away from Malum now or you stay with him.’
Beami’s mind was drifting.
‘These situations can become increasingly dreadful if . . .’ Zizi’s expression softened as her intensely green eyes focused on something deep within her. ‘Hang on. Why are you here? You didn’t come all the way just to get some advice – especially if you’ll be seeing him shortly.’
After a moment of reflection, Beami finally confessed, ‘Perfume. I want to find one particular scent I liked to use. It was one Lupus adored me wearing. That sounds stupid, I know.’
Zizi grasped her hand. ‘It says you’ve made up your mind already. But I say never let a man stop you – I say it all the time. I never knew Lupus, but don’t give up everything for him. Don’t let your passion for him ruin your life.’
‘He’s not that type of man. I’m already involved with one of those.’
‘Well, there’s your answer.’
‘Lupus is . . . something else.’
Zizi’s gaze softened. ‘Tell me about him.’
Beami’s mind drifted back through time. ‘One night I went up to the bar just as they were closing, spoke his name when I shouldn’t have known it, gave him the wildest smile – then tripped, spilt my drink all over the floor, and started laughing.’
‘Smooth,’ Zizi
The same routine as usual, and all harmless. It was well known that Rymble was too afraid of catching syphilis to actually sleep with anyone; and they had grown so close that she had begun to appreciate his more elaborate and competitive insults. She loved him really.
Coffee was already being served for the morning shift, with fried flat-breads and kippers. This place never closed. Two young couples sat together by the entrance, hangers-on who looked inquisitively and hopefully at the art scene gathered here.
Suddenly it occurred to Beami that she didn’t know what she was doing here. She had desperately wanted to speak to someone, anyone, and was now disappointed at the small crowd available. Today there was only really Rymble she knew well – until Zizi entered just then from the back, wearing her fur coat and high-heeled boots. Even in her fifties, Zizi was still one of the most glamorous women Beami had ever known. She’d made her name on the stage, still used her stage name, in fact. Her milieu was both theatre and choreography, and she was responsible for several dances that had become popular throughout the Boreal Archipelago. Then she gave up that passion for the love of her husband, a rich banker from Villjamur – who, after marriage, promptly left her for a younger woman. Zizi, lovelorn and with a shattered heart, never danced again. Beami considered herself as strong-minded as Zizi though, and it worried her to know that someone like her could give up a career for love. She never wanted to use her sexuality in order to get on in this patriarchy; she wanted to earn her place, and so Zizi’s story always saddened her.
Knowing each other’s moods so well, Zizi took one look at the expression on Beami’s face, and the brunette woman immediately suggested they sit down and talk. While Rymble slumped into a slumber, Beami informed her friend in rapid whispers that Lupus was back.
A startled expression came over Zizi’s face, then she said jokingly, ‘Honey, you’re far too pretty to be a one-man woman.’
‘I’m not like that,’ Beami snapped.
‘Easy, darling.’
‘Sorry. I’m just not that kind of woman. I know Malum and I have had some problems—’
‘Problems? You bloody hate the man.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘Well we all do. He’s so weird, so sinister.’
‘He’s not. You just don’t know him like I do.’ On more than one occasion, the others had encouraged her to leave Malum, and one night Rymble had even kindly offered to venture into their house and stab him – then immortalize the act with poetry.
More seriously, Zizi continued, ‘Look, I know you have your problems, but you either walk away from Malum now or you stay with him.’
Beami’s mind was drifting.
‘These situations can become increasingly dreadful if . . .’ Zizi’s expression softened as her intensely green eyes focused on something deep within her. ‘Hang on. Why are you here? You didn’t come all the way just to get some advice – especially if you’ll be seeing him shortly.’
After a moment of reflection, Beami finally confessed, ‘Perfume. I want to find one particular scent I liked to use. It was one Lupus adored me wearing. That sounds stupid, I know.’
Zizi grasped her hand. ‘It says you’ve made up your mind already. But I say never let a man stop you – I say it all the time. I never knew Lupus, but don’t give up everything for him. Don’t let your passion for him ruin your life.’
‘He’s not that type of man. I’m already involved with one of those.’
‘Well, there’s your answer.’
‘Lupus is . . . something else.’
Zizi’s gaze softened. ‘Tell me about him.’
Beami’s mind drifted back through time. ‘One night I went up to the bar just as they were closing, spoke his name when I shouldn’t have known it, gave him the wildest smile – then tripped, spilt my drink all over the floor, and started laughing.’
‘Smooth,’ Zizi
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