her, so it was all a bit strange. I was a bit discombobulated.’
‘You got stoned?’
‘And as a result of that, I forgot to get the drawing. Oh, it's a long story. Did I tell you about the picture last night?’
‘You mentioned it. But the interview was more important, no?’
‘I don't know. Maybe. I saw the drawing Morison did of her, but she wouldn't give it to me.’
‘What was it like?’
Had he unconsciously arranged the conversation so that he would be able to say that it was of a woman, naked, her legs open? Or was there nothing
un
conscious about it?
‘It was of her. Nude, lying down, looking at Morison, who was drawing her.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘And?’
‘It just didn't seem appropriate to take it.’
‘Was it a good picture?’
‘Yes, I think it was. There was an intensity about it. It was really quite powerful.’
‘You're not going to say something boring about “the male gaze” are you?’
‘I was actually,’ he said, looking at her. ‘Did you only say that to make me look at you?’ Which was all he wanted to do for the moment, a moment that, as far as he was concerned, could last forever. To look at her in this red and gold dress. To look at her and wonder about her underwear, to wonder about her naked … Clicking back to the present, he said, ‘What about you, though? What did you do after that? After you were on Accademia bridge.’
‘This is more like an interrogation than a conversation.’
‘I can see it is in a way. A similar urgency in the wish for answers. There's so much I want to know. Like what you did after Accademia.’
‘I went to buy glasses. I needed sunglasses.’
She rummaged in her bag – a Freitag bag, mainly red.
‘I love your bag,’ he said.
‘Me too. You know what I most love about it?’
‘Let me look.’ He looked at it while she rummaged, even peeked inside slightly. ‘The fact that it's got a zip,’ he said.‘Without the zip, its beauty would be diminished by its lack of practicality.’
‘Very good.’
‘Did you think I'd just say “red” or something?’
‘Oh, no. I had no doubt you'd say zip. That's why I asked. To make you feel astute. The other great thing about this bag is it's got a separate compartment.’ She showed him. ‘With another zip.’
‘Worlds within worlds. Also cuts down on rummaging.’
‘Cuts down on,’ she said, rummaging in her bag. ‘but can never eliminate completely’ With that she produced her new sunglasses. She put them on. They were the bug-eyed ones that make every woman look like Kate Moss or the girlfriend of an England footballer. There was no doubt about it: this was one of the great eras for women's sunglasses. They were fantastic sunglasses. He could see her eyes through them, could see himself reflected in them and, behind him, the buildings of Venice.
‘Try them.’
He took them from her, looked through them. In the fading light the sky glowed as it does when there is a bank of clouds with the sun shining directly on them so that they become a glowing black screen. It was like a storm was coming – a storm of gold-green light.
‘Fantastic,’ he said, handing them back. ‘Speaking of fantastic, what about this dress? The one you were wearing last night was great. But this one – it's the most beautiful dress in the world. You could wear it to the Oscars.’
‘Too short. But thank you.’
‘Where did you get it?’
‘Ah, the interrogation resumes. In Vientiane.’
‘I'll be honest, I don't know which country that's in.’
‘Laos,’ she said, pronouncing it so that it rhymed with ‘how.’
‘You know what my favourite thing about it is?’
‘What?’
‘The sleeves.’
‘There aren't any.’
‘Bingo!’ They clinked glasses.
‘What about the piece you're writing?’ she asked. ‘Have you found anything to say?’
‘It's impossible to say anything about Venice that's not been said before,’ he said, cleverly.
‘Including that remark,’
‘You got stoned?’
‘And as a result of that, I forgot to get the drawing. Oh, it's a long story. Did I tell you about the picture last night?’
‘You mentioned it. But the interview was more important, no?’
‘I don't know. Maybe. I saw the drawing Morison did of her, but she wouldn't give it to me.’
‘What was it like?’
Had he unconsciously arranged the conversation so that he would be able to say that it was of a woman, naked, her legs open? Or was there nothing
un
conscious about it?
‘It was of her. Nude, lying down, looking at Morison, who was drawing her.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘And?’
‘It just didn't seem appropriate to take it.’
‘Was it a good picture?’
‘Yes, I think it was. There was an intensity about it. It was really quite powerful.’
‘You're not going to say something boring about “the male gaze” are you?’
‘I was actually,’ he said, looking at her. ‘Did you only say that to make me look at you?’ Which was all he wanted to do for the moment, a moment that, as far as he was concerned, could last forever. To look at her in this red and gold dress. To look at her and wonder about her underwear, to wonder about her naked … Clicking back to the present, he said, ‘What about you, though? What did you do after that? After you were on Accademia bridge.’
‘This is more like an interrogation than a conversation.’
‘I can see it is in a way. A similar urgency in the wish for answers. There's so much I want to know. Like what you did after Accademia.’
‘I went to buy glasses. I needed sunglasses.’
She rummaged in her bag – a Freitag bag, mainly red.
‘I love your bag,’ he said.
‘Me too. You know what I most love about it?’
‘Let me look.’ He looked at it while she rummaged, even peeked inside slightly. ‘The fact that it's got a zip,’ he said.‘Without the zip, its beauty would be diminished by its lack of practicality.’
‘Very good.’
‘Did you think I'd just say “red” or something?’
‘Oh, no. I had no doubt you'd say zip. That's why I asked. To make you feel astute. The other great thing about this bag is it's got a separate compartment.’ She showed him. ‘With another zip.’
‘Worlds within worlds. Also cuts down on rummaging.’
‘Cuts down on,’ she said, rummaging in her bag. ‘but can never eliminate completely’ With that she produced her new sunglasses. She put them on. They were the bug-eyed ones that make every woman look like Kate Moss or the girlfriend of an England footballer. There was no doubt about it: this was one of the great eras for women's sunglasses. They were fantastic sunglasses. He could see her eyes through them, could see himself reflected in them and, behind him, the buildings of Venice.
‘Try them.’
He took them from her, looked through them. In the fading light the sky glowed as it does when there is a bank of clouds with the sun shining directly on them so that they become a glowing black screen. It was like a storm was coming – a storm of gold-green light.
‘Fantastic,’ he said, handing them back. ‘Speaking of fantastic, what about this dress? The one you were wearing last night was great. But this one – it's the most beautiful dress in the world. You could wear it to the Oscars.’
‘Too short. But thank you.’
‘Where did you get it?’
‘Ah, the interrogation resumes. In Vientiane.’
‘I'll be honest, I don't know which country that's in.’
‘Laos,’ she said, pronouncing it so that it rhymed with ‘how.’
‘You know what my favourite thing about it is?’
‘What?’
‘The sleeves.’
‘There aren't any.’
‘Bingo!’ They clinked glasses.
‘What about the piece you're writing?’ she asked. ‘Have you found anything to say?’
‘It's impossible to say anything about Venice that's not been said before,’ he said, cleverly.
‘Including that remark,’
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