July, 15th
Daniel:
When things get really frustrating at work, when I can't believe policemen are trusted with security when they don't seem to understand it at all, I feel like a leashed beast and I truly need to rough someone up at the gym. Most basketball players aren't adverse to some light scuffling but tonight it's just three of us. Short of engaging in boxing or bullying, this doesn't look promising.
The volleyball court is swarmed tonight. Sport for sissies, dang... but I move there; at least I can kill some balls and take some steam off. The presence of a certain brunette on court doesn't help me feel zen, but this is not a yoga class so I grit my teeth and get on with it.
Miss Not Goody Two-Shoes Hale plays in my team tonight; winning has somehow lost its appeal but I'm sure I'll have some fun. In the full rotation we play two shifts together in front of the net and two in the back. I'm bigger and I make sure she notices: I steal at least two kills from her by bumping her and pushing her around.
When we're not up front I pass the ball to her awkwardly; if she's such a brilliant player she should be able to deal with it. Ha! She can't and our team loses valuable points on her faults, and what is most satisfying, she falls on her behind trying. Alright, people fall on their asses all the time in volleyball, but this one is priceless.
She checks one of her wrists with the other hand... have I been so lucky she injured herself on my pass? Nah. She narrows her eyes - oh, but she got my message, didn't she? From then on she certainly gets out of my way. Good that she knows where she belongs.
After forty-five minutes we finish playing and everyone goes to the side of the court to pick up their belongings, mostly towels and bottles, on their way to the showers. I'm almost at the door of the corridor leading to the men's locker room when a female voice behind me stops me on my tracks.
-"Excuse me! Sir!"
I would ignore it but it's too commanding and I'm not to scurry away like a cockroach. I turn and put on my most bored and unconcerned face. Miss Hale is some five meters away and walking to me.
Crap, up close she's even prettier.
-"Excuse me... Mr. Donaldson, right?"
I nod and try to intimidate her with the most basic thing a sweaty man can do to a sweaty woman, this is, giving her a slow once over and lingering a bit too long on the pillows.
Miss Hale doesn't deign to take offense or even take notice. Nice try, but I'm not letting her take the wind off my sails.
-"Mr. Donaldson, I'm under the impression that you thought me deserving of punishment. I would like to know the charges to defend myself accordingly."
Alright, John likes this woman and with good reason. I cross my arms over my chest so it looks wider and my biceps bulge. Denying knowledge would be the safer way to go (after all volleyball can be a physical game), but I'm not playing safe.
-"Miss Hale, you cannot do what you did to John Thornton and expect sympathy, do you?" My voice comes out in a menacing growl.
She narrows her eyes and knits her eyebrows.
-"And what exactly did I do to Mr. Thornton to earn your reproof? Mind to enlight me?"
She hasn't crossed her arms or anything yet she would make a lesser man shrink. Not me, though.
-"You keep bad companies but you have a good friend in John. Why do you think the Police let you off the hook so easily with the drug and prostitution investigation?" I say, "Uh?" I add so show her who is in charge.
Her eyes widen and her pouty mouth forms a perfect O, just for a moment unfortunately.
-"I wasn't aware of any prostitution charges", she says quietly and clears her throat. "I suppose I'm not the first one to say this, but it wasn't what it looked like". She looks down and blinks repeatedly, and I can't help believing her, that there had to be a good reason.
To her credit she doesn't play the lady in distress card; instead she holds herself together at once and looks at me with dignity.
-"Don't fool yourself with hope, Miss Hale" I don't want her to suspect my previous thoughts or suspect weakness. "He did it for your father". I'm not sure that's complete true but she doesn't need to know that.
The lady in front of me nods.
-"My father is fortunate to have such a good friend, and so are you. Thank you for answering my questions, Mr. Donaldson. Good evening".
With that she turns on her heel and leaves. Instead of the satisfaction I anticipated, I get the feeling I might have put my foot in my mouth.
I don't go home but show up at the pub. A detective is retiring after many years with the Police and it's being celebrated accordingly. John came with me and we hang out together, we speak about the things we usually do (the quest for a new car being my current obsession), and as usual we don't talk about women. Margaret Hale included.
Simon MacGregor, who has splitted with his wife for the fifth time in two years, approaches with an almost empty glass in his hand. John invites him to join us and waves for a refill for Simon.
-"This one is on me. I owe you one, it seems", John says.
Simon is already a bit tipsy and grins, red nosed.
-"I'll never say no to a free beer or a free woman", replies Simon and laughs at his own joke, "but lemme tell you, that favor was quite easy to do".
My curiosity is piqued by that comment.
-"Easy, you say?" I intervene, "how was that?"
-"Well, we knew she only bought pills once. We're not going to send someone to jail for so little", Simon sips delicately from the top of the beer and licks the froth from his upper lip. "We got interested because she met the profile of high class hookers, you know? Good looking, educated, single and young. We were following a few leads back then."
Simon stuffs some chips in his mouth and washes them down with a good swig of beer.
-"But the moment she opened the door I knew she wasn't into it." He shakes his head knowingly and we wait for him to elaborate.
He elaborates.
-"She was fine, but first of all she was backloaded," Simon's free hand squeezes an imaginary ass, "and the girls are frontloaded without exception", the hand now is at his chest level holding two invisible canteloupes. "Not only hers weren't too big, they were real" he says matter of fact and wrinkles his nose disapprovingly. To our faces of wonder he clarifies: "I know it because she was wearing a bra. I could see the lines through the sweater. I bet it was one of those, you know" he points his index to his sternum and up, "with a front clasp".
John is completely still and there's a barely noticeable little twitch in his left eye. I think my friend is fighting the urge to clock the inebriated detective if he goes on commenting Margaret Hale's wares. I congratulate myself on not mentioning our earlier interview. Simon continues, oblivious.
-"The first thing women get when they get into the business, aside enhancing," he rises his eyebrows suggestively so there's no doubt about what kind of enhancing he's talking about, "is jewelry, but the earrings and necklace she wore were family heirlooms. There were old pictures on the wall, of her as a child and another woman wearing them. Detective's eye", he adds winking. "Besides, we cross examinated everyone involved and her name never appeared. She had nothing to do with that".
-"Did you find anything else about her and drugs?" I ask, needing to incriminate her.
-"Nope. Who knows why she did it... She did buy some drugs and she did lie to me. Little ballsy thing, eh?" Simon chuckles like a proud father, "but no idea. When I talked to her she looked so sad I almost offered her some weed".
He gulps the last of his glass and effectively finishes this conversation.
-"Hey, you know her, don't you? If she's still single, you think you can put in a good word for me?"
John:
So... it was all in my mind. She was innocent, she wasn't being duplicitous or two-faced. She was only dealing with something quite difficult but nothing like I imagined. Well, she deserves an apology and maybe if things go well, I may ask her out again.
Tomorrow is Saturday and her father is returning from two weeks in Oxford with his friend. I wrote him an email telling him I had passed the exam, and he replied saying that he'd love to celebrate and it only seems fitting. I plan on going to the Mills in the morning and coming back home early in the afternoon, I'll then call them and arrange something.
Truth be told I'd love to take them both out for dinner. I'd rather be just with Margaret but her father is also dear to me, and I have the feeling this is like a new beginning.
The weather forecast promises a sunny day and some breeze from the south. A beautiful summer day, by all accounts.
Margaret:
Oh my, that was quite a revelation, wasn't it? I had no clue I was under investigation for prostitution and it was him who... what did he do? He certainly interfered, did he have to cash a bribe? For me? Even if he thought I was a whore? Oh God.
I am not offended. I've met quite a few sexual workers and I'm aware that some are doing it by choice, that it's often but not always a life of slavery, that it exists for a reason. But I'm also aware of the connotations, of the bad reputation, or the spiraling into drugs many find themselves into. Only few manage to make a healthy living in that profession, it's true.
I am not offended, no, what I feel is relief. Huge, expansive relief. He thought, mistakenly but with good foundations, that I was deceitful. It's time to correct the mistake and thank him for his intervention. I cannot take back my hurtful words but this might be a good time to apologize too.
Tomorrow is Saturday; my father and Mr. West will have lunch in Oxford and my father will arrive in the 4 PM train. I've missed him and I'm looking forward to seeing him again; and when he's back we can invite Mr. Thornton, John, to come for dinner.
Sounds like a great plan, and that's all there is to say about it.
Note: I guess Mr. Thornton's exam should comprise more than one test and I'm sure it would take a few weeks to have it all corrected, but this is not a novel on the education system so I'm taking this big license here: He sat for the exam one day in late June, and by now he already knows he passed.