All those thoughts however disappeared after the first glass of Pat's cocktail.
After the second one Elisabeth went into a state which she herself usually described as "a bit more and I'll start singing".
Nevertheless after the third glass instead of singing she began to urge Tim to take her home because… because she had gotthe urge. In vain others tried to persuade her to stay: Pat enticing her with dancing which she loved very much, especially when she was plastered, Tim mumbling that it was too early and what a shame it was to break such great company and Lydia offering dessert. She made a chocolate pudding and was rather proud of it.
Regretfully Elisabeth was in such condition when all her nice qualities, whatever they were, took a break giving place to stubbornness with the capital letter A (for ass). So while Tim was saying a silent but a very heartbreaking farewell to the chocolate pudding Elisabeth was struggling with her jacket. Its sleeves became very tight and she couldn't slip her arms into them. To tell the truth what she mistook for the sleeves were in reality her pockets so no wonder she couldn't put her jacket on. At the end Tim came out of his stupor, helped her and they left Lydia's hospitable place. If Elisabeth would have an ability to notice the things she would become aware of the fact that there were three of them leaving: Patrick said Lydia that he wanted to see Elisabeth safe to the station. Elisabeth could also be surprised to see him later side by side with her on the train but as it was said before: she was beyond comprehension. Much later in her flat Tim helped her out of her jacket. This exercise for some unknown reason aroused him so much that he began to kiss her both hungrily and chaotically while Elisabeth was busy with keeping balance on her unsteady feet…
"So how was that with Tim?" Kitty asked smiling shyly.
All five of them were sitting in Mary's flat. It was packed with furniture, rugs, pictures and other stuff even more than Elisabeth's. Although there was no dust seen anywhere and the carpet was vacuum-cleaned impeccably the room in whole gave an impression of being untidy and disorderly.
"I don't know." Elisabeth said curtly. "I didn't do it with him."
"At least I think that I didn't," she added after some moody reflection, "thanks to Pat I was thoroughly pissed. Not that I don't remember anything: I remember how he tried to strip me. I'm not sure about how I got to bed but I definitely recollect him running to and fro between the door and my bed and trying to decide whether to leave or stay with me in case if I would regain my consciousness.
"So…"
"So what?"
"Did he stay?2
"Or did he leave?" Mary joined Kitty.
"I just don't know! In the morning he wasn't there, that's for sure, but I can't swear that nothing happened because whatever physical evidences there were – or weren't – I destroyed them during proper soak in bath which I took on autopilot when I woke up. Anyway what about you, Lydia? I haven't seen Pat for the last two weeks."
"And you were avoiding me as well. I rung you numerous times trying to catch you at home because when I tried your salon they told me that you wouldn't be there for days and days and they had no idea when you would actually be back."
"From the way you say it now," laughed Elisabeth, "I can see that you spoke to my best friend Leo, the one whose boyfriend I sort of seduced. I told you all about it, remember? And I wasn't avoiding you. I spent two weeks in Bristol, something came up unexpectedly. Bill and his crew were shooting some posh version of the "Full Monty" there and their hairdresser got ill, so they called our Maxim and asked him to sublet me, so to speak, for two weeks. Maxim was delighted hoping that the advertisement of such kind would attract to us even more clientele from the movie industry (as if we don't have enough) and for me it was a nice change from the worries of my love life and the exchange of contracts. I returned today and went straight here."
"I hoped you had some news for me about Pat." Lydia said petulantly. "I didn't hear from him since you took him away from me."
"I didn't. I was sure that he would walk us to the station and then come back."
Elisabeth thought that her last sentence sounded ridiculous. Pat was anything but devotee of nice long healthy walks and if she would be sober when they were leaving she would explain to Lydia that he had no intention to return.
"Well, he didn't. I waited for him like a fool for hours and he didn't even bother to call."
"All men are bastards." Elisabeth said philosophically looking around the table.
It resembled some picture from Ye Olde times. There was plenty of everything on it and each dish looked really delicious. Mary wasn't a good cook. In fact she was perhaps the worst cook if not in the world then at least amongst single females of her age. Her mother on the contrary was a genuine culinary expert. So instead of making something unappetising, burnt and crunchy on the outside yet raw and tough inside Mary charged her mother with the task of preparing meal for her friends. Mary's mum felt both flattered and grateful because there's nothing sweeter than to be of use to your grown up child especially in the area where you can shine. So her mother made a real feast for them with at least ten different dishes.
"Are you going back to Bristol?" Mary asked Elisabeth while generously filling her plate. "And what about Bill? Are you an item once more?"
"For your first question: no, their stylist is back and they're done anyway. But they sent me a beautiful invitation for the next weekend to some gala with reception."
"I know, I've read about that!" Kitty cried excitedly. "You lucky thing! You'll see all the celebrities, you'll mingle with the great movie stars. Omygod! You'll probably see David Tennant! I wish you didn't tell us about that, now I want to go there too!
"Can you take us with you?" Lydia asked in a businesslike manner.
"No. I have an invitation for two only."
"And you obviously go with your Bill." Lydia said sarcastically.
"I do not. I go with Maxim, yay! I was stupid enough to boast about that in the salon and he overheard me. So he offered to accompany me to the gala and I didn't have much choice but to accept the honour of having him as my date for the night. We will both enjoy it immensely. I with the worn-out crooked-legged knight in a shining armour of frills and gems and Maxim who hates women. As much as he hates men, to answer your unasked question."
"Whom does he like?" Mary asked naively.
"Sheep?" Lydia suggested.
"Maybe. He resembles very much of an ageing hornless ram. By the way about
Bill: we are through and that's official. He was too busy with a new face on their crew while I worked in Bristol and for all I could judge it was genuine enough."
"Poor Elisabeth." Mary said pitifully.
"Oh never mind, easy come easy go. Tell me better how your progress is."
"Well," said Mary slightly blushing, "we're getting really close."
"How close?" Elisabeth asked. "Is he already holding hands with you in cinema?"
"We haven't been to cinema yet." Mary said with regret. "But I invited him for tea last Wednesday after the match and he came."
"Or dear!" Elisabeth said in desperation. "Have you at least kissed?"
"No! I don't want to rush in to anything. I want to enjoy every minute of our relationship. And I do enjoy it!"
"You rush when you have sex with a man before asking his name. Otherwise it's not rushing at all. And by the by what sort of relationship we're talking about?"
"Normal relationship: when people communicate and have common interests and talk."
"Play tennis."
"Yes, and play tennis. He's my partner now and he's the best. He plays really good and he's also very kind and patient when I'm making mistakes. Last time we played he even offered me his drink because I forgot to fetch something for myself. It was very sweet of him."
"Good. You can regard that as almost having oral sex. Are you still running outside in the mornings to see him… coincidentally?"
"Of course, not," said Mary who still did that and then added, "I'm going to bring you main course although some of you don't deserve it. I don't want to point out who this person is but I can tell you, Elisabeth Sutton, that you've been absolutely beastly to me!"
"What about you, Jane?" said Lydia. "Still leading blameless life?"
Jane smiled lightly and nodded. She couldn't bring herself to the point of telling the girls about Charles. And there wasn't much to tell about anyway. She saw him only twice during the last month, both times they had passionate sex, both times she couldn't think of anything else for many days to follow. Strangely enough she didn't feel any guilt. At home she was the same exemplary mother, wife and "the lady of the house" as Mrs Bucket would say. Her husband was too busy or too uninterested to notice anything. He was content with having supply of clean and ironed clothes, nice meals and rest in front of TV with or without paper.
In some ways Jane's was an ideal husband. He was a good provider, he didn't drink, he didn't even smoke, he was OK with children and if he didn't work, he was at home, sometimes even doing something helpful. At the same time he didn't make any attempts to keep Jane happy. She didn't feel special. He didn't consider her special. Their relationship lost its spark. No wonder that Jane fell for charms of the first Don Juan whose life path crossed hers by chance.
"Good for you," said Lydia and then turned to Mary. "Where is my coffee," she demanded.
"In a mo," Mary answered cheerfully tasting the delicious pudding made by her mother.
"Make coffee first and then you can continue stuffing yourself to the end of days," said Lydia ungraciously.
Mary gave her plate a longing glance and went obediently to the kitchen.
"Who's first, then?" Jane asked when the coffee cups were duly dried.
"Doh!" Elisabeth said sardonically. "Who do you think?"
Lydia's cup was unreadable.
"What do you mean, you don't see anything?" Lydia said crossly. "Have you forgotten how important it's for me? Why it's so black? What does it mean?"
"It means that you don't know how to drink coffee." Elisabeth said mockingly.
"Thank you for your cooperation!" Lydia barked.
"Or perhaps, it's your broken heart – it's so black and gloomy that when it cries it sheds black tears. Do you see any black splashes around, Jane? Those would be tears of Lydia's poor heart."
"Actually, yes, there is a drop or two here." Jane admitted straight-facedly.
Lydia grabbed her cup from Jane's hand and shouted:
"I'm in distress but all you can do is laughing at me. I hate you both."
"Come on, Lydia, cut the crap." Elisabeth said. "Your heart isn't broken and even if it is, it's entirely your fault. You're not a romantic type. Remind that yourself every day next week before breakfast and everything will be back to normal before the end of Sunday."
"You're unbelievably cold and heartless person, Elisabeth," said Lydia.
"I'm not heartless, I'm rational."
"Oh yeah? And what, may I ask, would a rational you do in my place?"
"I'm not in your place, thank you very much, but being me I would go to Pat and tell him: we're good friends, so do me a favour: f*** me, please, I really need it. It's not a big deal for you and it will make me happy."
"What I hate most of all," said Lydia while the others watched Elisabeth in respectful silence, "that it will work. For you, I mean. That if you ask him he really would shag you. It's terrible! And unfair. Promise me that you will never-ever ask him to do that."
Elisabeth giggled first. A mere suggestion of her shagging Pat was laughable. Then she remembered Pat's kiss and hesitated.
"Elisabeth," said Jane who was studying Elisabeth's cup, "you're heading towards troublesome times."
"Oh no." Elisabeth sighed. "I had enough already with my stalkers and that idiotic baby boy Tim. Can't a girl have some peace and quiet? By the way, last time you guaranteed me four men and I only had three. Where is the fourth one?"
"I thought you just said that you had enough."
"True, I did, but I still feel a bit robbed. God knows I am not a greedy woman but if I'm promised four men, I want my four men and not a one less."
"Whatever," said Jane stretching her hand for Kitty's cup, "you wanted some action, Kitty? Here's your action. You're climbing up the volcano which is at the point of erupting."
"What does that mean in plain English?" Kitty asked. "Does it mean that something in my life is going to change? Will I have a tiny bit of an innocent romance?"
"Mercy!" said Elisabeth rolling her eyes. "Another innocent romantic."
"It means that something's going to explode," Jane explained, "and it doesn't say here that it's going to be nice."
"Oh dear!" Kitty sighed anxiously while Jane took Mary's cup.
"Oh dear!" she repeated after Kitty. "Another problematic cup. It looks like today is a bad day for coffee reading."
"What do you see? Tell me, please. Jane, what's wrong with my cup?" Mary squawked.
"I see nothing but tears." Jane answered and thought: "I'm not going to have a look into my cup. I don't want to see any tears in mine. No way!"
Yet she couldn't resist a temptation and cast a glance at the dregs in her cup. There were no tears there. Only slight waves like one can see on the surface of the summer sea when it stretches lazily after having a lovely nap under the warm morning sun. Everything's going to be alright, thought Jane happily not noticing a tiny shadow behind the sea of the waves, a shadow which could easily grow into a thundercloud.
"Let's talk about something pleasant." Mary said decisively. "We don't see each other often enough to spoil our evenings by sinking into doom and gloom."
"Good girl!" Elisabeth said. "Let's talk about food. I really like those marinated aubergines. Can you write me down a recipe? I just love pickles."
"About that party, Elisabeth," said Mary, "what are you going to wear?"
"That's a very good question. The point is – I don't know. But then it doesn't matter much, does it? Whatever I'll put on, there will be somebody looking exactly the same. So why bother?"
"I always thought that everyone looks totally different at such events." Kitty said.
"No, this is the problem: part of them come half- or three quarters-naked and because they all are stripped with the help of more or less the same designers they all look like twins. Or triplets, or whatever. When you take a close look at the photos of some star event in any fashionable magazine you see how identical they are: the same cuts, the same shape of décolleté and heaps of long skirts slashed here and there to show legs (regardless whether they're excellent or not at all) up to armpits.
"I take it that you're not going to strip?" Lydia asked.
"I don't have to do it. I'm not a young bright hopeful who wants to be discovered. Neither I'm an old cow who tries to be evergreen for her money."
"What about the other part? What do they wear?"
"Rugs. Not literally but there are some that can put a glittery scarlet skirt with a pink top. Then they will attach an artificial red flower the size of a fully-grown cabbage to the most inappropriate place to give a performance of an "innocent spring", no matter how old they are. This category also adores old grandma's sequins and cheap plastic jewellery. I don't know who styles their hair but those people had to be jailed for life."
"What about this two-piece?" Mary suddenly asked.
"You want me to wear this?" Elisabeth asked incredulously.
The costume she was wearing looked formal yet chic and it became her very much. It was of a pleasant shade of light green with tight trousers and very narrow sleeves of a waist-length jacket. It accentuated her slim figure and in particular her long and impeccable legs, the best feature she had which in past almost made her a model.
"How much do you like it?" Mary asked cautiously.
"Quite a lot but it's too noticeable. Soon I won't be able to wear it because of colour. Why are you asking?" Elisabeth said with interest.
"I can try to turn it into something even more noticeable." Mary said.
Mary was very clever with her needlework. It probably was in her genes: her granddad was a ladies' tailor and a good one too. When he was alive he was responsible for all Mary's clothes and she remembered a wonderful dress he made her for her very first date. Her girlfriend wanted to introduce Mary to her brother and Mary was thrilled because most of the girls at school had already boyfriends and she didn't. She was also horrified that he might not like her and wanted to look her best. At that time she was already rather chubby but grandfather was a real wizard: he made the front and the back of the dress out of black silk while on its sides he put black and white checked gussets and because of that she looked much thinner. During her medical school years Mary knitted jumpers and made her own skirts and dresses but later she grew incredibly lazy and took her sewing machine out of a cupboard once in a blue moon.
Now she felt a surge of energy and creativity.
"And how I'll go home if you won't be able to finish it?" Elisabeth asked caustically, watching Mary boldly cutting her jacket.
"I'll give you my sweater." Mary said gleefully. "The biggest and baggiest one."
From her bedroom wardrobe she took an old summer dress of a fiery orange pattern and started to order her guests around.
"Why do you need starch?" Elisabeth asked. "My gran used it for making some beverage, she called it kissel or something like that. Have you ever tried kissel?
Two kilos of starch later she tried her improved jacket on.
"Tiger Lily." her friends whispered together in admiration.
I'm not good in describing clothes therefore I can only say that Elisabeth indeed looked like some exotic flower, flamboyant yet fragile.
"Wow!" Elisabeth said. "Wo-ow! I will have to change a shade of my hair colour and I can revive my old orange shoes. Thanks girls. I look great."
"What I like in our Elisabeth is her modesty." Lydia said.
"Do you know what Maxim's going to wear?" Mary asked Elisabeth suddenly. "What if he would decide to put on some Garry Glitter kind of clothes?"
"Alternatively he can appear in a canary yellow jacket, red tie and vivid blue shoes." Lydia added maliciously. "You'll be the brightest couple there and I don't refer to your intellectual capacity."
"You forgot the trousers." Elisabeth said impassively.
"No, I didn't, otherwise you would see my underwear, but your Maxim instead of trousers will be wearing long silk underpants with red miniature hearts."
"Cool with me." Elisabeth said in the same indifferent tone.
"Really, Elisabeth, have you any idea what he's going to wear?"
"Dinner jacket, naturally. It's a formal party which means that while women will make total asses from themselves crippling their legs on 10-inch heels and freezing in their strapless dresses men will enjoy smart and comfortable look. As usual."
"You know what I think?" Lydia said. "I think that Tim didn't screw you after all. You're turning into a hard-core feminist and with women of your type it only happens when they've been deprived of good old sex for sufficient period of time."
When Elisabeth's taxi stopped near Maxim's house he was already outside waiting and virtually hopping with impatience. To give him a credit he looked very imposing even if in slightly retired-gigolo style. When they stepped out of the car Elisabeth saw hundreds of bystanders around the entrance and felt that they were impressed by her. "I fancy who they believe we are," she thought, "some filthy rich producer with his bright and gorgeous secretary slash mistress or some influential director with his former supermodel wife. I bet that they've already forgotten that we've came here in a cab!"
Before coming to the party Elisabeth hoped that she would be able to lose her compulsory partner but when they entered the building she swiftly changed her mind and clung to Maxim as a baby-monkey to its mother. She didn't feel comfortable in such a big crowd of total strangers. As a matter of fact that was the chief reason for her failure in acting or on the catwalk. So she clenched to Maxim's elbow and was terribly grateful that he didn't make any attempts to desert her and also for him looking so cool and relaxed.
Much later sitting at the table in a company of some obscure guests she finally became her usual self again. Their neighbours were fairly young people, rather excited to be invited to the event and willing to enjoy every minute of their presence there. Soon Elisabeth felt as good as a fish in a water making people laugh and look happy. She was a natural entertainer on a condition that she knew her audience. Relaxing in a circle of her new friends Elisabeth didn't look much about her though there was a lot to see. Numerous tables were occupied by the stars of A to Z categories who ate, drank, chatted and laughed. Real and faked jewels sparkled competing in radiance with glistening eyes and brilliant smiles. Elisabeth wasn't a snob. She didn't care that at the table to the left of her sat surrounded by the agents and friends The Pop Star himself. Yes, yes, the one whose pinned on the wall photo you can find in practically every maiden's bedroom. And to the right of Elisabeth there was a small constellation of soap-opera's idols including the sexiest of the sexiest actress and her current partner The Heart Throb of the Soap World of the Year.
Elisabeth also wasn't aware of the fact that for the last half an hour or so she became a subject of attention from somebody who was sitting not far away in the darkest and quietest corner of the enormous hall. This somebody sat there in the company of his wife and a few close people who were almost as famous as he. And he – the man who watched Elisabeth fixedly and with such an interest – was nobody else but Superstar. We all know him. He's mentioned in press virtually every day. He's constantly chased by media, producers, actors, directors and publishers, each of them hoping to make a bit of money out of him and his success. Photos of his houses in the different parts of the world are constantly on the covers of glossy magazines, we know who his favourite designer is and what food he likes most of all. And if you don't remember or somehow missed that valuable piece of information I can tell you that his favourite dish is Sturgeon Nouveau.