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PART THREE OF THREE

Back in the cheap cafe.

KEVIN: Hello. You’re late.
MARTIN: Yes. Sorry. Very hard to get way some times. The editor is doing his nut for the summer issue, there’s a special pull-out section on…
KEVIN: But we’re not here to talk about work, are we?
MARTIN: No. I suppose not.
KEVIN: So, how was Cornwall?
MARTIN: Okay…
KEVIN: (pause) Has something happened?
MARTIN: Um. I don’t know how to tell you this…
KEVIN: What?
MARTIN: I’m having an affair.
KEVIN: With Constance. Yes.
MARTIN: No a real affair. With someone at work. She’s a graphic designer…
KEVIN: No… no….
MARTIN: Don’t get me wrong – you were very good. I was excited. I did enjoy the imaginary affair.
KEVIN: But why..? Oh this is a disaster…
MARTIN: It’s just that it seemed like hard work.
KEVIN: What?
MARTIN: Hard work. I decided that it was probably as much hard work pretending to have an affair as having a real affair. Only something was missing.
KEVIN: (hurt) What?
MARTIN: Frankly — the sex.
KEVIN: Oh.
MARTIN: You see for years now friends and colleagues have been warning me about affairs – not to have one, it’s not worth the aggro, the grief…
KEVIN: They’re right. That’s why…
MARTIN: Let me finish. Invariably these people do know what they’re talking about. They’ve had affairs. And it strikes me that they’ve had a lot of sex as well, a lot of sex with a lot of different women. And I haven’t. And I decided to do something about that.
KEVIN: I see.
MARTIN: So I’m afraid this is it. Goodbye. (getting up). It’s over.

MARTIN walks off leaving KEVIN alone.

KEVIN: (alone, quietly) You bastard.

PART TWO

A week later. Interior, fairly posh restaurant. Kevin is sitting alone at a table talking quietly into his mobile phone.

KEVIN: …no, well I have to say it went very well. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised by the results… oh you have? I’m so pleased. No, I’m sure he has no idea… ah, must go. Indeed. Bye.
MARTIN: (arriving) Hello again – not interrupting anything?
KEVIN: No, sorry – another client. Nice place, this.
MARTIN: Felt like splashing out.
KEVIN: So how’s it been?
MARTIN: Um. I don’t know how to put this…
KEVIN: You’re the wordsmith…
MARTIN: Amazing. I mean, for one thing – in the words of Kylie Minogue – I can’t get her out of my head.
KEVIN: Excellent.
MARTIN: I mean, well, it’s just… taken hold…
KEVIN: And has anything happened?
MARTIN: Since we met? Is this how it works?
KEVIN: Yes, you tell me what’s been going on. In your head.
MARTIN: It’s… amazing. Every song I hear is written for me – they’re singing to me and me alone. I haven’t felt like this since I was a teenager. And the sex… can I tell you about the sex?
KEVIN: If you like. (whispering) But do bear in mind where we are…
MARTIN: We started messaging each other – posting messages on her blog and commenting on her photos online. That kind of thing. Then she invited me round for another private view…
KEVIN: (knowing where this is going) Oh aye…
MARTIN: …and there was no-one else there. Just her.
KEVIN: And you slept together?
MARTIN: Yes. The sex… okay I’m not going to embarrass you…
KEVIN: Trust me, that’s quite hard…
MARTIN: It was just so… fantastic. I’ve never felt so alive. Does that make any sense?
KEVIN: Yes. It does.
MARTIN: I just wish I could spend more time with her…
KEVIN: You can – in your head, you need to compress longer moments into your… reveries, I like to call them.
MARTIN: Yes?
KEVIN: You should get away… a business trip perhaps. A magazine shoot…
MARTIN: In Cornwall… yes, tragically she could be the only photographer available at short notice…
KEVIN: There we go… I want you – in any snatched moment you may have – to think about what you and Constance are doing, away… in Cornwall…
MARTIN: Yes. I’ll do that.
KEVIN: And I trust your satisfied with the service, so far.
MARTIN: Oh yes. I’m… happier. I do feel more interesting. I swear some of my colleagues actually think I am having an affair…
KEVIN: I am pleased.
MARTIN: It’s hard work, though.
KEVIN: Mmm?
MARTIN: Thinking about the same person 24 hours a day. I’ve hardly slept…
KEVIN: But you feel good?
MARTIN: Yes. Fantastic.
KEVIN: Some of my clients even find it helps them lose weight, they lose interest in alcohol…
MARTIN: Yes! I usually drink half a bottle of wine every night – not touched a drop all week…
KEVIN: Indeed – some of my clients also find that their consumption of… pornography declines as well.
MARTIN: No comment.
KEVIN: Aha!
MARTIN: Yes. Well. Anyway, I really am most impressed.
KEVIN: Time to stop now. Eat up. And think of Cornwall…

(A SKETCH IN THREE PARTS)

Kevin is an out-of-work actor, Martin works in publishing. They are both in their late 30s.

PART ONE
Interior, cheap London cafe.

MARTIN: Hello? Er, are you Kevin?
KEVIN: Yes, that’s me. Always try to be early, put my clients at rest.
MARTIN: (sitting down) Good. So… how does this work?
KEVIN: We have lunch…
MARTIN: …and?
KEVIN: Well, as you’ll know from our advert, at Safe Encounters we provide a service. A service to all kinds of people, men and women, but usually married people – you are married?
MARTIN: Yes, eight years.
KEVIN: Good. As I say, a service. We offer you all the excitement and intrigue of… (whispers) having an affair – (louder) without actually having it.
MARTIN: (unsure)…okay…
KEVIN: You’ll be surprised. Just try this for one day, spend a quick lunch here with me, and I guarantee you’ll sign up for the whole course.
MARTIN: …or my money back?
KEVIN: Yes!
MARTIN: Hmm. No offence, but I’m a straight bloke. How am I going to get excited about meeting you for lunch once a week? Can’t you send an attractive young lady – can’t I pretend to have an affair with her?
KEVIN: Lord, no. I’m afraid – no offence – you’re missing the point rather.
MARTIN: Oh. Am I?
KEVIN: Yes. This is a zero-risk operation.
MARTIN: Eh?
KEVIN: Have you ever had an affair?
MARTIN: (wistfully) No. Never even snogged anyone at the Christmas party.
KEVIN: Well then you can’t begin to imagine the pain, the hurt – do you have children?
MARTIN: Yes, two…
KEVIN: Well you’d be insane to put that at risk. Insane. Zero-risk is the only way to go…
MARTIN: But as I say, if you were female…
KEVIN: Not possible. If any friends or colleagues saw you with a woman – not your wife – they’d assume you were having an affair. If your wife found out, even just about lunch, she’d have some awkward questions for you… at Safe Encounters we carefully match clients with facilitators – we match for age and gender – anyone seeing you with me will assume I’m a business associate or and old school or university friend.
MARTIN: Ok. So how do I get my kicks, then? (suddenly embarrassed) Not to put too fine a point on it.
KEVIN: We’ll construct an affair. You choose a name for your object of desire, and as all Safe Encounters staff are trained actors or writers, we’ll flesh it out, we’ll work together – you’re a writer?
MARTIN: Journalist. Trade rags mostly…
KEVIN: Perfect. I’m an actor. We’ll work together to create a hyper-real fantasy that you’ll take away with you. It will stay with you long after you leave this table.
MARTIN: I don’t know…
KEVIN: The benefits will be enormous. Many of our clients find that they have improved self-esteem. They become more confident, even more interesting to their friends, colleagues and even partners. (leaning in) More attractive, even…
MARTIN: I’ll give it a go…
KEVIN: Good. We need a name. Always start with the name…
MARTIN: Can’t we start with the shoes?
KEVIN: Eh?
MARTIN: (without hesitation) Constance. Constance Breakwater.
KEVIN: What?
MARTIN: Constance Breakwater.
KEVIN: Okay, odd name, but that’s fine, it’s your movie – just one thing I need to check – she’s not a real person, is she? It’s vitally important that you don’t base your fantasy on anyone real, just in case…
MARTIN: No, she’s not real. Not with a name like that.
KEVIN: Good. I had a client once… well, never mind. So, this Constance Breakwater. Tell me about her.
MARTIN: She’s a graphic designer. No, too close to home. She’s a photographer. From Cornwall.
KEVIN: Good. What does she look like, how old..?
MARTIN: 23.
KEVIN: Oooh, okay, bit young, but I’ll let you get away with that. Just…
MARTIN: If I say ‘leggy blonde’ that’s too obvious I suppose.
KEVIN: A bit. It works better if you keep some grip on… reality…
MARTIN: No, you’re right I’d never get a leggy blonde… okay, she’s… redhead. Gamine. Can I have gamine?
KEVIN: I’m not entirely sure…
MARTIN: …you know what that means?
KEVIN: Er, frankly no.
MARTIN: Hang on, I’ll look it up on my laptop – pretend we’re discussing that PowerPoint presentation we need to get finished by Friday…
KEVIN: Heh heh, good one.
MARTIN: (tapping keys) – Here we go… ‘a girl with mischievous or boyish charm’.
KEVIN: Ok, I like that.
MARTIN (wistfully): So do I.
KEVIN: Excellent… so how did you meet?
MARTIN: Work?
KEVIN: Ok. That’s fine – as this is just a fantasy.
MARTIN: Yes. Just a fantasy. (swallowing food) Wouldn’t do this in real life, of course… in fact my father-in-law once told me – in a drunken moment – that you should never have an affair with anyone you work with or anyone who has less to lose than you do.
KEVIN: Wise man, your father-in-law.
MARTIN: Quite. Rather generous advice seeing as I was about to marry his only daughter.
KEVIN: You and Constance…
MARTIN: Met through work, she was in for a shoot… I vaguely knew her… artier work from an exhibition, got talking… she invited me to a private view of her next show.
KEVIN: Good… and you went along?
MARTIN: Yes. Summer evening. Drank a bit too much warm white wine on an empty stomach, stayed on until the end…
KEVIN: And one thing led to another?
MARTIN: What do you take me for? Not that night… just a… clinch.
KEVIN: Very good, see you’re getting into this already.
MARTIN: I was tempted, so very tempted. But confused. And clearly a bit too drunk so – kicking myself – I left her alone in her gallery and went home.
KEVIN: Full of regret?
MARTIN: Yes – couldn’t stop thinking about her, though…
KEVIN: Good. I think – forgive me – that this is a good place to pause.
MARTIN: Oh.
KEVIN: Trust me.
MARTIN: (sarcastic) ‘You’re an actor’.
KEVIN: Take this away with you – I want you to think about her, about your – ‘clinch’ was it?
MARTIN: Yes.
KEVIN: Good word, that.
MARTIN: I know. It’s my job.
KEVIN: Think about her, how sweet her lips tasted, this forbidden fruit… and I’ll see you next week.
MARTIN: (distant) yes… next week… okay… (pause) One more thing.
KEVIN: Yes?
MARTIN: …about the name. ‘Safe Encounters’
KEVIN: Yes?
MARTIN: Bit gay. No offence…

(A short story. Sorry.)

What is it with beautiful women and ugly blokes?

You’ve heard that before, right – some stand-up or other? But it truly happens and it makes me crazy with fury and rage at the injustice of it.

Take the 9.23. I took the 9.23. Every day. I used to see this couple sitting in my carriage on the 9.23. He was – anyone would agree with me – an ugly bloke. His physique was nothing special. His face suggested that he’d sprung forth by some process of spontaneous generation from the lower layers of silt at the bottom of the gene pool. At least you’d think that if you saw him on his own – but he wasn’t on his own, was he?

No, he was always sitting next to his girlfriend (surely not wife) – the not-quite-domestic goddess. In her late 30s, I’m guessing no kids, dripping in Boden, her long dark hair framing her perfect face and lips that would kiss… she looked a bit Nigella-ish to be sure, but less playful, less – oh I don’t know…. less obvious.

I was bewitched. Maddened. Intrigued. Every morning there they were, every morning I was trying to figure out exactly what she saw in him. His repartee? Nothing doing there. His wealth? The shoes and watch say no. Good in bed? That must be it. Bastard. Lucky, lucky bastard. I hate you. I wish bad things upon you. I want you out of her life. I want her for myself.

Then one day he got on the train with his arm in plaster. After that he wasn’t on the train so much. I still saw her though, every day at 9.23 she pitched up just in time. She was what Jerry Seinfeld would call a ‘close stander’. I must have taken the spot on the platform that she had decided long ago was the optimal point to stand. I was always there long before her, and always – even if the platform was fairly empty – she would stand unfeasibly close to me. And then when we got on the train she always walked right, I always walked left.

Then I never saw him on the train again. Not once.

Last week, I was wandering home in the twilight and saw him ahead of me. Ugly bloke. Ugly bloke more dishevelled than normal, shuffling down my street with a handful of old carrier bags.

Walking up my path. Knocking on my door.