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Extended Work
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| No Baggage (Part Two) | |
| By SammoR | ||||||||||||||||
| 03 May 2006 | ||||||||||||||||
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Concluding the story of Richard and Cynthia.... They walked along a maze of narrow streets. There were groups of tourists walking around, staring into windows. Richard noticed that the windows were almost ceiling height, and that there were women – of every age and race imaginable - standing in the windows, wearing nothing but underwear. ‘It-it’s the red light district,’ Richard said. ‘No shit,’ Cynthia replied. A cool breeze blew over them. Richard felt emboldened. ‘So what about you?’ he asked. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘Well, I’ve told you all about me, what about you? How did you get here?’ ‘I caught a plane here, but I suppose you know that…..’ ‘You know what I mean.’ Cynthia bit her lip. They walked on in silence for a few minutes. Richard felt that she was waiting for him to say something else, and so change the subject. He wouldn’t play that game.
Richard reached nervously for his throat, then remembered that the tie was no longer there. ‘Are you still in touch with them?’ ‘Not really,’ Cynthia looked down. ‘You’re hurt about how they treated you…’ ‘No, I’ve just never been into ouija boards.’ ‘Oh – sorry,’ Richard was taken aback. ‘Was it - an accident?’ ‘Something like that.’ Cynthia sounded bitter. ‘You remember that case, years back, in Hong Kong? Some junior trader broke the bank and ran. He got the headlines, the book and the film. Well, his manager had to carry the can. That was Dad – he got fired, and no-one would touch him. So Mom and Dad came back to England- I’d been at college there for a year by then. Dad had made money, so we weren’t poor, but he lived for his job. Without it he was nothing.’ Richard knew better than to interrupt and prompt. He waited for the inevitable bombshell. ‘I came home from college, one weekend. Dad was slumped in front of the telly. The sport was on. I said hi, no answer. I went upstairs, dumped my stuff, came down, did my laundry, then I went to wake Dad up. Then I saw that he ...he was….’ She paused to wipe away a tear. Richard reached across with her handkerchief, but she pulled away. ‘He’d been taking these pills to calm his nerves, and they said he must have taken too many by accident,’ she went on. ‘He was so particular – he’d never have made a mistake like that. The job killed him just as if he’d fallen into a machine in a plant. Mom- Mom-she just couldn’t hack it afterwards. She got ill, post-traumatic stress they said. She started drinking way too much. A year later, she was gone too – heart attack.’ ‘I’m sorry,’ said Richard, looking down in turn. ‘Don’t be,’ Cynthia replied. ‘They made their choices. No-one forced Dad to work for that bank, and he was already with them when he married Mom.’ ‘And your degree…?’ ‘Business Studies - I was really gonna finish that, after what I’d gone through?’ Cynthia replied. ‘After Dad died, I dropped out to look after Mom. Thought I might go back later. Then she died and I thought, hell, no. I went to Goa and spent a few weeks there. Chilling out. And that’s how it’s been since….’ ‘But how do you…’ ‘Knew you’d come back to that,’ she smiled ruefully. ‘ “How do I live?” Well, remember what someone said – Greta Garbo, Marilyn Monroe or someone- that she never hated a man enough to give him back his diamonds?’ Richard wanted to say, ‘It was Zsa Zsa Gabor,’ but thought better of it. ‘Well, I didn’t hate my parents’ lifestyle enough to give up the house. I rent it out to students. Mom and Dad also left me a bit of money, but I blew that years ago.’ ‘Bit of a cop-out, isn’t it?’ ‘Why? I’m not hung up on principles. I can live without working, big deal.’ ‘Some of us don’t have that option.’ ‘Hey - I didn’t ask to be born into money,’ Cynthia was annoyed. ‘But even if you must stay in the wonderful world of work, you can loosen up a bit.’ They had stopped at a footbridge over a canal. Cynthia turned to Richard and looked into his eyes. ‘It’s that sodding moment again,’ Richard thought. He could feel the chemistry between them – or could he? He had often been in this situation, and almost always got it wrong. Either he tried to kiss the woman and got his face slapped, or he held back and she started a rumour that he was gay. ‘Er….are you seeing anyone?’ he asked after what seemed an age. ‘I’m not,’ he added. ‘Richard, I’m seeing lots of people - here, in London, all over the place,’ she replied. ‘But no-one special. Stop pissing around.’ She pulled him towards her. Their kiss was warm and lingering. One of the prowling tourists shouted, ‘Hey, looks like we’re getting a free live sex show’. Richard mumbled to Cynthia, ‘Let’s get away from here’. ‘Spoilsport,’ she said, giving the gawpers the finger. ‘There’s places near here I can show you.’ The next few hours faded into a blur. Afterwards, Richard remembered them watching a live sex show, and later a striptease act. The stripper had been a pretty, large-breasted blonde. Then the G-string came off, and ‘she’ turned out to be a ‘he’. Richard had gasped in amazement, but Cynthia had grinned and said, ‘Remember – no rules.’ They took another cycle rickshaw to the City Hotel. Cynthia picked up her keys at the desk. Turning to Richard she said, ‘Look, I’m not gonna give you any bullshit about coming up for coffee. Come up and spend the night, I need a good screw.’ Her directness shocked Richard. ‘What if I don’t want to….?’ A tear ran down Cynthia’s face. ‘Stay with me, please. I don’t want to be alone.’ ‘But you’re never alone, surely….you’re seeing other people…’ ‘It’s different with you…you’re not like them…’ Without another word, he put his arm around her. She led him to the stairs and they went up to her room. ‘Could this be it?’ he thought. ‘She’s so different from me.’ But that would be a plus – they could curb each other’s excesses. ‘What will Mum and Dad say?’ he thought. They would probably wonder whether Cynthia could still give them grandchildren. Mum would ask outright, while Dad would just wink and suggest that Richard have other women on the side. Richard didn’t care about children – as far as he was concerned, he and Cynthia had both proved Larkin right. ‘Your mum and dad do fuck you up,’ he thought. Nothing would be lost by not passing the torch. And his mates? They’d think he’d just got a trophy white girlfriend. Well, sod them! He phoned reception. ‘Breakfast in bed, please – I’ll give you the details later. Don’t put it on the bill, I’ll pay cash…Can you put me through to a florist first, please – I want breakfast to come up with the flowers…’ ‘This is a nice surprise,’ Cynthia smiled, sitting up and tucking into the continental breakfast, an hour and a half later. The single red rose Richard had ordered was in her hair. Richard sipped his herbal tea. It tasted foul, but he would have to get used to it - he was taking Cynthia’s advice and cutting out caffeine. ‘I’ve got to leave soon,’ he said. ‘My flight’s at one.’ ‘Must you?’ she coaxed. ‘It’s a business booking, I can’t change it,’ Richard said. ‘I’d stay longer I could.’ She squeezed his arm. ‘Never mind. We can have fun even running for a plane.’ They bathed together, splashing and giggling like lovesick teenagers. Richard hardly noticed how uncomfortable the bath was – it was one of those continental ones with an uneven bottom. After they got dressed Richard picked up a book in an old-fashioned binding, from Cynthia’s bedside table. It was ‘Tropic of Cancer’ by Henry Miller. ‘Is this a first edition?’ he asked. ‘No, but it’s very old,’ she replied, with a hint of embarrassment. ‘Collecting old books is about all that’s left of my bourgeois childhood – I got it in the Waterlooplein yesterday.’ ‘Can I borrow it?’ Richard asked. ‘I’ve got nothing good to read on the plane.’ ‘Sure. We’ll meet up when I’m back. Give me a ring. ’ They walked to the Victoria, where Richard picked up his bag. He wanted to take a cab to the airport, but Cynthia goaded him into taking a train, with both of them dodging the fare. ‘Back to bloody work tomorrow…,’ said Richard, pulling a face, as they got to the check-in desk. ‘Chuck a sickie,’ Cynthia said. ‘Let me guess- never done that before? Look, your life is in your hands. Don’t give it to them.’ They had a few drinks at a bar, before Richard had to go into the departure lounge. Before he went past the barrier, he took a final look at Cynthia. She stood with her back to him, looking over her shoulder, the rose between her lips. They waved, and then she was out of his sight. Airborne, Richard stared out of the plane window. He thought of the book but was too distracted to read. He wouldn’t see Cynthia for almost a week… He wondered what she would get up to. Not buying books, he was sure. Perhaps she was having a fling with some old flame. Richard was not bothered, as long as she had time for him when she got back. She would not change overnight – no more than he would. Next morning, at home, he phoned in sick. Then he sat back and read Miller for most of the day. ********************************************************** Richard had returned to work on Tuesday, but at a different pace. He had walked slowly to the train station, missing his usual train and arriving at work twenty minutes later than normal. He had still been half an hour before his contractual hours, so he had sat at his desk reading the Metro rather than starting work. Richard had enjoyed the gasps from his colleagues who were already clattering away at their computers. And he had left on the stroke of five. On Thursday his manager, Rowena, had called him in to her office. She had warned him that his attitude to work ‘had shown a marked deterioration’. ‘You were a shoo-in for that regional manager vacancy, after that successful presentation,’ she had said. ‘But the way you’ve been carrying on this week, it’s not looking too good.’
Richard had lived for the evenings, when he would phone Cynthia. Sometimes he had got through, and they had chatted briefly. Mostly he had just left messages. One evening she had emailed the Dam Square picture to his mobile. He had then sent it to his work computer, where he made it his wallpaper, replacing the corporate logo. He knew he was breaching the company’s indecent-image policy, but he no longer cared. Richard strolled out of Oval tube station. He threw the chocolate wrapper on the pavement, enjoying the thrill of the forbidden act. Cynthia had phoned him on Saturday, just after her return, and given him directions. She was living in a flat in a tower block. He whistled as he went up in the lift. He was happy, even the ambient urine smell could not put him off. ‘There you are,’ Cynthia said, opening the door and beckoning Richard into the flat. They stepped through the hallway into the front room. Richard looked around the flat. It was well furnished, with leather chairs and sofa, and a flat-screen television. The walls were decorated with Arabic texts and large photos featuring an Asian family. Cynthia must be house-sitting, Richard thought. He leaned over to kiss her. She smiled, but seemed a bit tense. ‘How was the rest of your trip?’ he asked. ‘All right,’ Cynthia replied, dully. ‘Things have really changed,’ Richard went on. ‘I never start work a minute early and I leave on time –’ ‘Great,’ Cynthia sounded impatient. ‘Got the book?’ ‘Here,’ Richard produced it from inside his coat. Cynthia took it from him, her smile returning. ‘What did you think of it? I first read it years ago.’ ‘It’s good,’ Richard said. ‘Paris back then must have been a bit like Amsterdam now.’ ‘Glad you liked it,’ Cynthia smiled. She placed her thumb in the spine of the book, ripped it open and removed a small, transparent packet, filled with a greenish-brown substance. ‘What the hell is that?’ Richard said when he got his breath back. ‘Nederwiet,’ said Cynthia, rolling a joint from the packet. ‘The best, they grow it in greenhouses. Nothing like it here.’ ‘W-why didn’t you tell me it was there?’ ‘Hey – I never asked you to take it.’ Cynthia took a drag on the joint. Richard imagined how the last week could have been so different. The Customs dog at Stansted. Arrest. The custody suite. Customs officers looking disdainfully at him, as if to say, ‘Black guy, flash suit, good job and he still has to smuggle dope!’ ‘W-what if I’d got caught?’ he asked, nervously reaching for his throat. ‘Oh, you’d have been alright,’ Cynthia was dismissive. ‘It’s personal use, right? You’d only have got a caution.’ ‘So you’d have brought it yourself then?’
‘This time?’ Richard was shocked. ‘But if I’d got nicked, and I’d said you’d given me the book, you’d have told them, wouldn’t you?’ Cynthia was silent. Then she said, ‘It didn’t come to that, did it?’ Richard sat down on the sofa. His alternative vision was now worse. He could see himself in the interview room, telling Customs about Cynthia, giving them her mobile number, admitting he had no address for her. Customs calling the City Hotel only to find she had moved, leaving no forwarding address. Her mobile being disconnected. The court case. A jury not believing him. Being sent to prison... Cynthia held out the joint. Richard took it and puffed. A few minutes later it was extinguished in an ashtray, and they were on the sofa, tearing each other’s clothes off. Half an hour later, Cynthia relit the joint. Richard rose to his feet, pulling his clothes on. ‘Going so soon?’ asked Cynthia. ‘I’ve got to go to see my parents. Mum’s not been feeling very well.’ ‘Sorry to hear that,’ said Cynthia. ‘Meet me here next weekend? Rafiq’s in Dubai for another two weeks.’ ‘Definitely,’ said Richard. ‘Saturday afternoon?’ ‘Yeah,’ Cynthia said. Her voice breaking, she added, ‘I need to see you soon. I’m tired – tired of messing around. Tired of being on my own.’ 'I’ll call you….’ Outside, Richard walked to the nearest bin, his old stiff, hurried pace returning. He recalled the big lie he had just told, as he took the Travelcard from his pocket and tore it in two. Then he took the SIM card from his phone and threw it, together with the torn ticket, into the bin. He would buy a new pass, and sort out a new mobile number, later. As he walked to the tube station, he pictured Cynthia in the flat the following Saturday, trying to call him. Finding out his number was disconnected. How would she react? Would she cry? Or just call somebody else? Probably both. Richard would never know. He wished he didn’t care. When he got home he would do some work on his laptop, ready for Monday. A week or two polishing Rowena’s apple – not literally, he hoped - lots of seven-thirty starts, a few missed lunch hours, and he would get that promotion yet. He would start drinking coffee again, get his edge back. Oh, and that picture would have to go from his workstation…
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| Reviews |
| Part II Written by johniebg (541 comments posted) 8th May 2006 |
| From when he gets to the flat this had that magical quality of good writing where your there and dont realise your actually reading. I wasnt totally sure why he reverted at the end. I think it was because he had been played. He visited her on the sunday, suggested they meet up the following saturday and she said sunday because she was missing him? That confused a little. You express the gulability of men very well, guess we have all all walked like little schoolboys to the slaughter at some point in time. The clever bit was you (the reader) know what the book is all about but your hanging on its resolution right till the moment it pays off. I need to do more of that. |
| TA! Written by SammoR (111 comments posted) 8th May 2006 |
| ..for being the first person to review the second part. There was an ambiguity in the Saturday/Sunday thing - I was trying to be too clever by half, perhaps indicating that Cynthia, while really wanting to see Richard soon, would rather he came on Sunday, when she'd have nothing going on, rather than Saturday, when she might have something else planned. But I've scrapped that bit...she now just says 'yes' to the suggested Saturday. I was being too clever by half. I'm a great believer in writing what people can understand. Why did R revert? Well, the story is completed, and everyone can make up their own minds. I'll pm you my suggestions...don't want to be seen to be giving an authoritative answer!  |
| Part 2 even better than part 1! Written by Leigh (226 comments posted) 9th May 2006 |
| Really enjoyed this concluding instalment and couldn't wait to see where it was all leading. There is a sense of freedom but also a sadness about this piece. Your characters and dialogue are very believable, and I thought it was quite sweet that Richard cared what his mum and dad might think of Cynthia! I like the way we learn about Cynthia's background - this section is very poignant and rings true. As for the ending - yes, I'm a nosy cow and I'd be interested to read your theories if you could PM them across...! |
| Good read Written by Bottleblondesurfer (3362 comments posted) 10th May 2006 |
| OK I had to read part 2 to see what happens. Once again I as pulled right in by the dialogue. I thought Cynthia's was realistic with the exeption of ‘"There’s more than one way to be poor, you know." which was too on-the-nose. It jarred for me. And her character came out fully in the dialogue,to me she was a very damaged individual, a needy child with no empathy for others. I thought you created a great character I would have liked to know more about his motivation for his reverting to type as it contrasted so strongly with his actions before. I still feel he is a bit of a mystery. Anyway a rattling good read. I like your writing style BBs |
| Very believable ....... Written by Bagheera (683 comments posted) 11th May 2006 |
| I "saw" Cynthia walk before me, a dead riger for the Gopth Girl (whose name I forget!) in the CSI-New York TV series: a hard, mocking exterior who won't let emotion cloud her judgement, and seems almost afraid of the idea that she might one day let down her guard .... Towards the end I found myself caring less about Richard than I expected@ he almost seemed to "fade" to a 'cardboard cutout' figure, a bit like the chorus line of Queen Victoria images in a Monty Python sketch (there, I'm showing my age - and I don't care!! They don't make comedy shows lie they useter .....!!)  |
| sorry ........ !! Written by Bagheera (683 comments posted) 11th May 2006 |
| ......... about the typos!! No chance to correct them, I must be a lot more tired than I realised ... will toddle off to bed, in putsuit of a large Jameson's .....   |
| Thanks.... Written by SammoR (111 comments posted) 12th May 2006 |
| ...guys, for all the assistance. I've made a few changes, as follows: 1. I've changed the ending to make it clear that Richard has not only reverted to his previous life but has also dumped Cynthia. 2. I've removed the trite line about there being more than one way to be poor. 3. I've removed any references to Cynthia possibly being bisexual - it adds nothing to the plot. Criticism still welcome though.....you can never get too much! |
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