*
Love is the drug
Wednesday: Office
I had been to the office just above Camden, a towering Deco edifice guarded by gigantic black cats. It was to discuss my work: I negotiated my way through the dismal grey labyrinth of plastic room dividers that led to the meeting room.
At the large oval table sat my boss. There was also the team leader, an intern and another engineer.
“Ah! sit down, thanks for coming in. Don’t see you around much?”
“Well,” I said, “it’s easier just to work at home.”
“But you are missing out on our new intern.” The young woman laughed. She had unusually large teeth. "Yeah." she said.
“Sit down,” he said. “Actually, don't sit down.” He pointed to his laptop. “This is fine. Suction power data graphs. We loved it. Keep it up.”
“Really?” I said.
“Yes." He addressed the team leader, a pallid man. "Do you have anything to add?”
“Caspasian, great stuff. Keep it up. But we still need the one on energy efficiency.”
“It’s on its way.”
“Can you get it in by Monday, first thing?”
“Monday? I thought I had two weeks.”
He fiddled with a pen. “You did. The schedules were changed. We now need it by Monday, at latest.”
He stood up. “I hope that’s ok.” And he escorted me out the room and, in the windowless corridor, continued, “Thanks for coming in. I’m sorry about the change. I only just heard about the deadlines myself this morning. You know how it is….”
Thursday afternoon
Tom had paid an impromptu visit and was drinking a cup of coffee while I, in my dressing gown, was trying to work, seated at the table in the kitchen in front of my laptop.
“Is this what you do all day?”
He bent across the table to see the screen.
It should be emphasised that this energy conversion efficiency has no relationship with cleaning efficiency or ability to pick up dirt where absolute levels of suction, airflow and suction power are more critical.
“Jesus. Now I know why you’re so weird. I see you don’t even bother getting dressed any more."
“Come on,” I protested. “I'm not weird. I'm an engineer. And I have to earn a living. We weren't all born with silver spoons sticking in our arses.”
Tom brushed aside my protest with a wave of his hand.
“You can't carry on like this. You're like a nun. We’re going to a party.”
“What party?”
“On Saturday. Freddy’s.”
“Who’s Freddy?”
“A friend. A normal person. Who loves life, and having fun."
“I can’t. I have to finish this.”
“ I thought you had until next month?”
“They changed it.”
“God. Well, bugger that. You’re coming anyway. No ifs, no buts.”
He took a slurp from his coffee, then began a lecture.
“You’re a disgrace to youth. And I deserve better. Britain deserves better. The women of north London deserve better.”
“I rather doubt Britain’s womanhood are desperate for vacuum cleaner engineers.”
Tom thought for a moment. “Probably one or two are, you know. The female mind is quite incomprehensible. Defeated Aristotle. And drove Nietszche insane. But I must admit engineer isn't perhaps the most glamorous of professions. Maybe we can call you a designer? Women seem to go for them rather.”
Saturday Night
We got quite late to the party.
It was in one of the old Georgian blocks, round a square.
The door opened with the sound of disco and a gust of majiuana smoke. Two bearded men, one in a crimson ball dress and the other in a gold, welcomed us.
“Don’ you just love my dress?” said the first.
“Oooh god those tacky bows!” said the second! “Miner is diviner, I know you’ll agree.”
“Oooh bitch,” said the first. “And bullshit grammer.”
“Are you coming in?” said the second.
In the kitchen, a tall, waif-life figure in flowing pinks.
"Freddy!"
“Wonderful timing, my dears. Here, you open this.” He passed me a bottle of rose Champagne which I poured into wide glasses.
There were perhaps two hundred there, cramming into the hall, kitchen and a large living room. Bizarrely, the intern was also there. She was wearing incredibly high heels.
“Hi, how are you getting on in the office?“
“Yeah,” she said.
“I think you'll be fine. It can be a bit chaotic though.”
“Yeah,” she said.
“They'll love you. You have wonderful teeth, you'll go far. Just don't fall over.”
“Yeah.” And she started giggling uncontrollably.
Tom disappeared.
A hippy couple stood in the kitchen entrance gazing at me and into nowhere, sharing a little red crystal bong.
“ Yeah man,” said the man, blurrily.
“ Positivity, right?” said the girl, in a fake cockney accent.
“Yes, indeed,” I said. “Definitely.”
“What are you into?” asked the man.
“Vacuum cleaners,” I replied.
“Wow man. Sucking. Blowing. Inn-ess, out-ness.”
“Awesome,” said his girlfriend. “ That's sooo totally holistic. Want some?
I took a little smoke from the hubbly bubbly, just to be polite.
A fat Japanese woman in a pink jumpsuit joined our group. “Instagrammable moments. Love it.” She took a photo with her phone.
“Yeah man,” said the hippy, nodding slowly. “Yeah.”
“I'm launching a new range of clothes. They’re going to say “Instagram = life on them.”
“Amazing,” I replied. “Such profundity and concision.”
She beamed, “yeah, right? Positivity.”
“Open wide,” said a man in a cowboy hat. “Tic tacs.” “I opened and he popped something in my mouth. That'll get you going.” It had no effect at all.
A girl had entered the kitchen and found the champagne. She slurped greedily from a goblet with one hand. She held a snow-white chinchilla in the other.
“What's his name?”
“My names Bill and I'm an alcoholic,'' said the chinchilla.
“He always gets out of his face at parties,” said the girl, taking a long slurp, then adding, mysteriously, “I’m a Catholic”. The chinchilla farted loudly.
Guests packed the hall and kitchen, drunk, high or both, laughter and chatter filled the apartment. A woman appeared wearing nothing but balloons, which I found a little distracting. “Don't you dare pop them. Mr Naughty.”
I backed off, bumping into someone. His eyebrows were low and his moustache gigantic.
I said, “I'm sorry, I didn't see you behind that huge moustache”.
“I am Turkish.”
“That's wonderful. I love pide.”
“Oh God, yes, pide, pide, pide!” he cried.
“Are you Kemel?”
“No.”
“Deniz?”
“No.”
“Suleyman?”
“Yes! Yes! I am Suleyman,” and he embraced me with tremendous force.
We did not talk much about vacuum cleaners. I was very very drunk.
So was everyone else.
Tom reappeared with two girls, one under each arm.
“Look what I found! One for me, one for you.”
“You are completely crazy!” said the girls in unison.
“Hello,'' I said “Who are you?”
“I’m Gabriella”
“I’m Isabella.”
Isabella looked at me quizzically. Tom said “His name’s Caspasian and he's a designer.”
“Really?” said Isabella.
“Yes, exactly.”
“Like a fashion designer ?” she asked suspiciously.
“Electricals,” I said quietly.
A pause. Her brow creased.
“Oh. Like... an engineer?
“Yes,” I said, “like that. Domestic appliance engineering”
“Oh, God! How wonderful! I love engineers. They are so so sexy. Especially if they do stuff with vacuum cleaners.”
“I do!” I cried, grateful for recognition, "I'm an expert on suction."
“Jesus, how amazing. I can’t believe it. And I just adore suction.”
She hesitated for a second. “I was worried for a moment that you might really be a designer…..my ex was a designer and he was a complete creep...Anyway, I’m Isabella.”
“I know, you already told me”. She was really very drunk. “I’m Caspasian.”
Tom was plying Gabriella with more wine and she wasn’t putting up much resistance. “We’re off to the lounge,” he said, “see you later.”
The two transvestites appeared in the hallway where they’d found a mirror.
“Who are those transvestites?” I asked Isabella.
“They aren't transvestites. They're my brothers.”
“Does that prevent them from being transvestites,” I asked, as we observed the pair fussing with a powder compact.
But Isabella ignored my question.
"Let’s go through there", and she took my arm and we squeezed our way through the guests to the half darkness of the lounge where there were several sofas. Tom and Gabriella reclined on one, he offering her more wine, which he poured so it splashed onto her arms and breasts, and which he then licked.
A dj played tracks, twenty or so moved with the beats.
“Let’s dance,” said Isabella.
And so:
Face to face, toe to toe
Heart to heart as we hit the floor
Lumbered up, limbo down
The locked embrace, stumble round
I say go, she says yes
Dim the lights, you can guess the rest
Sunday Morning
I woke up.
“I’ve got to go.”
“God.”
“No really, I do. I have to.”
“Christ,” said Isabella. “You're so weird”
“I’m not weird,” I said, “I’m an engineer. And I have a deadline.”
She laughed.
And I went back to complete my report.
*
Read to: Cyberstrobes, 23 August, 2021
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