“No, I don’t mean that, silly. I mean, do
“Of course I do,” said Banks.
“Of course I do,” Annie echoed. “What do you think of toyboys?”
“Pardon?”
“You heard me.”
“Yes, but I don’t really know what you mean.”
“Toyboys. You know what they are, don’t you? Toyboys don’t make good lovers, you know.”
“No, I don’t know.” Banks tried to remember when he was a young boy. He had probably been a lousy lover. He probably was a lousy lover even now, if truth be told. If he weren’t, maybe he would have more luck finding and keeping a woman. Still, chance would be a fine thing; it would be nice to have the opportunity for more practice now and then.
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R O B I N S O N
“Oh, Alan,” she said. “What shall I do with you?”
The next thing he knew, she was beside him on the sofa. He could feel her thighs warm against him and her breath in his ear. He could smell red wine and garlic. She rubbed her breasts against his arm and tried to kiss his lips, but he turned away.
“What’s wrong?” she said.
“I don’t know,” said Banks. “It just doesn’t feel right, that’s all.”
“Don’t you want me?”
“You know I want you. I never didn’t want you.”
Annie started fumbling with the buttons of her blouse. “Then take me,” she said, moving close again and breathing fast. “Men always want it, don’t they, no matter what?”
Again, Banks backed off. “Not like this,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve been drinking.”
“So?” She went back to the buttons. He could see the black lacy line of her bra and soft mounds of f lesh beneath. “Not another bloody prude, are you?”
“Look,” Banks said, “it’s not . . .”
Annie put a finger to his lips. “Shhh.”
He moved away. She gave him a puzzled glance. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ve told you what’s wrong,” he said. “This just doesn’t feel right, that’s all. I don’t believe you really want to do this, either. I don’t know what’s going on.”
Annie moved away and quickly tried to fasten up the buttons. Her face was f lushed and angry. “What do you mean, it doesn’t feel right?”
she said. “What’s wrong with me? Am I too fat? Not pretty enough?
Are my breasts not firm enough? Am I not attractive enough? Not good enough for you?”
“It’s not any of those things,” said Banks. “It’s—”
“Or is it you? Because I have to wonder, you know,” Annie went on, getting to her feet and reaching for her jacket and handbag, stumbling as she did so. “I really do have to wonder about a man like you.
I mean, do you have so much going on in your miserable little life that you can afford to reject me? Do you, Alan? Do you have some pretty F R I E N D O F T H E D E V I L
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young twenty-two-year-old girl hidden away somewhere? Is that it?
Am I too old for you?”
“I told you. It’s not any of those things. I—”
But it was too late. Banks just heard her say, “Oh, fuck you, Alan.
Or not, as the case may be.” Then she slammed the door behind her.
When he got outside she was already starting the car. He knew he should try to stop her, that she was drunk, but he didn’t know how, short of trying to drag her out of the driver’s seat or throwing himself in front of the wheels. In her mood, she would probably run him over.
Instead, he listened to the gears grate and watched her back out in a spray of gravel at an alarming speed. Then he heard the gears screech again, and she was off down the lane through Gratly.
Banks stood there, heart pounding, wondering what the hell was going on. When he went back inside, Coltrane was just getting started on “My Favorite Things.”
7
MALCOLM AUSTIN’S OFFICE WAS TUCKED AWAY IN A corner of the Travel and Tourism Department, located in a large old Victorian house on the fringes of the campus. Eastvale College had expanded over the past few years, and the squat sixties brick-and-glass buildings were no longer big enough to house all the depart-ments. Instead of putting up more faceless new blocks, the college authorities had bought up some of the surrounding land, including streets of old houses, and revitalized southeast Eastvale. Now it was a thriving area with popu lar pubs,
