'Not so much sleep as pass out.' She patted her face dry with a grey-looking towel. 'How
’bout you?'
'The same.'
Sylvie hung the towel back up and did a quick shuffle, hopping from foot to foot.
I said, 'Cool dance.'
And she made a face.
'Very funny, you finished there?'
We swapped places and she seated herself, holding her long dressing-gown around her thighs. She had thick woolly socks on her feet, but I had the impression that other than that she was naked under her robe. A thin trickling filled the room. I did the gentlemanly thing and looked in the mirror. I needed a shave and my breath probably stank, but the night hadn’t left too much of a mark on my face. Thoughts of the show were still bothering me. I would have to get away soon. Somewhere on my own where I could start thinking how I might tailor my act to this new audience. Behind me Sylvie sighed.
'That’s better.'
I looked towards her then looked away quick, catching her blotting herself dry. My contact lenses eased away from my eyes, letting the world blur to the state where everything looked fine. I splashed my face with cold water.
'Dix has a razor and stuff if you want to use it.'
'I’ll be OK.' I held up my toilet bag. 'You forget I’ve got all my worldly possessions with me.'
'There’s a lot to be said for that.'
Sylvie put the toilet-lid down and sat on it, looking at me as I brushed my teeth.
'Yep.' I spat out the foam and rinsed my mouth. 'Just an old jakie, footloose and fancy-free.'
'A jakie?'
'A tramp, a hobo.'
'But you’ve got ties in the UK right? A house and kids and all that shit?'
'No house, no kids, not even a budgie; indeed no loved ones of any description.'
'No family?'
'Well there’s me old mum, but we don’t see much of each other.'
'Wow.'
I reached for the towel then remembered its greyness and dried my face on the hem of my shirt. Sylvie’s expression was blurred but I thought she was smiling.
'All done?'
'My normal regime includes a mudpack and a seaweed wrap but I suppose I’ll have to make an exception today.'
'Hungry?'
'Hank Marvin.'
'What?'
'Starving.'
She laughed and pushed me playfully from the room.
'Well here’s the deal. You let me get ready and I’ll let you take me out for breakfast.' She started to close the door behind me. 'You know, a girl needs a bit of privacy sometimes.'
Sylvie took me to a small Turkish cafe on the corner of her street. The aged proprietor smiled when he saw her and they exchanged greetings in a quick slick German while he settled us at a small pavement table. The old man shouted something through the door of the cafe and pretty soon a young waiter appeared with a tray carrying tiny cups and a tall curvy coffee pot. He handed me a menu printed in English. Sylvie snatched it away good-naturedly, ordering for both of us, saying something that made the waiter laugh then glance at me shyly before he went back inside to prepare our breakfast.
I massaged my temples above my right eyebrow, wondering why my hangovers always concentrated there. Perhaps it was some congenital weakness that would only be diagnosed after I suddenly dropped dead. I wondered if I’d die on-stage, collapsing in the middle of a trick, everyone thinking I’d done it for comic effect. Folk said it was the way Tommy Cooper would’ve wanted to go. I’d never met him but it seemed like a nightmare exit to me. The sound of embarrassed laughter and the audience whispering to each other that they couldn’t believe what an old ham you’d become.
We sat there, bundled against the cold. Sylvie poured, steam curled from the spout and the rich scent of thick sweet coffee began to lift my hangover. We both lit up, adding cigarette smoke and warm breath to the mix.
'You’ve got a good grasp of the lingo.'
'I went to school here.'
'Careful, Sphinx, you’re telling me things about yourself.'
She smiled.
'There’s no big mystery. It’s just, who needs the past? Dix says we should let go and he’s right. What’s the point in looking back? We live for now.'
