‘Don’t you touch me,’ he shouted, his mind alive with images of burning paint. ‘I don’t want anything from you.’
Sally stopped and stared at him. She wasn’t smiling any more.
‘Why not? Because you’re small? Is that why?’
Wilt hacked against the door.
‘No, it isn’t.’
‘Because you haven’t the courage of your instincts? Because yours a psychic virgin? Because you’re not a man? Because you can’t take a woman who thinks?’
‘Thinks?’ yelled Wilt, stung into action by the accusation that he wasn’t a man. ‘Thinks? You think? You know something? I’d rather have it off with that plastic mechanical do than you. It’s got more sex appeal in its little finger than you have in your whole rotten body. When I want a whore I’ll buy one.’
‘Why you little shit’ said Sally, and lunged at him. Wilt scuttled sideways and collided with the punchbag. The next moment he had stepped on a model engine and was hurtling across the room. As he slumped down the wall on to the floor Sally picked up the doll and leant over him.
In the kitchen Eva had finished the fruit salad and had made coffee. It was a lovely party. Mr Osewa had told her all about his job as underdevelopment officer in Cultural Affairs to UNESCO and how rewarding he found it. She had been kissed twice on the back of the neck by Dr Scheimacher in passing and the man in the Irish Cheese loincloth had pressed himself against her rather more firmly than was absolutely necessary to reach the tomato ketchup. And all around her terribly clever people were being so outspoken. It was all so sophisticated. She helped herself to another drink and looked around for Henry. He was nowhere to be seen.
‘Have you seen Henry?’ she asked when Sally came into the kitchen holding a bottle of Vodka and looking rather flushed.
‘The last I saw of him he was setting with some dolly bird,’ said Sally, helping herself to a spoonful of fruit salad. ‘Oh, Eva darling, you’re absolutely Cordon Bleu baby.’ Eva blushed.
‘I do hope he’s enjoying himself, Henry’s not awfully good at parties.’
‘Eva baby, be honest. Henry’s not awfully good period.’
‘It’s just that he…’ Eva began but Sally kissed her.
‘You’re far too good for him,’ she said. ‘we’ve got to find you someone really beautiful.’ While Eva sipped her drink, Sally found a young man with a frond of hair falling across his forehead who was lying on a couch with a girl, smoking and staring at the ceiling.
‘Christopher precious,’ she said, ‘I’m going to steal you for a moment. I want you to do someone for me. Go into the kitchen and sweeten the woman with the boobies and the awful yellow pyjamas.’
‘Oh God. Why me?’
‘My sweet, you know you’re utterly irresistible. But the sexiest. For me, baby, for me.’
Christopher got off the couch and went into the kitchen Sally stretched out beside the girl.
‘Christopher is a dreamboy,’ she said.
‘He’s a gigolo.’ said the girl. ‘A male prostitute.’
‘Darling,’ said Sally, ‘it’s about time we women had them.’
In the kitchen Eva stopped pouring coffee. She was feeling delightfully tipsy.
‘You mustn’t.’ she said hastily.
