‘How can I thank you… oh GAWD… I’m so embarrassed… I get spasms… I…’
‘Wanna eat?’
‘Excuse me?’
I stood up, explained, ‘It’s not a difficult question… but lemme break it down. A: Are you hungry. B: If so, lemme treat you. A new joint has opened down the road… What do you say?’
She appeared to give it serious thought, said, ‘Okey-dokey, how could I turn down an offer like that.’
It looked like the place had just opened, like in the previous five minutes. We sat at a table, admired the unfinished surroundings. A guy built to bounce came over, he had the dazed look of a drinker. Everything about him was big but not muscle, flabbiness. A line of grey sweat nibbled at his temples and upper lip. He’d a bright plastic name tag which read ‘Hi, I’m Bert.’
He didn’t appear pleased to see us. But it wasn’t personal. He’d had a bad day in his past and was holding on to it… and grimly. I asked, ‘Are you Bert?’
‘Who’s asking.’
‘Jeez, take it easy, if you’re hiding out, you’ve picked the wrong disguise.’
The woman said, ‘Bert, how about you bring us some coffee… then we’ll chow down. Give us all a minute to consider the words of Desiderata.’
‘Wha?’
‘Coffee Bert… two coffees… Before Tuesday… OK.’
He rumbled off.
She smiled, said, ‘My hunch is he’s also the short-order chef so cancel them burgers.’
‘Yeah… you’re American.’
‘That a disappointment?’
‘No… I mean… it’s fine. I like yer accent, it’s just… surprising.’
‘You didn’t know Americans were shoplifters.’
‘Not that, what I didn’t know was Americans were
And she laughed. The kind you never expect a woman to have, deep and downright bawdy. Where she goes all the way with it and doesn’t give a toss how she appears. A real whack-it-for-all-its-worth job. I liked that a whole lot. She asked, ‘So… my hero, my saviour, you got a name, we’ve already established you’ve got balls, yeah, ask Bert… See if I’m wrong?’
A woman uses words like that to you… you’re usually paying for the service. I said, ‘It’s Cooper.’
‘That’s it… you were born at High Noon?’
‘Very snappy… with wit like that, you’re wasted in Marks and Spencers… and what’s your name?’
‘Cassie.’
‘Short for Cassandra… yeah? So, they call you Cass.’
She rummaged in her coat, took out a crumpled soft pack of Camel Lights, shook one free and using a matchbook, lit up, dragged deep… said, ‘You’re hard of hearing? Or is it an English thing? My name is Cassie, you got that?’
‘Jeez, over and out, bit testy are you. You’d love my mate, the Doc.’
‘He’s a doctor?’
‘Doc Marten… he’s a villain, thing is… he wears Docs, always did and long before they became a fashion accessory. The traditional black-laced jobs, with steel hubs and tops. Built for kicking… and hard.’
The coffee came, it looked a little like the ketchup and Bert slapped a bill down. I said, ‘Hope you included service.’
He grunted.
She said, ‘Louis MacNeice’s mother died when he was seven.’
I didn’t know how much grief she’d anticipated.
‘Jeez, tough break. I guess I’d be more broke up if I knew who he was.’
‘Don’t look now but Bert is shooting the bird.’
‘He’s what?’
‘It’s an obscene gesture, don’t you guys speak English?’
‘Sure… and if you stick around you’ll learn some.’
‘My mother died when I was seven, so Louis and I are spiritually connected. Wanna drink?’
I looked at the bill, said, ‘Five friggin’ quid, dream on sucker.’
I left a pound on the table and we went outside. I could see Bert through the plate glass window reading the writing on the table. Time he read the writing on the wall. Cassie asked, ‘Can you run?’
‘Wot?’
And she took the ketchup bottle from the coat, shouted, ‘It’s a goddamn homer.’
I could hear the glass shatter as we tore across the road. We reached my car, she asked, ‘This is yours.’
‘Sure is.’
‘Can I drive?’
I gave her the look, said in what I considered a passable twang, ‘In your language… Get real.’
We got in and she sank in her seat, she gave a low whistle, said, ‘Way to go.’
It’s an impressive car, least I think so. A Subaru Impreza, its cousin won the Monte Carlo rally. Yeah, like that. Lemme break it down, it’s turbo charged, two litre, four wheel drive. It’s got bonnet scoop, vents, bumper air intakes, and these mother driving lamps. On the up and up, it goes for near twenty grand. As I hit the ignition, she asked, ‘It looks like it’s cookin’, but is it all flash?’
‘Listen lady, how many cars will hit 30 mph from go in two seconds and show 60 in six before rushing on past 140.’
She gave a low chuckle, mean and nasty.
‘And go right to sleep after.’
I ignored her, manoeuvred past the roundabout at the Elephant and Castle, headed for the Oval. Cassie turned her head, listening attentively.
She said, ‘I hear Morocco, the wail of the minaret, the call to prayer.’
I wondered had I taken a wrong turn in the conversation. Between passing into third gear had I missed something. Asked, ‘Did I miss something?’
‘An automobile like this, with a sexy name, seems a goddamn waste in the city, I mean do you get to hit 100- plus often?’
She had a point, a fairly irritating one but nonetheless… I said, ‘It does the job.’
‘So would a pushbike.’
Before I could sulk she asked, ‘What’s a gal gotta do to get a drink?’
‘We’re near my place, want to go there?’
‘Gets my vote.’
I live in Meadow Road. About an umpire from the Oval Cricket Ground. On the outside, it looks ordinary, one up, one down.
Like that.
The money was spent inside. It’s a little flash but hey, I liked to think I had some moves. I turned the engine off, got out and went round to hold her door. She went Southern belle, drawled, ‘My, my, my… y’all a gentleman Ashley.’
‘Whatever.’
Inside, I led her down the hall and stood back. Let the house do its number. Remote control panels to do near all save shout hello. Cost me a fortune and half that again. She stood in the living room, said, ‘Holy shit, who lives here.’
I hit the remote and the bar glided up.
‘A drink?’
‘Got any Bourbon?’
‘I got Scotch.’
‘Scotch’s good, on the rocks, beer chaser.’
I did that, handed them to her, took a large hit of my own. Yeah, that was it, said, ‘Sit down.’
She did, unlaced her Reeboks, kicked ’em off, curled her feet under her. How do women do that or, more’s
