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Authors: William Boyd

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BOOK: Fascination
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‘Is my sister, Claudia,’ Gianluca introduces us. ‘This is Edward. Claudia is coming to stay for a few days. She take me back home.’

I reach out to take her proffered hand, once she transfers her cigarette.

‘Gianluca has told me everything about you.’

‘Not everything, I hope,’ I say, looking into those thin, brown, sightful eyes. And I know.

PAUSE

It is a kind of watershed, I realize. When you know instantly. And when the other person knows you know. It is, in its own way, an infallible sign of adulthood – a threshold crossed. All your imagined, wistful, striven-for worldliness suddenly coalescing into a simple, blunt adult recognition. The last shreds of adolescent insecurity finally gone. From now on there will never be any doubt or ambiguity. You can look into a person’s eyes, and, wordlessly, the question can be asked – if you want to ask it – and you will know the answer: yes or no. End of story.

FAST FORWARD

INTERVIEWER
: You didn’t find that the Nobel/Booker/Pulitzer/Goncourt inhibited your creativity in any way?

ME
: On the contrary. I found it liberating. And the cheque was very welcome too (laughter).

REWIND

I left Cardman’s rooms and wandered out into the quad, holding my error-strewn chapter rolled up like a baton, like a truncheon, in my hand. The afternoon sun obliquely struck the venerable buildings, picking out the detailing of the stonework with admirable clarity. The razored lawn was immaculate, perfectly striped, unbadged by weed or daisy, almost indecently, absurdly green. I realized that I hated old buildings, hated honey-coloured crafted stone, hated scholarship, hated arrogant young dons with their superior ways. So much hate, I reflected, as I crossed Magdalen Bridge, can’t be good for one. The leaves of my chapter helixed gently down on to the turbid brown waters of the Cherwell.

PLAY

I walk through Felicia’s neat, bright house trying to imagine myself here. Where would my things go? Where would my desk be? Everything is neat, neat, neat, everything is tidy and neat. Even the cuddly toys on her bedcover are neatly arranged in descending order of size. Predictably, I search her laundry basket for a pair of soiled knickers to masturbate into but find only tights, cut-off jeans and a rugby shirt – and somehow the auto-erotic moment is gone. Dutifully, I feed her dazzling, frondy fish, trying to analyse what I felt for Felicia, with her decency, her baffling, uncritical devotion, her compartmentalized mind, at once cutesy and clever, our fundamental incompatability… I could just about fit in here, I suppose, but where would baby go?

REWIND

I was watching
Blade Runner
for about the thirtieth time when Felicia called.

‘Hi. What is it?’ I said.

‘Just to let you know I landed safely.’

‘Oh. Great. Where are you?’

‘Singapore. K.L. tomorrow.’

‘K.L.?’

‘Kuala Lumpur.’

‘Why don’t people refer to San Francisco as S.F.? Always wondered about that? ‘’Hey, let’s go to S.F.”’

‘Are you all right, Edward?’

‘What? Yeah. I think I’m going to abandon my thesis. Concentrate on the novel.’

‘That’s wonderful news. Look, I must dash, the car’s waiting. Love you.’

‘Bye.’ I put the phone down. ‘Love you.’

PLAY

Claudia lights my cigarette for me, a gesture that, for some reason, always generates in me a little gut-spasm of lust, a little intestinal writhe.

‘You must try some of our English beer,’ I say. ‘Old Fuddleston’s Triple-Brewed Dog-Piss.’

‘Oh yeah. I think I stay with vodka.’

‘Very wise, Claudia, very wise indeed.’

We are sitting in a dark booth in a low-beamed smoky pub off Broad Street and I wonder whether I should kiss her now but decide to wait a bit – I’m quite enjoying the sexual sparring.

‘So, Eduardo,’ She plumes smoke at the ceiling. Then leans forward far enough so I can see the swell of her small breasts in the scoop of her t-shirt. ‘You write novels. Can I read them?’

‘You bet, Claudia. One day.’

FAST FORWARD

INTERVIEWER
: So why settle in BigSur/Sausalito/Arizona/Key West?

ME
: Well, after the divorce, I needed to get out of Britain. I was with Cora-Lee by then and her father offered us the use of his villa/beach hut/ranch. I was in rough shape emotionally and needed peace. Peace of mind. The most valuable commodity on the planet.

INTERVIEWER
: Cora-Lee is substantially younger than you?

ME
: That’s true. But her wisdom is ageless.

SLOW MOTION

Claudia’s t-shirt comes off easily enough but I’m surprised to see her wearing a tough little sports bra thing with no clasp or hook I tug at a strap I am pretty fucking pissed we’re both pretty fucking pissed all that beer and vodka Jesus how much did we drink I kick off a shoe and hear the zip on Claudia’s jeans zing open she weaves away to the bathroom I haul the rest of my clothes off and slide under the duvet bollock naked I think bollock naked she comes in damn still in the bra thing blue panties not matching she whips the duvet back laughing and shouting at me in Italian
preservativa preservativa
.

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