The Beat (12 page)

As he went through the double doors into the gym, the noise and smell of the aerobics class hit him full on. Until that moment Tony had been all geared up for a hard workout. His resolve started to wane. It had been a hard week, one of the hardest he could remember. He had planned to put his body through its paces, work up a sweat and clear the load off his mind. Before him a motley sea of leotards bent and stretched no longer in unison. The music pounded out its beat; most of them had lost it long before. They were on the last frantic dash before the winding down stage. He only just had time to change. He slipped past the desk and to the changing-rooms. A wall of lockers and none of them spare. He changed hastily and emerged ready to go. The music had finished but the earlier class were still in place stretching and cooling off. In a small space at the side of the room he did a few warm-up exercises, then a little bar work. He had to prepare like this beforehand or he would be hopeless. He eyed the previous class casually. Most of his class would just walk on and off with no preparation. He couldn’t do it that way. He looked around at the others patiently waiting for the next session. Reflected in the mirrored wall there appeared to be thousands of them. Once again he tried to muster the desire to go through with it. Competition was one incentive, but this was an easy bunch. With any luck they would get one of the women who really put them through the works. That was what he needed, someone else to provide the will-power and he could then follow, his mind disconnected from his body. He and Mark had been coming here for about twelve months. Now he came alone. His body was fitter than it had ever been. His mind was bombed out on valium at “his own discretion”. That’s what the bottle said. The doctor had been wonderful through it all. God knows how he would have got through it without him. It was so easy to see how people had crushes on their doctors. At times Tony’s was the only person he knew who seemed to care. He even knew when to make a joke of it and when there were signs that it was getting serious. Because their relationship was too important, Tony would have to ween himself off it. Consultations had better be out for a week at least, he decided. Tonight he would even resist the temptation to phone the surgery to listen to the recorded message the doctor left there. No, tonight it would be exercise. He always had the valium for later if it got tough. Anyway, Peter would call. Peter had phoned just about every night that week so he had no reason to believe tonight would be the exception. The guy was keen, you had to admit that. He had worn down Tony’s resistance until finally he had agreed to go over for dinner on the Saturday night and still he wouldn’t let up. He would phone again tonight. Tony slid his foot along the polished wooden bar one last time, then returned to an upright and lifted his leg down, shaking it loose. He repeated the exercise on the other side, then waited quietly for the previous class to finish up. The silence was as striking as the previous din had been. Now a lone voice issued calmly through the system telling the masses to relax. Relax they did — not a stir. The voice stopped, then spoke one last command. Suddenly it was over and there was a mad rush for positions in the next class. Most stampeded for the back, Tony stepped to the front where he had a better view in the mirrors. Here he could check his own contortions. Staring into the mirror he tried isolating his rib-cage and moving it from side to side. He met with little success. It occupied the few spare minutes until the class would start. To the others it looked pretentious but he had to do something. He couldn’t just sit like the others. He didn’t like coming here alone. It felt uncomfortable. If it came to that, he didn’t like going anywhere alone. He didn’t like living alone. He had no choice. That wasn’t strictly true. The rate Peter was coming on … But he didn’t want Peter. The trouble was going anywhere, doing anything he and Mark had previously done together. To do it alone seemed to be parading some kind of failure. Failure to hold onto a lover. It sounded nothing, but he smarted under the humiliation and needed the valium to shut out the knowing eyes and quick exchange of looks of those around him. Everyone knew Mark had left him. Everyone knew he was alone not by choice but by failure. The most ordinary people could hold onto a relationship, yet here he was alone because he couldn’t. His doctor had seen the collapse of it coming for months. He himself hadn’t. It had genuinely taken him by surprise. All the friends and acquaintances who phoned to say they had seen it coming just made it worse. They didn’t understand. He didn’t want to hear anyone running down Mark, he just wanted him back. He had done some stupid things in the past couple of weeks. Accepting that lift from Peter had been one of them. Going out at all last Friday had been one big mistake. He should have gone straight home from the gym and called it a night. It was just that the flat wasn’t home to him right now and he didn’t want to be there. He put off the homecoming as long as possible. A homecom-ing to an empty flat was no homecoming at all. An instructor he hadn’t seen before was taking the platform and preparing for his period of rule. He snapped a set of red wrist bands into place, leant forward to the microphone and introduced himself. Tony didn’t listen for the name; he wasn’t interested. The music started. They did some basic breathing and a few very orthodox stretching exercises. Tony watched the instructor mark them, then watched himself in the mirror as he repeated them. It all seemed pretty elementary but he persevered. The first track came to a end and they were getting nowhere. The second track started. Would you believe more breathing, then arm exercises? Finally the legs came in too as they paced back and forward punching into mid-air. Tony watched the mock aggression reflected in his face and wondered how it had looked that night one week before. Had his face reflected the real anger pent up inside him, or worn this same mask? Legs apart, they were now touching alternate toes and the instructor was looking pretty puffed. Tony watched carefully and saw that the guy was now only marking it approximately, while he himself achieved an easy, graceful swing. Time for the run and the instructor was clearly not doing well. He kept them at a moderate jog with a few awkwardly executed hops and skips thrown in. Even Mark could do better than that and he was notorious for taking it easy, wisecracking away at the front, and shortcutting anything difficult. Tony felt like walking out of the class there and then. With an effort he made himself stay. He looked around. No one else seemed dissatisfied with the proceedings; it must just be the mood he was in tonight. Returning to their places, they rested flat on their backs and did more breathing exercises to prepare for the stomach and thigh work. When they did eventually get started it was a walkover for Tony. He could do these until the end of the lesson if necessary. He watched his reflection in the side mirror then looked back to the instructor. Tony was clearly doing a better job himself. When they finally slid their legs apart, Tony went right down into the splits; the instructor did not. From then on Tony stubbornly did his own thing right there in the front. It was soon noticed. The instructor started to give him worried sidelong glances. He continued to work independently. Then for the second run, Tony went off and showered. As a workout it had been a write-off. As an ego boost it was of slight help. As a distraction to the week’s problems, it had served little good at all. Outside in the brisk air he started the slow walk towards home. He was in no hurry so could afford to walk slowly. The more time it occupied, the better. It would mean less time to endure at home. Always in the past they’d had Mark’s car, now he felt marooned in the flat without transport. It was just one of many ways in which his life had changed. Once home, he would be isolated, with just the phone to needle him into expectation.

Peter would try the number just once more. Really Tony should be home by now. He went to the gym on a Friday but should finish that by about six. Peter wanted to be sure about Saturday evening. After all, if he was going to go to that much trouble, he wanted to be sure the boy would turn up. He switched down the sound on the television and arose from the deep blue armchair. Straightening the cushion, he crossed the room and went out to the hallway to telephone. There was no need to look in his monogram- med leather book; he knew the number by now. He had always had a methodical mind and remembered telephone numbers easily. It was only a matter of a few minutes concentrated rote-learning and they were there per-manently for recall. He dialled and waited. Again there was no answer. He replaced the receiver and look critically at the instrument. He really must get a touch-phone; this model was so superseded that it was becoming an embarrassment. On Monday he would get one of the girls at work to place an order for him. Now who did he know at Telecom who could arrange for it to be installed as a priority? Surveying the hall critically, he wondered if his cleaning lady was being paid too much. Her ironing was good, he never had any complaints about the freshly laundered shirts that bore witness to her industry — but her cleaning! It wasn’t as if she had any excuse. He always made sure everything was neatly in place before he went to bed the night before, so her job would be straightforward when she arrived the next morning. In addition he didn’t like the idea of her prying. He’d had to compromise his privacy to have her there at all. But no one did their own cleaning these days and his friends would think him either too mean or hard up if he didn’t employ someone. What he really needed was a well-trained house-boy to live in. That would be status! When he had first met Anh, he had considered the possibility, but as he got to know the boy, he hadn’t proved suited at all — very lazy and quite without morals. Any other refugee boy would have counted his blessings. A good home in a rich country, what more did the boy want? With Tony he would be able to keep the cleaning woman and allow the boy free reign in the second bedroom. Tony seemed honest, clean, reliable. It would leave only the small third room for visitors, but then he wanted to discourage staying guests. It was hard to put up with other people in his house. People who didn’t know how to stack the dishwasher or insisted on using the ashtrays and then left them sitting around reeking their foul odours. Returning to the lounge, he folded the day’s newspaper to the page of the crossword and tried again to complete it. The thing usually exasperated him because the clues were so inexact. Often he felt like challenging the accuracy of the solutions. In addition his own writing displeased him. The carefully jotted letters always looked haphazard against the straight lines of the print. It was perturbing to associate them with his own love of order; There were a few things about this new boy Tony that worried him. He was an untidy dresser and rather casual in manner. What pleased Peter most was Tony’s body. It was well exercised, trained, kept in order, and that Peter respected.lt was something he himself hadn’t attained. His own sense of order collapsed when it came to his body. The demands of his social and work life didn’t allow him to utilize his own gold-pass membership to the executive gym. Groomed a little, Tony would be quite presentable in most circles. His speech was good, his background would, Peter was sure, prove to be adequate. Anyway, having something a little “Bohemian” was quite accept-able these days. Tony could be Peter’s little eccentricity. The little touch of the unpredictable that made all else in his life reflect its own perfect order. In fact, Peter wouldn’t be surprised if secretly he liked the excitement of having that little something different from all his friends. He looked at the crossword again. He had gone wrong: “pitch” was supposed to be “toss” not “tone”. Erasing was impossible on newspaper so he would now have to abandon the project altogether. Fancy a crossword in a paper of that calibre resorting to slang terms like that. In one way he was glad he hadn’t got it right; it would have reflected poorly if he had. Carefully placing the pen on the side-table, he carried the paper to the rubbish disposal in the kitchen and placed it in the section for dry garbage. He then fastidiously washed and dried his hands before taking down a recipe book to consult for the next evening. Peter didn’t like chances, so he turned to the chapter on dinner parties for two. He would use one of the menus complete. After all, the balance would be better that way than chopping and changing into some mishmash of a combination. Best leave selection to the experts and know you were correct. The book was taken back to the lounge where he sat and read through the chapter, assessing the relative merits as he went along. At eight o’clock he would again phone Tony. The boy was bound to have finished at the gym and be home by then. Tony’s home had worried him too. True he wasn’t at his most observant on the one evening he had been there, but it had been in disarray and the colours were a little strong. There had been one hideous picture above the fireplace. It made him shudder to think anyone would select such a thing. It was tasteless and the framing was quite cheaply done. Out of politeness he had said that it was “an interesting print”. Tony had said it was a gouache. It had sounded rather like gauche but of course he hadn’t questioned it at the time. He had looked it up later and had had quite some trouble with the spelling. He had discovered it meant a wash drawing. He liked the word. He must remember it. It showed that even with an untidy flat Tony had something to offer. Gouache — it summed up the work’s nasty accidental look so well. They had a stiff drink and then coffee at tony’s on the Friday night. The glasses were cheap, but the cognac very reasonable. The coffee had smelt rich. Peter had had to avoid drinking it because of possible problems staying awake all through the night. He never allowed himself coffee after five o’clock. He didn’t suppose Tony had noticed, the state he was in. It had been quite a surprise when they had been sexual afterwards. He himself had entered into it so freely. He had never done anything like it before — sex on the floor, if you don’t mind, half naked in front of the gas heater. If his friends had seen him they wouldn’t have believed it. He had even put Tony’s penis inside his mouth and sucked it. Usually the thought repelled him utterly but that night he had followed the boy’s example and delicately run his lips the length of the erection. It had been a revelation. It hadn’t tasted unpleasant at all, as he had suspected it would. He doubted he would want to do the like again, but was glad he had let his inhibitions go, just this once. On arriving home he had gargled thoroughly so there was little likelihood of developing any nasty infection. It had been a week now. One of the girls had been sent out to buy him some “Massive C” and he had taken them religiously for five days to ward off evil signs. There had been an uncomfortable prickling feeling at times around his genitals. Surely it had just been apprehension, nerves. It had gone now. There had been no visible rash, just an itching. If it hadn’t disappeared he would have been forced into seeking medical help; then in no time all his acquaintances would, no doubt, have found out. But Tony didn’t seem the kind of boy to have anything untoward. It was just nerves. Nearly eight o’clock; he would phone again soon. He selected the desired menu and carefully placed the Florentine bookmark between the pages. Later he would copy out a shopping list from it; now he could phone Tony. It was pointless to go too far with the plans if the boy was going to let him down.