baby.’
‘Shy?’ said Wilt lurching to one side. ‘Me shy?’
‘Sure you’re shy. OK, you’re small. Eva told me…’
‘Small? What do you mean I’m small?’ shouted Wilt furiously.
Sally smiled up at him. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Just you
and me and…’
‘It bloody well does matter,’ snarled Wilt. ‘My wife said I was small. I’ll soon show the
silly bitch who’s small. I’ll show…’
‘Show me, Henry baby, show me. I like them small. Prick to the quick.’
‘It’s not true,’ Wilt mumbled.
‘Prove it, lover,’ said Sally squirming against him.
‘I won’t,’ said Wilt, and stood up.
Sally stopped squirming and looked at him. ‘You’re just afraid,’ she said. ‘You’re afraid
to be free.’
‘Free? Free?’ shouted Wilt, trying to open the door, ‘Locked in a room with another
man’s wife is freedom? You’ve got be joking.’
Sally pulled down her skirt and sat up.
‘You won’t?’
‘No,’ said Wilt.
‘Are you a bondage baby? You can tell me. I’m used bondage babies. Gaskell is real…’
‘Certainly not,’ said Wilt. ‘I don’t care what Gaskell is.’
‘You want a blow job, is that it? You want for me to give you a blow job? She got off the
bed and came towards him. Wilt looked at her wildly.
‘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
‘Shy?’ said Wilt lurching to one side. ‘Me shy?’
‘Sure you’re shy. OK, you’re small. Eva told me…’
‘Small? What do you mean I’m small?’ shouted Wilt furiously.
Sally smiled up at him. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Just you
and me and…’
‘It bloody well does matter,’ snarled Wilt. ‘My wife said I was small. I’ll soon show the
silly bitch who’s small. I’ll show…’
‘Show me, Henry baby, show me. I like them small. Prick to the quick.’
‘It’s not true,’ Wilt mumbled.
‘Prove it, lover,’ said Sally squirming against him.
‘I won’t,’ said Wilt, and stood up.
Sally stopped squirming and looked at him. ‘You’re just afraid,’ she said. ‘You’re afraid
to be free.’
‘Free? Free?’ shouted Wilt, trying to open the door, ‘Locked in a room with another
man’s wife is freedom? You’ve got be joking.’
Sally pulled down her skirt and sat up.
‘You won’t?’
‘No,’ said Wilt.
‘Are you a bondage baby? You can tell me. I’m used bondage babies. Gaskell is real…’
‘Certainly not,’ said Wilt. ‘I don’t care what Gaskell is.’
‘You want a blow job, is that it? You want for me to give you a blow job? She got off the
bed and came towards him. Wilt looked at her wildly.
‘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