Nomads on the Amstel
15. Arend’s domestic life
Amsterdam
Dear Rob,
I’m back and thought I’d just drop you a quick note to thank you once more for the fantastic holiday. I know I shed buckets at the airport and embarrassed you wholeheartedly but I’m not sure you realise just how much of a lifesaver that week was; well maybe you do, you know me inside out, (as does Luc! That was another unexpected but very welcome bonus!). Anyway, I’m safely back in Amsterdam and clutching my fully uniformed, Mountie doll, with anatomically correct features as we speak. Is it true that they always get their man?
Enough frippery. I’m back to reality and have discovered yet another addition to our household, female this time. Huub’s girlfriend has returned from her backpacking trip and has moved into his room. Not that I mind too much. She’s a nice girl and she swears she’s going back home next week, so I’ll hold her to that, whatever Huub says. He’s a good kid really and doesn’t protest too much although I know he’d like her to stay longer. Love’s young dream eh! I just wish I’d given him a better bed; there’s a positive spring concerto every night and I feel I’m not doing my ‘parenting’ bit justice if I don’t feel just a tad uncomfortable about the whole thing. Then again, who am I to start acting like Miss Prude!
Michel seems to have been abducted by aliens and changed into an entirely different human being. He’s studying hard and has a boyfriend, who I briefly met as he was being escorted out early one evening because Huub had an essay to write. Seems okay but then I can’t judge the youth of today. I can’t help being a little suspicious though. Since when did Michel become model citizen and paragon of virtue? Huub assures me there’s nothing I’m being protected from knowing but before I lavish praise on my younger gay brother, I’ll give it a couple of weeks and watch him carefully.
As I told you, my career as the new Robert Mapplethorpe came to a grinding halt and today I got the fall-out in the form of a letter from the Social Security asking me to come for a meeting. I’m not really worried; if they cut off my benefit then I’ll find a way of earning the cash; though I’m a bit past flogging my meat on the street corner these days. One thing’s for sure; believe me or not, their over-sexed ‘operative’ is going to get his cover exposed. The bastard shouldn’t get away with it but probably will; I mean it’s my word against his but hopefully they won’t tell me that, ‘they all say that’ and maybe a bit of the mud will stick.
The weather here is unbelievable. We’ve had one hot day after another and while I was away, it averaged thirty degrees for four days running, so I’m told; somewhat hotter than it was in Vancouver; well, temperature –wise anyway!
You remember that guy I met on my last night, in The Chainsaw? The one with the beard, who you said looked like ‘the missing link’? Well, I’ve had two e-mails already from him; must have made an impression! It was rather akin to making love to shag-pile carpet but it wasn’t bad and I’ve written back inviting him over to Amsterdam. Fairly safe bet that one! He told me he worked for an American computer firm and only got two weeks holiday a year. Well, I know for a fact, he’d been to Hawaii in April, so I doubt I’ll be seeing him on this side of the Atlantic for a while; just as well, he was perhaps just a bit too hairy for my taste!
One depressing thing is, having to go to local supermarkets again. God, if only we had a quarter of the choice you have there and the quality and the freshness! I won’t go on, I bored you long enough raving about them while I was there. Suffice it to say, I bought a kilo of peaches yesterday, which looked absolutely mouth watering until I got them home and nearly broke my teeth on one. I think they pick them green and then they’re artificially ripened so that they look good; time for yet another moaning letter to the paper!
Talking of things artificially ripened: I saw Freek in the street yesterday, plus new boyfriend hanging off his arm, (not a pretty sight; I don’t know whether to be pleased or insulted!). Now Freek is one of nature’s hibernators. He hates the sun and complains that it brings him out in freckles. He even used to close the blinds in the daytime and complain that sunlight gave him a headache. An original mole from the dark side I used to call him! Well, lo and behold, there he was, sporting a suntan that made him look middle-eastern! I may not be too good at maths but when he left me he had the sort of pallor that you can see the veins through and I can’t imagine he’s been soaking up the rays in the meantime; for one thing, he hasn’t got the patience. I suspect a tanning salon, or fake stuff out of a bottle! It does make you wonder if you ever knew a person though, when after they leave you they do a chameleon act. Does it mean that when he was with me, half his personality remained hidden, only now to emerge, chrysalis-like now that he is free? Maybe we’re all chameleons and modify ourselves to suit the person we’re with? Or maybe half the people stay the way they are, self-contained and self-assured that they are what they are, take it, or leave it and the other half, (probably me included) change to suit. I know in the past when I’ve met someone, I’ve consciously dropped some of the things I liked to do and taken on some of the things he liked to do. Is that a sign of weakness do you think? I prefer to think of it, as being a sign that one is adaptable and flexible and open to other possibilities. Now Freek for instance, never changed a single part of his lifestyle for me but give him his due, at least he told me that at the beginning, so I had a choice whether to continue or not. Does flexible mean submissive? I hope not; then again, many people like to take the passive role and be ‘looked after’. I certainly don’t; if there’s one thing I am, it’s fiercely independent both in every day life and sexually as you know but I’m perfectly willing to make concessions, compromises if you like to get a relationship going. Sounds just like Dutch politics but I won’t get onto that or you’ll be asleep before the end of the letter.
Am I looking for a relationship then? It’s a question I’ve asked myself ever since Freek’s sudden departure and I don’t honestly know the answer. It was a great feeling to have a good time in Vancouver as a single man again but I have to face reality; the years are pressing on and you know what it’s like, ‘nobody loves a fairy when she’s forty’! The waist is thickening and the pecs are beginning to sag and more than once a night is a bit of a struggle these days. I know I have a limited shelf life and the question is, do I find someone to settle down into old age with, or do I put myself about a bit until everybody ignores me in the bars? The former is easier said than done of course and the latter is already happening. I can put the body right with a bit of effort and will power and I think I have to stop smoking. I won’t forget the looks I got in that bar with you two, as I sat in splendid isolation with my own personal cloud of smoke wrapped around me like a security blanket. It’s happening here too, the last bastion of serious smokers in the Western world! More and more people have given it up and devoted themselves to the healthy body culture; I feel quite a pariah of society. So, if I remodel the physique and get my white teeth back, do I buy myself a few more years of attractiveness? Answer: probably yes but do I really want to? I reckon everybody needs a bit of an incentive to improve themselves and a significant other usually provides that, which brings me back to the original question, do I want a relationship, or am I on the slippery slope to slovenliness and couch potato status? Hmm! Please provide the answer by return of post!
I think I’ll take the bike and cruise along the Amstel this afternoon. It’s such a beautiful day it seems criminal to waste it, plus, if Freek’s going to go Middle Eastern then I feel I should develop the tan. At the moment, it stops at the collar line and there’s nothing more pathetic than seeing someone with his shirt off with everything virgin white except the forearms and the face. I don’t dare go to the sauna for that very reason, although it is the cleanest place in town for casual sex. Trouble is, these days, it’s turning into a parade of the body-beautiful, unless you go early in the afternoon and join the dinosaurs with their wrinkly tits, which I might add, I’m not yet desperate enough to do. Apart from anything else, it’s too damned hot to go to saunas.
I’m rambling aren’t I? I don’t know what it is Rob but I feel I can talk to you about anything, as was proved last week! You’re my link to sanity in this crazy world and your advice always seems based on pure common sense and makes me wonder why I hadn’t come to the same conclusions myself. I know you don’t miss Amsterdam in the slightest and wouldn’t dream of coming back and why should you? Yet I have to confess, I really miss you sometimes. Do you remember those times we used to walk through town chatting? It didn’t matter where we were heading, or which café we decided to stop for coffee or a beer at; we used to solve the world’s problems together: or weekends on the Amstel and our three-bars-and-a-disco pub-crawl? Great times but light years ago I suppose. We’ve both moved on and grown up since then; gone through various relationships, diseases and crises until here we are, virtually on opposite sides of the world. I know, it sounds maudlin to harp on about the past but are we any closer to finding the meaning of life? Of course, I’m speaking for myself here. You’re perfectly happy, with a good job, a good man and a great place to live; at least that’s the impression you give. Am I speaking out of line here, if I suspect that you’re not quite in the state of ecstasy that you pretend to be? I may be totally wrong and please feel free to rap me across the knuckles if I am but did I detect something amiss under the surface? It’s only since I got back that I’ve started to wonder. I was, of course, like a pig in muck, wanting to see everything and every one and being on a total high but on reflection, I may have been a bit selfish and missed my cue to jump in with some sisterly advice and sympathy. It wasn’t what you said but rather what you didn’t say that has triggered my sixth sense. Is there a cloud on the horizon? You’d better tell me; I don’t want any bombshells, I’ve got enough of those here. I await your next letter with bated breath!
Okay, I think that’s enough babbling for now. Once again, thanks for your unbounded hospitality. Hope to hear from you soon.
Arend
16. Marcel and Tinny in horticultural Heaven
Dressed only in shorts and a battered straw hat that he’d persuaded himself looked rustic, Marcel sank back into the wicker chair and surveyed his kingdom. The trees by the canal swayed gently in the lightest of breezes, the birds were singing and the sun was beating down, amply topping up the two solar panels they’d had installed to provide electricity for their tiny allotment house. He closed his eyes and smelled the heady scent of the Honeysuckle Tinnie had planted to grow over their shaky pergola.
“I decided to buy a mature plant, so that we can get some enjoyment out of it now. You watch, next year it’ll be all over the place like a Triffid. It was a bit more expensive. You don’t mind do you?”
Marcel had happily agreed, after all, she was turning out to be the expert. Had life ever been as good as this? Tinnie and their ancient neighbour, who claimed to be eighty-two but looked older than that, were chatting over the fence about flowers and the advantages and disadvantages of growing raspberries in the acid soil. He only caught snatches of the conversation but it all added to the feeling of rustic harmony and tranquillity. He shivered as the tensions of the city drifted away and joined the wood smoke to dissipate in the air.
“Is he a bit lazy then, your friend?”
“No, no, he’s just chilling out you know; he’s had a tough few years.”
Tinnie grinned at the old man who was still staring at Marcel, a puzzled expression creating even more wrinkles on his timeless face.
“I reckon a young man like that needs to feel a bit of work in his bones; get off his arse and do some digging. Nothing like digging for clearing the mind. He looks strong enough but I only ever see you in the garden and you don’t look big enough to be carrying all them sacks of compost, yet you do. Good on yer girl. Now if you take my advice, you can grow some Sweet Peas on that patch over there. Perfect Sweet Pea ground that, though it’s a bit late now but if you seed it up, you’ll get some good blooms late next month. Nothing like the smell of a good Sweet Pea. I like what you done with them sunflowers. Coming on a treat they are.”
Marcel smiled to himself. He would do his bit but he knew Tinnie was loving every minute she spent creating the garden and he was quite happy to let her take the responsibility. He’d done a fair bit inside and replaced various fixtures and fittings, so he didn’t feel in guilty really. In different ways, the allotment was providing both of them with the oasis of rest they needed. He pulled the brim of his hat down over his eyes and summoned up a picture of Onno. That was another part of his life that was going well for a change. They’d seen each other three times and enjoyed each other’s company. The only cloud on the horizon was the fact that they hadn’t slept together yet and he couldn’t work out why. He hadn’t pressed the matter, though had given plenty of hints at the end of each evening; hints that were either too subtle or were being ignored. He hadn’t wanted to push things too much but it was becoming a little strange. He wondered if Onno didn’t find him attractive in that way but if that was the case, why all the compliments and the touchy-feely stuff that Onno was so fond of? If nothing happened soon, he came to the conclusion that he’d better just come straight out with it and ask. No point in beating about the bush for too long, besides which it was becoming very frustrating.
“Hey, time for a drink don’t you think?”
Tinnie stood over him blocking the sunlight.
“That would be very nice, thank you.”
She slapped his legs with her gardening gloves.
“I meant, it’s time for you to get the worker a drink. An ice cold beer with a straw my good man and double quick if you don’t mind?”
Marcel groaned and made a big show of struggling out of the chair but was happy to amble inside the open double doors and head for the fridge. The cold air was a relief as he reached in for two bottles of beer and he realised that he’d better grab the suntan lotion on the way out; the colour of his legs told him the sun was stronger than he’d thought.
“Look at this Marcel, I’ve just found it in the soil.”
Tinnie held out her hand to reveal a rusted horseshoe.
“It’s a horseshoe.”
That’s obvious but don’t you see what it means? Horse shoes are lucky therefore if we hang it up over the door, it means it’ll be a lucky place for us.”
Marcel looked at his little friend’s eager face, full of openness, trust and sometimes child-like naivety and once again, thanked his lucky stars that he’d met her. She was quite simply a breath of fresh air in his life. He’d lived with cynicism for so long he’d almost forgotten how the simple things could bring so much pleasure.
“Okay, good idea. We could use all the luck we can get. While we’re on the subject of luck, what about this gypsy woman? What are you going to do about her?”
She frowned and looked away.
“Don’t know. Hey, shall I buy a couple of raspberry canes? Walter next door says they grow like wildfire here and crop heavily.”
“You’re changing the subject. What was her name? Amelia?”
“Amália and I’m not changing the subject; I just haven’t thought it all through yet.”
Well, now’s the time. Come on, I’ll make a salad while you clean up and you can tell your Uncle Marcel all about it.”
Tinnie said very little while they ate, despite Marcel’s promptings and the best part of a bottle of wine.
“Something’s bothering you Tin I can tell. You’re as happy as I’ve ever seen you when you’re working in the garden and by the way, it looks great; I could never have done what you’ve done but whenever I mention your social life you clam up. It’s not like you.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere Marcel but you’re right I suppose. I haven’t felt like gossiping much lately. I know why it is. I’m confused, really fucked up actually. I want to do something and for the first time in my life, I know it’s a waste of time.”
She ran her finger round and round the rim of her wine glass and stared glumly into space.
“Aw c’mon, that’s not the Tinnie Stiksma I know and love. It can’t be that bad surely but then how would I know if you won’t tell me?”
Marcel folded his arms and pretended to go into an exaggerated huff, which broke her resistance and made her giggle.
“Alright, alright, I give in but you’ve got to promise not to make a joke of it, this is a first for me.”
“Okay, I promise, now tell.”
“I think I’m in love.”
The serious look and the squinted eyes convinced him that she was serious but he couldn’t help himself.
“Well, it’s not the first time I’ve heard that. Let me think; there was Suzie last summer and Margriet and Loes, oh yes and Carla in January.”
”Shit man, I knew you wouldn’t take me seriously. Fuck you!”
She turned away to prevent him seeing her eyes watering.
“Hey, are you…? Oh I’m sorry Tinnie, I really am. This really is upsetting you isn’t it? Why?”
“Because I can’t understand it. I’ve only met her once and she’s married and…and… Oh I don’t know. All I can say is that I’ve never felt like this before about anyone. I can’t get her out of my head. I can’t sleep properly and I can’t think straight. That’s why I love coming here. Usually, I can get some peace and completely forget about everything else until someone brings it up of course!”
She looked at him accusingly and his heart went out to her. Sometimes she looked about thirteen and completely vulnerable.
“Maybe I can give an objective opinion, try and make some sense of it for you or something. Is this Amália we’re talking about? I wish I’d never mentioned her if it causes you so much grief.”
“Oh, it’s okay. You’re right; I would like your opinion.”
She wiped her fingers on a piece of paper towel and took a hefty drink from her wine glass.
“You see, I know she’s lesbian, she told me but she also said that she was omnisexual, or something like that. I mean she seems to believe that anybody can be sexually attractive, male or female, it depends on the person.”
“So she’s bisexual?”
“I suppose so but I think she’s more than that. She meets special people and if it’s right, she makes love to them. I think she hates to be labelled as one thing or another.”
“Well, I can understand that.”
”Yeah, me too in one way and she almost had me convinced but then this greasy creep came in and was all over her like a rash.”
“The husband?”
Tinnie nodded miserably.
“And that’s it you know, I couldn’t stand it. I had to get out. I found it so…so…horrible.”
”It’s not like you to be so judgemental.”
”I think I knew then that this was something different. Normally, I couldn’t give a shit what people do unless it affects me and this time, I was affected.”
“Okay, it’s pretty obvious what you’ve got to do.”
”It’s not obvious to me.”
“You’ve got to see her again, if only to see whether what you’re feeling is the real thing or not. The problem is, if it is what you think it is and you’ve really fallen for her, you might have to accept a few things. At least she’s been honest with you from the start.”
“The start? I’ve no idea if she wants to see me again, or if she even remembers who the hell I am. She could have been spinning me a line for all I know. You know, a sort of professional seduction technique; goes with the job, that sort of thing.”
“I hardly think so. She bought you drinks didn’t she? Doesn’t sound like professional patter to me.”
”And she sang me a song.”
”I didn’t know that bit. Wow, strikes me you’re the one who’s made the big impression.”
”Oh god Marcel, it was so romantic; the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me, I could have cried, there and then.”
“Right then, go and see her. You know where she works. Put on your brave face and go and talk to her. You’ll know then. If you don’t go, you’re going to be miserable for months and that’s not good for you, or me!”
“But what if she blanks me out? What if it’s all in my mind and she couldn’t care less whether I exist or not?”
”Well then, you’ll know and you’ll get over it, because life has to go on and all that crap. It’s chancy and you might end up heartbroken but if you don’t take chances in life, then nothing happens and you just stagnate.”
”That sounds like the voice of experience. Are we talking about Onno here?”
Suddenly Marcel put his fingers to his lips and pointed over Tinnie’s shoulder, through the open doors to the garden. She turned around and gasped.
“Oh my god! Isn’t he beautiful?”
”Shh, you’ll frighten him off.”
They both sat motionless as a Heron made his way towards them, with slow, stately steps. It looked at them; it’s glassy, unblinking eyes weighing them up as if to decide whether they were friend or foe. The low, evening sun through the trees behind created a sort of corona of light, which made it look ethereal and fragile. Marcel and Tinnie hardly dared breathe as it slowly raised one leg and tucked it under its body. The head, seemingly weighed down by the dagger-like beak, slowly drooped and it became statuesque and totally still. As slowly as he could, Marcel stretched out his arm and took the remnants of their salmon steaks from the plates. Tinnie looked at him fiercely and shook her head but he just felt it was the right thing to do and gently tossed the fish onto the ground in front of the bird. It opened it’s wings in surprise and made as if to fly away but either the fact that the stillness was restored, or the smell of the food, made it change its mind and it settled back into its previous position.
“He doesn’t think much of salmon scraps then,” whispered Marcel in Tinnie’s ear.
“Wait. I think he’s just taking his time; waiting to see if there are any other surprises in store, just stay still for a minute.”
Sure enough, after apparently being totally unmoved by the meagre offerings, the head suddenly darted forward and the fish disappeared in one neck-stretching gulp. After one more piercing stare, during which each of them felt that their souls were being examined, it turned around, took two or three steps then opened its wings and glided away.
“Phew, I can breathe now. Wasn’t that magical? This is a special place, didn’t I tell you?”
“Yes okay, I’m convinced. At least we’ve done one right thing this year. Congratulations partner.”
As they hugged each other, Tinnie whispered wickedly in his ear.
“Careful, the neighbours will get the wrong idea and you needn’t think that true confession time is over; Onno, remember?”
“Oh bugger, must I? Oh well, not everything’s as rosy at it seems there…”
The conversation switched back and forth between a Portuguese Fado singer and a Dutch film actor and before they knew it, darkness had fallen and the moths were doing kamikaze flights into the bare light bulb.
“Jesus, will you look at the time, we’d better go.”
“We could stay here. You can have the bed and I’ll put the seat cushions on the floor, I’ll be fine.”
“Much as I’d love to Tinnie, I can’t. I’ve got work tomorrow and I’ve got to get back. I need a change of clothes, a proper shower and above all, my own bed.”
“Oh, that’s a shame. Well, if you’re absolutely sure I can’t persuade you to stay, I think I will.”
“You will what?”
“Stay here. It’s perfect. It’s warm and I’ve got some more thinking to do. I don’t have to get up tomorrow for anything and anyway, I want to do some more work on the garden.”
“Are you sure?”
Marcel was quite concerned.
“Will you be okay on your own?”
She laughed and gave him a dig in the ribs.
“Thank you for your chivalrous concern kind sir but I do believe I’ll be safe. Christ man, I live on my own in the centre of Amsterdam. I think I’m far more likely to be molested there than in our little garden shed don’t you?”
Marcel was doing his own thinking as he cycled back into the city. The air was warm and still and cycling was a pleasure. It was ten o’clock but maybe he had time for one little diversion and anyway, he had to find out whether he was going to be Onno’s friend or, preferably something more than that. He headed for the Botanical gardens with growing excitement and nervousness. He hoped it would be a pleasant surprise but at the same time, he didn’t like to presume anything. Onno hadn’t rung him for two days; maybe he was busy but he should be at home because he’d said he was based in Amsterdam working on something new for the next week or so.
The padlock for his bike was being extra stubborn tonight. He put it up against the railings in front of Onno’s building, a grand, old, nineteenth century structure with spires and turrets, which had been divided into three flats. Marcel had said that it looked distinctly gothic and asked Onno whether there were any resident vampires, to which the reply had definitely contained heavy innuendo; there’d been no mistake as to the connotation and he’d been encouraged, yet again. Onno’s apartment was on the ground floor and having finally succeeded with the obstinate lock, Marcel turned and climbed the first two steps to the front door. There was a light on, so he knew he was in and he considered tapping on the window instead of ringing the bell. The curtains were of particularly fine linen and whilst not being transparent, were opaque enough to be able to see shapes. Later Marcel couldn’t work out what had made him stop and stare at the windows but stare he did and caught sight of a silhouette that was unmistakeably Onno Huizinga. He’d studied his new friend closely enough over the weeks for there to be no doubt. His heart beat just that little bit faster but started racing when the silhouette was suddenly joined by another, almost certainly male. The resulting embrace was also difficult to misinterpret and Marcel nearly fell backwards down the steps in surprise. He felt the colour rush to his cheeks and the excitement drain out of him to be replaced by cold fear. Tiptoeing back to his bike, his hands shaking with anger, he again struggled with the damned lock, trying to make as little noise as possible.
Behind him, the curtain drew back and an open mouthed actor watched as a furious but wounded Marcel, leapt on the bike and raced off down the street.
Amsterdam
Dear Rob,
I’m back and thought I’d just drop you a quick note to thank you once more for the fantastic holiday. I know I shed buckets at the airport and embarrassed you wholeheartedly but I’m not sure you realise just how much of a lifesaver that week was; well maybe you do, you know me inside out, (as does Luc! That was another unexpected but very welcome bonus!). Anyway, I’m safely back in Amsterdam and clutching my fully uniformed, Mountie doll, with anatomically correct features as we speak. Is it true that they always get their man?
Enough frippery. I’m back to reality and have discovered yet another addition to our household, female this time. Huub’s girlfriend has returned from her backpacking trip and has moved into his room. Not that I mind too much. She’s a nice girl and she swears she’s going back home next week, so I’ll hold her to that, whatever Huub says. He’s a good kid really and doesn’t protest too much although I know he’d like her to stay longer. Love’s young dream eh! I just wish I’d given him a better bed; there’s a positive spring concerto every night and I feel I’m not doing my ‘parenting’ bit justice if I don’t feel just a tad uncomfortable about the whole thing. Then again, who am I to start acting like Miss Prude!
Michel seems to have been abducted by aliens and changed into an entirely different human being. He’s studying hard and has a boyfriend, who I briefly met as he was being escorted out early one evening because Huub had an essay to write. Seems okay but then I can’t judge the youth of today. I can’t help being a little suspicious though. Since when did Michel become model citizen and paragon of virtue? Huub assures me there’s nothing I’m being protected from knowing but before I lavish praise on my younger gay brother, I’ll give it a couple of weeks and watch him carefully.
As I told you, my career as the new Robert Mapplethorpe came to a grinding halt and today I got the fall-out in the form of a letter from the Social Security asking me to come for a meeting. I’m not really worried; if they cut off my benefit then I’ll find a way of earning the cash; though I’m a bit past flogging my meat on the street corner these days. One thing’s for sure; believe me or not, their over-sexed ‘operative’ is going to get his cover exposed. The bastard shouldn’t get away with it but probably will; I mean it’s my word against his but hopefully they won’t tell me that, ‘they all say that’ and maybe a bit of the mud will stick.
The weather here is unbelievable. We’ve had one hot day after another and while I was away, it averaged thirty degrees for four days running, so I’m told; somewhat hotter than it was in Vancouver; well, temperature –wise anyway!
You remember that guy I met on my last night, in The Chainsaw? The one with the beard, who you said looked like ‘the missing link’? Well, I’ve had two e-mails already from him; must have made an impression! It was rather akin to making love to shag-pile carpet but it wasn’t bad and I’ve written back inviting him over to Amsterdam. Fairly safe bet that one! He told me he worked for an American computer firm and only got two weeks holiday a year. Well, I know for a fact, he’d been to Hawaii in April, so I doubt I’ll be seeing him on this side of the Atlantic for a while; just as well, he was perhaps just a bit too hairy for my taste!
One depressing thing is, having to go to local supermarkets again. God, if only we had a quarter of the choice you have there and the quality and the freshness! I won’t go on, I bored you long enough raving about them while I was there. Suffice it to say, I bought a kilo of peaches yesterday, which looked absolutely mouth watering until I got them home and nearly broke my teeth on one. I think they pick them green and then they’re artificially ripened so that they look good; time for yet another moaning letter to the paper!
Talking of things artificially ripened: I saw Freek in the street yesterday, plus new boyfriend hanging off his arm, (not a pretty sight; I don’t know whether to be pleased or insulted!). Now Freek is one of nature’s hibernators. He hates the sun and complains that it brings him out in freckles. He even used to close the blinds in the daytime and complain that sunlight gave him a headache. An original mole from the dark side I used to call him! Well, lo and behold, there he was, sporting a suntan that made him look middle-eastern! I may not be too good at maths but when he left me he had the sort of pallor that you can see the veins through and I can’t imagine he’s been soaking up the rays in the meantime; for one thing, he hasn’t got the patience. I suspect a tanning salon, or fake stuff out of a bottle! It does make you wonder if you ever knew a person though, when after they leave you they do a chameleon act. Does it mean that when he was with me, half his personality remained hidden, only now to emerge, chrysalis-like now that he is free? Maybe we’re all chameleons and modify ourselves to suit the person we’re with? Or maybe half the people stay the way they are, self-contained and self-assured that they are what they are, take it, or leave it and the other half, (probably me included) change to suit. I know in the past when I’ve met someone, I’ve consciously dropped some of the things I liked to do and taken on some of the things he liked to do. Is that a sign of weakness do you think? I prefer to think of it, as being a sign that one is adaptable and flexible and open to other possibilities. Now Freek for instance, never changed a single part of his lifestyle for me but give him his due, at least he told me that at the beginning, so I had a choice whether to continue or not. Does flexible mean submissive? I hope not; then again, many people like to take the passive role and be ‘looked after’. I certainly don’t; if there’s one thing I am, it’s fiercely independent both in every day life and sexually as you know but I’m perfectly willing to make concessions, compromises if you like to get a relationship going. Sounds just like Dutch politics but I won’t get onto that or you’ll be asleep before the end of the letter.
Am I looking for a relationship then? It’s a question I’ve asked myself ever since Freek’s sudden departure and I don’t honestly know the answer. It was a great feeling to have a good time in Vancouver as a single man again but I have to face reality; the years are pressing on and you know what it’s like, ‘nobody loves a fairy when she’s forty’! The waist is thickening and the pecs are beginning to sag and more than once a night is a bit of a struggle these days. I know I have a limited shelf life and the question is, do I find someone to settle down into old age with, or do I put myself about a bit until everybody ignores me in the bars? The former is easier said than done of course and the latter is already happening. I can put the body right with a bit of effort and will power and I think I have to stop smoking. I won’t forget the looks I got in that bar with you two, as I sat in splendid isolation with my own personal cloud of smoke wrapped around me like a security blanket. It’s happening here too, the last bastion of serious smokers in the Western world! More and more people have given it up and devoted themselves to the healthy body culture; I feel quite a pariah of society. So, if I remodel the physique and get my white teeth back, do I buy myself a few more years of attractiveness? Answer: probably yes but do I really want to? I reckon everybody needs a bit of an incentive to improve themselves and a significant other usually provides that, which brings me back to the original question, do I want a relationship, or am I on the slippery slope to slovenliness and couch potato status? Hmm! Please provide the answer by return of post!
I think I’ll take the bike and cruise along the Amstel this afternoon. It’s such a beautiful day it seems criminal to waste it, plus, if Freek’s going to go Middle Eastern then I feel I should develop the tan. At the moment, it stops at the collar line and there’s nothing more pathetic than seeing someone with his shirt off with everything virgin white except the forearms and the face. I don’t dare go to the sauna for that very reason, although it is the cleanest place in town for casual sex. Trouble is, these days, it’s turning into a parade of the body-beautiful, unless you go early in the afternoon and join the dinosaurs with their wrinkly tits, which I might add, I’m not yet desperate enough to do. Apart from anything else, it’s too damned hot to go to saunas.
I’m rambling aren’t I? I don’t know what it is Rob but I feel I can talk to you about anything, as was proved last week! You’re my link to sanity in this crazy world and your advice always seems based on pure common sense and makes me wonder why I hadn’t come to the same conclusions myself. I know you don’t miss Amsterdam in the slightest and wouldn’t dream of coming back and why should you? Yet I have to confess, I really miss you sometimes. Do you remember those times we used to walk through town chatting? It didn’t matter where we were heading, or which café we decided to stop for coffee or a beer at; we used to solve the world’s problems together: or weekends on the Amstel and our three-bars-and-a-disco pub-crawl? Great times but light years ago I suppose. We’ve both moved on and grown up since then; gone through various relationships, diseases and crises until here we are, virtually on opposite sides of the world. I know, it sounds maudlin to harp on about the past but are we any closer to finding the meaning of life? Of course, I’m speaking for myself here. You’re perfectly happy, with a good job, a good man and a great place to live; at least that’s the impression you give. Am I speaking out of line here, if I suspect that you’re not quite in the state of ecstasy that you pretend to be? I may be totally wrong and please feel free to rap me across the knuckles if I am but did I detect something amiss under the surface? It’s only since I got back that I’ve started to wonder. I was, of course, like a pig in muck, wanting to see everything and every one and being on a total high but on reflection, I may have been a bit selfish and missed my cue to jump in with some sisterly advice and sympathy. It wasn’t what you said but rather what you didn’t say that has triggered my sixth sense. Is there a cloud on the horizon? You’d better tell me; I don’t want any bombshells, I’ve got enough of those here. I await your next letter with bated breath!
Okay, I think that’s enough babbling for now. Once again, thanks for your unbounded hospitality. Hope to hear from you soon.
Arend
16. Marcel and Tinny in horticultural Heaven
Dressed only in shorts and a battered straw hat that he’d persuaded himself looked rustic, Marcel sank back into the wicker chair and surveyed his kingdom. The trees by the canal swayed gently in the lightest of breezes, the birds were singing and the sun was beating down, amply topping up the two solar panels they’d had installed to provide electricity for their tiny allotment house. He closed his eyes and smelled the heady scent of the Honeysuckle Tinnie had planted to grow over their shaky pergola.
“I decided to buy a mature plant, so that we can get some enjoyment out of it now. You watch, next year it’ll be all over the place like a Triffid. It was a bit more expensive. You don’t mind do you?”
Marcel had happily agreed, after all, she was turning out to be the expert. Had life ever been as good as this? Tinnie and their ancient neighbour, who claimed to be eighty-two but looked older than that, were chatting over the fence about flowers and the advantages and disadvantages of growing raspberries in the acid soil. He only caught snatches of the conversation but it all added to the feeling of rustic harmony and tranquillity. He shivered as the tensions of the city drifted away and joined the wood smoke to dissipate in the air.
“Is he a bit lazy then, your friend?”
“No, no, he’s just chilling out you know; he’s had a tough few years.”
Tinnie grinned at the old man who was still staring at Marcel, a puzzled expression creating even more wrinkles on his timeless face.
“I reckon a young man like that needs to feel a bit of work in his bones; get off his arse and do some digging. Nothing like digging for clearing the mind. He looks strong enough but I only ever see you in the garden and you don’t look big enough to be carrying all them sacks of compost, yet you do. Good on yer girl. Now if you take my advice, you can grow some Sweet Peas on that patch over there. Perfect Sweet Pea ground that, though it’s a bit late now but if you seed it up, you’ll get some good blooms late next month. Nothing like the smell of a good Sweet Pea. I like what you done with them sunflowers. Coming on a treat they are.”
Marcel smiled to himself. He would do his bit but he knew Tinnie was loving every minute she spent creating the garden and he was quite happy to let her take the responsibility. He’d done a fair bit inside and replaced various fixtures and fittings, so he didn’t feel in guilty really. In different ways, the allotment was providing both of them with the oasis of rest they needed. He pulled the brim of his hat down over his eyes and summoned up a picture of Onno. That was another part of his life that was going well for a change. They’d seen each other three times and enjoyed each other’s company. The only cloud on the horizon was the fact that they hadn’t slept together yet and he couldn’t work out why. He hadn’t pressed the matter, though had given plenty of hints at the end of each evening; hints that were either too subtle or were being ignored. He hadn’t wanted to push things too much but it was becoming a little strange. He wondered if Onno didn’t find him attractive in that way but if that was the case, why all the compliments and the touchy-feely stuff that Onno was so fond of? If nothing happened soon, he came to the conclusion that he’d better just come straight out with it and ask. No point in beating about the bush for too long, besides which it was becoming very frustrating.
“Hey, time for a drink don’t you think?”
Tinnie stood over him blocking the sunlight.
“That would be very nice, thank you.”
She slapped his legs with her gardening gloves.
“I meant, it’s time for you to get the worker a drink. An ice cold beer with a straw my good man and double quick if you don’t mind?”
Marcel groaned and made a big show of struggling out of the chair but was happy to amble inside the open double doors and head for the fridge. The cold air was a relief as he reached in for two bottles of beer and he realised that he’d better grab the suntan lotion on the way out; the colour of his legs told him the sun was stronger than he’d thought.
“Look at this Marcel, I’ve just found it in the soil.”
Tinnie held out her hand to reveal a rusted horseshoe.
“It’s a horseshoe.”
That’s obvious but don’t you see what it means? Horse shoes are lucky therefore if we hang it up over the door, it means it’ll be a lucky place for us.”
Marcel looked at his little friend’s eager face, full of openness, trust and sometimes child-like naivety and once again, thanked his lucky stars that he’d met her. She was quite simply a breath of fresh air in his life. He’d lived with cynicism for so long he’d almost forgotten how the simple things could bring so much pleasure.
“Okay, good idea. We could use all the luck we can get. While we’re on the subject of luck, what about this gypsy woman? What are you going to do about her?”
She frowned and looked away.
“Don’t know. Hey, shall I buy a couple of raspberry canes? Walter next door says they grow like wildfire here and crop heavily.”
“You’re changing the subject. What was her name? Amelia?”
“Amália and I’m not changing the subject; I just haven’t thought it all through yet.”
Well, now’s the time. Come on, I’ll make a salad while you clean up and you can tell your Uncle Marcel all about it.”
Tinnie said very little while they ate, despite Marcel’s promptings and the best part of a bottle of wine.
“Something’s bothering you Tin I can tell. You’re as happy as I’ve ever seen you when you’re working in the garden and by the way, it looks great; I could never have done what you’ve done but whenever I mention your social life you clam up. It’s not like you.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere Marcel but you’re right I suppose. I haven’t felt like gossiping much lately. I know why it is. I’m confused, really fucked up actually. I want to do something and for the first time in my life, I know it’s a waste of time.”
She ran her finger round and round the rim of her wine glass and stared glumly into space.
“Aw c’mon, that’s not the Tinnie Stiksma I know and love. It can’t be that bad surely but then how would I know if you won’t tell me?”
Marcel folded his arms and pretended to go into an exaggerated huff, which broke her resistance and made her giggle.
“Alright, alright, I give in but you’ve got to promise not to make a joke of it, this is a first for me.”
“Okay, I promise, now tell.”
“I think I’m in love.”
The serious look and the squinted eyes convinced him that she was serious but he couldn’t help himself.
“Well, it’s not the first time I’ve heard that. Let me think; there was Suzie last summer and Margriet and Loes, oh yes and Carla in January.”
”Shit man, I knew you wouldn’t take me seriously. Fuck you!”
She turned away to prevent him seeing her eyes watering.
“Hey, are you…? Oh I’m sorry Tinnie, I really am. This really is upsetting you isn’t it? Why?”
“Because I can’t understand it. I’ve only met her once and she’s married and…and… Oh I don’t know. All I can say is that I’ve never felt like this before about anyone. I can’t get her out of my head. I can’t sleep properly and I can’t think straight. That’s why I love coming here. Usually, I can get some peace and completely forget about everything else until someone brings it up of course!”
She looked at him accusingly and his heart went out to her. Sometimes she looked about thirteen and completely vulnerable.
“Maybe I can give an objective opinion, try and make some sense of it for you or something. Is this Amália we’re talking about? I wish I’d never mentioned her if it causes you so much grief.”
“Oh, it’s okay. You’re right; I would like your opinion.”
She wiped her fingers on a piece of paper towel and took a hefty drink from her wine glass.
“You see, I know she’s lesbian, she told me but she also said that she was omnisexual, or something like that. I mean she seems to believe that anybody can be sexually attractive, male or female, it depends on the person.”
“So she’s bisexual?”
“I suppose so but I think she’s more than that. She meets special people and if it’s right, she makes love to them. I think she hates to be labelled as one thing or another.”
“Well, I can understand that.”
”Yeah, me too in one way and she almost had me convinced but then this greasy creep came in and was all over her like a rash.”
“The husband?”
Tinnie nodded miserably.
“And that’s it you know, I couldn’t stand it. I had to get out. I found it so…so…horrible.”
”It’s not like you to be so judgemental.”
”I think I knew then that this was something different. Normally, I couldn’t give a shit what people do unless it affects me and this time, I was affected.”
“Okay, it’s pretty obvious what you’ve got to do.”
”It’s not obvious to me.”
“You’ve got to see her again, if only to see whether what you’re feeling is the real thing or not. The problem is, if it is what you think it is and you’ve really fallen for her, you might have to accept a few things. At least she’s been honest with you from the start.”
“The start? I’ve no idea if she wants to see me again, or if she even remembers who the hell I am. She could have been spinning me a line for all I know. You know, a sort of professional seduction technique; goes with the job, that sort of thing.”
“I hardly think so. She bought you drinks didn’t she? Doesn’t sound like professional patter to me.”
”And she sang me a song.”
”I didn’t know that bit. Wow, strikes me you’re the one who’s made the big impression.”
”Oh god Marcel, it was so romantic; the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me, I could have cried, there and then.”
“Right then, go and see her. You know where she works. Put on your brave face and go and talk to her. You’ll know then. If you don’t go, you’re going to be miserable for months and that’s not good for you, or me!”
“But what if she blanks me out? What if it’s all in my mind and she couldn’t care less whether I exist or not?”
”Well then, you’ll know and you’ll get over it, because life has to go on and all that crap. It’s chancy and you might end up heartbroken but if you don’t take chances in life, then nothing happens and you just stagnate.”
”That sounds like the voice of experience. Are we talking about Onno here?”
Suddenly Marcel put his fingers to his lips and pointed over Tinnie’s shoulder, through the open doors to the garden. She turned around and gasped.
“Oh my god! Isn’t he beautiful?”
”Shh, you’ll frighten him off.”
They both sat motionless as a Heron made his way towards them, with slow, stately steps. It looked at them; it’s glassy, unblinking eyes weighing them up as if to decide whether they were friend or foe. The low, evening sun through the trees behind created a sort of corona of light, which made it look ethereal and fragile. Marcel and Tinnie hardly dared breathe as it slowly raised one leg and tucked it under its body. The head, seemingly weighed down by the dagger-like beak, slowly drooped and it became statuesque and totally still. As slowly as he could, Marcel stretched out his arm and took the remnants of their salmon steaks from the plates. Tinnie looked at him fiercely and shook her head but he just felt it was the right thing to do and gently tossed the fish onto the ground in front of the bird. It opened it’s wings in surprise and made as if to fly away but either the fact that the stillness was restored, or the smell of the food, made it change its mind and it settled back into its previous position.
“He doesn’t think much of salmon scraps then,” whispered Marcel in Tinnie’s ear.
“Wait. I think he’s just taking his time; waiting to see if there are any other surprises in store, just stay still for a minute.”
Sure enough, after apparently being totally unmoved by the meagre offerings, the head suddenly darted forward and the fish disappeared in one neck-stretching gulp. After one more piercing stare, during which each of them felt that their souls were being examined, it turned around, took two or three steps then opened its wings and glided away.
“Phew, I can breathe now. Wasn’t that magical? This is a special place, didn’t I tell you?”
“Yes okay, I’m convinced. At least we’ve done one right thing this year. Congratulations partner.”
As they hugged each other, Tinnie whispered wickedly in his ear.
“Careful, the neighbours will get the wrong idea and you needn’t think that true confession time is over; Onno, remember?”
“Oh bugger, must I? Oh well, not everything’s as rosy at it seems there…”
The conversation switched back and forth between a Portuguese Fado singer and a Dutch film actor and before they knew it, darkness had fallen and the moths were doing kamikaze flights into the bare light bulb.
“Jesus, will you look at the time, we’d better go.”
“We could stay here. You can have the bed and I’ll put the seat cushions on the floor, I’ll be fine.”
“Much as I’d love to Tinnie, I can’t. I’ve got work tomorrow and I’ve got to get back. I need a change of clothes, a proper shower and above all, my own bed.”
“Oh, that’s a shame. Well, if you’re absolutely sure I can’t persuade you to stay, I think I will.”
“You will what?”
“Stay here. It’s perfect. It’s warm and I’ve got some more thinking to do. I don’t have to get up tomorrow for anything and anyway, I want to do some more work on the garden.”
“Are you sure?”
Marcel was quite concerned.
“Will you be okay on your own?”
She laughed and gave him a dig in the ribs.
“Thank you for your chivalrous concern kind sir but I do believe I’ll be safe. Christ man, I live on my own in the centre of Amsterdam. I think I’m far more likely to be molested there than in our little garden shed don’t you?”
Marcel was doing his own thinking as he cycled back into the city. The air was warm and still and cycling was a pleasure. It was ten o’clock but maybe he had time for one little diversion and anyway, he had to find out whether he was going to be Onno’s friend or, preferably something more than that. He headed for the Botanical gardens with growing excitement and nervousness. He hoped it would be a pleasant surprise but at the same time, he didn’t like to presume anything. Onno hadn’t rung him for two days; maybe he was busy but he should be at home because he’d said he was based in Amsterdam working on something new for the next week or so.
The padlock for his bike was being extra stubborn tonight. He put it up against the railings in front of Onno’s building, a grand, old, nineteenth century structure with spires and turrets, which had been divided into three flats. Marcel had said that it looked distinctly gothic and asked Onno whether there were any resident vampires, to which the reply had definitely contained heavy innuendo; there’d been no mistake as to the connotation and he’d been encouraged, yet again. Onno’s apartment was on the ground floor and having finally succeeded with the obstinate lock, Marcel turned and climbed the first two steps to the front door. There was a light on, so he knew he was in and he considered tapping on the window instead of ringing the bell. The curtains were of particularly fine linen and whilst not being transparent, were opaque enough to be able to see shapes. Later Marcel couldn’t work out what had made him stop and stare at the windows but stare he did and caught sight of a silhouette that was unmistakeably Onno Huizinga. He’d studied his new friend closely enough over the weeks for there to be no doubt. His heart beat just that little bit faster but started racing when the silhouette was suddenly joined by another, almost certainly male. The resulting embrace was also difficult to misinterpret and Marcel nearly fell backwards down the steps in surprise. He felt the colour rush to his cheeks and the excitement drain out of him to be replaced by cold fear. Tiptoeing back to his bike, his hands shaking with anger, he again struggled with the damned lock, trying to make as little noise as possible.
Behind him, the curtain drew back and an open mouthed actor watched as a furious but wounded Marcel, leapt on the bike and raced off down the street.
17. Bears take a sauna
“My god, it’s twenty eight degrees outside and we’re stuck in here swathed in artificial heat and artificial light.”
“Well, you can’t blame me this time, it was Franck’s idea and it is his birthday, so he has the right to choose the venue.”
“Hmph.”
Ruud grunted, he had no answer to that, besides which, it was a relief to get away from the Jacco problem for a while, though he would still have preferred to be outside somewhere. It just seemed wrong to be here on a beautiful afternoon.
“I love this place. You can be as sleazy as you want and still feel that you’re doing something healthy.”
“That’s like a smoker only smoking Ultra Lights; it still gets you in the end.”
“Is that the best you can come up with? Anyway, you enjoy it as much as I do. I’ve seen you turn into a total slut in here.”
“In my younger days sweetheart. Now I just head for the darkest corner and wait for whatever comes.”
“And it generally does!”
Perched on stools at the bar in Amsterdam’s biggest sauna, Ruud and Wil were waiting for their friends to arrive. The bar was fairly full but it was mainly people who came to the sauna as barflies and rarely left their stools. Some sat staring into their drinks, others at the comings and goings near the stairs and others chatted with friends, using it as a social meeting point. Generally, the customers at the bar were not of the ‘body beautiful’ variety, whose promenading was going on elsewhere but men with normal, everyday physiques. After a couple of drinks, it was difficult to sit up straight, shoulders back, holding the stomach in and people relaxed into positions that revealed the lack of tone around the waistline. It wasn’t the place to pose and it wasn’t the place to cruise, it was a sort of neutral zone where you could chill out.
“Look, there’s Franck and Dennis. Cooee.”
Wil drew momentary attention to himself as hoisted himself off his seat and waved extravagantly.
“He’s got a new nipple ring and tattoo; sleazy bitch.”
Franck and Dennis came over to stand with their friends.
“Happy birthday you old cow here, let me kiss you, I don’t get the chance that often.”
Wil wrapped his arms around Franck and kissed him repeatedly. Ruud contented himself with the normal three pecks on the cheek but couldn’t resist a tweak of the ring gleaming on Franck’s chest.
“Nice. When did you get this done? The tattoo suits you as well.”
He was lying. He hated tattoos, thinking them yet another fad that would wear off pretty soon, unlike the body decoration. He had a fleeting vision of Franck as an old man, with his dragon looking a lot less proud and he grinned. This maybe wasn’t the time to point it out.
“Thanks girls. They were a present from my better half.”
Dennis gave a mock bow.
“Guilty as charged. I had one done myself but I won’t show you now.”
”Ooh, go on, give us a look, don’t be bashful. Where is it? Let me guess…”
“Wil, you’re such a fucking voyeur; it’s not where you think it is.”
With that, Dennis pulled his towel gently down to display a circular symbol at the base of his stomach.
“It’s Chinese and it represents being one half of a couple in love; soppy really but Franck likes it.
“And I’ve got the other half but you’re definitely not seeing where that is,” chipped in his partner.
“I take it they’re real?” questioned Wil, a malicious glint in his eyes.
“Of course they’re real! We’re not like those fashion queens who put on the transfers before they go out on a Saturday night and wash them off the day after.”
Franck glared at him indignantly.
“Seems like a good idea to me,” mumbled Ruud.
“Well these aren’t like that okay?”
“Now, now Franckie, take no notice of Ruud; he’s still stuck in the nineteen fifties. I think they look great and I want one for my birthday.”
The latter was pointedly addressed at Ruud, who silently made a promise to himself; ‘over my dead body!’
“Anyway, I’ve booked a table at that nice Thai place for later and then I thought we could hit the bars. Is that alright?”
Wil spoke for them both.
“Perfect my friend, perfect. How on earth did you get away with not doing the family thing?”
“I just told them that’s all. I am so sick of pretending on one day of the year, that we all love each other to bits; it’s so hypocritical. Plus, poor Dennis gets so embarrassed at having to walk round the circle kissing various maiden aunts and cousins who we won’t see until the next birthday. I hate the coffee and cake thing as well; costs a fortune!”
“Spoken like a Dutchman. I know what you mean…”
Ruud had long ago accepted that he was conservative in so many aspects of his nature.
“…but it seems a shame to stop all the old traditions. It’s like Sinterklaas being usurped by the Coca Cola man…”
“And clogs and windmills and tulips…” interrupted Wil, “…for god’s sake Ruud, it’s the twenty first century. Things change and new rituals appear; it’s progress.”
“Just because it’s new, doesn’t mean it’s better.”
“Now then girls, no fighting, it’s my birthday remember and I strictly forbid you both to bitch at each other, okay? Do you think you can manage that for one day?”
“Sorry mother, we’ll be good.”
Wil jumped back, just managing to avoid having his towel pulled off in public.
“Anyway, how’s it going with the toy-boy lodger?”
“Oh lord, please don’t mention the ‘J’ word.”
“Not going well then I take it?”
Wil became serious for once and frowned.
“I’ll keep this short because we are fed up with the whole business and we don’t want to spoil your day. No, it’s not going well actually. At first, I was all for letting the boy have his freedom, do what he wanted you know? After all, he’s paying rent, he’s a lodger and he’s nineteen; it’s not as if we have any right to tell him what to do.”
“But we made a promise to his parents.”
”Yes, we made a promise and I wish to hell we hadn’t.”
”Oh, so it’s my fault now is it?”
“No Ruud, no, it’s not your fault. I was a hundred percent behind you and I was worried about Jacco and it was obvious he desperately wanted to get away from home but I wasn’t half as worried then as I am now.”
Dennis suddenly became interested. Normally, he let the three of them chatter amongst themselves and he tended to lose track. His Dutch was good enough, most of the time but in noisy atmospheres, he would lose the thread of the conversation unless he concentrated really hard on tuning in but this time he had a vested interest.
“Why what’s happened?”
Ruud answered gloomily,
“Well, he stays out all night, he’s not doing much studying for his college course as far as we can see. He drinks too much, he doesn’t eat enough to feed a sparrow and we strongly suspect he’s doing Coke, though where he gets the money from is anyone’s guess.”
“Plus, when he does roll in, he plays his music way too loud, leaves his room like a tip and resents either of us trying to offer advice.”
“So throw him out. Send him back to his parents. Let them deal with him.”
Franck thought the answer was fairly clear.
“It’s not as simple as that; we feel responsible for him plus we fed the parents all this guff about how we were responsible gay citizens and all that. It wouldn’t look too good if we sent him packing after the first sign of trouble.”
Dennis thought now was a good time to share his information.
“Well actually guys, I think there’s something more you should know.”
”Oh, what now? I don’t think I can take any more nasty shocks.”
“Well, I was in The Cabin the other night and our mutual friend was there. I don’t think he knows me, well if he does, he didn’t show any signs of it. He was so out of his head, he wouldn’t have recognised me anyway.”
“And…? What happened? You’d better tell us Dennis, though I’m not sure I want to know.”
“I was chatting to Steve from Dublin you know? I only saw him out of the corner of my eye but he was talking pretty loud and seemed to be with some grotesque creature well past his pension age. Anyway, I sort of took an interest, knowing the connection and it was obvious this guy was plying him with booze. After a while, they both disappeared downstairs. I didn’t think too much of it at the time, until they came back up not much later.”
“Go on. Is there more?”
Ruud groaned and felt even guiltier that he wasn’t fulfilling what he saw as a serious obligation.
“Oh there’s more alright but it’s not pretty. After he’d squeezed another drink out of the old guy, I could have sworn that he was given a stash of notes. It was rolled up you know but there was little doubt it was cash.”
“Oh my god! Is that it?”
“Unfortunately not I’m afraid. The other guy left; Christ he was repulsive, like the back end of a proverbial bus! Anyway, Jacco was left alone nursing his drink until he spotted someone else, an Arabic looking man, also pretty old and then started the old winking and smiling routine. I tell you what, that kid may only be nineteen but he’s a professional. At that point, Steve wanted to leave and I went with him, so I don’t know what happened after that.”
“Fucking hell. What do we do now?”
Ruud looked at Wil despairingly.
“We get the little shit in a corner and we give him the biggest telling-off he’s ever had in his life, that’s what we do and then we give him an ultimatum; either he mends his ways pretty damned quick or he’s out on his ear. I don’t think he’ll be too keen on going back to Mummy and Daddy if that’s the way he wants to lead his life. And now, my friend, we forget all about Jacco and concentrate on our friend’s birthday and have some fun. We’ll deal with the little prick later.”
”You’re right, you’re absolutely right. I’m not going to let him ruin our lives as well, not for today at least. No more mentioning his name, agreed?”
“Agreed and thanks for telling us Den. Hey, where’s Franck gone? Fuck me, will you look at that!”
Wil’s eyes lit up as he spotted a particularly attractive boy on his way up the stairs.
“You wish!” Dennis teased, “ Franck’s gone off on the hunt. Shall we split up and meet later?”
“Okay, we’ll meet you here at free-coffee time. ‘All for one and one for all’ eh!”
With that, the three remaining friends made their way into the heart of the sauna.
It was four o’clock and there was already a queue forming by the bar for free coffee, although it hadn’t been announced over the tannoy as yet. Gays are nothing if not creatures of habit. Ruud was irritated to find that he was the first one there. He’d had a bad afternoon. He’d started off in the bubble bath, just finding a space between a group of extremely fat men. It was obviously ‘Fat Friends’ day, when those who’d abandoned the idea of looking svelte years ago, congregated in herds and made a statement. At the moment, fashion was on their side, as they could claim to be Bears, or Chubbies, or associated kin but Ruud couldn’t help thinking that fat was fat, whatever fancy name you gave it and as far as he was concerned it didn’t look good but then again, it takes all sorts to make a world. Squeezed for room, he’d abandoned the Jacuzzi and headed for the sauna, which was achingly hot and half empty as a result. A few die-hards lay on the top benches in the fiercest heat but he couldn’t stand it for long and then made his way to the steam room. In contrast to the sauna, this was full to bursting; too full, nobody could do anything without being in full view of everyone else and situations like this often led to stalemate. Just off the steam room was a dark corridor leading to the showers. There were men standing along the wall waiting for attention but just as his eyes had got used to the gloom, he slipped on the wet floor, just recovering but giving himself a shock to both his body and his dignity in the process. After a dip in the cold pool, which did nothing for his image, he grabbed his towel and walked up the first flight of stairs to a comfortable seating area on a balcony overlooking the main arena. More ‘Bears’ in evidence here but he found a seat and decided to peruse the general public before going any further. There were certainly quite a few attractive sights, which wetted his appetite and restored his enthusiasm somewhat but then he caught sight of Wil heading for the steam room.
‘Why the hell doesn’t he wear his towel?’ he thought to himself, ‘ever the exhibitionist and God knows why!’ The truth was that Ruud would never walk around naked amongst other people; he found it difficult enough at home and it had taken him several visits to Zandvoort before he would do it in public. His excuse was that he was leaving people with something to wonder about but in reality, he was a product of his upbringing and had been crippled with shyness from childhood. He did have a sneaking admiration for the way Wil just didn’t care what people thought but it wasn’t for him. Having flipped through a couple of magazines while keeping a watchful eye on the surroundings, he realised that Wil wasn’t going to emerge very soon and set off on the ritual tour of the cabins and corridors on the floors above. Twice, he spotted someone to his liking and twice, he was firmly rejected. It didn’t take much: he paused at the door to show interest and the other guy, with the subtlest of gestures and body language indicated that he wasn’t welcome. Thoroughly dispirited, he climbed the last flight of stairs to the dark room. This was not his favourite destination, either in the bars or in the sauna but he was beginning to feel desperate.
It always took several minutes to adjust to the murky gloom and he groped his way around the wooden partitions until he could back up against a wall and try to make out some features. Within minutes, he had been approached but it really was a case of the blind leading the blind and he didn’t have a clue what sort of person he was exploring. Whoever it was, was certainly not in the first flush of youth and his arousal was quickly quenched after his hands found the folds of sagging flesh on the chest. Time to move away but that didn’t seem to deter his admirer, who doggedly followed him around the maze wherever he went. This was definitely not Ruud’s idea of fun and he got out as quickly as possible. The final straw was the fact that he nodded off in the cinema; clearly he was more tired than he’d imagined, doubtless the result of several sleepless nights worrying about Jacco. After waking up and realising that he was immune to the porn in front of him, he wasn’t in the best of moods when he joined the queue for coffee.
Before long, Dennis joined him and Franck but there was no sign of Wil.
“I’m not surprised in the slightest,” he moaned to his friends, “I have a completely shitty afternoon and he’ll come back having conquered the world, you watch.”
“I met someone nice,” muttered Dennis quietly, with a huge grin on his face.
“Oh yes? Do tell.”
Franck stood arms akimbo in mock disapproval.
Dennis had a twinkle in his green eyes and wore the smile that won him so many admirers.
“He was really cute; a guy called Arend and he gave me a really erotic massage.”
“Lucky cow!” mumbled Ruud, still inconsolable after his lack of adventures.
“And then after the sex bit, we just cuddled. You know, sometimes it can be really nice; you connect with someone, a complete stranger and there’s that chemistry and when you kiss them, it’s tender and meaningful and you feel really comfortable.”
Franck’s eyes had narrowed and glinted; dangerously Ruud thought but they had an open relationship like most couples they knew in Amsterdam and he showed no more than that. Dennis was oblivious to the signals but when Franck started regaling them about the encounters he had had, Ruud recognised the revenge factor, the competition and instinctively knew that Franck had probably had as unsuccessful time as himself.
‘Dennis is such an honest soul,’ he thought to himself, ‘he wouldn’t dream of telling anything other than the truth; he wouldn’t see the point. I’m amazed he doesn’t see how jealous Franck really is.’
Later, completely bloated from the Thai buffet they’d demolished, they found themselves in The Cabin. As Ruud had predicted, Wil was completely full of himself and the more drinks he had, the more elaborate his stories became. Franck had already had enough and had gone downstairs to the darkroom,
“It’s my birthday and I deserve a birthday bonk!” he’d announced drunkenly.
“Besides which Wil, if I hear another of your stories from the gay crypt, I’m going to puke!” and off he’d marched.
“Be careful Franckie,” Dennis had shouted as he disappeared but that was only met with a dismissive wave of the hand.
“I’m going to have to get him home when he comes back up. He’s had quite enough for one night and he gets a bit stroppy if he gets too drunk.”
“We completely understand,” added Wil, throwing his arm around the Irishman’s shoulder and slobbering in his ear.
“We’re going too, I’m absolutely exhausted…” Ruud insisted, as firmly as he could without making it seem like an order.
“…As soon as Franck comes back up. It’s been nice to see you both though and all in all, it’s been a really nice day.”
“Oh, you’ve changed your tune Miss Grumpy,” Wil slurred.
“A girl’s entitled to change her mind.”
At that point, Franck resurfaced and staggered towards them.
“Christ, the stink down there! Someone’s tipped over a barrel of poppers by the smell of it. What with that, the stale beer and sweat, you can’t breathe. I couldn’t stand it. Take me home Dennis, my little Irish loverboy; take me home and make mad, passionate love to me.”
“Okay sweetie, time to go.”
Dennis put a supporting arm under the rapidly declining Franck’s armpits and winking and giving a little wave with his free hand, set off for the door.
“Oh, by the way…”
Franck stopped and lurched around.
“…Your little lodger’s down there somewhere. I think he’s getting gangbanged.”
With that final bombshell, Franck and Dennis staggered out of the door.
“Oh is he now! We’ll see about that!”
Nothing could sober Wil up more quickly than an emergency and before Ruud could stop him he rushed off to the head of the stairs and disappeared down. It didn’t take more than a second of thought before Ruud hurried off after him.
“My god, it’s twenty eight degrees outside and we’re stuck in here swathed in artificial heat and artificial light.”
“Well, you can’t blame me this time, it was Franck’s idea and it is his birthday, so he has the right to choose the venue.”
“Hmph.”
Ruud grunted, he had no answer to that, besides which, it was a relief to get away from the Jacco problem for a while, though he would still have preferred to be outside somewhere. It just seemed wrong to be here on a beautiful afternoon.
“I love this place. You can be as sleazy as you want and still feel that you’re doing something healthy.”
“That’s like a smoker only smoking Ultra Lights; it still gets you in the end.”
“Is that the best you can come up with? Anyway, you enjoy it as much as I do. I’ve seen you turn into a total slut in here.”
“In my younger days sweetheart. Now I just head for the darkest corner and wait for whatever comes.”
“And it generally does!”
Perched on stools at the bar in Amsterdam’s biggest sauna, Ruud and Wil were waiting for their friends to arrive. The bar was fairly full but it was mainly people who came to the sauna as barflies and rarely left their stools. Some sat staring into their drinks, others at the comings and goings near the stairs and others chatted with friends, using it as a social meeting point. Generally, the customers at the bar were not of the ‘body beautiful’ variety, whose promenading was going on elsewhere but men with normal, everyday physiques. After a couple of drinks, it was difficult to sit up straight, shoulders back, holding the stomach in and people relaxed into positions that revealed the lack of tone around the waistline. It wasn’t the place to pose and it wasn’t the place to cruise, it was a sort of neutral zone where you could chill out.
“Look, there’s Franck and Dennis. Cooee.”
Wil drew momentary attention to himself as hoisted himself off his seat and waved extravagantly.
“He’s got a new nipple ring and tattoo; sleazy bitch.”
Franck and Dennis came over to stand with their friends.
“Happy birthday you old cow here, let me kiss you, I don’t get the chance that often.”
Wil wrapped his arms around Franck and kissed him repeatedly. Ruud contented himself with the normal three pecks on the cheek but couldn’t resist a tweak of the ring gleaming on Franck’s chest.
“Nice. When did you get this done? The tattoo suits you as well.”
He was lying. He hated tattoos, thinking them yet another fad that would wear off pretty soon, unlike the body decoration. He had a fleeting vision of Franck as an old man, with his dragon looking a lot less proud and he grinned. This maybe wasn’t the time to point it out.
“Thanks girls. They were a present from my better half.”
Dennis gave a mock bow.
“Guilty as charged. I had one done myself but I won’t show you now.”
”Ooh, go on, give us a look, don’t be bashful. Where is it? Let me guess…”
“Wil, you’re such a fucking voyeur; it’s not where you think it is.”
With that, Dennis pulled his towel gently down to display a circular symbol at the base of his stomach.
“It’s Chinese and it represents being one half of a couple in love; soppy really but Franck likes it.
“And I’ve got the other half but you’re definitely not seeing where that is,” chipped in his partner.
“I take it they’re real?” questioned Wil, a malicious glint in his eyes.
“Of course they’re real! We’re not like those fashion queens who put on the transfers before they go out on a Saturday night and wash them off the day after.”
Franck glared at him indignantly.
“Seems like a good idea to me,” mumbled Ruud.
“Well these aren’t like that okay?”
“Now, now Franckie, take no notice of Ruud; he’s still stuck in the nineteen fifties. I think they look great and I want one for my birthday.”
The latter was pointedly addressed at Ruud, who silently made a promise to himself; ‘over my dead body!’
“Anyway, I’ve booked a table at that nice Thai place for later and then I thought we could hit the bars. Is that alright?”
Wil spoke for them both.
“Perfect my friend, perfect. How on earth did you get away with not doing the family thing?”
“I just told them that’s all. I am so sick of pretending on one day of the year, that we all love each other to bits; it’s so hypocritical. Plus, poor Dennis gets so embarrassed at having to walk round the circle kissing various maiden aunts and cousins who we won’t see until the next birthday. I hate the coffee and cake thing as well; costs a fortune!”
“Spoken like a Dutchman. I know what you mean…”
Ruud had long ago accepted that he was conservative in so many aspects of his nature.
“…but it seems a shame to stop all the old traditions. It’s like Sinterklaas being usurped by the Coca Cola man…”
“And clogs and windmills and tulips…” interrupted Wil, “…for god’s sake Ruud, it’s the twenty first century. Things change and new rituals appear; it’s progress.”
“Just because it’s new, doesn’t mean it’s better.”
“Now then girls, no fighting, it’s my birthday remember and I strictly forbid you both to bitch at each other, okay? Do you think you can manage that for one day?”
“Sorry mother, we’ll be good.”
Wil jumped back, just managing to avoid having his towel pulled off in public.
“Anyway, how’s it going with the toy-boy lodger?”
“Oh lord, please don’t mention the ‘J’ word.”
“Not going well then I take it?”
Wil became serious for once and frowned.
“I’ll keep this short because we are fed up with the whole business and we don’t want to spoil your day. No, it’s not going well actually. At first, I was all for letting the boy have his freedom, do what he wanted you know? After all, he’s paying rent, he’s a lodger and he’s nineteen; it’s not as if we have any right to tell him what to do.”
“But we made a promise to his parents.”
”Yes, we made a promise and I wish to hell we hadn’t.”
”Oh, so it’s my fault now is it?”
“No Ruud, no, it’s not your fault. I was a hundred percent behind you and I was worried about Jacco and it was obvious he desperately wanted to get away from home but I wasn’t half as worried then as I am now.”
Dennis suddenly became interested. Normally, he let the three of them chatter amongst themselves and he tended to lose track. His Dutch was good enough, most of the time but in noisy atmospheres, he would lose the thread of the conversation unless he concentrated really hard on tuning in but this time he had a vested interest.
“Why what’s happened?”
Ruud answered gloomily,
“Well, he stays out all night, he’s not doing much studying for his college course as far as we can see. He drinks too much, he doesn’t eat enough to feed a sparrow and we strongly suspect he’s doing Coke, though where he gets the money from is anyone’s guess.”
“Plus, when he does roll in, he plays his music way too loud, leaves his room like a tip and resents either of us trying to offer advice.”
“So throw him out. Send him back to his parents. Let them deal with him.”
Franck thought the answer was fairly clear.
“It’s not as simple as that; we feel responsible for him plus we fed the parents all this guff about how we were responsible gay citizens and all that. It wouldn’t look too good if we sent him packing after the first sign of trouble.”
Dennis thought now was a good time to share his information.
“Well actually guys, I think there’s something more you should know.”
”Oh, what now? I don’t think I can take any more nasty shocks.”
“Well, I was in The Cabin the other night and our mutual friend was there. I don’t think he knows me, well if he does, he didn’t show any signs of it. He was so out of his head, he wouldn’t have recognised me anyway.”
“And…? What happened? You’d better tell us Dennis, though I’m not sure I want to know.”
“I was chatting to Steve from Dublin you know? I only saw him out of the corner of my eye but he was talking pretty loud and seemed to be with some grotesque creature well past his pension age. Anyway, I sort of took an interest, knowing the connection and it was obvious this guy was plying him with booze. After a while, they both disappeared downstairs. I didn’t think too much of it at the time, until they came back up not much later.”
“Go on. Is there more?”
Ruud groaned and felt even guiltier that he wasn’t fulfilling what he saw as a serious obligation.
“Oh there’s more alright but it’s not pretty. After he’d squeezed another drink out of the old guy, I could have sworn that he was given a stash of notes. It was rolled up you know but there was little doubt it was cash.”
“Oh my god! Is that it?”
“Unfortunately not I’m afraid. The other guy left; Christ he was repulsive, like the back end of a proverbial bus! Anyway, Jacco was left alone nursing his drink until he spotted someone else, an Arabic looking man, also pretty old and then started the old winking and smiling routine. I tell you what, that kid may only be nineteen but he’s a professional. At that point, Steve wanted to leave and I went with him, so I don’t know what happened after that.”
“Fucking hell. What do we do now?”
Ruud looked at Wil despairingly.
“We get the little shit in a corner and we give him the biggest telling-off he’s ever had in his life, that’s what we do and then we give him an ultimatum; either he mends his ways pretty damned quick or he’s out on his ear. I don’t think he’ll be too keen on going back to Mummy and Daddy if that’s the way he wants to lead his life. And now, my friend, we forget all about Jacco and concentrate on our friend’s birthday and have some fun. We’ll deal with the little prick later.”
”You’re right, you’re absolutely right. I’m not going to let him ruin our lives as well, not for today at least. No more mentioning his name, agreed?”
“Agreed and thanks for telling us Den. Hey, where’s Franck gone? Fuck me, will you look at that!”
Wil’s eyes lit up as he spotted a particularly attractive boy on his way up the stairs.
“You wish!” Dennis teased, “ Franck’s gone off on the hunt. Shall we split up and meet later?”
“Okay, we’ll meet you here at free-coffee time. ‘All for one and one for all’ eh!”
With that, the three remaining friends made their way into the heart of the sauna.
It was four o’clock and there was already a queue forming by the bar for free coffee, although it hadn’t been announced over the tannoy as yet. Gays are nothing if not creatures of habit. Ruud was irritated to find that he was the first one there. He’d had a bad afternoon. He’d started off in the bubble bath, just finding a space between a group of extremely fat men. It was obviously ‘Fat Friends’ day, when those who’d abandoned the idea of looking svelte years ago, congregated in herds and made a statement. At the moment, fashion was on their side, as they could claim to be Bears, or Chubbies, or associated kin but Ruud couldn’t help thinking that fat was fat, whatever fancy name you gave it and as far as he was concerned it didn’t look good but then again, it takes all sorts to make a world. Squeezed for room, he’d abandoned the Jacuzzi and headed for the sauna, which was achingly hot and half empty as a result. A few die-hards lay on the top benches in the fiercest heat but he couldn’t stand it for long and then made his way to the steam room. In contrast to the sauna, this was full to bursting; too full, nobody could do anything without being in full view of everyone else and situations like this often led to stalemate. Just off the steam room was a dark corridor leading to the showers. There were men standing along the wall waiting for attention but just as his eyes had got used to the gloom, he slipped on the wet floor, just recovering but giving himself a shock to both his body and his dignity in the process. After a dip in the cold pool, which did nothing for his image, he grabbed his towel and walked up the first flight of stairs to a comfortable seating area on a balcony overlooking the main arena. More ‘Bears’ in evidence here but he found a seat and decided to peruse the general public before going any further. There were certainly quite a few attractive sights, which wetted his appetite and restored his enthusiasm somewhat but then he caught sight of Wil heading for the steam room.
‘Why the hell doesn’t he wear his towel?’ he thought to himself, ‘ever the exhibitionist and God knows why!’ The truth was that Ruud would never walk around naked amongst other people; he found it difficult enough at home and it had taken him several visits to Zandvoort before he would do it in public. His excuse was that he was leaving people with something to wonder about but in reality, he was a product of his upbringing and had been crippled with shyness from childhood. He did have a sneaking admiration for the way Wil just didn’t care what people thought but it wasn’t for him. Having flipped through a couple of magazines while keeping a watchful eye on the surroundings, he realised that Wil wasn’t going to emerge very soon and set off on the ritual tour of the cabins and corridors on the floors above. Twice, he spotted someone to his liking and twice, he was firmly rejected. It didn’t take much: he paused at the door to show interest and the other guy, with the subtlest of gestures and body language indicated that he wasn’t welcome. Thoroughly dispirited, he climbed the last flight of stairs to the dark room. This was not his favourite destination, either in the bars or in the sauna but he was beginning to feel desperate.
It always took several minutes to adjust to the murky gloom and he groped his way around the wooden partitions until he could back up against a wall and try to make out some features. Within minutes, he had been approached but it really was a case of the blind leading the blind and he didn’t have a clue what sort of person he was exploring. Whoever it was, was certainly not in the first flush of youth and his arousal was quickly quenched after his hands found the folds of sagging flesh on the chest. Time to move away but that didn’t seem to deter his admirer, who doggedly followed him around the maze wherever he went. This was definitely not Ruud’s idea of fun and he got out as quickly as possible. The final straw was the fact that he nodded off in the cinema; clearly he was more tired than he’d imagined, doubtless the result of several sleepless nights worrying about Jacco. After waking up and realising that he was immune to the porn in front of him, he wasn’t in the best of moods when he joined the queue for coffee.
Before long, Dennis joined him and Franck but there was no sign of Wil.
“I’m not surprised in the slightest,” he moaned to his friends, “I have a completely shitty afternoon and he’ll come back having conquered the world, you watch.”
“I met someone nice,” muttered Dennis quietly, with a huge grin on his face.
“Oh yes? Do tell.”
Franck stood arms akimbo in mock disapproval.
Dennis had a twinkle in his green eyes and wore the smile that won him so many admirers.
“He was really cute; a guy called Arend and he gave me a really erotic massage.”
“Lucky cow!” mumbled Ruud, still inconsolable after his lack of adventures.
“And then after the sex bit, we just cuddled. You know, sometimes it can be really nice; you connect with someone, a complete stranger and there’s that chemistry and when you kiss them, it’s tender and meaningful and you feel really comfortable.”
Franck’s eyes had narrowed and glinted; dangerously Ruud thought but they had an open relationship like most couples they knew in Amsterdam and he showed no more than that. Dennis was oblivious to the signals but when Franck started regaling them about the encounters he had had, Ruud recognised the revenge factor, the competition and instinctively knew that Franck had probably had as unsuccessful time as himself.
‘Dennis is such an honest soul,’ he thought to himself, ‘he wouldn’t dream of telling anything other than the truth; he wouldn’t see the point. I’m amazed he doesn’t see how jealous Franck really is.’
Later, completely bloated from the Thai buffet they’d demolished, they found themselves in The Cabin. As Ruud had predicted, Wil was completely full of himself and the more drinks he had, the more elaborate his stories became. Franck had already had enough and had gone downstairs to the darkroom,
“It’s my birthday and I deserve a birthday bonk!” he’d announced drunkenly.
“Besides which Wil, if I hear another of your stories from the gay crypt, I’m going to puke!” and off he’d marched.
“Be careful Franckie,” Dennis had shouted as he disappeared but that was only met with a dismissive wave of the hand.
“I’m going to have to get him home when he comes back up. He’s had quite enough for one night and he gets a bit stroppy if he gets too drunk.”
“We completely understand,” added Wil, throwing his arm around the Irishman’s shoulder and slobbering in his ear.
“We’re going too, I’m absolutely exhausted…” Ruud insisted, as firmly as he could without making it seem like an order.
“…As soon as Franck comes back up. It’s been nice to see you both though and all in all, it’s been a really nice day.”
“Oh, you’ve changed your tune Miss Grumpy,” Wil slurred.
“A girl’s entitled to change her mind.”
At that point, Franck resurfaced and staggered towards them.
“Christ, the stink down there! Someone’s tipped over a barrel of poppers by the smell of it. What with that, the stale beer and sweat, you can’t breathe. I couldn’t stand it. Take me home Dennis, my little Irish loverboy; take me home and make mad, passionate love to me.”
“Okay sweetie, time to go.”
Dennis put a supporting arm under the rapidly declining Franck’s armpits and winking and giving a little wave with his free hand, set off for the door.
“Oh, by the way…”
Franck stopped and lurched around.
“…Your little lodger’s down there somewhere. I think he’s getting gangbanged.”
With that final bombshell, Franck and Dennis staggered out of the door.
“Oh is he now! We’ll see about that!”
Nothing could sober Wil up more quickly than an emergency and before Ruud could stop him he rushed off to the head of the stairs and disappeared down. It didn’t take more than a second of thought before Ruud hurried off after him.
The Amsterdam Series
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17. Bears take a sauna
