Nomads on the Amstel
18. Arjan’s unpleasant day
From the muffled snuffling, it sounded as if there were a few people quietly crying but Arjan didn’t notice, nor did he weep for her passing himself. He’d been ten minutes too late for his mother’s death but he was fairly phlegmatic about that too: a few obscenities spat out at the director of the nursing home for not calling him sooner but then it was over. Arjan was very much the fatalist, believing with unwavering certainty that shit happened because it was meant to happen and there wasn’t a damn thing you could do about it. His mother had been shocked to the core when he’d elaborated on his philosophy, just the once, on a hot summer’s day fifteen years earlier.
“It’s all mapped out for us ma and with every decision we make, we’re given two or three choices, paths to follow if you like but whatever path we choose, the outcomes are all predestined anyway.”
Her unwavering Catholic faith had been insulted by her own offspring’s religious ‘deviation’ and she’d berated him for it for weeks after. That was one reason why he remembered the day so clearly; the other being that it was his birthday, as it was today and she’d withheld his presents for a week, to make him think about what he really should believe.
There it was then; on his thirty-first birthday, he was burying his mother, with a room full of people, most of whom he didn’t know and a smattering of distant relatives he didn’t care about. All he wanted was for it to be over so he could once and for all cut the umbilical chord to his most enduring responsibility. He’d left most of the details to the funeral company, apart from a couple of pieces of music he’d chosen at random from the list his mother had prepared and he had every intention of going back to Amsterdam the minute the service was over and she was safely interred; not for him the solace of coffee and cake and condolences from strangers. The whole process seemed interminable and he glanced around as people were invited to walk up to the coffin to pay their last respects, not out of curiosity but with a hearty wish that they should get a move on. As it turned out, relatively few made that journey and most had already begun to file out in the direction of the anteroom where the coffee would be served. Within a few minutes, there was only one other person apart from himself left at the front.
He’d arranged things so that he would be the only one accompanying the coffin to the grave and that that should happen whilst everyone was partaking of the refreshments. Several kinfolk had expressed surprise and were even angry that they couldn’t see her put in the ground but he’d dismissed their objections with a curt statement that it had been one of her stipulations. Besides, how many of them had bothered to visit her in the last years, none, to the best of his knowledge? It was both irritating and distracting then, that this particular old man was still hanging around. Arjan glared at him but he either didn’t see, or was ignoring it and followed the small procession of coffin bearers, priest and Arjan out of the building at a discreet distance and along the pathways between the graves. Irrationally annoyed at his arrangements being thwarted, Arjan kept glancing over his shoulder to find the man still there, head down and following at an even pace, it was clear he intended to come to the grave side.
As the coffin was gently lowered into the prepared earth and the priest was about to begin the necessary prayers and last blessing, Arjan couldn’t stand it any longer. He asked the priest to wait for a minute and strode over to where the man was standing.
“Excuse me but this is a private part of the service. If you go back to the building, you’ll find refreshments are provided.”
The man lifted his head and looked at him, a slight sneer on his face. He had a full head of white hair and watery blue eyes behind rimless glasses and although Arjan couldn’t place him, he had the feeling that he should know who he was. One thing was for sure; he disliked him on sight.
“I’m entitled to be here Arjan; just as much as you. You don’t know me but you should. I’m your father.”
Arjan stood there speechless. As far as he knew, his father had left his mother when he was two or three. He had no memories at all of the man but hated the very thought that he was here. If he’d been mentioned at all and that was seldom, his mother had always talked of him as an adulterer and a liar. He’d questioned his aunt several times in his teenage years when he’d felt it was important to know but she had been equally tight-lipped and would tell him very little. The fact that the man was here, now, standing and claiming his rights enraged him. He wanted to hit out, to yell. This was not the time or the place to be confronted with the past.
“Leave; right now! Turn around and don’t come back. You’re not wanted here.”
His voice trembled as he spoke but through pure anger and not emotion and he could feel his knees trembling.
“I’ve every right to be here,” the man repeated, “and I’ve no intention of leaving. Things need to be said between you and me.”
The priest coughed politely, embarrassed at the confrontation that was building before his eyes and Arjan turned towards him.
“Please continue.”
Inwardly, he was raging. He’d never been so angry and the priest’s slightly hurried prayers passed him by as he tried to make sense of what had happened. What was he here for? What did he have to say? Was he after the inheritance? Well, there was little point in fighting over that, there was little enough, most of her money having gone towards the costs of her care in the last few years. Most of all, Arjan was furious that his plans had gone awry. He could keep everything under control providing he stayed in control. Up to now, everything had gone according to plan and he’d been looking forward to getting back to town and getting drunk or laid, whichever came first. He could deal with his mother’s death, like he dealt with everything remotely unpleasant; by filing it away and he never liked surprises.
He had planned to say goodbye to his mother; to say something at least, when everyone was gone and he was left alone beside the grave but to do that required privacy and that he was now being denied. Tight-lipped, he waited until the grave had been filled in and the flowers lain on top of the rough earth. The marble headstone and grave boundaries were coming later; there was no point in waiting for those, yet still he waited. After thanking the priest who, recognising a blank soul, merely patted him on the shoulder and left, he stood, hands clasped behind his back and willed the unwelcome visitor to disappear.
“You’ll have to talk to me sooner or later son.”
“Don’t call me son!” he hissed, “I’m not your son and you’re not my father, end of story. She wouldn’t want you here; I don’t want you here. What are you still doing here?”
“It’s clear to me there’s so much you don’t know. We both need to fill in the gaps and I’m not leaving until we at least start doing that.”
The older man’s voice had become stronger, less entreating and more demanding. Arjan could hear himself in that voice and for the first time, he really looked at his father. What he saw was a disturbing mirror image of himself, someone determined, pig-headed and obstinate; someone who could match him in a battle of wills. However, as someone who never gave way, never compromised, he was damned if he was going to do it now.
“Fuck you!”
An inner voice heard his mother’s rebuke even at her graveside but he didn’t care. She couldn’t hurt him now and neither could this man, no matter who he was and he buttoned his jacket and prepared to leave. As he turned, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Arjan was at his coolest and most calculating as he swung his fist and felt the satisfaction of meeting the right spot. With shivers running through his whole body, he strode off, not giving a second glance to the figure, crumpled and bleeding and slumped over the newly dug earth. Wrenching open the door of his BMW, he got in, started up and drove off at high speed, scattering gravel over the first mourners emerging from the church.
Jacco watched from the recesses of a darkened corner as Wil and Ruud rampaged through the darkroom calling his name. He didn’t know whether to laugh or to be angry; he was in any case, too far gone to rationalise it. His state of euphoria was such that everything seemed to be happening in a slightly different dimension. All he did know was that he seemed to have swapped one sort of control for another and he hated the humiliation that it brought. There would have to be changes but not now, not in public and certainly not here in his newfound sanctuary. Apart from anything else, he hadn’t finished having fun tonight. He would wait until they’d gone and then rejoin his new friends, his new audience, who could give him more than enough of the attention he craved. They were persistent though, he had to give them that and when Wil darted into the area in which he was hiding, a place almost completely devoid of light, he dropped to his knees behind an entwined couple and quietly giggling to himself, toyed with whatever flesh he found there. It crossed his mind that here was an opportunity to gain some revenge. Would Wil know who was unzipping him and more interestingly, would he be able to resist? It would give Jacco the perfect opportunity to leave a bite mark or two; that would teach him! The thought was tempting but not worth the risk of discovery, so he let his landlord pass him by and watched as he and Ruud muttered to each other outside in the light. He could see by their body language that they were baffled; they’d be gone soon. Waiting another ten minutes or so until he was sure, he allowed himself to be explored and explored in return. Usually, his anonymous partner would discover his lack of genital prowess and quickly lose interest but Jacco didn’t mind; he’d learned there were more ways to skin a cat and that he could get intense pleasure out of giving pleasure. The unseen contacts in the darkrooms were making him an expert in the use of his body and he couldn’t get enough of it. The only problem and it wasn’t a problem to Jacco was that in order to release his inhibitions, he needed to be drunk or stoned or both. He didn’t dare allow himself to use his intellect to analyse what he did. Sober he was shy and reluctant, his conscience telling him things he didn’t want to hear. Sober, he was full of self-disgust and loathing, both for himself and the creatures with whom he played but after plenty of beer, or spirits and the occasional pill or joint, his baser side came to the fore and he was able to blot out the outside world and the trappings of his upbringing and succumb to unfettered physical pleasure. He’d quickly learned how to get what he needed for free and how to feed his growing physical addictions and he was popular, amazingly popular and that pleased him the most.
The darkroom was an area in many ways, of sensory deprivation and he had no idea what time it was when he decided he’d had enough and stumbled up into the bar. He needed a drink and sat on a stool to remove his shoe and recover his money from where it had been safely stashed. It was too late and he was too tired to try to beg a drink from someone, nor was he any more in the mood for those sorts of games. He ordered a Coke and slumped in a corner, the buzz of the last hour or so rapidly wearing off. There were still some people around but it was approaching closing time and most had moved onto other bars with later opening hours. He tried to clear the fuzziness in his head so that he could decide what to do. It was nearly two and he realised that if he went home now, there was every chance of Wil and Ruud being there to greet him; better move on somewhere else then, for another couple of hours until they were sure to be asleep. He’d face them, later if he had to but he wanted to be rested first. Without any enthusiasm at all, he made his way out into the street, where the cool air made him feel dizzy and suddenly very tired. He wished he’d scored an E, or Speed, or something to keep him going. There was still time. Maybe if he went to Arjan’s bar he’d find someone.
“Franck was very drunk.”
Ruud was exhausted both physically and mentally and slumped in the chair as Wil paced around the room.
“I know but it’s not like Franck to say something like that unless he was sure.”
“Well he’s only seen Jacco once, maybe twice, maybe he saw someone who looked like him. The light plays tricks on you down there; it would be easy to make a mistake.”
“I don’t know, it just doesn’t fit. I have a gut feeling that he was there and we missed him somehow, or he saw us coming and hid. I mean, what would you do if you were a nineteen year old about to be discovered by your fairy godmothers. We weren’t exactly discreet?”
“We were angry. We had every right to be. You think we handled it badly then?”
Wil finally sat down and buried his face in his hands, the strain etched on his face, his eyes sunken and dark rimmed.
“We went charging in there like bulls in a china shop, screaming our tits off and generally making a complete exhibition of ourselves; yes we handled it badly, we really fucked up. Would you have come out of hiding to face the music in front of all those people? No, nor would I. I think Franck saw him alright. I mean it’s nearly three o’clock in the morning, where is he?”
“I’m wrecked. I don’t think I can keep my eyes open for much longer. This’ll have to wait until I’ve had my eight hours. I’m going to bed, are you coming?”
“I suppose so. Christ, the perils of parenthood! Who’d have kids these days?”
The two of them lay in bed, so tired that sleep was elusive.
“Are you still awake?”
“Yes goddamit! My head’s spinning. I’m getting too old for all this and to think, the action will still be going on in some bars and dark rooms; I don’t know where they get their energy from.”
“It was certainly busy down there.”
”God Ruud, is it really twenty years ago that I first explored that dark room?”
”It’s not changed a bit has it? I’d hate to be the one cleaning it in the daylight.”
“There’s never any daylight there.”
”Well, okay, you know what I mean; with the lights on.”
God yes, talk about the muck of ages. It’s like an underground purgatory.”
”It reminds me of a sort of Western corral, you know like in the films. All those wooden pillars and rails. Not to mention the potential for undiscovered life forms in the nooks and crannies.”
“Cockroaches and rats probably.”
Ruud shuddered. He’d never been a dark room aficionado. For one thing, he felt uncomfortable having sex in public and he preferred to talk for a couple of minutes at least before hands were laid on flesh. He’d done it of course. Many people had. It was a sort of rite of passage in the gay world and in many ways, he didn’t blame Jacco for doing exactly the same thing but knowledge is a terrible conscience pricker. He worried about disease and degeneration, moral degeneration. It struck him as highly hypocritical to worry about Jacco’s moral development but he couldn’t help it. Christ, the boy was young and handsome and intelligent; he deserved better than the anonymous couplings of the darkroom. He should be meeting people his own age, people unsullied by the seedier side of gay life. He should be falling in love and setting up house together and breaking up and meeting someone else. Why wasn’t he interested in romance and lifestyles and Judy Garland? Well, perhaps not Judy Garland but there must be an equivalent gay icon in the modern youth culture. Dark rooms and hard sex are fine if that’s the choice you’ve made after having lived a little but to be addicted at his age…it didn’t bear thinking about.
“We’ve got to do something Wil, we’ve just got to. We can’t just let him slide into the cesspit until he’s seen some of the better things in life. Wil?”
The gentle snoring from the other side of the bed told him his words had fallen on deaf ears and he lay back and tried to relax but it was some time before sleep rescued him from his worries.
Arjan wrenched the darts from the board, took three or four paces back and hurled them one by one back into the target. He did this repeatedly, not caring about scores, or if they thudded into the woodwork instead; the action of spearing his ghosts was enough. His whole psyche and ordered existence was being threatened; first by his mother’s long awaited death and then by the reappearance of a long forgotten father and he felt his grip on events slipping away. It was simple really; Arjan decided what should happen in his life and had been very successful in doing so until now. He liked logic in his everyday affairs; he liked different things to satisfy different needs and arranged his activities to suit. Certain meals, certain TV programmes, particular books read again and again, selected people to call friends, a lowest-figure income every month, regular exercise, regular sex; everything satisfied a need and filled in a blank. Even fitting the fortnightly visits to the nursing home into his agenda had fulfilled the tiny part of his personality that required him to care. Above all, he prided himself on his self-sufficiency. He didn’t need anyone else and nobody progressed beyond his emotional defences, or even got close unless he specifically wanted them to and as yet, he hadn’t felt the need. Now this man had turned up out of the blue. Make no mistake; Arjan didn’t give a shit about him or the fact that he was now his closest blood relative. What worried him was the unknown, the history, the things he didn’t know and thus had no control over. There was potential for surprise with this man and that scared Arjan beyond words.
Finally exhausted from throwing darts, he poured himself a large scotch and then another and another.
‘Forget the bastard; with any luck I’ll never see him again,’ he thought, fearing the opposite. The drink wasn’t having the desired effect; it wasn’t dulling the senses, as it should. He stripped off his funeral clothes and stuffed them unfolded, into a bin bag that he threw in the back of the cupboard. Standing naked in front of the mirror, he checked himself over before stepping into the shower.
‘I need sex, good sex,’ he decided. ‘I’ll go to the club and pick out a couple of boys.’
Despite his tiredness, Jacco had picked out a suitable candidate to keep him going and was busy plying him with compliments in order to get what he wanted. He was a particularly oily type, with hair slicked back and tied in a ponytail. Not too old but to Jacco, distinctly unattractive, with his fake tan, fleshy lips and pockmarked skin. He had seen him in the bar a few times and from what he could gather, he was also a bar owner but Jacco was pretty sure had a regular supply of drugs and thus was worth the effort.
“I can give you half an E, that’s all but these things don’t come cheap you know.”
By the way he arched his eyebrows and leered, Jacco had a pretty good idea of the price he was expected to pay but he was learning not to be that easy.
“You don’t think I’m going to sleep with you for half a miserable E do you? Listen, forget it, I only wanted something to keep going; what do you think I am?”
“No need to get upset kiddo. Look here’s the E. It’s a freebie, I can’t say fairer than that can I?”
Jacco turned away and swallowed the tablet, which got stuck in his throat. He grabbed his drink and washed it down.
“There, that’s better isn’t it; doesn’t take long to work. Hey, I’m going on to a club from here; why don’t you come along? Just for company, no strings attached. I like you kiddo; you’re a good laugh. How about it?”
Jacco looked around the bar; it suddenly looked sleazy and late night. Those who were left were showing distinct signs of wear and the barmen were sour-faced and ready for closing time.
“Yeah, okay. This place is dead. What’s this club called?”
“It’s called ‘Young and Single?’ and it goes on until the last people leave. Are you ready then?”
Jacco followed the man whose name he still didn’t know, out of the bar into the street. There were still plenty of people around, reflecting Amsterdam’s wandering night population and the fact that the temperature, even at that time of the morning, was still warm enough to walk in shirtsleeves.
Arjan’s frustration was reaching boiling point. The boy he’d chosen was unresponsive and reluctant to play, so he’d thrown him out and picked another but this one, an oriental, was too submissive, begging for more of the slaps that he was only too willing to give. He wanted resistance that he could overcome; this kid was a doormat and there was no satisfaction to be had. He left the room; with it’s double bed, mirrors, sink unit and tacky drapes and marched downstairs.
“Johnny, I’ve sacked one and can’t stand the other. Is this the best you’ve got? Christ, there are twenty boys on our books; surely there’s some quality amongst them?”
Johnny turned the book round so that Arjan could see it.
”Sorry boss but three are off sick and the others are all busy with clients as you can see. If you hang around a bit, I’m sure we can find you something decent. Four or five of them should be down soon. If you’d given me some warning, I could have reserved someone for you. This one, for instance, Greg, he’s English and cute and I’m sure he’d be your type. He’s with a German guy at the moment but I’ll make sure you get him when he’s finished.”
“Fuck that! I don’t want someone who’s already been used three or four times. What’s the point of owning a club like this if you can’t use the facilities? Oh never mind, he’ll have to do I suppose. Let me know when he’s free. I’ll be in the back room. Give me a scotch; a double.”
Johnny knew better than to argue when Arjan was in this mood and watched as his employer went through the door into the lounge area.
‘Dangerous that one; he’ll get himself locked up. He’ll snap one day. Absolute certainty.’
Holding that thought, he went back to drying the rows of glasses by the sink.
It took a few moments before Jacco realised exactly what sort of club this was. The ponytail had bought drinks and they were sat at a table in an alcove. Behind them were various wall paintings of naked boys carousing in semi classical scenes and above the bar were photos of other boys in various pouting poses.
“What is this place?” he asked pretty sure of the answer.
“It’s a boy’s club, you know? A place where people can meet boys and for a price, ‘be entertained’. You don’t have to worry; they know me here. You can bring guests as well. It’s a real high-class clientele, businessmen, film stars, politicians. Hey, I don’t even know your name. I’m Christiaan, Chris to my friends and you are…?”
“Uh, Jacco.”
If this Chris thought that he was going to be impressed by the sort of people who came here, he was sadly mistaken but there was something about the place that fascinated Jacco. He was alert and felt alive. He wanted to know more.
“So, is this it? I don’t see many boys.”
In truth, there was only one other apart from himself and that was a dejected looking Asian guy sat at the bar, hunched over a drink.
“Oh God no. Through that door is the lounge; very nice; very tastefully decorated. There’s a small bar in there too. We can go through if you like? Then through that curtain there are the stairs and they lead to what they call ‘relax rooms’. They all have a different theme. There’s something here for everyone you know. It’s a great place to come after the bars; you can really enjoy yourself in comfort. There’s showers and Jacuzzis, everything. Maybe we can try them out later…if you want that is?”
Jacco most certainly didn’t want, not with this Chris in any case. In this light, he looked older than he’d thought and while that normally didn’t put Jacco off if there was something to be gained from it, there was something really unpleasant about the guy; a sort of ‘dirtiness’ he couldn’t put his finger on but didn’t want to find out. A tall guy came in and the Asian boy at the bar, changed like a chameleon. From sullen boredom, he transformed into a smiling, confident attraction with flashing eyes and a come-hither look.
Jacco suggested going through to the lounge and Chris agreed. He was convinced he could get this kid in the mood and after a few more drinks, get him to bed. The thought almost made him salivate; a tasty bit of stuff this one.
The lounge wasn’t very busy; two men in suits with bellies hanging over their belts chatting to each other and an open-shirted Arabic type, with a young boy draped across the arm of his chair, twiddling his chest hairs and giggling. Jacco found the man very attractive but the boy looked so young.
“How old do you have to be to work here?” he whispered to Chris.
“All the boys on the books have to be at least eighteen.”
He smiled and winked.
“But expensive people have expensive tastes, if you get my drift?”
Jacco didn’t hear him. The man with his back to them at the tiny bar looked very familiar. He turned and Jacco’s heart gave a little leap.
“Well, well, well. Look what the cat’s dragged in. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Jacco lay back on the bed breathless as Arjan pulled on his pants. Chris had been quickly dismissed as Arjan made his intentions clear and had left muttering under his breath about, ‘cock-teasers’ and ‘time wasters’ and Jacco had revelled in yet another example of Arjan’s apparent power. His skin glowed and stung and he was sore but it had been worth it. He couldn’t imagine sex could be any better. This was the third time with Arjan and every time, the sensations were more acute. He looked at himself and imagined he could see every pore of his body open and throbbing. He wanted more and reached out to tug at Arjan’s belt.
“So, keen are you? You’re a little wild cat when you get going. You like this don’t you boy? You like this a lot. You’ve got potential but you’re getting no more from me tonight; good things are always waiting for. You’ll get your chance again I dare say; when I feel like it. Meanwhile, I’ve got a little proposition for you. You don’t need to answer straight away. Take some time; think it over but I guarantee, I can make it worth your while.”
Jacco writhed on the satin sheets. Whatever it was, he would agree, if only he could persuade Arjan to make love to him again.
“How would you like to work for me, in the club? You’ll get your own small apartment in a house not far from here. You’ll get a regular salary; a good one; with tips and although I can’t guarantee you a pension plan, it’s a good job. If you’re good at it and to me; I’ll be good to you and you can take it from me, I never go back on my word.”
He began unbuckling his belt.
Jacco never doubted it, nor had any hesitation. It was the answer to all his current problems.
“When can I start?”
From the muffled snuffling, it sounded as if there were a few people quietly crying but Arjan didn’t notice, nor did he weep for her passing himself. He’d been ten minutes too late for his mother’s death but he was fairly phlegmatic about that too: a few obscenities spat out at the director of the nursing home for not calling him sooner but then it was over. Arjan was very much the fatalist, believing with unwavering certainty that shit happened because it was meant to happen and there wasn’t a damn thing you could do about it. His mother had been shocked to the core when he’d elaborated on his philosophy, just the once, on a hot summer’s day fifteen years earlier.
“It’s all mapped out for us ma and with every decision we make, we’re given two or three choices, paths to follow if you like but whatever path we choose, the outcomes are all predestined anyway.”
Her unwavering Catholic faith had been insulted by her own offspring’s religious ‘deviation’ and she’d berated him for it for weeks after. That was one reason why he remembered the day so clearly; the other being that it was his birthday, as it was today and she’d withheld his presents for a week, to make him think about what he really should believe.
There it was then; on his thirty-first birthday, he was burying his mother, with a room full of people, most of whom he didn’t know and a smattering of distant relatives he didn’t care about. All he wanted was for it to be over so he could once and for all cut the umbilical chord to his most enduring responsibility. He’d left most of the details to the funeral company, apart from a couple of pieces of music he’d chosen at random from the list his mother had prepared and he had every intention of going back to Amsterdam the minute the service was over and she was safely interred; not for him the solace of coffee and cake and condolences from strangers. The whole process seemed interminable and he glanced around as people were invited to walk up to the coffin to pay their last respects, not out of curiosity but with a hearty wish that they should get a move on. As it turned out, relatively few made that journey and most had already begun to file out in the direction of the anteroom where the coffee would be served. Within a few minutes, there was only one other person apart from himself left at the front.
He’d arranged things so that he would be the only one accompanying the coffin to the grave and that that should happen whilst everyone was partaking of the refreshments. Several kinfolk had expressed surprise and were even angry that they couldn’t see her put in the ground but he’d dismissed their objections with a curt statement that it had been one of her stipulations. Besides, how many of them had bothered to visit her in the last years, none, to the best of his knowledge? It was both irritating and distracting then, that this particular old man was still hanging around. Arjan glared at him but he either didn’t see, or was ignoring it and followed the small procession of coffin bearers, priest and Arjan out of the building at a discreet distance and along the pathways between the graves. Irrationally annoyed at his arrangements being thwarted, Arjan kept glancing over his shoulder to find the man still there, head down and following at an even pace, it was clear he intended to come to the grave side.
As the coffin was gently lowered into the prepared earth and the priest was about to begin the necessary prayers and last blessing, Arjan couldn’t stand it any longer. He asked the priest to wait for a minute and strode over to where the man was standing.
“Excuse me but this is a private part of the service. If you go back to the building, you’ll find refreshments are provided.”
The man lifted his head and looked at him, a slight sneer on his face. He had a full head of white hair and watery blue eyes behind rimless glasses and although Arjan couldn’t place him, he had the feeling that he should know who he was. One thing was for sure; he disliked him on sight.
“I’m entitled to be here Arjan; just as much as you. You don’t know me but you should. I’m your father.”
Arjan stood there speechless. As far as he knew, his father had left his mother when he was two or three. He had no memories at all of the man but hated the very thought that he was here. If he’d been mentioned at all and that was seldom, his mother had always talked of him as an adulterer and a liar. He’d questioned his aunt several times in his teenage years when he’d felt it was important to know but she had been equally tight-lipped and would tell him very little. The fact that the man was here, now, standing and claiming his rights enraged him. He wanted to hit out, to yell. This was not the time or the place to be confronted with the past.
“Leave; right now! Turn around and don’t come back. You’re not wanted here.”
His voice trembled as he spoke but through pure anger and not emotion and he could feel his knees trembling.
“I’ve every right to be here,” the man repeated, “and I’ve no intention of leaving. Things need to be said between you and me.”
The priest coughed politely, embarrassed at the confrontation that was building before his eyes and Arjan turned towards him.
“Please continue.”
Inwardly, he was raging. He’d never been so angry and the priest’s slightly hurried prayers passed him by as he tried to make sense of what had happened. What was he here for? What did he have to say? Was he after the inheritance? Well, there was little point in fighting over that, there was little enough, most of her money having gone towards the costs of her care in the last few years. Most of all, Arjan was furious that his plans had gone awry. He could keep everything under control providing he stayed in control. Up to now, everything had gone according to plan and he’d been looking forward to getting back to town and getting drunk or laid, whichever came first. He could deal with his mother’s death, like he dealt with everything remotely unpleasant; by filing it away and he never liked surprises.
He had planned to say goodbye to his mother; to say something at least, when everyone was gone and he was left alone beside the grave but to do that required privacy and that he was now being denied. Tight-lipped, he waited until the grave had been filled in and the flowers lain on top of the rough earth. The marble headstone and grave boundaries were coming later; there was no point in waiting for those, yet still he waited. After thanking the priest who, recognising a blank soul, merely patted him on the shoulder and left, he stood, hands clasped behind his back and willed the unwelcome visitor to disappear.
“You’ll have to talk to me sooner or later son.”
“Don’t call me son!” he hissed, “I’m not your son and you’re not my father, end of story. She wouldn’t want you here; I don’t want you here. What are you still doing here?”
“It’s clear to me there’s so much you don’t know. We both need to fill in the gaps and I’m not leaving until we at least start doing that.”
The older man’s voice had become stronger, less entreating and more demanding. Arjan could hear himself in that voice and for the first time, he really looked at his father. What he saw was a disturbing mirror image of himself, someone determined, pig-headed and obstinate; someone who could match him in a battle of wills. However, as someone who never gave way, never compromised, he was damned if he was going to do it now.
“Fuck you!”
An inner voice heard his mother’s rebuke even at her graveside but he didn’t care. She couldn’t hurt him now and neither could this man, no matter who he was and he buttoned his jacket and prepared to leave. As he turned, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Arjan was at his coolest and most calculating as he swung his fist and felt the satisfaction of meeting the right spot. With shivers running through his whole body, he strode off, not giving a second glance to the figure, crumpled and bleeding and slumped over the newly dug earth. Wrenching open the door of his BMW, he got in, started up and drove off at high speed, scattering gravel over the first mourners emerging from the church.
Jacco watched from the recesses of a darkened corner as Wil and Ruud rampaged through the darkroom calling his name. He didn’t know whether to laugh or to be angry; he was in any case, too far gone to rationalise it. His state of euphoria was such that everything seemed to be happening in a slightly different dimension. All he did know was that he seemed to have swapped one sort of control for another and he hated the humiliation that it brought. There would have to be changes but not now, not in public and certainly not here in his newfound sanctuary. Apart from anything else, he hadn’t finished having fun tonight. He would wait until they’d gone and then rejoin his new friends, his new audience, who could give him more than enough of the attention he craved. They were persistent though, he had to give them that and when Wil darted into the area in which he was hiding, a place almost completely devoid of light, he dropped to his knees behind an entwined couple and quietly giggling to himself, toyed with whatever flesh he found there. It crossed his mind that here was an opportunity to gain some revenge. Would Wil know who was unzipping him and more interestingly, would he be able to resist? It would give Jacco the perfect opportunity to leave a bite mark or two; that would teach him! The thought was tempting but not worth the risk of discovery, so he let his landlord pass him by and watched as he and Ruud muttered to each other outside in the light. He could see by their body language that they were baffled; they’d be gone soon. Waiting another ten minutes or so until he was sure, he allowed himself to be explored and explored in return. Usually, his anonymous partner would discover his lack of genital prowess and quickly lose interest but Jacco didn’t mind; he’d learned there were more ways to skin a cat and that he could get intense pleasure out of giving pleasure. The unseen contacts in the darkrooms were making him an expert in the use of his body and he couldn’t get enough of it. The only problem and it wasn’t a problem to Jacco was that in order to release his inhibitions, he needed to be drunk or stoned or both. He didn’t dare allow himself to use his intellect to analyse what he did. Sober he was shy and reluctant, his conscience telling him things he didn’t want to hear. Sober, he was full of self-disgust and loathing, both for himself and the creatures with whom he played but after plenty of beer, or spirits and the occasional pill or joint, his baser side came to the fore and he was able to blot out the outside world and the trappings of his upbringing and succumb to unfettered physical pleasure. He’d quickly learned how to get what he needed for free and how to feed his growing physical addictions and he was popular, amazingly popular and that pleased him the most.
The darkroom was an area in many ways, of sensory deprivation and he had no idea what time it was when he decided he’d had enough and stumbled up into the bar. He needed a drink and sat on a stool to remove his shoe and recover his money from where it had been safely stashed. It was too late and he was too tired to try to beg a drink from someone, nor was he any more in the mood for those sorts of games. He ordered a Coke and slumped in a corner, the buzz of the last hour or so rapidly wearing off. There were still some people around but it was approaching closing time and most had moved onto other bars with later opening hours. He tried to clear the fuzziness in his head so that he could decide what to do. It was nearly two and he realised that if he went home now, there was every chance of Wil and Ruud being there to greet him; better move on somewhere else then, for another couple of hours until they were sure to be asleep. He’d face them, later if he had to but he wanted to be rested first. Without any enthusiasm at all, he made his way out into the street, where the cool air made him feel dizzy and suddenly very tired. He wished he’d scored an E, or Speed, or something to keep him going. There was still time. Maybe if he went to Arjan’s bar he’d find someone.
“Franck was very drunk.”
Ruud was exhausted both physically and mentally and slumped in the chair as Wil paced around the room.
“I know but it’s not like Franck to say something like that unless he was sure.”
“Well he’s only seen Jacco once, maybe twice, maybe he saw someone who looked like him. The light plays tricks on you down there; it would be easy to make a mistake.”
“I don’t know, it just doesn’t fit. I have a gut feeling that he was there and we missed him somehow, or he saw us coming and hid. I mean, what would you do if you were a nineteen year old about to be discovered by your fairy godmothers. We weren’t exactly discreet?”
“We were angry. We had every right to be. You think we handled it badly then?”
Wil finally sat down and buried his face in his hands, the strain etched on his face, his eyes sunken and dark rimmed.
“We went charging in there like bulls in a china shop, screaming our tits off and generally making a complete exhibition of ourselves; yes we handled it badly, we really fucked up. Would you have come out of hiding to face the music in front of all those people? No, nor would I. I think Franck saw him alright. I mean it’s nearly three o’clock in the morning, where is he?”
“I’m wrecked. I don’t think I can keep my eyes open for much longer. This’ll have to wait until I’ve had my eight hours. I’m going to bed, are you coming?”
“I suppose so. Christ, the perils of parenthood! Who’d have kids these days?”
The two of them lay in bed, so tired that sleep was elusive.
“Are you still awake?”
“Yes goddamit! My head’s spinning. I’m getting too old for all this and to think, the action will still be going on in some bars and dark rooms; I don’t know where they get their energy from.”
“It was certainly busy down there.”
”God Ruud, is it really twenty years ago that I first explored that dark room?”
”It’s not changed a bit has it? I’d hate to be the one cleaning it in the daylight.”
“There’s never any daylight there.”
”Well, okay, you know what I mean; with the lights on.”
God yes, talk about the muck of ages. It’s like an underground purgatory.”
”It reminds me of a sort of Western corral, you know like in the films. All those wooden pillars and rails. Not to mention the potential for undiscovered life forms in the nooks and crannies.”
“Cockroaches and rats probably.”
Ruud shuddered. He’d never been a dark room aficionado. For one thing, he felt uncomfortable having sex in public and he preferred to talk for a couple of minutes at least before hands were laid on flesh. He’d done it of course. Many people had. It was a sort of rite of passage in the gay world and in many ways, he didn’t blame Jacco for doing exactly the same thing but knowledge is a terrible conscience pricker. He worried about disease and degeneration, moral degeneration. It struck him as highly hypocritical to worry about Jacco’s moral development but he couldn’t help it. Christ, the boy was young and handsome and intelligent; he deserved better than the anonymous couplings of the darkroom. He should be meeting people his own age, people unsullied by the seedier side of gay life. He should be falling in love and setting up house together and breaking up and meeting someone else. Why wasn’t he interested in romance and lifestyles and Judy Garland? Well, perhaps not Judy Garland but there must be an equivalent gay icon in the modern youth culture. Dark rooms and hard sex are fine if that’s the choice you’ve made after having lived a little but to be addicted at his age…it didn’t bear thinking about.
“We’ve got to do something Wil, we’ve just got to. We can’t just let him slide into the cesspit until he’s seen some of the better things in life. Wil?”
The gentle snoring from the other side of the bed told him his words had fallen on deaf ears and he lay back and tried to relax but it was some time before sleep rescued him from his worries.
Arjan wrenched the darts from the board, took three or four paces back and hurled them one by one back into the target. He did this repeatedly, not caring about scores, or if they thudded into the woodwork instead; the action of spearing his ghosts was enough. His whole psyche and ordered existence was being threatened; first by his mother’s long awaited death and then by the reappearance of a long forgotten father and he felt his grip on events slipping away. It was simple really; Arjan decided what should happen in his life and had been very successful in doing so until now. He liked logic in his everyday affairs; he liked different things to satisfy different needs and arranged his activities to suit. Certain meals, certain TV programmes, particular books read again and again, selected people to call friends, a lowest-figure income every month, regular exercise, regular sex; everything satisfied a need and filled in a blank. Even fitting the fortnightly visits to the nursing home into his agenda had fulfilled the tiny part of his personality that required him to care. Above all, he prided himself on his self-sufficiency. He didn’t need anyone else and nobody progressed beyond his emotional defences, or even got close unless he specifically wanted them to and as yet, he hadn’t felt the need. Now this man had turned up out of the blue. Make no mistake; Arjan didn’t give a shit about him or the fact that he was now his closest blood relative. What worried him was the unknown, the history, the things he didn’t know and thus had no control over. There was potential for surprise with this man and that scared Arjan beyond words.
Finally exhausted from throwing darts, he poured himself a large scotch and then another and another.
‘Forget the bastard; with any luck I’ll never see him again,’ he thought, fearing the opposite. The drink wasn’t having the desired effect; it wasn’t dulling the senses, as it should. He stripped off his funeral clothes and stuffed them unfolded, into a bin bag that he threw in the back of the cupboard. Standing naked in front of the mirror, he checked himself over before stepping into the shower.
‘I need sex, good sex,’ he decided. ‘I’ll go to the club and pick out a couple of boys.’
Despite his tiredness, Jacco had picked out a suitable candidate to keep him going and was busy plying him with compliments in order to get what he wanted. He was a particularly oily type, with hair slicked back and tied in a ponytail. Not too old but to Jacco, distinctly unattractive, with his fake tan, fleshy lips and pockmarked skin. He had seen him in the bar a few times and from what he could gather, he was also a bar owner but Jacco was pretty sure had a regular supply of drugs and thus was worth the effort.
“I can give you half an E, that’s all but these things don’t come cheap you know.”
By the way he arched his eyebrows and leered, Jacco had a pretty good idea of the price he was expected to pay but he was learning not to be that easy.
“You don’t think I’m going to sleep with you for half a miserable E do you? Listen, forget it, I only wanted something to keep going; what do you think I am?”
“No need to get upset kiddo. Look here’s the E. It’s a freebie, I can’t say fairer than that can I?”
Jacco turned away and swallowed the tablet, which got stuck in his throat. He grabbed his drink and washed it down.
“There, that’s better isn’t it; doesn’t take long to work. Hey, I’m going on to a club from here; why don’t you come along? Just for company, no strings attached. I like you kiddo; you’re a good laugh. How about it?”
Jacco looked around the bar; it suddenly looked sleazy and late night. Those who were left were showing distinct signs of wear and the barmen were sour-faced and ready for closing time.
“Yeah, okay. This place is dead. What’s this club called?”
“It’s called ‘Young and Single?’ and it goes on until the last people leave. Are you ready then?”
Jacco followed the man whose name he still didn’t know, out of the bar into the street. There were still plenty of people around, reflecting Amsterdam’s wandering night population and the fact that the temperature, even at that time of the morning, was still warm enough to walk in shirtsleeves.
Arjan’s frustration was reaching boiling point. The boy he’d chosen was unresponsive and reluctant to play, so he’d thrown him out and picked another but this one, an oriental, was too submissive, begging for more of the slaps that he was only too willing to give. He wanted resistance that he could overcome; this kid was a doormat and there was no satisfaction to be had. He left the room; with it’s double bed, mirrors, sink unit and tacky drapes and marched downstairs.
“Johnny, I’ve sacked one and can’t stand the other. Is this the best you’ve got? Christ, there are twenty boys on our books; surely there’s some quality amongst them?”
Johnny turned the book round so that Arjan could see it.
”Sorry boss but three are off sick and the others are all busy with clients as you can see. If you hang around a bit, I’m sure we can find you something decent. Four or five of them should be down soon. If you’d given me some warning, I could have reserved someone for you. This one, for instance, Greg, he’s English and cute and I’m sure he’d be your type. He’s with a German guy at the moment but I’ll make sure you get him when he’s finished.”
“Fuck that! I don’t want someone who’s already been used three or four times. What’s the point of owning a club like this if you can’t use the facilities? Oh never mind, he’ll have to do I suppose. Let me know when he’s free. I’ll be in the back room. Give me a scotch; a double.”
Johnny knew better than to argue when Arjan was in this mood and watched as his employer went through the door into the lounge area.
‘Dangerous that one; he’ll get himself locked up. He’ll snap one day. Absolute certainty.’
Holding that thought, he went back to drying the rows of glasses by the sink.
It took a few moments before Jacco realised exactly what sort of club this was. The ponytail had bought drinks and they were sat at a table in an alcove. Behind them were various wall paintings of naked boys carousing in semi classical scenes and above the bar were photos of other boys in various pouting poses.
“What is this place?” he asked pretty sure of the answer.
“It’s a boy’s club, you know? A place where people can meet boys and for a price, ‘be entertained’. You don’t have to worry; they know me here. You can bring guests as well. It’s a real high-class clientele, businessmen, film stars, politicians. Hey, I don’t even know your name. I’m Christiaan, Chris to my friends and you are…?”
“Uh, Jacco.”
If this Chris thought that he was going to be impressed by the sort of people who came here, he was sadly mistaken but there was something about the place that fascinated Jacco. He was alert and felt alive. He wanted to know more.
“So, is this it? I don’t see many boys.”
In truth, there was only one other apart from himself and that was a dejected looking Asian guy sat at the bar, hunched over a drink.
“Oh God no. Through that door is the lounge; very nice; very tastefully decorated. There’s a small bar in there too. We can go through if you like? Then through that curtain there are the stairs and they lead to what they call ‘relax rooms’. They all have a different theme. There’s something here for everyone you know. It’s a great place to come after the bars; you can really enjoy yourself in comfort. There’s showers and Jacuzzis, everything. Maybe we can try them out later…if you want that is?”
Jacco most certainly didn’t want, not with this Chris in any case. In this light, he looked older than he’d thought and while that normally didn’t put Jacco off if there was something to be gained from it, there was something really unpleasant about the guy; a sort of ‘dirtiness’ he couldn’t put his finger on but didn’t want to find out. A tall guy came in and the Asian boy at the bar, changed like a chameleon. From sullen boredom, he transformed into a smiling, confident attraction with flashing eyes and a come-hither look.
Jacco suggested going through to the lounge and Chris agreed. He was convinced he could get this kid in the mood and after a few more drinks, get him to bed. The thought almost made him salivate; a tasty bit of stuff this one.
The lounge wasn’t very busy; two men in suits with bellies hanging over their belts chatting to each other and an open-shirted Arabic type, with a young boy draped across the arm of his chair, twiddling his chest hairs and giggling. Jacco found the man very attractive but the boy looked so young.
“How old do you have to be to work here?” he whispered to Chris.
“All the boys on the books have to be at least eighteen.”
He smiled and winked.
“But expensive people have expensive tastes, if you get my drift?”
Jacco didn’t hear him. The man with his back to them at the tiny bar looked very familiar. He turned and Jacco’s heart gave a little leap.
“Well, well, well. Look what the cat’s dragged in. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Jacco lay back on the bed breathless as Arjan pulled on his pants. Chris had been quickly dismissed as Arjan made his intentions clear and had left muttering under his breath about, ‘cock-teasers’ and ‘time wasters’ and Jacco had revelled in yet another example of Arjan’s apparent power. His skin glowed and stung and he was sore but it had been worth it. He couldn’t imagine sex could be any better. This was the third time with Arjan and every time, the sensations were more acute. He looked at himself and imagined he could see every pore of his body open and throbbing. He wanted more and reached out to tug at Arjan’s belt.
“So, keen are you? You’re a little wild cat when you get going. You like this don’t you boy? You like this a lot. You’ve got potential but you’re getting no more from me tonight; good things are always waiting for. You’ll get your chance again I dare say; when I feel like it. Meanwhile, I’ve got a little proposition for you. You don’t need to answer straight away. Take some time; think it over but I guarantee, I can make it worth your while.”
Jacco writhed on the satin sheets. Whatever it was, he would agree, if only he could persuade Arjan to make love to him again.
“How would you like to work for me, in the club? You’ll get your own small apartment in a house not far from here. You’ll get a regular salary; a good one; with tips and although I can’t guarantee you a pension plan, it’s a good job. If you’re good at it and to me; I’ll be good to you and you can take it from me, I never go back on my word.”
He began unbuckling his belt.
Jacco never doubted it, nor had any hesitation. It was the answer to all his current problems.
“When can I start?”
19. Tinnie’s tangled love life
“Did you ever catch a butterfly?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, when you see it on a wall, or a flower or something, with its wings closed and you catch it between your finger and thumb?”
”Yes, I suppose I must have done, why?”
“What did you do with it then?”
“I let it go I suppose. I still don’t understand why you’re asking though.”
Tinnie lay on the softest bed she’d ever known: on top of a white duvet, over white cotton sheets and white pillows. The windows were open and the gentlest of evening breezes ruffled the floor length net curtains and drifted over the bed, cooling her skin. Apart from a towel around her waist, she was naked. Amália sat beside her in a loose robe and circled Tinnie’s nipples languorously with the tips of her fingernails.
“We’ve all done it, caught the butterfly and felt that powdery dust from its wings but don’t you see, it’s the cruellest of tortures. The butterfly may fly away but it only lives for a short while. When we touch it like that, we damage it, tear away its scales and what have we gained? We don’t see it in its full glory because we’re clamping its wings together but it’s so hard to resist; catching the butterfly.”
Enjoying the shivers running down her spine, Tinnie stretched languorously and thought of butterflies.
“I had one land on the back of my hand once; it was a Red Admiral and it was so beautiful and delicate and it opened and closed its wings as if it was doing its morning exercises you know; then it flew off.”
“I don’t want you to be the damaged butterfly Tinnie.”
“You do say some strange things Amália. Why should I be damaged? Actually, I think I was damaged years ago. I’m by no means the fragile specimen you think I am you know.”
“I’m worried…oh, it doesn’t matter.”
”What? What are you worried about? Don’t worry about me; I’m one of life’s natural survivors.”
“I have a habit of hurting the people I become involved with. I don’t mean to but I am a very intense person and very demanding; it is my Romany blood I think and I have passionate, fiery love affairs but they sometimes burn themselves out very quickly and…and people get hurt and of course my ultimate loyalty is to Ramon and people get jealous and…”
“Now just hold on a minute…”
Tinnie grasped Amália’s hand, partly to stop the flow and partly to stop her wandering and extremely distracting fingers.
“…Listen Amália, I like you very much and could possibly get to like you even more but I haven’t decided if I want anything more yet and anyway, I wouldn’t start an affaire with you without first being sure I knew exactly what I was getting myself into. You make yourself sound like a Black Widow spider, which eats her mate after making love. Frankly, if you don’t mind me saying so, you’re laying it on a bit thick. Okay, you come over as exotic and colourful but aren’t you taking the stage act just a bit too far? I mean, the whole passionate and explosive gypsy thing; the Latin temperament and the predictions of doom and gloom; it’s all bullshit really isn’t it? I wasn’t born yesterday and despite the fact that I may look the innocent, I can assure you that I’m ace at looking after number one. Now, see, you’re doing it again, the pained expressions and the arched eyebrows! Look, as far as I’m concerned, you’re a very attractive, mature woman; note I said ‘mature’ and not old; and I find you really interesting and I might add, pretty fantastic to make love to but and it’s a big but, I’ve no intentions of committing myself to anything until we get to know each other better. Now if I really have hurt your feelings and that expression isn’t just wounded pride and you won’t want to see me again, I’m sorry but I had to say it.”
Amália’s head was down and that extraordinary hair hid her face. Tinnie reached up and stroked her cheek.
“I’m not a bullshitter Amália. What you see is what you get but never make assumptions about me, ‘cos I’ll soon put you right.”
Tinnie felt pleased with herself. From the very beginning Amália had played a certain role and to Tinnie’s slight discomfort, a mildly dominant one and all the crap about comparing her to a butterfly, actually did her the favour of deflating the infatuation and revealing the reality. She liked Amália as a woman and was sure she could gain a lot from an association with her but she was determined that if this was going anywhere, she wanted to start off on an equal footing. Actually, from that moment of clarity, she began to lose interest. She was at the point that if the gamble of straight speaking worked against her, then so be it. Life was too short for playing games.
“I wonder if you really understand me Tinnie. I don’t play games. If I commit to someone in a physical sense, it is wholehearted and complete but there is always a risk that it may be short-lived. For me passion and intensity are everything; they make life interesting and exciting but passion is a time bomb with a short fuse. I can’t offer you anything long-term because Ramon takes up that part of my life. He is the ground I walk on, whereas love affairs are when I can fly, though, like all flying creatures I need to return to earth to survive.”
Tinnie pulled the towel further up her body. Suddenly the cooling breeze became intrusive.
“No, I understand you all too well but you don’t understand me at all. What makes you think I want a long-term commitment? I find it pretty arrogant of you to think that I would want to go to the trouble of not only holding on to a love affair but fighting the presence of a husband and possible other lovers as well. What do you think I am? You think I’m infatuated don’t you and you’re trying to warn me that it will all end in tears? Well, the problem with projecting things into the future is that they have never happened yet and I think you’ve underestimated my common sense and over rated your own attractiveness as a potential partner. Do you honestly think I would want to take a risk on someone with so much emotional baggage? Shit man, life’s far to short. Now if you don’t mind, I think I’ll go now. It was nice but what started off as simple has suddenly become far too complicated and I think it would be better if we left it at this don’t you?”
Amália reacted more quickly than Tinnie had expected and she suddenly found herself pinned back on the bed. Straddled and aware of the reawakened sexual interest in her partner, she laughed.
“Fuck Amália, you get off on this don’t you! It’s all part of the game. Well, sorry but I’m not interested anymore.”
With that, she extricated herself from the arms of her deflated suitor and gathering what dignity she could, quickly dressed and prepared to leave.
“You’ll be back.”
Tinnie cast one more glance at the still smouldering body on the bed and walked out.
“Don’t bank on it babe.”
Later that evening, on Marcel’s couch, she gave a deep sigh as she finished the story.
“Can you believe it; the arrogance of the woman?”
Marcel looked at his friend; her face flushed and twisted in frustration. Once again, he was reminded of a featherless bird, or Woodstock from the Snoopy cartoons. There were times when Tinnie could look angelic and irresistible and even from his point of view, attractive. Now, she just looked asexual; neither man nor woman, girl or boy: hair sticking out at all angles, sloppy T-shirt and patched jeans; a cross-legged bundle of contradictions.
“Are you sure she’s not got to you? Seems to me you doth protest too much milady. Is she right? Will you go back for more?”
“No way, no…well maybe…no, definitely not! I was attracted; I am attracted but dammit all Marcel, the woman carries too much baggage. You know me; I like to keep it simple, that way I can stay in control a bit. This one likes to dominate, both physically and emotionally and I can’t cope with it…I can’t, don’t look at me like that; I’m just not prepared to give up my independence for a married woman; however gay she likes to play.”
“Well I can understand that. You are a bit of a free spirit Tin; it would be like clipping the wings of a rare bird.”
“Oh, you do say the nicest things.”
Tinnie giggled and thumped him.
“Anyway, you haven’t told me about Onno. What happened there?”
Marcel hissed through his teeth and forced himself to laugh.
“Oh God, yet another disaster to add to my growing back-catalogue. The problem is, the story follows much the same lines as yours and the moral is: never get involved with married people.”
”What! He isn’t married! No, I don’t believe it!”
“No, not married in the traditional sense; to a woman that is.”
Marcel was feeling the effects of the bottle of wine they’d shared and couldn’t get his words out properly.
“Actually, he isn’t married in the gay sense either but he is seeing someone else.”
“The rat! It’s a good job you found him out then, before you got too involved.”
”Yeah, I suppose so but the trouble is, I so wanted it to work. I really liked him you know. He’s intellectually stimulating as well as damned attractive and I could still have a sort of relationship with him…so he says…but without sex and therefore, without commitment. Well fuck that for a lark; this girl’s been around the block far too many times to waste my time with those sorts of games.”
“You’re sad aren’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”
“Hmm, if you say so. You know the funny thing is, when I confronted him, he couldn’t see what the fuss was about; didn’t deny it or anything and more or less made me out to be a drama queen. I don’t think he could get his head around my infatuation; he couldn’t understand it. He thought I liked a different type of man and he said he thought I understood what he liked. He’d assumed we were on the same wavelength. To be honest, I got the impression he had expected something from me but I haven’t got a clue what! I don’t know, I must have got it all wrong. After all, he’d made absolutely no promises; we’d had no sex, just pleasant socialising. I never thought to ask if there was someone else. I just assumed that, like me, if he was flirting and starting to see someone, he’d automatically be free.”
Tinnie laughed and patted his knee.
“Far be it from me to act maternal but weren’t you just being a tad naïve Marcel? I mean, all relationships are a mess these days and far more complex than they used to be. Look at non-gay people…”
She used her favourite phrase for heterosexuals.
“…the nuclear family is virtually dead and buried. Look at the divorce rate. And as for gays and lesbians…well…one plus one definitely doesn’t necessarily make two anymore does it? As a gay man, you of all people should know that.”
“Oh call me old-fashioned but I still believe that if you’re with someone, you’re with that person and that person alone and not sharing with Tom and Dick and Harry as well. I can barely cope with my own sorry existence without the idea of multi-faceted relationships on top. Anyway, you’re a fine one to talk! You can’t do it either.”
“Yeah but mine’s not only more than one person but it’s more than one sex as well and that really turns me off.”
“We’re a right pair aren’t we? I reckon we’ll have to end up marrying each other to find any happiness.”
“Oh, yuk! Don’t be disgusting; it’d be like incest! Marrying my mother? God forbid!”
“Cheeky cow! Tell you what, do you want to open another bottle and drown our sorrows. Shall I put on some music?”
”Thought you’d never ask. As long as it’s not Leonard Cohen again; I’m not ready to slit my wrists yet!”
Conversation faded, as the two of them slouched on Marcel’s leather settees, retired into their own thoughts and slowly descended into inebriation. Marcel looked around the room in the gloom of the late evening. He hadn’t put any lights on and the cobalt light of dusk seeping through the open windows, gave the room a melancholy atmosphere. He hadn’t decorated for years, or changed his furniture or décor in any way and it suddenly struck him that maybe a change of environment could signal a change of fortunes generally. He tried to imagine a new colour scheme, with a few new bits and pieces from Ikea but the effort was too much like hard work on such a sultry evening. The sound of the trams trundling along in the distance, occasionally interspersed with warning clangs and the general hum of the city, acted as a sort of security blanket, along with the familiar shape of the room. Was he resistant to change? No, he didn’t think so. Did he have the energy to make incursions into the future? Christ yes! He wasn’t that old but at that moment, senses anaesthetised by drink, disappointments and a depressing lack of love in his life, he really couldn’t be bothered. He glanced over at Tinnie, her legs hung over the edge of the sofa, her bare feet tapping the heat-laden air in time to the music and her eyes closed.
‘It doesn’t matter how old or young you are,’ he thought, ‘life’s a bitch and you just have to get through it as best you can.’
As if reading his thoughts, she suddenly muttered,
“It’s not as bad as all that you know; we have our health, we have a roof over our heads, food to eat, enough friends and most of all, each other.”
“Get out of my head you sentimental old softy. You’re right of course, though I can’t help praying to whatever gods are around at the moment, for just a touch of luck in the old love department now and then. Is that too much to ask?”
“If you’re a woman with three starving kids and no husband in a village in Ethiopia, or India or somewhere, it is. It’s all a question of priorities.”
“Tinnie, I’m too pissed to put the world to rights tonight. Please don’t get onto your sociological soap box, my brain won’t function on any higher plane than whether I’ll get to work tomorrow or not.”
“Fuck work Marcel. You’re taking tomorrow off and we’re going to the allotment. We need a bit of organic therapy.”
“Easy for you to say; some of us need to earn a living.”
She stirred herself enough to throw a cushion at him.
“That was uncalled for; unfair, you are a bitch sometimes.”
He threw the cushion back but it missed and tumbled over the back of the settee, landing between the leaves of his straggling, rubber plant. Tinnie resumed her position and closed her eyes. It would be so easy to drift off into sleep at this point but she was troubled by the nagging thoughts that tugged at her conscience. She should find a job; she knew it. The trouble was, she’d tossed the ideas of work and further education around in her mind for so long, she’d got to the point where neither seemed attractive enough to explore seriously. She managed on her social security but she was aware how much Marcel subsidised her life in those little extra areas that made life worthwhile. It wasn’t much and she knew she gave him a lot in return but nevertheless, she wasn’t as independent as she would have liked and wanted to pay her way a bit more. She decided there and then, to look for work more seriously. Job interviews hadn’t been a success in the past however. She had the wrong image for most employers but had generally been proud of that. It was a life statement. Her attitude was wrong as well though. It was a difficult admission to make but it was true. She invariably gave the impression that she wouldn’t succumb to authority, or take orders, or be a ‘team player’ and she would walk out of yet another unsuccessful interview with her head held high, convinced she’d preserved her individuality and resisted the system but it was slowly dawning on her that independence was a high price to pay in a costly world. She’d seen an advert for a counsellor at a women’s collective in the Bijlmer, with on-the-job training. That sounded like a challenge and she determined to go for it, without any of the normal preconditions that she laid on employers’ desks. It wouldn’t be tomorrow though. Tomorrow, she was going to the allotment; she wanted to see if she could bring home a box of homegrown strawberries to impress Marcel with.
The music had ended and forcing her eyes open, she looked over at him. As with so many of these precious times in the past, he’d fallen asleep. She could see his eyelids moving as dreams began to form and succumbing to the effects of the wine, let her head sink heavily into the cushion and prepared to join him.
The peace was shattered by the stridency of the phone.
“Yeah… hello... Marcel van Ommen.”
Tinnie’s eyes stayed closed as the conversation drifted in and out of her consciousness.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea do you… no really…no I can’t tomorrow. I’m going to the allotment with Tinnie…this is getting far too complicated…what’s the point, you’re involved with someone else….I can’t do this…it’s not fair on me, or the other guy…what do you mean…what do you think I can provide for you…you do? Oh come on, I wasn’t born yesterday…and you expect me to believe that do you…I’m not sure…well, I suppose one meeting can’t do any harm but…alright…yes, okay…Saturday? I don’t know…okay see you then… Bye.”
“Was that who I think it was?” she mumbled, sleepily.
“Yep.”
“Is that it? ‘Yep?’ You’re seeing him again aren’t you?”
“Yep.”
“Well, be it on your own head my friend. I hope you know what…”
The electronic tones of her own mobile interrupted her intended lecture and made them both jump. It had been a gift from Marcel but she rarely used it; wary of costs and wary of losing the damned thing. She’d only given her number to a select few people but she had a pretty good idea who this was…it was almost inevitable.
“Where is it? Where the hell is it? Help me find it Marcel.”
“It’s on your belt Dumbo; where it always is. Now answer the fucking thing; that noise is driving me mad!”
He was laughing at her, eyebrows exaggeratedly raised and she knew, he knew who it was too.
“Hello?”
She answered cautiously and gestured at Marcel to shut up as he shouted that it wouldn’t bite.
“Yes…”
She couldn’t help it; she wasn’t intentionally trying to hide anything from Marcel but she took the phone and walked out onto the balcony.
He watched as her body language betrayed her discomfort and understood completely the inward struggles she was having as gradually, she was worn down. Coming back in a few moments later, she was flushed.
“Don’t say it. Don’t say a fucking word!”
It was clear they both had a date that weekend.
“Did you ever catch a butterfly?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, when you see it on a wall, or a flower or something, with its wings closed and you catch it between your finger and thumb?”
”Yes, I suppose I must have done, why?”
“What did you do with it then?”
“I let it go I suppose. I still don’t understand why you’re asking though.”
Tinnie lay on the softest bed she’d ever known: on top of a white duvet, over white cotton sheets and white pillows. The windows were open and the gentlest of evening breezes ruffled the floor length net curtains and drifted over the bed, cooling her skin. Apart from a towel around her waist, she was naked. Amália sat beside her in a loose robe and circled Tinnie’s nipples languorously with the tips of her fingernails.
“We’ve all done it, caught the butterfly and felt that powdery dust from its wings but don’t you see, it’s the cruellest of tortures. The butterfly may fly away but it only lives for a short while. When we touch it like that, we damage it, tear away its scales and what have we gained? We don’t see it in its full glory because we’re clamping its wings together but it’s so hard to resist; catching the butterfly.”
Enjoying the shivers running down her spine, Tinnie stretched languorously and thought of butterflies.
“I had one land on the back of my hand once; it was a Red Admiral and it was so beautiful and delicate and it opened and closed its wings as if it was doing its morning exercises you know; then it flew off.”
“I don’t want you to be the damaged butterfly Tinnie.”
“You do say some strange things Amália. Why should I be damaged? Actually, I think I was damaged years ago. I’m by no means the fragile specimen you think I am you know.”
“I’m worried…oh, it doesn’t matter.”
”What? What are you worried about? Don’t worry about me; I’m one of life’s natural survivors.”
“I have a habit of hurting the people I become involved with. I don’t mean to but I am a very intense person and very demanding; it is my Romany blood I think and I have passionate, fiery love affairs but they sometimes burn themselves out very quickly and…and people get hurt and of course my ultimate loyalty is to Ramon and people get jealous and…”
“Now just hold on a minute…”
Tinnie grasped Amália’s hand, partly to stop the flow and partly to stop her wandering and extremely distracting fingers.
“…Listen Amália, I like you very much and could possibly get to like you even more but I haven’t decided if I want anything more yet and anyway, I wouldn’t start an affaire with you without first being sure I knew exactly what I was getting myself into. You make yourself sound like a Black Widow spider, which eats her mate after making love. Frankly, if you don’t mind me saying so, you’re laying it on a bit thick. Okay, you come over as exotic and colourful but aren’t you taking the stage act just a bit too far? I mean, the whole passionate and explosive gypsy thing; the Latin temperament and the predictions of doom and gloom; it’s all bullshit really isn’t it? I wasn’t born yesterday and despite the fact that I may look the innocent, I can assure you that I’m ace at looking after number one. Now, see, you’re doing it again, the pained expressions and the arched eyebrows! Look, as far as I’m concerned, you’re a very attractive, mature woman; note I said ‘mature’ and not old; and I find you really interesting and I might add, pretty fantastic to make love to but and it’s a big but, I’ve no intentions of committing myself to anything until we get to know each other better. Now if I really have hurt your feelings and that expression isn’t just wounded pride and you won’t want to see me again, I’m sorry but I had to say it.”
Amália’s head was down and that extraordinary hair hid her face. Tinnie reached up and stroked her cheek.
“I’m not a bullshitter Amália. What you see is what you get but never make assumptions about me, ‘cos I’ll soon put you right.”
Tinnie felt pleased with herself. From the very beginning Amália had played a certain role and to Tinnie’s slight discomfort, a mildly dominant one and all the crap about comparing her to a butterfly, actually did her the favour of deflating the infatuation and revealing the reality. She liked Amália as a woman and was sure she could gain a lot from an association with her but she was determined that if this was going anywhere, she wanted to start off on an equal footing. Actually, from that moment of clarity, she began to lose interest. She was at the point that if the gamble of straight speaking worked against her, then so be it. Life was too short for playing games.
“I wonder if you really understand me Tinnie. I don’t play games. If I commit to someone in a physical sense, it is wholehearted and complete but there is always a risk that it may be short-lived. For me passion and intensity are everything; they make life interesting and exciting but passion is a time bomb with a short fuse. I can’t offer you anything long-term because Ramon takes up that part of my life. He is the ground I walk on, whereas love affairs are when I can fly, though, like all flying creatures I need to return to earth to survive.”
Tinnie pulled the towel further up her body. Suddenly the cooling breeze became intrusive.
“No, I understand you all too well but you don’t understand me at all. What makes you think I want a long-term commitment? I find it pretty arrogant of you to think that I would want to go to the trouble of not only holding on to a love affair but fighting the presence of a husband and possible other lovers as well. What do you think I am? You think I’m infatuated don’t you and you’re trying to warn me that it will all end in tears? Well, the problem with projecting things into the future is that they have never happened yet and I think you’ve underestimated my common sense and over rated your own attractiveness as a potential partner. Do you honestly think I would want to take a risk on someone with so much emotional baggage? Shit man, life’s far to short. Now if you don’t mind, I think I’ll go now. It was nice but what started off as simple has suddenly become far too complicated and I think it would be better if we left it at this don’t you?”
Amália reacted more quickly than Tinnie had expected and she suddenly found herself pinned back on the bed. Straddled and aware of the reawakened sexual interest in her partner, she laughed.
“Fuck Amália, you get off on this don’t you! It’s all part of the game. Well, sorry but I’m not interested anymore.”
With that, she extricated herself from the arms of her deflated suitor and gathering what dignity she could, quickly dressed and prepared to leave.
“You’ll be back.”
Tinnie cast one more glance at the still smouldering body on the bed and walked out.
“Don’t bank on it babe.”
Later that evening, on Marcel’s couch, she gave a deep sigh as she finished the story.
“Can you believe it; the arrogance of the woman?”
Marcel looked at his friend; her face flushed and twisted in frustration. Once again, he was reminded of a featherless bird, or Woodstock from the Snoopy cartoons. There were times when Tinnie could look angelic and irresistible and even from his point of view, attractive. Now, she just looked asexual; neither man nor woman, girl or boy: hair sticking out at all angles, sloppy T-shirt and patched jeans; a cross-legged bundle of contradictions.
“Are you sure she’s not got to you? Seems to me you doth protest too much milady. Is she right? Will you go back for more?”
“No way, no…well maybe…no, definitely not! I was attracted; I am attracted but dammit all Marcel, the woman carries too much baggage. You know me; I like to keep it simple, that way I can stay in control a bit. This one likes to dominate, both physically and emotionally and I can’t cope with it…I can’t, don’t look at me like that; I’m just not prepared to give up my independence for a married woman; however gay she likes to play.”
“Well I can understand that. You are a bit of a free spirit Tin; it would be like clipping the wings of a rare bird.”
“Oh, you do say the nicest things.”
Tinnie giggled and thumped him.
“Anyway, you haven’t told me about Onno. What happened there?”
Marcel hissed through his teeth and forced himself to laugh.
“Oh God, yet another disaster to add to my growing back-catalogue. The problem is, the story follows much the same lines as yours and the moral is: never get involved with married people.”
”What! He isn’t married! No, I don’t believe it!”
“No, not married in the traditional sense; to a woman that is.”
Marcel was feeling the effects of the bottle of wine they’d shared and couldn’t get his words out properly.
“Actually, he isn’t married in the gay sense either but he is seeing someone else.”
“The rat! It’s a good job you found him out then, before you got too involved.”
”Yeah, I suppose so but the trouble is, I so wanted it to work. I really liked him you know. He’s intellectually stimulating as well as damned attractive and I could still have a sort of relationship with him…so he says…but without sex and therefore, without commitment. Well fuck that for a lark; this girl’s been around the block far too many times to waste my time with those sorts of games.”
“You’re sad aren’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”
“Hmm, if you say so. You know the funny thing is, when I confronted him, he couldn’t see what the fuss was about; didn’t deny it or anything and more or less made me out to be a drama queen. I don’t think he could get his head around my infatuation; he couldn’t understand it. He thought I liked a different type of man and he said he thought I understood what he liked. He’d assumed we were on the same wavelength. To be honest, I got the impression he had expected something from me but I haven’t got a clue what! I don’t know, I must have got it all wrong. After all, he’d made absolutely no promises; we’d had no sex, just pleasant socialising. I never thought to ask if there was someone else. I just assumed that, like me, if he was flirting and starting to see someone, he’d automatically be free.”
Tinnie laughed and patted his knee.
“Far be it from me to act maternal but weren’t you just being a tad naïve Marcel? I mean, all relationships are a mess these days and far more complex than they used to be. Look at non-gay people…”
She used her favourite phrase for heterosexuals.
“…the nuclear family is virtually dead and buried. Look at the divorce rate. And as for gays and lesbians…well…one plus one definitely doesn’t necessarily make two anymore does it? As a gay man, you of all people should know that.”
“Oh call me old-fashioned but I still believe that if you’re with someone, you’re with that person and that person alone and not sharing with Tom and Dick and Harry as well. I can barely cope with my own sorry existence without the idea of multi-faceted relationships on top. Anyway, you’re a fine one to talk! You can’t do it either.”
“Yeah but mine’s not only more than one person but it’s more than one sex as well and that really turns me off.”
“We’re a right pair aren’t we? I reckon we’ll have to end up marrying each other to find any happiness.”
“Oh, yuk! Don’t be disgusting; it’d be like incest! Marrying my mother? God forbid!”
“Cheeky cow! Tell you what, do you want to open another bottle and drown our sorrows. Shall I put on some music?”
”Thought you’d never ask. As long as it’s not Leonard Cohen again; I’m not ready to slit my wrists yet!”
Conversation faded, as the two of them slouched on Marcel’s leather settees, retired into their own thoughts and slowly descended into inebriation. Marcel looked around the room in the gloom of the late evening. He hadn’t put any lights on and the cobalt light of dusk seeping through the open windows, gave the room a melancholy atmosphere. He hadn’t decorated for years, or changed his furniture or décor in any way and it suddenly struck him that maybe a change of environment could signal a change of fortunes generally. He tried to imagine a new colour scheme, with a few new bits and pieces from Ikea but the effort was too much like hard work on such a sultry evening. The sound of the trams trundling along in the distance, occasionally interspersed with warning clangs and the general hum of the city, acted as a sort of security blanket, along with the familiar shape of the room. Was he resistant to change? No, he didn’t think so. Did he have the energy to make incursions into the future? Christ yes! He wasn’t that old but at that moment, senses anaesthetised by drink, disappointments and a depressing lack of love in his life, he really couldn’t be bothered. He glanced over at Tinnie, her legs hung over the edge of the sofa, her bare feet tapping the heat-laden air in time to the music and her eyes closed.
‘It doesn’t matter how old or young you are,’ he thought, ‘life’s a bitch and you just have to get through it as best you can.’
As if reading his thoughts, she suddenly muttered,
“It’s not as bad as all that you know; we have our health, we have a roof over our heads, food to eat, enough friends and most of all, each other.”
“Get out of my head you sentimental old softy. You’re right of course, though I can’t help praying to whatever gods are around at the moment, for just a touch of luck in the old love department now and then. Is that too much to ask?”
“If you’re a woman with three starving kids and no husband in a village in Ethiopia, or India or somewhere, it is. It’s all a question of priorities.”
“Tinnie, I’m too pissed to put the world to rights tonight. Please don’t get onto your sociological soap box, my brain won’t function on any higher plane than whether I’ll get to work tomorrow or not.”
“Fuck work Marcel. You’re taking tomorrow off and we’re going to the allotment. We need a bit of organic therapy.”
“Easy for you to say; some of us need to earn a living.”
She stirred herself enough to throw a cushion at him.
“That was uncalled for; unfair, you are a bitch sometimes.”
He threw the cushion back but it missed and tumbled over the back of the settee, landing between the leaves of his straggling, rubber plant. Tinnie resumed her position and closed her eyes. It would be so easy to drift off into sleep at this point but she was troubled by the nagging thoughts that tugged at her conscience. She should find a job; she knew it. The trouble was, she’d tossed the ideas of work and further education around in her mind for so long, she’d got to the point where neither seemed attractive enough to explore seriously. She managed on her social security but she was aware how much Marcel subsidised her life in those little extra areas that made life worthwhile. It wasn’t much and she knew she gave him a lot in return but nevertheless, she wasn’t as independent as she would have liked and wanted to pay her way a bit more. She decided there and then, to look for work more seriously. Job interviews hadn’t been a success in the past however. She had the wrong image for most employers but had generally been proud of that. It was a life statement. Her attitude was wrong as well though. It was a difficult admission to make but it was true. She invariably gave the impression that she wouldn’t succumb to authority, or take orders, or be a ‘team player’ and she would walk out of yet another unsuccessful interview with her head held high, convinced she’d preserved her individuality and resisted the system but it was slowly dawning on her that independence was a high price to pay in a costly world. She’d seen an advert for a counsellor at a women’s collective in the Bijlmer, with on-the-job training. That sounded like a challenge and she determined to go for it, without any of the normal preconditions that she laid on employers’ desks. It wouldn’t be tomorrow though. Tomorrow, she was going to the allotment; she wanted to see if she could bring home a box of homegrown strawberries to impress Marcel with.
The music had ended and forcing her eyes open, she looked over at him. As with so many of these precious times in the past, he’d fallen asleep. She could see his eyelids moving as dreams began to form and succumbing to the effects of the wine, let her head sink heavily into the cushion and prepared to join him.
The peace was shattered by the stridency of the phone.
“Yeah… hello... Marcel van Ommen.”
Tinnie’s eyes stayed closed as the conversation drifted in and out of her consciousness.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea do you… no really…no I can’t tomorrow. I’m going to the allotment with Tinnie…this is getting far too complicated…what’s the point, you’re involved with someone else….I can’t do this…it’s not fair on me, or the other guy…what do you mean…what do you think I can provide for you…you do? Oh come on, I wasn’t born yesterday…and you expect me to believe that do you…I’m not sure…well, I suppose one meeting can’t do any harm but…alright…yes, okay…Saturday? I don’t know…okay see you then… Bye.”
“Was that who I think it was?” she mumbled, sleepily.
“Yep.”
“Is that it? ‘Yep?’ You’re seeing him again aren’t you?”
“Yep.”
“Well, be it on your own head my friend. I hope you know what…”
The electronic tones of her own mobile interrupted her intended lecture and made them both jump. It had been a gift from Marcel but she rarely used it; wary of costs and wary of losing the damned thing. She’d only given her number to a select few people but she had a pretty good idea who this was…it was almost inevitable.
“Where is it? Where the hell is it? Help me find it Marcel.”
“It’s on your belt Dumbo; where it always is. Now answer the fucking thing; that noise is driving me mad!”
He was laughing at her, eyebrows exaggeratedly raised and she knew, he knew who it was too.
“Hello?”
She answered cautiously and gestured at Marcel to shut up as he shouted that it wouldn’t bite.
“Yes…”
She couldn’t help it; she wasn’t intentionally trying to hide anything from Marcel but she took the phone and walked out onto the balcony.
He watched as her body language betrayed her discomfort and understood completely the inward struggles she was having as gradually, she was worn down. Coming back in a few moments later, she was flushed.
“Don’t say it. Don’t say a fucking word!”
It was clear they both had a date that weekend.
The Amsterdam Series
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18. Arjan’s unpleasant day
19. Tinnie’s tangled love life
