Nomads on the Amstel
23. Tinnie takes time-out
Tinnie gasped, as the sheer force of the cloudburst stopped her in her tracks and forced her to duck under a spreading tree. Her T-shirt and jacket clung stickily to her chest and her jeans and boots were laden with water. There was nothing she could do, the elements were just too strong and it was a question of accepting her fate and looking for positives from the situation. Spotting her reflection in a furniture shop window on the other side of the street, she practically doubled up with helpless laughter. A combination of far too many drinks, the relentless rain and the image in the glass, which made her look like a moulting chicken held together by denim, reduced her to semi-hysteria.
“I’m glad you find it funny!”
The disembodied voice came from over the park railings behind her and turning round, she saw a man on a bench, sheltering as best he could under a battered umbrella; the sort people throw away after they’ve been blown inside out. She assumed he was some sort of a tramp or a junkie but only because of the context he was in; no sane person would sit on a park bench in this downpour.
“Hey, I’m sorry okay? I didn’t think it was possible to get this wet.”
“Well it is. Maybe you think it’s funny to parade through the streets like that. Maybe you’re modelling as a Miss for a Miss Wet T-shirt competition? Although with tits like that you won’t win any prizes.”
Tinnie had always prided herself that she could see the funny side of most situations and in the mood she was in, now was not the time for politically correct moral indignation; so she giggled.
“Look, wouldn’t you be better off… finding a doorway or something to shelter in… You’ll catch pneumonia out in the open like that.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ve got a nice, dry home to go to, where you can dry off. Why don’t you just fuck off and do that? You can go and do a strip-tease for your boyfriend and show him your perky little fried eggs.”
Tinnie knew she should have been offended but the situation was just so ridiculous. It struck her as being bizarre, surreal even, that she was even considering having a conversation at that time of the morning, with a strange man, at the edge of a park and in the mother of all rainstorms. She tried to stop laughing but was at that stage where the momentum takes over and the line between laughing and crying becomes blurred.
“Are you laughing at me girlie?”
The man stood up and suddenly Tinnie sensed a change in his attitude. He folded the umbrella, shook it a couple of times and then brandishing it menacingly, moved more quickly out of the shadows towards her, than she had bargained for. She may have been pretty inebriated but arguing with the homeless, on a quiet street at three o’clock in the morning, was definitely not a good idea and she had enough sense to beat a hasty retreat. She started laughing again, as the squelching in her boots became audible even over the driving rain but she didn’t stop running until she reached the Vijzelstraat.
Much earlier in the evening, she’d finally taken Marcel’s advice and gone out to one of her old haunts and had enjoyed herself more than she had for months. An friend had rung and asked her to go to one of the monthly reunions of women who’d worked at the same refuge as she had a couple of years earlier. She’d hummed and haahed and turned it down at first, until Marcel discovered what she’d done. He hit the roof; accusing her of wallowing in self-pity and sinking into self-inflicted depression by sitting in her flat night after night with just the television for company. Although she fiercely denied it and was hurt by his directness at first, she now had to admit, that was exactly what she’d been doing since Amália had stood her up that Saturday night.
She’d turned up at the cafe about ten minutes early and found herself a table near the window so that she couldn’t possibly miss Amália when she arrived. Nervous and unsure whether she was doing the right thing, all her instincts told her she should have stuck by her original decision not to see the woman again. What was the point? Amália was not only married and certain to stay that way but she was also a strange mixture of the dominant and the unpredictable. Both were normally virtues as far as Tinnie was concerned; after all, she’d been accused of being exactly the same many times in the past but when it came to people who got under her skin and were potential relationship material, she needed consistency. Committing herself to someone who couldn’t be relied upon, made her extremely nervous and emotional self-preservation was everything when it came to love affairs. Amália however, showed every sign of being an emotional whirlwind and yet here she was, meeting her again and the butterflies in her stomach were having an orgy. As it turned out, her intuition was more than verified by the fact that Amália didn’t turn up. Tinnie sat there, making her one beer last for an hour and tortured herself with fears that she’d misheard the time, or the venue, or even the day. She stripped several beer mats of their top layers before finally getting up and leaving. Not really angry or even sad, she just had that dejected, sinking feeling at the pit of her stomach. Whether she ever saw Amália again or not, the woman was seemingly destined to be someone significant in her life, one of the people who get through the barriers and have the power to depress or elate in equal measure. It wasn’t something she looked forward too; she hadn’t asked for it and yet there it was; a significant other who, in reality, wasn’t that significant at all. Things were made worse by the fact that she stayed awake until the early hours of the next morning, her cell phone by her side and willing it to ring, which of course it didn’t. For four days, she hid herself away in her flat, moping around and sulking until Marcel’s irritation and subsequent outburst shook her out of her lethargy and stung her into resuming some of her normal enthusiasm for life.
Not that it had been easy, going out again with a crowd of other women!
She had joined the collective as a seventeen year old, youthful and enthusiastic helper. She’d spotted the peeling flyers around town and had thought it was a good way to meet like minded people, although strictly speaking and if she was very honest, it was the women she wanted to meet. She could adapt to the politics but as a young, rebellious and newly discovered lesbian, it looked ideal. At that time, it was still mixed, men and women, gay and straight and still very socialist. In fact, they prided themselves on being one of the last truly, ideologically, left wing groups in Amsterdam. It was all a bit of a sham though really; there were other groups scattered around and frequent infighting led to the women breaking away and forming something much more relevant to their situation. It was the time when gay women regarded gay men as being little better than their heterosexual counterparts; they were men after all and if anything their open promiscuity cemented the suspicion that all men lived their lives through their genitals; being gay meant that you had a slight moral edge over straight men but only because you also belonged to a suppressed minority. Basically, as a gay man you were still a sexual predator and many gay women were hell bent on driving out male stereotypes in all their forms. That’s how the refuge for abused, needy and socially isolated women came into being; run by women, for women. At that time, when political correctness was paramount, even male children belonging to the women who were washed up on the shores of the refuge, were regarded with some suspicion and ripe for re-education. For Tinnie, it was the beginning of her voyage of discovery in the lesbian world and all the sexual groundwork that made her what she was today, was laid with the women at the refuge. The problem was that she threw herself as enthusiastically into relationships as she did with the ideology of the place. Those love affaires were ephemeral however and before she realised it she was sexually grown up but emotionally immature and began to take each painful break-up to heart. In the end, she’d exhausted all possibilities at the refuge and began to feel claustrophobic and under valued. Being the youngest, she was nearly always given the more mundane work to do and she felt she decided it was time to move on. She wanted to experience the wider world and meet new people and with no real feelings of regret, did exactly that. Returning to the fold after some considerable time therefore filled her with some apprehension.
She’d done her best to deflect all the questions. What was she doing with her life these days? Was she seeing someone? Was she successful? Being a sort of prodigal sister newly returned to the fold and thus a novelty; some of the women naturally wanted to catch up on the news, though not for long and more out of curiosity than genuine interest. It soon became apparent that she hadn’t been the only one to outgrow rigid, feminist values, though her maturity came from experience and not through following trends. After a quick glance at the various outfits, she began to feel distinctly out of place in her denims. Everybody seemed to look really smart and dared she say it, fashionable! Where were the dungarees? Where were the Doc Martins and the spiky hair-dos? Where was the bristling aggressiveness and group identity? Well, the hair was still in evidence and the identity was still more or less uniform but the overall look had changed from fringe Mad Max to mainstream Ellen de Generes. Tinnie was astounded and relieved she’d left the gang when she had; there was no way she could wear, or even afford, this sort of stuff. She felt quite proud that she’d retained what she saw as her individuality. Still the questions kept coming, as she greeted yet another changeling from the past. She tried to dwell on the positives; her friendship with Marcel, her garden, her robust good health but they were small fry compared to some of the success stories and corporate achievements she was hearing from various former female emancipators and sisters in arms. In the end, thoroughly depressed, she edged her way out of the main group, found a corner and took quiet refuge in alcohol.
She was beginning to wish she hadn’t come when she heard a familiar, gravelly voice behind her.
“You look how I feel! Some of these sickening harpies wear twenty-four hour Chanel; manage huge departments and think nothing of firing people with the wrong shoes. Here, I’ve brought us a tray full of beers, so we don’t have to have Bodega staff looking down their noses at us every time we order a real drink.”
She’d been joined on the fringe of activities by a woman she had always thought of as the ultimate in independent thinking; an original hippy lady with attitude. She was in her late forties and wearing layers of clothes straight out of the late sixties. Her long, soft, grey hair hung loose and framed a rounded face, her arms were still hung with bracelets as they had always been and her body was voluptuous rather than fat. She looked older than Tinnie remembered but her eyes still flashed and lit up her face the way they always used to
“Hey Karin, how’s it going?”
Tinnie was genuinely pleased to see an old friend who had stayed true to her principles at least in a fashion sense.
“Oh, you know, okay I suppose. I’m glad to see you though; I was just about to get the fuck out of here. I’ve had just about enough lipstick-lesbians to last a lifetime. Can you believe these bitches? Who do they think they’re kidding with all that shit on their faces and those clothes!”
Tinnie laughed as Karin stuck her finger in her throat and pretended to vomit.
“It’s amazing isn’t it? What’s happened to all these people? I can’t believe they’re the same women I used to know! We were all sisters together a few years ago, fighting oppression and injustice and a world dominated by men and now look at us.”
Karin was one of the few who’d befriended her in the early days and had tried to curb the excesses whilst allowing her the necessary freedom to learn that lesbians were not always the kind, compassionate exponents of sisterhood she’d hoped.
“Them, Tinnie, them, not us. You seem to have resisted the march towards commercialism and I’m sure as hell I have.”
“Well, apart from not wanting to be seen dead with that much make up on my face, it’s a question of economics with me. I couldn’t afford designer jeans, never mind the sort of boutique clobber they’re wearing. Anyway Karin, you look good. You’ve hardly changed a bit and may I say, a damn sight more sexy than any of those people.”
“Thanks kiddo but I’m beginning to feel my age these days. I’ve had a couple of illnesses; I won’t bore you with the details but that combined with Rikki’s death has piled the years on me.”
“Oh God, Karin, I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”
Tinnie had only once met the much older woman that Karin had shared her life with for many years but hadn’t heard of her death. She judged by the sudden look of grief etched on her face, that Karin’s partner’s passing had been a pivotal moment in her life.
“It was pure old age, nothing else but she was a witness to my life you know; I’ve just not been the same since. Getting up in the mornings is just much harder. If it wasn’t for my few remaining friends and my family I don’t know where I’d be. I know life goes on and all that but some things just aren’t as important anymore.”
Tinnie had that feeling you get when you wish you’d been around when something major had happened. It was almost a sort of jealousy that other people had been there to help and she’d not had the chance to show how useful she could be. She started to tell Karin about Marcel and Willem but stopped after one sentence; it sounded as though she was trying to score points on some sort of scale of compassion and instead lamely said,
“You still look good. You could still find happiness again with someone.”
It sounded trite and belittling.
“Oh I don’t know Tinnie; one of the hardest decisions in life is when to start middle age and I feel as though the time when I could have made that decision has passed me by and all of a sudden I’m there you know? Middle aged, showing it and feeling it. I should be settling down and accepting my lot in life.”
“That’s nonsense Karin and you know it. Age only matters if you’re a cheese or a good wine.”
“Yes but look at me! My mother always said that old age begins when you stop criticising the older generation and start criticising the younger one and that’s all I’m doing these days.”
“They deserve it and anyway, I criticise them too and I’m still a baby compared to you.”
“Is that designed to make me feel better in any way? I think not young Tinnie. Anyway, you may be just a child but you have an old head on young shoulders. It’s a pity you left our group when you did; you might have been able to stop this rampant rush into hedonism. Actually, most of them regard me as some sort of irritating fossil, who keeps reminding them of why they’re supposed to be here. Nowadays, instead of really helping people, all we do is fund-raise for this charity or that and you can imagine the competition that creates! They’re not worried whether the money does any good or not; all they care about is whether everybody notices that their contribution is bigger than the next bitch’s. It really pisses me off Tinnie.”
“So why do you have anything to do with them at all? Walk away. God knows, you’ve done your bit over the years.”
“I would, except I know that would really please some of them, so I hang around just to be a pain in their collective and corporate arses. I shouldn’t moan too much really; not everybody’s like that; there are still a few good girls around who remember what socialism really means but the committee rules and you can imagine which ones run the committees. Trouble is, committees are democratic and properly elected, so I haven’t got a leg to stand on. Oh well, it gives me great pleasure to ruin their little social gatherings by turning up every time. As long as I dress like a relic from the seventies I know it’ll put their noses out of joint.”
Tinnie giggled. She was drinking more quickly now that she was in good company and as she reached for the last bottle, she realised it was her turn to get the drinks and dug in her jeans pocket.
“A few more beers Karin?”
Karin stretched her arms behind her head and leaned back in her chair.
“Why not. Now I’ve got someone on the same wavelength to moan at, I feel like getting plastered.”
She had a mischievous twinkle in her eye.
Tinnie made her way through the tight little groups of women to the bar. Karin was absolutely right; the whole atmosphere had changed amongst these people. She caught snatches of conversation but it was mostly trivia. She remembered the days when the girls used to go to the bar and get so drunk and boisterous, they were invariably thrown out but they’d been fun days, days of revolutionary and misguided tirades against the world and men in particular. Things had got done in those times; the irresistible force of several dozen determined lesbians had been enough to correct abuses by drunken husbands and rogue landlords. The work they’d done had meant something and had some impact; so much so that Tinnie always regretted leaving and often felt the urge to go back but now that she saw how people had changed, she was glad she hadn’t. God, how many times had she harangued Marcel with stories of militant women overcoming impossible odds and accused gay men of being feeble in comparison. She’d have to swallow her pride and admit that in this case at least, it had turned out to be a bit of an illusion. Thank God there were still women like Karin around!
“Six beers please.”
The barman with the Latin looks, already peeved by the fact that he had a room full of women, not a single one of whom displayed the slightest interest in him, looked down his nose. This one was clearly a dyke, unlike most of the others, who at least chose wines and cocktails but still looked as though all they needed was the attention of a good man. He didn’t need to impress the scruffy character in front of him now but six beers! Really!
“This is a wine bar you know!”
“Oh is that so and are you a wine bar barman?”
Tinnie identified the problem and warmed to her task.
“One of the best.”
He continued polishing the glass in his hand; holding it up to the light and inspecting it.
“And which wine would you recommend for my friend and me?”
“Which one’s your friend?”
The heavy and sarcastic intonation on the word ‘friend’ made Tinnie grind her teeth but she persevered and pointed Karin out.
“The hippy eh? Well…hippies…West Coast…maybe a Californian Cabernet Sauvignon…’92…fruity but with a hint of a bite to it.”
“Well, I bow to your obvious expertise; that’ll do nicely, I’ll have two bottles.”
“Are you sure? Wine is meant to be sipped you know.”
Tinnie could hardly believe her ears; in this day and age, a barman talking to her as if she were a child, who did he think he was?
“Oh, yes of course, we’ll savour every mouthful. Would you be so kind as to uncork them for me?”
”Of course, what else would I do?”
He reached under the counter and pulled out two bottles, which he proceeded to uncork with unnecessary flourish and place lovingly in front of Tinnie along with two glasses.
“Oh, you know what, I’ve changed my mind, I’m so fickle that way but then again, I’m only a girlie aren’t I? Now six beers was my original order and that’s what I want and if you don’t want your balls turned into a bow tie, I’d do it pronto. We can always call the manageress over and discuss the matter but I should warn you, she’s a personal friend of mine and won’t take kindly to her customers being insulted by a jumped up Lothario whose brains hang between his legs.”
As it happened, Tinnie hardly knew the manageress but she did know she was gay and gambled that she wouldn’t want a major row in present company; a clientele with plenty of spending power. As it turned out, the threat was enough and she was served without further comment, though if looks could kill…!
Karin laughed so loud it attracted stares.
“Oh God, don’t…I’ll wet myself. Funny he didn’t treat me like that though.”
“There you are…another of the perks of being old…you’re treated with deference.”
“Well, that would be a first! Okay Tinnie, let’s drink up and go somewhere else; I’m in the mood to make a night of it.”
If the truth were known, so was Tinnie. Good company and lots of alcohol were making her forget all her problems with Amália. It felt good to get drunk again and have a good time and with the speed at which they finished off the beers, she was well on the way.
Two hours, two bars and many laughs later, Karin, much the worse for wear, almost ruined the evening.
“You know you’re really beautiful Tinnie, really, really beautiful. I’ve always thought how beautiful…really…I mean it.”
Her head sank towards the bar and her hair fell into the latest glass of beer.
“Oh shit look Tinnie…look what I done…it’s a beer rinse.”
Tinnie had yet another fit of the giggles.
“Now you know why I keep my hair short Karin; so it doesn’t fall in my beer.”
She put her arm around the older woman’s shoulders in a sort of drunken solidarity but Karin’s head suddenly jerked up and beer-soaked strands plastered themselves against Tinnie’s chin. Catching sight of herself in the mirror behind the bar Tinnie whooped loudly,
“Oh look, the bearded lady!”
Karin suddenly became earnest in her inebriation and cupping Tinnie’s face, she tried to focus; only her bleary eyes wouldn’t stay still.
“I mean it Tinnie, you’re really brilliant, do you know that?”
“Well so are you. We’re both brilliant; it’s been a brilliant night!”
“Will you sleep with me tonight?”
The question came like a slap in the face, such was its suddenness and in an instant, Tinnie found several degrees of clarity and sobriety. It was one of those moments when you’re faced with several options, all of which carrying consequences and all requiring careful consideration. Karin looked so needy for God’s sake but Tinnie just wasn’t in the mood; no…correction…she felt suddenly guilty. It wasn’t that Karin was unattractive, or too old, or even too drunk; it just felt like it would be a betrayal that’s all; an infidelity.
‘That’s what separates lesbians from gay men,’ she thought. ‘It’s what makes us civilised and them rutting animals.’
The question remained however, as to how she could get out of this without causing offence, or pain. She decided to be honest.
“Karin, I would…love too; at any other time but I’m actually pretty screwed up about someone else at the moment and it’s difficult you know; I want to be faithful; though she doesn’t really deserve it.”
An imaginary picture of Amália and her husband flashed into her mind and she shuddered.
“Oh…that’s okay, that’s fine, I know when I’m not wanted!”
Karin’s attempt at a joke didn’t fool Tinnie for a minute and fleeting as it was, the look of rejection on her face didn’t go unnoticed.
“Of course you’re wanted, you’re an incredibly sexy woman.”
‘Don’t go over the top,’ she warned herself.
“Come on, I’m going to get us a taxi; I’m absolutely knackered but I’ve had a great evening. I hope we can do it again sometime soon?”
Fortunately, Karin had reached the point where she could have lain down and gone to sleep at the bar, so she didn’t raise any objections when Tinnie hoisted her to her feet and led her outside. In the taxi, Tinnie let her cuddle in under the crook of her arm, knowing that it was nothing more than drunken exhaustion and even gave her an affectionate kiss as she pushed her up the steps to her front door.
“I’m going to walk home from here; it’s not far and I need some fresh air to sober me up.”
”Are you sure? You’re welcome to stay with me,” Karin slurred but Tinnie knew the invitation was more out of politeness than lust and cheerfully waved her goodbye before skipping off down the street. Karin was a nice person and Tinnie made a mental note not to let contact fall away again. Marcel was a soul mate but he was a man and there are times when…well, a girl just needs a woman to talk to doesn’t she?
Still drenched to the bone and cheerful but suddenly very tired and longing for her bed, she turned into her street and dug in her pocket for her key. In an instant cold sweat, she realised that it wasn’t there. She frantically dug deeper in that vain attempt you do when you know for absolute certain it’s gone. She stamped and screeched. It was one of those keys on a clip, with a chain that was attached to one of the belt loops of her jeans; it couldn’t go missing and never had before! As she twisted the ripped strip of denim that had let her down, she felt physically sick. It wasn’t the fact that she couldn’t get in that upset her; she would have slept on the step, if it had been dry and if she hadn’t been shivering and beginning to sniffle: it was the fact that she would have to wake Marcel for the spare key. There was no alternative, especially at this time in the morning but if there was one thing that was guaranteed to infuriate Marcel, it was if his precious eight hours were disturbed.
She looked around as if salvation would suddenly come marching down the deserted street.
“Oh well, worse things happen at sea! Here goes.”
She put on her most hangdog expression and rang his bell.
Tinnie gasped, as the sheer force of the cloudburst stopped her in her tracks and forced her to duck under a spreading tree. Her T-shirt and jacket clung stickily to her chest and her jeans and boots were laden with water. There was nothing she could do, the elements were just too strong and it was a question of accepting her fate and looking for positives from the situation. Spotting her reflection in a furniture shop window on the other side of the street, she practically doubled up with helpless laughter. A combination of far too many drinks, the relentless rain and the image in the glass, which made her look like a moulting chicken held together by denim, reduced her to semi-hysteria.
“I’m glad you find it funny!”
The disembodied voice came from over the park railings behind her and turning round, she saw a man on a bench, sheltering as best he could under a battered umbrella; the sort people throw away after they’ve been blown inside out. She assumed he was some sort of a tramp or a junkie but only because of the context he was in; no sane person would sit on a park bench in this downpour.
“Hey, I’m sorry okay? I didn’t think it was possible to get this wet.”
“Well it is. Maybe you think it’s funny to parade through the streets like that. Maybe you’re modelling as a Miss for a Miss Wet T-shirt competition? Although with tits like that you won’t win any prizes.”
Tinnie had always prided herself that she could see the funny side of most situations and in the mood she was in, now was not the time for politically correct moral indignation; so she giggled.
“Look, wouldn’t you be better off… finding a doorway or something to shelter in… You’ll catch pneumonia out in the open like that.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ve got a nice, dry home to go to, where you can dry off. Why don’t you just fuck off and do that? You can go and do a strip-tease for your boyfriend and show him your perky little fried eggs.”
Tinnie knew she should have been offended but the situation was just so ridiculous. It struck her as being bizarre, surreal even, that she was even considering having a conversation at that time of the morning, with a strange man, at the edge of a park and in the mother of all rainstorms. She tried to stop laughing but was at that stage where the momentum takes over and the line between laughing and crying becomes blurred.
“Are you laughing at me girlie?”
The man stood up and suddenly Tinnie sensed a change in his attitude. He folded the umbrella, shook it a couple of times and then brandishing it menacingly, moved more quickly out of the shadows towards her, than she had bargained for. She may have been pretty inebriated but arguing with the homeless, on a quiet street at three o’clock in the morning, was definitely not a good idea and she had enough sense to beat a hasty retreat. She started laughing again, as the squelching in her boots became audible even over the driving rain but she didn’t stop running until she reached the Vijzelstraat.
Much earlier in the evening, she’d finally taken Marcel’s advice and gone out to one of her old haunts and had enjoyed herself more than she had for months. An friend had rung and asked her to go to one of the monthly reunions of women who’d worked at the same refuge as she had a couple of years earlier. She’d hummed and haahed and turned it down at first, until Marcel discovered what she’d done. He hit the roof; accusing her of wallowing in self-pity and sinking into self-inflicted depression by sitting in her flat night after night with just the television for company. Although she fiercely denied it and was hurt by his directness at first, she now had to admit, that was exactly what she’d been doing since Amália had stood her up that Saturday night.
She’d turned up at the cafe about ten minutes early and found herself a table near the window so that she couldn’t possibly miss Amália when she arrived. Nervous and unsure whether she was doing the right thing, all her instincts told her she should have stuck by her original decision not to see the woman again. What was the point? Amália was not only married and certain to stay that way but she was also a strange mixture of the dominant and the unpredictable. Both were normally virtues as far as Tinnie was concerned; after all, she’d been accused of being exactly the same many times in the past but when it came to people who got under her skin and were potential relationship material, she needed consistency. Committing herself to someone who couldn’t be relied upon, made her extremely nervous and emotional self-preservation was everything when it came to love affairs. Amália however, showed every sign of being an emotional whirlwind and yet here she was, meeting her again and the butterflies in her stomach were having an orgy. As it turned out, her intuition was more than verified by the fact that Amália didn’t turn up. Tinnie sat there, making her one beer last for an hour and tortured herself with fears that she’d misheard the time, or the venue, or even the day. She stripped several beer mats of their top layers before finally getting up and leaving. Not really angry or even sad, she just had that dejected, sinking feeling at the pit of her stomach. Whether she ever saw Amália again or not, the woman was seemingly destined to be someone significant in her life, one of the people who get through the barriers and have the power to depress or elate in equal measure. It wasn’t something she looked forward too; she hadn’t asked for it and yet there it was; a significant other who, in reality, wasn’t that significant at all. Things were made worse by the fact that she stayed awake until the early hours of the next morning, her cell phone by her side and willing it to ring, which of course it didn’t. For four days, she hid herself away in her flat, moping around and sulking until Marcel’s irritation and subsequent outburst shook her out of her lethargy and stung her into resuming some of her normal enthusiasm for life.
Not that it had been easy, going out again with a crowd of other women!
She had joined the collective as a seventeen year old, youthful and enthusiastic helper. She’d spotted the peeling flyers around town and had thought it was a good way to meet like minded people, although strictly speaking and if she was very honest, it was the women she wanted to meet. She could adapt to the politics but as a young, rebellious and newly discovered lesbian, it looked ideal. At that time, it was still mixed, men and women, gay and straight and still very socialist. In fact, they prided themselves on being one of the last truly, ideologically, left wing groups in Amsterdam. It was all a bit of a sham though really; there were other groups scattered around and frequent infighting led to the women breaking away and forming something much more relevant to their situation. It was the time when gay women regarded gay men as being little better than their heterosexual counterparts; they were men after all and if anything their open promiscuity cemented the suspicion that all men lived their lives through their genitals; being gay meant that you had a slight moral edge over straight men but only because you also belonged to a suppressed minority. Basically, as a gay man you were still a sexual predator and many gay women were hell bent on driving out male stereotypes in all their forms. That’s how the refuge for abused, needy and socially isolated women came into being; run by women, for women. At that time, when political correctness was paramount, even male children belonging to the women who were washed up on the shores of the refuge, were regarded with some suspicion and ripe for re-education. For Tinnie, it was the beginning of her voyage of discovery in the lesbian world and all the sexual groundwork that made her what she was today, was laid with the women at the refuge. The problem was that she threw herself as enthusiastically into relationships as she did with the ideology of the place. Those love affaires were ephemeral however and before she realised it she was sexually grown up but emotionally immature and began to take each painful break-up to heart. In the end, she’d exhausted all possibilities at the refuge and began to feel claustrophobic and under valued. Being the youngest, she was nearly always given the more mundane work to do and she felt she decided it was time to move on. She wanted to experience the wider world and meet new people and with no real feelings of regret, did exactly that. Returning to the fold after some considerable time therefore filled her with some apprehension.
She’d done her best to deflect all the questions. What was she doing with her life these days? Was she seeing someone? Was she successful? Being a sort of prodigal sister newly returned to the fold and thus a novelty; some of the women naturally wanted to catch up on the news, though not for long and more out of curiosity than genuine interest. It soon became apparent that she hadn’t been the only one to outgrow rigid, feminist values, though her maturity came from experience and not through following trends. After a quick glance at the various outfits, she began to feel distinctly out of place in her denims. Everybody seemed to look really smart and dared she say it, fashionable! Where were the dungarees? Where were the Doc Martins and the spiky hair-dos? Where was the bristling aggressiveness and group identity? Well, the hair was still in evidence and the identity was still more or less uniform but the overall look had changed from fringe Mad Max to mainstream Ellen de Generes. Tinnie was astounded and relieved she’d left the gang when she had; there was no way she could wear, or even afford, this sort of stuff. She felt quite proud that she’d retained what she saw as her individuality. Still the questions kept coming, as she greeted yet another changeling from the past. She tried to dwell on the positives; her friendship with Marcel, her garden, her robust good health but they were small fry compared to some of the success stories and corporate achievements she was hearing from various former female emancipators and sisters in arms. In the end, thoroughly depressed, she edged her way out of the main group, found a corner and took quiet refuge in alcohol.
She was beginning to wish she hadn’t come when she heard a familiar, gravelly voice behind her.
“You look how I feel! Some of these sickening harpies wear twenty-four hour Chanel; manage huge departments and think nothing of firing people with the wrong shoes. Here, I’ve brought us a tray full of beers, so we don’t have to have Bodega staff looking down their noses at us every time we order a real drink.”
She’d been joined on the fringe of activities by a woman she had always thought of as the ultimate in independent thinking; an original hippy lady with attitude. She was in her late forties and wearing layers of clothes straight out of the late sixties. Her long, soft, grey hair hung loose and framed a rounded face, her arms were still hung with bracelets as they had always been and her body was voluptuous rather than fat. She looked older than Tinnie remembered but her eyes still flashed and lit up her face the way they always used to
“Hey Karin, how’s it going?”
Tinnie was genuinely pleased to see an old friend who had stayed true to her principles at least in a fashion sense.
“Oh, you know, okay I suppose. I’m glad to see you though; I was just about to get the fuck out of here. I’ve had just about enough lipstick-lesbians to last a lifetime. Can you believe these bitches? Who do they think they’re kidding with all that shit on their faces and those clothes!”
Tinnie laughed as Karin stuck her finger in her throat and pretended to vomit.
“It’s amazing isn’t it? What’s happened to all these people? I can’t believe they’re the same women I used to know! We were all sisters together a few years ago, fighting oppression and injustice and a world dominated by men and now look at us.”
Karin was one of the few who’d befriended her in the early days and had tried to curb the excesses whilst allowing her the necessary freedom to learn that lesbians were not always the kind, compassionate exponents of sisterhood she’d hoped.
“Them, Tinnie, them, not us. You seem to have resisted the march towards commercialism and I’m sure as hell I have.”
“Well, apart from not wanting to be seen dead with that much make up on my face, it’s a question of economics with me. I couldn’t afford designer jeans, never mind the sort of boutique clobber they’re wearing. Anyway Karin, you look good. You’ve hardly changed a bit and may I say, a damn sight more sexy than any of those people.”
“Thanks kiddo but I’m beginning to feel my age these days. I’ve had a couple of illnesses; I won’t bore you with the details but that combined with Rikki’s death has piled the years on me.”
“Oh God, Karin, I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”
Tinnie had only once met the much older woman that Karin had shared her life with for many years but hadn’t heard of her death. She judged by the sudden look of grief etched on her face, that Karin’s partner’s passing had been a pivotal moment in her life.
“It was pure old age, nothing else but she was a witness to my life you know; I’ve just not been the same since. Getting up in the mornings is just much harder. If it wasn’t for my few remaining friends and my family I don’t know where I’d be. I know life goes on and all that but some things just aren’t as important anymore.”
Tinnie had that feeling you get when you wish you’d been around when something major had happened. It was almost a sort of jealousy that other people had been there to help and she’d not had the chance to show how useful she could be. She started to tell Karin about Marcel and Willem but stopped after one sentence; it sounded as though she was trying to score points on some sort of scale of compassion and instead lamely said,
“You still look good. You could still find happiness again with someone.”
It sounded trite and belittling.
“Oh I don’t know Tinnie; one of the hardest decisions in life is when to start middle age and I feel as though the time when I could have made that decision has passed me by and all of a sudden I’m there you know? Middle aged, showing it and feeling it. I should be settling down and accepting my lot in life.”
“That’s nonsense Karin and you know it. Age only matters if you’re a cheese or a good wine.”
“Yes but look at me! My mother always said that old age begins when you stop criticising the older generation and start criticising the younger one and that’s all I’m doing these days.”
“They deserve it and anyway, I criticise them too and I’m still a baby compared to you.”
“Is that designed to make me feel better in any way? I think not young Tinnie. Anyway, you may be just a child but you have an old head on young shoulders. It’s a pity you left our group when you did; you might have been able to stop this rampant rush into hedonism. Actually, most of them regard me as some sort of irritating fossil, who keeps reminding them of why they’re supposed to be here. Nowadays, instead of really helping people, all we do is fund-raise for this charity or that and you can imagine the competition that creates! They’re not worried whether the money does any good or not; all they care about is whether everybody notices that their contribution is bigger than the next bitch’s. It really pisses me off Tinnie.”
“So why do you have anything to do with them at all? Walk away. God knows, you’ve done your bit over the years.”
“I would, except I know that would really please some of them, so I hang around just to be a pain in their collective and corporate arses. I shouldn’t moan too much really; not everybody’s like that; there are still a few good girls around who remember what socialism really means but the committee rules and you can imagine which ones run the committees. Trouble is, committees are democratic and properly elected, so I haven’t got a leg to stand on. Oh well, it gives me great pleasure to ruin their little social gatherings by turning up every time. As long as I dress like a relic from the seventies I know it’ll put their noses out of joint.”
Tinnie giggled. She was drinking more quickly now that she was in good company and as she reached for the last bottle, she realised it was her turn to get the drinks and dug in her jeans pocket.
“A few more beers Karin?”
Karin stretched her arms behind her head and leaned back in her chair.
“Why not. Now I’ve got someone on the same wavelength to moan at, I feel like getting plastered.”
She had a mischievous twinkle in her eye.
Tinnie made her way through the tight little groups of women to the bar. Karin was absolutely right; the whole atmosphere had changed amongst these people. She caught snatches of conversation but it was mostly trivia. She remembered the days when the girls used to go to the bar and get so drunk and boisterous, they were invariably thrown out but they’d been fun days, days of revolutionary and misguided tirades against the world and men in particular. Things had got done in those times; the irresistible force of several dozen determined lesbians had been enough to correct abuses by drunken husbands and rogue landlords. The work they’d done had meant something and had some impact; so much so that Tinnie always regretted leaving and often felt the urge to go back but now that she saw how people had changed, she was glad she hadn’t. God, how many times had she harangued Marcel with stories of militant women overcoming impossible odds and accused gay men of being feeble in comparison. She’d have to swallow her pride and admit that in this case at least, it had turned out to be a bit of an illusion. Thank God there were still women like Karin around!
“Six beers please.”
The barman with the Latin looks, already peeved by the fact that he had a room full of women, not a single one of whom displayed the slightest interest in him, looked down his nose. This one was clearly a dyke, unlike most of the others, who at least chose wines and cocktails but still looked as though all they needed was the attention of a good man. He didn’t need to impress the scruffy character in front of him now but six beers! Really!
“This is a wine bar you know!”
“Oh is that so and are you a wine bar barman?”
Tinnie identified the problem and warmed to her task.
“One of the best.”
He continued polishing the glass in his hand; holding it up to the light and inspecting it.
“And which wine would you recommend for my friend and me?”
“Which one’s your friend?”
The heavy and sarcastic intonation on the word ‘friend’ made Tinnie grind her teeth but she persevered and pointed Karin out.
“The hippy eh? Well…hippies…West Coast…maybe a Californian Cabernet Sauvignon…’92…fruity but with a hint of a bite to it.”
“Well, I bow to your obvious expertise; that’ll do nicely, I’ll have two bottles.”
“Are you sure? Wine is meant to be sipped you know.”
Tinnie could hardly believe her ears; in this day and age, a barman talking to her as if she were a child, who did he think he was?
“Oh, yes of course, we’ll savour every mouthful. Would you be so kind as to uncork them for me?”
”Of course, what else would I do?”
He reached under the counter and pulled out two bottles, which he proceeded to uncork with unnecessary flourish and place lovingly in front of Tinnie along with two glasses.
“Oh, you know what, I’ve changed my mind, I’m so fickle that way but then again, I’m only a girlie aren’t I? Now six beers was my original order and that’s what I want and if you don’t want your balls turned into a bow tie, I’d do it pronto. We can always call the manageress over and discuss the matter but I should warn you, she’s a personal friend of mine and won’t take kindly to her customers being insulted by a jumped up Lothario whose brains hang between his legs.”
As it happened, Tinnie hardly knew the manageress but she did know she was gay and gambled that she wouldn’t want a major row in present company; a clientele with plenty of spending power. As it turned out, the threat was enough and she was served without further comment, though if looks could kill…!
Karin laughed so loud it attracted stares.
“Oh God, don’t…I’ll wet myself. Funny he didn’t treat me like that though.”
“There you are…another of the perks of being old…you’re treated with deference.”
“Well, that would be a first! Okay Tinnie, let’s drink up and go somewhere else; I’m in the mood to make a night of it.”
If the truth were known, so was Tinnie. Good company and lots of alcohol were making her forget all her problems with Amália. It felt good to get drunk again and have a good time and with the speed at which they finished off the beers, she was well on the way.
Two hours, two bars and many laughs later, Karin, much the worse for wear, almost ruined the evening.
“You know you’re really beautiful Tinnie, really, really beautiful. I’ve always thought how beautiful…really…I mean it.”
Her head sank towards the bar and her hair fell into the latest glass of beer.
“Oh shit look Tinnie…look what I done…it’s a beer rinse.”
Tinnie had yet another fit of the giggles.
“Now you know why I keep my hair short Karin; so it doesn’t fall in my beer.”
She put her arm around the older woman’s shoulders in a sort of drunken solidarity but Karin’s head suddenly jerked up and beer-soaked strands plastered themselves against Tinnie’s chin. Catching sight of herself in the mirror behind the bar Tinnie whooped loudly,
“Oh look, the bearded lady!”
Karin suddenly became earnest in her inebriation and cupping Tinnie’s face, she tried to focus; only her bleary eyes wouldn’t stay still.
“I mean it Tinnie, you’re really brilliant, do you know that?”
“Well so are you. We’re both brilliant; it’s been a brilliant night!”
“Will you sleep with me tonight?”
The question came like a slap in the face, such was its suddenness and in an instant, Tinnie found several degrees of clarity and sobriety. It was one of those moments when you’re faced with several options, all of which carrying consequences and all requiring careful consideration. Karin looked so needy for God’s sake but Tinnie just wasn’t in the mood; no…correction…she felt suddenly guilty. It wasn’t that Karin was unattractive, or too old, or even too drunk; it just felt like it would be a betrayal that’s all; an infidelity.
‘That’s what separates lesbians from gay men,’ she thought. ‘It’s what makes us civilised and them rutting animals.’
The question remained however, as to how she could get out of this without causing offence, or pain. She decided to be honest.
“Karin, I would…love too; at any other time but I’m actually pretty screwed up about someone else at the moment and it’s difficult you know; I want to be faithful; though she doesn’t really deserve it.”
An imaginary picture of Amália and her husband flashed into her mind and she shuddered.
“Oh…that’s okay, that’s fine, I know when I’m not wanted!”
Karin’s attempt at a joke didn’t fool Tinnie for a minute and fleeting as it was, the look of rejection on her face didn’t go unnoticed.
“Of course you’re wanted, you’re an incredibly sexy woman.”
‘Don’t go over the top,’ she warned herself.
“Come on, I’m going to get us a taxi; I’m absolutely knackered but I’ve had a great evening. I hope we can do it again sometime soon?”
Fortunately, Karin had reached the point where she could have lain down and gone to sleep at the bar, so she didn’t raise any objections when Tinnie hoisted her to her feet and led her outside. In the taxi, Tinnie let her cuddle in under the crook of her arm, knowing that it was nothing more than drunken exhaustion and even gave her an affectionate kiss as she pushed her up the steps to her front door.
“I’m going to walk home from here; it’s not far and I need some fresh air to sober me up.”
”Are you sure? You’re welcome to stay with me,” Karin slurred but Tinnie knew the invitation was more out of politeness than lust and cheerfully waved her goodbye before skipping off down the street. Karin was a nice person and Tinnie made a mental note not to let contact fall away again. Marcel was a soul mate but he was a man and there are times when…well, a girl just needs a woman to talk to doesn’t she?
Still drenched to the bone and cheerful but suddenly very tired and longing for her bed, she turned into her street and dug in her pocket for her key. In an instant cold sweat, she realised that it wasn’t there. She frantically dug deeper in that vain attempt you do when you know for absolute certain it’s gone. She stamped and screeched. It was one of those keys on a clip, with a chain that was attached to one of the belt loops of her jeans; it couldn’t go missing and never had before! As she twisted the ripped strip of denim that had let her down, she felt physically sick. It wasn’t the fact that she couldn’t get in that upset her; she would have slept on the step, if it had been dry and if she hadn’t been shivering and beginning to sniffle: it was the fact that she would have to wake Marcel for the spare key. There was no alternative, especially at this time in the morning but if there was one thing that was guaranteed to infuriate Marcel, it was if his precious eight hours were disturbed.
She looked around as if salvation would suddenly come marching down the deserted street.
“Oh well, worse things happen at sea! Here goes.”
She put on her most hangdog expression and rang his bell.
24. Guus has a narrow escape
John watched as Annie’s ample frame rushed past him and headed off down the corridor towards the First Aid department. Luckily, he’d seen her before she’d seen him and he’d been able to dodge out of sight. Clutching the plastic bag stuffed and overflowing with Guus’ clothes, he made his way out of the hospital and breathed a sigh of relief. Guus wasn’t out of the woods yet and would have some quick thinking to do but at least the hard and incriminating evidence was out of the way.
Having left the car park and paid for his ticket, he pulled over to the side of the road to mull over what had happened and what he should do next. He could have sat in the car in the car park but that would have cost extra and it amused him how Dutch he was becoming. Christ, he’d just paid an escort God knows how much for sex and here he was worried about saving a few extra cents!
Pieter’s phone call had panicked him but mainly because the background noise was near hysterical. He had really feared the worst for Guus; a heart attack, or a haemorrhage and had leapt in the car and driven at breakneck speed through the busy streets to get to the Nieuwe Keizersgracht, only to find that the ambulance had already arrived and whisked Guus away. At least Pieter had begun to think straight and in the few minutes before he rushed off again, they hatched a plan to distract Annie from an even more painful truth than the one she might have to face. It meant that John needed to return home to grab Guus’ sports bag and then rush it to the hospital where a quick swap could be made. It was a plan with so many flaws that John didn’t dare contemplate the possibilities for disaster and if Guus was seriously ill or worse, it seemed childish at best; irresponsible and deceitful at worst. Pieter promised John that he would wait as long as possible before ringing Annie but it couldn’t be too long; Guus’ situation was possibly far too serious for delay. Then again, Guus had been hoisted into the ambulance in his triumphant outfit and full make up; there was every chance that John wouldn’t get there before Annie, or the hospital staff would make some comment but he felt he owed it to his friend to try his best. He really believed that Guus would prefer the heart attack than having to own up to his wife.
As it turned out, there was less cause for alarm than everybody had supposed. It seemed that Guus had merely fainted, possibly because of the heat but more likely because of the tightness of his corset. When John arrived, his clothes had been removed and he was flat out on a trolley swathed in a hospital gown, in the first aid department. The staff had been sympathetic but much against his own wishes had insisted that he stay put for a while until they were quite sure he was recovered. John hurriedly and not too gently cleaned up his face to remove the last vestiges of make up and showed him the sports bag.
“Now I’ve got to get out of here.”
Guus looked at him sadly,
“It’s a mess, a real mess isn’t it? I wish you didn’t have to go; I can’t face her…she’ll know straight away. Oh God I’m really up the creek without a paddle.”
“Now look Guus, you’re entitled to be in a state, you’ve just been rushed to hospital for God’s sake! Annie will be too worried to think there’s anything more behind it. I’ll have a word with the nurses to try and get them to be discreet. After all, you fainted! It could just as easily have happened at the Gym, in fact it’s quite logical if you ask me. Play dumb, look pathetic and no confessions in a moment of weakness, okay? Guus? Hey are you listening…?”
Guus’ head had flopped back on the pillow and John realised something wasn’t right. He rushed out and called the nurse, who in turn called others and before he knew it, four or five people were busy around the trolley. John was asked to wait outside, where he spent a few anxious minutes clutching the bag full of women’s clothes and worrying that this was all getting out of control before a nurse came out laughing and told him that Guus had just fainted again, nothing to worry about.
‘Little does she know,’ he thought as he made his way along the corridor and towards his narrow escape from Annie.
Guus was in a strange place; a room with an open door leading onto an overflowing garden, in a house he didn’t recognise. His mother was washing clothes in the sink by hand, as she often used to do when he was young. She had already transferred some things to the line outside and was wringing the moisture out of the last sheet, before shaking it vigorously and offering one end to him so that it could be stretched. He could smell the heady scent of the soap flakes and see the way her fingers were wrinkled and pink, after so much time in the water. He tugged on the outstretched material, losing out to his mother’s greater strength and resenting the jerks on his shoulders. All this had happened many times when he was young; only now, he wasn’t a child he was fully-grown, albeit in his late teens instead of his present age. He was slimmer, better looking and had a full head of hair. They walked the ends of the sheet to each other so that it should be folded in the normal way and Guus took the finished article out into the garden to hang on the line. Just outside, Annie and John’s ex Sally sat at a small table drinking fruit juice and chatting to each other. They waved cheerily as Guus stepped past them and reached for the clothes pegs…
……
Meanwhile, in serious need of a diversion, John had once more made use of Guido’s sympathetic services.
“I need to see for myself what gay life is like in Amsterdam. I don’t know whether I’m gay or not but I think it might help me to make up my mind. Of course, I’d pay the usual rates; would that be a problem?”
Guido stretched languidly, like a self assured cat on the bed and yawned.
“No, no problem, I’d be happy to give you a tour if that’s what you really want but I should warn you, it’s not always a pretty sight and there are groups of people out there who are as different from you as chalk and cheese. As far as being gay is concerned, I’ve learned not to label people; there’s black and there’s white but there’s every shade of grey in between, why tie yourself down?”
“Oh, I don’t know, I’ve always liked to know where I fit in the world you know. Whatever I am, I’ll be quite happy with it but I’d still like to know.”
Guido shrugged his shoulders, got up off the bed in one bound and tugged his figure hugging jeans over his hips before checking himself in the mirror and flexing his chest muscles.
‘I guess even the beautiful people have insecurities,’ thought John wryly to himself.
25. Two friends talk it through
“So, both let down in the love stakes, yet again! It looks as though we’re stuck with each other eh!”
Marcel fiddled with a loose button on his shirt and cursed under his breath when it came away in his hand; he wasn’t in the mood for Tinnie’s truisms.
“I feel like someone with absolutely no philosophy on life any more, if I ever had one. It’s like everything in life is a disappointment and then you’re gone.”
“Life’s a bitch and then you die…I know, I can see it in your face and I believe you feel that way, I really do but if only you could see yourself the way other people see you, you’ve got so much to give Marcel and yet you live your life like an unfulfilled promise.”
Marcel gave her a sneer.
“Oh please! I haven’t forgiven you yet for waking me at the crack of dawn yesterday; the least you can do is desist with the cliché bombardment.”
Tinnie blithely ignored him and pressed on.
“So what happened with Onno? You haven’t actually explained anything yet.”
Marcel groaned and sighed deeply.
“Not much really; I met him, we had a couple of drinks and to cut a long story short, because I’ve analysed it so much it’s boring, even to me, I asked him what was wrong and why our relationship hadn’t quite taken off the way I’d hoped.”
“And…?”
“And…and nothing. There was no relationship, nor even a hint of one, never had been, beyond what he thought I could offer him and that was all a huge and embarrassing misunderstanding, caused by someone who’s mouth is clearly at the wrong end of his body.”
“Now you’ve really lost me; I don’t understand any of this.”
“He likes young boys, teenagers and especially virgin teenagers and someone had told him I was able to provide them. Me! Can you believe it? That’s it really. I haven’t a clue who would say such a thing and his description was at best, vague so it’s a complete mystery; that is, of course if he’s telling the truth! Needless to say, I put him straight on that one and fortunately, I think he mistook my red face for anger instead of cringing embarrassment because within ten minutes he was gone.”
“Oh, you poor thing, that’s terrible. Now I understand why you’re so disillusioned; you really liked him didn’t you?”
Less of the well-meant sympathy Tin please, I feel stupid enough about the whole business. I ‘m such a fool. Why didn’t I read the situation right? All my trusty instincts have proved to be useless and I can’t believe I got it so wrong! Christ, I’ve met enough con men and charlatans over the years and every sort of man in the gay spectrum; you’d think I’d be able to spot the wrong type a mile off. One thing’s for sure, I’m not interested in relationships any more; it’s a bloody minefield!”
“But it wasn’t your fault and I think you have every right to be angry because you weren’t the only one who made wrong assumptions. You should feel insulted that he thought you were some sort of pimp.”
“I am angry but not at him; I’m pissed off at myself. I’ve completely lost the plot!”
Time passed by at the pace of a good wine and stopped being relevant as it so often did when these two got together. Tinnie refilled the glasses and as usual when fuelled with drink and mellowed with marijuana, got on her soapbox and declaimed the merits and advantages of being a lesbian over their male counterparts.
“Oh God! We’re not going to get into that old chestnut again, where you gay girls take the moral high ground because you raise yourselves above the animal and only fuck someone if you feel something for her? I can’t stand it!”
“It’s true…mainly. I couldn’t go into a darkroom and have an orgy with a complete set of strangers, I just couldn’t do it. The darkroom culture is unknown amongst lesbians.”
“Oh sorry for being such a beast, Saint Tinneke of the Holy Dildo but why do I get the feeling I’m supposed to feel morally inferior? Just because you claim you need ‘chemistry’ to have sex and I’ve known enough promiscuous lesbians to cast doubt on that particular ‘one cap fits all’ theory, I fail to see how that makes you better than me.”
“I never said I felt better than you! You’re the one moaning about failed relationships, with true love, hearts and flowers and singing cherubs flopping about all over the place. Admit it, you want to meet Mr. Right and settle down to slippers and pipe, till death do you part.”
“Yes and if the mood takes me I want to be able to go and fuck a complete stranger, without saying two words to him, as well. It doesn’t mean I won’t feel loyal and faithful to my partner; it just means I’m feeling horny and fancy a bit of the other that’s all; like right now actually.”
“That’s what sets us apart from you men; you’re all ruled by your libido and come to think of it, that goes for straight men as well.”
“From what I’ve heard, straight men and women for that matter, at least those who can string more than two sentences together, really envy our freedom to be at ease with our sexual selves and to happily screw around.”
“In your dreams pal! That particular theory was invented by gay men to somehow justify grubbing around in some cockroach-infested hole in the dark and anyway, look where it’s got you all…oh Marcel, sorry, I didn’t mean that.”
“Yes you did and yes I’ve lived under the sword of Damocles for years and yes, maybe you’re right. It can’t be disputed that whatever the flavour of your lolly, the more sexual partners a person has; the more chance of catching something but that applies across the board and remember the old Aids rallying cry Tinnie; sex was never meant to kill you! Apart from that, are you telling me that if it weren’t for the church-created mores of society, straight men and women wouldn’t be at each other like dogs on heat all the time if they could?”
“Men, maybe but women need more than that.”
“Absolute bollocks! You’re reverting to the stereotypes of men being walking dicks and women floating around on clouds of sensitivity and emotion. There are times for love and affection, for everyone and there are times when all you need is a good fuck. All gay men do is remove the guilt and get on with it.”
“Sorry Marcel, I happen to believe that in the vast majority of cases the stereotypes are true and as for the word Gay, what a sad misnomer that is! I haven’t seen you looking ‘gay’ in either sense in months.”
“Thanks! That’s all I needed. All I know is God must be a woman; it would explain the complete lack of logic in this world.”
“Oh really! Well let me tell you this Mr. ‘Drowning in his own Sorrows,’ if God was a woman then men would be having periods every month and shitting basketballs at childbirth. You know maybe gay men and gay women are fundamentally different. The only thing we have in common is that we like sleeping with our own sex; otherwise we’re like chalk and cheese; we’ve got totally different standards.”
The argument progressed, as it so often had, until neither friend could take much more and stalemate was achieved.
It was already early morning and with a limp kiss, Marcel had finally persuaded Tinnie to go home. Before finally flopping on his bed, he determined that part of his disquiet could only be assuaged by a bit of anonymous sex. It was too late now, he was exhausted, although in Amsterdam there were always twenty four hour possibilities. The next evening he’d go on the hunt again. Why not? He’d stayed in long enough brooding on this and that. Despite Tinnie’s moral objections, or maybe because of, the decision was made.
John watched as Annie’s ample frame rushed past him and headed off down the corridor towards the First Aid department. Luckily, he’d seen her before she’d seen him and he’d been able to dodge out of sight. Clutching the plastic bag stuffed and overflowing with Guus’ clothes, he made his way out of the hospital and breathed a sigh of relief. Guus wasn’t out of the woods yet and would have some quick thinking to do but at least the hard and incriminating evidence was out of the way.
Having left the car park and paid for his ticket, he pulled over to the side of the road to mull over what had happened and what he should do next. He could have sat in the car in the car park but that would have cost extra and it amused him how Dutch he was becoming. Christ, he’d just paid an escort God knows how much for sex and here he was worried about saving a few extra cents!
Pieter’s phone call had panicked him but mainly because the background noise was near hysterical. He had really feared the worst for Guus; a heart attack, or a haemorrhage and had leapt in the car and driven at breakneck speed through the busy streets to get to the Nieuwe Keizersgracht, only to find that the ambulance had already arrived and whisked Guus away. At least Pieter had begun to think straight and in the few minutes before he rushed off again, they hatched a plan to distract Annie from an even more painful truth than the one she might have to face. It meant that John needed to return home to grab Guus’ sports bag and then rush it to the hospital where a quick swap could be made. It was a plan with so many flaws that John didn’t dare contemplate the possibilities for disaster and if Guus was seriously ill or worse, it seemed childish at best; irresponsible and deceitful at worst. Pieter promised John that he would wait as long as possible before ringing Annie but it couldn’t be too long; Guus’ situation was possibly far too serious for delay. Then again, Guus had been hoisted into the ambulance in his triumphant outfit and full make up; there was every chance that John wouldn’t get there before Annie, or the hospital staff would make some comment but he felt he owed it to his friend to try his best. He really believed that Guus would prefer the heart attack than having to own up to his wife.
As it turned out, there was less cause for alarm than everybody had supposed. It seemed that Guus had merely fainted, possibly because of the heat but more likely because of the tightness of his corset. When John arrived, his clothes had been removed and he was flat out on a trolley swathed in a hospital gown, in the first aid department. The staff had been sympathetic but much against his own wishes had insisted that he stay put for a while until they were quite sure he was recovered. John hurriedly and not too gently cleaned up his face to remove the last vestiges of make up and showed him the sports bag.
“Now I’ve got to get out of here.”
Guus looked at him sadly,
“It’s a mess, a real mess isn’t it? I wish you didn’t have to go; I can’t face her…she’ll know straight away. Oh God I’m really up the creek without a paddle.”
“Now look Guus, you’re entitled to be in a state, you’ve just been rushed to hospital for God’s sake! Annie will be too worried to think there’s anything more behind it. I’ll have a word with the nurses to try and get them to be discreet. After all, you fainted! It could just as easily have happened at the Gym, in fact it’s quite logical if you ask me. Play dumb, look pathetic and no confessions in a moment of weakness, okay? Guus? Hey are you listening…?”
Guus’ head had flopped back on the pillow and John realised something wasn’t right. He rushed out and called the nurse, who in turn called others and before he knew it, four or five people were busy around the trolley. John was asked to wait outside, where he spent a few anxious minutes clutching the bag full of women’s clothes and worrying that this was all getting out of control before a nurse came out laughing and told him that Guus had just fainted again, nothing to worry about.
‘Little does she know,’ he thought as he made his way along the corridor and towards his narrow escape from Annie.
Guus was in a strange place; a room with an open door leading onto an overflowing garden, in a house he didn’t recognise. His mother was washing clothes in the sink by hand, as she often used to do when he was young. She had already transferred some things to the line outside and was wringing the moisture out of the last sheet, before shaking it vigorously and offering one end to him so that it could be stretched. He could smell the heady scent of the soap flakes and see the way her fingers were wrinkled and pink, after so much time in the water. He tugged on the outstretched material, losing out to his mother’s greater strength and resenting the jerks on his shoulders. All this had happened many times when he was young; only now, he wasn’t a child he was fully-grown, albeit in his late teens instead of his present age. He was slimmer, better looking and had a full head of hair. They walked the ends of the sheet to each other so that it should be folded in the normal way and Guus took the finished article out into the garden to hang on the line. Just outside, Annie and John’s ex Sally sat at a small table drinking fruit juice and chatting to each other. They waved cheerily as Guus stepped past them and reached for the clothes pegs…
……
Meanwhile, in serious need of a diversion, John had once more made use of Guido’s sympathetic services.
“I need to see for myself what gay life is like in Amsterdam. I don’t know whether I’m gay or not but I think it might help me to make up my mind. Of course, I’d pay the usual rates; would that be a problem?”
Guido stretched languidly, like a self assured cat on the bed and yawned.
“No, no problem, I’d be happy to give you a tour if that’s what you really want but I should warn you, it’s not always a pretty sight and there are groups of people out there who are as different from you as chalk and cheese. As far as being gay is concerned, I’ve learned not to label people; there’s black and there’s white but there’s every shade of grey in between, why tie yourself down?”
“Oh, I don’t know, I’ve always liked to know where I fit in the world you know. Whatever I am, I’ll be quite happy with it but I’d still like to know.”
Guido shrugged his shoulders, got up off the bed in one bound and tugged his figure hugging jeans over his hips before checking himself in the mirror and flexing his chest muscles.
‘I guess even the beautiful people have insecurities,’ thought John wryly to himself.
25. Two friends talk it through
“So, both let down in the love stakes, yet again! It looks as though we’re stuck with each other eh!”
Marcel fiddled with a loose button on his shirt and cursed under his breath when it came away in his hand; he wasn’t in the mood for Tinnie’s truisms.
“I feel like someone with absolutely no philosophy on life any more, if I ever had one. It’s like everything in life is a disappointment and then you’re gone.”
“Life’s a bitch and then you die…I know, I can see it in your face and I believe you feel that way, I really do but if only you could see yourself the way other people see you, you’ve got so much to give Marcel and yet you live your life like an unfulfilled promise.”
Marcel gave her a sneer.
“Oh please! I haven’t forgiven you yet for waking me at the crack of dawn yesterday; the least you can do is desist with the cliché bombardment.”
Tinnie blithely ignored him and pressed on.
“So what happened with Onno? You haven’t actually explained anything yet.”
Marcel groaned and sighed deeply.
“Not much really; I met him, we had a couple of drinks and to cut a long story short, because I’ve analysed it so much it’s boring, even to me, I asked him what was wrong and why our relationship hadn’t quite taken off the way I’d hoped.”
“And…?”
“And…and nothing. There was no relationship, nor even a hint of one, never had been, beyond what he thought I could offer him and that was all a huge and embarrassing misunderstanding, caused by someone who’s mouth is clearly at the wrong end of his body.”
“Now you’ve really lost me; I don’t understand any of this.”
“He likes young boys, teenagers and especially virgin teenagers and someone had told him I was able to provide them. Me! Can you believe it? That’s it really. I haven’t a clue who would say such a thing and his description was at best, vague so it’s a complete mystery; that is, of course if he’s telling the truth! Needless to say, I put him straight on that one and fortunately, I think he mistook my red face for anger instead of cringing embarrassment because within ten minutes he was gone.”
“Oh, you poor thing, that’s terrible. Now I understand why you’re so disillusioned; you really liked him didn’t you?”
Less of the well-meant sympathy Tin please, I feel stupid enough about the whole business. I ‘m such a fool. Why didn’t I read the situation right? All my trusty instincts have proved to be useless and I can’t believe I got it so wrong! Christ, I’ve met enough con men and charlatans over the years and every sort of man in the gay spectrum; you’d think I’d be able to spot the wrong type a mile off. One thing’s for sure, I’m not interested in relationships any more; it’s a bloody minefield!”
“But it wasn’t your fault and I think you have every right to be angry because you weren’t the only one who made wrong assumptions. You should feel insulted that he thought you were some sort of pimp.”
“I am angry but not at him; I’m pissed off at myself. I’ve completely lost the plot!”
Time passed by at the pace of a good wine and stopped being relevant as it so often did when these two got together. Tinnie refilled the glasses and as usual when fuelled with drink and mellowed with marijuana, got on her soapbox and declaimed the merits and advantages of being a lesbian over their male counterparts.
“Oh God! We’re not going to get into that old chestnut again, where you gay girls take the moral high ground because you raise yourselves above the animal and only fuck someone if you feel something for her? I can’t stand it!”
“It’s true…mainly. I couldn’t go into a darkroom and have an orgy with a complete set of strangers, I just couldn’t do it. The darkroom culture is unknown amongst lesbians.”
“Oh sorry for being such a beast, Saint Tinneke of the Holy Dildo but why do I get the feeling I’m supposed to feel morally inferior? Just because you claim you need ‘chemistry’ to have sex and I’ve known enough promiscuous lesbians to cast doubt on that particular ‘one cap fits all’ theory, I fail to see how that makes you better than me.”
“I never said I felt better than you! You’re the one moaning about failed relationships, with true love, hearts and flowers and singing cherubs flopping about all over the place. Admit it, you want to meet Mr. Right and settle down to slippers and pipe, till death do you part.”
“Yes and if the mood takes me I want to be able to go and fuck a complete stranger, without saying two words to him, as well. It doesn’t mean I won’t feel loyal and faithful to my partner; it just means I’m feeling horny and fancy a bit of the other that’s all; like right now actually.”
“That’s what sets us apart from you men; you’re all ruled by your libido and come to think of it, that goes for straight men as well.”
“From what I’ve heard, straight men and women for that matter, at least those who can string more than two sentences together, really envy our freedom to be at ease with our sexual selves and to happily screw around.”
“In your dreams pal! That particular theory was invented by gay men to somehow justify grubbing around in some cockroach-infested hole in the dark and anyway, look where it’s got you all…oh Marcel, sorry, I didn’t mean that.”
“Yes you did and yes I’ve lived under the sword of Damocles for years and yes, maybe you’re right. It can’t be disputed that whatever the flavour of your lolly, the more sexual partners a person has; the more chance of catching something but that applies across the board and remember the old Aids rallying cry Tinnie; sex was never meant to kill you! Apart from that, are you telling me that if it weren’t for the church-created mores of society, straight men and women wouldn’t be at each other like dogs on heat all the time if they could?”
“Men, maybe but women need more than that.”
“Absolute bollocks! You’re reverting to the stereotypes of men being walking dicks and women floating around on clouds of sensitivity and emotion. There are times for love and affection, for everyone and there are times when all you need is a good fuck. All gay men do is remove the guilt and get on with it.”
“Sorry Marcel, I happen to believe that in the vast majority of cases the stereotypes are true and as for the word Gay, what a sad misnomer that is! I haven’t seen you looking ‘gay’ in either sense in months.”
“Thanks! That’s all I needed. All I know is God must be a woman; it would explain the complete lack of logic in this world.”
“Oh really! Well let me tell you this Mr. ‘Drowning in his own Sorrows,’ if God was a woman then men would be having periods every month and shitting basketballs at childbirth. You know maybe gay men and gay women are fundamentally different. The only thing we have in common is that we like sleeping with our own sex; otherwise we’re like chalk and cheese; we’ve got totally different standards.”
The argument progressed, as it so often had, until neither friend could take much more and stalemate was achieved.
It was already early morning and with a limp kiss, Marcel had finally persuaded Tinnie to go home. Before finally flopping on his bed, he determined that part of his disquiet could only be assuaged by a bit of anonymous sex. It was too late now, he was exhausted, although in Amsterdam there were always twenty four hour possibilities. The next evening he’d go on the hunt again. Why not? He’d stayed in long enough brooding on this and that. Despite Tinnie’s moral objections, or maybe because of, the decision was made.
The Amsterdam Series
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23. Tinnie takes time-out
- Guus has a narrow escape
- Two friends talk it through
