Bluesphinx

During the time when I found myself enduring the unpleasant process of divorce from my first wife, Sarah, I consoled myself by keeping close links with my small circle of close friends. Apart from my colleagues, several of whom I considered as dear to me as brothers, there were two people outside of the workplace to who I shared a particularly close bond of friendship-Thurston and Eddy.

 I knew them both while Sarah and I were still living together as man and wife, Thurston was a neighbour who lived in a flat downstairs from us, and Eddy, an ex-firefighter, was introduced to me by my then father-in-law Bob, who was friendly with him when I had just started Firefighter training at Eastleigh.

 Eddy called at Bob’s house one day, and introduced himself to me as an ex-firefighter, wished me well in my burgeoning career, and then presented me with two sets of veteran cap badges. We hit it off immediately. Eddy, a few years my senior, and already a double divorcee, occasional pot smoker, and thoroughly decent bloke. Sweetly articulate, highly intelligent, excruciatingly funny, and deeply flawed.

 If you are fortunate enough to be in Ed’s ‘good books’, life would be sweet as a nut-he would do anything for you, without question. Need a lift but stuck for transport? No problem, Ed would be happy to give you a ride. Skint? If Ed’s got a few sheckles in his pockets then so have you. Simply suffering from life’s occasional hard knocks? If Eddy can help he will. At the very least you would be offered the benefit of his moral support and (often) sound advice. Eddy is very keenly observant, he has an instinct for fine details, and this makes it almost impossible to deceive him. This could be the source of his problems. You see he tends to look for perfection in people, and so is constantly disappointed. This has hardened him and made him quite cynical, and distrustful of most people who are not within his trusted inner sanctum. For many years I was a member of that very exclusive club, who’s membership stretched to no more than two or three.

 It was this facet of Ed’s personality that led to his two failed marriages. I really hope that he one day finds himself a soul mate who continues to keep him interested, and who measures up to the high standards that he expects from a partner-but I won’t be holding my breath!

 It was during our long search for a soul mate that I came across Angela. Let me explain.

 About eighteen months since splitting up from Sarah, apart from a few one night stands, there was no new romance on my horizon, and Eddy was languishing in the same boat. We had both done the rounds of the various small local dating agencies and had exhausted all the viable options on offer there. The ‘pulling’ of strumpets in clubs and bars were bete noire to us both and were totally impractical for our purposes-we both craved something deeper and more meaningful than a quick drunken knee trembler with some inebriate trollop in the half-lit, piss-stinking back alleys that festered at the rear of Bracknell’s mean streets!

 “I got it!” I announced one day to Ed, who was sharing a couple of spliffs with me in my now all too bachelor flat. “We need to find ourselves a lady friend each-emphasis on the word friend.”

 “Go on..” Ed urged.

“We should join some sort of club…”

 “Aikido!” Ed interrupted with a grin.

“No not Aikido, at least not for finding a bird-unless you fancy a spanking! No Ed, I was thinking more of dancing classes.” It seemed obvious. There would certainly be no shortage of women-as long as they fell within our chosen age group. It would be fun-and another interest to add to the collection, and there were a few classes quite local to us. Eddy had to agree if only provisionally with my logic. Then he added “We could try amateur dramatics-I’ve always fancied that…”

 So there it was. The decision was taken to enrol in the local drama group based in Bracknell’s South Hill Park Theatre, and also we got ourselves on the books at a local school of dance-the name of which escapes me now, but nevertheless it was located in Reading.

 My theory proved to be right. The women there in the dance class were almost growing on trees! A bevy of beauties aged approximately from eighteen to seventy plus were there for our delight, and apart from a number of older gents, and husbands with wives for partners there was only one other free male in the place-a puny milksop who instead of extending a brotherly welcome as we entered the harem, viewed us with utter mistrust and deep loathing right from the word go! Not that such a pantywaist should bother the likes of Eddy and I-we were on a mission, and if this milquetoast had his nose put out of joint in the process, then hard luck!

 Almost straight away I was teamed up with an attractive young woman of about twenty five who answered to the name of Cathy. Eddy was with…I don’t know. I wasn’t that concerned with what Ed was doing to be brutally honest, my priority was to reconnoitre any easy targets that may be available for my delectation!

 I discovered in me a latent talent for both ballroom and Latin American dancing. Cathy became my permanent partner, and over time we shared a frisson of suppressed sexual chemistry that due to the fact that she was a happily married woman quietly bubbled under the surface of propriety.

 As well as the dancing I enjoyed the social side of the twice weekly meetings, but I could see that Ed was struggling to control his two left feet! After about a month or six weeks he was beginning to flag. I couldn’t criticise however, because I had long since discovered that the luviedom, the patronising, prima-donnaring, closed shop attitude of the established members of the Bracknell am-dram community was far too rich for my blood, and I quit after four or five visits, while Eddy, who’s idea it was to enrol with them in the first place, you may recall, bravely soldiered on for a further couple of months.

 But to return to the terpsichore. During the breaks I made it my business to get close to the teacher. Not just because I fancied the pants off her you understand, which incidentally, I did-in spades, but more in an honest effort to try and learn as much as I could on the subject of dance. Also, I hoped that perhaps in a roundabout sort of way, I might glean if I could, a modicum of inside knowledge about the extensive, and hopefully available female membership.

 It was after one such exchange, when Angela our teacher was out of earshot that Eddy suggested to me that he knew who it was in the room that fancied me.

 “Who’s that then Ed?” I asked, genuinely unaware of what he had observed.

 “The teacher. Angela…” I was dumbfound. Taken aback. Flattered, hopeful, and determined to firmly test this theory-to destruction if necessary! So the next time I attended the class I pulled out all the stops. The days of bashfully plucking up the courage to ask a woman out for a date were long since behind me. I was a fully grown man who, due to some of my more notable previous exploits commanded no small amount of respect from my acquaintances. So I decided on the direct approach-she could like it or lump it!

 “Angie…”

 “Yes?”

 “Look, How about we get together some time soon-out of class I mean. Maybe we could go for a meal, or a drink somewhere, or a show or anything you fancy. Whaddya say?”

 “That’s very sweet.” She replied with a broad and totally beguiling kind of smile that shot an arrow straight through my heart! “The only problem is that I don’t think my other half would like it though. But thank you so much for asking, It was lovely, thank you.”

 I was disappointed-I had expected and hoped that Eddy’s acumen when it came to reading other people would pay off. But his usual sapience was for once a bit out of whack. However, I did detect genuine warmth in Angela’s voice. Her answer carried not a hint of counterfeit emotion; I believe that it was sincere, friendly and even slightly grateful.

 The following week I attended class on my lonesome-Eddy couldn’t make it that week. I behaved towards Angela as though the question had never been posed. Then at the end of the session I was about to leave when she came over and spoke to me.

 “Remember, last week, you asked me something?” She gingerly enquired.

 “Of course I do.”

 “Would you ask the same question again?”

 “If you want me to I would.”

 “I want you to.”

 “Angela. Will you come out with me on a date?”

 “Yes. I will. When?”

 And that was it.

 I hit cloud nine about three seconds later, and I swear I didn’t come down for about four years!

 So commenced an ill-fated affair of the heart. Sexually explosive, illicit and exciting, clandestine and frustrating, ultimately damaging to the both of us. But at that time I was more than happy to go along with it and see where the ride would take me.

 Angela was beautiful. Well spoken, fair haired-described by my mother as ‘A tall, willowy blonde’. Six feet tall, she moved so gracefully when she walked-I put that down to her years of training in the art of dance. A very smart dresser, all in all, a real catch, a looker.

 She had a gentle, loving spirit, and of course, the essential requirement, a good sense of humour. Oh yes, I almost forgot, as a tax accountant she was earning a lot more money than I was at that time.

 Well it didn’t take long for me to completely lose perspective-egged on by Angela, who, skilfully employed that age-old adulterers’ device of promising to leave the unfeeling brute that she was unfortunate enough to find herself living with, and come set up home with me. I really couldn’t care less about him. He should have taken her less for granted, and because he hadn’t he was about to lose her to me-tough shit! Of course now I realise that she was in all probability just spinning me a line-for the excitement, you understand.

 Before I knew it I was well and truly besotted, plastering my home with pictures of her that in her absence stood in as surrogate lovers. I got all soppy penning frequent love letters and poetry, sending flowers by the wagon-load to her place of work, I even got her to sit while I rendered her portrait in charcoal. I made her my hobby. She was flattered and very happy to be on the receiving end of all the attention. I had never fallen so quickly and so deeply for anyone before in my life.

 But all the while our relationship was flawed-we were living a lie. Angela was living with someone else, and of course, because of that I naturally was never able to see as much of her as I wanted to. It killed me a little every time she got up out of my bed to return to the house she shared with him. But she looked so great! And she smelled so gorgeous! Like a junkie, I just couldn’t let go of her even if I wanted to. I needed my regular fix of her!

 Apart from meeting her for lunch whenever I could, we met twice a week for dance class, and we would follow each liaison up in a quiet and darkened part of the car park with a little stolen intimacy in the front of her car before she returned home. She would come and visit me at home Monday and Friday evenings, she would stay, usually in my bedroom until it was late, then suddenly, as reality bit she would jump up, get dressed, and as quickly as she had arrived she disappeared back into the night. Back to the ‘lucky bastard’ who had her every night. I never once enquired as to what excuses she employed to justify the many dalliances, with my head buried deeply in the sand, I just took it for granted that Angela knew what she was doing.

 We even enjoyed a long and not too clean weekend away together at a posh hotel in Woolacombe. It was a working trip for her, paid for out of her expenses, as was the long weekend that we spent in Bexhill on another occasion. All the time I still clung to the naïve belief that one day she would end her relationship with him. Then to all outward appearances she’d remain respectably single for the  requisite period, until the much anticipated time when we would ‘come out’, and get blissfully on with our lives.

 Four years passed before the realisation finally dawned on us that this happy dream was nothing more than a fantasy, when after all the love, effort, time and energy that had been invested, Angela told me one evening that she was sorry, but she could not carry it on any longer-I got the old “You’re a smashing guy…honestly, it’s not you, it’s me…” routine-which under the circumstances is absolutely no consolation at all. To be told that you’re a ‘great bloke’ and that ‘any woman would be so lucky to have you…’  left me thinking ‘bollocks!’ at the time.  I wanted her so much to her that woman, and after promising me faithfully that if I remained patient she would be. But instead she was breaking my heart! 

  Angela. No hard feelings dear. It was a pleasure to know you, and it was great while it lasted. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for some very exciting happy memories, darlin’. Shame it didn’t last longer. It cut so deeply, and hurt so horribly when it ran out of steam, but would I do it again if ever I had the chance? Are you stupid? Of course I would-like a shot!! I wouldn’t hesitate, that’s the truth.

 You live and learn.