jurisprudent
01-30-2010, 04:04 PM
She looked at the heap of white unopened letters and her fingers quickly went through, her eyes searching for a given sign and several letters. Pale, she opened the one she picked out of the heap, and sat by the window. It was winter and, perhaps unusually, it was snowing in London. The tower of Big Ben was covered by the thin layer of snow and, when she woke up in the morning, she could see this white cap cheering her for the beginning of the new day. And the day was tedious – shopping, going out, waiting for Martin to come home, then going out with him again…This morning would bring a change. An abrupt and radical one. She closed the envelop and put it beneath her pillow. It was half past eleven and it was the right time to go to the fitness or have a swim, but this was an unusual day and, therefore, she called her mother. They talked for half an hour, Jane was bored by the conversation and decided to take a drive around the London city streets, slowly by the river while the snowflakes, gathering in a fierce whirlwind, were circling around the car. She had a lunch with a friend, went to the cinema and right at 7 o’clock dressed up with her new Japanese kimono and sat down waiting for Martin.
He was tired. It was a busy day in the office, he had a quarrelsome client – former director of a City corporation being sued by the liquidator of his bankrupt company, and he had to prepare the defense for the court hearings next morning. He was not in mood for going out and looked straight at Jane – slim, sporty, long reddish hair, green eyes, inevitably sexy, and she instantly caught the line of his thoughts. He locked up in his room, reading some papers behind the laptop screen, and finally, around 11, he left his glasses by the computer and went into the living room where she was watching TV and occasionally texting a friend. I have something for you, love, she said, and went to the bed, took the letter under the pillow and gave it to him, his eyes staring at her dumbly. Martin sat on the sofa, read the letter twice, touched his forehead and smiled, then his smile turned into loud sudden laugh. His face, usually bearing the signs of tired indifference, was instantly agitated and eventually he reached out, took Jane by the hand and kissed her palm. Their eyes met for a second long enough to exchange a long line of information that would be summarized in three brilliant images – she, in the hospital, giving birth to their child, as the letter has just told them of this; they, together, walking in finest clothes in order to be married under the September sun in the yard of an expensive house he would have to inevitably buy; they, again together, sitting in the living room of their house, a house full of reddish-hair children. The second was gone but the three images were stuck in their hearts.
On the next morning after she had a cup of coffee, it was time to go to the hospital and get the results. London was covered by the thick white layer of snow, the icy pieces were floating on the surface of Thames. The hospital car parking was desolate. Jane went to the reception and asked for her results. The nurse looked at her suspiciously, then asked for her name twice and after a minute disappeared behind a glass wall. When she came back, she was escorted by a doctor. He explained that there must have been a real mistake, he apologized, yes, there was a mistake – her results have been sent to another woman, and she has received a letter intended to somebody else. The envelopes have been swapped. So – I am not pregnant?, she asked, and the doctor sat behind a computer screen, checked her result and nodded. No sign of pregnancy, dear. Try again.
While she was driving back home, Jane lit a cigarette and started to think. It was about 2 pm, she left the car near Marble arch and quickly went into a telephone box. Her pale fingers groped for the small notebook she carried in her bag. When she dialed the number, a husky male voice replied. They made an arrangement and Jane quickly left the place. Two days later, she went to Soho, straight to a tiny house, up the staircase leading to a small studio overlooking a quiet snowy back yard. In a brown leather jacket, with his hands in his pockets, there was a man standing by the window. He looked at Jane for a second, as she asked for a cigarette. The window was open, the cold was coming in. She sat on the wooden faded table. The man sat next to her, lit a cigarette and asked: Are you still with that guy, the lawyer? From the City? She said yes. The man was staring at her face, the pale skin, the reddish hair, the elegance of the two fingers holding the cigarette as it was weaving its smoke around her face. And you? Still running? He smiled for a second, shrugged his shoulders – it has been two years since he had last seen her, and a lot of things have changed. No, he left the sport behind after a severe trauma. Now he was a chauffeur in a firm renting limos. A taxi driver? She replied, a little scornfully, but he did not mind what she intended or actually said. I am not getting rich in near future, darling, why do you want to see me? She was silent, thinking. I don’t believe you would leave your City lawyer for me. She was silent.
Her hair was long, falling down her shoulders, pale when naked, her skin was pale, her legs were long. He took her hand, she threw the cigarette. The room was a small one, leading to another, with a bed and a sink. Almost automatically, she threw all her clothes, sat by the window and gazed at the backyard. It was snowing. Am I not beautiful? Perfect? Her eyes were dominant. He threw the leather jacket on a chair, kissed her, again and again, while she stared at some distant point in the far snowy end of the back yard. Two hours later, as the evening dusk was approaching, she left the studio, went down the staircase and to the street.
Every day, just after half past six, when Martin used to leave the office at the top of the City building, he would stop by a flower market, pick up a bouquet of red roses and bring it home for his beautiful pregnant girlfriend. They agreed that she would quit smoking, stop wasting time in the city malls and concentrate on a healthy and calm way of life. She was not putting up any weight yet, but she was a slim one and he did not expect her to become too plump. Meanwhile he was urging her to choose a good – no! – renown doctor to look after her health, before and after the birth of the baby. And he was also excited. A boy? A girl? Who knows! He just wanted a child. Yes, he promised, I will spend more time with you, more time at home, I will bring all the documents from my office here, after all it is even quieter than in the high City tower. And they will marry, marry after the birth, maybe 4-5 months later, in a beautiful countryside church, he had already asked a fellow partner at the firm to be his best man. Home? They would leave the flat on the banks of Thames, it is a nice one, but he wanted to buy a vast, expensive, luxurious apartment in West End, near Green Park. The prices are ludicrous, Martin knew it well, but why did he work, day after day, if he could not afford it, for himself and his family? Yes, and they will go to Paris or maybe Rome, or Rio as Jane wanted, but after they have settled. It would be wonderful.
At half past six sharp Jane used to come home, have a shower, smoke a cigarette by the open window and wait for Martin. So she had left these four hours between 2 and 4 for the small Soho studio and him. She never told him why she decided to sleep with him again, he did not really insist on knowing, and they were fine. She was persistent. She would not miss the opportunity, every day, every week. And she was ardently observing the days on the calendar going by one after another. Martin was so excited, she was often terrified he might press her to go the doctor together. Very bad. But she used to distract herself by shopping and talking with friends. All of her friends, former or current photo models, like herself, knew of her fabulous story and a lot f them were envious. Jane, Jane managed to catch a good party, yes, 10 years older, yes, not very handsome, but well-off, stable, and this was a real feat. But Jane was also very circumspect. Martin was a suspicious one, very secretive and introvert, he might want to check…everything. So, every afternoon, she used to drive to the British Library, leave the car, go into the Museum, spend 20 minutes walking to and fro, and then head to the Soho studio, each time choosing a different route.
She carefully chose the name of the doctor after she had already talked with some of her friends who have already married rich men working in the City. Yes, the guy was quite experienced, of course he was expensive but rather quiet and loyal. Jane called him without hesitation, and on the next day went to the clinic located near the Strand. Yes, a luxurious place, the rent should be preposterous, but it seemed that the doctor’s clients were among the best in hand. She waited for about twenty minutes, then a nurse called her name and she went into the narrow room with walls painted in blue. The doctor was in his mid forties, already bald, but relaxed and, what Jane valued most of all, avoided any questions raising ambiguities. That afternoon, having undergone all the medical examinations the doctor prescribed, she went home, and waited for Martin who came with the usual bouquette of red roses, kissed her cheek calling her “my lovely wife”. She made a dinner, rather clumsily, but Martin seemed not to care, the boredom and indifference were wiped out of his face and he was talking, laughing, making occasional remarks to Jane – be careful, don’t do this, be watchful, the baby…The long red hair was falling and covering her pale shoulders. A kiss on the neck. One more. He hugged her slim body, still wondering why she was so thin and elegant. On the next morning, while watching TV, she called her mother, a French woman who, after her divorce with Jane’s father, returned back to France. Yes, mum, he loves me, loves me a lot. Everything is prefect, perfect. She told her friends the same, but her nervous fingers were groping through the heap of letters each and every morning, waiting for the most important one. The doctor surprised her, and she was pleased – he called her confidently and said the three-letter word that she needed: yes. Yes. Oh god, she went to a nearby church, she was so happy she ate a chocolate cake, bought two big expensive dresses and shook the hand of the doorkeeper, though she rarely used to greet him at all. Martin saw a visible change in her but kept silent – he was too happy to speak.
At first, she decided to reject his calls, then she finally erased the number from her phonebook and, when it was getting hopeless, just bought a new SIM card. She abruptly ceased the Soho studio afternoons, and she preferred to go out with friends, just for distraction. He decided to leave all this behind, to forget about that man and the small cold flat. She had what she wanted. Her pregnancy was beginning to become noticeable. Yes, it was boring, she could not go shopping all day and put on weight, sitting alone at home, but, after all, it was the price she had to pay. Jane and Martin visited a large flat near Marble Arch, with a window overlooking Hyde Park, and that was just perfect. They chose the room for the baby, and thought about a second one – who knows? She met a friend in a city mall and told her all about what was going. Oh you are so lucky, she said…when are you getting married? Jane extended her hand – and there was a brilliant blue diamond ring, with 120 facets, on her finger…soon, now we’re just engaged. Soon. Afterwards Jane left the mall, walked down the parking and heard abrupt steps behind her. She turned. He fixed his eyes on her face. Dark, brooding big eyes, with fierce sparkles deep inside. How did you find me, she asked, but he put his finger on her lips. What happened? You left me…so suddenly. She moved away from him. I don’t want to see you anymore. She headed towards the car. Hey! He cried. Hey! You are pregnant…She did not turn. He started to run after her. She stopped by the car, fumbling in the bag for the keys… he put his palm, a heavy one, on her shoulder, and she turned with sudden abruptness, her face was red and twisted by anger. Get lost! Now! Now! She was nervously shrieking, her face redder and redder. You are pregnant, he mumbled, his eyes fixed on the slight protruding shape of her stomach under the expensive dress. Pregnant. Forget about me, she said, forget me immediately…if you ever call me again, if you ever meet me again…I am gonna say you raped me. Yes I will. I will. She had clenched her white pale fists, the face was purple, and her lips, red, were slightly opened as if she was a panther getting ready for a sudden jump, taking her breath, fiercely. He shook his head, made a step away, and nervously laughed…that was all…all. All. He said it louder. All! His body started to disappear, approaching the far end of the parking. All. She sighed, took a deep breath and smiled. It was over. Over.
Two months before the baby was born Martin finalized the formalities on the purchase of the flat near Marble Arch and they planned to move I immediately after she would be released from the hospital. And the wedding? Maybe half a year later. Martin wanted to avoid any hurry, he wanted to organize any detail and make it fabulous. Jane’s mother visited them for a week and she showed her the big diamond ring – with 120 facets – the old woman was astonished. Cherie, she said, cherie, that’s wonderful! She started to sob tears. And I remember the narrow decrepit flat where we lived with your father…Jane shrugged her shoulders. She would not live in misery. Meanwhile she was choosing the paintings for the hall of the new flats – she wanted to buy some new-fangled artists, they were not so expensive and were quite modernistic, which was going to impress her friends, former or actual photo models. And she talked with a fitness expert, he prepared a programme for her so that she would be fit in 3-4 months after the birth, just for the wedding. Martin wanted her to be a beautiful bride.
The baby was a girl. With big dark eyes, full of sudden sparks and wandering curiosity, with reddish hairs on the otherwise bald little head. Martin was very proud, he was carrying her – Leyla, as Jane suggested the name, it was taken from a fashionable London magazine – around the new big flat, hugging the child, kissing its forehead, staring at its immense pair of eyes, holding its little pale fingers in his big palm. My dear, my dear, he mumbled. In her new, blue kimono, Jane was sitting by the window, smoking a cigarette, watching the Martin and the baby. Her eyes were gazing at them but without a focus. Marin put Leyla on her bed and turned to Jane: throw away the cigarette, you should not smoke near the child. She reluctantly put off the cigarette, passed by the bed and Martin who was cleaning the wet naked body of the baby, and went into the bathroom. She had a shower, took a pill against her headache and took a new kimono, a green one, out of her new immense wardrobe. Then she lied on the bed, listening to Martin’s voice who was speaking to the child; Leyla watched him with big dark mute eyes, slightly opening lips. After a while Jane fell asleep, a long silhouette on the wide bed, and the early afternoon grumble of the London City centre was coming in through the slightly opened window.
He was tired. It was a busy day in the office, he had a quarrelsome client – former director of a City corporation being sued by the liquidator of his bankrupt company, and he had to prepare the defense for the court hearings next morning. He was not in mood for going out and looked straight at Jane – slim, sporty, long reddish hair, green eyes, inevitably sexy, and she instantly caught the line of his thoughts. He locked up in his room, reading some papers behind the laptop screen, and finally, around 11, he left his glasses by the computer and went into the living room where she was watching TV and occasionally texting a friend. I have something for you, love, she said, and went to the bed, took the letter under the pillow and gave it to him, his eyes staring at her dumbly. Martin sat on the sofa, read the letter twice, touched his forehead and smiled, then his smile turned into loud sudden laugh. His face, usually bearing the signs of tired indifference, was instantly agitated and eventually he reached out, took Jane by the hand and kissed her palm. Their eyes met for a second long enough to exchange a long line of information that would be summarized in three brilliant images – she, in the hospital, giving birth to their child, as the letter has just told them of this; they, together, walking in finest clothes in order to be married under the September sun in the yard of an expensive house he would have to inevitably buy; they, again together, sitting in the living room of their house, a house full of reddish-hair children. The second was gone but the three images were stuck in their hearts.
On the next morning after she had a cup of coffee, it was time to go to the hospital and get the results. London was covered by the thick white layer of snow, the icy pieces were floating on the surface of Thames. The hospital car parking was desolate. Jane went to the reception and asked for her results. The nurse looked at her suspiciously, then asked for her name twice and after a minute disappeared behind a glass wall. When she came back, she was escorted by a doctor. He explained that there must have been a real mistake, he apologized, yes, there was a mistake – her results have been sent to another woman, and she has received a letter intended to somebody else. The envelopes have been swapped. So – I am not pregnant?, she asked, and the doctor sat behind a computer screen, checked her result and nodded. No sign of pregnancy, dear. Try again.
While she was driving back home, Jane lit a cigarette and started to think. It was about 2 pm, she left the car near Marble arch and quickly went into a telephone box. Her pale fingers groped for the small notebook she carried in her bag. When she dialed the number, a husky male voice replied. They made an arrangement and Jane quickly left the place. Two days later, she went to Soho, straight to a tiny house, up the staircase leading to a small studio overlooking a quiet snowy back yard. In a brown leather jacket, with his hands in his pockets, there was a man standing by the window. He looked at Jane for a second, as she asked for a cigarette. The window was open, the cold was coming in. She sat on the wooden faded table. The man sat next to her, lit a cigarette and asked: Are you still with that guy, the lawyer? From the City? She said yes. The man was staring at her face, the pale skin, the reddish hair, the elegance of the two fingers holding the cigarette as it was weaving its smoke around her face. And you? Still running? He smiled for a second, shrugged his shoulders – it has been two years since he had last seen her, and a lot of things have changed. No, he left the sport behind after a severe trauma. Now he was a chauffeur in a firm renting limos. A taxi driver? She replied, a little scornfully, but he did not mind what she intended or actually said. I am not getting rich in near future, darling, why do you want to see me? She was silent, thinking. I don’t believe you would leave your City lawyer for me. She was silent.
Her hair was long, falling down her shoulders, pale when naked, her skin was pale, her legs were long. He took her hand, she threw the cigarette. The room was a small one, leading to another, with a bed and a sink. Almost automatically, she threw all her clothes, sat by the window and gazed at the backyard. It was snowing. Am I not beautiful? Perfect? Her eyes were dominant. He threw the leather jacket on a chair, kissed her, again and again, while she stared at some distant point in the far snowy end of the back yard. Two hours later, as the evening dusk was approaching, she left the studio, went down the staircase and to the street.
Every day, just after half past six, when Martin used to leave the office at the top of the City building, he would stop by a flower market, pick up a bouquet of red roses and bring it home for his beautiful pregnant girlfriend. They agreed that she would quit smoking, stop wasting time in the city malls and concentrate on a healthy and calm way of life. She was not putting up any weight yet, but she was a slim one and he did not expect her to become too plump. Meanwhile he was urging her to choose a good – no! – renown doctor to look after her health, before and after the birth of the baby. And he was also excited. A boy? A girl? Who knows! He just wanted a child. Yes, he promised, I will spend more time with you, more time at home, I will bring all the documents from my office here, after all it is even quieter than in the high City tower. And they will marry, marry after the birth, maybe 4-5 months later, in a beautiful countryside church, he had already asked a fellow partner at the firm to be his best man. Home? They would leave the flat on the banks of Thames, it is a nice one, but he wanted to buy a vast, expensive, luxurious apartment in West End, near Green Park. The prices are ludicrous, Martin knew it well, but why did he work, day after day, if he could not afford it, for himself and his family? Yes, and they will go to Paris or maybe Rome, or Rio as Jane wanted, but after they have settled. It would be wonderful.
At half past six sharp Jane used to come home, have a shower, smoke a cigarette by the open window and wait for Martin. So she had left these four hours between 2 and 4 for the small Soho studio and him. She never told him why she decided to sleep with him again, he did not really insist on knowing, and they were fine. She was persistent. She would not miss the opportunity, every day, every week. And she was ardently observing the days on the calendar going by one after another. Martin was so excited, she was often terrified he might press her to go the doctor together. Very bad. But she used to distract herself by shopping and talking with friends. All of her friends, former or current photo models, like herself, knew of her fabulous story and a lot f them were envious. Jane, Jane managed to catch a good party, yes, 10 years older, yes, not very handsome, but well-off, stable, and this was a real feat. But Jane was also very circumspect. Martin was a suspicious one, very secretive and introvert, he might want to check…everything. So, every afternoon, she used to drive to the British Library, leave the car, go into the Museum, spend 20 minutes walking to and fro, and then head to the Soho studio, each time choosing a different route.
She carefully chose the name of the doctor after she had already talked with some of her friends who have already married rich men working in the City. Yes, the guy was quite experienced, of course he was expensive but rather quiet and loyal. Jane called him without hesitation, and on the next day went to the clinic located near the Strand. Yes, a luxurious place, the rent should be preposterous, but it seemed that the doctor’s clients were among the best in hand. She waited for about twenty minutes, then a nurse called her name and she went into the narrow room with walls painted in blue. The doctor was in his mid forties, already bald, but relaxed and, what Jane valued most of all, avoided any questions raising ambiguities. That afternoon, having undergone all the medical examinations the doctor prescribed, she went home, and waited for Martin who came with the usual bouquette of red roses, kissed her cheek calling her “my lovely wife”. She made a dinner, rather clumsily, but Martin seemed not to care, the boredom and indifference were wiped out of his face and he was talking, laughing, making occasional remarks to Jane – be careful, don’t do this, be watchful, the baby…The long red hair was falling and covering her pale shoulders. A kiss on the neck. One more. He hugged her slim body, still wondering why she was so thin and elegant. On the next morning, while watching TV, she called her mother, a French woman who, after her divorce with Jane’s father, returned back to France. Yes, mum, he loves me, loves me a lot. Everything is prefect, perfect. She told her friends the same, but her nervous fingers were groping through the heap of letters each and every morning, waiting for the most important one. The doctor surprised her, and she was pleased – he called her confidently and said the three-letter word that she needed: yes. Yes. Oh god, she went to a nearby church, she was so happy she ate a chocolate cake, bought two big expensive dresses and shook the hand of the doorkeeper, though she rarely used to greet him at all. Martin saw a visible change in her but kept silent – he was too happy to speak.
At first, she decided to reject his calls, then she finally erased the number from her phonebook and, when it was getting hopeless, just bought a new SIM card. She abruptly ceased the Soho studio afternoons, and she preferred to go out with friends, just for distraction. He decided to leave all this behind, to forget about that man and the small cold flat. She had what she wanted. Her pregnancy was beginning to become noticeable. Yes, it was boring, she could not go shopping all day and put on weight, sitting alone at home, but, after all, it was the price she had to pay. Jane and Martin visited a large flat near Marble Arch, with a window overlooking Hyde Park, and that was just perfect. They chose the room for the baby, and thought about a second one – who knows? She met a friend in a city mall and told her all about what was going. Oh you are so lucky, she said…when are you getting married? Jane extended her hand – and there was a brilliant blue diamond ring, with 120 facets, on her finger…soon, now we’re just engaged. Soon. Afterwards Jane left the mall, walked down the parking and heard abrupt steps behind her. She turned. He fixed his eyes on her face. Dark, brooding big eyes, with fierce sparkles deep inside. How did you find me, she asked, but he put his finger on her lips. What happened? You left me…so suddenly. She moved away from him. I don’t want to see you anymore. She headed towards the car. Hey! He cried. Hey! You are pregnant…She did not turn. He started to run after her. She stopped by the car, fumbling in the bag for the keys… he put his palm, a heavy one, on her shoulder, and she turned with sudden abruptness, her face was red and twisted by anger. Get lost! Now! Now! She was nervously shrieking, her face redder and redder. You are pregnant, he mumbled, his eyes fixed on the slight protruding shape of her stomach under the expensive dress. Pregnant. Forget about me, she said, forget me immediately…if you ever call me again, if you ever meet me again…I am gonna say you raped me. Yes I will. I will. She had clenched her white pale fists, the face was purple, and her lips, red, were slightly opened as if she was a panther getting ready for a sudden jump, taking her breath, fiercely. He shook his head, made a step away, and nervously laughed…that was all…all. All. He said it louder. All! His body started to disappear, approaching the far end of the parking. All. She sighed, took a deep breath and smiled. It was over. Over.
Two months before the baby was born Martin finalized the formalities on the purchase of the flat near Marble Arch and they planned to move I immediately after she would be released from the hospital. And the wedding? Maybe half a year later. Martin wanted to avoid any hurry, he wanted to organize any detail and make it fabulous. Jane’s mother visited them for a week and she showed her the big diamond ring – with 120 facets – the old woman was astonished. Cherie, she said, cherie, that’s wonderful! She started to sob tears. And I remember the narrow decrepit flat where we lived with your father…Jane shrugged her shoulders. She would not live in misery. Meanwhile she was choosing the paintings for the hall of the new flats – she wanted to buy some new-fangled artists, they were not so expensive and were quite modernistic, which was going to impress her friends, former or actual photo models. And she talked with a fitness expert, he prepared a programme for her so that she would be fit in 3-4 months after the birth, just for the wedding. Martin wanted her to be a beautiful bride.
The baby was a girl. With big dark eyes, full of sudden sparks and wandering curiosity, with reddish hairs on the otherwise bald little head. Martin was very proud, he was carrying her – Leyla, as Jane suggested the name, it was taken from a fashionable London magazine – around the new big flat, hugging the child, kissing its forehead, staring at its immense pair of eyes, holding its little pale fingers in his big palm. My dear, my dear, he mumbled. In her new, blue kimono, Jane was sitting by the window, smoking a cigarette, watching the Martin and the baby. Her eyes were gazing at them but without a focus. Marin put Leyla on her bed and turned to Jane: throw away the cigarette, you should not smoke near the child. She reluctantly put off the cigarette, passed by the bed and Martin who was cleaning the wet naked body of the baby, and went into the bathroom. She had a shower, took a pill against her headache and took a new kimono, a green one, out of her new immense wardrobe. Then she lied on the bed, listening to Martin’s voice who was speaking to the child; Leyla watched him with big dark mute eyes, slightly opening lips. After a while Jane fell asleep, a long silhouette on the wide bed, and the early afternoon grumble of the London City centre was coming in through the slightly opened window.