The Right Man
“I followed him up the stairs of the rather grand house, past some portraits of what I assumed must be the great and the good in the world of psychotherapy and into his tiny attic room, which was a maze of piled books, stray paper and unwashed coffee cups. There was a mattress on the floor with a rumpled sleeping bag flopped across it. He still hadn’t shaved and there was a row of empty vodka bottles along the windowsill. The rest of the house had seemed well kept, bourgeois, even, but in here i...t was a poet’s den.
‘Shall we go for a drink?’ he said.
‘Well, it’s a bit early for me, but, sure, fine,’ I said, and then, ‘Love the outfit.
Do they go in for that sort of thing down your local?’ ‘For you, Guy, I’ll change.’ The frock came off to reveal purple silken French knickers. He slung on a pair of waisted blue slacks which zipped up the side, and a voluminous cream blouse with floppy wide lapels. The earrings stayed where they were, dancing as he spoke. ‘It’s not really fair, is it?MoreLess
‘Shall we go for a drink?’ he said.
‘Well, it’s a bit early for me, but, sure, fine,’ I said, and then, ‘Love the outfit.
Do they go in for that sort of thing down your local?’ ‘For you, Guy, I’ll change.’ The frock came off to reveal purple silken French knickers. He slung on a pair of waisted blue slacks which zipped up the side, and a voluminous cream blouse with floppy wide lapels. The earrings stayed where they were, dancing as he spoke. ‘It’s not really fair, is it?MoreLess
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