Precious

Norman felt so self-conscious, perched at the bar, G&T in hand, it was almost dizzying. Not a place he'd ever played; local, ordinary. Selected for those reasons.

He could almost remember how to go out, how to be alone in a place like this, one of the crowd. Almost, not quite. He was used to having all eyes on him, but always behind the force-field; always with Blanche wrapped tight around like a cloak of invulnerability. Over the years he had come to hate his alter ego, a little, but without her he had no idea what to do. He felt naked and conspicuous; awkward and desperate. He no longer knew how to be himself.

What the fuck was he thinking when he chose those jeans? The white polo shirt? He must look ridiculous. Took another sip of his drink and wondered how long he'd been here. Five minutes? Ten? He'd vowed not to flee for at least an hour, to stick it out no matter what, but now every second stretched ahead like a lifetime. He couldn't possibly survive that long.

One of the crowd. Not that it was crowded. Maybe twenty men standing around in ones and twos. Dodgy techno, but quiet. Gassy lager on tap. Lights low. A dusty mirrorball forlorn and immobile in the corner.

Another sip.

What was he hoping to achieve? An hour? What sort of ridiculous goal was that? He didn't know; but he knew he had to do something, go somewhere. Screw his courage to the sticking point. Force himself, however fractionally, out of the rut he'd been in so long it almost never even occurred to him it was one.

He checked his watch.

"What's the time?"

Norman looked up, startled. The man smiled at him, nodded towards Norman's still-raised wrist.

"Sorry?"

"The time?"

"Um." Realising with a blush that he had no idea. He looked again.

"9.15. Sorry, I was... Sorry. I must seem like an idiot."

"Not at all. I do the same thing all the time. Well, did." The man was still smiling. Guileless. Like this was so straightforward, just talking. Norman felt as if his shirt was trying to strangle him. "In the end I just stopped wearing a watch."

"I guess that's one solution." Norman took another sip and was surprised to find himself down to melting ice and a slice of lemon.

"I still never know the time, but at least no-one expects me to." Norman blushed again at this reminder, but the man gave no sign of noticing. "And it gives me an excuse to talk to people."

"Do you need one?"

A shrug. "Well, you know these places."

Norman made a non-committal noise. Perhaps he did at that.

The man stuck out his hand. "David."

"Norman." Shaking awkwardly.

"Pleased to meet you, Norman. Can I get you another?"

"Um. Thank you." He seemed to be waiting for something more. "Oh. Gin and tonic. Please. Thank you."

"Hey Kel!" David called to the cloney barman, who was stacking freshly-washed glasses on a shelf. "Two G&Ts, when you've got a sec?"

"On the way."

"You must come here a lot?" For a moment Norman was afraid it might sound like an accusation, but David didn't take it amiss.

"Fairly often. My local, I guess. It's friendly enough." He smiled again. "You don't."

"Come here often? No. First time."

"Hear that Kel? First timer."

"Happens to us all in the end. There you go, love, two gin and tonic. Ta." He took the proffered note to the till.

"New to the neighbourhood?"

"No. I've lived quite nearby for years, it just never... I don't know. I don't go out much. That is..."

"Yes?"

"Well, not like this."

David looked quizzical, but Norman wasn't about to elaborate. He felt awkward enough as it was without bringing Blanche into the conversation.

"So, David, what do you do?" A diversionary tactic he regretted immediately; what would he say when the question was asked in return?

"Oh, this and that. Mostly I make jewellery."

"Gosh." Norman had no idea what he'd been expecting, but this certainly wasn't it. "What sort of thing?"

"Anything people commission, really. I trained as a silversmith, but it's mostly costume stuff these days. Plastic and feathers and what-have-you. Some of it's pretty cool, but it's not the same as the precious metals."

"You work to order? How do you find customers?"

"They find me, mostly. Some are regulars, some friends of friends. I've got pieces in a couple of shops and galleries, people come to me from there. Others I have no idea about -- they just turn up."

"Sounds a bit alarming. And you can earn a living like that?"

"Just about. It comes and goes. Sometimes I get more work than I can handle, other times are pretty dry. My friend Aggie has connections with a couple of fashion designers, and in the autumn I was completely snowed-under doing stuff for their shows. Right now it's pretty quiet. I'm making some pieces on spec -- silver and platinum, so lovely to work with -- but -- oh, listen to me, talking shop. Sorry, I can go off on one sometimes."

"No, no. Not at all. It's fascinating."

David pulled a disbelieving face.

"I admire a person who makes things. Works with his hands." God, that sounded tacky.

"It's not like great art or anything."

"Does that matter? At least you're creating something beautiful." Norman astonished himself by holding David's gaze as he said this. Continued to hold it for a long moment.

"No. No, you're right, it doesn't matter."

There was an awkward moment, both of them looking away, gulping their drinks. Norman was sure he'd made a terrible mistake, said the wrong thing, exposed himself somehow. The world shrank down around him and he shrivelled up inside. But it was only a moment.

"That's a beautiful earring."
Posted by matt at January 21, 2005 12:00 AM