Nadine and the Sofa of Doom
I lied. I did see her again. Just 10 minutes of unspeakable torture. Dante didn’t see it all I tell you. He only got to number seven. I was dropped down to 127 that day, no elevator, straight down the shaft.
And yes her departure was my fault. Id met someone else and fell for her hook, line and sinker. We did the right though and agreed that we would never meet again. There is no such thing as a platonic relationship you see. As Austin O’Mally (1858-1932) said: ‘Show me a genuine case of Platonic friendship and I will show you two old faces’. Neither of us was old but certainly naïve enough to persuade ourselves of the ‘Platonic’.
To fellow members of the ‘male’ persuasion: You can hide it but you can’t hide what it does to you.
It was a Thursday evening and I was walking from the station and who should break our two-year strong rule was Amy.
‘Hello’ she said.
God alive! She looked so happy. She always did. Sunshine and I was melting again. I didn’t want to see her. I did want to see her. I was in a relationship. Not great but good enough to hold on to and I don’t like to give up.
‘I’m getting married Saturday’ she continued.
‘Amy that’s wonderful’ I lied.
‘Yes Marcel is a really nice man, you’d like him.’ Well, he was starting a long way off if he was trying to impress me. As it turned out we became good friends but that’s another story.
‘Be happy Amy’ that was all I could think of saying.
‘We did the right thing didn’t we?’ She asked. We didn’t in fact but that’s yet another story.
‘Yes we did, be happy Amy’. I was a bit short on words at that point.
She drove off. In to the sunset in fact. I wouldn’t see her again for another six years and that’s the story that joins the other two above.
Nadine and Philip occupied a small but comfortable apartment on the second floor. She wasn’t due home from her teaching for a few hours so I sat and stared at the wall for a while. She had become a teacher at my suggestion some years earlier. She didn’t believe she could do it. I never doubted she could. And she could. She became a very good teacher. She loved her work and that made me happy.
She left forever the next day along with all the furniture She left a saxophone. Never understood that. It’s a beautiful Henry Selmar that I later leaned to play. She won’t be getting it back.
Saturday was not a good day for me. You might say I had become ‘withdrawn’. I was staring at the wall again and the floor tiles were cold. Amy was getting married about the time I counted the 500th flower on the third strip of wallpaper counting from the left. Nadine had gone it turned out ‘because I couldn’t speak French’. She taught English and insisted I speak English to her at all times. My work was conducted in English. Her family spoke the local patois……French-like but not French. Was he kissing the bride yet? Damn his eyes.
Though it all I could hear my mother’s voice: ‘You can get haemorrhoids from sitting on a cold surface.’
Love you mum.
Some months later I came back to life and bought some furniture. My music collection was in tact as were all my books. They had been locked up in the basement.
My new sofa was perfect and to my specifications. The music lovers sofa. Just the right height for playing classical guitar and soft enough to listen to someone on CD play it better. (I never claimed to be good)
It was a light creme colour with a pattern of pale a green vine-like plant that I found very agreeable and pleasing to the eye. The pale green is significant, very significant. The colour of DOOM. Those plants were to strangle me.
Id not tried to meet anyone else. Not a good idea you see, so soon. But my apartment was looking good, damn nice in fact.
Remy had become a Friday evening companion. He exploited my virtually alcohol-free existence by using me as a taxi driver and I exploited him in his knowledge of all the local dance venues (read ‘dives’). He was a terminal hypochondriac and in danger of living forever as a result. He worshipped his girlfriend and she, being of the non-communicative ilk, worried him with what he saw as indifference.
They arrived one Saturday morning which disturbed by most difficult decision of the day : Should I cook myself a breakfast or just have Cornflakes?
Remy looked worried and he spoke to me in English which his sweetie didn’t understand.
‘Phil I need some quiet time with Sandra (not her real name. Damned if I remember what it is) . You know what its like at my place, people everywhere and we just cant talk. Im afraid of losing her.’
‘You want me to disappear for a while?’
‘Would you?’
‘We can all have a coffee first?’
‘Of coure, it would be rude of you to leave.’
I wasn’t quite sure what to make of that remark but I could see what he wanted. He had nothing to worry about. She was dressed to kill. More specifically, to kill him. She wasn't my type but It was starting to work on me.
She wore a low cut top, very agreeable, and a bright canary-yellow bra. Sorry for the reference to the underwear but that bra was to be co-conspirator in my doom. It was a bright canary yellow and there would be no difficulty finding its wearer in the dark.
We had a polite coffee while Remy raided my CD collection and played ‘Cocaine’ by Eric Clapton.
I then made my excuses and left. Never put off what can be done immdiatly, especially when it comes to food. The Cornflakes were winking at me as I left.
I returned several hours later to find a note that said ‘Thanks Phil, you are a fiend’. Yes, it said ‘fiend’ which I put down to his bad spelling.
Everything in order, undisturbed. Bedroom? They wouldn’t would they? No, they didn’t. Well, if they did then they must have photographer the bed first. Everything in its usual morning state of disarray.
I don’t recall what I did the rest of the day. Starting to feel comfortable again, good actually.
Phone rings. ‘Phil we have to talk’. It was an instruction.
It was Nadine! She wants to come back? I wanted that. Yes, I wanted that. Not sure where all the furniture would go but she was welcome……amazing how strong that straw looks when you are drowning.
She would arrive at midday on Sunday.
What did she want to talk about? What could she possibly want? It wasn’t my body, that’s for sure. Never an enthusiast in that area was she. Neither was I but that’s another…..you know.
She wanted to come back? Yes, that was it. She missed me. She wanted to see the world and was coming home. That was ok by me.
That straw was huge.
Must tidy the apartment. It was tidy. Tidy it again. Clean it again. Get some coffee on. Clean jeans and T-shirt What music did she like? Oh man, this was like a first date.
She arrived on time.
There are aspects of body language that are not understood. When you walk down the road and someone approaches you from the opposite direction, you both step aside. You both perform that dance perfectly nearly every time. We still don’t know for sure what signals we pick up on that tells us to turn left or to the right. If you do collide with someone else then chances are its someone of a different nationality. Body language differs slightly you see.
Well there was no doubt about her body language. She smiled sweetly until she entered the lounge and saw my beautiful sofa. Then a sign came on over her head.
Big neon sign in fact. It read ‘NO WAY JOSE’
What could possibly be wrong?
‘Met anyone else?’ She asked. I didn’t like that smile. I didn’t like it one bit. It wasn’t nice.
‘Not at all, not a good idea to…………..’ Shut up Phil
‘Really, so what is this?’
I cant do that moment justice. It was the point that the cavalry comes over the hill and turns out to be more Indians dressed as cavalry.
She leaned to her right (I remember that) and picked something up from the sofa, holding it away as though it were a dead rat.
It was in fact a very bright canary yellow bra.
I stared at it for a moment thinking ‘God God, that looks just like a very bright canary yellow bra.’
I wanted it to be a dead rat, anything other than a very bright canary yellow bra.
Where did it come from? Was she playing some kind of joke? Did she put it on the arm of the sofa while I was getting coffee? She said nothing but that smile was one of triumph, I swear, she was actually pleased. But it must be a prank! It’s a bright canary yellow and my sofa a pale green. It couldn't have been more obvious with flashing lights.
Id sat on the sofa……hadn't I? Surely I did. If that bra had teeth it could have bitten me.
Remy’s girlfriend! It took that long to remember. She was nearly wearing it when she arrived with him.
‘Its not mine’ I said. Pretty dumb thing to say I know but I said it anyway.
‘Its belongs to my friends girlfriend.’ Which suggested even worse things
She said nothing but the expression on her face was asking questions about the quality of my friendship.
‘They wanted some time together and……….
‘You watched them?’
‘Good God, no!’ but I was finished. Condemned by a hanging judge at the end of a long day.
A trap door opens in the floor and gust of hot air rises. Its not so bad. I was starting to feel cold with all that blood gone to my feet. A face not unlike Jack Nicholson with horns appears.
‘Welcome to hell buddy’ says he.
The door closes and she throws the dead rat back on the sofa.
I never did see her again after that.
Well, that really was it. If there had been any hope of reconciliation, there wasn’t anymore.
I stared at the sofa. I stared at the bra. I heard her drive away.
They violated my sofa. Its lost its virginity and I never knew. I would not have minded (so much) if they had used the bedroom but not my sofa. Its not right somehow. Not for them anyway.
I was angry, I was livid……..
I was going to wrap that item around Remy’s neck and then make him eat it.
Mother’s voice again : ‘Change your socks dear, you might have an accident.’ Meaning she didn’t want me in hospital with dirty socks……god forbid!
Now I am not stranger to what women wear ‘underneath’ but I had no idea how self-conscious a bra in my pocket would make me. A bright canary yellow one at that? My God, what if I had an accident? Mothers are a pain sometimes.
I arrived at Remy’s……I was going to tear him off a strip.
He opens the door.
I held the bra under his nose and said ‘THIS IS YOUR GIRLFRIEND’S!!’
He looked blankly for a moment. A look of real pain crossed his face.
‘What you doing with my girlfriend’s bra?’
‘Oh 0h, yes she left it there when we. (pause). Do you want some coffee Phil?’
The anger was gone. I didn’t have too many friends anyway. They made good coffee.
