Leila: Further in the Life and Destinies of Darcy Dancer, Gentleman

24

The pair of Americans descending in the lift. My god, one can’t possibly conceive of an entire nation just like them. Preparing for an excursion to Glendalough. From which by the uncertain tone of their voices they think they might never return. Little do they know of course that they are highly unlikely to ever get there in the first place. As the bus due to leave has, by my reckoning, already left from outside the gentlemen’s convenience in Stephen’s Green.

Rashers in a trice would have counselled me in this moment of spiritual dread. I’ve been bought. Dear boy but of course you have. Take her money as a temporary emolument enabling you to keep both your head and prick up while you regain your financial feet. Baptista sitting up in bed signed the cheque on the desk blotter. Her breasts hovering over the pink tinged slip of paper like the most formidable mountain range. I suggested that perhaps it was time she decamped to her own apartments, before we became the subject of gossip.

‘Pity it worries you. But I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks and certainly not nosy little skivvies running around an hotel. And of course you are coming to Paris with me.’

‘Am I.’

‘Yes. You are. I’m having some riding boots and some dresses made.’

‘And if I don’t.’

‘Well, shall I tear this up.’

Severe lobby traffic for lunch. Count MacBuzuranti not even noticing me, sweeping by in his flowing scarf and polo coat. Champagne corks already popping. Parties preparing to depart for the races. And whoops. The cavalry Colonel. Growling at tourists in his way. Monocle glinting. As I disappear. To come rapping at this Manager’s door. Without even a cup of coffee to cheer up an empty stomach. Carrying Baptista’s massive revenge. A tiny piece of paper in my pocket. Her childhood gift a small silver spoon. Come in. Compelled to enter in here. As if facing a headmaster. Or worse, like a common travelling salesman. Desperately in need of chiropody.

‘So sorry to have had to ask you to call in Mr Kildare.’

The Manager still smiling. Perhaps I should be sporting a red polka dot bow tie. And a tight shiny suit. Befitting my new station of kept man. He is even getting up from behind his desk. My god it almost seems as if, were I to reach out, he would shake my hand. Suppose when one’s bill is big enough, it requires of him to exhibit a certain pretence of happy calm. My previous planned story was to simply tell him I was soon selling prime cattle mooing already on their way in on the train. Now must in the most casual tones present this blatant cheque, which risks painting me as a professional male paid fornicator, and even unmitigated cad. Not to mention gigolo, fancy man and other rankings much lower than gent. Explain the cheque as the signatory’s part payment on the price of a horse. Ha ha, rather convenient to pay my bill with it, you understand. My god he does have a monstrously fat envelope to hand me. Obviously detailing everything but ladies’ hairdressing and including all Rashers’ enormous breakfasts and pre lunch champagnes, cigars and lunch and god knows what else.

‘0. No need yet, ha ha Mr Kildare to settle your account. Ha ha. Plenty of time enough now for that. But as you see, I dare not entrust this to you in any other way. As given me, it was attached together with a rubber band. Hope you don’t mind that we’ve enclosed it in this envelope. But it is a rather large sum of money.’

‘I see.’

Of course I didn’t actually see or know what on earth he was talking about. However as one does at such moments, I tried to show as much of my nervous teeth as possible. Reached to take the heavy envelope and did with the left hand quietly lower Baptista’s cheque previously tendered, stuffing it deeply into one’s pocket. While listening avidly.

‘It was delivered some considerable days ago with this letter by a young lady who left no name. If I may perhaps take the liberty to say, an extremely beautiful and charming young lady. Would you mind just signing this receipt for me please, Mr Kildare.’

‘Yes of course.’

‘Do hope that in spite of last night’s incident in the hall, you are enjoying your stay here with us. And that you are entirely comfortable.’

‘Yes I am thank you.’

‘As ridiculous as it sounds I believe the lady in the lobby was simply agitated by some phenomenon she said she’d seen. At a chiropodist’s of all places. Can you imagine anything so daft. Suppose it’s what we must expect these days.’

‘Yes quite.’

‘We could if you like, still keep that in our safe but I thought you might want to get it to the bank.’

‘Yes, I may in fact pop it in there.’

Darcy Dancer hurrying away. Out the hall. After the nods and smiles. Back into the lobby. Stop. Take a deep breath. Dear me. This place is a rogues’ gallery. My former sneaky agent just in the door. Plus Major Bottom, the hunt secretary heading into the dining room. And the damn sanitary supplier who assaulted me in my own front hall. Even the poet is skulking around. Whom I should have had arrested. Turn quick left. Left again. Secrete myself in the privacy of the residents’ lounge. Good god. This is a stack of bloody fivers. Some tens. Even fifties. And this letter. Here in my hand trembling. Such a lifetime ago that I first saw this neat fine penmanship so carefully propped up on my dressing table. Open it.

My dearest friend,

I wanted so much to talk to you before I did what I’ve done. And it was not to rob a bank, but I did win at the races. I thought I saw you there but when I finally pushed my way through the crowd towards you, you had gone. I looked around town and even went into pubs and places. Till I heard, too late, you were here. And I am leaving this as partial payment for the vase. Please never let us not be friends. I will always love you as I always have. And will always be there should you ever need me.

Leila

PS. In haste now on my way to the country.

She said. In her cold small little room. When a vixen barked out in the frosty night. She did say. Sitting on the edge of her bed. Her dark stockinged slender legs. Shadows of her exquisite shy face in candlelight. That she would pay me for the broken vase. That has now saved more than my life. Ballast for a sinking soul. Find her. If ever I could. Take her body close to mine. Worship at her shrine. Never let her go. No stupid snobbery. No sin. Ever to stand between us.

‘Good morning. Or is it more properly good afternoon, Darcy Dancer, Gentleman. May I sit down.’

Baptista Consuelo. Traps me. In her flowing tweeds, silk scarves. Twin rows of pearls on the grey cashmere softnesses of her bosom. As she plops down in a flowered sofa chair.

‘Ah I see, not only paid your bill but you cashed my cheque as well. Shades of your ancestors. That was rum of you if I might say. Judging by the amount of money that appears to be in your hand. Of course, if it is a ridiculously large sum I simply shall stop payment on the cheque. Now darling. Here are your orders for the afternoon. Three saddles to be fetched from Callaghan’s down Dame Street. Do take a taxi. They are quite heavy. We shall meet for tea in my rooms at four. Please be packed for the mail boat by nine. We’ll dine on board. En route of course for Paris. Is that all agreeable, my darling boy. Now exactly what amount have you attempted to defraud me of.’

Darcy Dancer taking the creased and folded piece of paper from his pocket. Opening it up and smoothing it out in his hand. Seizing it by a tiny corner the pink slip of paper hanging from two tweezing fingers, and handed across to Baptista.

‘O I see. What’s this.’

‘Your cheque. The truth is I certainly would have cashed it. And become your fancy man. But the fact is, I suddenly had no need to. And so shall not now be, my dear sow, your nancy boy. Perhaps we can have tea and go to Paris another time.’

‘I suppose now you’re going home to play squire lording it over your peasants. And when you do please just remember you walked out of that bedroom this morning with my cheque.’

‘And do I as a result madam, now know how to accommodate your kind of lady.’

‘You are, aren’t you, in fact a rather cruel, mean conceited contemptible little son of a bitch. And believe me, there’s no shortage of your kind of young man.’

‘Do madam please then let me say upon parting, that I think you are quite a bit more marvellous than I ever thought you were previously. Goodbye.’

Darcy Dancer in the Shelbourne lobby. The din of voices swelling from dining room and public lounge. Side step out of any possible sight of any possible ladies from Greystones. And these three prowling figures. The Royal Rat hunched forward in his baggy grey tweeds. Followed by Buster the Beastly and Danno the Damned. Purchase a London newspaper. Hide behind the pillar. Concentrate on the well bred agony of the personal column of The Times. And be no longer myself unpleasantly haunted by my hotel bill. Tip toe in and around the narrow pillar to avoid the more familiar faces in the lobby. In the middle of her insults, Baptista suddenly had tears in her eyes. Black kid skin gloves on her folded hands. Sitting so alone in her chair. My prick suddenly aswell rigid in one’s trousers. Wanting to make love to her. Could be my mistress without too many attachments or ties. Fetch her a bunch of violets from a tinker lady at the door. Take insult. But I suppose one does not, no matter how deserving insult a lady. Following the performanee of a few chores, she was after all, inviting me to stroll with her on easy street. Temporarily allowing respite from having to sell household paintings and objets d’art. Waltz up or is it down the Champs Elysées in Paris. Do what Sexton so many times said I should. Ah now you would broaden the vistas of the brain you would, hobnobbing with the very latest in intellectuals. Baptista can stew a moment in her own highly perfumed juice, blatantly betraying her husband Harold. Seems quite a popular trend these days not to give a tinker’s damn about loyalty. Ah but perhaps that moral question on this noonday is best left back in the bedroom. Especially while my person is insulated with quids. Which one merely unpeels to pay my bill.

‘Mr Kildare.’

‘Yes.’

‘There’s a letter for you. Just arrived sir.’

This envelope, soiled and battered. My god. Monaco. Gracious me, rip it open. A picture postcard of chandeliers ablaze over a roulette table. In a vast empty Salle des Jeux du Casino.

The Cathedral Steps

The Old Town

Monaco

Darcy my dear boy, hope this reaches you still comfortably ensconced in that so pleasantly homespun elevation of mellow red brick on the Green. Having embarrassingly outstayed my welcome here on earth and in the elsewheres, I have decided in my state of nae hope to do the decent thing. By all accounts in the fish museum and aquarium here from which I have just emerged, there are predatory pisces nearby in the waters. By the time you read this I shall have heaved myself off these steep cliffs and down into the thrashing waves of a presently raging Mediterranean Sea. Jockey Club members do enjoy a full two minute silence of remembrance held by other members. And so no need for you to mourn. Although I hope you bloody well will, a tiny little bit. A cheaper final departure cannot be got. But more sad because I had for two nights straight practically won a fortune. And on the third, distracted unduly by an awfully nice and pleasantly rich lady and basking in her flattery my concentration wavered and, as one should have known one would, I lost all. Including the lady who turned out not to be so rich and departed on the train for Paris. I did croon for coins in the Market Place and alas on the steps of the Casino, thereby compromising my only remaining dearly held principle, till the police intervened. They were quite civil about it, but following this social if not spiritual disgrace, only enough coin was collected for a decent meal, bottle of champagne and cigar. I was however, offered a job to butler on a yacht moored in the harbour and to sing after dinner, but can you believe it, I was finally turned down on my handsome looks being too much a temptation to the ladies. I suppose this more than anything convinced me it was time to put an end to it all. Please believe me. When I say. How sorry I am about your silver. Herewith pawn ticket. I am and shall be always your undoubted friend. Ta ta,

Rashers

One’s tear fell plop upon the word sorry. Smearing the letters S and O and R. And he once said. My dear boy. If ever I did the. It would be so nice to have been an admiral. Bared heads would be bowed. My cocked hat unworn. Boots reversed in the stirrups of my riderless charger. A piper’s lament. To the slow throbbing drams. And folding the letter. My eye caught sight of a further scrawl.

ps. Alas dear boy, pride is the energy of survival just as it is the substance of defeat.

Beyond veils dark

Mourn for me

Buried in the deep