Martin Amis. MONEY

‘You know,’ I said, ‘what you told me at the airport, it fucked up my whole trip. Thanks. You really gave me a bad time.’

‘That was just a precaution.’

‘Uh?’

‘She wants all your money.’

This really got me going. ‘So what?’ I said. ‘God damn it, what’s that got to do with you?’

‘…I want all your money.’ He laughed, but the laugh had a lot of wince in it. ‘Look, John, this is serious. I hate to ask you this.’

‘And I hate to hear it. How much?’

He named the figure — a consternating sum. I said, ‘You already owe me money. What’s it for? A drug deal? Gambling debt?’

‘Alimony! She’s got the law batting for her now. We have a disagreement, I get a squad car full of rozzers coming round here to put her side of it.’

‘Wait a minute. You told me you were still fucking her.’

‘I am. Between you and me, it’s never been better.’

‘I don’t get it.’

‘It’s like this. The pigs say I owe her all this money. If I didn’t have the money there’d be no problem. But there it is, in the bank. Now I need that money to close a deal. I’m in with some bad guys on this and if I don’t come across I’m going to get really worked over. They told me what they were going to do to me.’

I said, with interest, ‘What, exactly?’

‘No blows to the back of the head. In other words my face comes off. The pigs, they mean business too. Either I cough up on Friday, or it’s Brixton.’

‘Christ.’

‘Give me the money. Come on, man — do it! Do it. How much are you getting for this film? Eighty? A hundred?’

‘Nothing yet.’

‘Do it. I’d do it for you.’

‘Yeah, you keep saying that.’

‘I pay you back in ten days. I swear. There’s a cheque coming in. This is just a bridging loan.’

‘Yes, I know all about this bridging business.’

I did, too. It was always the same. The money Alec was expecting — it looked like my money now. It looked as though it was all marked me. But when that money came, it wouldn’t look like my money any more. It would look like his money. He wouldn’t want to blow it all on me. Money is very versatile. You really have to give money credit for that.

I said some of this to Alec. He wasn’t listening. Neither was I. An inner door opened and a long girl wearing a pair of fluted white pants tiptoed into the room. Now here’s someone, I thought, who really understands about pants. The tone of her skin was almost laughably exotic. Where was she from? Borneo, Madagascar, Mercury? She held one hand over her face as she groped for her bag. She didn’t care who saw her mahogany breasts. They looked as though a lot of people had checked them out by now. Behind her the windowless cubicle shone like a filament. I’ve been in bathrooms like that, battery bathrooms (as if bathrooms weren’t testing enough). You feel like a rat, taking a rat leak, watched by scientists up in rat control.

‘Can’t find me face,’ she said.

‘Have a pernod, sweetheart,’ said Alec. ‘John — Eileen.’

‘Just cleaned me teeth,’ she said.

She turned and headed back to the bathroom, moving more naturally now. Alec and I silently noted her flowing shoulders and pampered rump.

‘Where do these chicks do their sunbathing?’ I asked. ‘Some island?’

‘It’s all She-Gloss,’ he said, gazing at the closed bathroom door. ‘You wouldn’t believe it, but her bum is as white as those pants. Eileen wouldn’t want anyone to think she sunbathed with no clothes on. She’d think that was dirty. Funny, isn’t it.’

‘Those are cool pants,’ I said briskly. ‘Now listen.’ I tapped the bottle with a warning finger. ‘Maybe I’ve had it with you and money. How do I know you’re not lying? I’d like to know where it goes, this money I keep giving you.’ A pair of airline tickets lay curled on the bed. I reached for them. Paris, first class. ‘What sort of girl is Eileen? A fat nurse?’

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