Don't You Want Me? by Knight India

Author:Knight, India [Knight, India]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780141938707
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2011-11-02T18:30:00+00:00

10

We start off somewhere in the East End of London. Frank orders lychee martinis, which are new to me and delicious in the extreme.

‘So,’ says Frank, once we’re settled in. ‘Nice bloke, but doesn’t seem your type.’

‘Who, Rupert? He’s not, but he was then, because he was so un-French – it was years ago, Frank. We used to have such a laugh. It was like being married to one’s brother.’

‘Did one have sex?’ Frank is wearing a suit, amazingly, with a black shirt and a black tie, which ought to look ludicrously, Guy Ritchie-ishly wannabe bad boy but works, somehow, on him: he looks naughty but nice, like an Eighties cream cake. More naughty than nice, actually – almost surly, until he smiles.

‘One did, actually,’ I tell him sternly. ‘Giggly, stupid sex. You know – the way you do when you’re really at ease with somebody. Falling about laughing and giving our genitals excruciating names.’

‘Yeah,’ says Frank, with a very small sigh. ‘I do. I love that. Haven’t had that for years.’

Aha! This would suggest a relationship that was longer than a one-night stand. It must, in fact, be a reference to the mother of Frank’s child. He must remember her, surely, sometimes? Or does he really never spare her a thought at all?

‘Do you ever think you’re actually oversexed? I mean, I’ve been through periods of, you know, in the past, but I can’t believe the number of people you go through. It can’t be good for you.’

‘Why not?’

‘It must be exhausting, for a start.’

‘I manage,’ says Frank. ‘ ’Nother martini? You shouldn’t gulp them down like that, you’ll be ill.’

‘Yes, please. Utterly delicious, aren’t they? And don’t worry about me. I could drink you under the table, I think you’ll find. Actually.’

Frank raises one eyebrow and grins, then gets the waiter.

‘I suppose perhaps you’re on a sort of quest,’ I continue.

‘Yes, possibly.’

‘What for, though, is the question? The ideal wife?’

‘A dirty ride,’ Frank smiles, raising his glass. ‘Cheers.’

‘Cheers.’

‘Actually, the ideal dirty ride,’ Frank elaborates.

‘How do you define a dirty ride? I mean, what does it actually mean? I’ve always wanted to know – me and the entire female population.’

‘I can’t really explain it,’ Frank says unhelpfully. ‘Some people are dirty rides, and some people aren’t.’

‘In what way? Try and be specific, Frankie.’

‘See,’ says Frank, lighting a fag, ‘the thing about dirty rides is they don’t just turn it on.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Well, the dirty ride just is a dirty ride. She’s not trying to be dirty, because she already is. Being normally ladylike and then turning it on isn’t actually being a dirty ride. It’s pretending to be a dirty ride.’

‘Oh.’ Our second martinis arrive. ‘But how do you define dirty? You mean those women who always look like they’ve just done it and are leaking into their pants? That look?’

‘Sometimes. Not always. Not by any means.’

‘Who, then? Pamela Anderson?’

‘Yeah. Have you seen the video?’

‘No.’

‘She’s a dirty ride. But it isn’t to do with the way she looks – it’s to do with her, um, enthusiasm.

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