Partial Insertion Pt. 02 of 3
In the London of the early 1970s, modern languages student Rachel Burnham is unhappy with the physical side of her relationship with boyfriend Gerry, and solicits advice from her landlady Beverly. When Rachel is unexpectedly called away, Beverly informs Gerry that she has agreed to give him kissing lessons at Rachel's request. Initially he is unwilling and distrustful of Beverly, but he finds that her instruction has greatly improved his confidence, and accepts her offer of more...
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Gerry arrived the next morning to find Beverly doing some weeding at the front. She was wearing cut-off jeans and a sweatshirt. Her arse looked enormous. He wasn't sure that it was a good look.
"Hallo Gez. Rachel's not here." she said breezily, then quite loudly, "Damn! I dropped my glasses. I'm hopeless without them."
From close up it was quite obvious that she had done so deliberately, but Gerald responded with mechanical good manners and bent down to pick them up. So did she.
"Kate came back early," she said in a low voice while their heads were close together. "Have you rung Rachel?"
She inflicted that gaze on him and he seemed to plunge into the blue of a sky flecked with cirrus clouds. He tore his eyes away and did a quick down and up over her body. It might not be a girl's shape but it was calling to him.
"Come on. Have you or haven't you?" She was struggling not to raise her voice as he dithered.
"No... I haven't yet. I—"
"Good. Listen here. You didn't come round yesterday because something came up, yes? So you haven't heard that Rachel's away till now, or you wouldn't have come, would you? So you don't have a whole lot to say, and I'm going to explain all that stuff again now as we go in."
George Merridew was upper class, but not a twit. He was learning the ropes as a wine importer in the family business. He found Beverly's flat too awful for words, but he was genuinely fond of his fiancée's room mate in this pigsty. Forbidden by Kate from practising his French on Rachel, he gave her a collection of recordings by Charles Trenet on her birthday. 'Que reste-t-il de nos amours?' became a particular favourite for Rachel and Gerry.
"Crap news about Rachel's dad, eh Gerry?" he said in the kitchen. "Do you know how he is?"
"Actually, George, I don't know anything. I didn't call yesterday. I got talked into going to Oxford with a friend and we didn't get back till late."
"Did you get wet?" said Kate.
"Wet?"
"Oh come on Gerry, even a dreamer like you must have noticed that downpour," said George.
The wedding, as Gerry now remembered had been in Little Something or other, near Oxford.
Kate vented, "We got drenched. Right royally. That's why we didn't stick around."
"Yes. I did get a bit damp, now that you come to mention it."
"Here's the phone number," said Beverly. "Do you want to use the phone?"
"Oh I—"
He was just about to tell her that she'd already given it to him, but she stood on his foot—heavily but invisibly and pushed the card into his hand. He he got the hint.
"I'll ring her later," he continued. "She likes to lie in on Sunday."
He wanted to go, but he dithered because he couldn't leave it like that.
Beverly turned in the direction of the stairs. "Sorry to sound inhospitable, but I want to finish that bit of weeding before I have to go to work."
Outside, they walked back down the garden path towards the street.
"Back of the card—later," she said in a low voice, as they parted.
"Don't ring here," she added even more quietly.
He shot a look at her, and then realised that George was waving at him from the doorstep.
"Strange chap," said George to Kate.
**********
Gerry waited till he had walked quite far from view before taking out the card. There was another number on the back, written faintly in pencil: a London number with an extension, one that had to be Beverly's work number. He stared at it, his heart pounding as the world stood still. He went into a newsagent and bought a packet of Polo mints for the change which he gathered with fumbling hands.
But it was Rachel he decided to phone from the next payphone along his route. It didn't work, so on he walked. He had over two miles to go, still.
"It's me," he said from one further along the journey. "How are you?"
"I'm okay, but I've got to stay for a bit. For one thing," she lowered her voice, "my mother never learned to drive. Can you believe it? I'm going to make her."
"You can't stay there as a chauffeur until she passes her test."
"No. And I want to get back to you, for one thing. I've got things I want to do to you..."
"Yes?"
"Yes. You were angry about me talking to Bev, I know..."
"Was I? I think it was a good idea."
"Well actually, she'd talk to you as well..."
"Yes?"
"She wasn't really having a go at you. She was just upset on my account."
"I'd talk to her."
"Yes. When I'm back."
"Any idea when that might be?"
"Maybe the weekend..."
"You mean next one?"
"Let me count the ways—I mean days."
"Really? That soon? That's... great. Listen I think my money's going to run out."
"Tell me the number. I can ring you back."
"Someone's torn the cardboard thing off the dial. I'll ring you again after I get home."
"Oh. Where are you?"
"Near your place. I didn't find out till today, 'cause I was out of town yesterday."
The phone beeped and the call ended.
He had now lied to three people about where he'd been this weekend and what he'd been doing. But he was buzzing. If he'd allowed it a thought, he himself would have been puzzled by his actions, but he wasn't thinking about them. All he was thinking about was Beverly. She'd given him her number and he was repeating her name non-stop as if he were a moron. Maybe her arse wasn't that enormous, but she shouldn't wear those cut-offs. He kept pulling the card out of his pocket to check that the number was really there; just to stare at it was proof that he and Beverly were sharing some special secret thing, even if he couldn't say what that was. The day before, the woman with the huge tits had started wanking him off and he hadn't wanted her to stop. At times, he had classed her as an enemy, but he couldn't help admiring the assurance in those smooth, supple strokes of his cock and the gleeful confidence in her smile. He had wanted her to carry on until she'd made the spunk gush out of him.
As he walked, a ghost walked with him. All the while, he was remembering the happiness that seemed to be nearly within reach when he was going side by side with her down the garden path. The desire to put an arm round the empty space beside him was almost irresistible.
After leaving her flat on Saturday, he had spent the remainder of the day, and much of the night, beside himself, thinking about Beverly holding his cock. All the while, he had resisted the temptation to masturbate and was quite clear about a number of reasons why she should be avoided at all costs. But he knew he wasn't going to avoid her. It was as if someone else had taken charge of his life, someone who had made a number of arrangements which he was compelled to honour.
He was looking at his watch as he walked. He decided he'd have to wait until she'd been there for a while. She had indicated that she wouldn't be free till after midnight. And of course, he had no idea where Kate was going to be. So he finished walking home and sat for a while spooning peanut butter into himself and leafing through his room mate's copy of the Last Whole Earth Catalog. Then he went out to the phonebox. When he dialled the number his heart was thumping. Someone picked up after an interminable wait.
