Friday Night Alchemy

"You're welcome."

"Anyway, after breakfast I rang you but you know about that. Then I went shopping, bought some wine – its in the fridge – " On cue, she opened the fridge and found the wine.

"Corkscrew?"

"Second drawer down. Glasses in the cupboard above."

"Go on. You went shopping and –"

"Came back here and cleaned up a bit then spent an hour in a hot bath which pretty much covers my day up until ten minutes ago."

"Well you're very naughty for not taking it easy. Wine." She handed me a glass, picked up her own and touched it to mine .

"Cheers." Shana sipped the wine. "Hmm, good choice. Now, how about a guided tour?"

"OK. This is the kitchen, dating from the early Hygena period, the ceramic tiles were added later, replacing the original magnolia emulsion after the great chip pan disaster of '95. If you would just like to follow me, through to the bathroom, the Grecian décor was added later but the white wear is all authentic 1980's Twyford. And moving on, here we have the master bedroom. The mirrored wardrobes date right back to the time the house was built and are among the finest examples you'll find anywhere. The guest room is just across the corridor but has no features of special interest."

Shana opened, and peeped through, the door of the spare room, closing it again quickly. "I see what you mean."

Well where do you think all the junk goes when blokes clean up their hovels?

"And finally we come to the dining room, ball room, library and reception room or, as we like to call it, the lounge. The lounge has a neo-Scandinavian theme circa 1996. In other words, it was furnished by Ikea. This room also plays host to the current owner's collection of family portraits in the rogues' gallery. Working our way along them, first a pastel sketch simply titled Mother, notice that the subject is portrayed in her graduation robes. This portrait was done when the artist was still at school, commemorating his Mum's first degree. You'll notice she was a mature student. She was a mature mother too – forty three when I was born, just short of sixty at the time of the portrait. Next, a self portrait by the artist, executed in charcoal. Title ‘portrait of the artist with a young dog'. The puppy in the foreground is Steve's Staffordshire, Bruno, then only six months old. Next, a study of my father and paternal grandfather fishing. My father is the nearer of the two, with a handkerchief over his face, taking a nap. Finally, we come to the recent acquisitions. Three nudes, collectively entitled Community college oil painting course, class of '97. In closing let me thank you for visiting flat 3a. We hope you have enjoyed your tour. Our facilities are all at your disposal and if we can do anything to make your visit more enjoyable, please do not hesitate to mention it to your tour guide."

Shana was smiling broadly, trying not to laugh.

"I didn't know you were an artist."

"I'm not. I just dabble. Anyway how would it have sounded? We've just met and two drinks into the evening I casually mention my hobby is painting young ladies with no clothes on? No. That's right up there with, ‘Would you like to come up and see my etchings?'."

"I see your point. It would have come across as a bit corny. Still, having seen them, I think you're very talented. Now though, you'll have to show me where you keep your pots and pans. I've got cooking to do."

We went back to the kitchen and I showed Shana where to find everything. She refilled our wine glasses, handed me mine and sent me packing.

"Now go and sit down. I don't like people watching me when I'm cooking. You could put a record on though, I like music while I work. Go on! Out!" I went.

The choice of background music is a highly skilled job. People in Hollywood get paid stupidly large sums to choose the background music for each scene in films. Take ‘Apocalypse Now' as a case in point. The soundtrack ranges from The Doors to Wagner and works brilliantly in every case. Would the helicopter assault scene have been anywhere near as good without Ride of the Valkyrie? No. It would have been just another gratuitously violent clip from a war film. So you see, choosing music is not something to be undertaken lightly, which was why I was agonising over my record collection. Nothing too upbeat or poppy. Upbeat music needs to be played loud and that would eliminate any opportunity to continue the conversation. Nothing too romantic. I was saving that for later, maybe. I settled on the Three Tenors. Shana was cooking Italian food, she was half Italian herself, so it seemed appropriate.

"Three Tenors OK?", I called to the kitchen.

"Great! Not too loud though. Keep it quiet enough that we can still talk." She was obviously on the same wavelength as me. I hit play. The intro boomed out at Steve's bleeding eardrum level for about 2 seconds, until I got to the volume control.

"Loud enough?"

"Fine.", said Shana coming through to the lounge carrying plates and cutlery to lay the table. "Its a good job I brought another bottle of wine with me. We've just about seen off the first one." She put the things down and started to lay the table.

"Here, let me do that. You've got cooking to do and I'm famished."

"OK. Dinner will be about twenty minutes. I'm just waiting for the oven to warm up for the garlic bread." She returned to the kitchen leaving me to lay the table. I'd planned for this. I got the Irish linen out of the sideboard, and the decent crockery. A couple of years ago I treated myself to two place settings worth of really nice Wedgwood china just for this sort of occasion. I've got matching silver cutlery too. When I'd finished, the table was fit for royalty. Irish linen, silver napkin rings, candle holders, and cutlery, Wedgwood plates and a Swarovski crystal bud vase with a single white rose in it. I told you I'd planned for this.

I took a large plate and a serving dish through to the kitchen for Shana. She was grating parmesan.

"Ah, I was just looking for a large plate. Thanks. Be a dear and take these through to the table please."

I made a hasty withdrawal with a ramekin dish full of parmesan and the second bottle of wine. Memo to self. I must get some Waterford crystal wine glasses. Glassware misappropriated from various pubs looked out of place amid the finery of the dining table. The parmesan was transferred into some more Wedgwood and I was ready. No I wasn't! I needed something to light the candles. A frantic search of the sideboard drawers turned up half a book of matches from some bar I could never remember being in. Panic over.

The toilet flushed. Shana called through a five minute warning. I lit the candles and toned down the main lights to a suitable ambient level. It was now just shy of 8 o'clock and there was still a touch of daylight left so I drew the curtains to shut out the greying evening. Nothing at all to do with making the atmosphere more cosy or intimate, honest. I could just imagine Steve's response to that – probably limited to a single word.

Shana brought through the garlic bread and stopped dead in her tracks, appraising the scene and giving me a look that said she knew what I was up to. For a moment I thought maybe I'd overdone it, then she let me off the hook.

"The candles smell nice. Shall we eat?"

I took the garlic bread off her and she nipped back to the kitchen for the pasta. I held her chair, sat down opposite and poured us each another glass of wine while Shana was 'being Mother'. She handed me a plateful of pasta in exchange for the empty plate in front of me then provided herself with a rather smaller portion.

"Help yourself to parmesan." Shana suggested as I tore a chunk off the end of the garlic ciabatta. I took her advice. I would have done so anyway; I love fresh parmesan. I lifted the first forkful to my mouth while Shana waited for me to hand down judgement on her culinary expertise. A convulsion: I reached for my napkin and my wine simultaneously, fanning my mouth the way I used to when playing cowboys and Indians as a kid. You know what I mean? That whooping noise we used to use as an Indian war cry?

"Its Hot!" I exclaimed, rather louder than I'd wanted to. Shana looked concerned.

"Good though." I took a second mouthful, blowing on it first this time.

"No, not good, excellent. It certainly beats my macaroni cheese into a cocked hat. My compliments to the chef – and my thanks to her Gran for the recipe." I was impressed. Shana was smug.

"You like it then?" Like actors, cooks like good reviews.

"I love it Does your Gran want a toyboy by any chance?"

Shana laughed. "No! But she'll be very flattered by your offer when I tell her. But why d'you want to be her toyboy? I'm the one who cooked it for you."

"I can't be your toyboy. Firstly, I'm older than you are, secondly, an elderly lady wouldn't be as demanding as a sweet young thing. I couldn't cope with demanding in my frail condition. Thirdly – I can't think of a thirdly, but I'm digging myself into a deeper and deeper hole here aren't I?" She was trying to look cross while, at the same time trying not to laugh.

"Yes. I'm twenty two years old, you are how old?"

"Twenty three."

"you're only a year older than me. And I'm not demanding – as long as I get my own way all the time."

"Pax!" I called a truce. "Lets eat, before it gets cold."

The serious business of eating was only occasionally interrupted as I thought of new compliments or superlatives to describe the ambrosia that had been prepared for me. Like I said, cooks like good reviews. By the time I'd finished eating, she was positively glowing with all the praise and adulation I had heaped upon her.

"Well that was delicious. Thanks, but I couldn't eat another mouthful." Shana was trying to give me the rest of the pasta from the serving bowl. "I am replete, sated. There's Haagen Dazs in the freezer for desert, but I think that'll have to wait an hour or two. I will have more wine though, If there's any left."

"Only the bottle I found in the fridge, and I used about a quarter of that in the sauce." Shana started to look apologetic again. Why do people do that? Apologise for things when they've done nothing wrong?

"No problem. I'll rub the lamp."

"You'll what?" Gods, but she looked cute when she was puzzled.

"Watch and learn." I reached for the phone and pressed [Recall][2], then returned it to the cradle so I could use it hands free. It rang

"Charlie's Cars."

"Hi Steve."

"Hello Mate! What's occurring? You still in one piece, more or less?"

"More or less. Listen, I need a favour. You got any cars coming up this way in the next half hour?"

"One in about ten minutes. Booking for nine o'clock. Nothing else available. Why? Where did you want to go?"

"No where. Can you get the driver to roll by Thresher's and pick up a couple of bottles of white wine, then drop them in on his way past?"

"You havin' a party? Why wasn't I invited?"

"No. No party. Shana just came over to cook me dinner and we've run out of vino."

"Shana's there now?"

"Hi Steve!" She giggled. She wasn't really the giggly type but I think she was imagining the damage I was doing to her good name in this town.

"Hello again Shana. Is Alun trying to get you drunk or something?"

"I think so. Are you going to contribute to my ruin?"

"Too bloody right I am! Two bottles of white wine was it mate? That all? Sweet or dry?"

"Dry. And thanks Steve."

"No worries mate. Ten minutes. Have fun."

"Bye Steve!"

"Bye Shana." The phone was purring again. I reached over and hung up.

"See, Shana, I rub the lamp and the genie of the cab office grants my every wish."

"I don't think it'll take two more bottles to get me drunk. I'm pretty tipsy already."

"They're to get me drunk. You've got the dishes to do."

She giggled again. The wine was definitely working.

"Can't the genie do the dishes too?"

"Steve? Do dishes? Not in this life. Tell you what. Ring him and suggest it. I know what he'll say."

"What?"

"That's women's work. Steve's got strong feelings about things like that. Even Trish, that's Steve's girlfriend, can't get him to do the dishes and she sleeps with him. You and I would have no chance."

"I'd better get on with them then." She started clearing the table. I let her get as far as piling them in the sink to soak then placed a moratorium on domesticity. "Leave them Shana. I'll do them in the morning. Lets just relax and digest that marvellous meal."

Back in the lounge, she wandered over to peruse my video collection.

"You've got a lot of tapes. Any particular order?"

"Top shelf is sci-fi. Second shelf is comedies. Third shelf is horror and gratuitous violence. Bottom shelf is classics and musicals."

"You like Humphrey Bogart films don't you? The Maltese Falcon...Africa Queen...Casablanca. Casablanca! You know, I've never seen that. Everyone says its brilliant but I've never got round to watching it."

"You've never seen Casablanca? The most romantic film ever? The cinematic equivalent of Romeo and Juliet? Girl, you haven't lived!"

"We could watch it now. If you don't mind seeing it again?"

"Sold."

"You put the tape in then. I need the loo." She handed me the cassette as she passed, heading for the bathroom.

Incapacitated though I was, I could not help but view Shana's suggestion with that optimism which is the natural state of the rutting male. The date movie is often a crucial factor in the success or otherwise of the mating ritual. It is important to strike the correct balance of emotional content. A date movie may have scary or startling moments although these work to best effect in the first half of the film where they make the perfect ice-breakers, giving the male the opportunity to assert dominance by holding the female's hand to reassure her or, in extreme cases, provide an arm to cling to. Secondly, the perfect date movie should offer a steady accumulation of sexual tension between the characters. This will stimulate the appropriate neuro-receptors to make the female more sexually receptive (it is unnecessary to stimulate the male in this fashion. He is always receptive to sexual signals). Paradoxically, gratuitous nudity does not stimulate receptivity as effectively as one might think. Males respond strongly to nude images but females are most likely to experience a negative response. By comparison, unresolved sexual tension on screen produces a more balanced response with both the male and the female empathising with their corresponding role models. Finally, the date movie should alternate tragedy and humour. This has a see-saw effect on the couple's emotional equilibrium, acting as a catalyst upon their desires while simultaneously suppressing cerebral thoughts. Casablanca achieves an almost perfect balance of these factors. Opening with moody tension against a backdrop of world conflict, sparking into momentary flurries of violence before the plot is clarified as the main characters struggle to suppress their feelings for one another, culminating in a tragi-comic final scene. In short, it's quite possibly the best date movie in the world, ever, and Shana had picked it out to watch. Hence, I was optimistic about my chances.

"Earth to Alun!" My reverie was interrupted by Shana's return.

"What? Sorry, I was miles away."

"Interesting choice of reading material you've got in the bathroom."

That put me off balance. What had I left lying around?

"If you mean dirty books, they're Steve's. He stays in the spare room sometimes when he and Trish have been squabbling."

"I meant this." She held up a slim hard-back. "Sonnets from the Portuguese? Not what I would have expected to find in a bachelor's bathroom."

"No? Well I generally don't advertise my choice of books. doesn't go with the macho image. People get the wrong idea. That belongs in the spare room." I took the book off her and went to return it to its shelf. Shana followed me, her curiosity piqued.

"Have you read all these?" Shana was referring to my first edition collection. A few dozen volumes of poetry and classic novels and rather more by contemporary authors, mainly signed copies.

"Pretty much. They're bugger all use as ornaments so what else would I do with them?"

"The only poems I've ever read were the ones I had to do for my GCSE in English. I've never really got into it; all thee this and thou that."

"Its not all like that. The more contemporary stuff is much more accessible."

"What's you favourite poem then?"

"I could shortlist a hundred or so but don't expect me to narrow it down further than that. It all depends on what mood I'm in. I'll give you an example; something topical." I rummaged on the shelves until I put my hand on the book I was looking for.

"This is a contemporary one, meaning the author's still alive." I cleared my throat and recited,

I bowed my head and pressed

My lips against her breast,

Then, cupping one within each palm,

I traced the lace of her bra with my thumb,

Reading her emotions in Braille

Through the thin fabric veil

As her nipples, hardening with passion,

Blushed to be touched in such a fashion.

"That's topical is it?" There was mischief in her voice.

"I had hoped it would be, in the not too distant future." I confessed and threw myself on the mercy of the court. It paid off.

"Well we'll have to wait and see, won't we?" There was a wicked glint in her eye. She moved closer, raised her arms to my neck and kissed me. We'd been here before, twenty four hours earlier, but we'd been interrupted by her ex. This time, that wasn't going to happen, so I relaxed and let her drive.

She broke for air, moving back a little and smiling. "What about this film then?"

So that's how she wanted to play. Tease.

"D'you want a refill first? Damn! No, we're out of wine, aren't we?" The last was a rhetorical question but the doorbell answered it all the same.

"Not any more. I'll get it." Shana was quite into this fetching and carrying role, so who was I to argue? I contented myself with heading back to the lounge and eavesdropping from a distance on the conversation at the front door.

"Evening Miss. Two bottles of wine. Compliments of Steve. He says to tell Alun to get well soon, there's a darts match on Thursday against the Rat and Parrot and he's a man short."

"Thanks. Give Steve this for me."

"'Night Miss."

"Goodnight."

I heard the door close and Shana pottering about in the kitchen. She came through to the lounge with an open wine bottle.

"Already cold. Isn't Steve thoughtful? Oh, and he sent a message."

"I heard. Darts on Thursday. What did you give the driver?"

"Just a kiss to pass on to Steve for being a sweetie. Do you think he will? Pass it on, I mean?"

"Not if he values his teeth, Steve's more cave man than new man. Come and sit down. You've done enough running around for one evening. Besides, the film's about to start."

"It's a tape."

"But I've got the remote, and I say it's about to start."

"Bossy boots." Defiant though she sounded, she came over and sat down next to me, slipping off her shoes and swinging her feet up onto the settee.

"Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin."

While the opening credits were rolling, I went for the classic 'arm along the back of the settee' gambit. It paid off. Shana took the hint & snuggled up close in response to my hand resting on her shoulder. We'd both forgotten about my bruised ribs right up to the point her elbow dug into them. I manfully resisted the urge to scream, flinch or do anything else to spoil the mood of the moment. She still noticed.

"Sorry. I forgot." She started to straighten up. I kept my hand on her shoulder to discourage this.

"'S ok. Just as long as you don't wriggle." I lied. There are times when discomfort just doesn't matter. This was one of them.