Less than Perfect

Less than Perfect

"Come right this way Miss ... erm..."

"Sciocco."

"Yes, yes of course. Right this way. Good. I don't know what information you have but we are pleased to tell you that we have three candidates for you today. Amazing. We're all rather excited, you know?"

The rep spoke English in that manner of educated Europeans, with a subtle emphasis on the treble, and a slight overextension of the 'ee's, 'ay's and 'eye's. Renée Sciocco tensed the muscles at the side of her mouth, widening it briefly.

The IJS building was much bigger than she had expected. An enormous bricked box of multiple offices and myriad firms and corporations, IJS shared floor space with call centres, administration offices for robotic research firms and several technology sales teams. It was all a little disorientating.

The smooth European led her down hundreds of metres of anonymous corridors, crooking a right angle here, an automated double door there. His long white coat flapped behind him as he went. She would certainly need to be escorted back out!

Finally upon reaching a small, darkwood door, the European paused knowingly, holding it open with a flourish. He flashed a glimpse of his dazzling white smile.

"Miss Sciocco."

Again the woman briefly widened her mouth.

She found herself being ushered into a corner of the room that contained a well-polished Conran coffee table and a black Barcelona sofa and chair. Her hand caressed the leather as she sat. She selected a fashion magazine from the shelf and started to flick slowly from page to page.

"Coffee?" asked the small, Asian receptionist, a well-presented girl in a cream suit and wearing a subtle shade of lipstick.

The man in the white coat had disappeared now.

The receptionist waited for an answer. Renée Sciocco had lifted the magazine so that it now covered her face.

"Madam?" the receptionist half stated, half asked.

"I'm sorry."

"Why you cry for madam?"

"Renée."

"Madam?"

"Renée. Call me Renée. And I'm not crying."

"Okay."

"It's just, I don't know." She paused momentarily, as if uncertain whether or not to proceed. "Perhaps it's just the pretty young models in the magazine. I was a model, you know, once? Of course you wouldn't know. Why should you? It's just that they're all so young and so perfect, you know? Their clothes are perfect. Their make up is perfect. And, you know, I used to be perfect too. I did. Do you know what it's like to be perfect, to have and to hold perfection, to have others see you as perfect? Of course you do. You sweet little perfect thing you."

"Madam?"

The receptionist passed a tissue to the woman, who, having placed down the magazine, began to dab softly about her eyes.

"You know I have a five-bedroom home in Primrose Hill? That's London. London, England."

"You sell house?"

"I, sell? Sold?" There was a moments' pause as Miss Sciocco inhaled deeply and readjusted her posture on the sofa. "My, my. How news travels... Well yes, I am in the process of relocating as it happens. But whatever you've heard sweetheart, it's really nothing like that. Really. Whatever you've been told, it's not like that at all. I, sold? You know I could probably get you fired for that, don't you? I'm sorry." Another pause and an upwards glance. "No. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have... It's just that... I want everything to be perfect. Do you know what I'm saying?"

"Everything is perfect Ma...Renée."

"Yes, yes of course it is but ... I used to love parties, you know, the frocks the exclusive bars, the big names..." She paused and leant forward to whisper, "the cocaine. I even loved the press, the danger of it all, everyone looking, wanting, you know? Of course this was a long time ago – ancient history you understand."

The pretty Asian receptionist said nothing. Perhaps she understood. She had kind eyes.

"Married well too... old money." At this she bit her lower lip smiling with her eyes and winking. "So important. You - must - marry - well! Make the most of all that..." She moved her hands in curves. "Just don't count on it to last, that's all. Nothing lasts, you see, nothing. It all goes... eventually, so make the most of it while you can. My husband left me of course, my pretty, perfect husband! And I'm far too old to party... too old for ... drugs."

The receptionist smiled though whether she merely took the whisper as cue was less clear.

"So what about you? Are you married, angel?" Renée Sciocco leant forward to take the receptionist's left hand.

"Married. Yes. Married!" The receptionist laughed as Miss Sciocco slowly studied and stroked the white gold on her index finger.

"Well," she brought up her other hand, clasping the receptionist's in both of hers, "just you be careful that's all. Never trust him, not too much... men are all...people are ... just don't trust too much. You know... it's not until you're on your own that you really get to know yourself. I mean, you see how little, how very little, people actually care. They don't, you know, not really." Here she paused meaningfully, staring directly into the receptionist's kind brown eyes with a practised intensity. "That's why I prefer dogs."

Grateful of finally finding a way into the conversation, the receptionist's face blossomed out into a beaming smile.

"Ah yes! Dog! Buffo!" She nodded vigorously. "Great Dane!"

Renée Sciocco, rather taken aback by this sudden change in demeanour, found herself unexpectedly uncertain.

"Yes... Buffo... You know, you seem to know more than I would really expect. I don't know whether to be impressed or annoyed!"

"Madam?"

"'Yes Madam', 'I know Madam', 'Madam this', 'Madam that'. Oh whatever. Does it really mean a thing? Hah. They say nobody's perfect, don’t they? And you know what? Nobody is. Nobody. Everyone looks after themselves. Nobody actually cares about anybody else. At least with a dog. At least with the right dog. With Buffo... Men leave. Friends forget you, or at least they maintain that convenient pretence. But a dog - the right dog never leaves, he never forgets. The right dog loves you, and to him, to the right dog, to Buffo, I was always perfect. And looking back on it all, I don't think I've ever really loved anything, anybody any more, and now I know that I never will. My perfection is gone, after all."

The receptionist was looking distinctly uncomfortable now. She made to get slowly up from her seat.

"More coffee?"

Miss Sciocco looked up at the young receptionist. She was just conscious of an incipient dislike for the girl as she found herself to be staring rather coldly.

"No. Thank you."

Both women were relieved at the sound of approaching male footsteps. Both looked up expectantly as the smooth European in the long white coat appeared winking at the receptionist and turning to face the woman on the sofa. He almost stood to attention, bowing slightly as he brought his hands together.

"Miss Sciocco, it is my great pleasure to introduce you to, to re-introduce you to Dr. Jeon Kim Chwa who is now accompanied by the amazing Buster, Bingo and Biff!"

Smiling broadly, a small, middle-aged Korean with thick spectacles and slicked hair strode into the room. He bowed in a manner that seemed to contain just a little too much theatre to be entirely tasteful. A young man followed, dragged along by three lively Great Dane pups.

Dr. Chwa detached one of the animals from the others and walked it across to where Miss Sciocco sat now on the very edge of the Barcelona sofa. She wept openly now, shaking as she reached a tentative palm out towards the panting pup.

"We hope that you will be particularly pleased with Biff," said the white-coated rep. "We believe he presents an amazing ninety-three percent match!"