Ideal Man

IDEAL MAN

A short story by Anjali Paul
c. Copyright by Anjali Paul

"I think you're cra- a fool," Sara's mother said.

She couldn't, wouldn't, say crazy, of course, because Sara's father
really was mad. Right now, he was in a psychiatric hospital in
Ealing.

He never used to be crazy, not really. If people ever called him that
all they meant was that he was a dreamer, for whom the world was a
delightful, magical place brimming with golden moments and
opportunities.

He never used to be mad. He used to have his own promotions company and
a stable of rock, stage, and screen 'stars' that he represented. He
used to have a six bedroomed house with a games room and a swimming
pool and a landscaped garden, in Chiswick. He used to have everything,
and he used to be sane, but Sara's mother couldn't help thinking (out
loud, in private), that the seeds of insanity might always have been
embedded in him; might be lying hitherto dormant in Sara; because,
after all, lots of other people had lost their businesses and their
houses during the last recession but they hadn't lost their minds, had
they?

So now, Sara and her mother lived in a rented house in a run down part
of West London that was more Shepherd's Bush than Chiswick, and while
her mother tried to piece together the shards of her shattered life,
Sara worked. Sara, who used to have her hair done, shop, work out,
lunch; who used to spend her evenings in clubs and restaurants;
worked.

Sara wasn't exactly pretty, and she didn't get the grades to go to
college, but she would have got married sometime, and her father used
to tell her she was beautiful. He didn't recognise her anymore. He
didn't recognise anyone. He'd gone away to a better place, leaving his
living body behind.

"Well," her mother said, after their world had crashed around them "You
were always lazy and flighty, but you were always a good girl. Maybe
all this is a blessing in disguise for you. It's shown your true
character."

In the daytime Sara worked as a receptionist for a firm of wine
importers in the West End. In the evening she worked in Enzo's Italian
Restaurant on the Chiswick High Road, which was fine, because she never
socialised anymore. It was too embarrassing.

Two weeks and two days ago, a man with bright blond hair, laughing blue
eyes, and a spring in his step, walked into Enzo's Italian Restaurant
and ordered lasagne, red wine, and a large green salad from Sara. That
was Daniel, and that was it.

Today looked to be the last hot day of this year's Indian Summer.
October was tailing into November, and Daniel and Sara were going to
get married at the local Registry Office.

Sara smoothed down her white suit, adjusted the white satin pillbox hat
over her mousy curls (it was decorated with satin orange blossom) and
pulled the net veil over her deep-set grey eyes.

"I don't care what you think" she said to her mother.

"I'm getting married, and we're going to Greece for our honeymoon, and
when we get back, I'm moving into his flat. You don't need to worry
about anything. I'll still pay your rent."

Relief washed over her mother's face, but for the sake of appearances,
she said
"You don't know anything about him."

"I know everything I need to know," Sara said. She knew that he worked
as a salesman for a company that made technologically advanced
office-cleaning equipment (his car boot was full of it). She knew that
he lived in a small but cosy one-bed roomed flat in Camden (she'd been
there). She knew that for Daniel, the world was a wonderful, magical
place full of infinite possibilities. For him, life was for living,
opportunities were for seizing, and love, when it came, was for holding
onto, for making the most of, for celebrating. Daniel was the man she
had always dreamed of, and for the first time in years, she felt ...
young, and happy, and carefree. Daniel liked making her happy. He liked
to see her happy. She didn't tell her mother all that. She didn't
really know how.

"Come on,' she said, instead. "I don't want to be late."

Sara's mother was going to be her witness, and Daniel's old friend
Martin would be his best man. Daniel was an orphan; neither Sara nor
her mother had any friends anymore; it was going to be a very small
affair.

They arrived just as Daniel drove up. He was wearing a dove grey
suit.

Sunlight caressed his golden hair, leapt in and out of his blue
eyes.

"My mate Martin's got food poisoning," he said. "We'll get one of
the
Clerks to be my witness.

He did; they stood before the Registrar; Sara said "I do," and her
mother cried.

"Here,' she said afterwards, blowing her nose. "Something blue. It was
all such a rush, I forgot to give it to you before. I hope it's not too
late."

She pinned a sapphire brooch onto Sara's suit jacket. Then Daniel
hurried her into the car, so that it wasn't until they were fastening
their seat belts that Sara noticed the blood seeping from under the
brooch, red blossoming like bougainvillaea on the white cloth. The pin
of the brooch had pierced her just above her left breast.

"Didn't it hurt?" Daniel asked, unbuttoning her jacket

"Nothing could hurt me today," Sara said dreamily. He smiled, and
leaning forward, sucked at the cut in her skin until the blood stopped
flowing.
"It was a tiny scratch really," he said. " You won't be scarred for
life," and Sara buttoned up her jacket while he drove.

Then there was Heathrow, and putting the car in the long stay car park,
and champagne on the flight, so much that she couldn't see straight and
was wrapped in a haze of happiness until, suddenly, they were on the
ferry on their way to Santorini, the most beautiful island in the
Cyclades.

The setting sun suffused the sea and sky with a clear golden pink; she
was floating in the centre of a bubble of pink champagne, and Daniel's
arms were around her. The world was a delicately beautiful, mystical
place. Sara couldn't speak, tears welled in her eyes, she shivered with
pure ecstasy.
"Mmm.. cold, isn't it," Daniel said, rubbing her arms. " We'll be there
soon."

They were, too soon. They disembarked from the ferry under dark
towering cliffs, and took a motor launch to the tiny port of Skala
Thira. From there, they took a cab that sputtered up a narrow, twisting
road uphill to the taverna in which Daniel had booked a room. It was
already too dark to see anything. Even the famous black beach made of
what had once been volcanic lava was lost in shadows.

There were coloured fairy lights around the door of the taverna;
inside, a middle-aged Greek woman sat behind the reception desk. Daniel
smiled at her, running his fingers through his thick blond hair, and
she glowed.

"The honeymoon couple," she grinned, showing her yellowing teeth. "The
God Adonis himself, and his lovely bride. We are honoured." Daniel
laughed. She gave them their keys, and called a porter to take their
cases to their room.

"My name is Cleo," she said. "Enjoy your stay. If there is anything
that you need, tell me."

"We could use a drink," Daniel said, his arm lying loosely around Sara
s shoulders.

"The bar is through there," Cleo gestured to a door diagonally opposite
them. She watched them as they went through, the beautiful man and his
sombre wife. Somehow, his smile had made her feel young again... she
began to hum an old song under her breath as she bent her head to her
work.

Dominic, the owner of the taverna, was behind the bar. Sara looked
around. The place was empty.

"Normally, we're fully booked," he said, interpreting her glance. "But
of course, the season's over now. You'll have the island practically to
yourself. Well, apart from the locals and a couple of Germans."

A long, lean man with pale skin and red hair, he grinned and picked up
a cocktail shaker.

"Tell you what, " he said. "I'll make you one of my specials." Dominic
was a Londoner by birth.

"I came here on holiday twenty years ago," he said " and never went
back." He finished pouring the drinks, and set them before Daniel and
Sara with a flourish.

"Look at that," he said proudly "Ever seen anything like them?"
"Never," Daniel said. Sara looked at the small cylindrical glasses.
Each one had a layer of red liquid, topped by a layer of warm gold,
which in turn was topped by a layer of pure white.

"What are they called?" she asked.

"They don't need a name" Dominic smiled. "The ingredients are
absolutely secret, no-one makes them but me, you'll never drink them
anywhere else." Daniel sipped his reverently.

"God no!" Dominic brought his hand down on the bar so hard that the
glasses on the shelves behind him rattled. "Down in one!"

"But - they're like works of art," Sara said.

"Exactly" Dominic leaned forward and stared into her eyes. "That's the
point. It is a work of art , made with infinite precision to be drunk
in one glorious instant."

Sara and Daniel poured their drinks down their throats simultaneously.
Sara blinked as the liquid coursed through her like molten lava, and
the bar room was imbued with a warm, golden light. Daniel took her
hand. "I've got to get you upstairs," he whispered, against her
neck.

Their room had a varnished wooden floor. The king-sized bed was covered
by a white lace bedspread; there was a window behind it. On the single
mahogany table there was a white china bowl filled with polished red
apples, and a white telephone. There was a mahogany wardrobe against
one wall, with their cases neatly arranged in front of it, and a door
in the opposite wall leading to an ensuite bathroom.

Daniel clicked the door shut behind them, clicked the light off. "I
love you so much," he whispered, unbuttoning her jacket. The room spun,
Sara couldn't keep her balance. She clung to him, her arms around his
neck. He was her solid anchor in this whirling room, he was the most
stable thing in her life. He pulled off her skirt, her knickers,
unhooked her bra. Laying her gently on the bed, he licked her nipples,
then turned her over, slowly nipping her back with his teeth, tracing
it with his mouth, his tongue, down to her buttocks, her thighs,
sending ripples of desire through her until she started writhing
against him, silently willing him inside her.

"Wait," he said quietly, and stood up to undress. She opened her eyes
and turned to watch him. She loved his body, loved the short blond hair
that covered his tanned limbs, his muscled chest. He smiled at her
lazily, and she thought she saw something move in the shadows behind
him, but her mouth was dry, and she couldn't speak. Moonlight shone
through the window behind the bed, edging him with silver, chasing all
the shadows in the room into the corner behind him, by the wardrobe,
where they gathered in a shapeless mass that had no eyes but was
watching her silently, waiting... . When Daniel entered her she felt
the dark mass begin to move towards her, and she started to scream, so
that he covered her mouth with his and thrust his tongue into her
throat and came like a conquering hero, proud of the effect he had on
her... .

Sunlight streamed over Daniel's shining hair (gold on gold) on the
pillow beside her. Sara shook her head, dazed. Everything was clean and
bright. She could smell fresh bread and coffee. It must have been the
cocktail last night, she thought, and to stop herself from thinking
anymore she ran into the bathroom and dived under the shower.

Daniel was up and dressed when she came out, helping himself from a
tray laden with bread rolls, jam, butter, and coffee.

"Room service," he smiled. "Nothing but the best. I thought we could
explore the island today. There's a place where we can hire a
motorbike. The weather's not bad - its warm outside."

Sara sat down on the bed, her towel damp around her. He reached for
her. She flinched. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing." Suddenly, she didn't want him to touch her. Nausea churned
in her stomach.

"I want... I don't feel well," she said.

"Then we'll stay in. You look a bit pale, come to think of it."

"No!" She almost screamed it out. He stood up, startled, almost came
towards her, sat down again.

"You go," she said " Please go. I'll be fine... I don't want you to be
bored."
"Bored? With you?" Daniel put his arms around her. She started shaking
and pushed him away.

"Have it your own way." Hurt clouding his eyes, he picked up his jacket
and left, slamming the door behind him.

As soon as he was gone Sara wanted him to come back, but she knew he
wouldn't yet. She had hurt him. She dressed (a skirt over a one-piece
swimsuit, sandals) and sat on the bed. The room closed in on her, the
air so stifling she could hardly breathe. She had to get out. She took
some money and a towel in a plastic bag and walked out into the weak
sunshine.

She saw now that the town was built on terraces. White houses sparkled
in wavering semi-circles above and below her. The taverna was about
halfway up the cliff side. She found the twisting track that led to the
beach and walked down. Here and there red bougainvillaea spurted
against a whitewashed wall. Women wearing headscarves and carrying
shopping called to each other in Greek; ignored her. There was a
church, souvenir and grocery shops, several cafes that were mostly
empty except for groups of two or three men with heavy moustaches who
stopped their conversation and eyed her dispassionately as she walked
past.

The black beach wasn't black at all, but slate grey. There were a few
people on it, even a couple in the sea. Sara found a place far from the
others, dug a hole in the sand, and settled into it, leaning her head
against the towel in the plastic bag. She stared out to sea for hours,
missing Daniel, and then, when the longing grew almost unbearable,
picked herself up, brushed the gritty grey sand off her skirt, and made
the long trek back to the taverna, hoping that he would be waiting for
her. On the way up she noticed a sign saying 'SUNSET' with an arrow
pointing to the top of the cliff.

"It's one of our tourist attractions," Dominic said. The bar was empty.
Daniel had not come back.

"From the top of the cliff you can see to the edge of the world, and
one of the most spectacular sunsets in it."

"Mm." Sara slumped on her barstool.
"So," Dominic said " Would you like one of my specials?"

Sara nodded, and he went to work. She had one, then another. They
seared into her, almost obliterating the emptiness inside, and the
small bar room glowed like a ruby in the light of the setting
sun.

A red haired man came in and smiled at her hopefully. He was tall,
slim, had a five o'clock shadow and green eyes that slanted upwards at
the corners. Dominic's eyes lit up at the sight of him. He suddenly
looked younger, almost boyish.

"Daniel," he said, glowing, " I was just making my speciality for your
lovely wife...and telling her about our famous sunset."

"I'll take her to see it tomorrow," Daniel said, kissing Sara's
cheek.
"No," she whispered, pulling away.

"You should have come with me," Daniel said " I saw strange and
wonderful things."

"Oh?" Dominic put a cocktail in front of him. Daniel winked at him,
laughed, and drained the glass. He put his arm around Sara.

"Better?" he whispered.

"Get away from me,' she hissed. " Who are you?"

Dominic discreetly polished a glass, pretending not to hear.

"I'm sorry I left you," Daniel touched her cheek. " I was upset. I
missed you all day. Please don't be angry. It's our honeymoon."

"That's right. You're young and in love. Enjoy it while you can. You'll
be old before you know it. To Sara and Daniel." Dominic downed one of
his own cocktails

"You know," he said to Daniel " You remind me of my twin brother. He's
dead now, but we had some laughs when we were young... ."

Sara started to tremble. This was a joke. Dominic and this red - haired
stranger were playing a practical joke on her. She wished Daniel would
come back. The red - haired man leaned forward to kiss her. She pushed
him away, knocking their empty glasses to the floor, and ran up to
their room.

Dominic stared at Daniel.

"It'll blow over," he said. "Known each other long?"

"Two weeks and three days," Daniel said.

"Women.'" Dominic shrugged his shoulders. "Here they say new love is
like new wine, it's raw and rough until it settles down, matures... why
don't you go to her?"

Daniel smiled at him shakily and went upstairs.

Sara was in bed, naked, her clothes strewn over the floor, her arms
held rigidly over her head. The curtains were drawn; the light was off.
Daniel didn't switch it on; he closed the door behind him as quietly as
he could.

"Sara darling...." He drew the duvet off her. Her body, glimmering in
the darkness, seemed paler than usual, more vulnerable. He caressed her
back, from shoulder to thigh.

"Its okay darling," he murmured. He didn't know what else to say. "Its
okay. I love you."

It was Daniel's voice. It was Daniel's tongue sliding over her skin and
between her thighs. He turned her over. It was his mouth, warm on her
breast. She kept her eyes shut. There was something in the corner of
the room by the wardrobe, something shapeless made of midnight that was
watching her, and if she opened her eyes she might see it, but as long
as she kept her eyes closed everything was all right because it was
Daniel's voice that was murmuring to her while his lips were warm on
her breasts, her belly, sending their familiar messages of desire
through her. Hips writhing against his, she opened her eyes. His
slanting green gaze locked with hers, his long pale body was urgently
poised above her. He slid inside her, and behind him, in the corner by
the wardrobe, an eyeless creature made of shadows looked deep into her
mind. She cried out in terror, and he drove his tongue into her mouth,
and came like a conquering hero, proud of the effect he had on her...
and the shadow creature inched towards her until its darkness seeped
into her head, obliterating everything

Sara awoke. The room was normal, filled with daylight; everything was
in its place.

"Bad dreams," she thought. "Reaction. Just reaction to the last few
years." She thought of her father, huddled in the corner of his
antiseptic cell in the psychiatric hospital in Ealing; quickly pushed
him out of her mind. She turned to Daniel for reassurance - and froze.
Red hair spilled over the white pillow beside her; the long lean body
was as pallid as fungus. Green eyes smiled sleepily into hers. She
scrabbled away from him, fell onto the floor. Daniel leant up on one
elbow.

"What the hell is wrong with you now? " He said irritably. "You were
okay last night when we made love."

"Get away from me," Sara whispered, her arms wrapped around her
trembling body.

"Oh for God's sake." Daniel got out of bed and began pulling on his
clothes. "I'm beginning to think you're crazy." His mouth twisted
cruelly. "Like your dad." Sara watched him silently, eyes large with
fear.

"Oh God," he said. "I didn't mean to say that. I didn't mean it, Sara."
He bent over her, she scuttled away.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said gently. Sara hissed at him like a
snake.

"Sara..." Daniel sat on the bed, his head in his hands. "Tell you what.
I'll leave you alone, I'll be back in a little while. Maybe you just
need to be on your own."

He went out.

Sara waited in the corner of the room, by the wardrobe, watching the
door, until she was sure he wasn't coming back. Then she had a long,
hot shower and scrubbed every trace of the stranger off her skin.

There was no-one downstairs. She went out as quietly as she could. The
sky was pale grey, like the beach and the sea far below. It wasn't
cold, but it wasn't warm. She took the snaking path to the terrace
below the taverna. White houses, white walls smeared with red flowers.
A church. A cafe. She sat down at a table outside the cafe and stared
at the menu. She wasn't hungry. A man with a moustache came over to
her. She avoided his eyes.

"Coffee."

When it came, it was cold and bitter. She drank it, then stared
sightlessly at the dregs. A man sat down at her table. He leaned
forward, said questioningly "Hello?"

He had faded blue eyes and brown hair. She looked at him for a second,
then, when he opened his mouth to continue speaking, threw her coffee
cup at him, in case he was going to pretend to be Daniel too, and ran.
The owner of the cafe came out and stared after the crazy woman and
exchanged puzzled shrugs with the bemused, bespattered German
tourist.

She ran up the winding track that led to Santorini's famous sunset, but
today there were clouds over the sun and there would be no sunset, just
a faint drizzle and a gradual darkening to dusk.

The slight, salty rain stung her eyes. She wasn't wearing a coat.
Suddenly tired, she walked back down to the taverna.

"You're soaked," Dominic said politely, polishing glasses behind the
bar. "You need a good hot Irish coffee."

She didn't trust him. Maybe he had killed Daniel... she had heard of
things like that.

"Where is my husband?" Leaning over the bar, Sara almost spat the words
at Dominic.

"Upstairs, I should think. He came in here looking for you and then he
said he'd wait in your room. He looked worried." Dominic's face
softened. "Good bloke, your old man. Reminds me a lot of my twin
brother ... I told you, didn't I? He died in a car crash - I was
driving. Afterwards, I wished - anyway, I couldn't stay in London after
that. I came here-" Sara left him in mid - sentence, and went upstairs.
Dominic shrugged. She was not only strange, she was rude.

The room was clean and quiet. The bed had been made. She could hear the
shower running in the bathroom, She sat down on the bed to wait for him
to come out. He had unpacked their cases and stacked them on top of the
wardrobe.

The water stopped running in the bathroom.

"Hello?" She called "Daniel?"

'Hello," he called back. "Why don't you come in?"

"Why don't you come out?"

Sweat broke out on her skin and she curled her hands into fists to stop
them from shaking.

"All right. Wait for it!"

It was Daniel's voice, but it was a tall, black-haired man who stepped
out of the bathroom, naked. Sara took in his muscular body, his deep
black eyes. Then she started shaking.

"Hey," he said, his eyes worried, "Hey." He stepped towards her.

"Don't!" Sara screamed.

He didn't stop. He put his arms around her. She struggled free,
swinging punches, and when he still kept trying to hold on to her,
raked her nails down his cheek, leaving five long lines of glistening
red beads. He slapped her away. Dazed, she crawled into the corner of
the room by the wardrobe, and curled up, foetus position.

"Look, I don't know what s wrong with you. I'm going to call a doctor.
I don't know what else to do." Daniel shut the door firmly behind him,
and left her sobbing there, helpless against the first shadows of night
as they slid towards her over the varnished wooden floorboards.
Daniel went down to the reception desk, his hand to his cheek.

"Can you get me some plasters please, Cleo," he said "and then I'll
need to call a doctor for my wife. I think she might need
tranquillisers." Blood oozed through his fingers.

"Tsk tsk," said Cleo. "Wait in the bar. I'll find something for
you."

Daniel eased himself onto a barstool.

"I don't know what s come over her," he said wearily.
"Women," Dominic said. "I'll make you one of my specials."

Daniel sighed.
"I could use it."

Cleo came into the bar with some antiseptic cream and sticking plaster.
She hummed as she smoothed the cream onto Daniel's cheek. What a man.
Since he first walked into the taverna, with his jet-black hair and his
warm dark eyes, he had made her glow inside. He reminded her of her
first love.

"Poor Daniel, " she murmured. He smiled at her sadly. He was so
handsome. She started humming again as she pressed the plasters onto
his flesh, because just being near him made her feel so happy, so
carefree, so...young.

*****
The End
c. Copyright by Anjali Paul