You Never meet anyone by accident

Searching faces, eyes meet, then, laughter and speches. Mouth meets
mouth and mouth -to -mouth you explore possibilities.

A crowded bar, two strangers and we couldn't
keep our hands off each other. Loud needle in the arm intravenous
music!

Jesus died for somebody's sins but not mine.

She wasn't tall and had short spiky hair, a curious mix of boy/girl
with dark smoky eyes.
"I live life fast foward," she said,"And I tell the truth except when I
lie. I'm starving!" She announced. So was I kissing her neck!

The scene the music I heard it through the Grape Vine.

We left the bar laughing at nothing, falling against each other we
cascaded into the nearest restaurant.
Hugging her hips,"Please don't let me eat too much."
Like a tiny bird she waded across the menu. I watched.
Pears Parmesan &; Rocket salad with Balsamic Vinegar, Sea Bass
sixteen quid and to finish,
"I can't resist! That's my problem I eat with my eyes."
A floating Island, custard base meringue and fresh fruit.
I had a salad.
We were slipping into it. Our legs intertwined she told me she loved
tall blonde men and knew what she wanted and was going to get it!
"You look so English," she said, "Almost aristocratic."
I was from Pekham. I told her that one day I would tell her who I
really was.
She'd lived in America,
"I went to visit my Mother....I stayed.... LA it's so crazy. I was
re-birthed twice. Have you ever seen a Clairvoyant? I saw three in a
week! No I wasn't doing drugs. American men are so insecure. It's all
about conscious living, becoming your own teacher!"
I wondered what she did in real life, we couldn't of been more
different. I'd never seen a Clairvoyant and any kind of psychobabble
set my teeth on edge.
I paid the bill.
"Are you sure? That's so sweet. Let me pay half at least..... we've
eaten masses!

With little persuasion she took me home with her. We climbed the walls
jumped from tall buildings and planned hot summers, after all my get
lucky nights it felt like the real thing!
I lived in Kentish-Town and she lived in Camden Town, worlds apart she
said. I gladly gave up my unresolved memories and moved in. After my
basement the size of a handkerchief, I'd arrived. Hollywood! Gloss
white with black suede furniture, Venetian mirrors, chandeliers and
Beech floors.
We were all over each other and became prisoners of the blankets, in
the kitchen, the kitchen floor, up against the Aquarius washer/dryer
1200RPM spin cycle, her Renault Clio, seats made for fucking in. Late
one night in the Post Office doorway,
"Lets go," she gasped, "Everyone will be queing to buy stamps."
We even found a dark corner at Tate Modern and almost did it, over
looked by the giant spider.
She was insatiable and I became her love dog!

Jane was twenty-six. Maurice Dubina her father, was the ex Rabbi of
Hendon Reform Synagogue. Now a convert to money, now rich, dealing in
antique silver with her brother Mark, they had shop near Baker Street.
Jane's mother still lived in America, even Rabbi's play around.
When I'd met them it had felt like a twelve step progame,
"My names Simon and I drive a van delivering parcels for a
living."

I didn't move. I felt happy to let my life slip into a chair.
Jane was calling me from the bedroom. Her voice. I allowed it to drift
past me.
Would I have to endure another ritual in style?
Capable of changing her outfit two or three times or until she reached
Nirvana.
"I work in PR," she'd wail, " It's preciously important how I look. Why
can't you understand?"
Joseph, Prada, Versace,Chole, Armani we were all bedfellows.
She only wore black.
"I know its black, but it's this season."
I was new to the exhausting business of shopping, happy in jeans and
T-shirts, referring to me as deconstructed chic!
Don't make scene she'd plead, its my money. Rich in debt her concertina
of cards practically hitting the floor and if that failed. She owed me
hundreds.
I decided to move...as far as I could...to the kitchen...I needed
coffee.
She joined me complete. Well tailered in a black leather suit, slutty
stilettos that she couldn't walk in and her one concession to colour,
red chiffon scarf round her neck. I felt like pulling on it!
"Will I do?" Slowly turning like a mechanical toy, "Tell me really! I'm
so fed up with all that Neo-Hippie chic! Its Maxfield Parish," I knew
that, hadn't I paid for it, "Will I do?" Still turning.
"Do you honestly want me to tell you, can you take the truth for once,
you deconstucted nightmare! Was what I wanted to say. I didn't.
"You look fabulous as usual."
She leant up against me perfume shampoo and powder.
"Simon on your way home, you have to pass his door and I know you think
my father doesn't like you, which by the way is untrue, he's got some
money for me,"
"Do I have to, how much....?" Cutting me short,
"I will pay you back," examining her nails, "Of course I will, this
money is for something ever so important," blushing ever so slightly,
"Five hundred."
Designer names in bright neon flashed before me and I buckled, I knew
better, it was too early, if you scratched her surface she'd fester
immediately. Reluctantly, I told her I'd get there around six and that
we needed to talk. She mumbled something about lunch and happy feet,
careful of her red lips took a sip of my coffee gathered up her things
and left the flat like a dancer.

I didn't start work until eleven, I kept telling myself this was only a
temporary job, for the last year. At the cost of your brain and
intellect and seventy hours a week you could make decent money. I was
thirty-four and going nowhere, I'd studied furniture design and ran my
own company, we were going great, until I got knocked for forty grand,
it finished me and I'd drifted ever since. Jane was always telling me I
could do better, leaving self help books all over the place:
The Procrastinators Hand Book, Psycho Pictography, The Seven Habits Of
Highly Effective People and who is Vernon Howard?
One night we hooked up with a girl Jane worked with, it came out in the
conversation Jane had told her I still ran my own company.
She'd tried to laugh it off,
"Come on," she said, "We always end up arguing about nothing. Lets not
invade Poland again! People success I don't care what you do, but you
must become your own teacher. Read the books!"
After that night everything changed, it went down hill fast. When we
made love it would be half asleep clutched together like strangers,
over quickly, like burning dry wood and in the morning only the night
remembered us, apart fom a faint recollection in our eyes of something
we'd lost.

I arrived late for work, the rain consistent and all the traffic going
my way. George the controller loaded me up with eleven parcels, a man
who never smiled, didn't do jokes and dressed in three shades of beige.
He referred to most women as stick fetchers and when he wasn't shouting
at the drivers could be found in his office reading children's
comics.
It took me forty-five minutes to find 54 Bishops Gate my last drop,
turning out to be a numberless door, a folly squashed between two glass
office blocks. I was late back to the depot, George greeted me with a
seris of agresive grunts. Enough! I told him what he could do with his
job and to go back to the comic half open on his desk. He smiled....at
....last telling me I was finished.
On the way home I felt like a man who couldn't feel pain, without
purpose drifting on a raft somewhere.
My mobile rang, it was Jane's father,
"Are you coming by? Jane rang me and I've got the money here for you,
only don't be all night its football, Mark wants a lift."
The rain had stopped, the road wet and shiny, on autopilot I was soon
parking outside her fathers shop.
"Come in Stewart," Maurice said,
"Simon," I corrected.
"Simon, come in, come in, you look bushed, I don't envy you! Mark make
him some coffee."
"I needed one, "how's it going?" I asked.
" The shops been dead for weeks, then..out of the blue Giovanni
Pampiglione, he deals big in
ROMA," pointing to the half empty display case, "It took us over three
hours, but we won in the end. You know Simon that's the trouble with
Blair he's never run a business!"
Mark came in with the coffee, how was the flat he asked, did I realise
what his father could let it for, what did his sister spend all her
money on. I could of told him but I just wanted to get out of
there.
On top of one of the display cases was a copy of the Evening
Standard/Palestine/Israel conflict, more blood flows, they saw me
glance at it, all they needed to switch into Zionist mode. Mark started
to rant on about what he'd like to do to every Palestinian, especially
the twelve year olds.
Prada, Gucci and Kalashnikovs: A hideous day and an empty life finally
caught up with me. Didn't they think even Palestinians were entitled to
their rights a quarter of a million virtual prisoners in Gaza alone.
Refugees in their own country, while Jewish settlers had the best of
everything going, land, water even seperate roads.
Maurice looked me hard in the eyes, "This subject is not open
negotiation," and what did I know anyway.
"What did I know about Jewish affairs?" Mark added, "What was I an
expert?"
I didn't exactly sleep with Jesus, but I had my beliefs to. I snapped
back at them, surely they meant world affairs.
Mark screamed at me, who was I to tell them! Didn't I know his father
was an honest man and didn't I know he'd been head Rabbi of Hendon
Reform Synagogue and his sister could do much...much better than a
loser like me!
I'd never considered anti Semitism but this was a good starter pack, I
made a remark about Jews and mentioned the Holocaust. The look in Marks
eyes told me it was too late, I'd become a Hizbollah militant Islamic
terrorist!
Mark a sixteen stone slob cloned from his father, both addicted to the
good life, his first punch caught me square in the mouth I tasted
blood. Maurice compassion in action, arms outstretched in front of hi
showcases, like a beast from the jungle protecting his young. Marks
second punch hit me in the eye and they were good punches, I was dead
on my feet. The first punch must of dislodged my imagination, I
screamed at them that I knew hard men, friends of mine, who'd sort them
out for nothing just a a favour to me, catching my reflection in one of
the showcases. Yasar Arafat grinning back at me surrounded by antique
silver.
They both laughed an spat the words at me to get out!

The Dubinas had dented more than my pride, my face hurt like hell, my
eye swelling. All day my life had seemed too long, suddenly at last I
could feel the blood rushing through my veins and I was laughing.
When I got back to the flat I packed my things, I was in a hurry and
taking one more look around stuck the keys through the letterbox. As I
was driving away I saw Jane walking towards me, same shoes different
outfit. She was wearing red! Happy feet waved as I drove pass. All our
hot summers were over!
I knew I was passing from one canvas to the next. Somebody once told me
that you never meet anyone by accident. If I'd tried I couldn't of
changed a thing it was my fate.