CHAPTER XIII : WHO’S AFRAID OF VIRGINIA WOLF.
College absorbed me the following week and yet I was counting down the days backward. Five, four, three, two, one. Oh that zero hour took its time and I missed that winsome girl. For months, except for Tuesdays when I left college late I was reminded of her because I left at one, walked to the Regent Street subway station and took the Bakerloo line for Piccadilly. Going down the escalator to a lower level for the Piccadilly line which took me to South Ken or Gloucester Road I invariably saw a young couple kissing in a corner. The same draughty corner, at the same time, every day without exception. One would think we had a permanent appointment at that particular moment. So precise, so constant, so wistful for me. I never saw their faces which were hidden in the passionate embrace and mouth to mouth, endless kiss but I could only assume they were very young. That they were working kids living far apart and in this furtive meeting in the rush hour and probably their lunch break when nobody gave them a second glance they kept their love alive. Every time I saw them I thought of Diana, even in the months I left her and the months after the Tuesdays she did not show up. And now I was on a new attempt to scramble on the train following the one I missed. I bought the tickets on Monday from a booking agent because once again the play was booked solid for weeks and to my annoyance Friday turned out to be wet and gloomy. But the rain stopped in the afternoon, and in a light summer jacket and tie I met her, smiling and attractively dressed and on time at the station. Hello, love, I said and kissed her, I missed you, and she said, I missed you too. It seemed to me there was a new flow of interest between us that survived and built up again after the repeated breakdowns. With me it was more or less present all the time. I could not know about her. Yes, she liked me initially, I hurt her, and she moved on. She had another man. I could not guess with any certainty her current feelings for me or for this Edgar whose name was as repulsive to me as Reginald.
I held her arm and we moved to the lifts. Down to the crowded, gusty underworld of trains and into a packed, swaying coach to Piccadilly. I held the leather hand grip for balance and she held my arm. She bumped and was pushed onto me often and we smiled. Her face was very close to mine and I felt like giving her an innocent kiss on her forehead or her lips but did not risk it. How was your week, I asked. A happy one, she said. I was accepted to teach French at the Kensington Primary School. It’s just off Kensington High Street which is not far off and quite convenient. I start next September. I gave my notice to my employer but I shall be working till the end of July. And you? Oh college is all right, I said. I am learning many new things about economics, government and political philosophy which I don’t think will be very useful in my life but I am being educated and becoming more aware of the world we live in. It is basically a process of growing up. Yes, George, so are our tiffs, she said smiling. I smiled too. I hope so, I said.
From Piccadilly we walked rapidly up Shaftesbury Avenue to the Apollo theatre. The usual crowds of revelers were milling, thick, merry and noisy. I held her hand and arm which I had to release often to dodge the high-spirited, nonchalant people coming and going on the pavement. The Apollo is relatively small and old and elaborately decorated with plasterwork. It opened its doors in 1901 but has been redecorated several times since then. We entered and made our way through the excited, noisy and well-dressed audience. We did not have to visit the cloak room to check in any clothing because Diana, like me, wore a light summer jacket over her dress. She seemed happy and smiled and she looked very young and beautiful. We found our seats and as we were a few minutes early had to wait for the theatre to fill up. A show all its own, interesting and varied.
Who’s Afraid of Virginia Wolf was a huge success in the States and won the Tony Award for best play in 1962. It examines the breakdown of the marriage of a middle aged American couple and the involvement of a younger couple in their blistering exchange of accusations and insults. The venom and angry dialogues were frightening and fascinating, totally believable and absorbing. That is perhaps why Omar brought Annie to see it. Did he imagine he would change Annie’s level-headed plans with a play? There was an intermission after the first Act and we went to the bar for a cup of champagne. Diana insisted to treat me and we sipped the delicious drink with smiles amid the multitude of fellow spectators, loud voices and conversations and my roaming hands caressing quite decorously an elated Diana. We returned to our seats just a little tipsy and there was a second intermission after the second Act and a second trot to the bar for another cup of that delightful nectar. Do you think we should? Diana asked before going. Well, it’s my turn to repay your treat, I said. When we returned to our seats, again a little dizzy, we were warm and took off our jackets. I put my arm around hers and we went through the third act in this emotional contentment which was so totally in contrast to the hatred spewed by the play’s characters. When the play ended the clapping was interminable and we left in a hurry because it was almost twelve and the last trains would soon stop. Diana was muttering to herself, to me, fantastic, unbelievable, what acting and what energy.
There was no time for a meal and we walked rapidly, holding hands, to the Piccadilly underground. The crowds had thinned and the last stragglers coming out of pubs were noisy with clowning and laughter and unsteady stumbles. Perhaps we can have a bite at South Kensington, I told her as we were descending on the escalator. I saw the corner of the two lovers and I told Diana come here a second. Where? she asked. We’ll miss the train, George. Just a second, I said. She followed me and I wedged her in the corner, put my arms around her and my lips on her hers. I kissed her and her eyes were open looking at me surprised. Don’t look at me like that, I said. Don’t you know I love you? I kissed her again and my tongue searched for an opening in her mouth. Her eyes closed and her lips parted and we kissed like the two lovers. We were lost for a while and then remembered the trains and, running, we reached the platform as the train was roaring in. The carriage was practically empty and we sat down. She looked at me with a smile and said, well, well. Well, well, what? I said. As if you didn’t know. Didn’t know what? she asked. I was stuck to her, my arm enlacing hers, her palm in both of mine. That I am mad about you, I said. Well, you certainly went about it in a most tortuous fashion, hurting me considerably in the process, she said. I know, I replied. But I think I am finally growing up. A little late, yes, but you know what they say, better late than never. She smiled. And what a strange place for our first kiss. As good as any, my sweet, for this vast need I had.
It was a little after twelve when we emerged at South Ken. Even on a Friday night all the shops seemed to shut down at midnight. The coffee bars were either bolted or were being swept by the staff with the chairs on the tables. I know of a place which is a bit higher class and stays open a little later, I told Diana. I don’t want you spending your money, she said. It’s a special occasion Diana. Isn’t it for you too? Well, yes, she said. I didn’t like the, well yes, I said. Aren’t you happy? She smiled. I am. But also a little uneasy. It’s the first time I find myself with two boyfriends. I embraced her and kissed her. The street was almost deserted and we kissed for a few minutes in the recessed entrance of a house. Then we started walking again, arm in arm, up Old Brompton Road to the Chanterelle. I had been there once or twice before. There’s always a first time, I said. You shall eventually make a choice I presume. The way she kissed me made me confident. It was a release of reticence as well as a need for more. We entered the pleasant setting of the restaurant and sat down. Only a few tables were occupied at this hour but the waiter welcomed us and gave us the menu. He also made his recommendations and we both ordered a steak in special un-English continental sauces spiced with garlic and potatoes cooked in the oven. A half bottle of Beaujolais as well. We sat facing each other and contemplated our faces as if for the first time. A few spare sentences punctuated our silences and smiles. Each was perhaps thinking of consequences. Of this flare-up of emotion. It was clearly not casual. Not a one-night happening. The waiter brought the wine, opened the bottle and served us. To us, I said and we clinked glasses. She smiled thoughtfully. Maybe the predicament was more complex for her. The buses have stopped circulating, Diana said. We shall have to find a taxi. I smiled at her and said, not to worry. She looked at me with a hesitant smile trying to decipher my answer. The food arrived promptly. We were the last customers and they wanted to finish and close up. It was delicious and so was the wine, red, full bodied and potent, and it went directly to our head. We did not have a dessert nor a coffee which would perhaps sober us up and we did not want this well-being dissipated. Outside we started kissing again and then stopped and looked around. No taxis in sight, I said. You’ll have to spend the night with me. Either in my bed or we can walk around till dawn. There was no alternative. I think she expected it, even desired it. Her answer socked me out of the blue. Have you got condoms? she asked. I was shocked. But why was I shocked? It was a necessary, practical question. Yes, I said and she smiled. Georgie boy, she said, you really are growing up.