Borne Back Ceaselessly Into The Past
[Outside it was a crystalline, cold night...]Outside it was a crystalline, cold night. The sky rippled overhead, like black velvet, and every so often a cloud would make way for a tiny, bright star to momentarily twinkle before retreating once again back into the darkness. Save for the occasional car driving young women to the Soho clubs and to the restaurants and theatres in the West End, it was perfectly quiet.
Inside, the lights burned furiously, drenching the house in a fragrant yellow. The guests were merrily talking amongst themselves, balancing flutes of champagne between their fingertips with ease and laughing gaily. Some were dancing in the middle of the room, clapping their hands and tapping their feet to the tune that the band in the corner was playing. From the top of the staircase, Howard watched his guests and smiled to himself.
“Howard!”
He knew who it was before he even turned around.
“Miss Findlay. How wonderful to see you.”
Lydia smiled indulgent as he kissed her on the cheek. She smelled of expensive perfume and her brown hair had been cut into a fashionable bob.
“You look lovely,” he added.
“Oh, don’t be silly, I just threw this on.” She smiled and gazed out over the room. “This is a fabulous do you’ve put together, I must say. Is that the man from the Standard?”
“I believe so.”
“He’s wanted to get in here for years.” Lydia crinkled her nose. “Very interesting choice of music, I must say.”
“Yes!” Howard nodded enthusiastically. “Don’t you think it’s fantastic? It’s a new American style; they call it ‘jazz.’ All the rage in New York.”
“How modern.”
“It’s so refreshing, don’t you think? Much better than any of that stilted rubbish you hear in Wilton’s.”
Lydia was smirking at him, one manicured eyebrow perfectly raised. “You’re perfectly charming when you’re excited, dearest.”
He frowned at her. “You aren’t impressed?”
“Not especially. I’ve never had much interest in our friends overseas.”
“Oh. Right.” Howard’s shoulders slumped.
“No…” Lydia’s gaze was trailing languidly over his shoulder over the pool of guests at the foot of the stairs. “I’m much more interested in him.”
Howard turned his head to peer behind him. It couldn’t have been more painfully obvious who his friend was pointing out: the man - if indeed it was a man, Howard could hardly tell through the ribbons of dark hair - was dressed in a flamboyant purple waistcoat with a black pair of trousers that must have been at least two sizes too small for him. He was nibbling his lower lip awkwardly, looking around for the company he appeared to have lost in the throng of party-goers.
“Do you know him, Howard? Hardly seems your type.”
Howard shook his head. “I’ve never seen him before. I wonder who he’s come with.”
“Probably Esme Brewer. She runs around with all those Bohemian types, doesn’t she?”
“Hm.”
There was a pause, and then Lydia airily said, “Well, you go and make friends, then. I’m going to peruse your liquor selection.” Lydia kissed her fingertip and tapped him on the cheek with a lipstick-stained glove. “I’ll see you later.”
The stranger was staring at his watch as Howard slowly weaved his way through the crowd towards him: a beautiful, ornamental thing made of fine black metal that dripped off his pale wrist like water. As he registered the sound of approaching footsteps he looked up, and their eyes met, the blue crashing against Howard’s vision so that he almost became dizzy from the force.
“Good evening,” Howard said, feeling slightly dazed. He held out his hand. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure. Howard Moon.”
The stranger wetted his lips nervously, then smiled and took the proffered hand in his own. “Oh, I know.”
“And…you are?” Howard prompted.
The man momentarily looked confused, but then quickly nodded. “Oh, yeah. Right. Erm…I’m Vince. Vince Noir.”
“That’s an interesting name.”
Vince seemed a little disappointed all of a sudden. He glanced at his watch again.
“We’ve met before,” he muttered. "Do you remember?"
Now he mentioned it, there was something familiar about him: something in the crooked slant of his nose, the scope of his hands, the strands of inky-black hair that criss-crossed over his forehead.
“I’m afraid not.”
“I thought this time…” Vince shook his head. “Ok. Do you remember the zoo?”
Howard blinked. He hadn’t been to the zoo since he was a young boy and his father had taken him to the one in London to see the lions. “I’m not sure I follow.”
“You don’t remember…” Vince looked as if he was struggling for words. “Anything? You don’t remember me? Think hard for a minute. C’mon, Small-Eyes, you can do it!”
Howard shook his head. “Is this some sort of a joke?”
There was a pause, and then Vince visibly deflated, and he slowly nodded. “Yeah,” he murmured, ruffling his hair and laughing anxiously. “S’just a joke.”
“Oh!” Howard laughed loudly. “I see! Very good. You had me worried for a moment.”
“I’m a good actor.”
“Ah! So you work in theatrics?” Howard wasn’t sure how anybody would hire such an interesting-looking man, but stranger things had happened.
“Not really.”
“So, what do you do?”
“I’m sort of a…” Vince hesitated, thinking. “A social butterfly. Not like you. You’re a maverick.”
Howard laughed. “Who on Earth told you that?”
“Oh…” Vince shrugged. “Everyone knows. You’re a legend.”
“That’s…very flattering, sir.”
Vince’s eyes were darting around the room. “This is a great party,” he said. “Didn’t think you had it in you. Shame about the jazz, though.”
“What’ve you got against jazz?”
“S’a bit boring, innit? It’s like listening to the death throes of music.”
Howard was sure he should have been offended. He didn’t know who this stranger thought he was, arriving uninvited to one of the most highly-coveted parties of the year and then insulting the band Howard has spent a substantial sum on hiring for the night. But yet there was a fragmented gleam in Vince’s eyes that seemed to force the words from his mouth, like they’d already been written for him.
“Well, it’s hardly music for the simple-minded, is it?”
There was a brief silence.
Howard felt himself flush. He’d spoken without thinking, and he instantly wanted to apologise, but Vince didn’t appear at all offended. Instead, his eyes lit up, and he began to smile as if he’d been electronically animated. Howard nearly took a step back.
“What’re you on about?” Vince murmured, barely blinking. “Jazz is disgusting. I’m coming out in hives just being here. One day it’s going to die, and I’ll be waiting.”
“Jazz is the soul of music, Vince. It’s never going to die.”
“Oh, just you wait.”
There was moment of quiet, just long enough for the spell to be broken. Howard pushed the hair away from his eyes, suddenly feeling a little strange. “Um, can I offer you a drink? My barman does an excellent line of cocktails. I highly recommend the Flirtini.”
Vince coughed. “The what?”
“Oh, it’s a sort of champagne cocktail with pineapple and a little twist of lime?”
“Christy, what is this?” Vince rolled his eyes. “Freaky Friday?”
Howard let the strange comment slide. “Would you like one?”
“Er…” Vince looked down at his watch again and flinched. “I don’t think I can. I’ve got to go.” He hesitated. “I mean I’m running out of time and you don’t…there’s not much point in me staying.”
“Oh. Of course. Well, it’s been very nice meeting you.” Howard stuffed his hands into his trouser pocket. “I’m having another do next Friday. It would be good if you wanted to come. If you fancied it, I mean. Who did you come with?”
“No one. I’m sort of gatecrashing, actually.” Vince sighed. “But don’t worry, Howard. I’ll be back soon. I’m not leaving you, I promise. We’re going to get this sorted out, yeah? I don’t know how, but we will.”
“Um, yes. Sorry, I don’t…”
“See you later, Howard.”
Before Howard could say another word, his guest vanished into the crowd, the purple of his waistcoat blurring with yellows and blues and greens until finally it had completely evaporated and Vince was gone. Howard shook his head slowly. It was bizarre, but he couldn’t shake the odd feeling of familiarity that had clung to him as soon as he’d locked eyes with the stranger.
“Vince Noir…” he murmured to himself. There was something restlessly beginning to move in the recesses of his mind, something he couldn’t quite grab hold of. “Vince Noir…Vince…”
“Howard?”
He was jolted by a touch on his arm, and he turned to find Lydia standing behind him, her delicate fingers holding onto a champagne flute.
“Who was that, darling?”
Howard shook his head. The darkness had closed over the burgeoning thought. “I really have no idea.”
Inside, the lights burned furiously, drenching the house in a fragrant yellow. The guests were merrily talking amongst themselves, balancing flutes of champagne between their fingertips with ease and laughing gaily. Some were dancing in the middle of the room, clapping their hands and tapping their feet to the tune that the band in the corner was playing. From the top of the staircase, Howard watched his guests and smiled to himself.
“Howard!”
He knew who it was before he even turned around.
“Miss Findlay. How wonderful to see you.”
Lydia smiled indulgent as he kissed her on the cheek. She smelled of expensive perfume and her brown hair had been cut into a fashionable bob.
“You look lovely,” he added.
“Oh, don’t be silly, I just threw this on.” She smiled and gazed out over the room. “This is a fabulous do you’ve put together, I must say. Is that the man from the Standard?”
“I believe so.”
“He’s wanted to get in here for years.” Lydia crinkled her nose. “Very interesting choice of music, I must say.”
“Yes!” Howard nodded enthusiastically. “Don’t you think it’s fantastic? It’s a new American style; they call it ‘jazz.’ All the rage in New York.”
“How modern.”
“It’s so refreshing, don’t you think? Much better than any of that stilted rubbish you hear in Wilton’s.”
Lydia was smirking at him, one manicured eyebrow perfectly raised. “You’re perfectly charming when you’re excited, dearest.”
He frowned at her. “You aren’t impressed?”
“Not especially. I’ve never had much interest in our friends overseas.”
“Oh. Right.” Howard’s shoulders slumped.
“No…” Lydia’s gaze was trailing languidly over his shoulder over the pool of guests at the foot of the stairs. “I’m much more interested in him.”
Howard turned his head to peer behind him. It couldn’t have been more painfully obvious who his friend was pointing out: the man - if indeed it was a man, Howard could hardly tell through the ribbons of dark hair - was dressed in a flamboyant purple waistcoat with a black pair of trousers that must have been at least two sizes too small for him. He was nibbling his lower lip awkwardly, looking around for the company he appeared to have lost in the throng of party-goers.
“Do you know him, Howard? Hardly seems your type.”
Howard shook his head. “I’ve never seen him before. I wonder who he’s come with.”
“Probably Esme Brewer. She runs around with all those Bohemian types, doesn’t she?”
“Hm.”
There was a pause, and then Lydia airily said, “Well, you go and make friends, then. I’m going to peruse your liquor selection.” Lydia kissed her fingertip and tapped him on the cheek with a lipstick-stained glove. “I’ll see you later.”
The stranger was staring at his watch as Howard slowly weaved his way through the crowd towards him: a beautiful, ornamental thing made of fine black metal that dripped off his pale wrist like water. As he registered the sound of approaching footsteps he looked up, and their eyes met, the blue crashing against Howard’s vision so that he almost became dizzy from the force.
“Good evening,” Howard said, feeling slightly dazed. He held out his hand. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure. Howard Moon.”
The stranger wetted his lips nervously, then smiled and took the proffered hand in his own. “Oh, I know.”
“And…you are?” Howard prompted.
The man momentarily looked confused, but then quickly nodded. “Oh, yeah. Right. Erm…I’m Vince. Vince Noir.”
“That’s an interesting name.”
Vince seemed a little disappointed all of a sudden. He glanced at his watch again.
“We’ve met before,” he muttered. "Do you remember?"
Now he mentioned it, there was something familiar about him: something in the crooked slant of his nose, the scope of his hands, the strands of inky-black hair that criss-crossed over his forehead.
“I’m afraid not.”
“I thought this time…” Vince shook his head. “Ok. Do you remember the zoo?”
Howard blinked. He hadn’t been to the zoo since he was a young boy and his father had taken him to the one in London to see the lions. “I’m not sure I follow.”
“You don’t remember…” Vince looked as if he was struggling for words. “Anything? You don’t remember me? Think hard for a minute. C’mon, Small-Eyes, you can do it!”
Howard shook his head. “Is this some sort of a joke?”
There was a pause, and then Vince visibly deflated, and he slowly nodded. “Yeah,” he murmured, ruffling his hair and laughing anxiously. “S’just a joke.”
“Oh!” Howard laughed loudly. “I see! Very good. You had me worried for a moment.”
“I’m a good actor.”
“Ah! So you work in theatrics?” Howard wasn’t sure how anybody would hire such an interesting-looking man, but stranger things had happened.
“Not really.”
“So, what do you do?”
“I’m sort of a…” Vince hesitated, thinking. “A social butterfly. Not like you. You’re a maverick.”
Howard laughed. “Who on Earth told you that?”
“Oh…” Vince shrugged. “Everyone knows. You’re a legend.”
“That’s…very flattering, sir.”
Vince’s eyes were darting around the room. “This is a great party,” he said. “Didn’t think you had it in you. Shame about the jazz, though.”
“What’ve you got against jazz?”
“S’a bit boring, innit? It’s like listening to the death throes of music.”
Howard was sure he should have been offended. He didn’t know who this stranger thought he was, arriving uninvited to one of the most highly-coveted parties of the year and then insulting the band Howard has spent a substantial sum on hiring for the night. But yet there was a fragmented gleam in Vince’s eyes that seemed to force the words from his mouth, like they’d already been written for him.
“Well, it’s hardly music for the simple-minded, is it?”
There was a brief silence.
Howard felt himself flush. He’d spoken without thinking, and he instantly wanted to apologise, but Vince didn’t appear at all offended. Instead, his eyes lit up, and he began to smile as if he’d been electronically animated. Howard nearly took a step back.
“What’re you on about?” Vince murmured, barely blinking. “Jazz is disgusting. I’m coming out in hives just being here. One day it’s going to die, and I’ll be waiting.”
“Jazz is the soul of music, Vince. It’s never going to die.”
“Oh, just you wait.”
There was moment of quiet, just long enough for the spell to be broken. Howard pushed the hair away from his eyes, suddenly feeling a little strange. “Um, can I offer you a drink? My barman does an excellent line of cocktails. I highly recommend the Flirtini.”
Vince coughed. “The what?”
“Oh, it’s a sort of champagne cocktail with pineapple and a little twist of lime?”
“Christy, what is this?” Vince rolled his eyes. “Freaky Friday?”
Howard let the strange comment slide. “Would you like one?”
“Er…” Vince looked down at his watch again and flinched. “I don’t think I can. I’ve got to go.” He hesitated. “I mean I’m running out of time and you don’t…there’s not much point in me staying.”
“Oh. Of course. Well, it’s been very nice meeting you.” Howard stuffed his hands into his trouser pocket. “I’m having another do next Friday. It would be good if you wanted to come. If you fancied it, I mean. Who did you come with?”
“No one. I’m sort of gatecrashing, actually.” Vince sighed. “But don’t worry, Howard. I’ll be back soon. I’m not leaving you, I promise. We’re going to get this sorted out, yeah? I don’t know how, but we will.”
“Um, yes. Sorry, I don’t…”
“See you later, Howard.”
Before Howard could say another word, his guest vanished into the crowd, the purple of his waistcoat blurring with yellows and blues and greens until finally it had completely evaporated and Vince was gone. Howard shook his head slowly. It was bizarre, but he couldn’t shake the odd feeling of familiarity that had clung to him as soon as he’d locked eyes with the stranger.
“Vince Noir…” he murmured to himself. There was something restlessly beginning to move in the recesses of his mind, something he couldn’t quite grab hold of. “Vince Noir…Vince…”
“Howard?”
He was jolted by a touch on his arm, and he turned to find Lydia standing behind him, her delicate fingers holding onto a champagne flute.
“Who was that, darling?”
Howard shook his head. The darkness had closed over the burgeoning thought. “I really have no idea.”