Page 11 of Rhymes with Metaphor
“Both.I was using it to compose deathless verse.Had the opposite problem to the lipstick.It was too hard.Please call her.Tell her everything.”
“No, look.Before I call her, I’ve got to plan out this conversation.How can I spin this?Tell her you’re subject to fits of derangement because you’re a poet?It’s plausible because it’s true.It’s fine.It’ll be fine.”He took a deep breath.“She’ll be miffed about her lipstick, though.Women can get very territorial over their lipsticks.I read it in a women’s magazine.Will she find out you destroyed it if I don’t tell her?Or will her little brother cover for you?”
“Doubtful.I had a bit of a run-in with him in the kitchen beforehand.”
“Please tell me you weren’t rude to him.”
“Well...”
“What did you do?”
“I thought he was drinking alcohol, so I confiscated his drink.”
“You fucking idiot,” said Martin.He put his head in his hands.“He’s going to tell her about the lipstick, isn’t he?”
“I expect so.”
“How can I make this right?”Martin pushed the hair out of his face.“I know—you’ll replace her lipstick and her eyebrow pencil—no, you’ll buy her a new luxury make-up set.”Martin got up and switched on his laptop.“You’ll put this on your credit card, and it’s got to be delivered tomorrow.Give me that toilet paper.”
“In god’s name why?”
“So I can match the colour.Women are particular about these things.I read it in a women’s magazine.”
Twenty minutes later, the deed was done.
“Will you call her now?”said Reg.
“What should I say: ‘Please read your shower’?”
“That won’t do,” said Reg.“She won’t know where to look.I’ll have to go over there and look myself.”
“We can’t barge in this early.”
“It’s the perfect time.You can catch her in her dressing gown, angle to get a snog off her while I’m upstairs.”
After an obsequious telephone call to Juliet from Martin, they attempted to make themselves presentable.
Reg borrowed Martin’s striped blazer.“How do I look?”
“Like a dishevelled, ’80s-era Ford Prefect.”
“Spiffing.”
On the way to Juliet’s, Martin attempted to sound cool.“I can salvage this.I can spin my friendship with you as being like...an act of charity.Helping a wayward eccentric.I wish you looked less notorious.Don’t you think you should get a haircut?I mean, before your bangs get long enough to throw over your shoulder?What are you doing?”
Reg was rifling Martin’s glove box.“I need something to write on...and something to write with.Ah!”He pulled out a minigolf pencil and a Chinese takeaway menu.“You should tidy up in there, Martin.”
“Glass houses and stones, Reg.”
Martin was upset that none of the nearby florists was open, but he handed Reg his phone and made him place an order.
“What kind do you want?”said Reg.
“Whatever kind says, ‘I’m sorry my friend is an ass.’You might as well put that on the card.”
Martin found a place to park just outside Juliet’s house.
Juliet wasn’t wearing a dressing gown when she answered the door, though she wasn’t wearing make-up either.Her hair was pulled back, but it wasn’t neatly combed.
