In a thousand different.., p.16
In a Thousand Different Ways, page 16
‘What I usually do during a session is seal my aura. It allows positive energies in and filters out negative energy.’
‘Cool. I need that one too.’
She laughs. ‘All in good time.’
‘I once watched a guy in a bar change his colours to match the women he was chatting up,’ I say.
‘That’s called aura mirroring. You saw his colours changing? Remarkable. That’s a good device. Many people do it instinctively, anyone who is good with people. You can help make people feel more comfortable in your presence, so that they don’t feel like you’re dominating them, so that they can relax.’
‘I bet you did it when you were working as a midwife.’
‘It helped the mothers, and the babies.’
The penny drops. ‘You did that to me, didn’t you?’
‘It’s not a ploy, Alice,’ she says, laughing. ‘People do it subconsciously and naturally.’
‘But you did it to me, didn’t you? I didn’t want to like you, but I did.’
‘How else was I going to introduce myself to you? You kept running away every time I opened the door,’ she says with a laugh.
‘Teach me how to do it all,’ I say excitedly.
‘All. In. Good. Time.’
I want to learn everything now, but Naomi’s pace is slower, as is her rhythm. Though she has an instinct for most things, what she couldn’t possibly understand to the full extent is my impatience to stop sitting on the sidelines, to step out of the shade and feel the heat and the full glare of sunlight on my face. I want this now.
‘Are you ready, Alice?’
‘You have no idea.’
I approach the data warehouse of Calling Card and draw the champagne bubble around me as Naomi taught me. I feel like I float to my workspace beside Paul.
‘Morning,’ he says.
‘Good morning,’ I say with a smile, and that friendly telephone voice that they all do.
‘Ready?’ he asks.
I place my headphones on. ‘Let’s do this.’
It’s my most productive day yet. The team invite me for a drink after work.
From invisibility to invincibility, this shield starts to give me a life I’ve only ever dreamed of. I have a new job, I splash out on a new wardrobe. Naomi’s eyes widen as I sashay down the corridor in a new little black dress as though I’m on a catwalk.
I go a bit wild after Naomi teaches me the tricks – or the tools, as she prefers to call them – of the trade. I see them more as tricks, as ways to manipulate. I go out, a lot, eager to make up for lost time
I can get whoever I want.
I do this by mirroring their aura, or altering mine to please them. This means watching men for some time, finding out what colours turn their head. Some like meek and vulnerable, lots go for that, damaged and pliable. Some want needy, some want detached. Others like dominant and overpowering who’ll chastise them for their naughtiness, if they need to be put in their place, or guide and give them direction.
They don’t know what it is about me that they’re attracted to. I might not be their usual type, a weedy girl in a cheap black dress, but it’s my presence that gets their attention. Something prehistoric that makes goose pimples rise on the back of their necks, forces them to find me, sending out exactly the energy that they’re looking for. Gives them a feeling that they want to know more, hear more, see more.
Human chameleons; they exist.
It’s why con artists can rob people in plain sight, professionals who know when to fade into the crowd without moving, or cause distraction when they need to. They do it all the time, these men that I hunt. I can be one of them when I want. With my shield, my seal and my ability to mirror auras, I’ve now got the superhero tools and weapons to equip me for these charming men. And I know exactly where to find them.
It’s funny, after trying to escape the shadows I manage to create a new hiding place by being the centre of attention and still not being seen.
The hotel room is black. The curtains are drawn, the only giveaway that it’s morning is the sound of burgeoning life outside of our room. The shower next door, Sky News volume up loud, the elevator shaft whirring to life, pinging loudly every few minutes. Ordinarily, I’d never choose a bedroom by an elevator, but it was late, the only room available. We took whatever they had, grateful it wasn’t a storage cupboard or a toilet or an alleyway.
His chest rises and falls and my head moves with it. It’s soothing. Rhythmic. I could stay like this all day, not forever, but for today, definitely another night. My eyes flutter closed as I listen to his calm heartbeat and just as I’m drifting I feel him shift beneath me. I open my eyes and catch his expression before he has time to change it. Confusion. Disorientated. I move off his chest. The prince has woken, the fairy tale is over, I await the frog.
‘Good morning,’ I say.
‘Hey,’ he says sleepily. ‘What time is it?’
I pretend to check. ‘Six thirty.’
‘Wow. Okay, I was flat out.’
‘Yeah, me too.’
Housekeeping shout at each other down the corridor outside our room. Moldovan shatters the peace. Reminds us that we’re a cog in a wheel, we’re in the way, they have work to do before more people come through.
He rubs his eyes and pulls himself up, the sheets around his waist. He looks around the room as if seeing it for the first time.
‘Where the hell are we?’
I laugh. ‘A Premier Inn.’
‘Where?’ he asks as if joking, but I can tell he genuinely doesn’t know.
‘Bermondsey.’ I wrap the blankets around me tighter. ‘And I’m Alice. We met at the gallery.’
‘Hey,’ he says gently, looking at me. ‘I remember that. I remember you. I was just hazy on the rest.’
I smile. He was magnetic to me last night. He still is now. That golden filter of light glowing in the darkness of all those people at the gallery, like there’s a crack in the curtains and the light filters through. He was the light. Even if I knew it wasn’t a natural light, that it was a lamp instead of the sun, it was still inviting.
‘It was late, you said you have to be back at work early anyway, so there was no point going home …’ The markets never sleep. But they do fuck around. And we’d laughed. It was so stupid.
‘Yeah,’ he says, distracted, checking his watch, then his phone, then panic on his face.
‘Okay?’
It’s evidently not okay, that much is obvious, because he’s out of bed, naked body moving quickly for clothes, going to the bathroom. Shower on. I hear his voice through the thin wall.
She must be angry. I would be if I was her.
Gospel was right about me being drawn to my nemeses, these smooth ambitious men who want everything and seem to feel nothing. I don’t know if it is demeanour or simple self-belief that they are the greatest, that they are untouchable, but it’s a fantasy I want to be a part of, that I’m pulled to even if I know it’s nonsense.
Cravers of excitement, risk-takers – these are the kind of men who catch my eye. Men like these are driven and focused, they pull me in with their confidence. I confuse their greed with desire, misread their longing for consumption as lust. I’m attracted to their tunnel-visioned focus and determination, their oozing charm to have everything in the world their way, where rules are guidelines and truth is malleable.
That’s what they want you to see, Naomi says when they don’t call me back, when I question what I’ve done wrong, when it all ends in misery.
It’s their colours that attract me. They’re shiny. Gold and silver. And I’m like a magpie drawn into their shimmer.
I don’t know why, with my unique vision, why I can’t see that while from far away they shine, close up they’re tarnished. Addictions, compulsions, the murky greys of hidden information and half-truths. I don’t know how I miss the rust around the edges and hinges, how I don’t hear the creaks and squeaks of their joints. These metal shiny tin men, in need of oil, with brains aplenty but no conscience. I rely on them to help take me home, but to a home that is lasting, a home that I feel inside of me, not a Premier Inn for one night.
I walk barefoot down the corridor to my flat. My heels dangle from my hand, the back of my ankle is cut and raw from the new shoes and no amount of extra padding or blister aids helped. I dig through my handbag to find the keys. Letting my guard down is much like taking off a pair of tight heels after a long night.
Naomi’s door opens and she looks me up and down, eyebrow raised, noting I’m still in the dress from the night before.
‘Don’t judge.’
‘I’m not. You think I didn’t have fun once upon a time?’
‘You’re still having fun,’ I reply.
She chuckles. ‘For as long as my heart beats. I have a client coming by at noon.’ She looks at her watch in an exaggerated fashion. ‘Oh look at that, just twenty minutes away. You can sit in if you like, he won’t mind. He’s a gentle soul who’s going through a divorce and a child custody case. It’s ripping him right apart.’
‘As long as he’s not an axe murderer I think you’re fine without me. You don’t need me, you get it right every single time.’
‘That’s not true.’ She examines me, worried. ‘Anyway, that’s not why I was asking you. He’s having an identity crisis, might be interesting for you to see what’s happening.’
Annoyed by what I consider a pointed remark, I step inside and close the door. The plants on the balcony need my attention, there’s a very thirsty-looking white bird of paradise watching me from the kitchen. I don’t have the energy. I pull the curtains to stop the harsh sunlight from streaming through, and fall face down on the bed.
‘We use predictive diallers,’ Paul brags to Reynash, the guy who’s chatting up Parminder. He works in a call centre too, a small one for a small company that doesn’t make as many calls an hour as we do. It’s like they’re whipping their manhoods out on the rickety, beer-bottle-covered table and comparing sizes. Still, I’ve seen sadder things. ‘Not only do we have automated phone-number dialling, we also use sophisticated algorithms to predict agent availability to optimise agent utilisation by ensuring we’re never idle. We integrate predictive dialler with CRM applications, which allows agents to see customer info that leads to a more relevant, personalised call,’ Paul says. His ability to reel off information, in comparison to my robotic reading of the script in front of me, always impresses me. He licks his finger, holds it to the air and hisses.
‘Ooooh,’ we all say in unison.
Reynash laughs, good-humoured about it. ‘Yes but we still have to dial the numbers ourselves, so we are doing extra work …’
We boo him and he gives up.
‘Agile fingers, Parminder.’ Paul winks at Parminder, and twinkles his fingers at her. Parminder laughs.
‘Anyway, there’s no point arguing with me in here about who’s the best because we all know I am,’ Paul says, lighting a cigarette. We’re sitting outside a bar, the Pig and Duck, in a narrow alleyway filled with work-is-finished-for-the-day celebrants, people are spilling out of doorways, spilling out of dresses, spilling out with half-truths, shouting to be heard, laughing to feel alive, and I’m among them, in the messy squiggle of lines that shoot across from one person to the next, criss-crossing like art gallery laser-beam security in a heist movie. The kind of scene I previously walked around, viewed from afar, the kind of place I was never in the epicentre of. My shield is up, of course, as it almost permanently is, secured in a warm bubble so that I’m defended against all alien energies. I take it down only when I turn the key in my door or when taking a walk through the park. Though it depends on the park and the time of day. This shield has given me new-found freedoms and I’m milking it for everything it’s got.
‘It’s true, you are the best,’ I agree. ‘How many sales this week? You’ll be running the place soon.’
He rolls his eyes, as if the idea bores him. ‘I don’t plan on staying long. I didn’t move to London to work in a stinky call centre for the rest of my life. I have plans.’ He pirouettes across the cobblestoned alley and lands side-on to a wooden table heaving with people. He extends his leg high into the air, into a perfect ballet hold. Everyone cheers, apart from the lad whose pint was knocked over. Paul spins back to us. ‘I’m going to be a West End star. You’re looking at Aladdin in Aladdin at the Swindon Theatre, Adam and Felicia in Priscilla Queen of the Desert in its National tour and Munkustrap in Cats in the South Korean tour.’
‘South Korea?’ Parminder wows. ‘What was that like?’
‘Amazing,’ he says with an eye-roll, ‘I can’t even.’
‘Fabulous,’ I say, trying to sound as fascinated as I would feel if I actually believed a word he said. He’s a fun, fascinating creature; seemingly shallow but with incredible layers that are difficult to unpack. There’s always a part of what he says that’s true, based on some sort of reality, but I’m not sure which part. He may know someone who went to South Korea to dance, he may have planned to go, he may have auditioned but didn’t get the part, he may have seen the show in South Korea. There’s a part of him that almost believes what he’s saying, but the metallic flickers belie him. I would have avoided someone like that. Before London, before the shield, I would have seen that as a dangerous trait; someone who was unstable and unsettled in who they are could send tremors into my world, so I’d have avoided him on first sight. But not now. When I’m this other person, it doesn’t matter. He can’t affect me.
‘What about you,’ Paul turns to me. ‘International woman of mystery?’
We laugh.
‘I don’t know, what’s to tell?’
‘Everything. Why did you move to London, alone? Are you on the run? Witness a murder? Are you in witness protection? Are you escaping a jealous boyfriend? Or girlfriend?’
‘If she’s in witness protection, she can’t say,’ Reynash comes to my aid.
‘Nothing as exciting as that,’ I say, wishing I had something more exciting to tell them, but then realising who’d even know the truth? Nobody here tells the truth. Most people I’ve met in London aren’t from London, they’ve come from somewhere else, drawn to this great big multicultural city because they’re hiding from something or looking for something. Even lovely Parminder, who’s wasting Reynash’s time because she knows she has one year until her family start introducing her to a series of possible husbands. When you don’t know anyone and no one knows you, why not be free and shake off the shackles?
‘I was in university but I dropped out in my third year. Law,’ I say to their oohs. ‘I wanted to go travelling.’
‘Lawyers can’t travel?’ Paul asks.
‘Where did you go?’ Parminder interrupts him.
‘Europe, India, Southeast Asia, Australia. So now I’m here, penniless and working at a call centre.’ I could have thought of something more exciting. I’ll work on something better for the next people who ask.
‘Hmm,’ Paul says, getting off the chair, already bored with the conversation. He prefers it when it’s about him. ‘Shots.’
‘Not for me,’ I say immediately.
But Reynash thinks it’s a great idea, so the two lads squeeze themselves into the crowd waiting at the bar. I chose not to drink because I was afraid of losing control, especially in an environment like this where I could get hit by different energies at least a few dozen times in the crossfires. It would be like being repeatedly shot by a stun gun, if the electric current was emotions. I wouldn’t know who to be or how to be me when confronted by what everyone else is feeling. But now I have my shield, I’ve been using it for months and my life has changed beyond belief. I’ll have my shield up. I’ll keep it up. Time to join the rest of the world.
‘Tequila!’ Paul yells, carrying a tray filled with shot glasses.
‘It’s very bright in here,’ I say, putting my arm over my eyes. ‘Do you have any food? Something smells yum.’
‘Mmm,’ Naomi says, moving around the room quietly. It’s as though she hovers. She removes her shoes when clients arrive, and pads around barefoot. No sounds to break the silence and calm. Apart from me, whining about being on this bed, even though I climbed up here of my own accord.
I’m exhausted. Wearing my shield so often is taking its toll on my body. While it’s protecting me from others, building it and holding it up means I’m draining myself.
‘You’ve been wearing your shield?’
‘Sometimes. On the Tube and stuff.’
‘Why not just seal your energy, why guard yourself so staunchly? It’s a very militant way to be.’
‘Because it works.’
‘Does it? Let’s see about that. Arms down by your side.’ She closes her eyes and takes deep breaths, hands out. She frowns, says, ‘Mmm,’ and not in a good way. ‘You need to find another way to live, Alice.’
‘No,’ I say angrily, sitting up and swinging my legs off the bed. ‘I’m not in the mood for this. You don’t say a word to your other clients. Not one thing. There’s supposed to be no judgement. They come in here with addictions and weird impulses and crazy stories, and you say nothing. With me, you can’t help yourself.’
‘You’re right. I’m sorry but I consider you a friend, Alice, it’s difficult for me to say nothing when I see you hurting.’
A friend, she calls me her friend, how many of those do I have? Instead of embracing that, I leave, like a petulant child.
She suggested I lower the shield but I’m like a child with a comfort blanket. I will not allow anyone to take this from me. I will not go back to slithering along the walls like a shadow.
I listen to Paul on the phone and feel jealousy stirring within me.
It’s the way he delivers it, his tone. It should be annoying, but it almost always works and they never hang up. He makes jokes, they laugh, they make jokes, he laughs. He makes it seem so easy. If I could see people, I’m sure I could do better, like him. I could be the best on the team. I could mirror their auras, I could be whatever they want me to be in order to convince them to believe in this stupid electricity bill deal. I’m irritated by Paul’s greatness, my inability to connect to anyone down the line, yet I can when I’m in a room with them. Jealousy is rising in me.
