Date: Thu, 07 Aug 2008 21:13:43 +0100 From: jerryfell@hushmail.com Subject: Boy at the Wedding - part 10 The French taxi-driver put his foot down. The outskirts of Paris tore past in linear streaks like the Starship Enterprise matching warp speed. `She can't take much more of this, Captain!' Alexander mused as he gripped the door handle. Before long the suburbs gave way to countryside and deep, green forest. The taxi-driver slowed to a less life-threatening speed. On a long hillside an ornate Loiuse XIV chateaux came into view. Sloping square roofs with copper green slate, framed with ornate ironwork. An imposing garden and a lake. Bright sunlight refracting from a myriad of square windows set in the imposing facade. The taxi made the journey up the long drive. There were peacocks among the topiary. The car came to a halt. "Voila!" "Merci. Combien?" "Quarante-trois." Alexander presented a fifty Euro note and waved away the change. The grand doors to the Chateaux were open and a short, fat man was beaming at him. "Alexander!" "Max!" Alexander embraced the most powerful figure in the French automotive industry. "We are all here. Thank you so much for coming here in person, Alexander." "Not at all. I am excited about your campaign! Only natural for me to take a close personal interest in this one." "Well, we are grateful." "And generous. Thank you for putting so much resource around this. It has allowed us to really get a grip." They walked into the ornate interior. A gilt staircase swept up in a cascade of plaster lilies. Secretarial staff dithered in the background. "Would you like to eat after your journey? A drink perhaps?" "The other directors?" "They are in the music room." "Max, why don't we all go into your splendid garden and eat?" With that Max issued an order and the staff hurried about their tasks. Within a few minutes Alexander, Max and the five company directors were around a table, tearing fresh bread, slicing cheese and fruit and pouring wine. "Gentlemen..." Alexander began. "The car is like no other product. It has come to represent our subliminal home. We eat in it. We drink in it. We are entertained in it. The seats are our sofas. Getting into a car is a ritual, an almost sexual act. We step into it. Slide into it. We tie ourselves into it. We fondle levers and grip steering wheels. We surround ourselves in leather, in comfort. We control temperature. We heat up or cool down. And we move. Oh yes, we move in it. Learning to drive is like learning to walk. It marks adulthood. It is a rite of passage. This product has become a deeply personal space. We choose our partner when we choose the make, we choose colour. We decorate it, we perfume it. It is everything we expect a home to be." He tore a handful of bread, slathered it with a rich blue cheese and ate. He washed it down with a gulp of wine. "I like that." said Max. "The sex-appeal of cars is not just erotic.... It is also maternal in some way." "Precisely. Most car advertising is stuck in an adolescent view of sexuality. The car is a female. Eyes. Mouth. An arse." The directors laughed. "Ah yes, one of your signature commercials as I recall.... But our research suggests the concept of home is far stronger. And home is not without sexuality. Home is the bedroom, the private space, the place of orgasm and birth. But in looking for a car, the demographic that buys your mid to upper range are looking for a home." The mobile phone in Alexander's pocket vibrated silently. He ignored it. "Gentlemen. Bring your plates and glasses. Let's go in. Let's go home." Inside the french-windows the drawing room was a wall of plasma. As the group entered the screens faded up from black. A strawberry entering moist female lips. Leather seats wrapping around a semi naked thirty five year old man. Children at play. TV. Laughter. Comfort. Fading back to black. A single word: "Home." Smiles. Max standing to say a few words. Mood boards to choose from. More food. More wine. The board members buzzing. Alexander left them to it and went to the window. He fished out his mobile. Routine, before he spotted the text. Then panic. Dizzying panic as he scrolled down. He held his breath. Read. Re- read. Terrible, cloying disappointment. He re-read it again. `Can I bring a friend?' Loneliness washed over him, fell on him, like a monsoon. "Alexander! This is good. Very good! Where did you find the photographer?" He turned back to the room, slipping the phone back into his pocket. He smiled, swallowed and put his hand on Max's shoulder. "Is there any more of that excellent 71 Cabernet Sauvignon?" ----- Sebastian finished his evening homework. The half-hour after evening `Prep' was precious. The last chance of the day to hang out with friends before the bell would ring to call them back to the dorms. But he made his way back to the dorm early down busy, noisy corridors and up the battered staircase. He pushed open the door to the dorm and hurried to the chamber. He snapped back the drape with a clatter of curtain rings. Geek was on the sofa. His hand inside his pyjama trousers, the naturist magazine on his knees, the full focus of his attention. "Fucking hell Geek!" Sebastian said, snapping the curtain closed behind him. Wide eyed and suddenly red-faced, Geek whipped his hand out. "Give me that!" Sebastian demanded, pulling the magazine out of Geek's grip and looking at the open page. A colour photograph captioned: `Modern campsites have amenities for all ages.' And below two naked boys bending over a pool table. Sebastian looked at Geek. Geek looked at Sebastian. Both nervous. "Fucking hell." said Sebastian, rapidly closing the magazine. Geek. Wide-eyed. Mouth open. "Fucking hell." Repeated Sebastian. Both boys looking at each other. "Stick it back." Geek took the offered magazine and stuffed it back down the arm of the sofa. Sebastian lay down on the floor and fished for his mobile phone under the bed. "And don't you dare tell anyone I got this okay?" There was a text from XXX. Sebastian's stomach churned. `Of course you can bring a friend. What about three weekends' time. That is to say 27th September? Do I pick you up on the friday night? What time? And when do you have to be back? Do you both have passports?' Sitting cross-legged by the bunk Sebastian tapped out his reply. `Ok yeah friday after 4pm and we have to be back sunday at 6 i got a passport...' He looked up. "Geek.... You got a passport?" ------ email me: jerryfell@hushmail.com