Beneath the Beta

 

‘We’re going to the movies. You can pick what we watch.’

 

She hadn’t asked him. There’d been no, 'Let’s go', or 'D'you fancy taking in a movie this week-end?' She’d simply told him. Trying to breathe over the agitated ker-thumping of his heart, Gerry had answered casually as casually as he could. ‘Let me see what I’ve got on.’

 

He'd had not one, but three out-of-hours meetings for the day she’d chosen. He ruthlessly dumped the most critical one on Iain and let his PA rearrange the other two for the following week. Then spent the Friday before the big day fretting over his wardrobe. His wife had asked him on a date. Which was as good as the goofy college nerd finding himself with a shot at being crowned Prom King at the invitation of the shoo-in Prom Queen. Boys who were asked out by girls on Prom Night usually ended up getting lucky. Maybe, thought Gerry, his own parallel universe might operate along the same lines. In the meantime, he briskly admonished his mirror. ‘You complete and utter moron. This is the woman to whom you are married. Breathe.’

 

Eventually, he chose a fitted long-sleeved jersey shirt in burgundy, denim jeans and for style a pair of Hugo Boss Brandeno double monk shoes. It was a look which signified ‘elegant casual’, not first-date sweats and boners that had kept a person under a cold shower for twenty minutes.

 

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Inside the cinema, they sat in the farthest corner of an empty row. Kate’s own nervousness made Gerry wonder what had initiated this invitation. Whatever it was, he could only give thanks, because he couldn’t remember the last time Kate had asked him to join her anywhere in an intimate setting. Usually, this kind of outing included the safe perimeter of family and friends. He omitted his brother James, who wasn’t fit to be let loose in a darkened room occupied by even just the lower half of a female.

 

The movie he’d chosen was an old French one. He’d bumped into neighbours Pat and Tim at the local delicatessen the evening before and threw out a query. Both were into old French noir and New Wave stuff. Dressed in a check brown trouser suit and Indiana Jones hat, raven-haired Pat looked jaunty beside her cardigan and corduroy wearing husband. Gerry always felt she was more suited to intrepid adventures in search of illicit treasure than bridge-playing, but opposites did attract. Her brown owl eyes had squinted as she’d thought for a moment. ‘Try something by Truffaut, you can’t go wrong there. There’s a French season on at the Little Crompton Theatre house.’

 

That had been close enough. In the end he’d settled for something about a married couple who’d been lost, but who’d found their way to each other again. However, sitting in the theatre ten minutes into the build-up, Gerry suddenly started worrying what Kate might think of it. It had been his intention to impress her with an air of sophistication, but truthfully, it was the first one he’d checked online in that section. The blurb had simply been a very happy coincidence. He turned, getting ready to apologise. ‘If you don’t like this film, Kate, we can always watch another one.’

 

She didn’t hear him. Her eyes were focused on the screen, her mouth slightly open, moving like a child just learning to read. Gerry watched her, puzzled at first, before asking, ‘Are you following this movie?’

 

And immediately thought how patronising that must sound. Luckily, Kate didn’t seem offended. She continued, allowing him to study her as she watched. She had a nice mouth. Beautiful, in fact. Sexy. It pouted when it meant to smile, and smiled when she was deep in conversation. It moved around the words, making him stir. He shifted in his seat and cleared his throat.

 

‘What are they saying?’

 

‘It’s got subtitles, Gerry.’

 

‘I know . . .  but you look as if you understand it without the subtitles. And in most cases, the translation is laughable.’

 

His comment actually did make her laugh. ‘Melody’s flatmate’s cousin came to stay with them last Easter. I picked up a few phrases from him.’

 

The flatmate’s 'cousin'? But of course he was.

 

‘What sort of phrases?’ Gerry imagined some suave Gallic Romeo trying his charm on all the English women he could hypnotise. Kate laughed again and turned to look at him. Even in the cinema’s dim light, her eyes glowed, making him feel like the class boffin who struck gold with the girl everyone wanted.

 

‘Jean-Pierre is 14,’ she chided. ‘He’s a very sweet little boy.’

 

Fourteen? That was just about the worst age for a ‘sweet little boy’. They were pubescent and hormonal, with a permanently protruding little stiffy. Everything would be exploding outwards, looking for a place to explode into.

 

‘Learning from him gave me a taste for it,' she continued, 'So I started taking lessons. I booked a course last term at Insight College with Dawn and Sylvie. It’s fun.’

 

With that revelation rendering him excluded from her extracurricular activities, Kate turned back to the screen. There seemed to be some kind of party going on with children around. But then the camera homed in on a couple kissing passionately. Gerry turned to Kate in surprise. ‘Really? With all those kids around?’

 

‘No, don’t be silly. The worst part is that his wife and her husband are the couple watching them from the other side.’

 

‘What?’ Gerry could see other adults around who were beginning to look decidedly uncomfortable. The guy started to kiss his lover’s neck. As she arched back in ecstasy, his fingers wandered to the vee of her blouse and undid the first button.