Hot Stew by Fiona Mozley (most interesting books to read .TXT) 📕

“Yeah, well, they do. But I’m here through a kind of … series of events, I guess. A friend set it up for me. I’m living above the Aphra Behn near Soho Square. Do you know it?”

Bastian shakes his head. He pauses for a moment in his own questioning, wondering whether he could ask her to have a drink with him, whether he could persuade her to come and join his group, and how Rebecca would respond to that.

“What are you doing with yourself?” he asks.

“You mean in terms of work?”

“Yeah, well, maybe, yeah.”

“Various stuff. I did an internship with this talent agency for a while. You know, working with actors and that. Setting them up in roles. That was quite fun. And now I’m working at a kind of estate agents.”

“Oh right,” says Bastian.

“Yeah,” says Glenda. “It’s just a short-term thing, though. To make a bit of money. I work at the branch here in Soho, and obviously houses and flats go for loads in central London and you can make a lot on commission.”

“Oh right,” says Bastian. “I suppose you can.”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t be doing it otherwise. I mean, I don’t want to stay working there for long. I’m saving up so I can do a qualification in Theatre Directing.”

“In London?”

Glenda shrugs. “No. Probably not. Probably somewhere else. Maybe Bristol, or Manchester, or Glasgow. London’s too expensive.”

“But you’d have to give up your flat in Soho.”

“It’s not really a flat,” she says. “More of a room. And I don’t know how much longer I’ll be allowed to live there at the rent I’m paying. It’s all a bit dodgy.”

“Oh. Well, never mind then.”

Glenda looks down at her shoes, which appear too small for her feet, and are scuffed at the toe. “Yeah,” she says. “Anyway, what are you up to?”

“Not much,” he says. He isn’t sure he wants to tell her where he’s working. She’s the kind of person who might be judgmental about him walking into a well-paid job at his dad’s company. “I’m thinking about going into the law. I’m doing an internship at the moment at a kind of property-law place.”

Glenda smiles. “Cool,” she says. “Anyway, I’ve got to go. I really need the loo. Nice to bump into you.”

Glenda begins to ascend the staircase. Bastian watches her climb. When she’s at the top he calls after her.

“Hey! How’s Laura?”

Glenda turns and smiles at him knowingly. It’s the first time she’s smiled since the beginning of the conversation. He notices, as he had not before, how sad her overall demeanor is, and has been for the whole time they’ve been talking.

“Oh,” offers Glenda. “Laura’s doing really well. You should get back in touch.”

Blank Slating

The long and elegant index finger of Lorenzo Mendis carves shapes in the condensation lining his glass of cold lager. He draws ovals and triangles and oblongs and swirls. The moisture warms and collects at his fingertips then drips the length of the tall glass.

Lorenzo is waiting for a friend. He spent most of the afternoon in the Aphra Behn with Robert but has now moved to an exclusive club down the road, and propped himself against the bar. He thought he saw her arrive, but the Glenda-shaped person who came in through the door has disappeared off somewhere. Glenda is often late, even more now than she used to be; her girlfriend split up with her a few months ago and she has quietly fallen apart.

Glenda and Catherine shared a flat in Walthamstow, which Catherine, being a fair bit older, owned. Glenda had to move out quickly, and Lorenzo found a room for her above the Aphra Behn. The owners couldn’t advertise the room and get a real tenant with a real, legally binding tenancy agreement as they didn’t have the correct permits, and it didn’t meet the legal requirements. The building stood on this street when Samuel Pepys walked along it. Or, if not Samuel Pepys, then never-bored Samuel Johnson. The floors are warped from years of use, so dropped pencils roll from one side to the other. The door frames are tilted, and, rather than having been mended or propped up, the doors have been shaved and sanded to the new shape. The windows are single glazed and the wooden window frames are chipped and drafty. In winter, wind sneaks through. In summer, people stand on the pavements and drink and smoke, and there is a jagged torrent of noise until morning. Nobody would choose to live there, but the room is in central London and costs a quarter of what it would have cost were it safe, legal and habitable.

Lorenzo met Glenda when she did a six-month internship at the talent agency he works for part-time. This is one of two part-time jobs he does to earn money between roles. His acting career once held so much promise, but the last few years have been lean. He was involved with theater at university, then secured a place at a prestigious drama school and was later given a short-term contract with the Royal Shakespeare Company. Then the auditions began to fizzle out. He was short on cash and started doing more supplementary work to pay his rent, but the work was tiring and required more of his time than he anticipated. He took the job of personal assistant to film star Yolanda Crimp. It was meant to be a temporary situation, but he’s been working for her ever since. He spends three afternoons a week at her house, organizing her affairs. He books appointments, arranges holidays, goes to the shops to pick up outfits for her to try on and dismiss. When the nanny calls in sick he plays with Yolanda’s children. He attends her parties and meets relevant people but none of them can see him as anything other than Yolanda’s PA. They hand him empty wine glasses and make cutting remarks under a guise of good humor.

Lorenzo feels someone tapping his elbow, and turns to