Friday, June 24, 2011

White Ink

‘Words are our tools, Craig. Even our weapons, sometimes’ said Katy sipping her long glass of gin and leaning back against the switched-off cigarette machine.

‘They have no meaning within themselves but we give them meaning depending on our own experiences and prejudices. For example, if I describe a man as single it’s one thing –maybe he’s a bit of jack the lad, a lady-killer, like you…’

Craig smirked, his chubby lips looking even more rubbery.

‘But if I say that someone’s a bachelor then what do you think of?

Craig peeled the label from his bottle of Efes.

‘A bachelor gay? Lives with his mother? Kiddy fiddler, maybe?’ he said.

‘Aha. And what do you think of when you hear the word spinster?’

‘Oh, frigid, I suppose. Lesbian. A bit desperate. Gagging for it!’ He laughed and snorted beer through his nose.

‘You see, that’s why I don’t tell people that I’m a librarian. Because of the connotations.’

‘Yeah? I see what you mean,’ said Craig, who very clearly didn’t have a clue what Katy was talking about.

And she was loving it. Loving watching him squirm as he tried to concentrate on what she was saying and tear his gaze away from her cleavage. Especially when she accidently-on-purpose dropped the ice cube between her breasts.

‘But you don’t look anything like my idea of a librarian,’ he said. He almost licked his lips off  his face.

‘Well there you are. It’s a matter of perspective. For example two people could describe the same person in a different way, depending on their political bent. One man will say that someone’s a freedom fighter and another will call him a terrorist.’

‘One man’s fish is another one’s poisson?’ said Craig, crunching a mint between his shiny, white, teeth.

‘Exactly. One man could say, for example, that you’re well-built and others would say you’re fat.’ She winked.

Craig flushed and Katy patted his wrist.

‘But I don’t need to explain that to you, do I?’ She beamed at him. ‘You’re a successful estate agent. You put a spin on words all the time, eh? Make gold from lead. Turn shit to shinola?’

Craig laughed, seeing this as way out of the conversation and an inroad into talking about himself.

‘Well, the place I saw last week could only be described in one way- a goldmine! Bought it for a song, too. The daft old bird didn’t have a clue what she was signing over.’

‘You’re, wicked,’ said Katy, with a wink. She looked at her watch. ‘I’d better be going.’

‘Your chariot awaits!’ said Craig, holding his briefcase in front of his hard-on as he stood.


The night was inky black as Craig parked the car outside his Chelsea flat, eager to get Katy through the oak door.

‘And then there’s my hobby. It’s such a cliché for a librarian, such a stereotype,’ said Katy.


‘What’s that, then?’ Craig unfastened his seat belt and twisted round toward her.

‘Knitting!’ she said ‘Imagine! A librarian who likes knitting? Just think of those connotations. That’s why we have to be careful what we put in these online dating profiles, eh? Why I had to say I was a lawyer.’ She put her black handbag onto her knee and pulled out a ball of  wool, knitting needles skewering through it.

Craig grinned and leaned toward Katy.

‘Well, I prefer what I see in the flesh.’

Katy smiled as she took a black object from her bag and slammed it between Craig’s legs. It buzzed and he screamed.

The scream melded with the whine of the Taser as it started to charge up again. He sobbed as the sound grew louder and Katy jammed it up against the side of his neck..

‘And , of course, one man’s serial killer is another woman’s vigilante, eh?’ she said, slamming a  knitting needle into Craig’s ear.