Free The Intimates by Guy Mankowski Page A

her. Liquid spills out of the bottle and into her glass in one long, foamy gesture. Barbara holds the glass above her head, hoisting her dress over her cleavage with the other hand. Francoise dances along with them, allowing James to cup her waist as he reluctantly joins the rest of the writhing bodies.
    Carina's face is alight; her attention passing between the aggressive drums and the exotic way the dancer quells his fervour. “Isn't she wonderful? I wish I could dance like that.”
    “I heard that you're recovering well,” Graham says, over the riot. “That you feel almost no pain now when you dance.”
    Carina's attention remains with the dancer, but a second later she considers Graham's voice. “I'm lucky that it doesn't hurt to walk anymore, and that it doesn't hurt at night. But whenever I dance, a piercing pain comes through me. I won't let it stop me though – dancers like her remind me that I mustn't give up.” With these words I remember Carina's story. That just after she left university she was training as a dancer, on track for fame until a riding accident left her barely able to move.
    “Perhaps inspiring you is what Francoise had in mind?” Graham suggests.
    Franz steps over, his cheeks rosy with laughter and port. “If the band were here, I would convince them that we should persuade this temptress to dance in our next video.”
    “It's a shame you can no longer use the band to get a girl's number,” Graham says.
    “I agree,” he replies. “A famous band name is like a successful brand, it's an advert for a certain lifestyle. The band name opened many doors to me, but now I have to rely upon more temperamental gifts – like charm and money, which increasingly diminish with time.” He leans against a pillar and considers the dancer with a melancholy expression. “Women like this make me laugh at the shallowness of my youth. When we were famous I was interested only in chasing after models and hostesses, women who pleased my ego, who I thought were satisfied by limousines and champagne. I should have used my influence to travel to far flung lands, to learn about the exoticism of women of the earth like her,
    whose movements evoke cultures that I could only ever glimpse inside.”
    For the first time tonight I am now seeing the Franz that I once knew; who dispelled our fears and pushed each of us, blinking with expectation into the world.
    “Do you not agree with me Vincent?” he says, wiping his brow. “Do you not see how we live superficial lives when we mock other cultures – by dismissing them with our consuming mindset?”
    “I see that you should definitely drink less tequila,” Graham replies.
    “No, he is right,” I say, suddenly inspired. “It relieves me to hear you talk like this again Franz. Femininity charms us, because it evokes a world that men have no access to. The entire range of female paraphernalia is so seductive; a glimpse of it is a glimpse into the machinery which creates illusions we lust and despair after for a lifetime. The furs, the perfume bottles, the lip gloss containers that illuminate the dresser; all are transformed from something mundane into something timeless with their mere application, and thereby provoke a thirst that can't be quenched. Women of the world inspire because they show how limited even that appreciation of women is; they prompt us to venture into the world so we can understand their essence and gain their charms.”
    Elise rolls her eyes. “So you're saying that you are only ambitious in order to gain the attention of foreign women?”
    “No. The boy is hungry for the world, even if that hunger is sometimes only manifested through desire.”
    Franz smiles kindly at me.
    “What does he know about desire, let alone women?” she retorts, more assertive now that a few eyes are upon her. “I could teach this belly dancing harlot a thing or two, and I wouldn't need to dress up like a tramp in order to do it. She's just a girl who's