Wanted
by Anna BurnsARE YOU MEAN AND MOODY WITH AT LEAST ONE KNIFE WOUND? You could be the one for me.
I'm looking for one hell of a nasty bastard who doesn't feel understood. I like tension, drama, danger, being hurtled, literally, from one crisis to the next and all interspersed with those deep, impenetrable sulks that go on for weeks. You must be highly critical and controlling but with a good sense of humour - at other people's expense. I'm particularly partial to untrustworthy lying bullies with a superiority complex concealing an inferiority complex verging on, but never quite reaching, complete total breakdown. As for looks, I like gorgeous but with that ultimate tinge of the mean man.
In return I am offering the whole of me. You can take me, break me, bugger me, bury my face in brickwork - I will love you. I will always love you. I guarantee to beg, plead, throw myself in your way so you can throw me out of it and do absolutely anything so long as you DON'T LEAVE! Of course when you do, I promise to scream and collapse, cling to your ankles and wail sheer abandonment into your feet.
If you're interested and would like to become my social misfit psycho lover, please attend interviews being held etc etc etc. Genuine replies only.
Three days later, she peeked out excitedly at the hundred glowering men pacing up and down the waiting room. Some were punching the air, kicking the wall or checking their illegal weapons. Others still, did not pace, but instead stood silent and aloof, loners on the edge of the world. But one thing united them - they were all there for her. With a squeal of intense happiness, she plunged into her swivel chair, did a few whirls, then leaned over and pressed the buzzer.
The first man sailed into the room, undeniably good-looking but with an honest complexion that was just a bit too believable. She frowned. He hurried to speak.
"Look I know what you're thinking. I must be one of those decent sort of fellas, right? Well I urge you please not to go by my remarkably personable appearance.''
She remained cautious. Some people would say anything.
"That's all very well,'' she said. "But do I have any guarantee?''
He produced a thick folder.
"References from my ex-girlfriends,'' he explained. "I think you'll find them satisfactory.''
" Fucking swine I hate him you're welcome to him you bitch and I hope he treats you just like he did me''
Not bad, she thought and lifted another.
" Has completely lost it. Talks at people. Tells lies. Doesn't listen. You'll have an exquisite time trying to get him to acknowledge your very existence.''
Gosh! She picked up a third.
"He's stupid.''
Oh.
She looked up.
"It says here you're stupid.''
"Is there a problem with that?''
She didn't answer. It was such a crying shame but really, how could she sustain a vicious attacking, but of course ultimately submissive, repartee with someone who didn't know what was going on? She put the folder down.
"I'll let you know,'' she lied.
"Do you really mean that?'' he asked.
"No I don't.''
He shrugged and left, saying it was no loss to him, she was an ugly cow anyhow and served her right if she was found decapitated up some alley before the day was through. She almost called him back at that but the door had already closed.
It banged open again and a small wiry man tornadoed in. He crashed about the room with a broken nose, blood in mouth and what he later alleged was a cracked skull but really, apart from that, he wasn't good-looking at all. She grew annoyed. And there was something in his considered and, it must be said, half-hearted approach to wrecking the room that didn't quite ring true. When he carefully moved the goldfish bowl onto her desk before kicking the shelves off the wall, her suspicions were confirmed.
"Experienced bastards only,'' she barked. "No rookies. That means you.''
He looked startled then quickly ripped apart a table.
"I got experience!'' he yelled. He danced from foot to foot, fists up, fighting imaginary foes. "Come on! Come on! Come on! Come on!'' She was unmoved. He rushed over to her. "Look! Bleeding knuckles!'' She looked at them. The hands were lovely. She could see at once they were meant for making things. Why, the man was deluded.
"Your face is ugly,'' she accused.
"Well yes, it is,'' he admitted. "But I have an awful personality.''
"How awful?''
"He began to fidget. "I've hit women!''
"How many?''
"Erfour - five - six! Twenty!'' He fell silent and looked exactly what he was - out of his depth.
"Well at least you're a liar I'll say that for you. But I'm afraid that's not good enough.'' Her finger moved towards the buzzer.
"I could steal!'' he offered.
"Oh what does that matter? Stealing doesn't count.''
His face fell.
"Look,'' she sighed, "you're obviously a very mixed up person. Why, you're probably not even a bastard.'' He looked visibly upset at that.
"Oh now come on Blondie. It's not the end of the world.'' She got up and guided him to the door. "You just need a different kind of relationship. With someone, say, not like me.''
She pushed him out, closed the door and leaned against it. But not for long. A big solid lump of muscle pushed through and she fell to the floor with such force that her face lit up.
"Excuse me, excuse me,'' said the hefty mass. "Are you the Nasty Bully Looking For a Victim? - although,'' he held up an admonishing finger before she could say a word, "I'd like to state from the outset, that when you're sorry for being so horrid, I like unremitting attention, constant reassurance and lots of presents.''
Her smile vanished. She bared rock solid bone-crunching teeth.
"How dare you! I'm the fragile and delicate one! Can't you read!'' She banged the notice on the wall with such ferocity that the plaster fell off. He put on his glasses and peered at the words.
"I say, you're right! My mistake. Sorry sorry sorry sorry sor''
Throwing the man out, she slammed the door off its hinges and stomped back to her desk. Another 97 interviews later and she was slumped over it. It wasn't that she'd anything against the "Hey Doll I'm a bastard what about it?'' type. Indeed she had a soft spot for every one of these dear men, for they could always be relied upon to let her down. But surely there was more to a destructive relationship than unoriginality, broken promises and rubbish. She sighed deeply. How implacable life could be!
"Hi.''
She ignored the greeting even though it had an unmistakable edge. She was tired.
He slipped into the chair facing her. She looked up and saw a handsome dead face set off to perfection by a living cruel mouth. Instantly refreshed, she sat up, a surge of new energy running through her.
"You forgot about me,'' he chided, a smile darkening his features.
She beamed.
"How right you are! Why, you must be furious. Do sit down and put your feet on the desk - oh! but you already have.''
He took out his cigarettes. She noticed he didn't offer her one. He asked for a coffee. She rose and brought him a Dry Martini, shaken but not stirred.
"Let's talk relationships,'' she said.
He flinched.
"I don't have relationships.'' He was firm. He was authoritative. She was impressed.
"I see,'' she said. "Do carry on.''
He lit his cigarette.
"I came here solely because I didn't understand your ad.''
"Really? What part wasn't clear?''
"I don't believe a pretty girl like yourself,'' he looked at her pointedly, "for you are a pretty girl you know''
"Excuse me?'' she said, puzzled. "Did you just say jar of acid?'' She looked around, exaggeratedly pulling open desk drawers then shaking her head. "Sorry, I don't think there is any.''
He wasn't amused. But she was and so she laughed, in just the right high-pitched grating screech to annoy the hell out of him.
He closed his thin lips and turned away, exuding a coldness that she recognised could cause her great tormenting angst - if she let it! Her heart skipped a beat. Was this at last the right Mr Wrong?
"I'm sorry,'' she said. "Please talk to me. I promise not to laugh anymore unless it's okay with you.''
He turned back and flicked ash onto the goldfish.
"I don't believe you meant all those harsh cynical words.''
"No?''
"It was a cry for help.''
"Yes?''
"And as you can see, unlike all those pieces of sick you've just interviewed,'' he grinned momentarily at his own wit, then went on, "I am not a bastard.''
She leaned forward, eyes gleaming.
"Are you sure?''
"I am positive.''
"What about fear?''
"I'm never afraid.''
"Anger?''
"I'm not an angry man.''
"Sex?''
"I just told you - I am not an angry man.''
He was certainly sure of himself. And so was she. Sliding the 100 applications across the desk and into the bin, she dropped her gaze, hunched her shoulders and looked suddenly frightened and very, very, small.
"In that case,'' she gulped, "I feel I have to tell you - it was all an act. It's always an act. I have to do it because it's such a big scary world and''
"I thought so,'' he said.
"I haven't finished,'' she said.
"Of course,'' she went on. "I'm really just a hurt little girl with a lovely smile'' she smiled a lovely smile, "and a lot of love to give.''
"Yes,'' he said. "That was patently obvious from your ad. You have deep wounds.''
"I know,'' she said. "I was about to say that.''
"You need tender loving care.''
"Yes,'' she sighed. She wiped away a tear She waited. He pushed back his chair and stood up.
"Time to go,'' he said.
She rose obediently and took his arm. They smiled.
"Oh but - you're so-o nice,'' she said.
The happy couple turned and left the building.
Anna Burns lives in London and is from Belfast. She is working on a themed collection of short stories set in Northern Ireland 1960 to 1999.