The Tied Man

We listened in silence to the receding sharp clip of stilettos on flagstone, and Finn calmly pulled a cigarette from his pack.  Only the slightest tremble in his fingers betrayed him as he lit up.  ‘You goin’ for your run first?’

I nodded.

‘Right.  See you in an hour then.’ He gathered up his cigarettes and lighter and stalked barefoot out of the kitchen.

*****

‘Hi.’ Exactly one hour later, Finn stood at the door of my studio with a face that suggested he would rather be anywhere else in the universe right now.  He looked like a cornered animal as his eyes darted around the room, looking everywhere except at me.

‘Come in.’

‘Sure.’  He reluctantly stepped inside, his arms tightly folded across his chest and his hands hidden inside the sleeves of a grey hooded sweatshirt that currently matched his complexion.  ‘So. What d’you want me to do?’

At that moment, I hated Blaine more than ever.  ‘Look, we don’t have to go ahead with this,’ I began, but Finn shook his head.

‘D’you think I’ve got any more choice over this than anything else I do in this fucking place?’ he asked with such desperation that I felt my stomach lurch.

‘I swear, this isn’t how I do things, Finn.  I’ve never forced anyone to do something they’re not a hundred percent happy with.’

‘I’m used to it.’

‘Well I’m bloody well not.’  I took a deep breath and felt some resistance, but put it down to the tension radiating from Finn.  ‘All right. Let’s try and make this as painless as possible then, shall we?  We’ve got all day, after all.  You want a whiskey?’ I proffered the bottle of bourbon that I kept in the studio as an occasional reward for a good day’s work.

‘Yeah.  That’d be good. Thanks.’

I poured him a quadruple measure that he drank in one mouthful, then refilled his glass.  I was running a well-worn routine now, the thing I did for nervous first-time sitters – people who had paid thousands for a Lilith Bresson portrait, only to find at the last minute their courage had deserted them.

Sure enough, ten minutes was all that was needed for the alcohol to weave its unsubtle magic.  Finn’s shoulders dropped a little, and some colour returned to his cheeks.

‘I’m better now.’

Better. As I’d planned.  The next stage would be to sit and make smalltalk until his nerves receded into nothing.  But Finn wasn’t nervous: he was terrified, visibly shivering despite the warmth of the room.  So different to Blaine’s willingness to reveal all on her very first morning.

‘This really isn’t how it’s meant to be, Finn.’

‘Ignore me.  I’m being a dumb bastard.’  He compulsively picked and bit at the dead skin around his thumbnail until he drew blood.  ‘Could you wait half an hour?’

I narrowed my eyes.  ‘Why?’

‘Maybe if I take something – y’know, a bit extra – just to take the edge off…’

‘No.  It kills your face for a start, and let’s be honest, if you need to get completely wasted just to sit for me, something’s gone horribly wrong.’

‘So order me.’

‘Do what?’

‘Give me a direct order.  Tell me to stand in front of you and strip.  It’s easy.’

I slapped my forehead.  ‘Now why didn’t I think of that?  Oh, I know.  Because it’s the most ridiculous suggestion I’ve ever heard in my life.’  I hid a dry cough behind my hand.

‘Oh God, why not?’ Finn pleaded.  ‘It’d hardly be the worst thing I’ve ever been asked to do.’

‘Apart from it being morally repugnant, you mean?’

‘For fuck’s sake would you for once just stick your sanctimonious bullshit up your arse?’ Finn snapped.  ‘Y’know what my job is, huh?  It’s to say ‘Yes’ and keep saying it until whoever’s paying decides they’ve had enough.  It doesn’t matter if I’m not happy, or if it disgusts me, or even if it hurts like I’d rather fucking die.  So deal with it.  I have to.’

I opened my mouth to answer him, but as if I were trapped in my own nightmare, no words came out.  Instead I could only make a noise best described as a death-rattle.

Finn

Any momentary triumph I might have felt at scoring a rare point against Lilith vanished the moment her lips turned blue.  Initially I had no idea what the hell was wrong – the last time I had seen anyone do anything like this was when one of my old Phoenix Park colleagues had unwittingly shot a syringeful of pure pharmaceutical heroin into the last functioning vein between his toes, thinking it was our dealer’s usual street-sweepings.  He had made this same surprised, choking grunt before falling head-first at my feet, already dead as he hit the filthy pavement.