Wildcat Watcher by Stuart Hough

 This piece of writing first appeared on the blog in 2022. 

Writing inspired by a line from another book:

 "How delightfully amusing everyone was! ‘Bottle of mine, it’s you I’ve always wanted…’ ."

Aldous Huxley. Brave New World.

A loud peal of laughter followed from the knot of men gathered around the speaker. The fragment of conversation was meant to be heard by others.  No doubt he wished to be seen as being humorous and entertaining from within the gathering of his peers. No one else looked around. The language used didn’t fit the man. It was a gesture without real foundation, fashioned for the surroundings. The men carried on their own conversations, drinking wine in their own groups. It seemed that ale was not allowed. More than likely their hostess deemed it suitable only for those who did not aspire to the positions for which she wished her guests to aspire. Despite the luxurious furniture on which they were seated earlier, the men had now chosen to stand in groups. No doubt their hostess would think them ruffians for doing so. They tried not to spill anything on the expensive floor.

She had managed to extract herself from the room, but now reluctantly returned. She stood at the edge of the gathering and wasn’t in a hurry to re-join any of the conversations. She had heard the exclamation. The irony of it made her smile. She wasn’t good in situations like this and she knew it. She had spent most of her life trying to avoid any form of gathering where she did not have a genuine personal interest. She longed for her ‘own’ people. She wanted nothing more than to do the same thing, but around an open fire with people she loved and trusted. Still, she thought. There she was. There she was and she would not drink much, she decided. Although, the temptation to lose herself in the solace of the red liquid she carried, was strong.

She looked across the room, taking in who had migrated towards whom. Conversations were unnaturally loud, with everyone trying to impress everyone else. Their smiles were like too much salt, in a plate of favourite food. A dash would have been sufficient. Apparently appetising, the unseen made it almost unpalatable upon tasting. Such a waste. She took a sip of wine. It was good, albeit polluted by the disingenuous air of those gathered that day. She felt that she could reach out and pull large handfuls of hypocrisy and insincerity from the same, cloying air. False charm dripped like candle fat.

She caught sight of their hostess, who was the only other woman in the room.

The older woman hosted well. She was the embodiment of finesse and was clearly in her element. The earrings, bracelets and necklace she wore spoke a language of self-worth and assurance. Despite the weight of gold, she appeared to float like a silvered strand of spider’s web in a summer breeze. Her slender figure moved effortlessly around the groups of standing men. Her deportment was graceful, her smile was radiant, her dress revealing. It was a host’s position to be welcoming and accommodating and she wore it well. If her behaviour earlier in the day was subtly flirtatious, now she openly bathed in the male attention, further emboldened by wine. She had no shortage of that attention. Whilst a few men remained courteous, most gave it in torrents. They were eager to please her. She mingled amongst what seemed to be her favourite group brushing lightly against an arm or thigh, maintaining a tactile presence. A hand placed lightly upon a man’s shoulder would delight the recipient with her close proximity.  She would raise the other occasionally to adjust her hair. A slight lean towards the speaker to whom she listened. Each movement would delicately, move the fabric of her dress. All seemingly innocent and completely unnoticed by herself. She maintained a strict eye contact with whom she spoke or listened. She appeared attentive as to what they had to say, to the exclusion of all else. She seemed not to notice where those surrounding her, chose to stare and let the equally attentive gaze of others wash over her exposed flesh, unhindered. If any tried to return her touch, she would see it coming and deftly extract herself. In doing so, she preserved her charismatic authority. It only seemed to increase their yearning stimulated their craving. Seemingly reasoning individuals had fallen for the unattainable. Maybe they couldn’t help it? Some people were drawn to the unknown, the unpredictability and wanting something they had been told they could not have. Yet after being denied, they wanted it even more, despite her rejections. The more she rejected them, the more desirous they seem to become. The unattainable is in some sense rare. Rare things were valuable and often mysterious and fascinating. Maybe that was what presented the excitement for them. Maybe they found their own relationships were commonplace and boring in comparison. Maybe they just wanted to occupy their minds with the thrill of the chase. Once she was satisfied, she closed the personal space again with artful guile.

‘Did it take another woman to see it? Did the men not realise that she was simply teasing them, like a wildcat with a half dead mouse?’ The older woman had an elegance refined more towards purpose than beauty. With sheathed claws she deftly played with the control she had over them, before becoming bored and moving on. To those with whom she spoke, she applied her own charismatic coercion to steer conversations to suit her own ends.

She looked away from their hostess and took a deep breath. She didn’t have the patience, guile of the older woman. With the inexperience of youth, she struggled to remain open-hearted and not fall into a dark pit of cynicism. ‘Give them a chance. Meet the challenge with humour, humility and grace. Let them show you their more balanced selves, if they have one. Do not let them doubt your own strength of character and resolve’. Despite her youth, she would open her wings of conversation and let it take flight, one patient choice at a time. She would not let them see the other darker, emotional waters in which her soul swam. She had learned how to rescue herself from that, so that she may seek to rescue others. She wrestled with the thought of doing the opposite of how she felt. ‘Was she being as duplicitous as they were? Of course, she was.’ She smiled inwardly. It was a caustic smile that mocked her soul. Despite that, she let the incongruous feeling grow and reach her exterior. This was simply a means to an end and one which she was determined never to repeat.

‘My demeanour will be magical and they will see it in my eyes.’ She thought ironically. She adjusted what she wore, unsuited to the occasion as it was.

She returned to the gathering. Her smile remained as she greeted the next most earnest friend that she didn’t know and would probably never see again.