A Day And A Night And A Day: A Novel - Plot & Excerpts
The last woman was a young dark-haired prostitute in Barcelona he’d paid extra to lie with him for an hour postcoitally, his nose in her downy nape. Just lie here? Yes, if that’s okay. She’d been palpably uneasy, as if affection was an edgy perversion, but what could he tell her? He was astonished himself. Dry-mouthed, he lifts his head off his chest and feels a granular crunch in his neck. No idea how long he’s been out. The handcuffs look brand-new, glamorous against his dark skin. Sikh men wear those steel bangles and often have showgirl eyelashes yet appear superbly masculine. He wouldn’t have minded being a Sikh. Selina years ago said the turban had deep phallic allure—which was the sort of thing she came out with apropos of nothing. Naturally non-sequiturial, by the time he met her she was exploiting the trait having learned it charmed people. Their friends regarded her as someone enviably at ease in her own skin. He, privy offstage and after hours, knew her hung about with superstitions and fears, all the trinkets and bogeymen of her half-shucked Catholicism.
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