the soft life
The soft life had,
once again got its claws into James Bond.
He was fed up with the drowsy weather of London. And the routine number ticking on the top
secret documents at Headquarter's which didn't really concern him, or have any
effect on him or the other two men in the Double-O section. M especially was top on the list of Bond's
private annoiances, he simply had nothing for him, and Bond hadn't heard from
him for weeks. The last time they met,
M had told him to basically settle down, not drink as much, to watch his
gambling habit's and settle down to work until something came up.
As he lit his second
cigarette of the day and took a long mouthful of his very hot and black coffee
at his Empire desk he reflected out the window as to why he was so
depressed. It basically all came down
to having nothing to do. The only
consolodation at work was that his secretary was back and the two other men in
the Double-O section were off on assignment.
Leaving her all to Bond himself.
The only thing he found that was getting him through the work day
without blowing his temper and storming off in a fit of rage to M's office to
give the "old man a blastful Annie,"
was their constant flirtation and he pampering and mothering of him and
Even his after hours
schedule was becoming boring, tiresome and simply a matter of routine. He was basically going out with the same one
or two friends a week for a drink and a quite night at Blade's, meeting up with
the same two or three married women at Scott's for lunch or dinner and then
either back to a hotel room at the Ritz or somewhere else for a rather cold
love making session with another man's wife.
It all left a feeling of
unfullfilment and boredom. And people
around him had started to notice it too, he was beginning to snap at people
around him and just simply tell them to shut up. May, his Scottish treasure of a housekeeper had got a sample of it
only twenty minutes ago when she decided to take it upon herself to educate him
on the unhealthy food (scrambled eggs, two slices of bacon, some sausages and
toast, washed down with two cups of very strong and very black coffee) that he
consumed for breakfast every day. Which
was then regimentally followed by a cigarette from his wide, black gunmetal
cigarette case with room for fifty and lit by his black oxidized Ronson light,
which was well battered. The case had
been a present from a woman many years back that he had had an affair with when
he was very much younger. He didn't
think of her often, though he would never think of getting another case, it was
just the right age, and had the sufficient amount of wear.
Bond was grateful to
be alive as he drew in the smoke to his lungs and let it out in a soft
hiss. Back to his thoughts, he
reflected that perhaps his boredom came from not only having nothing exciting
to do except the boring routine of headquarters, but also the fact that he had
no real love interest in his life. He
had never been one for entanglement or long periodic relationships. He was of the opinion that most
relationships, especially marriages didn't add two people together, rather they
subtracted one person from the other.
Though he had been engaged twice, once to a girl when he was very young,
though it all fell through and then their was the big dispute with the girls
father about legal action because he had entered into a verbal contract with
the girl. It cost him a good deal of
money back then to get out of it.
Monique was her name, he hadn't seen her for years and out of the blue
several years back he bumped into her
at the Cafe de la Paix in Paris, and after an awkward discussion, and his
discontent for having ran into her. He
decided to do the gentlemanly thing and took her to Harry's Bar for a drink and
a chat. She'd finally got married, had
a child, which had died prematurely, and the father had run off with another
woman. They were getting fairly drunk
as Bond topped off the second bottle of Krug, she was becoming flirtatious and
he worried she was going to try and go home with him. Bond gave her as little sympathy as he could manage, told her the
years hadn't faded her eyes, the smile on her face or the deep plunding v line
of her chest and politely excused himself and made his was back to the Terminus
Nord where he was staying and quietly got himself drunk.
His second engagement
had been to an American girl named Tiffany Case, who was born in San Fransico,
her mother ran a respectable whore house.
Though one night she was gang raped at the age of 16, and at that point
she left home and started drinking herself to death. She told him that things were getting really bad, when she
rescued a small child from drowning, and the childs mother out of gratitude
took Tiffany under her wing and
travelled with her. She eventually
drifted from the woman and found herself in Nervada, where she began working
for the Spangled Mob. This was how Bond
happened to meet her, she eventually defected from the mob and followed him
back to England, where they fell in love and she moved into his converted
Regency flat and made fun of his rather plain taste in furnature and
decoration. Everything was going well,
and their was even talk of marriage.
But they always fought, and deep down he knew it was really his
fault. He just couldnt deal with being
totally reliant on any woman, let alone one woman emotionally, let alone
physically. She left him for a marine
at the US embassy and last he heard they were married back in the states.
That only left
Tracy.... He still had trouble coming to terms with that. He seemed to loose everyone he loved, it
reminded him of every time he was in the North of France, he would stop off and
see Vesper's grave, and lay a flower for her once a year.
He stubbed the
cigarette out and lit another, he looked at the face of his Rolex Chronometre,
it was almost time to get going. He
stood up and walked over to the mirror.
The hair was a little longer than usual, with the hair parted on the
left falling down to the right eyebrow.
He'd probably have to get it cut soon, the eyes were clear blue, though
the boredom behind them was easily visable.
His skin was still slightly tanned from his last trip down to Jamacia to
see Morgan's Beach. The scar was still
slightly visable on the right cheek. He
shrugged his shoulders, so what if he looked rakish, and a little cold. Probably best in his line of work anyway, no
use for pretty boy looks. He placed his
cigarette lighter case in his pockets and walked through to the kitchen and
yelled out to May that he was leaving.
"Yo gonna be late Mr
"I doubt it, anyway look at
the weather May, who cares."
"Tsk, tsk, Mr James, you
know how what I think about people's not turning up to work on time,
"Oh shut up May, you'd
think it was the Queen I was going to see." She turned on her heel and left in a huff to go and clean up his
breakfast tray. Half mumbling to
herself, something that Bond couldn't hear but could have made a pretty
accurate guess at.
He walked out to the
Bentley coupe that was parked under a tree and climbed in, hit the self starter
and listedned as the twin two inch pipes grumbled to life. He let it warm up for half a minute and slid
it into first and gently eased her up to the King's Road, turned left and
headed toward Headquarters.