Fantastic Voyage :: Chapter One :: The Fantasy Element

I'm late. I should've been on the road hours ago. Years ago, by God. What have I done with my life? Oy.

I couldn't get to sleep last night. I was tossing and turning. Dramatically. I kept going through increasingly unlikely lift scenarios. It reminded me of when I was 17 and learning to drive. The fantasies I'd have that one day the gnarled fascist who was teaching me to drive (a Conservative councillor who was ridiculously proud of the fact that he'd driven everything from a Sherman tank to a tricycle and insisted on smoking in the car for the simple reason that I didn't have asthma and could therefore bog off), would suddenly be replaced by an exotic and amorous gentlewoman with a short skirt, an intoxicating fragrance and long leather gloves.

God, I haven't changed a bit.

I was still awake at 4am. And terribly sore. Eventually though, I nailed it. The ultimate lift fantasy...

She pulls up just ahead of me in a shiny old orange Beetle with a Porsche engine and no roof. The sun is beating out of the sky like Mike Tyson in a temper.

I jog to the side of her car, looking surprisingly lithe. 'Thanks for stopping,' I say. ‘I really appreciate it. How far are you going?’

‘Would you believe I’m going all the way?’ she replies, eyeing my sign. 'Hop in.'

I gasp a gasp of unadulterated jouissance and hop in. As we pull out into traffic, I strap myself in and for the first time I get a good look at her face. My heart falls open like a broken clock. ‘You,’ I gasp. ‘You know who you look like?’

‘I know, I know,’ she says, rolling her dark eyes. I decide not to push it.

Once we get moving, she asks me my name. I tell her.

‘My name’s Camilla,’ she says.

‘That’s nice,’ I tell her. I ask her what she does. It’s a boring conversation-starter I know, but it’s practical. ‘I used to be a doctor,’ she says. ‘Now I write and illustrate children’s books. Also, although it’s not regular work, I can make a lot of money standing in for Audrey at film premieres and the like.’



I nod my head smiling. I knew it. ‘It is an uncanny likeness,’ I say, coolly. 'One-nil.'

She chuckles coquettishly. ‘Well, I’m a couple of years older than her, so actually I don’t look like Audrey Tautou. Audrey Tautou looks like me.’

‘Fair enough,’ I say. Except I say it in French, with a very sexy accent.

Camilla speaks French fluently. As well as 40 other languages.

She looks over at me as she drives, smiling mischievously. ‘Can I ask you a question?’ she says. ‘It’s a bit cheeky.’

‘Of course!’ I cry. ‘I love a cheeky question.’

‘Well, I was wondering if we could stop somewhere, maybe find a hotel, get a room and just lie on a bed for the rest of our lives, kissing. I’m very attracted to you.’

Before I can close my mouth, she is decelerating, parking on the hard shoulder and moving toward me. ‘What are you doing?’ I ask, alarmed.

‘I can’t wait for a hotel,’ she says. ‘I need to kiss you now.’







And so on. She also has MDMA, she’s really, really funny, and she fucking loves me.

Yes.

I'm sure it's going to be exactly like that.

Right then.

Here I go...