Chapter 1
It's strange how life deals us our cards with such totally random haphazardness.
I began writing what I have since come to call 'The Eros Collection' some twenty five years ago, and of course when I started I had no idea it would eventually become anywhere near as large as it subsequently has. I don't remember what actually prompted me to start writing the stories but I have always enjoyed the actual activity of writing and, as I have explained in the essay titled 'Explanation', have also always been mystified by society's strangely prudish and even censorious attitude to sex. So with hindsight I suppose it might have been inevitable that at some stage the synergy between those two aspects of my character would combine to push me towards writing about that part of our lives.
However, there was never any intention that any of it would be published; it was just something I did for my own private entertainment and enjoyment; a 'hobby', like stamp collecting, or some such innocuously harmless activity.
Then, sometime after my fortieth birthday I had an idea for a novel - on a subject totally unrelated to sex - and began writing that. When it was finished I sent out feelers to a few agents and, much to my surprise, one of them actually found me a publisher. It wasn't a great book and I doubt anyone reading this collection would have heard of it, but if I hadn't written it there would never have been a reason for this account of the resulting delightfully thrilling chance encounter.
Of course first-time authors are two a penny in the publishing world and most of them subsequently sink without a trace, so once my agent had got me signed-up and the process of editing and re-writing the work ground slowly onwards he pressed on with his other deals, leaving me to personally respond to the various requirements of the publisher. But then, a few days before the actual launch date he reappeared, or at least he phoned me. It seemed that someone from the publisher had reconsidered the potential for my book and had asked if I had written anything else they might be interested in.
By that stage I had been connected to the Internet for a few years and although not a frequent user had of course, like any red-blooded male, occasionally trawled through a few of the millions of sites dealing in pornography. While doing that I had discovered there actually was quite a vibrant readership for both the mildly, and even the more blatantly pornographic stories. So, although I had thought that the quality of much of what I had come across seemed pretty ordinary I admitted that yes, I did have something, but said that I doubted that what I euphemistically called 'Romantic Pornography' would be of interest to our particular publisher.
There was what I can only call a stunned silence for a few moments, then, to my surprise the agent said although he agreed he also doubted if this particular publisher would be interested, he did have contact with one who just might be. He asked me a few questions about what I meant by romantic pornography and although I said nothing about the actual volume of what I had, I outlined what had prompted me to write on the subject, the way I went about it and gave him an outline of a couple of the story-lines.
Anyway, to cut a long story short, he asked me to print out a copy of a few of the shorter ones for him to have a look at.
As I said, all this happened just a few days before the launch of my novel and I had already been booked to do a tour of various states to coincide with that, during which I'd have interviews with various reviewers who'd received advance copies, give readings and talks to assorted book groups and also attend book-signing sessions in several key retail outlets. Of course the agent wasn't accompanying me but as he did have some business meetings in one of the cities I was scheduled to visit we decided that rather than send the material by mail I'd take it with me and meet up with him in a week's time. So, having done the printing I slipped a couple of copies of each of the stories I'd selected in the bottom of my briefcase and started getting things ready to take off on the whirlwind tour.
For some unexplained reason I was to start with a three day trip to the West and then work my way back across the country, ending up two weeks later in my own city, where the publisher expected the major market to be. After what seemed an interminably long flight I was met at the airport by the publisher's representative who drove me to my hotel and then suggested we sit down with a coffee and go through what they had planned for me.
For someone previously unused to such things the programme looked pretty daunting, but the young man assured me he'd be accompanying me for much of the time and said that if I just concentrated on talking about my book he was sure everything would work out just fine. He also pointed out that my last evening in town was quite free, but that rather than just leave me at a loose end he had obtained a ticket to a rather prestigious art gallery's new opening. He said the option was mine, if I felt like going I'd be very welcome, but if by then I preferred to just have a quiet evening alone, that would be fine too.
The following days were pretty much a blur of talking, signing books and responding to various interviewers' assorted questions and even the one occasion that proved to be significant got lost in the confusion of events. But finally they were all done and as I headed up to my room I thought that at least I'd be better prepared for the rest of my trip and having showered and changed I settled down to a much needed drink - and it was only then that I remembered the ticket to the art gallery function.
I was in very much of two minds about it; on the one hand I was tired from all the talking I'd had to do and could have quite happily settled myself in front of the TV for the evening - on the other, I quite liked Art, at least some of it, and as my flight out wasn't until around the following mid-day, even if the night should prove to be a late one, I would still have plenty of time to get a good night's sleep. So, guessing that an art gallery would provide little more than the obligatory 'nibbles and drinks', I rang room service for something a little more substantial, and having eaten, went down to enquire how best to get to the gallery's address.
It turned out to be no more than a five minute walk away, and as I had no wish to find myself being one of only half a dozen people attending I took a circuitous and leisurely stroll and when I got there I was pleased to see that there was already quite a crowd of people inside. Maybe the publisher's representative had alerted someone to the fact that I might be turning up, certainly I had no illusions as to the level of 'fame' I had achieved after only a couple of days in the city, but when I presented my invitation to the woman at the door, she turned and quickly attracted someone's attention. 'Mr Frobisher is here!' she said in what I thought was a rather unnecessarily loud voice.
A shock-haired woman of middle-age bustled through the group standing immediately inside the door-way, the hem of her voluminous caftan-like dress swirling around their legs as she headed towards me. 'Ah, Mr Frobisher, we're so pleased you decided to join us.' she exclaimed with an almost equally megaphone-like volume.
'Stewart will do fine.'
'Well Stewart it is then - I'm Marion, one of the partners in this rather hopeful enterprise. May I ask if you are a collector, or just a lover of the Art?' she asked in an only slightly lower tone of voice.
'I have one or two originals, but mainly copies I regret to say.'
'Well Stewart, who knows, if your book does exceptionally well maybe you will find yourself able to indulge just a tad more freely.' she replied with a perhaps over hopefully beaming smile. 'We artists, in whatever field our particular talents lie, must band together.'
'Keep the philistines at bay, you mean?' I responded with what I hoped was a conspiratorial grin.
'Exactly so Stewart, exactly so! But now, a drink, then I will leave you to browse around - you never know, something might just take your fancy - there are several pieces that are not really that expensive. And if you do see something you like, make sure you let one of us know, so we can reserve it for you.' she added.
So, a minute or two later, with a glass of wine in one hand, I began to make my way slowly around the gallery.
It didn't take me too long to realise that much of what was on display was certainly not for me - I have never been able to either understand or fully appreciate the more extreme end of modern art, and that seemed to dominate the showing. But, off in a rather less well attended section there were several pieces in a completely different style, more figurative abstracts - a couple of which I thought were positively sensuous.
