at the window, 2

He did look surprised.
Granted she was wearing a sari.

Yes, she had one.
She looked like a natural too.
It was the hair. And the cheek bones.
And her eyes were dark, darkest dark, with nice lashes.

She had great lashes, she had to admit.
Really great lashes.

She made pastries and wrapped them in papier-mâché,
pink, yellow, blue and green.

Caden was in his office, looked up from his computer and quite nearly stared.
He had the strangest eyes, they had all colours.
Really, all of them.
He didn’t say anything though.

She put the wrapped pastry on the desk, she hoped he liked them,
they were a little on the sweet side.
She was certain he thought she was out of her mind.
It was that look
Hard to describe.
But he did say thank you.

Sunny’s reception was much more pleasant.
Marla walked in, Sunny gasped and jumped to her feet, ‘Oh my God, Marla! That’s incredible!’
She asked a lot of questions, how it was tied, where she got it from, it was unbelievable, really, where did she get it from?

Sunny surprised Marla with a present herself, a little bracelet with tiny flashing shamrocks. ‘I know it’s not Hindu or anything, but it’s for luck. You don’t have to wear it, but we live above an Irish pub, so – ’ Sunny shrugged and smiled.

Marla turned to the screen.
So it had happened.
What she never understood was why.
Go somewhere else.
The pool was a wide space, but no.
It was a movie after all.
And there he was,
sitting so scenically on the white.
Anyway.

 *

Marla just had the girls over.

It was the fourth time now.
They came over, loud and laughing, congregating around the scrubbed wood table, waiting to be watered and fed.

The first time they came, Sunny dropped by to say Hi, just before she changed to go down. Marla offered her a drink, Sunny accepted and in the ten minutes she stayed, Theresa asked and Sunny answered and Marla found out that Caden had refurbished the loft single-handedly, ‘That was his way of getting over it.’

Of course the girls got curious. Sunny was happy to explain. She’d been at her Mum’s again, and when she came back three weeks later, the door to the stairs was gone, there was a carpet and the loft was what it looked like now. There had been no workers, but with Caden’s Dad being an architect and all ‘it kind o’ made sense’.

Marla caught meaningful looks from Theresa and Val. She ignored them. All four had already seen her loft and praised the space. Apparently they could ‘see she lived there’.

Once Sunny left that evening, the questions began.
Marla refused to answer.
She would not discuss Caden Tellis.
That didn’t stop them.

The stub glowed red.
The night was a dark, city bright.
The cup in her hand, still warm, smooth.
Downstairs someone opened a door,
guitars and voices spilled out, loud.

Every time Marla’s friends came to her place, every time they saw her actually, they started again.

This time it was the very simple, the harmless fact that Marla left a pasta casserole to warm in the oven. She’d noticed her housemates liked it the last time she made it, and busy as they were with the band today, she made one. It wasn’t much effort, she was cooking anyway.

Of course the girls noticed.

Irene asked if Marla’s plan was to insinuate herself into the man’s head via his stomach. Marla pointed out that the casserole was for Sunny as well. This did not matter. In fact, it just showed she was being clever about it. Marla rolled her eyes.

Theresa wanted to know how it was to live with him, was he orderly or messy and did he run around naked? Irene wanted to know if he drank a lot and if he had many women. Val just gave her that look. Marla never liked that look. Beth in turn asked if Marla thought he’d be interested in anyone over 25, it was so hard these days now that she had that three, not that she was really thinking about him or anything, but you know it was ‘just a thought.’

Marla finally sighed and said that if anyone wanted dessert they should change the subject right now. They did, eventually, though Val did whisper, ‘I know you’re hiding something,’ when the others weren’t looking.

Marla wasn’t exactly hiding something.
There were women.
Val would have called them ‘decent’.
Theresa would have shrugged,‘Oh well’.
Beth would have not been pleased.

They would come and kiss him as a greeting, stand at the counter admiring everything, Caden most of all, trying to look cool, aloof and much too good for anyone until Caden found time to leave.

He never brought them upstairs and they never lasted long.

She would have liked to know where he met them.
They were all not the kind who entered O’Connor’s voluntarily.
West-End was more their habitat.
Wine bars and chic cafés, that kind of thing.

Sunny had dropped a few hints about an Emma or Ella or something like that, from a couple years back. She seemed to have been around for a while, but Marla didn’t think it right to ask.

That was just about everything she knew.
Marla had no problems communicating everything to the girls.
That only made things worse.
Now they were convinced he had been mistreated by that Emma-Ella person.
He was possibly so jaded he could no longer commit etc. etc. etc.

It never ends.

Marla stubbed her cigarette and closed the window.
She drank another sip of her tea and looked at the screen.
The police were investigating.

All those controlled bodies,
level looks, fresh young faces.
How was it when they got angry?
Genuinely drunk?
How did they cry when no one was watching?

Val wasn’t wholly wrong though.
There was one thing Marla didn’t tell anyone.
It was simple: every Sunday morning, Marla and Caden had breakfast together. It really was that simple. Breakfast.
There was nothing outrageous about breakfast.

Sunny was a late sleeper and always went partying on Saturday nights.
She either slept till four or stayed at whichever of her boys she was currently seeing. The pub didn’t open till two. The Sunday crowd was always a little quieter than the rest.

Mondays were closed.
Caden was usually out making errands or doing whatever it was he did.
Yet for some reason Sundays were the days they had breakfast.

She remembered the first. She came down and he was already making coffee and they simply went about their own business. When she came down the second Sunday the kitchen was empty, but he walked in moments after she started the kettle. That, she guessed, was how it started. And even that didn’t sound right.

At first Marla thought it was a coincidence.
It was three months now and it still kept on happening.

She always went down between ten and twelve.
Ample room for fluctuation.
Either he was already there or showed up a short while later.
If she came later he would start some eggs and fry more bacon without asking. If he came later she naturally did the same.

She would have to admit that she at first thought it rather sweet of him. Then Sunny came in last one Sunday and was given equal treatment. There was no need to feel disappointed, it just showed he was generally considerate.

There was movement on the screen.
One of those long, slow conversations.
Staged without being stale.

To spend a summer in the South of France.
But a nice one. Without all that mess in the end.

Her mother would be visiting soon. Saturday in fact.
Marla tried to look forward to it.

Ever since Alicia came to visit that first time, Marla was never safe from questions about ‘that man you’re living with’. She was not spared warnings of such ‘obviously handsome men’ who very likely were so used to ‘having their own way’ with women, which made them outright dangerous.

One look and Alicia Whitman-Brandon was convinced that Caden Tellis was last person Marla should be living with. She actually said, ‘Such men can never be responsible. Don’t look at me like that. They’re used to getting what they want. Not safe. Definitely not safe. ’

Theresa must have told her something.

Alicia had called it ‘his influx of women’ and that suspicious behaviour of never taking them home, though you never knew what that Emma-Ella person had done, women could be so cruel sometimes, but it was good Marla stayed away from him, it would only disturb their living relations if all that business came in between, one of them was bound to take it too seriously, these weren’t the old days anymore, nothing was casual. Marla should much rather find someone else and move out, that would be better for everyone, Sadie and Terry were together for five years now and apparently there were hints of marriage, not that she really cared, it was much better for taxes though and Sadie would keep her name as a matter of course, in fact but for taxes there really was no reason, but it was kind of silly that her sister would be married before she was, wasn’t it, really Marla why didn’t she go out more?

Marla sighed and drank her tea.
At least she still had tomorrow.

© 2014 threegoodwords