So, this was it. She moved in, finally. All her boxes lay strewn across the wooden floor, toffee squares on polished, gleaming caramel where the sun hit it with bright syrupy rays. The walls were sugar white, but that could be fixed, and there was so much space! Marla turned full circle and smiled. They’d set up the bed under the third window, a broad thing, full of cushions and covers, and a bedside table she’d gotten from Rachel.
Rachel bought old furniture and painted little stories on the wood. There were trees and unicorns, lions and zebras, suns and geometry, and all this in strong, vivid colours. Every piece was unique and beautiful, and the moment Marla had enough money, she bought a little tea-table she now used for her books, lamp and old-fashioned clock that could wake the dead. Strange how, never mind the boxes, the room still looked empty. It really wasn’t a room, it was a space, a large, empty, white space. It was the kind of space found in museums or churches, smaller of course and not half as cold. It felt sacred in its emptiness, like the first day of creation before all the chaos set in.
Longer than wide, the space had two bay windows looking over this side of the city. The sills were broad and would be perfect for potted plants and candles and stray books she was bound to leave there. Books. Marla had many books. Very many, so many, her new housemate Sunny had guffawed – really, it was that sound, a sudden intake of breath, that fricative of fast-pressed air, that loose-jaw sound of awe, guffaw. Anyway, it was best if she started with that. She could save her sofa from the debris of her last life later on. Marla exhaled, held up her hair with a clip and set to work. She had two large bookshelves that proved to be just enough for all the literature she had stored in the boxes. Looking at the line of backs, Marla could see the progression of interest and education, the beginnings of literary adventure to the deep depths of her post-graduate years. She had come a long way from Charlotte’s Web and now, finally, felt that she was in her place. She could look at Discipline and Punish and know exactly what not to look for. Answers, for one thing.
*
It was late afternoon when Marla finished setting up house. Her space looked more colourful now, the plants were where they should be, the pictures placed, the posters hung, the bathroom beset with her belongings. She had rearranged her large atlases and art volumes to her coffee table covered with a square glass plate, her trusted old-school stereo was set, her guitar unharmed, her desk covered with all the usual paraphernalia, though tidier now than it ever would be again. Her wardrobe was filled, the chest of cupboards she found two days ago as well, its top set with an electric kettle, a few mugs, packets of tea and a closed jar of sugar. She would have to think about what to do with the milk. She also had wineglasses and two bottles of red, though with the pub downstairs, who knew how often she would need them.
She was surprised how quiet it was, considering there was an actual Irish pub not far from her feet. It was all wooden walls and faded pictures, mysterious corners, two pool tables, dart-boards and an enormous TV over the counter, a huge flat-screen for the football and rugby, as was happening just now. The whole place was crowded, spilled pints and lager decorating the floor, the two waitresses clearing the glasses while Mr. Tellis stood behind the counter making sure nothing went wrong. She should call him Caden though, he was hardly a year older than herself, and both of them were approaching thirty. Marla still didn’t know how he was connected to Sunny, her third housemate. They’d been living together for some time now and yet they were neither a couple nor brother and sister, though they were very close. They teased and argued and Sunny seemed to take Caden’s word for fact. Marla was certain that if Caden Tellis would have so much as frowned when they were introduced, she wouldn’t be where she was now.
*
Marla didn’t believe in chance encounters, but to her friends she seemed to have had an enormous stroke of luck when, just a few days ago, she stopped at the notice board on the way to O’Connor’s bathrooms. It was a week night and Marla and her friends had decided to be supportive and play fan-club to Rena’s brother’s band. So they sat in the middle of an Irish pub Marla would have otherwise never entered, drinking Guinness and lager, and listening to Operation 8, who were pretty good with their guitars. Half way through a song Marla had a pressing urge to use the ladies’. She didn’t want to get stuck in line when the band had a break, so she left the table and manoeuvred her way past enthusiastic fans and mildly impressed onlookers.
The bathrooms were tidy, a little old-fashioned maybe, but much cleaner than some others she’d seen. Marla always said you knew a place by its lavatories. No matter how chic the exterior, all the secrets came out in the loo. On her way back from the WC she saw the notice board, filled with advertisements and flyers in a conglomeration of colours and fonts. She was looking for an apartment after all, so why not check. There were many offers, some ridiculous, others intriguing, and a couple worth serious thought. She was reading one of the flyers when Sunny came sauntering down the passageway, holding a tray in one hand, her black apron slung as low as her jeans, showing off her flat, navel-pierced middle.
‘Lookin’ for a place?’ was the first thing she said, which was odd, but Sunny had proved to be such an open, chatty young thing, that Marla decided to smile and answer yes, she was. ‘Upped the rent, huh?’ Sunny hedged but Marla shook her head. She’d just moved to town, she said, and needed a place to stay. ‘D’you work here?’ was the next question and Marla affirmed she had just gotten a job at one of the institutes on the hill. Marla felt she should make it clear that she was not, in fact, desperate. Sunny pouted prettily, looking impressed. Then she asked how much she’d be willing to pay for a place. It was a bit forthright, yes, but Marla gave her an approximate all the same. Sunny’s answer to that was, ‘Sounds good to me,’ adding, ‘Good luck, then,’ before walking on. Marla was puzzled but didn’t think much about it until it was her turn to buy the next round. The band was playing something less confused and Marla didn’t have to shout to catch the bartender’s attention.
The bartender. Owner actually, Rena’s brother was in awe of him due to that fact, but still. Well, what to say? He was the kind of man who got female attention whether he wanted it or not. Jet-black hair, ruffled yes, but very fitting, hazel eyes that made you look again, even if you didn’t want to, and a very catching smile. He simply looked good, there was no way around it, though Marla felt it was a pity life should so resemble a cliché. Even so, bartender or no, it couldn’t be helped: the man looked good. He kept on combing his hand through his hair to keep back the large sable curls – sable? Really? Mills & Boon should have been out of her system by now, but his hair really was very black. His shirt was rather faded too, and his jeans were well-worn, but it all fitted the pub and his laid-back style. And anyway, you couldn’t look all nice and tidy when spending half the night behind a counter with calls for pints, whiskey, shots and lager, repeatedly dipping used glasses into vats of soap-water and clear, wiping them only to use them again. And all this with that relaxed, reserved air that pressed all female flirt-buttons, especially when he was so focused on wiping the glasses. He looked as if he really couldn’t care less about what was happening beyond the counter and that was to all female eyes equal to an invitation to be talked to, flirted at, and in every case given their fullest attention.
Marla waited while one of the many girls smiled and batted her eyes, her pert bust pressed conveniently against her arms folded neatly on the counter, showing off an ideal cleavage. She was pretty and if the bartender noticed, he never showed it, gave her two pints with a nod and half a smile, looking neither disappointed nor irritated when Sunny turned up to take the money. He just turned back to wiping stray glasses still wet from the last dishwasher round. Marla gave a sign then, but before he came to her side of the counter, Sunny held him back with an affectionate hand and whispered something. His reaction was surprise and a scrutinizing look in Marla’s direction, followed by a nod and a relaxed walk over to where she was. He said nothing more than, ‘Yeah?’ with hardly a frown over disinterested eyes. Marla ignored everything she was seeing and ordered the Guinness the girls wanted. Standing at the taps, both he and Sunny filled the glasses, Sunny still talking confidentially, repeatedly looking at Marla, while the bartender nodded every now and then, watching the black fill the glasses. It was Sunny who brought her the drinks, but before Marla paid she said, ‘You know, we have a place upstairs.’
‘Sorry?’
‘A place,’ Sunny smiled. ‘You were looking for one, right? We have one. If you want, Caden could show you. It’ll be a bit more than you expected, but it’s really nice. I’m sure you’ll like it.’
Perplexed, Marla looked to said Ca-something, she didn’t catch what. He was taking another order from a young, highly enthusiastic Operation 8 fan who was overflowing with smiles. She asked, ‘You live here?’ and Sunny nodded ,‘Yeah, upstairs. There’s a loft that’s empty, and it has a separate bathroom with a shower. I’m serious, you should go and see. I’m sure you’ll like it.’ ‘I can come tomorrow,’ Marla said, not wanting to intrude on an obviously busy night. ‘Why?’ Sunny frowned sweetly. ‘You’re here, Caden’s here, it’d just take a few minutes. And it’s not like it’ll take you an hour to see if you like it, right?’ Sunny smiled happily, adding Marla shouldn’t worry, she’d take the pints to her friends while she went up.
This left Marla at the counter feeling awkward. She waited until Ca… well, whatever-his-name-was had finished with his next order before approaching him. Before she could say anything though, he wiped his hands and said, ‘I’ll be right out,’ without much ado. His ease was no show then. He really couldn’t care less about what was happening beyond his personal space. It was intriguing, and maybe a little annoying, but then again why be surprised. He was probably ogled at 24/7, really she should stop staring.
The bartender whose name she really did not catch – Kalen? No. – walked around the counter and motioned her to follow him to the back. Marla did just that after a quick glance to her friends who were unanimously grinning. It was a short walk through a narrow passage to a broader hallway and then up a flight of stairs to a front door. Marla tried not to register firm shoulders, well-formed arms, and considering how he walked in his jeans the rest was rather perfect as well. His trainers were well-worn, but with how life behind bar-counters could be, that was probably a good sign. He wasn’t much into outer appearances, but was it just a ruse or did he really not care? And why exactly was she thinking about this? The man could wear what he wanted, it was none of her business.
He opened the door without a word and they walked in, she really would have to find out his name. Kay-something, she was sure of that. He motioned to Marla’s immediate left, there was another flight of stairs. Marla proceeded. After eight stairs there was a corner, another four led to a small landing with a closed door. Stopping Marla heard, ‘It’s open,’ and pushed the door open. She didn’t find the light switch right away. The sensation was immediate, a sudden touch, not light, not gentle, an entanglement of fingers. His hands were warm and damp from the water. Marla walked further in, crossing her arms, and the lights were on. She fell in love with the room. There were skylights like stars in the ceiling, shedding warm, welcoming light onto a polished-wood floor. The slanted roof was spanned with thick old-wood beams and there were three windows, black now that it was night outside. Marla looked around and could immediately see herself in the open space. She smiled, pleased when she opened the door to the small bathroom. The tiles were tiny and of a fresh, minty blue until the rough stone started above shoulder level, lending the bathroom something unique without being too much. The walk-in shower had a glass door and the rest of the furnishings were smooth, white porcelain. The entire loft had an even balance between old and new and was in itself an invitation to come and stay. Walking to the centre of the room, Marla saw – really, what was his name? – lean against the door-frame, arms crossed, waiting. For a moment Marla couldn’t help wonder. He had to know how that looked. It was a bit too right, somehow.
‘It’s perfect,’ Marla smiled.
‘It’s not much of a view.’
Marla stepped to one of the windows and looked out. So far she could identify rooftops, chimneys, street lights and a lot of sky.
‘How much sun is there?’
‘This side is south, south west’
All Marla heard was sun and sunsets.
‘You work on the hill?’ she heard next.
‘Yes. I’m part of a research programme, but the pay’s steady, so – ’
‘Any pets?’ he interrupted, clearly not interested in her payroll.
‘No. Ahm – you?’
‘A cat. It’s somewhere, I don’t know where. You ok with that?’
‘Yes, I love cats,’ Marla smiled.
He just nodded as if she’d ticked the right box.
‘Sunny told you the expenses?’
‘She said it might be a bit more than I intended,’ Marla answered.
He stepped further into the room, hands at his hips, looking around as if checking if everything was in its right place. Really. Where was a camera when she needed one? Then he explained the rent and Marla felt it was rather affordable considering the newness and the space. She said, ‘I’ll take it then. I mean, if that’s all right -’ His answer was a simple, ‘Ok.’ Marla waited for more, but that was it. He walked to the door, stopped as if remembering something and asked when she planned to move in.
‘As soon as possible. If that’s ok.’
‘Yeah, that’s fine.’
And with that he walked down the stairs, leaving Marla in empty space. She clearly was no more to him than a possible lodger. And that was just right and well. Marla followed him out of the room, really what was his name? He was waiting in the hallway, and seemed eager to get back to the pub again.
‘The kitchen’s down here, and this is the living room,’ he said, switching on the lights to the respective rooms. Marla walked in and saw an open comfortable-looking living space. 
There was a fireplace and ample entertainment equipment, women’s magazine’s littering the coffee table. There was a room adjoining, larger than Marla expected, with a desk, computer and shelves that made it look like an office. Marla liked what she saw, there was nothing over-done or overly tidy about it. It was the kind of living room where people actually lived, which said a lot about its inhabitants. The kitchen was a surprise though. It was fairly large, dominated by a round, scrubbed-wood table with six chairs, the type of table where a family could meet and eat and talk about the day. The counter spanned the entirety of one wall, ending in a voluptuous fridge. A broad sideboard ruled the opposite wall, two sashed windows inhabited the connecting side. Marla had to smile at the lamp, a glass-drop chandelier she couldn’t help ask about. ‘It came with the house,’ was all he said, standing in the doorway again, while Marla looked around. Really, that shirt hid nothing at all. ‘The main bathroom’s just down here,’ he said, turning back into the hallway, and ‘that one’s Sunny’s and that’s mine.’
So they had separate rooms. Puzzling, but every couple had their oddities. Aware it was maybe a little too nosey to look further, Marla just nodded after peeking into the spacious, white-tiled bathroom with the blue wallpaper. What followed was an awkward moment, two strangers standing in a hallway, Marla feeling a little overdressed standing across Whatever-his-name-was really, if she didn’t find out soon, it would get embarrassing. He looked comfortable and Marla felt oddly stiff. She hadn’t really known where they were going, Theresa liked making a mystery out of everything, and so Marla wore something that would fit anywhere, though she never expected an Irish pub. She would have preferred jeans to this, but there it was, she was in a skirt and heels, feeling a little fidgety. She hadn’t forgotten her friends’ grins.
‘Is there anything else you might want to know?’ she finally asked.
‘What I’d want to know?’ he frowned.
‘About me. What I work, where I’ve been. Usually people like to know who they’ll have in their house,’ Marla smiled, trying to sound amusing.
There was another awkward silence. He looked as if Marla had said something genuinely strange. Then he said, ‘I should get back,’ turned, opened the front door and walked out. Ok. Marla didn’t know what else to do than follow him out. She told herself he wasn’t being capricious, he simply couldn’t care less. He was probably used to being universally stared at, and Marla hadn’t been all too careful had she? It was probably a small miracle he agreed to have her as a tenant. They reached the lower landing by then and Marla realised they hadn’t really talked about contracts or anything else.
‘Ahm, about tomorrow –’
‘Yes,’ he said, walking on.
‘Well, the paperwork and everything, I just thought –’
He stopped abruptly and turned.
‘Four o’clock?’
‘Ahm – ok.’
He nodded curtly, opened a door she hadn’t seen and suddenly they were back in the pub. He disappeared behind the counter and Marla found she was at her friends’ table seconds later, four pairs of eyes looking right back at her.
‘And where have you been?’ Theresa asked, raising an eyebrow.
Marla curtailed the urge to say, ‘Yeah, yeah, whatever.’ Instead she sat down and said a sober, ‘Inspecting.’
‘What do you mean, inspecting?’ Rena asked. She was just as bad as Theresa.
‘They have a room here,’ Marla said evenly. ‘It’s a whole loft with its own bathroom. We’ll share the kitchen.’
‘What? You mean – you’ll be living with that?’ Val grinned, pointing over her shoulder. Val always did that.
‘Is that why you left?’ Beth asked right after. She actually looked envious.
‘Yeah, he lives with the blonde waitress,’ Marla explained.
All four looked heartily disappointed. Beth maybe a little less so.
‘As it looks like they don’t mind having me,’ Marla continued. ‘I just saw the place, it’s really nice.’
‘And when can you move in?’ Theresa asked, sipping her drink like that.
‘We’ll meet again tomorrow for all the formalities.’
All four passed knowing looks between each other.
‘What?’ Marla asked.
‘He’s, well, y’know…’ Val grinned again.
‘You know what.’
‘Kind o’ hot?’ Rena grinned.
‘Sizzling.’ Val, of course.
‘Tssssssssss,’ Rena added, pressing her finger on her skin, making the others grin even more.
‘Pity you don’t share the same bathroom,’ Theresa grinned and they chuckled all over again.
Marla rolled her eyes and drank her Guinness. Yes, he was good-looking, she did have eyes in her head, but there was Sunny. She had that flawless blonde beauty that even Rena couldn’t compete with, though Rena added to her own with her really relaxed style. Sunny and She-really-should-find-out-his-name lived together and considering their familiarity, they knew each other long and well, which made this whole conversation rather pointless.
The band started playing again, making any type of conversation impossible, saving Marla from more teasing, though they always started again the moment the band took another break. Marla let it pass, returning with Theresa to Theresa’s flat without commenting on her suggestions of all possible possibilities, all the things that could be done, ‘Seriously Marla, admit it. Come on! Come ooooon! Admit it! Admit it!’ Theresa always got very wink-wink nudge-nudge when she was drunk. She wouldn’t stop through their whole cab-drive back to her place, until Marla finally gave up after they paid and got out. She sighed,
‘Admit what?’
‘You know what! Marla! Admit it!’
‘No I do not know what, Theresa,’ she said, tugging Theresa into the right direction. If Theresa was drunk enough she started trying to sleep on the sidewalk, complaining in tears that Marla was such a bitch for not letting her get some fucking rest for five fucking minutes.
‘Then I’ll tell you,’ Theresa insisted. ‘You wanna hear?’
‘Actually, I don’t.’
‘But you’ve gotta. Wait for it – here it comes.’
‘Ok.’
‘That man. Marla. That man’s fuckin’ hot. You hear me? You hear me? He’s! mother! fucking! hot!’
Theresa actually shouted that into the street, and the neighbourhood she lived in did not know much about rap-songs. They shouldn’t have done those Tequila shots, but Theresa was giggling anyway, which meant Marla could coax her into the building, the elevator and all the way to her flat. Thankfully Theresa was busy complaining about how drunk she was and how awful she felt and how she would kill Rena for ordering the Tequila shots, which ended with Marla helping Theresa undress and get into bed. Not that that stopped Theresa. Next morning she started all over again. She still couldn’t shut up about ‘that eye-candy that you’ve got downstairs.’
Anyway. Now, two days later, Marla was in her new living space, and standing as she was, surrounded by her things, Marla sighed and smiled. She felt at peace here. After the past few years that was a great relief. They’d all managed to end up in the same city, Theresa and Rena naturally, Val via detours and Beth by design, and now Marla had returned, last of the five, and they could continue where they had left off four years ago. Marla started her electric kettle and prepared her tea, looking out of one of her windows to the rooftops. It was the kind of view where you expected Mary Poppins to come sailing through, the sky grey and damp, and everything warm and cosy inside. It would be good here, she would be able to think here, relax, really sleep, simply be, and in effect that was all Marla really wanted.
© 2014 threegoodwords
Marla would sometimes relate the conversations she heard to her own friends. Theresa, Rena, Val and Beth laughed and shook their heads. They all started remembering their own early twens. That time when everyone was convinced they knew everything, and those older were either horribly disfigured or perfectly boring. Naturally everyone younger was puerile and childish and not to be considered. It was a blessed time of hubris, a time when one really felt like the king of the world, or rather the Queen of Sheba with King Solomon at her feet.
three good words 