friends – Page 9 – three good words

August 21, 2014May 18, 2020

pursuit of happiness

A year, almost.
Twelve months.

Fall was filling the streets with cardinal colours.

Marla no longer felt new in Ferin Mews.
Her loft was her home now,
her housemates peculiar accessories to her life.

If her life was the planet they were the satellites, rotating obscurely around her quotidian, always near yet out of reach. Though Sunny would join her in the kitchen for a cuppa if she wasn’t out and about, busy with her own life.

Sunny, yes.
Sunny was always busy.
An afternoon’s rest
an evening without something to do,
impossible.

If she wasn’t working, Sunny and her friends crowded into the apartment, laughing and screaming, giggling and shouting, talking about things Marla didn’t always understand.

There was fashion, there was music, there were the does and don’ts of post-adolescent life where you were just old enough to be grown up to the school-kids, but still young enough to be a kid for the real grannies and grandpas. Life was dreary after 25, and anyone who survived that dreadful age was both awesomely brave and awfully to be pitied .

Some of Sunny’s friends, if they found Marla in the living room or kitchen or just down the hall, some of them would ask her how it was in The Life Beyond.

Wasn’t it terrifically difficult finding a decent bloke? Most, after all, were married or useless now anyway. Was it very difficult? It had to be bad. Was it? Were there any clubs she could go to without, you know, sticking out? She looked good, she really did, but still, she was, y’know, older? And why did she wear those really bright skirts? They were kind of ethnic weren’t they? Sometimes she looked like a Mexican – oh God, were you still allowed to say that?

Yes, of course!
No, you can’t!
Shame on you!
Heathens!
Endless arguments,
more giggling,
more questions,
more drinks.

Her hair was incredible by the way, and Sunny had told them she had a sari, which was ultracool, though cool was out and awesome was in, and if something was really magnificent it was super delish.

Marla answered as best as she could, trying to follow the ping-pong conversations that seemed to be made out of clauses. She was pleased however, when Sunny mentioned that her friends thought she was ‘swell’, (they had dug up the word from God-knows-where and now used it as their own group-speak). It was high praise for someone thirty, that horrible age when all desirability disappeared at the stroke of twelve.

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.

‘But would you want to go back?’ Beth asked last time, and everyone started laughing, ‘Oh God, no!’

The confusion,
the fading dreams,
the disillusionment.

The simple disappointment one had to live through, for all the nonsense and self-importance to be chipped away, for all the blue-eyed naïveté to be burned off by the blowtorch that was life… no, there was no need for that all over again. It was much better to know now, than to be learning then. Really, thank God it was over.

The conversation continued while Marla prepared dessert, missing out on most, until she handed out the plates of tiramisu. The whole table was laughing when Theresa suggested they all grab a fresher the next time they were out on town.

‘Never mind that you have to teach them everything,’ she grinned, ‘that way they don’t get messed up by someone else.’
‘I don’t know about teaching, love,’ Rena chuckled, ‘they’re pretty knowledgeable from what I hear.’

There was more laughter and Val had some news to tell anyway, so they moved on from there. After her friends left though, Marla couldn’t forget what Theresa said about being ‘messed up by someone else’.

Past experiences formed the present character, ok.
Ric and Alicia were… not a conventional couple.
Did she ever have a chance?

Was it all predetermined?
Maybe to a certain extent.
She could hardly influence her childhood.
Who could?

Marla did think she had a say on her more adult years though. She spent the rest of the night wondering if she would have been someone different if she hadn’t met Eric.

Eric. Well.

Would she be different
if she’d never moved to New York?
Probably.
Those three years did change a lot.
Yet she couldn’t say she was completely altered.

She was still hardworking professionally.
Easy-going personally,
More optimistic than pessimistic.
And she still loved being in company.

That hadn’t changed,
The core was still the same.
Everything else though, that had gone through various revolutions.

She didn’t take things for granted as much as she used to.
She was more careful with herself, emotionally speaking.
She was no longer so reckless in her demands on life.
She had become a little more content with what she had.
Yes, that had changed.

All this pursuit of happiness,
it killed you.

It was a real chase on the other side, all the way over there.
It was like 5.0 racing through the square streets with all the sirens blaring.

And you had to give everything a shot,
you needed all the ammunition you got,
And then, when you thought you had it, this happiness,
this perfection that was apparently all what it was about –

Then it was skin and bones and hardly breathing,
and you had to race to the hospital to get a reanimation,
and have the doctor shake his head and order a steady diet,

real carbs
real fruits
real exercise
and fresh, fresh air

Which meant at least ten weeks in an exclusive help-centre in Vermont.

Marla hoped Heather was doing better.

They wrote emails, they talked on the phone. Heather wouldn’t Skype yet, she didn’t feel ready for a screen, but she was good with the phone. She said she had put on weight. She didn’t sound as stressed-out/spaced-out as she used to. Marla guessed that was a good thing.

Sadie said something like that would never have happened in San Francisco, but Marla wasn’t too sure. She packed her bags and returned home. She’d been thinking about it for some time anyway. Especially after Eric turned out to be as immature and irresponsible as her mother had warned her he would be – that was the worst part of it.

Marla felt it was that, that had angered her most about Eric:
That he made Marla make that concession,
That her mother was proven right instead of wrong.
How on earth was she ever to voice doubt again?

Anyway, now she was in Ferin Mews, living in a lovely loft.

With a happy blonde,
a quiet bartender,
and a whole Irish pub downstairs.
It wasn’t what she expected.
It wasn’t the West Side flat she shared with Heather

Heather who wanted to try out a bohemian life
before she married a stock broker,
and sent her kids to schools that taught Mandarin.

She only let Marla move in because
‘co-habs are character-building and so a good thing’
and Marla was ‘so exotic and beautiful and strange’
Heather, verbatim.

The place was ‘a treat’ as they said.
And Heather was really nice, once you got over her prep-school ways.

And exhausting.

It was so exhausting.
It drained everything out of her.
Eric. Heather. New York.

Everything she was,
everything she had,
it just got sucked in and disappeared.
Three years
one huge drain on her soul.
So she left.

She had to.
It was either that or no sanity.
Marla preferred to be sane.
And made sure to call Heather.
They wrote emails, texts, words
and once a week they talked on the phone.

Marla really hoped she was better.

August 20, 2014May 17, 2020

plus 1

It was raining again, which was good, he liked the rain crowd. They were quieter somehow, saner than what happened when the sun was out. Caden didn’t know what the sun did to people, if they heated up over the day more, so tempers just boiled over by the time they showed up. Summer fights were always much worse than when it rained or snowed. People had less on though, so maybe it was that. Cuts and punches went deeper, looked worse with nothing to soak up the blood. Whatever it was, Caden preferred the rain crowd, they tended to mind their own business more, drinking pints, ordering whatever Siobhan had on the menu, or standing at the boards and tables having a decent time.

It was a quiet day, so Caden checked the taps, the third one was giving some trouble lately. Turns out it wasn’t anything serious, the tubes just got twisted again, Christ he’d told Mike five times to watch out for that. Anyway, after that was fixed, he sorted out the last sign-up, they needed an extra set of speakers and were definitely having an entrance fee, they expected half their fanbase to show up. Caden did the math, and told Becca to get Sean on the tickets.

After that, Caden took three orders, two Guinness one lager for the three at the screen, Man U was playing, but they were Chelsea fans. The Merlot and the Chardonnay for the girls at the pool table, and two pints for the couple in the booth, arguing quietly. After that was done, he checked the menu Siobhan suggested for the next three days and changed the soup. It was bound to get warmer again next week, Steff kept on sending out updates about the weather. Once thought of, Caden couldn’t ignore it anymore. He needed a plus one. Steff had been very clear on having a full table. At the last dinner he couldn’t avoid, Richter basically begged him to come, he wouldn’t survive it otherwise, well, last time it was, ‘I swear to God Steve, if anyone of you fuck’s it up I will kill you. All of you. I mean it. It took me six months to set up everything, this is going to be perfect.’ So, if Caden wanted peace for the next five years, he needed a plus one.

Problem was, he didn’t have anyone to take with him. Sunny was coming anyway, but she wanted to stay free to ‘nab whatever fresh meat’s gonna be there’, which Caden didn’t comment on. So, a plus one. Only who? Sunny said he should ask Marla, but Caden didn’t want to ask Marla. Ever since Vicky got herself carted off to A&E, Marla looked at him like he was part of some Greek tragedy. He knew she was waiting for him to explain, but how start that? It was bad enough that she knew Vicky existed. People always got curious once he started, then they wanted to meet her and then the real mess began. Nah, better not. She still gave him those looks though. And frankly, it would be convenient to have her around. She’d be able to keep an eye on Sunny when he wasn’t looking.

It was after her girls came over again. It was like a ritual with them, once, maybe twice a month, Marla asked if she could have a bottle or two of his wines, always offering to pay, which was ridiculous. So he decanted one and left the other on the counter, half an hour later her girls piled into the house. They were the kind you’d expect on a hen night, loud, laughing, wolf-whistling down the street, especially that Theresa. She looked good, they all looked good actually, they kept themselves well, which was nice to see. He got to see some disturbing things these days. Half of them seemed to have forgotten their underwear. He couldn’t count the times he was faced with some girl, pissed through her brain, her tits spilling out onto the counter all naked. Or the other ones who started jumping around and he ended up hoping she at least had a thong on, some drunks were watching a bit too closely. He did keep a look out, but he couldn’t be everywhere all the time and anyway, it really wasn’t any of his business what they wore, as long as the Met didn’t turn up afterwards.

This time the crowd was quiet, there was no match on so it was just the usual Wednesday crowd, easy to deal with, regular, the kind Caden liked most. Coach Lewis dropped by for a couple pints and complained about Bayern Munich again, and Greggs couldn’t stop ranting about his wife, but it was all right, Caden didn’t mind. He just stood by, nodded when he had to, and wiped down the glasses in the back so he didn’t forget them again. It was an easy evening, and luckily, Marla’s girls were out by the time he closed up the place and went up. She was still in the kitchen though, the lights out, candles on the sideboard and the sill. She had a thing with candles. It was strange though, coming up and having her scrub pans in the sink. It felt like something out of a movie he’d probably seen somewhere. Anyway, he helped her with the last, she still had some wine left, so he poured out two glasses, they drank some and he finally asked if she was busy Saturday two weeks from now. She said, ‘Ah… no, I don’t think so, why?’ So he explained. Marla listened, nodding. He wrapped it up with,

‘You don’t have to but – it’s not too bad. It’s just a bit of a party really.’
‘Ok. Is it very – I don’t know – fancy?’

Caden smiled. Fancy didn’t even begin to describe.

‘Steff likes it… just think top hats and cut-aways.’
‘Oh. Ok. Wow. I’ll have to check what I’ve got –’
‘You’ll be fine –’
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ she smiled suddenly. It always caught him off guard. She had an incredible smile. ‘I’ll get enough help, Theresa’ll make sure of that.’

He liked how easy it was, how he didn’t have to watch out with how he explained it. He needed a plus one to Steff’s second wedding, and thought she’d be good company. Sunny would be there anyway, so they could all show up. Naturally she asked questions, but he could explain most of it without going into too much detail by the time they were done with the wine. She did say,

‘So she’s not really your sister?’
‘We grew up together.’
‘But you’re not related.’
Caden drained his glass and said, ‘No. Definitely not.’

Marla wanted to say something, he knew it, but she stopped herself, finished her wine and said,

‘Ok. I think I should go up, it’s been a long day. Good night.’
‘Night.’

He liked that about her. She really did mind her own business. And she’d stayed much longer in the loft than he expected. Maybe she wasn’t like all the others on the hill, but you never knew really. It could be good for three years, and then suddenly it was all wrong for God knows what reason. He never understood what happened with Ella. From one day to the next, she just got – vicious. Vicky said it was all Steff, dripping poison into her ear ‘like in that play, what’s it called.’ ‘Hamlet.’ ‘Yes, that. Poisoned her brain, that one, you bet your fuckin’ arse on it.’ Caden didn’t know, and it didn’t matter anymore anyway. Ella was history and Steff was getting married, which was two problems solved without much effort.

August 18, 2014May 17, 2020

the list

Caden looked at the number. If he took the call he would not say no. If he didn’t take the call the noise would never end. The song wouldn’t stop, the screen blinking madly. He really didn’t want to. But if he didn’t, Joan would call and he didn’t need to hear, ‘What’s wrong, darling, why’s Steff so cross?’ He took the call.

He was shaving when he heard it, ‘Oh come on! Are you serious?’ Next, three knocks, quick, loud. Caden said, ‘Yeah?’ and Sunny opened the door, waving a piece of paper in her hand. It looked like the list. Well, no wonder.

‘What’s this?’
‘What’s what?’
‘I thought you said you wouldn’t do it again.’

He cut a long swath through the shaving foam, flicked the razor in the water and started again. Three more to go.

‘Caden. You said you wouldn’t do it again.’

Another clear broadway through the white. Fred had shown him first. Matt wasn’t too happy, but Matt had nothing to shave off. It’s not like he pressed a button and started earlier just to spite him. Caden stopped a second. He hated how that still could annoy him, even now.

‘It’s good money,’ he said, after finishing the last stroke.
‘Yeah and they’re complete arseholes.’

Caden unplugged the sink, and watched the soapy water drain out. He remembered, clearly, the first time he forgot to rinse out the sink. Joan saying, really loud, ‘Who did this?’ as if he’d firebombed the house.

‘They talk down to you, Caden,’ Sunny said. ‘Like you’re some kind of… some kind of… I don’t know! Something they can just order and stare at. I hate that.’
‘It’s just an evening, Sunny,’ he said, bent down and rinsed the last of the foam off.
‘That’s a whole day, Caden. A whole day. Catering.’

She said it like it was something way below his dignity. Caden kept down a smile. Sunny had this thing that, if it wasn’t helping bands build a fanbase, or seeing the pub didn’t run dry, it was nothing.

‘You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Mike’ll be there and Becca and Siobhan’ll –’
‘Oh, I’ll do it. I just don’t see why you have to give in all the time – and don’t say it’s good money. I don’t care about the money. We don’t need it anyway.’
‘Yeah and I don’t need the noise.’

Sunny just stood there pouting. Sometimes she was sixteen all over again, Caden wondered if that would ever stop.

‘Look, you know how it’ll be if I say no. I don’t need that right now, so – it’s just an evening. There’ll be a band and an open bar, she said you can have what you want.’
‘Oh, how generous! M’lady deigns to let us drink her precious wines which are ours anyway for fuck’s sake. How can you put up with that?’

Caden smiled. It was nice, seeing her annoyance. It was genuine too.

‘I know it’s a pain, kid, but I don’t have the time for arguments. We’ll set up everything by five and you can leave by nine, so that’s just four hours, five max if it takes longer.’
‘Yeah, but what about you?’
‘What about me?’
‘Caden, that’s a whole evening with those twats, why’re you doing that to yourself?’
‘I’m not doing anything to myself,’ Caden said, flicked a towel off the heating rack and dried down.
‘It’s still –’
‘I’m just delivering some drinks, Sunny. You really don’t have to join up if you don’t want to, but it’s done anyway.’

Sunny just made a face and shook her head, strutting off like he was an idiot to give in again.

He’d have preferred not to do it, but if he said no he wouldn’t just have Steff all up in a miff, it’d be all of them breathing down his neck again. They’d been quiet for some time now, he didn’t need to change that for no reason. It’d be ok, he’d drive over, drop off the drinks and glasses and pick everything up the next day. He’d probably have to stop for a tumbler and palaver about something, anything. It was dull, but bearable. Steff had some chef on for the food, she just wanted the right wines, so it wasn’t a big deal really. It was strange though, how none of them ever got the hang of wines.

Adam had taken him to the South of France back then, Sunny in tow, fourteen and pissed off all the way until she saw the beaches, then they hardly saw her for the three weeks they were down there. It was business really, Adam was visiting some people he knew, a few microbreweries were staging an event, trying to break into new markets and Adam wanted to know what they had. There was that pavilion with smaller distilleries showing their latest single malts and single casks, they ended up buying a crate full of several different bottles. After that there were the wine cellars and the vineyards they went to, Adam speaking his seriously awful French, everybody winced when he started talking, telling Caden, ‘Try it son, try it,’ so he tried what was offered. He got the hang of it after the third cellar, and with Maurice adding the meals, it made sense.

Maurice lived in Nice and was a dictionary on food, wines and several obscure schnapps. They spent a week at his house, Sunny at the pool day and night, Adam and Maurice talking about their days working for Citroën which was how Adam could save up for the pub, he’d had enough of desk jobs and office life. Adam’s former office was one of Citroën’s suppliers, and Maurice was usually the one on the other end of the line. Over the years they started talking about more than car parts, velocity, pressure valves and tires, and finally became friends. They’d been visiting each other for years by the time they went over that summer, and it was nice seeing Adam laugh so much. That was about a year before the heart attack.

Now Caden had a pretty good list of whiskeys and wines, though he only used it for ‘The von Arseholes’ as Sunny called them. Sunny at sixteen was a full-out Goth. It was a phase, but the wrong phase to meet the Corrigans in. Steff was derisive, Joan horrified, and Fred just stared at her, asking, ‘Is something wrong with her? Why’s she so pale?’ Matt cackling out loud. Sunny heard it all and hated them ever since.

Sunny was convinced he was selling out, to Caden it was just business. The Corrigans had acres of friends and acquaintances who needed good drinks for their dinners and parties, they seemed to have one at least once a week. They knew to get the food right, but they were hopeless with liquids. So Caden got that sorted, and from the calls he was getting, he was doing a good job about it. The best part of it was that the more ridiculous the price, the more willing they were to give him the job. Nowadays, one evening catering to Steff and Joan’s friends was enough to stock up O’Connor’s for a month. Matt’s people were no different, and Fred’s could buy out all his whiskeys if Caden didn’t watch out. With all that, Sunny could huff all she wanted, business was business, and they weren’t all bad either. Well. Some were ok. So there was really nothing to worry about.

Caden was just done with his coffee when the front door opened and Marla walked in. Now there was a real problem. He still didn’t know why he agreed to it. She’d looked harmless. Pretty, yeah, but nothing to worry about, at least not like that. Turns out he was as wrong as he could be. She smiled, ‘Hi’ and said, ‘Going down?’ Caden nodded, and left it at that. He knew he didn’t say much to her, but it was a conscious avoidance. It was her breasts. There were a bit too there. And those clothes. They showed off everything. And in general the fact that she was everywhere. The house was tidier since she moved in. He kept on finding things quicker. Sunny didn’t leave all her stuff lying around anymore. And she was always cooking, it wasn’t bad either. And she smelled good, which was something Caden did not want to notice.

It was annoying actually. He didn’t want the changes. He’d start getting used to them, and then what? This was temporary for her, he knew it. Women like her only stayed a few months in a place like upstairs. And he knew Sunny had no clue. He’d have his work cut out for him once Marla moved out again, Sunny grew so attached to people. Moped for three months when Ella stopped coming over, like he purposely fucked up her life. Granted she was seventeen, barely out of school, still undecided. With Adam gone and Ella out of the house… he got that, but still. Caden wished he’d thought about that before he agreed to have Marla move in, but now it was too late.

Sunny loved having her around though, he hadn’t seen her this happy in months. She kept on giving him updates of whatever Marla was doing, ‘Marla’s on the hill right now, but she’ll be back by seven.’ ‘Marla lived in India for five years, crazy isn’t it?’ ‘Marla’s out with her girls, they’re really nice.’ ‘Marla used to work in New York, I wonder why she moved back here.’ ‘Marla’s going shopping, she asked if you needed anything.’ ‘Marla’s really quiet, don’t you think? I thought she’d be the louder sort.’ ‘Did you see Marla’s sari? It’s gorgeous isn’t it?’ It was constant and there was no way to make her stop. Caden didn’t want to know anything about Marla. The less he knew the better. She’d be moving out soon anyway, so why bother, but Sunny didn’t care.

It really was annoying. Coming up to the flat used to be a way to wind down. Now closing up the pub just meant having to face her afterwards. If she was awake that is. Caden was actually relieved when she wasn’t. She was still up there though, and it didn’t help knowing that. She had this really bad habit of running around in her bathrobe in the mornings. It was quick, yeah, she only did it to grab some toast and tea before she ran back up again, but he still had her right there, in front of him, and it was… fucking irritating. She’d looked harmless. Pretty yeah, but nothing to worry about. At least not like that. Pleasant, that was it. He remembered thinking, ‘Yeah, she’s fine.’ Sane, put together, someone who’d mind her own business. And she was sane, she was put together. She really did mind her own business. She still ran around in that tacky bathrobe where you saw everything. Not on Sundays though, thank God. It was weird, sitting with her at the kitchen table, having her flip through a newspaper or some magazines left over from the week, telling him something completely random she found in the pages. Sometimes he was sure she just wanted to start a conversation, but he wasn’t starting that. He didn’t want any habits to grow, any traditions to spread. It’d be hard enough dealing with Sunny once she moved out again, he didn’t have to get used to things as well.

August 18, 2014May 17, 2020

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.

mary janes 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.

coffee 6

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.

August 18, 2014May 17, 2020

at the window, 1

So maybe she was a little different, ok.
Maybe she did live an unusual life, all right.

Alain Delon was beautiful. Back then.
Then he went Bardot. A pity.

So maybe she thought a bit too much.

Romy Schneider? Gorgeous.
She’d love to have a swimming pool.

Crystal blue. Shrubs and greenery seaming the stone.
Hot, hot days.
White cushions to sink into.
Drinking longdrinks, ice clinking, stumbling about.
Without all that mess in the end.

‘Intellectual’ was a silly word.
She took the time to think one thought through to the end
before starting with another.

It started in Paris, as these things start. Then there was India, then a long stint in New York. Finally, London where one could find India just a few streets away.

How many of them wished they were young again?
Young and beautiful and daring
without all those crazy mistakes they made?
How many wanted none of that, and were actually that thing that was so rare: How many were happy, content, blissfully self-aware?

Alone in her room, naked except for an old bathrobe, Marla continued smoking her cigarette. She rarely smoked, but right now she felt like one. Windows open, the night black, lights speckling the emptiness. The bathrobe was a cheap piece from a corner shop in Camden, cream with black borders. A violently red and purple dragon with golden fangs and talons on the back. The black sash kept everything from falling wide open.

Behind her, La Piscine, The Swimming Pool, flickering across the screen. She carried the whole thing up there just recently, plugged in all the cables, figured out all the channels, and found a way to get that French one as well. No advertisements, just movies, short and long, documentaries, reports, news, interviews, exactly what a girl wanted.

Delon smoldered on the screen.
Schneider beamed back, cheekily.
They were beautiful. Back then. What a pity.
Age should not happen to people.
It softened something, in the muscles, in the brain.

And then you started saying very stupid things
with absolute conviction.

But he was that. Then. So was she, but she… that was sad. A real pity.
And the cute girl with the cropped hair, sun-kissed skin and the blotched bright dress, pouting. As she would, if he ran off like that. What happened to her? Was she ever seen, filmed, screened again?

Marla turned away, she knew the rest.

Standing at the open window, she drank from her cup of tea.
The chill breeze slipped icily over her skin. She didn’t move though. She didn’t readjust the belt, everything was slipping, but she was safe from curious eyes. All around were only rooftops and chimneys.

It was quiet enough to hear that low throb of the pub downstairs.

If she thought about it long enough, it was as if the music was rising up through her toes, up past her calves and thighs, all the way into her.

He had taught her not only to listen, but to feel.
How old was she, five? Seven? Somewhere there.

Sitting cross legged in front of the record player, having him hold her on his lap, telling her who the singer was, where they were playing, showing her the sleeves. She understood nothing, but she felt it, the music, rising up from the floor through her toes and soles, up her legs all the way into her, until it wrapped itself around her heart and filled the beat, until she felt it way down to what she knew was her core.

Singing to the music was a part of it after that. Humming, tapping, clapping, remembering the lyrics when it caught that cord in her soul.

That was them, then. Alicia and Ric, Ma and Pa.
The music, the laughter, the crazy friends.
Those late nights where Marla would wake up and hear the bongos and guitars downstairs, the singing and laughter. Always the laughter, real, genuine, from the heart.

And she would creep down with Jackson and Sadie, and see their mother and father dance and sing, and play their instruments with their friends, drinking straight out of wine bottles and finishing a whole bottle of whisky, sometimes even climbing onto the table top. Or when Bella, Dr. Garcia’s Andalusian wife, would dance a flamenco that was breathtaking.

Bella showed them how to make paella, her mother was from the north east, near Bilbao. She said it wasn’t right if you weren’t close to the sea. Marla still made it at family dinners.

It was a Brandon tradition to eat dinner together, all five of them, Alicia, Ric, Jackson, Sadie and herself, mother, father, and three kids. Dinners were always loud, boisterous. Arguments, laughter, more arguments. Plates, bowls and drinks, salt, pepper, chutney and masala passed around without actually breaking the conversation.

Her new housemates were quiet eaters.
If they did eat together, which was rare.
If they did eat together, then it was done quickly, as if eating was a nuisance to get over with.

Marla loved long dinners. She watched, amazed.

The hasty cooking, the impatient sitting down and getting up, the rush to rinse dishes and stack everything into the dish washer. If anything was said, then it had to do with plans for the pub, some new acquaintance Sunny had made the previous night or what was happening in her circle of friends.

Caden seemed to have no private life.
At least he never mentioned one.

He seemed only to exist to see that the pub did good business, that the supplies were well-stocked, and that the bands signed up in time and had enough equipment.

The tea was still warm, almost hot, nicely smooth and sweet.
The cup warmed her hand, the cigarette glowing in the dark, red.

He wasn’t rude, nor in fact quiet.
He was simply very sparse with his words.
Attentive though. And observant.

You had to be, to keep a pub running without fights breaking out.
That bloke who thought someone had looked at his girl wrong.
Those two who thought Sunny was fair game.
Caden just needed to ask the person if he could help him on and all was settled again.

It didn’t happen often though. O’Connor’s was a place where friends came to have a pint, play a game of darts or pool. Every now and then old rivalries would break through, yes, but if Sunny couldn’t break it up, Caden would.

He really didn’t do anything.
He was just there.
It was that look.
Hard to describe really.

And then there was Sunny. They were so different in temperament and character. Marla was surprised that they managed to live in the same house for so long.

She knew bits and pieces now.

What was now the office used to be Adam O’Connor’s room, the man who took over the derelict pub many years back, at least twenty from what Marla understood. Caden’s last name was Tellis though, so he could hardly be Adam’s son. Sunny was Adam’s niece, she moved in with Adam in her early teens. There was more to that, but she couldn’t ask yet. In a few weeks, maybe.

Adam passed away a few years back, four or five, Marla couldn’t say.

They missed him, both in their own way. Sunny with comments that started with, ‘Adam used to say’, Caden by never mentioning him unless Sunny made him, and then only very little. They must have been close though. Caden rightfully owned O’Connor’s and the whole house with it.

How did that happen?
She would have to wait.
A few months maybe.

Marla drew on her cigarette, exhaled.
Her fingers were still stained from the Henna.
Diwali was just a week away.

Sunny walked into the kitchen and asked Marla about the lamps. Marla explained about the fight of good and evil, the victory of the light within. Sunny was surprised. A bit amused. She asked if she was into religion, a bit as if Marla had a limp. Marla made tea and asked Sunny if she wanted a cup. They sat down at the scrubbed-wood table, and Marla explained her years in India, seven in total, rain seasons in Mumbai, and summers in Madras with family friends.

Lighting the candles.
Standing on the veranda,
hearing the insects, seeing the night.
The ocean, wide.
Stars out in billions.
Life.

They had a long talk about what it meant to have a faith, if it made sense to have one and what Sunny believed in – ‘I mean, I guess there’s something, but I really wouldn’t know what it is, y’know?’ – and how it had been to go to confession when she felt she had nothing to confess. It was the first serious talk they had. It left Marla with the feeling that despite her happy, chatty ways, Sunny did have a few deeper thoughts in her head.

Caden said nothing to the lamps, the candles, nor the mehndi Marla painted on Sunny’s hands. Sunny really liked them, ‘It’s like a tattoo but it isn’t? That’s totally cool!’

That afternoon was filled with stories about make-up, fashion and boys. A lot about boys. Mostly about boys actually, and what utter idiots they were. And how cute. And how stupid. And how sweet. And how thick. And how lovely. And how utterly useless, really there was no point in them anyway. But whatever-his-name was really hot, drool-worthy, awesome.

Marla smiled. Sunny was twenty after all.
Marla had mellowed to live and let live, but Sunny still made radical stands.
Twenty.
That was almost ten years ago. A decade. A whole decade.
She was thinking in decades now.
Like when she said ‘last time’ and realised it was actually three years ago.
And ‘yesterday’ had turned into last year.