girlfriends – three good words

October 7, 2016May 16, 2020

Ellen, revised

Hello, all you lovely people. I don’t know how many of you remember this short story, but I thought I’d rewrite it again, see what I can do with it. I’m in a bit of a revising mood. Oh, and here’s the original – actually, a first draft – if you’d like to compare :)
j.d.

It was ridiculous where they met again.

Ellen was shopping at the deli for a dinner she’d promised her friends. She had most of what she needed at home except the ciabatta and two or three cheeses to round off the menu, her friends were picky like that. Scanning a selection of blues, Ellen heard someone not far off start an order very precisely – ‘. . . ten slices of the Dijon one, please, yes thank you, and fifty grams of the St Aubrey, no make it a hundred.’

Ellen looked over to observe this particular specimen of wealth. It was the voice: it was soaked with the certainty of real gold and genuine diamonds. The woman was, unsurprisingly, a tall blonde with perfectly done hair. She was over forty by a few years, maybe more, but she’d kept herself very well. Quite the looker actually, stunning in the right light. Her makeup was perfect, her clothes of the best quality. The jewellery flashing at her ears, around her neck and on her fingers was not tacky, and her handbag was that particular kind of smooth dusty blue that whispered bespoke. She was beautiful and rich, quite likely the CEO of something, or a therapist, maybe an attorney. There was a self-assuredness about her that spoke of genuine . . . power. Ellen saw how other customers glanced at her admiringly, the shop assistants behind the counter standing to attention like the rank and file, smiling brightly.

‘Honey, what do you say? A little Beluga or would Salmon be enough?’

Wait, they sell Beluga here? Ellen had always wanted to try some, just to see if it really was worth the preposterous price. Ellen tried to concentrate on which of the blues she should pick, but couldn’t help herself, she looked again. The blonde was talking to a man who must have turned up at one point. He was tallish with perfectly cut dark hair and wearing a suit of course. There was something in the way he moved that made Ellen look again. He had to be older though, never mind the dyed grey. Maybe a little discrete Botox around the eyes – no, that neck was too young for early, maybe mid-fifties, unless surgeries were getting really good lately. By the smoothness of that neck, and something in the way he moved, he had to be at least ten years younger than the blonde, maybe even fifteen. Then again, you could never tell with these people. Fork over fifty grand and suddenly you looked twenty years younger and fooled everyone.

Say, the blonde. She could have been fifty already, but she did look great. Round breasts too, possibly with the help of an enhancement. Her legs were slender and very long. Her whole body looked firm, all the gentle curves in their right place. She probably went jogging every day, yoga, some cardio – or she had a personal trainer, some super-encouraging Chris or Tyler with a six-pack and a health plan. Ellen turned back to her blues, full of carbs and lactose and bacteria. Health plans weren’t all that bad, really. Lucia was a nutritionist wasn’t she? At least she was working on her portfolio. Got everyone in their circle started on almonds, honey, and kale, though Ellen tried not to overdo it with the quinoa, she was more of a couscous person anyway. They did say it paid off later if you took care of your ‘intake saturation’, whatever that meant. Ellen felt it was bit like a down-payment for a house you’d later be living in. Make sure the walls didn’t cave in and all the furniture was in place once you were set to go. And anyway, who knew what would be around when she was past her 50s? Look at the world now, avocados everywhere.

But she liked avocados, long before it was fashionable to obsess about them in online photo-shoots where the poor things always ended up de-stoned and half-naked, sliced, baked, cubed and sprinkled over sauteed eggs. The blonde was ordering again. And really, if she had the means to keep herself really well, why not use them? Ellen wasn’t one to say no to a stint in a day-spa either. The blonde really did look good, not just pretty: beautiful. Was it all that surprising then that she was with someone far younger than herself? Men did that all the time. Suddenly they got their prescribed crisis and started shopping for ‘new and improved’. Now women were catching up too, and this woman actually looked really good, so why not? Ellen picked out a Belgian blue.

While the shop assistant sliced away, Ellen witnessed a short discussion between the blonde and her companion. It was too low for Ellen to hear and she anyway had to figure out how much Gruyère she wanted, the shop assistant was already smiling very helpfully. Ellen decided for the usual, a nice wedge that showed goodwill to her guests and wouldn’t make her hate herself next time she checked her bank statement. The rich blonde chose Beluga after all, wow, a whole tin of the stuff, Christ – but then, what was a fortune to Ellen was probably just peanuts for that beautiful woman. Ellen tried not to care.

The smiling shop assistant packed up Ellen’s cheeses in perfect wraps of brown paper and string, they looked as ‘no filter’-worthy as ever. Ellen couldn’t help think that the rich blonde would have been able to buy a piece of everything, not just the Belgian blue, the Gruyère, and some excellent Cheddar that her friends loved and somehow never could find on their own. The rich blonde would have bought enough to put together one of those fantastic cheese platters with grapes, figs, pine-nuts, and artsy sprays of aceto balsamico online folks kept on posting to the vast envy of everyone who knew how much the damn slices actually cost . . . But, Ellen wasn’t the blonde. She had a good life though, she really couldn’t complain. It just wasn’t as richly expensive, as glitteringly affluent as the blonde’s – that had to be Prada, surely. Then again, wasn’t it nice to see that a woman had such money and power, and not just status. She was definitely no Mrs. let alone the-wife-of. Everything about her told Ellen that she had worked hard to get where she was now, that she owed little to others and really owned herself. It was in a way reassuring. The possibility, at least, was there.

The cheeses were wrapped. Ellen smiled a thank you at the shop assistant and took the bag with Deluca’s Delicatessen curled across the pistachio green paper, showing the world once more that Ellen was an adult now, with money to spare. She actually went shopping in delis and knew what to buy there. She probably shouldn’t have felt so . . . satisfied by that fact, but she wouldn’t deny herself the pleasure either. She just finished a very adult kind of shopping – cheese for crying out loud. She was definitely a grown up.

Due to a sudden crowding at the second sale’s counter, Ellen had to walk the other way, past the rich blonde and whoever she was with. Still riding on the pleasurable wave of proven adulthood, Ellen said ‘Excuse me’ graciously, and moved past the other customers as best as she could, avoiding the stacked wheels of Gouda, the slim glasses of black olives, and the exotic olive oils. Maybe it was curiosity that made her check, but Ellen did take a closer look at the beautiful blonde, Mr tall, dark, and possibly handsome at her side – really, they looked Hollywood-cast.

It was only a glance, a glimpse of his face, just as they too turned to leave.

There was a second of genuine shock. Not surprise, but something equal to the sudden snap and crackle of electric when she put on her favourite rainy-day sweater: a jolt that was almost painful, making her whole body jump inside her skin. Heart racing, Ellen finally stopped at a shelf full of chutneys and breathed in deeply. Maybe she had seen wrong. Yes, maybe she had seen wrong. She must have. It would be ridiculous to meet in a place like this, especially if he was with that blonde. And who would she be anyway? But she had called him ‘Honey’. Maybe she was his mother? Even before thinking it, Ellen knew that was wrong. If the blonde had children at all, they would not be older than ten.

A row of chutneys glared back at her in oranges and reds. She must have seen wrong. It was probably a trick of the light and it was really only a glimpse. Anyone could look like anything in a second. Yes, exactly. Ellen exhaled and went to pay her cheeses and ciabatta. She had to wait in line and couldn’t help it, she looked along the other queue, Deluca’s was a middle sized place, maybe a quart smaller than that Trader Joe’s she went to in New York. They were there. She was in her open Burberry, marine sheath and Prada handbag, and he was in that suit. There was no way he bought it himself, he’d been a ripped jeans, vintage shirt, and beanie kind of person. She was talking to him and he was nodding. Ellen recognized the movement. It was in the shoulders and the turn of his head. It was in the way his hair fell and the angle of his face, showing a profile she could not forget. Just as the blonde moved to pay, he turned and their eyes met. Three things happened at the same time. Ellen’s mind forgot all the words. Her mouth remembered, ‘Fuck’. Her ears heard she actually said that out loud.

The older lady in front of her launched a baleful stare. Ellen couldn’t care less. It was him. Denying it was impossible, she knew it deep down, possibly on a molecular level. And he knew it was her, she could see it. ‘Miss?’ the young man at the cashier asked. Ellen heard herself say, ‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’ She almost dropped the bag of cheeses, her hands had forgotten how to hand. Blushing such a flaming red the heat radiated off her skin, Ellen paid, not without dropping her card, then punching in the wrong number. Everything was going wrong, falling apart. Finally her fingers remembered what they were supposed to do. Payment accepted, receipt, a generic ‘Have a nice day’.

They walked past her just as she was done. He did not look. They left Deluca’s as a new couple came in and were gone. Ellen thanked the young man at the cashier and walked out into the rest of her evening.

Ellen tried, but denial was not possible. She had seen. He was not a figment of her imagination after all, as she had come to believe over the past year, ok, seven months. Six and half. And three days. Four.

It had been too perfect, suspiciously so. Those weeks had been too wonderful to be real. She must have read it or seen it somewhere. It could not have happened. Probably some rom-com Beverly made her watch. It could not have happened if she woke up that Monday morning and it was as if nothing had ever happened. Ellen had come to believe that, since it made it easier. She could live with it if she believed it was a dream, a hallucination, something she made up. If it did try to creep in, she’d act like it was a snippet from a movie. Easy questions like, Where did she read that? Probably a blurb or magazine somewhere. A fiction, that was how she could live with it, bear it. By believing it never really happened, she could smile ‘I’m fine’ and type out a ‘thumbs up’ and various species of smiley faces. Now that was impossible. It was him. She would have recognized that face anywhere.

Home. Ellen climbed the stairs, trying not to think further than that she got the cheeses she wanted and that the ciabatta was fresh – ‘Oh. Hi.’ Tara, one of her best friends, was waiting in front of her door with bags of shopping, grinning, ‘I got bored waiting and decided you need some help.’ Ellen smiled gratefully, opened the door to her apartment and stepped back into her life. Once in her tiny kitchen she started preparing the dinner she promised her friends, laughing with Tara who had new office stories to tell, Tara’s work was basically Parks & Rec. She really was a great friend. She somehow always knew when to turn up in time, almost as if she had a radar for when Ellen was about to ‘fall off the deep end’ as she called it. Once again, Tara lassoed Ellen back in, Ellen who smiled and laughed and was just grateful.

A week later. Ellen came home feeling exhausted. The whole week had been one giant drain. She had managed her dinner quite well, what with Tara making her laugh the whole time. Once Jeff, Leon, Beverly and whoever she was seeing again, Ellen always forgot his name, joined everything was great again anyway. But even after they left the memory was there, waiting like a bear-trap under pretty maple leaves, snapping shut the moment Ellen walked into her bedroom. The tears were back, but she refused. She would not. She refused to. It would not happen. No tear would pearl and slide, she would not reach for any Kleenex, she would simply brush her teeth, change for bed, and sleep.

Ellen managed very well until she was in bed, turned on the TV and found one of those sticky-sweet movies, the one with that young woman who had a face like a sweet young puppy – and just got kicked like one by the bastard friend she had, shouting gleefully, ‘He’s just not that into you!’ or something like that. The jerk of a friend was really relishing it. Ellen saw the tears slide down the pretty face on-screen and clenched her teeth. She would not. She would not. But she did. Awfully. She cleaned out her whole box of Kleenex, she just couldn’t stop.

Somehow Ellen fell asleep. When she woke up she saw the massacre of Kleenex on her bed and floor. That was the beginning of the end. Saturday was . . . not good. It was so bad, she called Lucia, because she’d already annoyed Tara enough with the mess, Tara who told her, ‘You sure about this?’ back then, adding, ‘He’s a bit too, y’know.’ She never said what ‘y’know’ was. Anyway, Ellen couldn’t tell Tara because Tara would inevitably be very sensible and sane about it and Ellen didn’t want sensible and sane. She wanted, ‘I’m so sorry, honey, that must have been awful,’ because it was. Lucia was very patient when it came to midnight sobbing. Except Lucia was ‘detoxing from connectivity’ again and never took her calls. Sunday turned up all shiny and bright like it didn’t care, and it might have gotten much worse if Lucia hadn’t come over after all. She’d gotten an ‘emergency vibe’ from her blanked phone and so switched it on. ‘That’s when I saw your calls, sweetie. I grabbed some stuff and came over, you poor thing.’ Ellen just nodded and sobbed and let her in.

Lucia had with her almond milk because cows were sacred, Ecuadorian coffee straight from the farmer whose barista cousin she met personally, ‘Angél is such a dear’; vegan carrot cake ‘from that place Olli talked about? They’re really good at this, trust me’, and two bottles of organic wine that she swore ‘was really good, I promise, Ellie, really, I checked this time, you’ll love it.’ Most importantly, she also had a jute bag of DVDs with her, because one thing about Lucia was that she was a die-hard rom-com fan. This always surprised Ellen because, to her knowledge, Lucia had been a Gender Studies post-grad in another life, one that was full of steaks, milkshakes, and chilli cheese fries. She didn’t like talking about it. Ellen was not going to argue this time either, made room for Lucia on her bed and thus the rest of her Sunday was spent watching all kinds of ‘love-drenched screen-treacle’ as Tara called it, eating vegan carrot cake that wasn’t half bad actually, and drinking genuinely excellent coffee. Ellen remembered to give compliments to Angél. Lucia smiled proudly as if she’d picked the beans herself. Ellen reminded her snide side to be kind, Lucia was being a genuine friend.

They watched one rom-com after the other, the worse the better. Lucia was convinced it was all cathartic reverse therapy. Ellen had no idea what that meant, but it did help in some way, since at one point they both had enough of loud orchestras, spectacular sunsets, and gliding shots of longing stares, and just sat and talked and laughed like friends, drinking the organic wine that was better than ok but not actually fine. They ended up falling asleep on Ellen’s bed, chuckling sleepily at the awful quotes they still remembered from their rom-com binge.

Monday showed up without asking and Ellen had a headache, a bad one, but she didn’t mind too much. Lucia was gone by the time her alarm went off, but she had taped a post-it to Ellen’s forehead, Lucia liked to do things like that. It was hugs and kisses and Need to talk? Call me! :), which made Ellen smile a real smile. Lucia had her ways, but she really was a very sweet friend, she really was. Ellen crawled out of bed, showered, dressed and went to work, lying that she felt a bit under the weather when someone asked her what was wrong. It was pouring outside so they believed her.

Even so, each day was a trial. By Thursday, Ellen was exhausted all over again. She didn’t want to remember anymore. The memories didn’t care and invaded everything. Kicking them out was a constant effort. By Friday, though, she began to feel that anger she loved, that anger that was her friend, that anger that she had met him – in a delicatessen of all places! He’d made fun of such places. He’d called them pretentious, ‘Just another way any basic urbanite can show off.’ And she foolishly believed he meant it. That anger Ellen wanted returned, the fury that she listen so avidly, answered so truthfully, and actually believe everything that happened meant something was happening. That rage that she had been stupid enough to give herself away like that, as if she didn’t know about the games people played. Ellen loved that anger, it brought her back into the life she knew, the life that was hers again. By Saturday morning Ellen knew her anger was real. Soon, very soon, she would spend her hours and days furiously living her own life, relishing her own peace of mind. She would, however, wait a few more weeks until she went to Deluca’s Delicatessen, she wasn’t particularly interested in being a full adult again.

July 20, 2015

07/04

July Fourth and they were all in New Jersey at a grand cook-out in Inez’ parent’s back yard. Inez had invited everyone, and almost all had come: Chloë and someone new by the name of Will (Nicolas was hi-sto-ry, oh, you wouldn’t believe), Clarissa with her Greg, who had recently been promoted to ‘the love of her life’ (though she still wasn’t sure if he wasn’t seeing someone else ‘on the sly’), Olivieri with Rachel (calm and content as always) and Matisen alone. He’d decided Inez had to have some hot cousin he could chat up and talk into God-knew-what, Lana didn’t even want to know.

By the look of it he was succeeding very well with a certain Isabella, it was depressing really. Never mind all that, there was her, Lana with Timothy, Timothy who had his arm around her whenever he could. There were tables and chairs set up in small groups, children racing around, the Santa Cruz talking and laughing animatedly, merengue cascading out of the enormous stereo on the veranda, one whole side of the garden an enormous smorgasbord of delicious food. The sky was wonderfully blue, the parade worth seeing, and everyone happy to have a day off to celebrate.

Lana was already on her third margarita, her fingers still sticky from the fantastic barbecue, not that she was complaining, Inez’ family really knew their food. She was anyway laughing at Inez, who couldn’t stop grumbling about another suitor her family had set her up with, this time a certain Ramón. He seemed quite nice, not bad-looking either, but Inez ‘so didn’t care’, though she remained polite. They all meandered from table to table, listened in to wild stories about the Santa Cruz’ life in New Jersey, laughing with everyone, and generally had a really good time. Every now and then Timothy would pull Lana close and kiss her lips, always gently with a hint of more, making Inez’ mother wink at Lana and then give her daughter a telling look that made Inez sigh and roll her eyes.

July Fourth and it turned out to be one of the few days in a long while where Lana was just happy to be where she was, with her friends and Timothy, her surrogate family. July Fourth and for a few hours Lana was just happy to be alive.

November 5, 2014February 9, 2015

hook, line…

Not PG rated

Word was out. Chris ‘Dizzy’ Leroy was out of the clink, his boys were already waiting. Tall enough to try for the pro leagues if he’d ever had a head for school, Chris was muscular too, inked up nice, he always went to the pros. Everyone called him Dizzy, he no longer remembered why, just like no one knew he never liked it.He was Chris, but the only person who called him that was his Gran, Gran who opened her arms wide when he walked up the stairs, smiling ‘My boy’s back’ before hugging him with her tiny arms. Said nothing about how strong the woman was though. Dragged him down the street once, nearly tore his ear off, hollerin’ how often she told him to get back when the lights came on, he had no goddamn manners. That was Gran though, tough as nails. Best woman on the whole fuckin’ planet.

Friday night, and Tala was out clubbing with her girls. It was just them, no guys, they were going to have some fun. Tala was in the best mood. The week was good, her boss praised her for finishing the project perfectly in record time, and she meant it too. Nobody looked pissed, she was getting ‘genuine feedback’ as they called it. She could see that they were taking her seriously now, she really did know what she was doing. Those night courses really were helping, it was good that she followed through with that.

Now it was Friday, and Tala felt like partying, celebrating, simply enjoying herself, and going out with her girls was just the thing. The club was great, the house was packed, everyone was having such an awesome time Tala just felt happy. Then she turned and saw him. Great build. The kind of chocolate skin that made a girl lick her lips. Ripped. You could see it past that shirt. And a calm face, the kind of seriously handsome dark face with eyes that just sucked you in. She looked a little more, then she stopped. Her Moma told her to stay away from them. No matter how good they looked. ‘They like sugar, girl. The better they look, the worse they are. You need to look out for your health with that head o’ yours. It’s just too good to waste on all that honey that don’t keep your stomach full.’ Or the other one, it was last weekend actually, they were out shopping and of course her Moma caught her looking at Will Delaney who was picking up some ice and had grown up to look real good. Tala got, ‘Stop givin’ him those looks,’ for that. ‘Next thing you know he’s hangin’ around my porch like some lost puppy. What? Look at him. Best way to get yourself big, and I ain’t talkin’ about fat. And a Delaney too. All talk and no sense, those boys. Why’re you still lookin’? Didn’t you hear anything I just said?’ So Tala, dancing in the club with her girls, Tala turned back to her drink and didn’t look again.

Chris had decided it was time to see people. He hadn’t been with a woman since he was out of the joint, and he wanted to see some again. There was this new place everyone was talkin’ about so he decided to join. He had to get back to normal, remember how it was outside. It was his second time now, the first time he was in juvi at fourteen, Gran nearly killed him after. This second time it was either three months for him or six years for Dwayne, his cousin, who talked him into driving that bullshit car… just thinking about it got Chris to the wrong side of angry. He’d known it was bad. He just didn’t think Dwayne was that fucking stupid. Still, it was six years for his cousin, if he didn’t say nothin’, so he spoke up. Dwayne got two, he got three months since he’d been steady since Gran nearly put him in a coffin after juvi, but the Feds had to do something, and the judge knew it.

Anyway, he was out now, finally, the air smelled real again, and there were women everywhere. Chris didn’t want to rush it though, push it too fast and suddenly you had a set of claws in your back you never saw coming. Or some thug who decided you’d looked at his girl wrong. So Chris hung back, watched first, loving what he was seeing. The place was packed up tight, and the women… yeah, this was – what the – There, again. That girl, dancing. Fuck… Everything, just everything about her was… He wanted to feel that ass in his hands, all round. He wanted those legs around him, he wanted her naked and wet, fuck, he’d fuck her so good, she’d never want anythin’ else – there was no way he was just gonna stand around and do nothin’.

Chris walked up to her when one of her girls went to get more drinks. He stayed to the side and watched her, he didn’t want to come on too fast , but fuck she was… He waited till she looked. She did and smiled, shyly. She had style. There were no guys around her, and she only danced with her girls. When they left the floor he sent her a drink, something simple but good and she appreciated it, smiling at him and raising her glass. He could see how her girls worked her to do something, how she looked and got all shy again and smiled. He helped her by walking half the distance. Finally, she came over. She said Hi, and he nodded, said what he had to say, what her name was, who she was with. She told him, smiling like that, still shy. He wanted to peel that top off her and see those tits that were just waiting for his mouth, fuck they were… Her skin looked… he’d forgotten how perfect, perfect really was.

They talked some his name, hers, Tala, Chris, what she was doin’ out with her girls, the dj, the music, the club, until one of his boys crashed in and he saw how she got scared. Ray wasn’t the type a girl like her would look at twice, and Ray just slapped his back and nearly fucked it all up. She went back to her girls, ran back actually, and Chris tried not to show how pissed he was. Fuck Ray. She didn’t look at him again, so he did his best to get rid of Ray and finally could got him to stay busy with some girl whose tits were almost spilling out, but by then Tala was already leaving. Chris left the club and finally called after her out on the curb. She stopped and talked to her girls who pushed her towards him. He said, ‘Sorry ‘bout that. Ray’s some of my old crowd.’ ‘He’s not, like, dangerous, is he?’ she asked, her eyes wide. He wanted to touch her so bad he’d have sworn Ray was a fucking angel if he’d known that would get her to stay. ‘They’re gone,’ was all he said. She looked less nervous, but still nervous. He had to get her to stay with him, so he said, ‘Look. I’d like to see you. How ‘bout you pick a place and I’ll see you there.’ She looked confused. ‘See me? When?’ ‘Now. If you got time.’ She looked back at her girls who were giggling and waving her to stay. ‘Well…’ ‘Pick a place. Any place.’ ‘Not mine,’ she said, looking nervous again. ‘Ok.’ ‘And not yours either.’ ‘Ok.’ ‘I’d say a hotel, but…’ ‘But what?’ ‘I’m not a prostitute,’ she said, and he knew, just the way she said it, he knew this one had brains. He didn’t know why that just made everything ten times better. Brains usually meant trouble, but he wouldn’t mind trouble from her. ‘Never thought you were,’ he said. ‘Know one?’ he added. ‘One?’ ‘Hotel? Know one we could go to?’ ‘Um… yeah. I mean… yeah, I do.’ ‘Ok.’

So they went, taking a cab, she wouldn’t get into his car. They reached the place, he’d never seen it before, though he knew the street. They went in and she smiled at the girl up front who said ‘Tala! Hey, darling!’ She smiled and they whispered and finally she had a card and they went up to the room. There was a mini bar, she said they could use it, so he mixed a Jack with coke, and they were on the couch and she looked at him with, ‘So. What next?’ He showed her. She loved it. She loved it so much she gave him her number the next mornin’.

October 24, 2014May 17, 2020

saying hi

Not PG Rated

I just wanted to drop by, say Hi, see how she’s doing. Jermaine and Vaughn were waiting in a bar downtown, and her place was on the way. I walked in with the take-away guy, she looked pretty shocked to see me. She didn’t have enough money on her for her order, she’d confused the bills, so I paid. Her face got seriously red then, like, cherry. That guy she’s dating must be totally whipped by now.

She let me in though, offered a beer so I thought hell, why not, my boys can wait. We even shared her dinner, though she said it was mine coz I’d paid. I told her to stop worrying about that, and we had a good time just talking. Kind o’ got outta hand though. It’s the way she looks at you, with those huge eyes, they’re this deep blue, like she’s begging you to get her clothes off nice and fuck her real slow, y’know, real good, and that’s kind o’ what happened. She looked real bad after, guilty, so I pulled her close, y’know, tryin’ to comfort her and tell her it’s ok, happens to everyone at some point, and that kind o’ got outta hand as well. She was crying afterwards, said she was a horrible person, and how could she ever look Sean in the eye again, over and over, she just wouldn’t stop.

So, I tried to calm her down, told her this had nothing to do with him, it was her life, not his. She stared at me like I’d just shot someone, so I told her the truth, it would do her no good to start talkin’, coz her guy’d never understand. She was still crying, sayin’ how she’d cheated on him and how could anything ever work after that, so I said, she didn’t cheat on him, she just had sex with someone else. She stared at me again, that straight stare like I’d just said plain murder the guy right there. As I said, a bit innocent sometimes, but it’s part of her and it’s kind o’ cute. So I went all out and said, ‘Look, you don’t know what Sean does when you’re not around, so don’t bother him with your stuff.’ She got a bit angry there, how I could even think that Sean would ever and all that, and all I said, ‘He’s a guy Amanda, and guys are guys most of the time.’

That’s when she went all quiet and said, ‘So, this was just a fuck?’ I didn’t know what to say. I mean, sayin’ Yeah would’ve made her cry all over again, and I didn’t wanna say No neither, so I said, ‘I’m sorry,’ which made it worse, coz she started cryin’ and got angry at the same time, which is a helluva combo. She can get real loud. Took me almost an hour to calm her down, and we kind o’ ended up doin’ it again, coz I’d been tellin’ her that she’s beautiful and everything, which is true, she’s awesome, but she took it all wrong of course, but what’s a guy to do? It’s the way she looks at you and if you know how it is to feel her all hot and tight and just so good, it’s hard to say no, y’know? Real hard. So hard, Vaughn had to call me up so that I could get my ass outta there. Man, I really fucked that up. I really just wanted to drop by and see how she’s doin’, y’know, nothin’ special. Next time, I’ll just cut past that street. If it gets outta hand like that again, she’ll probably start screamin’ the house down. Fuck, I just wanted to say Hi. Now, I’ll probably have to drop the diner and their coffee’s the best this side o’ town.

October 12, 2014May 17, 2020

chance encounter

Dana has stopped fearing the dark. That woman isn’t about to come tearing into the diner to knife her down. It’s been a while since their last night. Six weeks at least, if not more. Dana forced herself to stop counting. She only managed because she’s seeing someone now. His name is Sean, he works in an office and has a nice apartment not far away from the diner. He’s not bad looking, a bit taller than herself with short dark hair that he takes good care of, and he has very nice, clear blue eyes.

They met at a party Samantha took her to, and he asked her out for a drink after they chatted for a while in a corner of the living room. Dana went because Christie forced her to, and Sean made her laugh more than expected which calmed her down. He was very sweet, asked her to the movies and went out for a nice Italian dinner with her. She waited till the fourth date before she agreed to go to his place for a drink. There they talked for over an hour, drinking Screwdrivers with expensive vodka. Sean kissed her when she came back from using the bathroom. She had learnt that a bathroom said almost everything you needed to know about a guy. Sean’s bathroom was tidy without being freakish, which was a relief.

She came back and sat down, Sean leaned into her and said ‘You’re very beautiful.’ That’s when he kissed her. She enjoyed it and didn’t mind when he stole his hands under her top. Soon enough he grew hasty, but she asked him to slow down, which he did. He smiled sheepishly and took his time. It was nice, she enjoyed it, but she didn’t stay the night. She told him she had some stuff to do the next day, something with Christie. Sean nodded and smiled a that’s-ok smile. He walked her to his door and kissed her again, he was a really good kisser. Then she went home. That was three weeks ago, and they kept on seeing each other about three times a week. It was nice. Dana felt cared for, and she liked that.

The Prince has decided to leave his Kingdom and pay a visit to a dilapidated monk who lies wasted in the arms of an Angel. In His arms a body feels fragile and frail, the movements too quick, the suddenness too hard, yet His smile brings life back again. Questions are asked which are answered accordingly, he doesn’t want her, the sister, the mother, the soul that allowed him to conceive a possibility of rest, he doesn’t want her to feel she has failed. The Prince stays for an evening, eating and drinking, laughing and talking and then in a moment he remembers that last week was the Seventh which explains the sadness in His Highness’ limbs, the weight holding down the light in His royal eyes. He refrains from asking about Her, whom the Prince will never mention, will never acknowledge with a syllable or a sound, only to feel weak with curiosity, buried underneath questions, for they had been marvelous once, but that was in another life, another world, so perfect and terrible it was close to a fairy tale.

While clearing the debris of the evening he cautiously points to the fact of the Seventh looming dark in the past. She smiles sadly and nods saying that it was to be expected. He still loves Her, she says and her eyes say it is a deep love, like those sung in stories, and her body says the Prince is not alone in His misery, but he turns away before he reads the last sentence written on her skin, feeling the tatters of his monk’s habit flail. Even now in her presence it is too much for him, too much to see her honesty, too much to feel the presence of the past between them. For despite all attempts to the contrary, certain words have not yet been said.

On her knees she holds him firmly, gently, tightly, covering him with heat and softness, sucking him in till there’s just blackness and rain turning the ceiling to sleet. In intervals she releases and descends, withholding and repenting, increasing in boldness and subtlety, an ingenious trick that makes his thoughts drop dead and his brain suffer a heart attack. On the plains, outstretched, he is only reaction, a body burnt by the sun, melted to a carnal cry, dark and dissolving in the fading light. When he is alive again she lies next to him, smiling against his skin, kissing away the remnants of his sanity, subjecting him to the loss of will and power, leaving him without direction, a lobster, cooked and roasted, without a shell.

Dana is in the Mall with Sean. It’s Samantha’s birthday soon, and since Sean knows her now, they decided to pick a present together. Neither have a clue what to give her, Sam always has the newest gadgets, and she loves glittery things. Dean takes Dana’s hand and smiles when she smiles at him. They walk on to the next shop but find nothing there and take the escalator to the next floor. It should be something playful, something that makes Samantha laugh. They’re walking past a electronics store when someone walks out and almost into them. He apologizes immediately – ‘Amanda!’

He looks genuinely happy to see her. Dana wants the ground to break open and swallow her whole. She finally remembers Sean and says,

‘Hi. Sean, this is Carmine. Carmine, Sean.’

Both nod at each other. Dana can barely make herself look at Sean.

‘How you been?’ Carmine says. Dana blushes bright red.
‘I’m good. We’re looking for a birthday present for my friend Samantha.’
‘The blonde one?’

The fact that he remembers makes Dana blush even more.

‘Yeah. It’s her birthday this weekend.’
‘Sweet,’ is all he says before looking at Sean and smiling an easy, open, How’s-it-going smile.
‘Well, don’t let me keep you,’ he says. ‘I’ll see you round.’

Next he’s gone and Sean turns to her asking,

‘Who’s that?’ quote 1
‘Oh, just a guy from work,’ Dana says, her ears very hot.

She turns to Sean and forces her whole face to smile. She even goes so far as to kiss Sean, who takes the kiss a little further before he suggests that they check the ticket store, the mall still has one and apparently Sam mentioned something about a band. Dana remembers to nod. They start walking but – What was that? Why was he so happy? Why didn’t he even care?