Guarding Gabriel

by J. A. Wynters

  He just nodded, I’m not sure if he knew I was lying but if he did, he has been torturing me with his tea for the last three years and enjoying my suffering tremendously.

  I tried finding my manners. I’m sure my deadbeat mom taught me a few before she disappeared. “You have a lovely home and a beautiful family. Where are your kids? Are they at school?”

  “No, those are very old photographs.” His lip curled ever so slightly to one side and I couldn’t tell if it was a smile or a grimace. “Aadav, my boy, he just moved to New York City. The Big Apple.” He beamed as he spoke. “He graduated from Harvard Law with honours and has been offered a job at a big firm.”

  “Congratulations.” I raised my cup, but not to my mouth.

  “Sona moved to Mumbai with her husband, almost three years ago now. She is expecting her second child in August.” He was smiling again.

  “You must miss them a lot.”

  “Yes.”

  “You and your wife must be excited to meet your new grandchild.”

  He gave me a melancholy look, one that said so much about youth being wasted on the young and how naïve we all are. He sighed a long, arduous sigh that was heartbreaking and comforting. “She’s passed. About fifteen years ago now.” He added as if to reassure me that the scar isn’t as new, and the pain not as fresh. I knew, of course, he was putting a brave face on, and realised at once, that the picture display at the entrance was not just a display, but a shrine. If I had paid more attention, I would have noticed the orange flowers that stood in fresh water among the frames, and that there was not a speck of dust on any of the picture frames or counter on which they were laid.

  I mumbled about how sorry I was and he brushed it off as something that’s in the past. I let it go. If we were to be friends, I’d have enough time to ask him about it later.

  “You look really nice. I hope you weren't going on a hot date.” I probably should learn how to shut my mouth or at least finish a thought before saying it aloud.

  He shook his head and sipped his tea. “Just a wedding. It’s OK.”

  “Oh no, I’m so sorry. Look I can just wait in the foyer.” I was already standing up and fumbling.

  “Sit.” He hadn’t moved, but his voice was full of authority. He was definitely a dad.

  “The wedding will take hours yet, days actually, and I have plenty of time. I have already spoken to my brother, and he is aware that I will be late. Barry will be here soon and you will get your keys and I can go then. Till then, get dry and drink your tea.”

  I grabbed the cup and sipped. The lukewarm water was green and swirls of wilted leaves swam casually on the bottom of the cup.

  I forced myself to sip again and pondered what I could possibly ask this man that would not make for awkward or inappropriate conversation.

  I was about to ask him what he did for a living when there was pounding at the front door.

  “That must be Barry.” His smile was cheerful and natural. He grabbed both teacups and placed them in the sink then pulled the plastic back over the two remaining cookies. He emptied the leaves from his teapot and set the rest next to the sink.

  “Come Jane.”

  I stood up. The chair scraped the wooden floor beneath in a savage wail. I cringed. Grish didn’t even turn around as he led me to the door.

  “Barry.” The name was clipped in his heavy accent, a high pitch reprimand.

  “Sorry Grish,” came a gruff voice from the other side of the door, “But you know how it is.” There was a smirk behind the words and I decided just then that I hated Barry.

  As if echoing my thoughts Grish started, “No Barry. I do not know how it is. You have a young lady waiting out in the rain and you are off canoodling with some stranger you probably met online, wasting everyone else’s time.”

  Two thoughts occurred to me while Grish continued his tirade. I wasted his time, and I needed to find a way to show my gratitude. The second one was how is it that the building manager was getting laid at 11 a.m. on a Saturday morning. I slid into my shoes, slipped my backpack on and grabbed my box. I turned to Grish who was heaving.

  “Can I help you with your box, Jane?” he offered.

  “No, thank you erm … Mr. Agrawal … I’ve taken far too much of your time this morning.”

  He considered my words and perhaps his. “Not at all, it was nice to meet you.” He gave me a cheerful smile that made me believe he meant it.

  “Barry! Come take this young lady’s box.”

  “No, it’s OK…” My words dropped almost as low as my jaw.

  His emerald green eyes flicked over my body; his face down-turned as if I was a total disappointment. He yanked my box in his muscular arms and turned to Grish. He seemed sheepish when he apologised for a final time. Grish huffed and walked toward the elevator while I followed Barry across the hall and two doors down.

  “Here you go, number 19.”

  “Jane.”

  “Sure.”

  He unlocked the door and stepped inside discarding my box on the green couch along the wall and waved at the room.

  “Living area here, kitchen this way.” He pointed to his right where the tiny kitchen lived. “Your bedroom and toilet through there.” He pointed toward the dark corridor. “Rubbish collection on Thursdays. I am also the maintenance guy for his building, so if you have any issues, here’s my number.”

  He finally turned around, and I got another look at his beautiful features. His golden locks squared his perfect face. Hair growth peppered his chiselled jaw and his drenched, white shirt clung to his torso. I could see every muscle as it rippled under the shirt. I wondered what it would feel like to bite into that flesh. I’d probably break all my teeth. It would be like biting into concrete. I shook the thought from my head and reached for the card. He might be pretty, but he was an inconsiderate asshole.

  “Are you going to apologise?” I snatched the card from his hand.

  “No.” He turned towards the door.

  I searched my brain for a witty, smart, angry retort, but as I opened my mouth only breath came out. I could possibly interpret it as an adoring sigh as I watched his jean-clad ass sashay out of my apartment.

  “Call me if you have any maintenance issues.” He was already walking down the hall. “And don’t be late with rent.”

  Rent. Shit. That would be tomorrow’s problem.

  I kicked the door shut and sighed. I was home. In a home, that was mine. Safe. Alone.

  Alone.

  I studied the living area. The green couch came with the place as did the fridge. I’d have to work out a bed arrangement but that would have to wait. I looked at the bare walls and imagined where I could put a TV if I ever got one, and where I could put a pot plant - a plastic one obviously - because I could never keep anything alive. Not really.

  I took the two steps to the kitchen. A mantle against the wall with a built-in sink and a hot plate. Cupboards that were built in the 50s and painted cruelly in the 70s. I’d have to remember to wear sunglasses every time I entered the room.

  I walked down the corridor and found two doors. One was my bedroom. An empty white room. Four walls and wooden skirtings. A window stood slightly ajar, looking out onto the red brick building next door.

  The bathroom was my last stop.

  And I kind of wish I had never gone inside, or gone inside far sooner. The scariest thing in that bathroom, apart from the screaming yellow bathtub, was me.

  My hair was plastered to my face. Curly wisps which escaped my bun and managed to dry stood in a frenzy like a frizzy crown above my head. What lipstick I had, vanished along with my pride as I realised two people had seen me like this.

  I sighed and pretended I didn’t suddenly wish Barry was an old fat man.

  I slung my backpack off my back, letting it fall with a thud onto the tiles. One by one I peeled the clothes off me, damp and clammy, they felt like I was peeling a second skin.

  Shedding.

  And maybe I was.

/>   I rummaged around my backpack hoping for something dry among the damp collection of clothes. I found some granny underwear and an oversized t-shirt somewhere in the centre of the bag.

  Goodbye old life.

  Hello granny underwear.

  The shower was warm and relief flooded through me. Something worked. I wouldn’t have to call Barry and let him see me in my granny underwear.

  I got dressed and spent a considerable amount of time strategically hanging clothes across various surfaces in the hopes they would eventually dry.

  I opened my box and pulled out what was effectively my kitchen.

  One kettle, a jar of coffee, a jar of sugar, and a few packs of two-minute noodles. Of course, they came with an array of plastic cups and dishes. I also pulled out the purple tie-dye sheet praying it would dry by bedtime.

  I sucked my sloppy noodles while scrolling through my phone. I highlighted seven potential jobs in case the one that Scott set up for me fell through.

  Ah, Scott.

  There is a lot to say about Scott, but I won’t. All I’ll say was that his heart was as fiery as his red hair and I owed him a lot. He knew it. But he’d never mention it or ask for anything in return, for which I was eternally grateful cause I knew exactly how he wanted me to repay his favours. But to be honest, sitting for hours on Xbox, and teaming up against some French guys who probably still lived in their parent’s basement, was not my idea of fun.

  The apartment became darker, night closed in. I fell asleep somewhere between barista and waitress.

  Riveting stuff.

  When I woke up my face was lying in a damp pool of spittle and my neck hurt from being twisted in what was an unnatural position for at least eight hours.

  The apartment felt cold. Lifeless. It was probably an open window, but it felt a lot like my life.

  When I realised tapping on the door was what woke me, I froze. The knocking, soft but insistent.

  “Coming,” I garbled. I felt as if a turkey had died in my mouth and was attempting some kind of resurrection.

  I should have looked through the peephole, but I didn’t.

  “You shouldn’t just open your door like that.” Grish’s severe face curled in a scowl.

  I frowned at him but it was more of an effort to keep my eyes open, body upright and brain firing on all cylinders.

  I said nothing. I stood there swaying like a reed and wiped my mouth. He, on the other hand, was meticulously groomed, not a hair out of place, on his head or face. He wore a red kurta adorned with golden lace, pressed into perfectly firm lines.

  “What time is it?”

  “Eight in the morning.” It was hard for me to infer what he wanted with his tone. But it felt something like a reproach. Adults should be awake and dressed and ready for a full day of adulting. I was way behind.

  “Would you like to come in?” the sentence was out of my mouth before my brain could stop it.

  “Thank you.” He took a step inside and I could see his effort at hiding his horror, or was it disgust?

  “Are the rest of your things arriving today?”

  I grimaced and my eyes swept the room.

  “No.”

  “You don’t have much.” It wasn’t a question. All he had to do was take one look at the room strewn with drying clothes and my sad little couch to realise that was all I owned.

  “Coffee?”

  “I only drink tea.”

  “Sorry I don’t have any.”

  “It’s OK”

  It didn’t feel OK.

  He followed me to the kitchen and his eyes roamed the room. He watched me closely as I made a coffee and poured the steaming hot water into my plastic cup.

  I could swear he shook his head but said nothing.

  “I noticed yesterday you didn’t have much with you, so I brought you some food from the wedding. Moving is hard work.”

  For the first time, I noticed the small tub in his hands.

  He placed it on the mantle and opened the lid. Immediately the small space filled with the most delectable aromas and my stomach sang its morning song asking for nourishment.

  “Thank you.” I meant it but I hesitated before approaching. I don’t know why I felt like I needed permission.

  “Please, go ahead.”

  I grabbed the box and lifted the paper towel that held my salvation.

  “Aloo tikki,” he said as I examined the round fried potato cakes.

  I ate in silence letting myself enjoy a meal that wasn't noodles. I ate two cakes and decided to leave the other two for lunch.

  My stomach gurgled with pain and resentment.

  “There is more.”

  I dug out the wrapped parcel to discover a second placed below.

  I unwrapped it and found flatbread and between the two slices, I could see a thick brown layer of chocolate and what could have only been strawberries.

  I gawked at the bread.

  “The naan was plain. My daughter always used to complain about it so I used to spread the chocolate and cut the strawberries for her, sometimes she liked banana or almond but I wasn’t sure…”

  Suddenly this beautiful and generous man seemed sheepish.

  “No, I love it. All.”

  I grabbed the food and let my stomach sing as it revelled in the sweetness that was my breakfast.

  I took out the rest and placed it on the empty shelf of my fridge. I sipped my coffee and felt like a human again.

  “Can I use your bathroom please?”

  “The door to the right.”

  He turned and walked down the corridor navigating through the trails of clothes and random items that I somehow managed to hold on to.

  When he came back, I was taking the last sip of coffee.

  “You don’t have a bed.” It was a statement and once again it felt like he was judging my ability to adult.

  “No.” It came out almost as an apology. I was going for matter of fact. I made a mental note to practice my tone when speaking to people.

  “I need to go.”

  “Oh.”

  “The wedding…”

  “Of course. Thank you, Mr. Agrawal.”

  “Call me Grish.” He gave me what could only be described as a grim smile and left.

  Despite the food in my belly and the coffee, his sudden departure left me empty again.

  I sighed and pushed away from the door. There would be plenty of time for lamenting later – right then, I needed to get ready for my job interview.

  2003

  My shirt was too tight and my skirt too short but that’s how I was told to dress. Was I comfortable? No. Was I broke? Definitely! Sometimes we do what we must.

  I splashed some colour on my face and coated my lips with Fire Breather red lipstick.

  Scott’s brother was his opposite, in every way. Whereas Scott was what one might label a nerd with lanky, unruly hair that covered up a pimply face, and pale flesh from the unhealthy obsession with playing video games. Leon was the kind of guy girls tripped over. Or more often pushed each other out of the way for.

  I’m fairly sure he was taller, but that’s because I don’t really remember what Scott looked like standing up. Leon’s shoulders sloped over swollen muscles that rippled under his tight shirts and tighter suit pants. He was always clean shaven, his nails were perfectly manicured, and his hair brushed in a wave to the left. It accentuated his carved jaw that was always in motion. Talking, clenching, sucking, kissing.

  It was hard to stand still and not fall on to your back and spread your legs every time you were in the room with the guy. He had beautiful thick lips, ones that you knew you could bite, ones that you knew could play havoc with anything they touched.

  He gave me a flicker of a smile as I walked in. His office was as plush as he was. Neat and tidy and perfectly beautiful. Every piece of furniture flawlessly placed, each item of decor adding just the right touch to complete the room and every surface meticulously clean.

  He waved to the singl
e chair that was set in front of his broad desk, and nodded, acknowledging my presence. I sat quietly watching him listen to the phone he held to his ear. Watching him watch me. Watching his eyes lazily trail the line of my boots up to my knees and follow the line of my stockings up my thighs. When he hesitated there, I begged my underwear to refrain from exploding. He continued his journey again, pausing at the swell of my breasts as they peaked beyond my shirt. He bit his lip, and I almost slipped off my chair.

  I inhaled trying to settle my hammering heart.

  As he said his goodbyes, his scorching brown eyes landed on my lips. I bit my tongue, the desire to lick my suddenly dry lips urgent. I squirmed in my chair as he set his phone on the desk.

  “You must be Jane.” His voice was as dangerous as he was. It offered promises while being completely casual.

  “Yes, hi.” I commended myself on managing to stay cool.

  I wasn’t.

  “Scott was holding out, wasn’t he?” his eyes seemed to darken.

  I stayed silent. What sort of question was that?

  “Can you wait tables?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have more outfits like that one?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you start tonight?”

  I almost jumped out of my seat. Panic. Excitement. Pleasure. I wasn’t prepared for this interview to go quite like this. “You don’t want to test me or anything?”

  Leon stood up his lip curled in a wicked smile. He pushed his chair back as he stood up, his jacket hung over the back. His muscles rippled through the tailored button-up shirt with each predatory step he took toward me.

  “Do you know what we sell here, Jane?” his voice was soft, an undercurrent of something dangerous lay beneath.

  “Alcohol? Bar food?” I offered meekly as I began to hyperventilate under his unnerving stare.

  His eyes remained locked on mine as he closed the distance between us, taking measured slow steps.

  “No.”

  “No?”

  He came to a complete stop squaring his body before my chair then leaned back casually against his desk, his hands clutching the rim.

  “No, Jane.” The way he said my name sent shivers down my spine.