by Jane Tara
“I don’t blame you … what if they made it out of the house?”
Simon laughed. “Too true.” He suddenly looked appalled. “There’s only one girl on here. This isn’t a double date is it?”
“I wouldn’t think a stand-up comedian was your type,” Taran said.
“I’m not sure I have a type,” Simon admitted. “Sometimes I’d be grateful for anything.”
“Then why don’t you go for one of those money-hungry little social climbers who are always hanging around?”
“I may not have a clear type yet, but I know what I don’t want.”
Taran grinned at his friend. “I don’t blame you, Sime.”
“Are you sure this isn’t a blind date? I would’ve bought flowers.”
“And looked like a total dickhead. You don’t give a stand-up comedian flowers.”
“What do you give then?”
“I don’t know? A six pack.” Taran chuckled. “Being an Apsley, you could manage a whole keg.”
Simon glanced at his watch. “Should I duck out now and pick something up?”
“No need. It’s not a date.” Taran stopped scanning the room for Calypso and focused on his friend. He realized Simon was nervous. “I don’t even think I’m on a date. Calypso is playing hard to get … or impossible to get. Even my invite to this thing was given grudgingly.”
Simon visibly relaxed. “Nice little club, this.”
Taran rolled his eyes. “Sime, it’s a shithole, but as long as the comedians are halfway funny, we’ll have a good night.” And as long as Calypso turns up. He tossed back the rest of his drink and stood. “Want another round?”
“Absolutely. I could use some Dutch courage.”
“That makes two of us,” said Taran as he headed to the bar.
*
Calypso paid the cab driver and ran toward the club. She was late, thanks to Taran and his incredibly annoying sex appeal. She rarely suffered a wardrobe crisis, but tonight she’d torn through her clothes, despairing at them all. It was ridiculous. She didn’t need to impress Taran; she should really be deterring him. But she couldn’t bring herself to look anything less than fabulous. Goddess damn him! In the end she settled on Top Shop jeans and jacket, a funky little vintage shirt, and Stella McCartney boots, which cost a fortune, but came guilt free. Calypso liked to look good, but not at the expense of anything that ever had a mother. Tonight, in her high-end pleather, she looked better than good – she looked great. But she was nervous, indecisive and excited all at once, and she hated that Taran had this affect on her. She was tempted to cancel, but to cancel on Taran would be to cancel on Megan, and she’d never do that.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim club, but once they did, they rested on Taran. It was as though he had a homing beacon attached – somewhere around the groin area – and could spot exactly where he was sitting. He seemed to sense her arrival too, because at that exact moment he looked over at her and their eyes connected, despite the dim light and the distance between them.
Calypso approached Taran’s table with a determined, long, sexy stride and gave him a light kiss on the cheek. “Hi there.”
“Hi.”
“Am I late or are you early?”
“Both,” he muttered.
Calypso waited for Taran to introduce his friend, but he remained strangely silent, so she sat next to Simon and introduced herself.
“I’m Calypso.”
“Simon. And you have no idea how wonderful it is to meet you.”
Calypso was slightly thrown by his enthusiasm. “Oh, why’s that?”
“It’s such a pleasure to see Taran at a loss for words around a woman. Usually it’s me.” Simon grinned at Taran. “Your shout, mate. And perhaps you can find a speech therapist while you’re at the bar.”
Taran ignored Simon. “What do you want, Cal?”
“What do I want?”
“To drink …” He was finding his feet again. Perhaps not verbally, but his heated stare made her blush.
“I’ll start with a beer.” Calypso gave Taran a sexy smile and turned her attention back to Simon.
Before long the show began. The MC introduced the first comedian for the night, and then the second. They were genuinely funny and the audience laughed loudly through both routines. Calypso felt nervous. She knew Megan always had to work extra hard, simply because she was female. Megan often joked that she was white, straight and female, so was automatically at a humor disadvantage. She also had both her legs … but figured that having tiny breasts was a shortcoming she could get some mileage from. And she did.
Megan’s turn, and the energy in the room shifted. It was as though they expected her to fail. A number of people got up and went to the bar. Calypso felt like yelling out, “Where are your manners?” But fortunately Megan was made of sturdy stuff and did it for her.
“That’s okay … go and get a drink, duck off to the loo …” she said as she strolled onto the stage. She smiled sweetly at the audience. “I’ve actually been placed third in the lineup for the alcoholics and bladder impaired to do just that. My act isn’t important. What’s important is that you don’t piss your pants when you laugh at me.”
Simon burst out laughing.
Megan grinned and searched the audience for the phantom laugher, but the spotlight made it difficult for her to see. She settled for saying, “Thanks, Dad, but I told you to stop coming to my gigs.”
She took a moment. “Evening, everyone. I’m Megan Walker … I’m a girl. I know … I don’t really look like one. And I know what you’re thinking, but no, I’m not a lesbian. I like men, although because I look like a lesbian, men never like me. It’s a vicious circle. I actually had a guy hit on me a couple of years ago …” Megan paused and stared around the room for a moment, and then: “No, there’s no punch line there. I just wanted to share, because it rarely happens.”
The crowd burst out laughing. They were warming to her. Simon was in hysterics and laughed long after everyone else stopped.
Megan gave an amused snort. “Excellent, my new stalker has finally arrived. I ordered one from stalker dot com a few months back, but he was faulty. Things started out okay, but after a while he ignored me, was always too tired to stalk me … I was like, ‘You never stalk me any more’, and he was like, ‘For God’s sake, woman, can’t a stalker have some peace?’”
Megan took a sip of water while the laughter died down. “I found having a stalker was like being married,” she joked. “Speaking of marriage, I was reading this article the other day about these chastity clubs in America where teenagers wear a ring that commits them to no sex before marriage. What I’d like to know is if they don’t have sex before marriage, when are they going to have sex? Because everyone knows you don’t have sex after marriage! Not that I’d know, either way. I’m like the carpet in the foyer here … Got laid once years ago and walked on by drunks ever since.”
The audience grew louder and louder in its appreciation of her jokes and self-deprecating humor. Megan had a way of being tough and sassy, yet subtly sexy at the same time. Taran and Simon were in stitches. Calypso was thrilled that everyone could see what she’d always known: Megan Walker was funny. The jokes started coming out thick and fast.
“I mean, I’m not a complete loser. I date, but it’s tough. Dating is hard work … that’s why it’s called a blow job and not a blow holiday! I don’t want you thinking I’m unpopular or anything. I’ve got loads of friends … Hundreds. Although, I’ve got to say, they all let me down recently. It was my birthday, and I sent out an invite to my party. No one came. Not one single present. Nothing. Fuck them all. I’m seriously thinking of closing my Facebook account.”
Megan grinned at the audience and patiently waited for the cheers to settle.
“Anyway, that’s me for tonight. Anyone who’s interested in dating a girl who looks like a boy, look me up on Facebook – while I’m still on it. See ya, and thanks … it’s been real!”
&
nbsp; And with that she was gone.
Chapter Eight
Raspberry wine soothes sore throats
After the show, Megan joined the others for dinner at a cozy Italian restaurant nearby.
“So you’re my new stalker?” she said by way of introduction to Simon.
“Well, yes … no … I’d never …”
“I appreciate the laughs.” Megan leant forward and whispered flirtatiously, “I’ll pay you later.”
Simon chuckled and blushed simultaneously. He buried himself in the wine list until the heat left his cheeks. “Oh fabulous, they have the 2009 Ren Valley Pinot Gris here.”
Megan turned to Taran and Calypso, completely unaware of the affect she was having on one of England’s richest bachelors.
“They’ve got loads here for vegetarians, Calypso.”
Calypso was scanning the menu. “The mushroom risotto looks great.”
“You go for it, but I need to eat animals.” Megan gave Simon a wink. “Stand-up is a bit like sex. I’m always ravenous afterwards.”
Simon let out a strangled giggle, but was then mortified that he did.
Megan waved the waiter over and ordered steamed mussels, spaghetti and meatballs, a serving of bruschetta for everyone, but two for herself, and an arugula salad. The others ordered their – much smaller – meals and then Megan decided to add an order of tiramisu to hers. Simon thought she was the most delectable creature he’d ever met. He was so sick of taking women to dinner only to watch while they picked at a salad and bitched about their weight.
“Have you always been funny?” he asked.
“A sense of humor was essential growing up in my house.”
“Megan has four older brothers who used her as a punching bag,” Calypso explained. “The more she made them laugh, the less they tortured her.”
“It’s also the reason I started hanging out with Calypso. They were all on their best behavior when she was around.”
Calypso and Megan shared the look of lifelong friends and laughed.
“That’s utter bullshit. I started hanging around you because it took the focus off me. People never quite knew who to bully, so they left us alone.”
“It’s true. Alone we were victims, but together we were a weird force to be reckoned with,” Megan said in mock seriousness. “She could cast spells and I knew how to fight.”
Simon was fascinated. “How old were you when you met?”
“Five,” said Calypso and Meg in unison.
“So you’ve been friends forever.”
“Forever? Watch your mouth,” Megan warned. “We’re not that old.” She took a slug of her drink and glanced at Taran. “I’m the bulldog at the gate. I’ll always be around while others come and go. And everyone has to get past me.”
Taran nonchalantly refilled everyone’s glasses. “Judging from the amount of food you’ve ordered tonight, Megan, getting past the bulldog won’t be too tough … if I throw you a bone.”
Megan’s eyes sparkled. “Why thank you, Taran. It’s been so long since I had a good bone.”
Simon’s wine went down the wrong way and he began to cough, and Megan gave him a slap on the back.
“Easy, cowboy.”
“So what about you two?” Calypso asked. “How did you meet?”
Simon glanced at Taran, afraid he’d reveal the embarrassing truth about how he’d found Simon naked, chained to a bike rack, after a college initiation got out of hand.
“We met through friends,” Taran said simply, and then couldn’t help himself: “At a bike club.”
“Do you cycle, Simon?” Megan looked impressed and tried to check out his ass.
“Ah, no … used to. I didn’t like being chained to one thing.”
“So he took up drinking and partying with me.”
“It’s true, but I was never a gold medalist like Taran.” Simon smiled at Megan. “Do you play sport?”
Megan screwed her nose up. “I ran for a bus once.”
“You’ve chosen well. You were hilarious up there tonight,” said Taran. “Where do you get your ideas from?”
Megan shrugged. “Where do you get your ideas from when you paint?”
“Probably a similar place.”
“Exactly. It’s just we express them differently. It’s all a creative process.” She turned and looked at Simon, curious. “What do you do, Simon?”
Simon fumbled the menu. “Me? Oh … ah … I’m a – I work for Apsley Beer.”
Megan pulled a face. “Oh shit, I hope you don’t have to also drink it. Apsley Beer is worse than cow piss.”
Simon’s eyes nearly popped out of his head, and then he roared with laughter.
Megan continued to shove her foot in her mouth. “I’ve heard that whatshisface Apsley is a total cockhead to work for. What’s his name again?”
“That would be Charles Apsley.” Simon sipped his drink, and then added, as though it were an afterthought: “My father.”
Megan went thirty-two shades of red. “Are you serious?”
“Yes, unfortunately.”
“Oh shit … I’m so sorry.”
“So am I. Regularly. Especially during family dinners. He really can be a … cockhead.”
“The beer is okay.”
“I’d prefer Guinness.”
Taran, who had been in silent hysterics, couldn’t hold back any more, and joined Simon in loud, raucous laughs. It didn’t take long for Calypso, and finally Megan, to join them.
“I’m so sorry, Simon. I’m a total idiot.”
“It’s absolutely fine, Megan. I find you refreshing.”
In fact, Simon was completely besotted. And as the evening progressed, he felt more and more at ease in her company. Normally, when he liked a woman, he clammed up. But tonight Simon shared a few choice stories of their college days that had the women in stitches. For once, he felt interesting.
By the time they left the restaurant, all four were well oiled with great wine and laughter. It was cool and Megan, dressed in nothing but jeans and a singlet top, faltered as the night air hit her.
“Shit, I left my jacket at the club.”
Without a second thought, Simon whipped his off and handed it to her. It was a simple gesture that said so much about him.
“Thanks,” she whispered. It was her turn to feel a bit tongue-tied.
He decided to take a leap. “Where do you live, Megan?”
“Finsbury Park,” she said.
“That’s on my way home,” he lied. “You can ride in my cab and I’ll drop you off.”
Megan smiled. “Sure as hell beats the night bus.”
Simon quickly flagged a cab, thrilled that it even stopped for him because quite often they didn’t. His brothers didn’t call him the Invisible Man for nothing. He ushered Megan into the backseat with a farewell wave at Taran and Calypso.
*
As soon as the taxi drove off, Taran turned to Calypso.
“Interesting.”
“What is?”
“I’m staying with him, yet he didn’t offer me a lift.”
“Would you have taken it?”
“No. I’m a gentleman. I want to make sure you get home safely.”
“Taran, I’m a big girl. I’ve been getting home safely for years.”
“Okay, I want to get you home safely … and make love to you all night long.”
Calypso smiled. “That’s more like it.”
He held out his hand and she took it, surprised by how her fingers seemed to meld immediately into his. She had to concentrate to work out which were her own fingers and which were his. They walked for a while in a comfortable silence.
“Calypso?”
She sensed what was coming. “Yes?”
“Why did you leave New York without saying goodbye?”
“I remembered I left the iron on – in London.”
“I’ve seen your clothes … You don’t own an iron.” He pushed a lock of her hair back from her face and gently pla
ced it behind her ear. “I really like you, Cal.”
“You don’t really know me.”
“I’d like to.”
Her eyes darted around. “We should get a cab.”
He grabbed her shoulders and moved her back against a shop window. “I’m in London for three months.”
“I can’t guarantee I’ll be here. I don’t like to be pinned down.”
“You liked it last night.”
Calypso blushed at the memory. “You know what I mean, Taran. I’m not good with commitment.”
“Don’t use the C word. It doesn’t suit us,” said Taran. “But we suit each other.”
His lips crushed down on hers and she immediately melted into his body. It was instinctual. She couldn’t resist. She’d been desperately trying to remain aloof all night, but he’d matched her in every sense and it made her want him more than ever. Every tiny touch, every glance, every word he uttered to her set her alight. Her whole body hummed at the very thought of him.
Taran Dee was getting to her. It had to stop. And it would – tomorrow.
Chapter Nine
Champagne is a diuretic
The next morning, Calypso asked Taran to leave. She waited until they’d made love, figuring she at least deserved one more for the road, and then she told him to hit it.
“I’m busy,” she said as she tossed him his clothes.
Taran propped himself up on one elbow. “Wow … déjà vu.”
Calypso put her hands on her hips. “What are you waiting for? Breakfast in bed?”
“I’ve already worked out that I’m with the wrong woman if I want that sort of treatment.”
“You’re not with me.”
“I would be if you stopped bitching and got back into bed.”
She was tempted, but a steely resolve had settled overnight. “Come on, don’t be an arse. You have to go.”
He scanned her face. “Why? Scared?”
“Hardly. I’m going away,” she said, way too quickly.
“Where to?”
Calypso stalled for a moment while she decided where to go. “Paris.”
