by Bryce Taylor
It is immediately obvious that this is a terrible kiss, nothing to do with that I am craning my neck backwards and my lips aren't meeting hers properly or that her lips are overly full, too soft and plump. It's everything, that this is Katie and she is too much my friend to ever be a sexual interest, that she smells sharply of a floral perfume and that whilst she has initiated the kiss she is clearly waiting for me to take the lead.
Competitively though, I don't want her to put me in the same bucket as Diarmuid on the kissing front, so I lean in harder, tilting my head to find a better angle, my hands on her face, coaxing her lips apart with mine, tasting her top lip with my tongue.
She sighs in her throat and I'm smiling, relieved that I don't have to go any further than that to get a reaction out of her and pulling back from her.
Katie is staring at me, a little wide-eyed and I'm grinning at her smugly.
She clears her throat and looks away.
"That was nice," she says eventually.
She waits for me to say something, but if you can't say something nice it is better to say nothing at all.
She pokes me in the ribs and I look back at her and shrug.
She glares at me, unwilling to take this as an answer.
"Don't worry," I tell her grinning, "you are straight and beautiful, it's overkill if you are a great kisser too."
"I didn't say you were a great kisser," she says sourly.
We both laugh and then agree that we should never do this ever again and go to our respective rooms, leaving Diarmuid to sleep till morning on his chair.
Chapter 8
If I'd thought Sydney was hot before this I had no idea. It is a bloody furnace, the ninth circle of hell. The whole park is a blazing burning bowl, filled with people and stalls and tents. It's so hot that I see two drag queens requiring emergency makeup repair as their foundation slides right off their faces.
I'm regretting signing up for this LGBT community outreach. Part PR exercise, part social event and apparently, we get free t-shirts for manning the hospital services stall. Gupta's puppy dog eyes won me over yesterday. He was so excited, about being gay, bless him and I did feel guilty for refusing to go to the party last night, the one that just sounded as if it would be several hundred boys and me. Diarmuid and Katie stop by in the morning and immediately retreat to the shade of a tree. Their Irish constitutions not quite up to this blistering heat.
My constitution certainly isn't either.
Gupta turns up, with a boy, a souvenir of last night's party. Not actually a boy. A young man who looks a whole bunch less innocent and less inexperienced than Gupta. In tiny tight shorts, flashy sunglasses and slicked back hair and Gupta looks deliriously happy. They are holding hands and the boy is clutching Gupta's bicep in a predatory manner with his other hand.
"My mother is going to kill me," Gupta whispers to me when he comes behind the stall.
"I thought you said she was ok with you being gay?" I ask him.
"He's from Pakistan," Gupta says in explanation.
I raise an eyebrow. So?
"I like him," he says emphatically.
"So?"
"Don't you watch the cricket?" he asks disbelievingly. "He is Pakistani."
Well, this is all very amusing.
They are opening the box of t-shirts and pulling them out.
Sweet Jesus. Each shirt has a giant L, G, B or T on them. Keep in mind this is still in the first decade of the millennium, still firmly in the period of keeping people in very clear boxes. I hardly liked calling myself bisexual at the time, the idea that someone was going to tell me that just because I didn't discriminate between which gender I slept with that I was somehow indecisive.
I refuse to put on a fecking t-shirt.
Gupta puts on a G t-shirt, beaming.
There are five of us. Two G's, an L and a T. Me, nothing.
Leigh turns up.
I am staring at her.
It never occurred to me that she would come. After all her being here means that she is not going to be sleeping for another day.
Her being here means that I have some explaining to do.
Or not.
She raises an eyebrow in my direction, grins, a nod. As always when she is transparently pleased to see me I am grinning like an idiot right back at her.
She claps Gupta on the shoulder and if he looked happy before, he is now fanboy beside himself that Leigh recognised him, that she is smiling at him, that she knows his name.
He may ask for an autograph.
He hesitantly calls her 'Dr Grenfell'. She gives him a look.
"Leigh," he corrects himself, beaming.
"Who the fuck came up with this idea?" she asks at large as she pulls an L t-shirt from the box.
Then she pulls off her shirt.
The L and I are gaping at her lean body and actually the rest of us too, because, damn. I've seen her in less than this before, but I still am staring. She puts the stupid L shirt on, looks up, bemusedly at our attention.
"What," she says, misunderstanding, rolling up the sleeves to highlight her toned arms, "I'm not going to wear a shirt under this, I don't have many opportunities to pick up and I'm not going to ruin this one."
L and I are looking at her hungrily in a, ‘perhaps one of us could solve that problem for you’ kind of a way.
Leigh doesn't even notice.
Leigh and Gupta are set up at either end of the bench playing the board game Operation and before long a line of adults and children is snaking up the footpath. The idea being to beat a real-life doctor at a child’s game and win a prize, then consider a career in medicine etc.
Gupta is giving all comers a chance to win. Particularly the children.
Leigh on the other hand.
Letting someone, even a child all of four years old beat her, is not something that would ever occur to her. Soon there is a crowd standing around, amazed at her ability to play the game at eye blurring speed. The entire board is being cleared in seconds.
Eventually a new rule is instituted, her opponent needs to remove one piece in the time it takes her to remove all of them.
She is still winning.
She is clearly the most popular exhibit on our row, including the stall that has the fire department, half of whom are demonstrating fire safety with their shirts off.
She keeps it up for over an hour until her time starts to plateau at nine and a half seconds.
Another young resident turns up and he takes over her spot and the crowd immediately vanishes in disappointment.
Leigh cracks a bottle of water and sits next to me on the ground at the back of the stall in the shade. She looks happy, more relaxed than I have seen her in a while.
"So," she says after we sit in silence for a minute and grins at me wryly, looking thoroughly amused, "you aren't straight?"
My heart stops.
I'd assumed after my initial shock of seeing her here that she had not connected me being here with anything to do with my undeclared sexuality.
I shrug, unable to summon the words.
I don't need to say anything because Leigh eyes me sideways and says sarcastically, "guess you're not the only one who makes assumptions around here?"
I'm still mute and Leigh is shaking her head silently at herself and at me.
"It's my birthday today," Leigh says into this silence.
I look across at her.
"Happy Birthday," I tell her automatically.
"So, I usually go out on my birthday?" she says, asks after a long assessing look.
She smiles at me and I feel my heart lift.
"Want to be my wingman?" she asks.
Obviously, this is the point that I should have said that I would rather be her date not her wingman.
Instead.
"Yeah, why not?" I say.
Leigh grins at me, so very fecking pleased and my heart is aching to be with her, ignoring the obvious deficiencies in the probability of this ever happening.
> We make plans to meet and she goes home to catch a few hours’ sleep.
Chapter 9
We meet outside the club in the city. It looks fancy, way fancier than anywhere I've been to in Sydney with Katie and Diarmuid. The line is about twenty people long, but not twenty no-hopers, twenty stunning people long.
I spent all afternoon taking on and off all my clothes, trying to look as hot as possible. Not usually my look, I generally end up going for the more girl next door look than sex kitten but desperate times and all that. Katie raises an eyebrow as I leave the house, in her make-up, my hair straightened and a dress that doesn't just show some cleavage, more that there is the barest hint it doesn't show.
"Leigh?" she asks, knowing full well that there isn't anyone else in this town I would dress like this for.
I nod anyway.
Katie eyes me up and down and smirks. "Good luck," she says.
Leigh saunters up the street on the dot, looking a million bucks. As if she wandered off a photoshoot, ankle boots, narrow black pants, fitted crisp white shirt and an overcoat, her blonde hair pulled forward, the barest hint of makeup.
She grins at me and hugs me tight and it is only when I feel her arms around me that I believe she is here in the flesh, because she might as well just have been made for me, a dream. She looks me over admiringly, but I recognise with a sinking heart that it is more with a professional rather than an intimate eye.
"You are supposed to be my wingman," she says grinning, "how am I supposed to get laid on my birthday if I'm with the hottest girl in the club already?"
Is it possible she is actually this stupid?
She takes my hand in hers and leads me to the front of the queue, bro-hugs the door guy and he pulls aside the rope and ushers us in.
The club is quieter than I was expecting, mostly people standing around drinking. It doesn't really look too different from the local bar on a Friday night. People still going from lunchtime drinks, a few younger women on the dance floor. Not really anything to compare to the night clubs in London.
Leigh looks at me, sees my expression.
"Not here," she says grinning at me. "Upstairs."
Upstairs compares to London.
It might be early but the party is in full swing. Beautiful people everywhere, a good time being had by all, the music pumping and I now understand why there is a queue outside.
"Do you want a drink?" she asks as we find a table, up in the balcony overlooking all the pretty people.
I'm going to need more than one.
She returns with my drink, a martini since she is buying, and hers, a bottle of fancy Italian mineral water.
"You aren't drinking?" I ask her incredulously.
She shrugs. She obviously isn't, despite it being her birthday. Unfortunately, a large part of my plan this even involves both of us drinking.
"Jesus, this place is straight," I tell her looking around as if I'm a connoisseur of straight vs gay bars, but I do have to admit I'm disappointed.
"So?" she asks.
"So, how are you planning on picking up a girl?" I ask her.
She frowns at me as if I'm an idiot.
"I'm looking for a one-night stand," she says, "not a relationship."
"Yeah, well what about reciprocation?" I ask her a little childishly, but I have been there twice before and it felt very awkward.
Not to mention highly unsatisfactory.
I'm a lot more upfront about my expectations in the bedroom department with women and men both now.
Leigh laughs at me as if I'm kidding.
"What do you think about her," she says, indicating with a tilt of her head, "that girl at the bar in the really short shorts?"
Oh, god.
I manage to find various imperfections against each and every woman she asks about until she gives me a look to tell me I am being the worst wingman ever before returning her gaze to the dance floor.
I see her eyes catch on a group of girls who have just entered the dance floor, girls on a commiseratory post-breakup night on the town. I can tell already by their heavy stares at the ripped guys with their shirts off on the dance floor that they are looking to have a good time.
Leigh looks across at me and opens her mouth, shuts it again.
"Do you want another drink?" she asks after a moment, getting up. I shake my head and frown at her, both her drink and mine are still half full.
"Back soon," she says blithely, getting up and walking towards the stairs and away from the bar just metres behind us.
A beautiful guy comes and sits next to me, who I suspect is the only gay guy in the club, all just a little too fabulous and put together to be straight.
He raises his chin, a wordless introduction. What's up?
I nod back.
"You're going to want to watch this," he says, leaning over the rail, indicating the dance floor, Leigh standing, leaning against a wall appraising the dance floor.
"Have you seen the Italian Job?" he asks and I nod distractedly.
"That scene with Handsome Rob picking up that girl?" he asks.
I shrug, I think so.
"Well, here we go," he says.
I glance back at him and he points back to Leigh, walking purposefully to that group of girls, now surrounded by eager admirers.
She arrives just at the moment the song changes, as the girl with the most admirers turns in her direction and sees Leigh, standing there, her arms loosely at her sides, hands palm out towards her, a question in her stance. How about me?
I can imagine the look on Leigh's face, just the right mix of admiration and pleasure, Leigh's focus, intent on just her, to the exclusion of all else.
Leigh takes a half-step towards her and then stops. The girl, she stares at Leigh for a moment and then seductively takes the remaining steps to close the distance between them until she is standing right in front of Leigh, a few short inches away. I can feel the pressure of the attraction, in her hand that is reaching towards Leigh.
Leigh has a hand on the girl's hip and is pulling her closer in, her arms going around her waist, drawing her in, grinding against her, saying something in her ear.
The girl is turning around, smiling, her hands over Leigh's, guiding them to her hips, pressing them flat against her thighs. They are both moving perfectly in concert and the girl's friends and the guys with them are staring at the two of them putting on a show on the dance floor, but they don't see it, they are too absorbed in each other. Leigh's lips are against her ear, smiling, murmuring something flirtatious.
It is intimate enough that I feel I should be looking away but I can't, I'm staring, feeling my heart breaking quietly somewhere deep inside, shards fading away to nothing.
Half a song or maybe more, the girl turns around, nestles into Leigh, still talking in each other’s ears, both smiling too much, somehow getting even closer, the song just the right song for them, for this moment.
Two of the guys have belligerent looks on their faces and when the song finishes one of them is tapping Leigh roughly on the shoulder.
They both turn and I can now see Leigh's face in profile, her look of faked surprise. She has obviously done this kind of thing enough to know what is likely to happen. I can see the confidence on her face that nothing is going to go wrong. The same look of derision I've seen on her face at sight of a particularly despised surgeon.
The girl, she is looking from the guys to Leigh and Leigh is taking a step away, giving her space to make a decision. Leigh's arms are from her sides out a little, telling her she can choose, but promising pleasure if she chooses her. The smile on Leigh's face promising her that she can make tonight fun. I know that the girl whoever she is has never, ever had someone like Leigh into her. Someone as beautiful and charismatic and assured as Leigh, asking her to be hers for just one night.
One of the guys is wrongly sensing victory, he moves in closer, seeking to claim his prize and the girl she looks to Leigh for a cue, what to do now. Leigh points tow
ards the exit and shrugs, take me or leave me, grinning, knowing that she is irresistible.
The girl smiles back, a reckless smile, that yes, yes, she chooses Leigh, and Leigh holds out a hand to her. The girl takes it and Leigh leads her from the dance floor, leaving a group of flabbergasted people in their wake.
Not that Leigh cares, her arm is around her shoulder and she is talking in her ear and the girl is laughing, her gaze fixed to Leigh's.
