by Ally Sky
“I figured.”
Obviously he gets the final say. He’s the boss, after all.
I take another sip of wine. Who am I kidding? This guy is amazingly sexy. Luckily, he’s Danny’s boss. He’s about the last thing I need in my complicated life right now.
“You should probably slow down a bit.” He tilts his head slightly toward my wine. “You’re such a little thing…”
Enough with that word already! I’m not little. And I can drink one fucking glass of wine without anything happening to me.
A noise from the direction of the house causes us to turn our heads toward the door.
“Thank God,” I mumble with relief. My men are home. Danny will finally come to my rescue.
“We’re on the patio!” I shout out.
“Hi.” Danny smiles at us, peeking from behind the door. “Sorry we’re late. Was she being nice?” he asks, looking at Ben.
“Very. And amusing.” Ben turns to me, raising a quizzical brow.
He’s just a pretty face. Chill.
“If he doesn’t behave, he’ll stay hungry.” I narrow my eyes in anger, making an effort to hide the involuntary reactions taking hold of me. “I need to finish up in the kitchen.”
I stub out my cigarette and go inside. Danny and Ben follow me.
“Hi, John.” I smile at John, who’s sitting at the kitchen counter, busy closing his bag.
“Hi, darling. Need any help?”
“Just set the table.”
I’m sitting in front of my empty plate.
“You’re not eating?” Danny asks crossly.
I can’t. There’s a strange man in the house. I don’t know him and I can’t eat in front of him. I’m embarrassed, and frustrated. Why can’t I be normal?
“I’m not hungry…I promise I’ll eat later…” I answer.
Danny sighs in frustration. But he’s aware of the situation. He’s been through enough with me to know not to argue.
“I promise!” I just want him to leave it alone. It’s hard enough as it is.
“Don’t forget!” he scolds me.
I’m sure he won’t let me…
John and Ben are deep in conversation. I turn around and listen to them.
“He doesn’t want to go to the police.” Ben looks tense. It’s evident in his body language. His eyes are troubled, stormy like a gust of wind blowing through a wheat field.
“Can’t you persuade him?” John seems less concerned.
“No, he’s a stubborn mule,” Ben bites out, shaking his head. Whatever they’re talking about, he’s not happy about it.
“Then he’ll just have to deal with it. You can’t save them all,” John says with a resigned smile.
“I know,” Ben sighs.
It sounds serious. Who is he trying to save? My curiosity is piqued, but I don’t want to interfere. It’s rude.
“Eventually, he’ll have to decide what he wants, and all you can do is be there for him,” John says quietly. I have no idea what they’re talking about, but in any case, it sounds like good advice.
“I just hate to see him throw everything away now. After all his hard work.”
John smiles and raises his eyebrow at Ben. “His hard work or yours?”
“You know me well enough to know I had nothing to do with it,” Ben replies.
He takes a sip of wine and my eyes follow his lips as they cling to the rim of the glass.
Damn, Talia!
“The food is great.” Ben turns to me with a smile that takes me off guard and I blush again as our eyes meet.
I really need to stop looking at him.
Danny and John are cleaning up the kitchen. I sink again into the loveseat on the patio and close my eyes, humming to the music.
I inhale slightly from my cigarette. I don’t know what to think. The man with the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen acts as though…as though I’m Danny’s amusing little sister. My heart sinks.
I amuse him. I don’t know what Danny’s told him about me, and I certainly don’t want to tell him anything. He’s thirty years old, manages a construction company he’s built from scratch, and me? I am searching for myself in London after my latest crash. He really is the last thing I need in my life right now. So why can’t I get those eyes out of my head?
“Danny sent you something to eat.” At the sudden intrusion, I abruptly stop humming and open my eyes. Ben is standing there with a food-laden plate, and my heart skips a beat.
How embarrassing! Why did Danny have to do that? Couldn’t it have waited?
“Thanks. I’m not hungry, though.” I squirm uncomfortably. He places the plate down on the table, sits down on the big sofa, and stares at me again with that amused look, unaware of the situation.
“Danny said you’d say that.”
This is mortifying. My heart accelerates.
“I’m really not hungry,” I protest.
“You’ll get me into trouble with Danny.”
“If Danny has something to say to me, he can come and tell me himself.” I don’t even bother to hide my anger.
“Danny!” he calls out suddenly, and I jump. He grins.
Does he think this is funny?
Danny peeks out from behind the door.
“She’s stubborn, your baby sister.”
I knew it. Baby sister! I scowl between Ben and Danny.
“Come on, eat something,” Danny urges and his expression really, really pisses me off.
He’s gone too far. Why is he pretending to be unaware of the fact I have a problem? Pulsing with anger, I stand up and put out my cigarette. There’s a limit to what I’m prepared to take this evening! First his boss pisses me off in the kitchen, and then tells me about his company and makes me feel like shit about myself. And now this?
“Maybe you should all stop treating me like a little girl who needs constant supervision!” I stalk across the kitchen on the way to my bedroom. My heart pounds in my chest.
I can hear Ben saying, “Feisty…”
I throw myself on the bed and the rage inside me rises with such force that it surprises me. Then it all erupts in a huge sob. The tears come pouring down. I hug the pillow and sob into it. I feel mortified enough as it is. I don’t need anyone hearing me fall apart as well.
I’m angry and I’m hurt.
Why tonight of all nights did I have to be so awkward? Especially in front of that guy! Danny was being so stubborn, does he need me to explain to him again that I don’t choose to be like this? What does he want? For me to pretend I’m a good girl, who’ll sit at the table and eat the goddamn chicken and potatoes?
I hate being like this. And right now, I really hate me.
There’s a small knock at the bedroom door.
“Come in,” I answer through the tears, trying to stifle my sobs.
Danny comes in with a plate and puts it on the bedside cabinet by the bed. One look and he understands.
“Talia, we need to talk.” He sits on the edge of the bed. It’s not the first time he’s been with me in this situation.
“What do you want me to say?” I sniff.
“I need to know that you’re okay.”
“Then don’t try and shove food at me in front of total strangers,” I say, loud and clear. “That was really embarrassing.”
“As far as I’m concerned, take a plate and eat in your room.”
“And then what will everyone think?” I ask, perturbed.
“Who cares what they’ll think!” he exclaims. “Now, please, eat something. And stop crying.”
He kisses my head, gets up from the bed, and goes to leave the room. He glances back at me, and relief washes across his face when I take the plate and eat the salad and a few pieces of the chicken he’s warmed up. I know everyone thinks I’m thin, but I like being like this. I like being thin. And I like my protruding pelvic bones. It’s not as though you can see my ribs or anything.
So what if I am thin? They can all go to hell. I’m not going to gain weight for them.
I put on music and start to paint.
My thoughts scatter all over the room, as well as on the canvas. What was I thinking? Packing up my life and coming to London, and now I’m hiding away in Danny’s basement with no idea what to do with myself.
A surprising wash of homesickness creeps up on me.
It’s almost the end of May, and I’m missing summer back home. Not the heavy humidity of Tel Aviv, but the green wheat on the horizon that changes its color to gold as tractors harvest the fields. I miss the quiet evenings, sitting with friends on the porch, drinking coffee or a cold beer, and laughing until the early hours of the morning.
Here, I’m all alone.
The basement door opens and Danny comes downstairs. It must be noon already.
“Hi,” I attempt a smile, trying not to be angry anymore about yesterday. “I’m sorry for embarrassing you in front of your boss, or your friend, or whatever.”
“Who cares?” He laughs.
He’s standing in front of the colorful canvas. “I really love your paintings.”
Very few people have seen me paint. It’s better that way.
“What’s going on?” I scrape the canvas with my nail, filling it up with red paint. It’s going to be almost impossible to remove the stain later and I know I’ll have red tinted nails for days.
“We’re going to meet up with some friends and play football in the park. Which book do you want?” he asks cheerfully.
“What?” I’m distracted, staring at the painting.
What’s he talking about?
“Which book are you taking with you to the park?”
“I’m not going to the park.”
“You’re coming to the park. It’s Saturday afternoon. You’ve been down here long enough.” He’s determined.
Is this how it’s going to be? Is he going to manage my life?
“Really, Danny, what am I going to do there?” I sigh.
“I don’t know. Bring your laptop along and write. Talia, you’re coming to the park.”
I turn around and our two identical pairs of almond eyes clash. He’s not going to let me off the hook.
“Okay,” I admit defeat.
“You have half an hour.” He smiles triumphantly, probably pleased that the argument was shorter than expected.
In the shower, I scrub my hands under the hot water, but they’re still red. I wrap myself in a big towel and go to my room. There, I take out a pair of loose black jeans and a big black shirt from my wardrobe. Football in the park. At least choosing an outfit for that outing isn’t too hard, there’s no one to impress. I don’t really care how I look. I slip my feet into a pair of flats, take the backpack for my laptop, throw in a book, and head out to the kitchen.
“Are you ready?” John, dressed in shorts and a Manchester United shirt, smiles at me. I can’t help but return his smile.
“Absolutely.” I’m giggling, as Danny joins us, dressed in running shorts and a shirt that matches. “What player are you pretending to be?” I laugh loudly. I can’t stay indifferent to two men in sports gear and crazy fan shirts.
“At least we got you to laugh,” Danny grins, picks up a small backpack, and leads the way.
There’s a group of men on the lawn when we get to the park, they look like they are stretching and limbering up.
“Hey, Danny!” One of them shouts and waves hello. He’s short and stocky with close-cropped red hair—not my taste.
“Adam’s here,” Danny mutters to John, waving back to the guy with a forced smile. “I really hope that this time it won’t end in bloodshed.”
We get closer to the sporty group. There are seven or eight men staring at us, checking me out with curiosity. It only takes a second before I notice the green eyes staring at me with amusement, and I immediately blush.
Ben Storm is here—after yesterday’s fiasco. I duck my head, staring at the pavement in embarrassment. I hate the attention.
“How’s it going?” The guy, who I now identify as Adam, smiles at me. “You brought reinforcements?”
“Talia, meet Adam. Adam, this is my sister,” Danny emphasizes, giving off what sounds like a clear warning.
“Pleased to meet you.” Adam nods slightly.
Danny’s warning has worked. He won’t even shake my hand.
“Talia, you can go and sit with the girls and try to ignore the group of savages on the grass.” John laughs and, with a slight motion of his head, points me in the direction of three girls who are sitting in the shade of one of the trees and chatting.
I really suck at this. Girls can be so spiteful to one another. I know. Even with my best friends, it could get that way. Always testing, always judgmental, constantly comparing. And I was always the one it was easiest to hurt, to insult, to crush. I walk anxiously toward the trees and stand by the chattering group.
“Hi!” One of the girls raises her head and smiles widely. Okay, maybe she’s nice. “You must be Talia.”
She knows my name. Awkward.
“Yes.” I smile at her shyly.
“I’m Natalie, Raymond’s wife. Danny mentioned you might join us. Come and sit,” she says, patting the grass. I sit down next to her and place my bag beside me. “Talia, meet Carla, Ron’s wife, and Dana, Shawn’s girlfriend.” I shake hands with the two girls on the grass and feel slightly relieved.
Maybe they are nice. Maybe I don’t need to worry about what they think of me.
“Talia what are you doing in London?” Natalie asks the expected question.
“I haven’t decided yet. I may find a job.”
“What kind of job?” she asks with interest and I blush.
What can I actually do?
“Maybe waitressing or something similar. I don’t know yet.” I shrug and force a smile.
“Sounds nice.” Her smile is surprisingly non-judgmental.
Am I the only one who thinks that waitressing at my age is pathetic?
“Sharon’s here.” Dana motions toward the group of men. I notice a tall, impressive girl with long, brown, blow-dried hair (it must have taken her ages to fix it), dressed in tight, black jeans and a red blouse. She stands there and gives Ben a kiss on the cheek.
“Oh, Sharon, when are you ever going to give up?” Dana shakes her blond mane adorably. The smile on her face widens.
Once again, I glance furtively at the group of guys. Sharon is stroking Ben’s arm. You’d need to be blind not to see what she’s trying to do. They look quite friendly. A knot tightens my stomach.
I’m being ridiculous! I only met the guy last night, exchanged three words with him, got pissed off, and stormed off to my room. So what if he’s criminally sexy? He’s annoying!
I need to get a grip, but I’m curious. I watch Sharon doing all the familiar tricks in the book, flipping her hair from side to side and giggling unabashedly. Seriously?
“Is that Ben’s girlfriend?” I ask, making a serious effort to sound as nonchalant as possible.
Dana stares at me, then bursts out laughing.
Okay, did I say something funny?
“Ben?” She tries to calm down. “Absolutely not. That guy isn’t into relationships.”
Oh, well, that certainly explains his behavior yesterday. He’s a player, just as I thought.
“I wanted to introduce him to someone, but he laughed so hard, I just couldn’t do that to the poor girl.” She grins as though she finds the whole conversation quite amusing.
“It seems like he’s quite popular,” I stammer, still trying to organize the thoughts running through my head. The guy isn’t serious. I figured that out already.
“Ver
y popular, and I think he enjoys every moment of his popularity,” she says. “Well, he does deserve it after Jenny.”
Jenny?
“Who’s Jenny?” I pull a face. Who is she and what has she done?
“Ben’s last girlfriend. It was rough.” Her face becomes somber.
Judging by her expression, I’d say rough is putting it mildly. She isn’t laughing anymore.
“Yeah, everyone suffered once it was over. Ben was impossible.” She closes her eyes briefly, takes a deep breath, and shakes her head.
“And that girl over there?” I ask with interest.
“Sharon? She’s the secretary at Storm Buildings.” Natalie smiles and then the girls dive into a lively conversation about the vacation they’re planning together.
I don’t want to be antisocial, but the conversation doesn’t interest me so I take out my laptop and open it. When I glance up, I see the girls aren’t watching what I’m doing.
Dana’s words refuse to leave my head. Ben’s last girlfriend; Jenny; it was rough; Ben was impossible. And now he doesn’t want anything serious. What happened there? I can’t help but want to know—or stop thinking about it.
Occasionally I raise my head to look at the group of men running around on the grass. Ben is wearing a tight white T-shirt and shorts, which hang low on his waist.
God, he really looks good.
Shit.
Trying to focus I type away vigorously.
May 19th 2012
Football and Feelings
What is it about football that causes men to act like kids in high school at best, or like children in kindergarten at worst? What’s so interesting about a group of men running after a ball, trying to score the next goal? Is it their primal competitive instinct raising its head, the existential need to prove supremacy on the field, as in real life? I know I can look forward to exciting evenings in front of the television, where I will be forced to listen to the men in my life cursing and shouting instructions at the players and coach, as if it matters at all.
Men and football—is this when they allow themselves to behave childishly, in a way that’s unacceptable anywhere else?
