by L.H. Cosway
When she spotted Dorotea, her gaze narrowed slightly, but she quickly wiped her expression clean before putting on a smile and joking, “My, my, am I witnessing the walk of shame right now? This is a classy neighbourhood, I'll have you know. You're lowering the tone.”
Despite the awkward situation, I smiled at her humour. I found it incredibly endearing how she used it to diffuse uncomfortable situations.
“Oh, my word, you gave me a fright, so noisy,” said Dorotea, because Fred was being purposely loud, and the Italian beauty clearly had a hangover. I hadn’t drunk much, so I was feeling well enough.
When I leaned my hand against the wall and smiled at Fred, I saw her eyes wander to my naked chest before quickly looking away. I felt like running my palm seductively down my abs just to torture her.
“Sorry, my bad,” she apologised to Dorotea, still not lowering her voice. I smirked. She wasn’t sorry at all. Then she brought her attention back to me. “I take it the champagne went down a treat.”
She was referring to the bottle of bubbly I’d opened just before she left the club yesterday. I was liking her playful tone, but I wished I’d stopped to think before I replied, “It's not the only thing that went down last night.”
Why did I say that? That was not what I should have said. Still, I had to admit it was a very snappy comeback.
“You cheeky little devil,” Dorotea exclaimed while pointing a finger at me. “You never returned the favour — I'll be collecting on that.”
I couldn’t stop looking at Fred, trying to figure out what she might be thinking. Had I completely fucked up? Or would she give me another shot? Not that she’d been giving me much of a shot to begin with.
I needed to make this right. I needed to make her understand that she was special and that Dorotea was just a roll in the hay, so I stared at her intensely as I apologised to Dorotea, hoping she got my meaning, “My apologies, but I only visit the lady garden under very special circumstances.”
I willed her to translate from my statement that if she were to give me the opportunity, I would happily visit hers.
“That's not very fair,” said Dorotea, with a little frown I’m sure she thought was cute.
“Sorry, those are the rules,” I replied. “Where are you off to, Fred?”
“Visiting the parentals for Sunday lunch,” she told me as she held up the cake she had with her. I wondered what her parents were like and felt a strange yearning to spend the day with her. I wanted to go for Sunday lunch with Fred at her parents’ house. How odd.
“You lucky sod, I could kill for a nice roast. It's the best cure for a hangover.”
I said this even though I didn’t have a hangover, in the hopes that she might ask me along. My hopes were dashed when she said flatly, “Sadly, you're not invited. See ya later, alligator.”
And then she was gone, leaving me alone with Dorotea. We said our goodbyes, and then she left, too. For the next few hours I was aimless. I did a little bit of arranging in my apartment, drank some tea, and practiced a couple of songs for the coming week’s gigs.
That evening there was a knock on my door. It was Sean, the drummer from the house band at the club, and Harry, Fred’s friend. They told me they’d gotten some pizza and were wondering if I’d like to join them. I enthusiastically told them I would, but when I arrived in Fred and Nora’s apartment, Fred was disappointingly absent. She must have still been at her parents’. I couldn’t help but ask Nora where she was.
“Fred around, Nora darling?” I questioned cheerily.
Nora swept her hair over her shoulder and took a seat across from me. “She’s at her parents’ place. She always goes on Sunday. It’s their little tradition.”
I smiled. “That’s nice. I’d love to meet her parents someday.”
She raised a brow and narrowed her eyes at me. “Uh, why?”
“Because she’s my friend. I’m very fond of Fred.”
“Isn’t she hilarious?” Harry put in. “The first time I met her, I don’t think I ever laughed so much in my life.”
“She is funny,” said Nora. “But it’s mostly all sarcasm, and they do say that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.”
I frowned at her. These two girls were supposed to be best friends, and yet here was Nora putting Fred down. I didn’t like it, but I could tell it hadn’t been meant maliciously. I was learning that Nora was one of those unintentionally bitchy people. She had no idea how to filter out the bitch.
We ate and chatted for a while, and my heart leapt just the tiniest bit when the door opened and Fred walked in. She glanced at us she hung up her coat and smirked. “Well, well, well, look at you all shooting the shit. What do you think this is, the set of Friends?”
“Harry and Sean decided to come over and surprise us with a pizza,” said Nora. “Since you were out, they knocked next door and asked Nicholas if he'd like to join us instead.”
Fred’s eyes brightened as they landed on me, and I really shouldn’t have been so elated by that fact. I felt juvenile to admit it, but I had a crush.
“Viv, you cow. Would you take my grave as quick?” she teased.
I gave her my most dazzling smile. “Sorry, Fred, but the pizza was delicious. I couldn't resist.” I paused and dropped my voice low, making sure my double meaning couldn’t be missed. “I'm sure I can figure out a way to pay you back.”
“Be careful there, Viv, or you'll end up bankrupt. You already owe Dorotea a visit to her lady garden,” she deadpanned, and with that statement alone my crush expanded by a fraction. She was almost as brazen as I was sometimes.
I tried to hold in my laughter and kept on staring at her, all cool and collected. She was a cheeky little madam, and I wanted to spank her for it.
“Who's Dorotea?” said Sean. “And what's all this about a lady garden?”
“A gentleman never kisses and tells,” I said, and gave him a wink.
“It's a good thing you're not a gentleman, then,” Fred added as she sat down beside me. “And I'm sure you did a good deal more than kissing, you trollop.” She turned to address the room. “Dorotea is a sassy Italian hairdresser Nicholas and I met in the park yesterday. She showed up at the club last night, and Nicholas took it upon himself to show her a memorable evening.”
I couldn’t be sure, but I thought she might be a touch pissed off with me, and this was her funny way of getting me back. Something inside me growled in appreciation that she was jealous.
“I caught the two of them saying their farewells this morning. Nicholas mentioned that Dorotea went down on him, and she seemed less than impressed that he didn't return the favour.”
She was goading me, and one day very soon I was going to punish her so very badly for it. I was having visions of corrupting every inch of her hot little body.
“Oh, this is juicy. Come on, give us the details, Nicholas.” Harry grinned.
I brought my eyes to Fred and tried to communicate with her that she wasn’t going to get away with this. She was trying to embarrass me. I wasn’t really capable of embarrassment at this stage in my life, but I was certainly uncomfortable, and I didn’t want her to be annoyed with me. I wanted her to like me again. I missed the fond way in which she had started to look at me. Finally, I gave in and told them all about Dorotea. I also wanted to outdo Fred in the explicit details department.
“She was very – how do I put it? Enthusiastic. Although I could have done without all of the noises. She was a moaner in the true sense of the word. I'm surprised you didn't hear her through the walls. Couldn't shut her up. And get this, she had no hair down below whatsoever. I wasn't complaining, but it kind of threw me for six when I saw it. Most women have a landing strip at the bare minimum. She was like a porn star.”
Fred’s body grew rigid, and she was satisfyingly silent. That would teach her to try and embarrass me in front of her friends.
Harry piped in immediately, “Oh, my God, I think you just traumatised me for life. As a gay man, I have to admit I'm qu
ite squeamish when it comes to women and their downstairs business.”
“That's awful, Harry. It's just a vagina — why would it make you squeamish?” said Nora, her mouth pursed in annoyance.
“It's the unknown. The unknown can be frightening to a delicate flower such as myself,” Harry replied, and I smirked.
Then I almost choked on my laughter when Fred declared, “Delicate, my arse. You can suck a dick, but you can't take the idea of a hairless vagina.”
“Ugh, please don't tell me you've got one as well,” Harry whined, and what followed was a rather comical conversation about feminine personal grooming. I took advantage of the topic when I leaned in close to Fred, ran my thumb in circles over her elbow, and murmured quietly, “Is it wrong that I'm really enjoying the turn this conversation has taken? I think vagina is one of my favourite words. I bet you have a really pretty one, Freda, like a flower.”
What I said had the desired effect when she swallowed and blushed. But then she moved away and muttered in reply, “You're a pervert. And if you think vaginas look like flowers, you must have a very unique way of seeing them. What do you do, close one eye and squint?”
She shivered a little, so despite what she’d said, I knew I’d gotten to her. My words had turned her on. This gave me the confidence to continue, “If I had you in my bed, I definitely wouldn't be closing my eyes.”
She rubbed at her arm and looked away, and all of a sudden she had withdrawn into herself. “Nicholas...you have to stop....” Her tone was desperate, her voice uneven, and that was the moment I knew for certain that she was just as attracted to me as I was to her, but that it frightened her. I didn’t want her to be frightened. I wanted her to embrace what was burning between us with the fire I knew she possessed inside. I placed my hand on her thigh and softly rubbed, my voice a tender caress as I said, “You should call me Nicholas more often. It kind of makes me hard.”
“Please shut up now,” she whispered desperately. I didn’t shut up. The way her body was responding to me had spurred me on.
“When I pinched you – last night – what did you feel?” I asked with a certain urgency.
“Nothing,” she said tightly. Her friends were preoccupied with their animated conversation, so I took the opportunity to run my hand farther up her jean-clad thigh before venturing between her legs for a brief moment. A tiny whimper escaped her when I continued to push, “You felt nothing here?”
She became defensive then. “Seriously, Nicholas, back off, or I'll punch you.”
I immediately stopped touching her, but then brought my mouth to her ear and whispered, “One final thing. When I was inside Dorotea last night, I closed my eyes and pretended it was you.”
Not a second later, her hand was flying through the air and smacking me hard across the face. I held onto my jaw, shocked for a moment, before laughter overtook me. Her passionate response was not the dampener it could have been. I liked that she’d slapped me. It told me that she was not indifferent. And yeah, I’d probably deserved it for such a dazzling display of crassness.
Fred put her hand to her mouth and began to apologise profusely. “Oh, God, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean that.”
I wanted her to know that I wasn’t angry when I said, “It's okay, Fred. For such a pretty little thing, you've got some strength in you. Ow.” I rubbed at my jaw, because the slap had hurt.
“What happened?” said Nora in surprise. Everyone in the room was staring at us.
“I think I offended Fred's sensitive nature,” I quipped.
“It's nothing. I’m going to my room for a bit,” Fred explained, and then quickly disappeared. I wanted to go after her, but I thought giving her some time to cool down would probably be a good idea. Me and my dirty mouth had deserved that slap, and I would deal with the sore jaw, because I had enjoyed that little exchange immensely. I wasn’t sure how I knew, but the way Fred reacted to my words spoke volumes.
I had her exactly where I wanted her.
July 4th, 2012.
Soundtrack: “Close to You” by The Carpenters
When Fred was notably absent during the next few days, my confidence started to dwindle. I’d thought things were going the way I wanted them to, but she was avoiding me. Had I taken things too far?
I was prone to misjudging situations.
Since I’d just moved to Dublin, I didn’t know many people, so my opportunities for socialising were limited. It wasn’t a good thing. I should have gone out and made new friends. I had been known to befriend random strangers in strange cities, as it happened. But I didn’t do that.
It was the music that had started it. I’d been sifting through my old albums to create a new set list for my show and ended up listening to The Carpenters. Mum had always adored them, and although many of their songs were sweet and romantic, I sensed a melancholy beneath the surface. It dragged me under, and my newfound stable period hit a bit of a pothole.
One good thing was that there was no alcohol in my apartment, so I couldn’t get drunk. I did, however, start to let the guilt roll in again. My mind was a horrific wash of memories, and I began to wonder about the thirteen-year-old boy Kelvin had gotten his hands on. I felt immense pain for that boy because I knew what he had been through. I knew what he would be going through for the rest of his life.
He would never be the same again, just like I would never be able to find the happiness lovely redheaded Karla had wished for me. I hadn’t gone outside in at least two days, hadn’t even bothered to pull the curtains, when there was a knock on my door. I had my stereo system playing Leonard Cohen on repeat as I lay in bed in lounge pants, a T-shirt, and a kimono an old lover had gifted me while I’d been performing in Melbourne.
I didn’t want to answer the door, but I thought it might be Phil, and I knew he wouldn’t stop until he got inside. Phil was nothing if not determined, and he cared for me a great deal. Sometimes I wondered if I deserved his care at all.
When I finally answered the door, I was pleasantly surprised to find Fred there. She was holding a plate of cupcakes and looked as pretty as ever.
“Apology cupcakes, if you'll accept?” she said with a smile.
“Ah, Fred, you're a sight for sore eyes. Come in. And what's this about an apology? I wasn't aware we were having a quarrel.” I placed an arm around her waist and led her inside. She was a bright, smiling, clean-smelling beacon of hope, and I wanted to grab on to her and not let go.
“Well, I thought that because I hadn't heard from you since the happy slapping incident, you were giving me the cold shoulder,” she explained, her eyes straying shyly to her shoes.
Immediately, hope bloomed in my chest. What a pair we made. She thought I was annoyed at her for the slap, and I thought she was steering clear of me because I had a dirty, perverted little mouth, and I couldn’t help but to use it on her.
“Nonsense, a little bit of a slap between friends is all in good fun.” I smiled as she went to put the cupcakes in the kitchen. Instantly, I was feeling better. Perhaps this was why I wanted to be with Fred so desperately. When she was around, I forgot about my guilt. She made me feel cheerful, light, and yes, incredibly horny. It could very well have been my sex drive overriding my melancholy.
I reclined on my chaise longue while Fred pottered around the apartment as though she lived here. It didn’t bother me one bit. I liked how comfortable she was in my place. I knew she must have noticed something was off with me, especially since it was the middle of the day, and I still hadn’t dressed or pulled the curtains. She did it for me, allowing some light in and opening the window. A gust of fresh air wafted through the room.
I hated how my mind could make me neglect the simple pleasures life had to offer, like fresh breezes and daylight. I stared at the open window, cursing myself for having wasted the last few days wandering around in the recesses of my past memories.
Pulling them apart. Agonising over the details. Plotting justice. Realising justice had already been served. Feeling empty. F
eeling angry for what had been stolen from me.
The kettle started to boil as Fred went about making tea. I drew myself out of my thoughts and tried to focus on the present. The present I decided to focus on was Fred’s shapely derriere in the tight pencil skirt she was wearing. Instant mood enhancer. She set some tea and cupcakes down on the coffee table, and I noticed how she’d iced the word “sorry” onto the frosting. She really had thought I was pissed off about the slap, and her attempt at making amends was adorable.
“Oh, look at these, Fred. How delightful,” I declared as I lifted one to my mouth and took a bite. I’d spent the last few days living off cereal and dry toast, so the cupcakes were a welcome change. Fred settled herself down beside me, her hand coming to my shoulder. I sank into the touch and brought my eyes to hers. It’s odd that we never notice how much we need someone to touch us until it’s happening.
“Are you okay, Viv? You seem a little out of sorts,” she said softly.
So she had definitely noticed something wasn’t right with me. I decided to be honest when I explained, “I'm just going through one of my low periods. I'm either happy or I'm sad, Fred. There's no middle ground with me. The life of a travelling performer can be a lonely one. Sometimes it gets you down.”
I didn’t feel worthy of the level of pure empathy in her eyes. It was like she was suddenly understanding that the flirty, dirty-mouthed Nicholas was not all there was to me. It also startled me that she didn’t seem repelled by that idea. She looked like she wanted to get to know the other side, and I couldn’t understand why. I barely wanted to be myself when I was sad, let alone have others know that side of me.
“Do you have, like, manic depression or something?” she asked, and immediately winced. I could tell she wasn’t trying to pry, though; she was simply curious.
