by L.H. Cosway
“Who are you?” asks the woman, giving me an appraising look.
“I’m Lana,” I answer, and her dark eyes light up in recognition, like she knows my name. Weird.
“Lana.” She smiles. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Kara,” she says, offering her hand.
Oh. Robert’s girlfriend Kara? And she’s heard a lot about me? Um, okay. I shake her hand briefly and she saunters on into the house, the rugby player following closely behind her.
Three
I haven’t even gotten beyond the hall when I hear Robert’s voice boom out, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?”
I walk carefully into the room to find that everyone’s gathered around, silently watching the confrontation. Kara swings her poker-straight hair over onto one shoulder as the rugby-looking dude stands beside her, a defensive air about him.
“Gary and I came to leave off your things. They’re in the hall. So there’s no need for you to show up at the apartment looking for them.” She pauses and bites her lip, a smile threatening to break out. “Oh, my God, are those Sasha’s clothes you’re wearing? That’s just too funny, Rob.”
He gives her a look that says I couldn’t give a shit what you think is funny and then replies, “You’ve brought my things? Might I remind you whose name is on the lease?”
Kara points her French-manicured fingernail at him. “And might I remind you that we put my name on it last week before I moved in? You don’t even like the penthouse, so I don’t understand why you’re making such a fuss about it.”
“Uh, I’m making a fuss because you show up here with fucking Frankenstein meets Jonny Wilkinson when I’m trying to have a few quiet drinks with my mates. And because you packed up my stuff and moved it without my permission.”
Alistair gives Robert a high five for the “Frankenstein meets Jonny Wilkinson” comment. Gary bristles and flexes his fists. Uh-oh.
Kara grins like a cat and places a hand on Gary’s bicep, as though to calm him. I stand beside Sasha, who turns to give me a sly wink. We both know this is better than any soap opera on the telly. Sasha’s always told me stories about Kara’s and Robert’s dramas, but this is the first time I’ve gotten to witness one first-hand.
“Are you jealous, is that why you’re being so difficult? These are my friends, too, and I’d like to stay and have a drink,” says Kara, a subtle pout on her lips.
“You’re not welcome here,” Robert bites out, folding his arms.
Kara’s almond-shaped eyes flick to Sasha before she asks, “You don’t mind if I stay, do you, Sash?”
“Be my guest,” Sasha answers happily, turning to give her brother a big smile. This is obviously payback for him being a dick to her over dinner.
“What the fuck, Sasha?” Robert hisses. “Don’t be a bitch.”
“What?” Sasha asks, all innocent. “Kara is our friend. I’m not going to ban her from my house just because you can’t handle the fact she’s moved on.”
Robert glares at his sister before saying, “Speaking of which,” he looks at Kara and then eyes Gary, “You made quick work of replacing me. It’s barely been a day.”
Kara lets out a loud laugh. “Are you seriously going to play the victim here? Because if we’re keeping score, I think we both know who was the bigger slut in our relationship, and it wasn’t me.”
Several low “ohs” emanate from those in the room. I sip on my wine, simultaneously enjoying Robert getting burned, but also feeling bad for him. Having your ex-girlfriend show up at your sister’s house with a buff blond guy the day after you break up can’t exactly be a pleasant experience.
“Isn’t it the point of a relationship to only be a slut with each other?” I whisper humorously to Sasha, who grins and elbows me in the side.
Robert laughs joylessly and rubs the palm of his hand along his jaw. “Have you really got nothing better to do right now than be here? I tell you what, why don’t you and Gary go on back out to your car and get better acquainted. You always did enjoy a fuck in a public place.”
I cringe at his crude words, but Kara simply continues to smile at him perversely, like she either enjoys him putting her down or she sees his rudeness as an indication that she’s successfully getting to him.
Robert looks to Gary. “Have fun with the fake tits. I was the one who paid for them, by the way. She’d be as flat as a ten-year-old boy if I hadn’t.”
At this Kara finally gets annoyed, a harsh scowl slanting across her mouth. She doesn’t mind Robert telling everyone she likes to have sex in public, but reveal her secret boob job to the world and the claws come out.
She grabs the glass of wine from Sandra’s hand and flings it at Robert. He sidesteps out of the way, but some of the liquid still gets on him just before the glass smashes to the floor. He stares at Kara with venom.
Sasha puts her hand on my shoulder. “I guess that’s my cue to intervene,” she says, before going to stand between Kara and her brother.
“Okay, you two need to stop this now. Jesus, the fighting got old, like, six months ago. You don’t work together, so just cut your losses and move on. For fuck’s sake, it’s a Saturday night and we’re all just trying to have a relaxing drink. Kara, you’re welcome to stay so long as you can keep things respectful. And Rob, if you think you want to say something to Kara, maybe just hold your tongue, because the chances are it’s only going to start another argument.”
Kara gives her a reluctant nod and Robert shakes his head, exasperated.
“This is bollocks,” he says, before bending over to collect the bits of broken glass from the floor. Once he has all of it gathered, he storms out of the room, leaving everyone feeling a little awkward.
“Let’s say we open up another bottle of wine, eh, Sash?” Alistair suggests cheerfully, before going to grab said bottle. When he returns the conversation picks up again, and the previous argument is forgotten – just about.
Sasha and I are sitting on the couch, and I’m still slowly working my way through the one glass of alcohol I’ve allowed myself tonight, when Kara comes to join us. She sits down on the other side of Sasha, smoothing her short black dress out over her slim thighs.
“I’m so sorry about all that before,” says Kara, placing a hand on Sasha’s forearm. “I hope that you and I can continue to be friends, even if Rob and I have parted ways.”
Sasha gives her an uncertain look. From what I’ve gathered, these two have never really been what you’d call proper “friends”; they more tolerate each other for the sake of the group.
“Of course we can,” Sasha replies finally, casting me a what the fuck? glance. I stifle my giggle and take a sip of wine.
Kara lets out a relieved breath and gives Sasha a little hug around the shoulders. “Thank you. That means a lot to me,” she says sincerely in her distinctive upper-class London accent.
Then, unexpectedly, she turns to me. She studies me a moment, taking me in. I can’t tell whether or not she approves of what she sees, but I guess you can never tell with women like this. They’re too well-trained to appear polite and urbane. Although saying that, she wasn’t so urbane when she was throwing a glass aimed at Robert’s head.
“So you’re Lana,” she says with a calculating smile. “Rob has talked about you quite a bit.”
I force a laugh. “Well, don’t believe everything he tells you.”
Her brow furrows, her attention zoning in on me. “Why not?”
Suddenly, I feel uncomfortable under her stare. “He’s just never been my biggest fan, that’s all,” I mutter.
She smirks. “That’s not the impression I got. Rob’s always had a weakness for pretty girls. Why should you be an exception?”
Despite the compliment, her words come out cutting. “The last time he saw me properly I was sixteen, and I looked a lot different back then.”
“Oh, you didn’t look that different,” Sasha chides me.
I laugh. “You have to say that. You’re my best friend.”
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“Yeah, yeah, keep up the modesty. You know you’re a stunner,” she says.
Kara sips on her drink and crosses one tanned leg over the other.
We’re interrupted when Gary appears in front of us. “Babe, have you got the car keys? I want to go grab that six-pack of beer out of the boot.”
Kara gets up and gives him a peck on the lips. “Of course, hon. Here you go.” She rummages the keys out of her handbag and hands them to him.
I take the break in conversation to pop to the toilet upstairs. I’ve barely gotten through half the glass of wine, and already I’m feeling a little tipsy.
When I push open the bathroom door I immediately draw back, because Robert’s standing by the mirror, topless, and trying to get to grips with a packet of bandages.
“Oh, shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were in here,” I apologise, and turn to leave, trying not to stare at his tanned muscles.
He doesn’t seem at all embarrassed, but simply glances up at me briefly, asking, “Can you get this packet open? I can’t…” He trails off, gesturing in frustration at the blood in the sink.
That’s when I notice he’s got a cut on his hand from picking up the broken glass in the living room.
“Ouch,” I breathe, stepping inside and closing the door behind me. I take the packet from him and open it. “Here, sit down on the edge of the tub and I’ll fix you up. You’re bleeding badly.”
The sight of blood doesn’t bother me. I’m used to seeing my own on a daily basis when I have to check my sugar levels. I wet some cotton wool to clean the cut and then sit down beside him. It feels strange taking Robert’s hand into my own, feeling our skin touch, caring for him. There’s never really been any kind of warmth between us. He sucks in a breath when I begin dabbing at the cut. It’s long but it isn’t deep, so there’s no need for him to go to the hospital.
“I spoke a little to Kara downstairs,” I say as I continue to clean his hand, dipping the cotton wool into some antiseptic now.
“Oh, yeah, what did she have to say for herself?” he asks, peering down at me. We’re so close it feels like there’s hardly any air left in the room.
I pull my eyes away from his and answer, “She said you’ve told her lots about me.”
His mouth twitches in amusement, and his eyelids lower. When he breathes out, I can feel the air of his breath hit my cheeks. “Continue.”
“She didn’t get the chance to elaborate,” I answer. “Gary interrupted us.”
His gaze travels up to the ceiling of the large bathroom as he lets his head fall back against the wall behind him. “Ah, saved by rugby,” he muses.
I try not to dwell on the “saved” part of his sentence. What exactly has he been saying about me?
I grin. “I don’t think he even plays rugby. I overheard him telling Alistair that he’s a stockbroker.”
“Well, he must play on the weekends, then. It’s either that or boxing, because there’s no other way he’d have gotten such a bashed-in face.”
“Or such a smoking-hot bod,” I add, just to annoy him.
“Oh, you think he’s hot, do you? Come on, Lana, admit it — we both know I’m way better-looking.”
Ha! There’s no way I’m admitting that (even though it’s true – and then some). Robert and Sasha have the “wow” factor in looks, remember?
“Ah, the vanity! Appearances don’t always come into it. Perhaps Kara likes Gary for his personality,” I suggest.
“Appearances always come into it for Kara. The woman will hardly allow herself even to be friends with an ugly person. If you think I’m vain, just wait until you get to know her better.”
“Well, she is very beautiful,” I concede. “Maybe that’s why she expects such high standards from those around her.”
Robert gazes at me now. “Has anyone ever told you that your naïveté is refreshing? You’re wrong about Kara, though. She’s not beautiful. It’s all paint and lights with her. With you, on the other hand…” he says and then stops, eyes wandering over my face.
“With me what?” I ask, eager to know what he was about to say.
He reaches out with his uncut hand and trails his fingertips along my cheekbone. “You were always something, but you really did turn into a swan, didn’t you, Lana?” he whispers.
His words make me feel like I can’t breathe, like I’m trapped inside a bubble filled with emotions I don’t know how to decipher. The moment drags out painfully, and Jesus, I really need to change the subject. “She reminds me of Aphrodite,” I blurt out.
Whenever I get nervous in life I always seem to blather on about Greek mythology. Probably because it’s what I know best.
Robert drops his hand and gives me a half smirk. “Aphrodite?” he questions.
“Yeah, she’s the Greek goddess of desire. One of the most beautiful of all the goddesses. Kara reminds me of her. Her beauty meant that men were always fighting over her. That’s why her father Zeus married her off to Hephaestus so there wouldn’t be competition between the other male gods. She took lovers, though: Ares, the god of war, and Adonis, the god of beauty.”
Robert smiles. “So Gary and I are Ares and Adonis, are we?” He pauses. “Well, I’m definitely the Adonis out of the two of us.”
I shake my head at him, playfully disagreeing. “No, you’re more like Narcissus.”
“Hmm, I’m thinking there’s an insult in there somewhere. What was he the god of?”
“He wasn’t a god. He’s a character in one of the myths. Born the son of a god and a nymph, he was a very handsome young man and attracted lots of attention from the ladies. However, he never reciprocated any of their affections. Unfortunately for him, Nemesis, the goddess of retribution, took note of this. She decided to curse Narcissus by luring him to a pool of water, where he came upon his own reflection and ended up falling in love with it. There he spent the remainder of his days, gazing lovingly at his own face.”
I end my story with a little hand flourish.
Robert begins chuckling. “Are you shitting me?”
I shrug. “You’ve always loved yourself more than anyone else.”
“Well, that’s definitely insulting, though I do agree with the bit about him being a handsome young man.” He gives me a devious grin.
“I’m only basing the statement on what I know of you,” I add, embarrassed.
Now he gets serious. “You haven’t known me for six whole years, Lana. I’m not a bratty teenage boy anymore.”
I breathe out heavily. “Okay, I’ll admit you’re not as bad as you were. From what I can tell so far, you’ve grown up some.”
He ignores my comment and asks, “How do you know all that stuff anyway, about gods and goddesses?”
I pat dry his hand. “That’s what I’m studying for my doctorate, ancient Greek mythology.”
He seems amused. “And what does one do with a qualification like that?”
“Lots of things. I want to lecture and write books on the subject. It’s going to take a long time, but I’ll get there eventually.”
Robert makes a face. “I’ve never been a fan of academics. I prefer to get out in the world and make something of myself.”
Slowly, I begin wrapping the bandage around his hand. “Well, I suppose we all want different things from life.”
“So what are you going to write your thesis on? Please tell me it’s about sex between the gods. I’d love to see you give a presentation on that.”
I cock an eyebrow. “Uh, why?”
“Oh, come on, it’d be hilarious. Someone as shy as you talking about lascivious gods and how they liked to get their jollies. I remember seeing this engraving in the British Museum of a guy sporting a massive erection. Half the stuff in there was downright pornographic.” He puts on a face as though offended, but I know too well that it’d take a lot more than a few rude engravings to offend Robert.
I burst into laughter. When I finally calm down, I say, “That was probably Priapus, the god of fert
ility. It’s where the word ‘priapism’ comes from. You know, when a man’s, um, thing...won’t go down.”
At this Robert lets out a delighted chuckle. “His thing? Have you ever seen a man’s thing in the flesh, Lana?”
I give him a warning stare, and he sobers up.
“I’ll admit that sex is a pretty big part of the myths,” I go on. “Those Greeks had some seriously dirty minds. But no, you’ll be disappointed to learn that’s not what I’m writing my thesis on. I actually haven’t settled on a subject yet. I’ve had several theories accepted by my supervisor, but I don’t know, none of them feel exactly...right. It’s frustrating, because I feel like what I truly want to write about is on the tip of my tongue, hovering just outside my reach. Sometimes I almost grasp it, but then I lose it again. You know what I mean?”
I realise I’ve been gesturing with my hands when I look back at Robert. His eyes take me in, as though fascinated. I always get a little overly animated when I start talking about my subject. I can’t help it; these things just excite me.
Robert clears his throat with a cough, then says, “Yeah, I know what you mean.”
A silence ensues as I finish up with the bandage. I tie a little knot and cut off the end of the roll. Then I stand up and go to rinse my hands in the sink. Once I’m done I turn back to Robert, who’s still sitting on the edge of the tub, looking at me.
“I better get back downstairs and let you go, uh, grab a clean shirt. Gary left two big suitcases full of your stuff in the hall, by the way.”
Robert sighs. “Yeah, I saw. And thanks...for the bandage.”
I nod, giving him one last glance, and then leave the room. Well, that was different. My stomach rushes with shallow victory as I hear his words echo in my head: You were always something, but you really did turn into a swan, didn’t you, Lana?
If I was always something, then why did he make me feel so ugly? I don’t get it.
But it does make me feel good to know that he sees me now, sees the pretty girl who evolved out of the awkward, shy, redheaded teenager. Unfortunately, the victory doesn’t feel quite as triumphant as I thought it would – aspirational disappointment at its finest. Now a brand-new feeling is stirring in my belly: want. I can’t deny that I like how he looks at me, and I want more of it. More of his soft words and heated stares.
