Wright Left

by Peter Marks

  Not even where they’d send Wright’s carcass on trussing him up and throwing him in the F-16 crate Kelly had promised to provide.

  ________________

  Creeping over to the double doors Wright checked that the checker had gone. This front room, the alternate lounge room, was cavernous. When the sun managed to struggle through the shrubbery that adhered thickly to the immense front facing windows, a forest of leaves and boughs that were busy photosynthesizing themselves into obesity, the space was a reasonably bright expanse.

  Closing the door Jenny had left ajar, shutting it with a faint click, he turned around to find Cocaine staring at him from the other doorway (Cocaine was cat three). Is there no privacy in this dump, he moaned, speeding across the worn Persian rug covering the floorboards to slam that door shut in a futile attempt to keep the herds out and some privacy in. Shoed (literally, aiming his left boot at it) away cat three that was too quick for Wright. And his flying foot.

  Cocaine was too quick for decapitation, it could outrun any door. Even revolving one’s.

  ‘Let’s go Nathan, I can’t concentrate,’ Kelly frowned, growing weary of such constant interruptions, of the people and animals who kept walking through her passions. Nathan nodded, following her dutifully out the door and sweeping past a sniggering cat. They went into the lounge which was warm and cozy.

  And fuckin’ crowded.

  ________________

  ‘Hello Kelly, escaped at last? When are you going to learn that he’s not to be trusted in dark rooms?’ Jenny asked, sitting, knitting in one of the large stuffed armchairs having returned to the sitting room from her bedroom after locating the pattern to the jersey she was knitting for the latest love of her life. (“Lust of your life!” Wright always corrected sourly when-ever she spoke of the bond with the new beau).

  The others, resting on the more tatty furniture scattered about the room, looked at Nathan.

  ‘Pervert!’ They declared in unanimous verdict as Wright wandered in.

  ‘Perverts,’ he responded honestly for this was not a virtuous household. Merely a lecherous one.

  ________________

  Basically, their shared debauchery was why they all got along so well for none of them here could throw the first condom as none of them here was in any moral position to do so. Most, aside from Mart and Ceil who were almost engaged so excluded from the single’s sin, if checked on at three a.m. on a Sunday morning after a pick-up party the night before, were contorted and conjugated in anything but moral positions.

  Could be discovered in the “69”, “Simply Smiling”, “Doggie” or, when completely exhausted or totally lacking in creativity, the “Missionary.”

  (The position, not the career).

  ________________

  Wright excused himself, leaving to get a drink. For himself. For Kelly. Then returned. Big mistake - position untenable.

  ‘Where are ours?’ Demanded the bodies strewn about the room, all of whom were intently watching the television, four recalcitrant sinners dressed in the standard attire of the relaxed; jeans and T-shirts.

  On Wright’s return, they all turned and watched Wright instead of the TV as he handed over his offering of gin and lemonade to the polite Kelly who thanked him. Then grinned knowingly, settling casually back to wait for the fireworks fully aware that Wright wouldn’t get away with just waiting on her.

  ‘What about us?’ they demanded, louder this time. Wright winked. Raised his glass and drank to their demise gulping it down in one suffocating slurp.

  Martin called him a shit, Fionna called him a pig, Ceil called the police while Jenny just stared - which was far more threatening any of the previous responses.

  Nathan watched Jenny.

  Saw her mouth silently a word he knew all too well (M ..o ..r ..m ..o ..n ..s).

  Wright, taking note of such unanimous animosity, took flight. Well maybe not. It was Jenny who finally convinced him to be a gentleman for Jenny was no native to be bartered with. Hell, she could maim at ten paces with any domestic appliance so feigning manners Wright left muttering something about Madame Dufarge and Guillotines to prepare more drinks, too hostile not to be hospitable.

  ‘He frightens easily.’ Jenny grinned, wry glint in a fevered eye.

  Kelly smiled, lamely. ‘He’s no Jeeves but there’s a certain something about him ...I don’t know if it’s madness or majesty it’s so hard to tell,’ she sighed, recalling her mother’s reference to Nathan as the frog prince.

  ‘How are things?’ Ceil enquired, knowing more about Kelly’s disquiet than Wright did.

  ‘Oh, things are tolerable. He’s annoying and arrogant.... and belligerent..’

  ‘And lazy.’ Jenny.

  ‘And pompous.’ Martin.

  ‘And sexist.’ Ceil.

  ‘And funny unfortunately,’ she said, a tear almost escaping the dammed duct. ‘The goddamn buggar makes me laugh just when I feel like crying.... or strangling him. I think he’s a hopeless case but he’s different. He’s not like any-one else I’ve ever known or dated. Being with him is like a day at the zoo, or a night at a carnival. Interesting, exciting sometimes, never without incident, but hardly the stuff of dreams.....and even when we are together he’s never there, he’s always inside his head taking a stroll round the park .....have you noticed that ?’ She asked, not throwing the question at any-one in particular.

  ‘More like a stroll ‘round his ego,’ Fionna answered. And that’s a good three day trip,’ she added, then retracted, saying she didn’t really mean it when she saw how forlorn Kelly seemed, so she wandered over to her to sit by Kelly’s side and put her arm around her. Whispered comfortingly.

  ‘Kelly, we don’t know what’s happening between you and Nathan, but don’t give up.’ She stopped and thought a moment about what to say next; wanted to be reassuring but didn’t want to be struck by lightening either,.’. honestly.. he’s worth persevering with,’ she assured Kelly, quietly looking at the ceiling expecting a bolt at any moment. ‘You two have been together for long enough now not to throw it all away. He’s okay, don’t be to harsh on him he just doesn’t know what he wants,’ she confided.

  ‘He just won’t grow up,’ Kelly sniffled.

  ‘He will,’ Martin consoled, not believing for one millisecond Wright ever would.

  ‘In time he’ll mellow, perhaps he’ll even mature,’ Ceil said, more in earnest hope than sincere belief.

  Jenny, mortal enemy, said:

  ‘Kelly, what do you want? Do you want something different or do you want normal? If you want peace and quiet and a conservative existence dump Nathan. It’s not him. Hell, there’s an entire planet full of insincere shmucks who appear standard but will screw around, tell lies, drain your bank account, bed your best friend AND still tell you they love you. That’s not Nathan. He may be peculiar, he may not act or behave like most but I sure as hell know that when he loves someone, as retarded as he is about telling them, he at least behaves as if he’s in love. He doesn’t screw around, he doesn’t misbehave..’ Jenny told her, wondering if Kelly was taking the slightest bit of notice.

  She was sick of the complaints of women she knew were so attracted to Nathan originally because he was different to any male they’d previously met. But it was Catch 22.

  In the end Nathan’s girlfriends gave up on him for exactly the same reason. Because he was just different.

  ________________

  Shuffling about in the kitchen meanwhile, busy pouring drinks, Nathan felt as though someone had passed a flame thrower by his ear. Completing the task, he returned to the fray.

  ‘Ladies, gentleman, alcoholics one and all.... your drinks,’ he announced loudly, in total ignorance of his trial and defence, standing outside the lounge in the hallway waiting for a response that didn’t arrive.

  So he kicked the door back on its hinges and stepped into the room, suspicious to be greeted by such hushed faces. Looked at them looking ev
ery-where but at him.

  Thinking it best not to enquire as to why they were all averting their eyes from him and thinking they all looked as if their parents had just caught them fondling their first flesh on the ancestral couch, Wright shrugged.

  Oblivious to the fact that his friends in the lounge now knew more about Kelly’s feelings toward him than he did, Nathan dealt out the drinks before collapsing on the floor.

  And the cat.

  Neither was prepared to move so Wright used Serepax as a cushion until the cushion grew claws and attacked him. Screaming in pain he hurled the cushion (the cat and the bearer of the blades) at Jenny (in an act of aggression he wouldn’t have contemplated had he been a fly on the wall five minutes earlier. Wright would have offered them all his thanks and a hundred dollars and not the rapier cat if he’d known how staunchly they’d defended him. But he hadn’t been so he hurled it at Fionna instead, knowing Jenny would think she was the obvious choice).

  Fionna caught the cat, gently. Patted it a couple of times then threw it back from whence it came. Back to Nathan who didn’t catch the cat for the cat caught him, pile-driving eight needle claws into the sub strata of his thighs.

  Apparently, Serepax was searching for oil.

  ‘Yeeeow,’ Wright wailed louder than a hooker faking climax (who was at least paid for shrieking). He tried to pries the Samurai Serepax loose attempting to undo the knotted claws but his efforts only procured more pain for the cat refused to let go.

  ‘That’ll teach you, you sadist,’ Jenny grinned and Wright tended to agree, his tendons in turmoil.

  ‘That’ll teach you to play rugby with poor Serepax.’ Ceil this time.

  Serepax meanwhile, claws embedded, looked sheepish and settled so Wright ripped the adhered cat from his dartboard thighs and handed the hairy ball to Kelly.

  And told her to run with it shrieking: ‘PUNT IT, PUNT IT!’ to cover the pain that welled up from a thigh that had more holes in it than a golf course.

  The cat looked even less dignified. It was looking more like a large red football with each exchange and was certainly not thrilled with this game of pass the puss, its two sad sleepy eyes darting about the room searching for any referee who’d call time.

  Puss finally found a friend in Kelly who, suitably chastened by Jenny’s remarks, patted down the hair that had raised in frenzied flurries from the cat’s back before placing him gently on the carpet.

  Serepax turned, purred thank-you to Kelly then, staring at Wright, flexed the razor toes hoping that a couple were missing - left loitering in the thighs of the beholder.

  Serepax counted them and was disappointed when he realised they were all there so shoved his tail in the air, pointed his rear at an agonised Wright and sauntered out of the room. The revenge of the cushion. Another Catastrophe.

  ‘Serves you right,’ Jenny said sourly, totally unimpressed with Wright’s version of touch football. Wright, unrepentant but sore, decided that now was a good time to leave.

  This lot were no fun and the television was of no interest so Nathan got up, deciding he’d rather watch football than the drivel this gathering had chosen (some documentary on the history of macrame).

  Now Nathan quite liked Saturday’s (even knew that for most they followed Friday’s). Weekends, that period composed of one Saturday followed by a single Sunday, were the only days of the week he chose to recognise. Or involve himself with. (Perhaps because Saturday’s were sanctioned by the Victorian Football League. And Sunday: by God).

  ‘Nathan,’ Jenny interrupted his exit. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

  ‘I don’t think...’

  ‘You’re right there,’ she agreed, having seen little evidence that ever thought about anything but himself.

  ‘I don’t think ....I know,’ he qualified.

  ‘Don’t for one moment imagine you can slide off upstairs to watch the football. You stay here and entertain poor Kelly...’

  ‘I’m not,’ he fibbed, intending to go and watch the football, ‘and the only entertainment Kelly needs is..’

  ‘Your funeral.’ Jenny decided.

  Chapter Fifteen

  DEAF EARS

  ‘DON’T FOR ONE moment imagine you can slide off upstairs to watch the football.’ Deja vu Nathan thought. ‘I’m not,’ he fibbed, saying he was going to take a shower and shave.

  ‘If you’re lying, you’ll shave alright.... and it’ll be the closest shave you’ve ever had!’ Kelly warned, her hand swishing across a pale throat in obvious threat.

  Occasions like this concerned Wright.

  It wasn’t the threat that worried him but the niggling suspicion that this woman wasn’t in any need of a crystal ball to predict the future.

  ‘Honest,’ he said smoothly. ‘Don’t be so damned dubious. I’m just going upstairs to trim my facial tresses ‘cos the damn hedges are turning my chin into a market garden,’ he argued, trying to allay any lingering doubts but Kelly wasn’t fooled. Kelly was nobody’s fool; especially Wright’s.

  ‘...then you’re going to park yourself in front of the television and watch the football,’ Kelly prophesied.

  The girl’s got gipsy blood Wright cursed. Silently., he stood there looking mortally wounded by the accusation before defending himself.

  ‘I told you, I’m going upstairs to shave,’ he reiterated. ‘Then I’m going to watch the f..o.o..t...y,’ he yelled laughing, fleeing the room before Kelly had a chance to argue.

  When it came to football Wright was not easily intimidated.

  ________________

  Sitting upstairs glued to the TV that sat atop the bookshelves by the bed, Nathan was screaming and cheering every goal his team kicked or throwing a pillow at it and booing loudly each time the opposition kicked one.

  Kelly interrupted his revelry an hour later. Appearing like a ghost through the door she told him it was time they thought about leaving.

  So Nathan asked her to leave.

  ‘It’s five minutes into the last quarter Kel and we’re only eight goals ahead... hell, anything could happen.’

  ‘It’s a replay Nathan and you know exactly what happens, now move! We’re going partying tonight whether you like it or not.’ Nathan was keen to go but he keener to stay and watch until the footy finished so requested she have the party rescheduled for tomorrow night so he could wallow in this glorious victory.

  Her answer was a firm no. Accompanied by a firm wallow of one of his TV tossed pillows.

  ‘Now move!’ she ordered, tugging a reluctant and limp arm, checking his cheek when it came close enough to gauge the typography, slapping him lightly with an open palm across the top of his head when she discovered the still there shrubbery.

  ‘Nathan you pig, you haven’t even shaved yet!’ She noted, delicately picking some hairy splinters from her smooth palm.

  ‘Now, now, language,’ he chuckled, leaping at her and, pulling her to him, sandpapered several of her epidermal layers, rapidly removing a few inches of soft tissue with the omnipresent stubble.

  They wrestled for five minutes before Kelly screamed for mercy so Wright stopped being abrasive.

  Both were exhausted and out of breath. They sat side by side on the edge of the bed silently glaring at each other watching to see who’d be the first to blink or smile. A minute elapsed. Then five. Then suddenly, simultaneously both broke and the two of them lapsed into hysterics, gave up the pretence of being angry and broke into laughter to roll about the bed giggling like a couple of ten year olds’.

  It was mutual mirth, a spontaneous release which was neither planned nor forced, their laughter an intimate sharing no interloper would understand. Nobody else would think anything funny had happened to cause such rolling about. Love could be like that (mind you so could madness).

  ‘Okay Nat, time to move,’ she said trying to stop laughing, attempting to get him out of bed. This is new Wright thought. Normally she was trying to get him in
there.

  ‘Okay, have it your way. Stay there and I’ll shave you where you sit,’ she smiled. Wright went into a protective crouch. Immediately collapsing into the foetal position. He didn’t trust women. Especially women bearing sharp objects so declined her generous offer.

  ‘Then get up and start moving.’

  ‘Where ?’

  ‘Now don’t start that !’ she warned trying not to get involved in what she knew was coming. What was coming was Nathan’s standard defence when pressed, a Neanderthal set of replies that was his way of avoiding action.

  ‘Why?’ He continued.

  ‘Nathan, I’m warning you!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Okay. You asked for it..’

  ‘When ?’

  The laws of Kelly the Unimpressed set the time, a timeless law the equal of any of Einstein’s, one that proposed that for every inaction there is an opposite and equal reaction. Thump, Kelly struck. Wright kept laughing so the dumb fucker was struck again. That shut the buggar up.

  ‘That’s my shaving arm,’ he wailed pathetically, nursing wounded pride and blue bruised bicep moaning with all the intensity of a salesman who’d just had the expense sheet rejected. To reinforce the damage she’d done, Wright began rubbing the throbbing limb. Kelly seemed quite unconcerned.

  ‘It could have been worse,’ she told him. In all honesty.

  Indeed it could have been worse so Nathan crossed his legs to protect the delicate area where such a blow could indeed have been disastrous. Then sweetly, Kelly clasped the injured arm, lent across and kissed his bicep better so Wright immediately uncrossed his legs and prayed for the worse hoping she’d then also kiss that area better.

  No such luck so Wright finally rose, making for the bathroom to prepare himself and the hedges for the night ahead. And returned to his room as soon as he heard Kelly go downstairs, leaving the bathroom and sneaking back to the television. It wasn’t late Wright decided, deciding there was plenty of time until they had to leave for the party so made himself comfortable while keeping a nervous and receptive ear open in case he heard Kelly’s soft steps on the floor outside his room.