That Guy

by Belle Brooks

  “Spot on.”

  “So you’re a receptionist?”

  “Not just any receptionist.” I roll onto my side. “I’m a receptionist for an escort agency,” I whisper, wiggling my eyebrows.

  Arlie doesn’t react.

  “Right? Pretty epic, huh?”

  Arlie half-heartedly laughs. “Well, it’s definitely interesting. So, what, you answer phones, and you book jobs?”

  “Nope!” I lie. “I have phone sex daily.”

  “What?” Arlie reacts this time by straightening his torso and staring.

  “1800-I’m-A-Whore, Melinda speaking.” I portray my sexiest voice. “How may I service you?”

  Arlie swings his legs over the side of the chair. He’s now wholly sitting and staring.

  “It makes for some super long days, but it’s rewarding for someone who doesn’t get laid like me.”

  “Hold up. Hold up. What?”

  “You asked. I told. It’s my job.”

  There’s a long silence, and I struggle to contain the laughter trying to force itself from behind my pressed lips.

  “I don’t believe you. I think you’re messing with me.”

  “You’ll never know.” I laugh, relieved to have parted with the pressure of my humour.

  “No seriously, is that what you do?”

  “Yep.” I laugh harder.

  “Well, fuck!”

  “Fuck with my mouth is right.”

  Arlie doesn’t seem amused when I hopelessly struggle to sit the same way he is. “Are you lying again?”

  “Yep.”

  Arlie blows out a sigh of relief. “Seriously, you had me going then.”

  “Good.”

  “You answer phones and take bookings, right?”

  I nod.

  “For an escort company?”

  “Yep. That part was true. But I’m not even sure if I have a job anymore.”

  “Why?”

  “Because my boss did not seem impressed I was taking this time off to come here. Plus, things there have been so weird. Like, my boss is acting strange. I think she’s had botched plastic surgery or something. I don’t know.”

  “I’m sure you have a job to go back to.”

  “I’m not even sure I want to go back when I go home. I hate that job.”

  “You hate it?”

  “Yep.”

  “Okay then. Will you go back into medicine do you think? You’re also a doctor, or were a doctor?”

  “Was. Am. I can still practice medicine. Like, I’m still registered, but I don’t.”

  “How drunk are you?”

  “Very.”

  “Do you want to talk about this?”

  “Whatever floats your boat. I’m cool, dude.”

  Arlie laughs.

  I fall back into the chair.

  “So you stopped practicing because of a death.”

  “Not because of a death, but because I caused the death.”

  “That’s what I wanted to ask you about. I wanted to ask at the time you said it, but you were trying to flee and were worked up. However, I’d like to know.”

  “I don’t talk about it.”

  “Maybe you should.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I’ll listen if you want to tell me.”

  Tell Arlie about the life I took. Explain everything.

  I think not. It’ll kill my current impressive buzz.

  “Another time,” I say, kicking my feet into the air and shuffling until I’m comfortable. I again watch the gentle waves skirting into shore.

  Arlie doesn’t say another word. The sun drops even farther towards the horizon. It’ll be night soon, but that doesn’t mean the party needs to end. I must find the energy to clamber over to the bar, find out how to turn the music back up, and do it.

  I don’t move. Instead, I think about the life I took in detail, like I didn’t want to.

  “Have you ever killed someone?” I say, almost inaudibly.

  “Apart from my mother, no.”

  “You didn’t kill her. Someone at a train station did,” I reply without emotion or sensitively.

  There’s a long pause. “He took her life, yes, but I sent her. Now he does twenty years in a jail cell, and I get to be on this island with you. It doesn’t seem right, does it?”

  I laugh. I shouldn’t laugh, but I do. “You never killed her—he did. You also never sent her there—it’s what happened. You couldn’t control the situation.” I find Arlie’s response ridiculous in my booze-soaked state.

  Arlie doesn’t reply.

  “You know what, Arlie? A wise, highly flamboyant gay dude once told me that when our number ticks over, that’s it, and no matter what we do, the result will always be the same. So you can lock yourself into eternal damnation until your number arrives and blame yourself, or you can grow some lady balls and live your life.”

  “Chris?” he asks.

  “Yeah, Chris. He says Leon Drucelli would have died that day regardless if I had made the call or not. Do you believe we can’t change the course of someone’s untimely death? Do you think it’ll happen anyway?”

  “My sister does. Me? I’m still undecided.”

  “Your sister should meet Chris.”

  Arlie chuckles lowly.

  “It’s the guilt. It’s too much to handle.” I roll onto my side to face Arlie.

  “Why do you feel guilty?”

  There’s a long silence.

  “He was very sick when he arrived at the hospital. Diagnostics was kind of my talent as a doctor. Between you and me, I failed at surgery and emergency medicine. Too clumsy.” I let out a sharp, short laugh. “But on the medical ward, when tough cases came in, I always seemed to find the answer.”

  “That’s a good thing.” Arlie stares into my eyes.

  “It is until you get it really wrong.” I stop, take a deep breath, then continue. “That day, the day Leon came in, I’d concluded we were looking at two different bacterial-type illnesses. Leon was deteriorating fast, and I had to make a call. If I didn’t, he wouldn’t see the morning.” I take another long, steady breath. “I decided to administer a highly controversial drug, which nowadays works wonders in saving lives. Back then, though, it was still going through the trial stages. If I was right, he’d live. If I was wrong, he’d die.”

  “And on this occasion, you were wrong?” Arlie says softly.

  “No, I wasn’t—that’s the thing. In his autopsy, it turned out I was right.”

  “So how is it your fault?”

  “Because I intubated him. I’d done it a million times before, and every single time, I’d nailed it. That day, I shoved the tube down his oesophagus and took the wrong track. I placed it in his food pipe, not his windpipe. He died from suffocation. So it was my fault.”

  “And you’re human,” Arlie says matter-of-factly.

  “I had a duty of care to not only him but also to his family. By the time I realised what I’d done, it was too late. He passed away, and no matter how many times I pumped his chest and wished I could bring him back, it never happened. I couldn’t call time of death. I couldn’t even move from his bedside. In the end, I was led out by my colleagues.”

  “I’m sorry this happened to you. I can imagine how making those calls and performing those procedures do come with huge amounts of stress.”

  “I’d never felt stressed by my job. The thought of going back, helping people—now that’s a whole bundle of killer heart attack stress for me now.”

  “Did you love being a doctor?”

  “With every beat of my heart. It’s all I ever wanted to do.”

  “So go back and do it. Life’s too short.”

  “And kill someone all over again? I don’t think so.”

  “And save someone all over again.” Arlie’s eyes don’t leave mine when he stands and then sits beside me.

  “I can’t, Arlie, even though I wish I could.” A single tear drips from my eye down my cheek.

  Arlie�
�s quick to swipe it away. “How about another drink? I’ll turn the music back up.” He grabs my hand. I need someone to hold my hand right now.

  “Okay,” I whisper.

  And as Arlie lets go of me, then walks away, I find myself shocked at the fact I spilled the details of the most horrible thing I’ve ever done in my life to him. Apart from Chris, I’ve never told anyone the complete story before.

  Holy shit! I just told the entire world.

  What is it about Arlie that makes me want to confess to him everything about my life, everything I feel, and everything I am?

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The once warm sun treks so low now, it’s all but the size of a thin golden disc. Its lack of glow amongst the pinks and purples rising from behind it dims the water I once tried to surf in. Heart Key is a breathtaking place, one I’ll never forget when my time here has come to an end, and as the once fleecy clouds that appear more like puffs of smoke in the sky roll by, I take a deep breath and turn my sight back to a face I know I’ll never forget either: Arlie’s.

  “What have you put in this drink?” Arlie presses his hand against the bar and pokes out his tongue as he scrunches up his nose.

  “A little bit of this, a little bit of that, and some pineapple juice.”

  “It’s sickly sweet.”

  I laugh. “Tell me more about your sister, Hazel. She seems like a lot of fun.” I lean against the bar as Arlie again scrunches up his face.

  “Hazel’s fun. A little too much fun sometimes. Hence my niece’s existence.”

  “You seem disappointed she has a child.”

  “I’m not. I just wish she’d been ready for a child. Don’t get me wrong, she’s a fantastic mum to Agatha, but Hazel missed a lot of the stuff you get to do when you’re young, and she’s terrible at choosing men. Some say she’s a bit of a mess.”

  “I’m a bit of a mess. Actually, I’m a full-fledged emotional train wreck, and I have no kids. However, I wish I did. I think it’s what life’s supposed to be about, you know? Creating the next generation, seeing the world through eyes we’ve long left behind.”

  Arlie smiles. “You want to be a mother?”

  “Yep! I’d love a bunch of rug rats nipping at my ankles. It would work for me.”

  “They don’t nip ankles. I think what you’re describing is like a chihuahua.”

  I laugh.

  “So you want a bunch of chihuahua dogs. What else do you want?”

  “To be happy. That’s it.”

  “To practice medicine again?”

  “Maybe, if I can get my shit together.”

  “I think you should give it a go.”

  “Maybe. I can’t say no because I’m not sure of anything happening in my life right now. This escape—it’s just what I needed, I think.”

  “Me too.”

  “Really?” My eyebrows hitch high on my forehead.

  “Yeah. I’ve been walking through life aimlessly of late. The gym’s going well. My clients are great. My friends are a fantastic bunch of people, but something’s missing.”

  “Chihuahua dogs?” I giggle.

  “No! Not chihuahua dogs.” Arlie’s smile reaches his eyes. “Life is missing.”

  “Life?”

  “Yeah, like the next stage of it. The love, living-with-a-woman thing. I was with a woman for a long time, and I never once asked her to move in with me. You know, it never dawned on me to do so.”

  “Maybe because you were young, and she wasn’t the one you were supposed to end up with.”

  “Maybe. I thought I’d marry her, you know.”

  “What was her name again?”

  “Elissa.”

  “Pretty name. Stupid girl to turn someone like you down.”

  “She was a beautiful girl. Always was.”

  “Do you still love her?”

  There’s a long silence. “Do I still love her? Yes, but I’m no longer in love with her, if that makes sense.”

  “Do you still see her?” I know I should stop probing, but I can’t help myself.

  “No! I don’t. She married my best mate, Flint, and they moved to the UK.”

  “So no contact at all, then?”

  Arlie’s upper lip curls. “My best friend slept with my high school sweetheart and girlfriend of ten years. Would you speak to either of them?”

  “Oh, hell no.” I snap my fingers in front of my chest.

  “There’s your answer.”

  “I couldn’t imagine what being broken-hearted from love would even feel like because I’ve never known love.”

  “It feels like a thousand flaming swords slicing through every inch of your heart.”

  “Fuck!”

  “Yeah.” Arlie pushes the drink across the bar. “I still can’t believe you’ve never dated.”

  “It’s the God’s honest truth.”

  “Love isn’t anything to be scared of, even if you feel like you’re dying when it goes horribly astray.”

  “Reading about it is hard enough.”

  “You are an emotional reader. I’ll give you that.”

  “Like, Delilah dies in the book. How frickin’ horrible.”

  Arlie chuckles in a low tone.

  “Do you want another drink?” I offer.

  “I’ll pass.” Arlie sticks out his tongue and shivers like someone has walked over his grave. “I’m more of a beer guy, and even having a beer is a stretch for me. I’m not really a drinker.”

  “Fair enough. More for me.”

  Arlie and I talk about his niece, his sister, my sister, and life up and until this very moment. My alcoholic buzz slowly returns, and before long, a full moon perches high in the sky, and night has arrived.

  “We should think about having something to eat? I’m starving,” Arlie says as we walk out into the middle of the beach.

  “We should, but it’s so beautiful out here.”

  “It is.” Arlie’s not looking at the night sky when he says this. He’s looking at me.

  “I’d like to stay down here for a while longer.”

  “Okay.”

  We walk, drink, laugh, and talk, and everything is perfect. Slowly, I grow even more intoxicated. I dance freely without concern for the fact Arlie’s watching my every move. In fact, I like the fact he views me as he does.

  “Come join me,” I yell over the top of the now booming music.

  One step, two steps, three steps has the gap between us closing. Four steps, five steps, six steps has my heart racing. Seven steps, eight steps has Arlie pulling me against his body and our fingers lacing together. Leisurely, we dance in a circle, our eyes connected, our bodies close, and our lips even closer.

  “You’re so good looking,” I blurt out. “Like, hot beyond any hotness I’ve ever seen.”

  Arlie laughs, but he also blushes, which I find endearing.

  “Thank you,” he finally replies.

  “I want you so bad it hurts.” I run my fingers down his abs, resting them against his waistband.

  “Melinda,” he whispers my name.

  “Arlie,” I breathe, sliding my fingertips behind the material of his boardshorts.

  A low groan vibrates in his throat.

  I slip my hand a little lower. “I want you.” I’m breathless when I reach farther into his pants.

  Arlie’s hand clasps my wrist, and just as tenderly as I slid my hand inside his pants, he removes it. “We can’t.” His teeth grind together. There’s a growl of frustration held between his pinched lips. “You’re drinking. I don’t want to be another man you add to the list of men you’ve fucked while intoxicated. I want to be more than that.”

  “You will be. You are …”

  “Not tonight.”

  “But …”

  Arlie places his lips softly against mine, smothering the following words I try to speak.

  ***

  My head pounds, my mouth tastes like arse, and my body feels like I’ve been wrestling a crocodile while being punched in th
e face by a boxing kangaroo.

  “Ooooow,” I moan, rolling onto my side, placing my balled fist against my forehead at the exact moment my stomach does a push-up into my throat. I’m going to hurl.

  I leap to my feet, press my hand over my lips, and try to figure out where I am. I’m in my bedroom.

  Running the length of the long hallway sees me busting through the door of Arlie’s room, then rushing into the en suite. I don’t make it to the toilet. I do, however, make it to the tiled flooring.

  Falling to my knees has my body convulsing. I throw down my hands and proceed to hurl bright yellow liquid, which pools around my hands. “Oh, God,” I groan before again puking like I’m a powerhouse for the vomiting elite.

  Small circles rub against my back. “Here’s some water,” Arlie says as I straighten my torso and rest my bottom against my heels.

  Where did he come from? Where did he get the water from? Was he just waiting for me to come racing in here and hurl up my guts?

  “I told you this would happen when you refused to eat more pizza. Getting drunk on an empty stomach—it’s not a good thing.”

  “I know,” I whine, turning my eyes down, and immediately noticing I’m clothed once again in a surf tee that doesn’t belong to me. Bolting to my feet, I smack both hands against my chest. I’m braless. Removing one hand, I place it below the shirt between my legs. I’m not wearing any panties, and I don’t even remember eating pizza.

  Did I have sex again while drunk, and I’ve no memory of it?

  Two hands press against my shoulders. “We didn’t. You didn’t. It’s okay.” Arlie pauses. “You really shouldn’t get drunk like that.”

  “I know I shouldn’t, but drinking is the only way I can bed a man.”

  “I’m sure it’s not.”

  “It is.”

  “Do you at least feel better?”

  “Arrrrghh.” I wince as the sound of untimed bongo drums beat inside my skull.

  “Let’s get you cleaned up and get some food in your stomach.”

  “Okay.”

  “Lift your arms.”

  I do, allowing Arlie to take off my shirt.

  “Step over your vomit.”

  I do, feeling like I could spew again.

  “I’ve got you, babe. Relax.”

  Arlie calls me babe, and with this one single word, I feel slightly better in my otherwise very sad and sorry-for-myself state.