The Numbers Game

by Frances Vidakovic

  In the background, Tabitha could hear the snogging come to an end. Still holding a palm close to her fresh bald patch, she peered over the veranda’s brick enclosure and saw Markie looking curiously towards the house. Or should she say, looking curiously towards her.

  “Serena?” he guessed, because that was the most logical choice. There wouldn’t be many women waiting for Markie to come home.

  “No,” Tabitha replied, pulling herself to full height. “It’s me, Tab.”

  She said it as if the answer was obvious. As if Serena had better things to do than hang around, waiting to see what her boyfriend got up to at night.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, as shocked as she was.

  “I think I should be asking you that question,” Tabitha huffed back, motioning to the witch on his arm.

  Quite unfairly, the girl fared better close-up. She looked young, bouncy and innocent - make that stupidly naive actually. Rather than being annoyed at Tabitha’s surprise jump-out-of-the-box, his date looked up for a threesome.

  Now ideally Tabitha would have liked for the scenario to continue like this: Markie drops the tramp like a hot potato (her? I don’t even know who she is; I’m just bringing her here so I can call her a cab.) He would then plead and cry like a baby. Oh Tabitha, you have to help me…I miss Serena so much. Can you talk to her and convince her that this break is a stupid thing? I want everything to be like it used to be. Maybe even you and Rick can start joining us for double dates.

  But this was of course wishful thinking. Markie didn’t even like her, for reasons unbeknownst to Tabitha. Obviously at this point she was still not ‘Rick material.’

  “I’m afraid I don’t owe you any explanations,” he said diplomatically.

  This pissed Tabitha off incredibly. What if she wasn’t here spying but rather waiting to tell Markie some awful news about Serena? That she was in an accident, that a crane fell on her at work, or worse still, Serena was pregnant and thinking about having an abortion because she wasn’t confident in Markie’s love for her? Really he was being such a feckwit, acting like he wanted his perfect baby fetus dead.

  “Who is this ogre? Doesn’t she have a life?” Mark’s arm attachment said, glaring at Tabitha as if she was the impostor and not the other way around.

  “I’ll explain later,” Markie replied. Without so much as glancing at Tabitha, he walked to the front door, opened it and ushered the girl inside.

  Only when Markie was sure his hot prospect was safely behind closed doors did he turn around.

  “Tabitha,” he sighed. “I’m still not quite sure what you’re doing here. Did Serena send you?”

  “Ha! In your wildest bloody dreams!” she guffawed back. Really, the nerve of the guy. “As far as I know she is out screwing old boyfriends right now.”

  Markie smiled. At first Tabitha thought it was a pretend smile; you know the type, when one is trying hard to hold back tears. But a second later she changed her mind. She’d forgotten what guys were like: if an ex was spreading her legs, they were only too happy to do the same. Markie probably thought he had the green light now to jump that anorexic’s bones.

  “So you had nothing better to do than hang around my place?” he grinned.

  “Oh I have plenty of other things to do. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t messing things up.”

  “By doing what exactly?” he asked, dropping his ear closer.

  “By…by…” Suddenly Tabitha was lost for words. Crap, when she arrived everything made wonderful sense. She was acting the part of a concerned friend, now she was playing the part of a borderline psycho… How in the world was she going to end this awkward conversation sounding sane? Rick and Markie were best friends and Markie would surely take this story back to the office resulting in Rick thinking she was weird.

  “Look Markie,” she smiled demurely, flicking some hair back to cover her new bald spot that still hurt like hell. “Serena is my best friend; I just don’t want you doing anything to hurt her.”

  There, that sounded good.

  “Like stealing her white satin shoes and dying them red?”

  Smart-ass. It was time to take the alternative route.

  “How about we pretend this conversation never happened?” Tabitha tried instead. “You didn’t see me and I didn’t see you.”

  “Sounds like a good plan,” Markie grinned, patting her on the shoulder, “but you have nothing to worry about, so don’t worry.”

  “Great then I won’t,” Tabitha replied, setting off for down the street. “I have better things to do with my time anyway.”

  As they parted, the strangeness of the moment dissipated and neither of the two still had any idea of the purpose for Tabitha’s visit. Maybe that too had dissolved in the wake…

  Despite having just stepped out of a long-term relationship (for some fresh air, not permanently that is), it felt like years since Serena had gone on a real date.

  Make that almost a century. Serena couldn’t remember the last time she had gone out and splurged on a dress with the simple desire to impress. A boy, that is. Like most girls, she usually shopped only with herself and fashion magazines in mind and as long as she thought she looked good in it then she knew Markie would be okay with it too.

  But Jasper wasn’t Markie; he was a blast from her lurid past. From memory his favorite color on girls was blush pink so Serena set out on a hunting expedition to find that perfect blush dress. It only took her about four hours and three car trips. But there it was, in an obviously underrated boutique, hanging on the specials rack: knee-length and strapless with a satin black ribbon running underneath the bust line and just waiting to make Serena feel like a million dollars. At forty bucks, it was much cheaper and better value than that silly fortune-teller she sought. Moments like these always made Serena regret throwing away money on stupid things. Imagine what her wardrobe would be like if she gave up fast food, facials and made bargain shopping a serious career – she could be the next Jackie O!

  “Wow,” even Jasper felt compelled to say, after he had regained his breath (she had obviously taken it away, you see). “You look beautiful.”

  “Thank you,” Serena replied, gratefully. It was nice getting recognition when it was deserved.

  Like two school kids, they walked silently to the car, unsure of so many things. Should they hold hands, kiss on the lips and what was the protocol again for door opening – was she supposed to wait for Jasper to open the car door or open it herself? Serena decided to slay the first two qualms by disregarding them while holding out for the last. She had to. In a country where chivalry was almost dead, it wouldn’t help anyone if Serena stamped it out even further.

  Luckily Jasper got the message. His mother had trained him well.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “Oh I can’t tell you that. It would ruin the surprise.”

  Now this was a pleasant change. The last time Serena had experienced a surprise was when she ate a Kinder egg (but even that wasn’t a real one, she already knew she’d be getting a miniature car inside). Unfortunately the older you were, the better your guessing skills, thus making wonder a thing of the past.

  “How about just a little clue?”

  “Nup, sorry, no can do. You’ll just have to be patient.”

  Gosh, patience…honestly Serena couldn’t think of anything more frustrating. She hated having to second guess anything. Like tonight, Jasper was wearing khaki pants and a black shirt so they couldn’t be going anywhere too fancy. He was heading north as opposed to south, so it wasn’t near the water. Plus they were listening to alternative rock rather than Celine Dion so the mood was more mellow than romantic. The only conclusion Serena could draw from this data was that they were going to the circus, but then that would make Jasper a clown.

  “Hang on a bit,” she said, as a looming monument came into view. “You’re taking me to the art gallery, right?”

  Jasper didn’t say anything in response. He just
sat there in the driver’s seat, gliding his car through the traffic, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. Still the famous building drew closer and closer. It was as huge and grand looking as the White House, all columns and stone and by the time they hovered under it, it looked more like a slightly foreboding parent.

  “Gosh I don’t think I’ve ever gone with you here,” Serena mumbled, dumbstruck.

  That very concept was baffling to her right now. It was like not going to the movies with a film buff, never visiting the library with a bookworm, never going disco dancing with a techno freak. Up till now, she thought she knew Jasper through and through (pre-world travel that is) but the truth was she didn’t. Sure Serena had been titillated by the whole struggling artist persona as a starry-eyed girl but the persona doesn’t make a person. To put it bluntly, Serena had ignored a major chunk of Jasper: that part unfortunately being his core.

  “I have something to show you here,” Jasper said, after purchasing the tickets.

  Serena nodded and followed him down the wide corridor, past all the French and Italian greats. This must be good, she thought, given that he was barely waiting for her. Just as Serena started worrying about possible sweat patches forming on her dress from all the brisk walking, Jasper stopped outside another big open room.

  “Oh it’s a special exhibition.” Serena said, reading the gold jilted notice board. “They’re featuring national artists.”

  “The best one from all fifty states,” Jasper confirmed, “from here they select a finalist who will go on to represent the US in the International Art Festival.”

  “Ooh… well why don’t we try and find what the cat dragged in California,” Serena said, pulling Jasper by the arm. “I put my money on a tan naked bust lying in the sun and sand.”

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you but you would be wrong,” a man standing beside the sign informed her.

  Serena looked up at him and instantly discerned he was one of the museum people. The name badge sort of gave it away.

  “I was joking you know,” she replied coolly, trying to retain some sophistication in front of Jasper. Ordinarily she hated people who stuck their nose where it didn’t belong. “But since you are an expert, why don’t you escort me to our beautiful state’s entrant.”

  “Maybe Mr. Mason would prefer to do the honor. Evening again Jasper,” the museum attendant said tipping his hat.

  “How does he know your name?” Serena whispered, as this time Jasper took hold of her elbow. He was leading her towards a mob of people gathered at the back of the room, obviously flocking a painting she couldn’t see.

  “Serena, you forget that I’m an art major, I come here almost every other week.”

  “So you and Bob are on first name basis,” she stated wryly, as they waited for the throng to melt away. It was taking quite a while. “Let me guess, Mr. California won first prize.”

  “He did indeed,” Jasper replied. “Here.” He gently edged his way forward, bringing Serena along with him. They got a lot of dirty looks, giving that pushing inside at art galleries was a big no-no but so what? Serena felt like shouting ‘live a little’.

  The painting was worth everyone hating them for a while. Taken from a bird’s eye view, it showed a crowd of wretched people, running towards a distant sea. In their eyes, Serena saw pain like she’d never known – desperation and terror mixed with an inkling of hope. It was hard to tell what they were running from, giving that behind them were mountains and forests but it couldn’t have been anything good. As long as they kept moving forward, towards the sea, everything would be all right they seemed to be thinking. But the fact was the sea was miles away and the people looked so thin and deathly, like they might never make it. It almost made Serena want to cry.

  “Gosh,” she said, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Not many paintings make me feel so emotional. Does it say what it’s called?”

  Jasper pointed to the brass plate situated at the base of the frame. Serena moved in closer, given she was secretly a bit short-sighted and all. This time she experienced genuine surprise.

  Never Lose Sight of the Sea by Jasper Mason

  “Oh my gosh Jasper, you painted this, you painted this!” Serena exclaimed, bringing her hand to her mouth. “How? Why? When? And you never told me?”

  All the while, Jasper was beaming during Serena’s outburst.

  “I thought you said you stopped painting,” she said accusingly.

  Just as if she’d discovered her own mother had written Pride and Prejudice or her dad directed Pulp Fiction, her pride and joy was mixed with anger. Anger because this painting was not the work of an amateur but someone who‘d labored and toiled over it every day and Serena had never known. She knew Jasper painted but she’d never known how good he had turned out to be.

  “I never said I stopped painting,” Jasper said, “I just said I stopped making it pay the bills because it never did.”

  “I’m sure it will now,” Serena murmured. If she were a billionaire, she wouldn’t hesitate handing over a million or two to have Never Lose Sight of the Sea showcased in her living room.

  “Even if it doesn’t, I’m not fussed. Because the one thing it does do is feed the soul.”

  Serena looked back at Jasper and sighed.

  Now that was something she’d hadn’t consciously done for a while: fed her heart or soul. Good thing it was nearly dinnertime.

  Chapter 12

  At week four Markie was two down, eight to go.

  “Not exactly a fast worker but at least you’ve off to a start,” Rick acknowledged.

  Thanks a lot dimwit, Markie felt like saying back; his best friend was by now an expert in making him feel like a racehorse stuck in the mud. Obviously in the game of scoring, not many would be putting their best bucks on him. Markie and Rick were eating TV dinners in front of the box again - lasagna for Markie and chicken fillet with stringy plastic-looking veggies for Rick, yet another one of the insipid rituals which made up his post-Serena life. Work, dinner, sports, sleep. Lately Rick had even taken to crashing out on Markie’s couch, just so he didn’t have to drive home at night.

  “Not sure why that would bother you,” Rick mumbled, “Seeing as you aren’t bringing home any ladies just yet.”

  Yep that was the difference between guys and girls. A bloke could tell it like it was to his friends while girls, they skirted around the edges. Markie had seen it happen plenty of times between Serena and Tabitha. His take on Tabitha was that she was an eccentric trollop (not a good combination) just a bit too obsessed with his best friend. Serena on the other hand saw it from a different perspective: Tabitha had had numerous flings because a broken childhood left her with commitment issues. She was nice and meant well ‘deep down’ but in the meantime used riotous behavior and heavy humor to cover the pain she felt inside.

  That psychoanalytical babble didn’t really make sense to Markie. Sure you could use the past and bad parenting as excuses for less-than-mature conduct when you were sixteen, eighteen or even twenty. But at twenty-eight? Wasn’t a bystander inclined to say pull the other one by this stage? Markie understood some women lost it when they found themselves old and still single. He had noticed it over the past month in particular, as he plunged back into the ‘sleazing’ game that women weren’t what they used to be. Look at Serena, when Markie met her she was the epitome of grace and playing it cool. It took him an entire year to track her down and when he did it was obvious Serena had not spent any time waiting by the mailbox. Back in the olden days a man did all the chasing and along with it went a real sense of thrill stemming from ancient hunting and gathering tactics. The harder the chase, the better one felt when they nestled down with their kill.

  So what was it like nowadays? Firstly it was as if men could have their pick of the fruit. If they wanted blueberries then they got their blueberries, if they wanted cherries then just as soon they wished it, it was in their hands. The media had screwed up women to the extent that as long as a man
appeared nice and caring then it made her prepared to commit for the long ride (even if he changed personalities along the way). This was the reason why Markie was scared of the whole new game. Really, he could have anyone, ANYONE he wanted but the problem with this was that he didn’t want just anyone. Markie needed time to decipher the good from the bad - the last thing he wanted was a stalker in his bed or someone who pinpricked holes into condoms. What was the point of having even the most beautiful woman if she just plopped into your lap - remember no chase, no thrill.

  There was a distinct impression out there that women needed men while men didn’t need women. But it wasn’t true…men also had feelings, a heart and love to give, just as much as the fairer sex.

  “Remind me again why I wanted to break up with Serena,” Markie asked Rick, while lugging down a beer. When Serena was here, he never consumed fizzy alcohol on a daily basis. He was a wine man but he couldn’t very well pull out those special glasses in front of Rick without looking like a wanker.

  “Because you wanted to have a last taste of freedom, remember,” Rick replied, cocking his feet up on the coffee table.

  Oh that’s right, freedom. Three months ago that sounded like a slice of heaven but now all it left was a sour taste in his mouth. Maybe the grass wasn’t greener on the other side.

  “Having doubts are we?”

  “I don’t know man.” Markie clasped his hands behind his head. “It’s just I thought it would be different. More exciting, more crazy but…”

  “You miss Serena.”

  “Every now and then.” That in itself was a big admission; Markie didn’t need to say more.

  Like crazy he missed Serena; he missed her laugh, her skin, and her female touch. But he’d made this bed and now he had to lie in it alone. Markie wondered what Serena was up to in the meantime. Was she happy, sad, resigned or celebrating? The fact he couldn’t say bothered him. No, she had to be missing him; after five strong years of loyal loving it had to be a shock to both their systems to go without. Not just each other’s companionship either.