He paused, his eyes getting a faraway look before he smiled and looked directly at Emily. “Name’s Si, short for Simon. You?”
“Emily.”
“I’m sorry if I seemed a bit abrupt earlier. I’ve a lot on my mind.”
“You were avoiding that guy who came in shortly after you.” Emily startled herself by drawing that conclusion.
“Rat bastard,” Simon muttered before he favored her with an honest smile. “Yeah, thanks for not setting him on me. Some guy I’ve had a disagreement with.”
“Oh?” Now that had her interest piqued.
“Don’t ask.” The way he swallowed hard suggested he was genuinely relieved the guy had departed without having words with him.
Sensing an awkward silence, Emily said, “Cuppa tea do you good?” She didn’t want him to go, at least not yet. Might as well indulge in some eye candy. “Got Earl Grey, rooibos, jasmine, green… A sideline specialty for when the books aren’t flying off the shelves. Take a seat, relax a bit.” She gestured at the couch opposite her desk. Was she being too forward?
For a moment it looked as if Simon were set to bolt, but he relaxed after a heartbeat and sat. “Wouldn’t mind some jasmine tea. Been a while since I had any of that. Black, no sugar.”
She felt him watching her while she boiled the kettle and readied the tea things. What in heaven’s name was she doing? This was a most obvious come-on on her part, but perversely Emily enjoyed it. Something about such a big man so out of his depth made her smile. And drinking tea, of all things? Rae was right. She had hermitted far too much these past few months.
Two years, she could hear Rae correcting her.
After she had passed him his tea, Emily settled back in her armchair. “So what is it you do? You sound like you’ve been outta town for a while.”
Simon took a sip. “Involved in the music industry, producing for a band.”
“What genre?”
He laughed then, as if he found something genuinely funny. “Um… Metal. You couldn’t tell?”
“It’s all the same to me. Metal, rock. I’m afraid I don’t really pay attention to popular culture. It’s too ephemeral. Besides, I did a good job damaging my hearing in dank clubs when I was a teen. Don’t have the energy for that now.” She didn’t add that the lousy stuck-up university professor she’d dated had succeeded in killing any inclinations she’d had to go out and let her hair down.
“Oh.” Simon expelled a deep breath. “You’re not missing much. Musicians are full of shit. Record labels out to make a quick buck, pulling fast ones on the musos and, with all the rubbish going down with the recession, it seemed the sensible thing to come back to South Africa with my tail between my legs. Needed a break, anyway.”
“My sister’s into music. She’s always going on about one band or another. Can’t really keep up. Musicians here seem to be having a better time of it now compared to a few years back. Had some older friends who ended up being school teachers instead of performers.”
Simon smiled. “Well, let me tell you, it gets a bit tiring on the other end. Loads of bands all competing for the same piece of the pie that just keeps getting smaller. Anyhow, I’d rather not talk shop. It’s kak boring. So you dig books. Who’re your favorite authors?”
“Burroughs, obviously, but I’m pretty much into anything that brings a little extra weirdness to the world.”
Their conversation flowed easily after that. Although Simon hadn’t heard of nearly half the authors she mentioned, he showed interest in those she spoke of and, much to her surprise, bought a few copies she recommended. Was he just humoring her? She couldn’t tell, but it didn’t feel as though he bullshitted her. After all, he put cash down on her counter, and she couldn’t complain about making a sale.
He left when a regular, Nan Taylor, dropped by. Simon seemed anxious not to stay with another customer present and it was only after the old lady left that Emily had a chance to glance at the wall-mounted clock. It was well after noon. Simon had hung about for almost three hours. When the lunch-hour rush came, she almost succeeded in putting all thought of him at the back of her mind.
Well, almost. She caught herself staring blankly into space on more than one occasion, having clean forgotten what it was she’d been doing. It was quite groovy to look at a guy and feel an honest bit of lust for a change. After all, what were the chances that he’d drop by again?
Chapter 3
Unexpected Gifts
Contrary to Emily’s expectations, Rae was awake when Emily busied herself with her early morning cup of tea before work. Her sister crouched outside by the kitchen door and threw bits of gravel at the opposite wall, a beedie clamped in her lips and some of the acrid smoke blowing back into the house.
“I wish you wouldn’t smoke those things, they’re really gross.” Emily seated herself on the step next to her sister.
“They look cool. Besides, you used to smoke them.”
“But I saw sense in not killing myself by degrees. You could at least smoke something that doesn’t look and smell like something illegal.”
Rae pushed her hair from her face, so she could peer at Emily. “You think? Remember that time Ma found your stash?”
Emily groaned and drew her knees up so she could rest her head on her thighs. “I don’t want to think about those times, okay? I’ve been a rotten sister.”
“Don’t say that! You were cool, always bringing home awesome music. And you lent me clothes when I wanted to go out. Not many of my friends could have bragging rights to a sister like you.”
“I was a miserable-as-fuck baggage.” Emily looked up at her sister, marveling at how similar Rae was to her, the same pixie-shaped face and pale complexion, although Emily had allowed her natural hair color–strawberry blond–to grow out ages ago. She had to laugh then. “I didn’t ask that you become my Mini Me.”
Rae gave an impish smile, made a fist and extended her pinkie finger, touching it to her lip. She batted her lashes with such mock innocence, Emily burst out laughing, Rae following shortly.
“Gods, girl, you were always such a clown.”
“Especially with such a moribund older sister.”
“Do you even know what the word means?”
Rae shrugged. “It sounds morbid enough.”
“I’m not on my way out yet, you can be sure.” Silence settled on them and Emily glanced up at the mountain.
Rae shifted a bit then cleared her throat. “So what did Ma say?”
Emily sighed. “Oh, the usual. I think it’s a good idea if neither of us makes any attempts to call her for a week or so, just to let the guilt set in a bit. Have you spoken to Dad?”
“He invited us over for dinner tonight. At six.”
“Typical. He obviously doesn’t see this being a problem.”
Rae frowned. “How can this be a problem?”
“It’s not right for you to be, I dunno, homeless. Can you imagine what the family would say?”
“It’s not as if no one knows where I am. And since when did we give a flying fuck about the rest of the family?”
“But Ma…” Emily gave a sigh of frustration.
“Ag, man, you know what she’s like. She’ll get over herself eventually.”
“None of this is necessary.” Back in the kitchen, the kettle clicked off and Emily took this as her cue to make tea. The entire daft situation would seem less complicated after a good cuppa.
Rae followed her into the kitchen, having disposed of the beedie butt. “I was thinking.”
“What? You mean rubbing your two brain cells together has finally produced enough friction for logical thought? Should I think about getting the fire extinguisher?”
Her sister smirked at her. “I could paint some pictures. Grabbed some of my art stuff from home before I scarpered. You could get them framed and sell them in your shop. Then at least I’d be paying my rent.”
“I caught the emphasis on ‘you get them framed’ there. The answer is no. You are
not going to stay here long enough to need to pay rent. Either you’re going back to Ma, or you go bat your eyelashes at Dad.”
She passed Rae a mug of tea, which her sister took with a nod of thanks. This time they both sat in the breakfast nook, Rae leaning over her mug as though she could inhale all the steam.
“Well, sister mine, what are we going to do with you?”
“You could always keep me in the attic like they did in that novel about the kids who got locked away… Not that Jewish girl. The other one.”
“Flowers in the Attic. Never read it because it was so popular with my mates. If I remember enough what was said about it there was a whiff of incest. Besides, this house doesn’t have an attic.”
“I never read it, either.”
“Then why bring it up, silly?”
Her sister shrugged then regarded Emily for a few seconds.
“What, have I grown a third eye all of a sudden?”
“You look…” She flopped her hand in the air on a limp wrist. “You look all… You look like you’ve smoked spliff.”
“I’ve not!”
“Well?” Rae favored Emily with a big grin. “Sister knows. Sister can see.”
“Okay, okay… There was this guy in my shop yesterday. Not my usual type.”
“What, as opposed to hairy nerds who wear tweed jackets with leather patches at the elbows?”
Emily shook her head. That was one way to describe Adrian. “No. Nothing like that. At all. To be perfectly honest, I’d say he’d be more your type.”
“But you dig him anyway?”
“I can’t dig him. I only just met him, and I have my sincere doubts he’ll be showing up again. One of those rare, once-in-a-while moments when someone stands out in the crowd and you can’t help but notice him.”
Rae sat up straighter and cupped her chin in her hands. “So tell me…”
“Very tall, with these green eyes as if he’s wearing contacts or something. Reminds me of a guy I snogged way back when.”
“I’m surprised you even remember half of them.”
“Shut up, Rae. By the way, do you still go about calling yourself Raeven?” Emily cackled at her sister. She hated having her assumed name mocked.
Rae’s response was to stick out her tongue. “So my dear vanilla sister is hankering after the past. That’s absolutely adorable.” She clapped her hands. “When are we dyeing your hair black?”
“We are not dyeing anything. I merely stated I found him appealing, okay? I’m allowed to find a man good-looking. This is especially after putting up with you rubbing my obvious lack of social life in my face yesterday since arriving on my doorstep uninvited.”
Rae grinned. “Ah, that’s so sweet.”
“Look, he came into my shop, bought some books, we chatted and he left.” She didn’t feel like elaborating about the scene with the guy who’d followed him. That was altogether too much information to entrust to her sister. The questions would never end.
“You didn’t even get his phone number?”
“No. I’m not that forward, and since he didn’t ask for mine, it’s pretty much a given he’s not all that interested.” The he’s not all that interested bothered Emily a lot more than she was willing to admit.
The sisters spoke until it was a quarter to eight and Emily would already open the shop late. It was good to have her sister around. The last time they’d seen each other had been at an awkward family lunch a few weeks previously.
As she walked down from her Tamboerskloof home, Emily mulled over the events of the past two days. This interruption of her routine had kicked something loose inside her.
When she’d moved in with Adrian, shortly after she had dropped out of varsity, she’d stopped doing a lot of the things she’d enjoyed, such as going out to clubs, hell, even hanging out with her friends. Adrian hadn’t liked her crowd, said they were too raucous. “Uncouth” had been the exact word he’d used. Instead they’d had soirees at his place in Rosebank, stuffy, slow evenings where she’d ended up drinking too much red wine and fallen asleep on the couch while the others discussed educational policies, funding for student bursaries and other well-worn topics that were far more effective than four Valiums and half a bottle of vodka as far as Emily was concerned. And he’d seemed quite content to have her cook, clean and mope around his cottage instead of getting on with some sort of career. When Emily looked back now, she realized how close she’d come to slipping into a gray middle age.
For the past two years, her life had contracted around Interzone and the house she rented. Because she saw so many of her casual acquaintances at her shop, she’d never felt the need to invite them home, especially not after busy days. It was horrible to admit, but Adrian’s specter still loomed over her, a suffocating shadow that kept her from reaching beyond her immediate environment.
Enter Simon, a blast from the past, if she dare employ the cliché. He brought with him that ghost of aching discontent she’d stifled for such a long, long time, of nights spent escaping the first whispers of dawn and dark, throbbing music hinting at deeper mysteries than doing the laundry and making sure the fridge was always stocked with fresh milk.
* * * *
Five hundred rand. That was all she’d been able to swindle out of her father. Rae had squirreled four hundred of that into the ceramic owl in the spare room in her sister’s house. With the hundred tucked into her left Doc Marten boot, she reckoned she’d be in smokes for a week if she were careful.
With her sister gone to work, there wasn’t much point in hanging around the house on her own. Good thing she and her sister were pretty much the same size and Emily had agreed to let her borrow some of her clothes, though she had very little that was black. Rae frowned at the maroon satin skirt and black strappy top she’d chosen. What the hell had Em done with all her cool stuff? Not quite her thing but it’d do. To compensate, she’d braided her hair into two pigtails only to elicit more than one smart aleck commenting Pippi Longstocking at her as she stomped along Orange Street and up to Gardens where Davy rented a granny flat in the back of some old geezer’s yard.
Eleven in the bloody morning and he still wasn’t up. Rae had slipped through a gap in the plumbago hedge and stood knocking for what felt like half a morning until Davy eventually came to the door wearing only a Pixies t-shirt and a morning glory.
“Jeezuz, Davy, put some pants on or something.” She shoved past him and made her way to the kitchenette where she looked for the least dirty mug, so she could make herself a cup of tea. “You have no shame, y’know.”
Davy stood watching her, half bemused and scratching under one armpit before he gave an indication that he registered what she talked about. He vanished into the bedroom with a shrug presumably, she hoped, to make himself decent.
He wasn’t a bad-looking sort, in a sweet, goofy kind of way. Rae liked his smile, which was open, and he reminded her of a much-younger version of Kurt Cobain but with darker hair. And Emily was right, he did smoke too much weed, but he never made her feel uncomfortable. He didn’t kiss too bad, either, but she wasn’t about to shag him. Shagging invariably made a guy all dick-proud, as if she’d be his possession. No, rather keep them panting after a piece of snatch.
The bottom of the sink was manky with some kind of olive-colored toxic sludge, and suddenly Rae didn’t feel like drinking coffee at all. With a grimace she dropped the mug she’d started rinsing back into the sink, perhaps a little harder than she’d intended, and shuffled into Davy’s excuse of a lounge. The only furniture he had was a couch that wouldn’t look out of place on a sidewalk and a large flat-screen television he’d inherited from his brother. The PlayStation that was his pride and joy was possibly the only clean item in the room. A large, glazed ceramic ashtray a-la seventies porno style dominated the floor, filled with burnt-out roaches, matches and enough pips to start a small plantation. Rae wrinkled her nose at the bitter, herby tang that clung like a miasma in the flat.
Davy cursed and m
uttered from his bedroom, so Rae shouted at him. “What’s keeping you?”
“I can’t find me underwear!”
“Well, I’m not helping you find them. Hurry up! I’ve got something I need to discuss with you.”
He emerged, untucking the offending Pixies t-shirt from a pair of baggy shorts before he made a poor attempt at swiping hair out of his face.
“Do you even own a hairbrush, or is it only me who untangles that rat’s nest for you?” Rae asked.
Davy grinned and threw himself down on the couch, the wooden frame protesting faintly at the weight. “I can’t find the bloody brush, so I’ve been using my fingers.”
Rae gazed toward the ceiling and let out a deep sigh before she shook her head and looked at her friend. “My dear, you are a mess, but if things work out, maybe we can even achieve miracles.”
“That sounds an awful lot like it’s going to involve too much effort.”
“Not a lot of effort.” Rae rested her index finger on her chin. “In fact, I’ll do most of the legwork. You just have to provide the product from your buds down in Langa.”
Some dim awareness stirred in his features. “No, Rae. Don’t be daft.”
“I’ll split the profits, thirty-seventy with me getting the seventy, of course, since I’ll take most of the risk.”
“No way!” He sat up, his eyes wide.
“C’mon, Davy, how much do you smoke?” She gestured at the ashtray. “That’s enough to get you locked up good and proper should anyone bust you, and you just leave the stuff lying there for the whole world to see.”
He sighed. “Who’re you going to sell to?”
“Some of my buddies back in the ‘burbs too scared to get into trouble sourcing their own stuff so they’ve always been badgering me. Ma got my personal stash the other day, so it got me thinking...”
“I don’t know...”
“C’mon. It’s not as if we’re going to be dealing large quantities. Just think–dozens of my privileged college mates, bored out of their skulls over the Christmas holidays. We’re just going to make their summer a helluva lot more interesting while ensuring ourselves some spending money.”
Hell's Music Page 3
