Hell's Music

by Therese von Willegen

  “Fuck.” She rubbed her arm where Emily had gripped her.

  “What was that all about?” Viking asked.

  “My sister’s being a douche.”

  “Haven’t seen her here in ages.”

  “She hasn’t had a social life in ages. I guess she’s just a bit...awkward right now.” Rae sighed then cast a sidelong glance at Simon, who appeared at the doorway, right on cue. “If you hurry, you can still catch her.”

  He turned to her as he stepped off the sidewalk, just as Emily roared past on the Vespa and forced him to jump back with a yelp.

  “Or not.” Rae stifled a laugh.

  “Easy there, big guy,” Viking said.

  “Raeven, what’s with your sister?” Simon asked.

  “What?” A week ago she’d never have spoken to him like this, but now she didn’t care. He’d lost some of that mystique that had left her in star-struck awe. Rae schooled her face to express bored disdain. “You may ask, what’s with you, Simon?” Although she had to clench her hands hard to stop them from trembling, she forced herself back into the club, favoring Simon with a snort of derision. She’d have cheerfully throttled him at this point–star or not. The spineless twerp could at least have made more effort to speak to Emily sooner.

  A hand clamped on her wrist and she spun around to face Simon. “Get your hand off me.” Rae flooded her voice with as much nastiness as she could summon.

  For a moment it looked as if he wouldn’t, but his fingers slackened and he stepped away, his expression hurt.

  Inside, the first strains of Twisted by Wayne G, a real retro bit of club dance, started and Rae thought it prudent to lose herself among the crowd already shoulder to shoulder on the floor. At least in the glare of the strobe no one would see how freaked out she was. What had possessed her? Only a week ago she’d placed this guy on a pedestal. Hell, she’d fantasized about doing stuff to him. How the hell could things change so quickly?

  * * * *

  Rae didn’t come home Saturday morning, but Emily wouldn’t allow her sister’s mood to guilt her into worrying about her. Ah, hell, that’s what Rae wanted, but that wasn’t what she was going to get. Emily kept telling herself that while she scrubbed the kitchen floor, dusted the bookshelves and aired out her bedding. Every time a car slowed in the street outside her house, she’d keep perfectly still, hating herself for hoping against hopes the car would stop and a knock would sound at the door.

  None of the albums she listened to brought any solace. JS Bach’s Art of the Fugue made her restless. Vivaldi’s Four Seasons seemed trite and Schubert’s Winterreise had her reach for the 2006 Kanonkop Pinotage she’d saved for her twenty-fifth birthday but somehow never bothered to open.

  Half a bottle later, when the clock in the dining room struck four in the afternoon, Rae came home. By that time Emily was curled up in the cane chair in the lounge, David Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust blaring at full volume, on repeat. It had taken some digging, but Emily had found the box of her old albums in the garage, hidden behind a chest of drawers she’d almost thrown her back out moving.

  Rae stood in the passage and glared at Emily, who took another noisy slurp from the tumbler of wine. She returned her sister’s gaze evenly.

  “Are you quite satisfied, Em?” Rae said at length.

  “Satisfied about what?”

  “For acting like such a–”

  “Teenager?” Emily regarded the glass she held critically. It was half empty, so she reached down for the bottle to top it off. Then she looked up at her sister. “Guess that makes us square. We’ve both been acting juvenile.”

  David Bowie wailed on about “five years” while Rae stared daggers at her. “You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

  “So what if I am? Doesn’t take much nowadays. I don’t get to go out nearly as much as my I-can-shag-anyone-and-rot-my-brains sister, now do I?” She had no intention of hiding the snark from her voice.

  Rae’s face scrunched up and she looked as though she had a dozen nasty comments to spill. Instead she turned on her heel and stomped so hard down the passage the parquet tiles lifted beneath her soles, followed by her slamming her bedroom door.

  A deep, ragged sigh pulled itself from Emily’s lungs. No wonder their mother was at her tether’s end with her two daughters.

  * * * *

  The internet café on the Kloof Street corner was quiet Sunday morning, the lukewarm coffee in Emily’s cup as bitter as the bile that rose from her throat. She’d been here since the place opened at eight, all but glued to the screen while she busied herself with the one activity she’d sworn she’d not stoop to.

  For the past two hours she’d surfed the ‘net, feeling like a complete stalker as she read up about Simon, his music and the countless dramas associated with his meteoric rise to fame over the past four years. “Troubled” didn’t even begin to describe him.

  He’d been in and out of rehab at least a dozen times. Added to this, he had been arrested on charges of possession of illegal substances enough to suggest he wasn’t going to be allowed into any foreign countries any time soon now that he’d essentially been deported to South Africa.

  That didn’t even touch on the string of broken hearts he’d discarded behind him, a series of singers, actresses and even a famous burlesque girl who’d committed suicide after aborting his baby–a baby he denied was his. An additional litany of incidents involved assault and damage of property. Apparently the man had a temper to match and wasn’t too concerned about talking with his fists. Yet none of this mattered to the hundreds of fan-girls who posted embarrassing declarations of undying love on their blogs.

  And she’d slept with that man.

  Emily wanted to scrub herself raw with industrial disinfectant. At least he’d used a condom. As if that meant anything.

  Then why did a dull ache throb in her chest? Did she number among these pathetic creatures who’d fallen beneath Simon’s spell? The café’s manager graced her with a worried look when a strangled sob escaped her lips.

  Sated on the misery she’d allowed herself, Emily returned home to an empty house and went straight back to bed. Monday would come soon enough and maybe, just maybe, she could distract herself long enough to get on with her life. The man was trouble, and the sooner she got over him the better.

  * * * *

  The mission to Fish Hoek in order to hang out with Jamie and his crowd probably hadn’t been the best idea Rae had ever had. The problem was Davy still wasn’t talking to her and the last two occasions she’d stopped by his place, he either pointedly ignored her knocking or wasn’t home. What bugged her more was that it bothered her–really bothered her–that he behaved in such a manner. But hell, free booze was free booze, and the continuation of the party that started at The Event Horizon was a helluva lot better than moping with her sister. Something interesting was always bound to happen when hanging around with Jamie.

  Now she sat on Jamie’s balcony wrapped in an old blanket that smelled of mothballs and incense, and shared a glass of red wine with one of his friends, a much-older woman called Sonja, whose shock of ghost-white hair had been teased so much it hardly stirred in the breeze.

  “I don’t get it, Sonja,” Rae said.

  Sonja regarded her with eyes so icy, Rae was sure they could read the depths of her soul. “Men? They are not worth it.”

  “Easy for you to say, you’ve had several boyfriends.”

  “Mayhap.” The older woman arched a brow and an enigmatic smile tugged at one corner of her lips. “Men are not the be-all and end-all of the world. If you ask me, however, I think your friend, Davy, is jealous.”

  “Of what?”

  “Well, the way you youngsters carry on about Simon van Helsdingen it isn’t at all surprising. Let me guess, you’ve got posters of him up in your room?”

  Rae lifted a finger. “Correction. I had posters of him up in my room. My mother has probably torn them down and burned them.”

  Sonja sniffed. “Ah. But can you
imagine what it is like for him, to dig a girl but listen to her go on and on and on about this musician, which is fine when the guy isn’t anywhere nearby. But the tables turn when he is suddenly within reach.”

  “I’d never shag him!” Rae answered, affronted. “He’s old enough to be my...father.” She grimaced. “How old is he, exactly?”

  “You do the math. I reckon he’s just a bit older than Jamie, so I’d say mid-thirties.”

  “Is Jamie that old?”

  “I was in the same class as Jamie. That was until he left for art school. But you’re getting sidetracked. I’d reckon your friend likes you a little more than you previously considered.”

  Rae frowned and tried to wrap her brain around seeing Davy as anything other than a friend. To her honest surprise, the idea didn’t bug her as much she had worried it would. “He’s not a bad-looking bloke. He’s got this puppy-dog smile and I love the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he’s in a good mood. It’s just...he’s not very happy with me at the moment.”

  “Give him another day or so. He’ll come ‘round. You’ll see.”

  Chapter 7

  You Didn’t Listen the First Time ‘Round

  Monday dawned bright and surprisingly cold for high summer. A chilly wind blew from the south and fine wisps of clouds played high in Table Mountain’s ravines. Emily had risen early, drawn a bath and submerged herself in the water until it had grown cold and her skin had turned wrinkly.

  Around her the city stirred, the roads clotted with the daily crush of people on their way to boring office jobs, or dropping kids off at school. Perhaps she should be happy she had a career that entailed working with the one thing she enjoyed most: books. But even that paled when compared to the way she felt at the moment.

  A horrible brick lay in her stomach and her early morning cup of Earl Grey tea had tasted like muddy water. It bothered her that Rae had been out the entire weekend. Despite her best efforts not to, she worried, though she remembered her own escapades of barely a decade ago and was fairly certain her younger sister was perfectly fine.

  Everything Emily touched turned to dross. She couldn’t even pick the right guy. Either they turned out to be one-night stands or...just the wrong type. How people managed to get married and stay married seemed the most bizarre phenomenon she had ever considered. It bothered the living hell out of her to read some of those stories about Simon and his women. Not to mention the drugs. Had he been on something when he’d spent time with her? What would she do if he offered her a line of coke? Although she’d had friends who’d used when she was still clubbing, she’d never touched the stuff herself, afraid after having seen people run afoul of shit and end up with nosebleeds or worse. What if he had just been toying with her, after all? A convenient lay, had she been a joke of sorts to see how long he could string her along before she figured out who he really was?

  * * * *

  Rae woke with her head resting on Sonja’s lap. The older woman’s hand rested on her shoulder and her head was tilted back, soft snores escaping. For a moment, she had absolutely no clue where she was, but put the pieces together. Jamie’s house with its black walls and gilt-framed mirrors. Drunken debauchery. And she’d sold the last of her weed, so she had to go see Davy, and soon. Then they’d talk as well.

  Something purred, draped across her side and thighs, sticking needles into her butt.

  “Ow, gerroff me, Grimalkin.” Rae shoved the tortoiseshell off her and sat up.

  The cat fixed her with a baleful glare, licked its chest a few times then stalked off to the bedroom where goodness knew what lay behind the door that stood slightly ajar.

  More bodies sprawled on the floor, about seven or eight of the folks who’d pitched up late on Sunday, bottles of wine in hand. Jamie had been overjoyed, as usual, but the debris. Monday morning. Yuck.

  Sonja stirred, stretching. “What’s the time?”

  “I haven’t got a fucking clue.”

  “Duh, there’s a clock in the kitchen. Be a doll and go look, and put the kettle on as well. I could do with a cuppa.” Sonja glanced out the window. “It’s not that late, since the sun is still coming up, but it’s sure as hell not early, and I have to be at my shop at ten.”

  Rae rose with a sigh, stepped over the prone forms to reach the kitchen and winced at the amount of bottles, some broken, that took up nearly every available surface on the countertops, not to mention the overflowing ashtrays and crisp packets littering the place. A clean mug proved another challenge, but she soon had two rinsed out and set the kettle to boiling. Was this what her life was turning into, a senseless depravity of partying with nagging morning-after syndrome?

  With a pang she thought about home, not Emily’s home but her mother’s, in the quiet streets of Claremont. She’d be all alone in that big old house where once a whole family had lived. For all her faults, their mother had still made sure they had a roof over their heads, food in their bellies and clean clothes to wear. Even though she struggled to show it, Rae knew their mother loved them.

  “Sonja, can I use your cellphone? I’m reaching the stunning conclusion that I need to phone my mother.”

  * * * *

  Miriam waited for her with an espresso in hand when Emily unlocked Interzone, but took one look at Emily’s face and sighed. “It didn’t go well?”

  “It’s that obvious, isn’t it?”

  “Pity. He seemed like a nice guy.”

  Emily paused, hands on hips. “You watch TV, don’t you? You read magazines?”

  Miriam nodded.

  “Well, then you were better prepared than I to know what a royal jerk-off that man is.”

  A guilty expression flashed over Miriam’s features, which only served to make Emily angry. “So everyone would happily foist me off on this guy, a total philandering piece of shit who doesn’t give a flying fuck about the women he’s with. Why? Just because it’s so totally fabulous that mousy little Emily Clark is shagging some celebrity and now everyone can talk about it? Is that it?”

  Her friend could offer no further words, so Emily sought refuge inside her shop. She’d brought her old Switchblade Symphony albums from home. Maybe the lasses could sing something pretty into her life.

  Rae dropped by at about lunchtime and paused in the doorway to ask for unspoken permission to enter the shop. Her sister looked as if she’d spent the entire night awake and only walked now because of large quantities of caffeine in her system. She wore sunglasses that probably did not belong to her, and Emily made a fair bet that if Rae took those off she’d see exactly how bloodshot her sister’s eyes were.

  “Oh, hell, just come in. I’m not going to bite.” Emily hated the way her voice sounded sharper than she’d intended.

  She approached her sister and enfolded her in what she hoped was a suitably sisterly hug. The younger woman stiffened in her embrace then returned it with the same intensity. Stale smoke and sweat, and the sour stench of old wine clung to her. That was another point of concern. Rae’s wheels were coming off.

  “I’m sorry, okay?” Emily whispered into Rae’s ear. “I’m really sorry I was such a bitch. I may have a funny way of showing it, but I do care about you.” She thought about their mother and shuddered.

  Rae pulled back but did not relinquish her hold on Emily’s arms as she regarded her for a silent moment while she bit her lip. “It’s okay.”

  “You look ridiculous with those glasses on.” Emily tried to stifle a giggle. “Want some tea? Something to eat? Have you been okay? You didn’t come–”

  “I stayed over at Jamie’s.”

  “You didn’t.”

  Rae laughed. “There was a bunch of us. You remember Sonja, that witch woman? And while I’m pretty sure Jamie had something with one of the guys, he pretty much left the ladies alone. For a change.” She offered her sister a knowing look. Emily’s brief fling with Jamie was common knowledge and didn’t have to be voiced.

  A shudder passed through Emily and she flashed Rae a
grim smile before she turned to make tea. “Ick.”

  “Double ick.”

  The couch squeaked when Rae collapsed on the aged piece of furniture. “Well, I called Ma today.”

  “Oh, really?” Emily paused, teabag in hand.

  “She’s cross still, but she’s moved into the remorseful phase. I expect she’ll be begging me to come home by the end of the week.”

  “Will you?”

  “I don’t know. I mean I’ve had my taste of freedom, being so full of uncertainty. When you fucked me off on Saturday afternoon I was determined to say ‘screw you’ to everyone and just vanish between the cracks, but practicalities won out, you’ll be glad to know.”

  “Oh, what sort of practicalities?”

  “The fact that my big sister kinda needs moral support at the moment.”

  That simple statement formed a lump in Emily’s throat. “That’s possibly the kindest thing you’ve ever said, you do realize that?”

  Rae shrugged. “I don’t do mushy, so don’t turn on the waterworks, okay?”

  The kettle clicked off and Emily poured the tea then brought the tray to the couch where she took over the other half of the seat. “So what do you reckon your sister needs help with?”

  “Getting a life.” Rae laughed. “No, but seriously, since I’ve been on the streets, so to speak...” She favored Emily with a neutral expression. “It got me thinking you’ve been on your own for two years. It can’t be fun. I mean, you see Dad about as often as I do. Although in the beginning it’s kinda fun to have to rely on your own wits, it does start getting a bit tedious.”

  “Is this your way of trying to weevil in with me?”

  Their conversation lulled long enough for both women to pour milk and sugar in their tea.

  “No...and yes.” Rae threaded her fingers together after taking a first sip. “The way I look at it, we drive each other bug-fuck crazy, but we’re the only family we really got who understand. Just look at our cousins, all stuck-up estate agents, building contractors, teachers... Booo-ring.” Rae rolled her eyes. “Except for Eric, of course. He’s just a loser, and I don’t want to end up like him.”