by E. S. Carter
Grabbing my bag, I gingerly get out of the car and pop my head back through the door, “Thanks, Sis, I owe you big time.”
To which she replies, the same way she always does, “And I love you long time.”
I slam the door, and she pulls away in a cloud of smoke, tyres squealing as she clips the curb again and peels away through the car park. How she hasn’t killed anyone yet is more by luck than judgement.
I enter the open foyer of The Beeches Private Hospital and Treatment Centre, and spot a familiar face on the reception desk.
Moira has been working here for more years than I’ve been coming and she’s always sweet and friendly.
She spots me almost immediately and cuts her telephone call short to say hello.
“Well, long time no see, young lady. We’ve missed you.” She stands from behind her desk and comes around it to wrap me in her embrace.
“I know, I’ve been avoiding you guys, I should know better.”
She pats my back in a motherly fashion and holds me by the shoulders to look into my face. “Well, you’re here now, and Doctor Anton is waiting for you in his office. Go straight through, you know the way.”
“I sure do, Moira. Thanks for not ripping me a new one about not making an appointment sooner.”
She lets go of me and steps back behind her dark wood desk, “Now, who said I wasn’t going to? I thought I’d wait until you go and see the Doctor Anton, first.”
She winks at me, and I can’t help but laugh. “Okay, I’ll be back soon for my telling off.” I turn and walk away, trying to conceal my limp, “Make it good,” I toss over my shoulder cheekily, before I step into the lift and take the journey to the third floor and the man who will most definitely rip me a new one.
“Miss Tremere, please take a seat.”
He doesn’t even look up from his notes, and I know that isn’t a good sign.
“Hey, Doctor A. How’s things?” My pathetic attempt to smooth the way goes down like a lead balloon.
He doesn’t answer straight away, just keeps perusing his notes. When he finally looks up, I sit there, feeling like a naughty school child.
“Your sister called me a few weeks back. Told me you were having an issue with the knee joint of your prosthetic.”
His eyes bore into mine, and I go to answer but he continues, “She also told me that the pain in your stump has increased significantly over the last few months. I’d like to check today for the development of neuromas.”
My sister’s voice interrupts us from the doorway. “Hasn’t she already passed the development of further nerve damage? Her last surgery was years ago.”
There she is, ever the doctor.
He looks from me to my twin, “Well, Hello there, Miss Tremere, mark two. I see you’ve been doing your research as always.”
Nic smiles and takes a seat next to me.
“When my sister is in pain and trying to hide it, Doctor A, someone has to do something. That someone is normally me.”
“Hey, I’m right here you know.”
They both look at me, but neither comment. It’s like they are aware I’m in the room but are going to carry on regardless.
“So, what are your thoughts, Doctor A?” Nic doesn’t hesitate to continue talking about me as if I’m invisible.
I hear the words, ‘more surgery’ and automatically switch off. Maybe this is why they discuss these things among themselves, knowing I zone out of the conversations that play an important part in my life.
The conversation feels like a dull buzz surrounding me; like the snowy static you get between TV channels and it’s only the vibration of my phone in my pocket that snaps me out of my self-imposed trance.
Nic and Doctor Anton keep talking, oblivious to my rudeness as I wiggle around on my seat and extract my phone from the depths of my jacket.
A text from an unknown number flashes up on the screen, and I swipe across with my thumb to open it.
Hey Bunny Girl, it’s H, the guy you almost killed with your scary driving, then took to an illegal biker den. You owe me a payback date, remember? You free this weekend? I’ve found a house of ill repute that’s offering a 2 for 1 to anyone in a costume. Thought it would be right up your alley
Hardly romantic, but it makes me smile.
Maybe the romance is the fact that he managed to find out my number. Come to think of it, who the hell gave out my private mobile?
I hit reply and almost ask that very question, but I’m a little too happy that he has found it, so let it slide…for now.
I remember a bloke called Harry. Tall-ish, white knuckles, even whiter face, shell-shocked look, monosyllabic answers, nice bum. That you? If so, I’d love to dress up for you and take advantage of that 2 for 1. What girl doesn’t want a twofer? ;)
Yeah, I know. It’s a bit bold for me, but it’s funny, and I’m trying to get him to smile. That’s been my mission from the start.
A reply comes through quickly.
Nice bum? I feel violated. You only want me for my body. This weekend good for you? Send me your address and I’ll take you for a ride in a REAL car
We exchange a few more texts, and I send him my address. He’s picking me up Saturday lunchtime and told me he’s going to take me for lunch with a superstar. He probably means his dog or mother. Oh God. What if he’s taking me to meet his mother? No. That would be payback taken too far.
I slip my phone back into my pocket with a stupid smile on my face, one that soon drops.
“Were you paying attention to any of that, Lils?” Nic asks me in an accusatory tone.
“Yes? A Little?” I squeak.
She huffs before looking at Doctor Anton in exasperation. “Can you explain things to her, in Lilah speak please?”
Doctor A looks at me, and his face softens for the first time this visit.
“I know you’ll hate what I’m about to say, and we need to run some tests first, but it’s likely you will need another surgery.”
All reason to smile leaves me, but I refuse to drop the mask of nonchalance.
“Great. Can we fix my leg now or do I have to come back?”
They look from one to another, Nic’s face saying ‘I told you so’ while Doctor A just looks tired.
“I’ll try some adjustments for now, but you’ll need a new one, particularly if surgery is the way forward.”
I nod and zone out again while easing up the hem of my long skirt and going through the motions of detaching my artificial limb, or Ally as my Dad nicknamed her when I was a kid. All my new legs, and there have been quite a few, have been Ally, like a pet, not an extension of myself.
Just like a pet, I’m fond of every single one. They’ve each helped me accomplish my dreams, ones that many told me I could never achieve. I’ve never been afraid of what I’m told I can’t do, only the things I’m told I have to do. That’s the sucky part of life.
You can’t join dance classes. Yes, I can.
You can’t ride a motorbike. Yes, I can.
You can’t become a physiotherapist. Yes, I can.
You can’t be a real woman. Yes, I am.
You must take your meds.
You must do your exercises.
You must have another surgery.
Yeah, I guess I must.
It’s Saturday.
The day I get to have my payback date with Bunny Girl.
I thought long and hard about where I could take her that would make her squirm. After dismissing a strip club, naked couples’ massage and a ‘tantric sex for two’ class, I settle on taking Jake & Em up on their offer of lunch at their place, but I haven’t told them I’m bringing a date. I also failed to declare to Lilah, that she is about to meet the man voted ‘Sexiest Man Alive’ two years in a row.
Yeah, her face will be a picture. I’ll take that as my payback.
Besides, even after all that happened on our weird, ‘date from hell’, I can’t stop thinking about her.
It took me almost two weeks to get
her number.
Josh refused citing ‘professional responsibilities’, her work declined for security reasons, so I tracked down the kid who has therapy with her in Josh’s school and manipulated him into finding out.
When I say manipulated, I mean bribed.
Her phone number cost me forty quid. What can I say? The little shit is a master negotiator. Plus, I would have paid more. I’m broke anyway, so you can’t miss what you don’t have. I don’t have Lilah, but I’m going to break out my patented H moves to get her.
Once, I’ve had my payback, of course.
I head towards her apartment in the Banana mobile, not worried in the slightest if this car is an embarrassment as she’s already seen it. Plus, she drives a freaking Mustang; I can’t compete with that.
When I pull up to the curb outside her building, she’s standing there waiting, but she’s not alone; she’s with her doppelganger.
I know she said she has a twin sister, but they are identical. The only differences being the way they dress and their hairstyles. Lilah has on a flowing white skirt, and a tight vest top, with multi-coloured bangles around her wrist and the twin is in blood-spattered scrubs. Lilah has a funky, uneven cut in dark chocolate brown and her sister’s hair is shoulder length but the same glossy colour. Their other similarity is that on seeing me approach in my mother’s anti-sex machine, they both wear the same amused grin.
Yeah, I know I look ridiculous folded into this piece of shit, but beggars can’t be choosers.
Her doppelganger nudges Lilah’s arm and wiggles her eyebrows as I step out of the car and onto the pavement in front of them. I’m not sure if it’s code for ‘he’s hot’ or ‘who the fuck is this loser?’, I guess I’d prefer the former, but the latter isn’t too far off the mark.
“Hey, Bunny Girl.” My smile is big as I look straight at Lilah; then I turn to address her sister. “You must be the twofer… I mean twin. Nice to meet you, I wasn’t expecting a chaperone.”
I say it with humour in my voice, but I can only imagine what Jake and Em will say if I turn up with hot twins on my arm.
She grins at me before running her eyes over the yellow monstrosity behind me, “Just checking out my big sister’s date, she doesn’t have the best taste in men, and someone has to make sure you’re not a serial killer.”
Lilah smacks her across the shoulder and hisses, “Behave, Nic”, under her breath.
The doppelganger looks affronted. “What? I’m just keeping it real. Besides, I’m not worried anymore. Bright yellow granny cars are not typically a serial killer’s first choice of transport. You should be safe.”
With her seal of approval, she kisses Lilah on the cheek and walks back inside the building.
I shake my head at her retreating form. “So she has the cheek to check out if I’m a serial killer, yet she stands there, in gore splattered clothes? What is she? An abattoir worker?”
I turn my focus back to Lilah, who still has that devilish smile on her face.
“She’s a doctor, actually. Don’t let that fool you, though. She knows exactly how to extract your organs and how much she could get for them on the black market.”
Why doesn’t that surprise me.
These girls are even crazier than I am, and that’s saying something.
“So, are you ready for our payback date?” I smirk, looking forward to her jaw dropping on the floor when she sees Jake.
She tilts her head slightly, and her eyes squint at the corners.
“Depends. Am I going to survive it?”
I shake my head and open the passenger door for her to get in. “Now, where would the fun be in telling you? I didn’t get any warning about the Village People fugitives so turnabout is fair play.”
She laughs lightly as she awkwardly climbs into her seat then looks straight into my eyes and says “I bet it’s the tantric sex class, isn’t it?”
I blink rapidly, relieved I didn’t choose that option. “I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about.”
“Or the strip joint on the high street?”
I shake my head quickly, “No, I’ve never been there before. I didn’t even know there is a strip joint in town.” I lie unconvincingly.
“Naked massage?”
Who the fuck is this girl and how is she in my brain?
“Now, you’re clutching at straws. Just buckle up and get ready for a wild ride.”
I slam her door and walk around to the driver’s side. Before I’ve even grabbed my seatbelt, I can hear her murmur, “I’d have a wilder ride on a Shetland Pony than I would in this little go-kart.”
So I mumble back, loud enough for her to hear, “Don’t fucking bet on it, Bunny Girl.”
Then I rev the fuck out of the three-cylinder engine, causing the car to whirr like a battery powered whisk and I pull off with a squealing wheel spin into the light traffic. I sound like a boy racer on helium but the action makes her laugh, and I don’t care if it’s at me, because I can’t help but laugh too.
“It’s almost as meaty as my Clarabelle.” She chuckles, depositing her large, brightly coloured handbag into the back seat of the car.
“Clarabelle?”
“My baby.”
“You have a baby?”
She giggles loudly, “Yes, you’ve already met her. She was dressed head to toe in red and almost made you pee your pants.”
Clarity registers and I look over at her dumbfounded.
“You call a beast like that, Clarabelle?”
“She’s not a beast; she’s an independent, feisty, woman with curves that make grown men drool, including you.”
“Still, Clarabelle? Couldn’t you call her something sinful like Jezebel? Clarabelle sounds like a cow.”
“That’s a bit sexist of you. Clarabelle was my Grandmother’s name.”
Foot in mouth. In fact, I’ve wedged my foot so far into my mouth that my toes are tickling my intestines.
“S-sorry. That was rude…”
She breaks into peals of laughter, the words, “Oh, God. You’re so easy to wind up. My Granny is called Rachel,” come out in between each chuckle.
Relief floods me, but I cover it with the expected huff of annoyance, “You’re insufferable.”
She smiles broadly, making deep dimples pop out on her cheeks.
How can dimples be so sexy? Because, on her, they are. So fucking sexy.
I clear my voice, attempting not to show how heated my blood feels. “So, are you ready to meet a superstar?”
Her grin deepens, and she tucks a few strand of hair behind her ear. “Are you taking me to see a championship racehorse?”
“Nope. Although, he thinks he’s a bit of a stallion.”
“A Crufts winning dog?”
“No, although he’s a reformed dirty dog.”
“Well, then, I’m all out of guesses. Take me to this superstar so I can worship at his feet.”
I give her a smirk, “He’d like that, so please restrain yourself should you get the urge.”
“Do I get a clue?”
“Nope. Superstar is clue enough.”
“Fair enough, take me to your superstar. I still don’t see how this is a payback date, though.” She wrinkles her nose in confusion.
“You’ll see,” I say, smiling smugly over at my unsuspecting victim who is about to meet the most drooled over man on the planet.
We pass the rest of the short journey discussing random things, from music to movies. I find out she’s a huge Fast and the Furious and Son’s of Anarchy fan, just like me. She also likes indie rock and has a soft spot for The Stone Roses. Could this girl be any more perfect?
As we drive towards Jake and Em’s place, and the houses start to become more and more like mini mansions, her eyes widen, and I get the feeling she’s starting to take what I said a little more seriously.
We pull into their street, and I swear I hear her gasp at the wealth that surrounds us.
“You weren’t shitting me were you? Someone fam
ous lives here.”
My grin is my only reply, and I glance from the road to her a few times and watch as she gets more and more nervous.
I turn left towards Jake’s long driveway and stop at the recently installed security gates to press the buzzer. Since his fame has skyrocketed and then baby CJ came along, Jake is taking the safety of his family very seriously.
“Wow.”
I turn to look over at Lilah and watch as her gaze rakes over the magnificent house in front of us.
“It’s like an episode of Through the Keyhole or MTV Cribs.”
I let out a chuckle and hit the intercom; seconds later the gates swing open, and I drive down the gravel driveway, swinging the Banana Mobile around to park outside the huge quadruple garage.
Once I’ve shut off the engine and unbuckled my seatbelt, I take another glance at Lilah and see she’s gone a little pale.
This is the reaction I was looking for on our payback date, but the glory of getting one over on her falls flat, and I just want to reassure her that there’s nothing to be worried about.
I reach over and grab her slightly shaky hand. “Hey,” I call softly to get her attention which is riveted to the double front door, “These are good people, in fact, they’re the best and my best friends. You have nothing to worry about they will love you.”
She makes eye contact with me and nods once.
I tug her hand lightly, “C’mon, Bunny Girl. Let’s go and meet J and Em.”
“Fuck! Did you just say, Eminem? I thought he lived in The States?”
If it’s possible, her face goes even paler. “No,” I speak slowly and clearly, “I said J and Em. C’mon, gangster rap fan, let’s go and eat before Jake scarfs down all of Em’s awesome cooking.”
I release her hand, exit the car and walk around to let her out. Nobody can accuse me of not being a gentleman.
I offer her my hand, and she hesitates for a brief second, before placing her slightly sweaty palm in mine.
I notice her movements are clunky as she gets out but put that down to nerves affecting her balance. She stands next to me, an awestruck look on her face and I have to fight the urge to kiss her if only to shake her out of her nerves. No, it’s more than that. I want to kiss her for my own selfish reasons.
