by Gemma Rice
"No, you aren't supposed to drink before getting a chop. Don emphasised that he wasn't tatting anyone who's been drinking in the last twenty-four hours."
"Got any coffee then?"
You know what? You are fucking rude. "Yeah, sure."
Paranoia snakes up my spine as I leave a complete stranger alone in my living room while I make him coffee. Feeling jumpier than exploding pumpkin seeds, I light a smoke and sit down opposite him to watch him drink his coffee. We have hours to go before Don or anyone else is due to arrive.
"Nice place you've got here.”
Whatever. Actually, I'm scared. This man is huge, arrogant and confident. I feel like a ten year old on my seat. Shit. Maybe I should start praying?
Ding Dong.
What? Has someone put up a neon sign saying, ‘STEF'S PLACE’?
I get up and move to the door. Eddie gets up too, and stands behind me like my bouncer, as if he's going to protect me or something. Fuckenhell. This is so freaking weird. My life has just become insane.
I look through the peephole and see another complete stranger. I open the door, "Hi?"
"You Stefanie?"
I nod as my stomach arranges itself into a perfect sailor's knot.
"Excellent!" and he pushes past me. Body-builder number two!
"Eddie! Hey man. How's it hanging?"
"I wasn't sure I had the right place."
And the two comrades bounce off my sofa's bonding, relaxing, while I feel completely redundant and alarmed, and go to make more coffee.
I sit and smoke quietly in my corner, with huge frightened eyes. I'm scared. I hate the way they're looking at me. I am feeling very diminutive and 'alone', right now.
Ding ... Dong.
I race to the door. Please let that be one of my friends. I need back up. I fling it open.
"Stef!" Jake. Thank God. Who ever thought I'd be happy to see you?
Dianne follows with four more people. No Way. My home is not big enough for the Chippendales. Unlike every other woman on the planet, I don't like bulky boys and this is sawing on my sanity. I grab Dianne and haul her, and their drinks, to the kitchen, while the men all do their macho fist-thumping bonding crap.
"What were you thinking! How can you send complete strangers to my home?"
She giggles, completely unfazed. "Relax man. They're all friends of Jake's." Miss tall, willowy, long straight black hair, high cheekbones and doll perfect skin just winks at me.
"I don't care: that's not cool."
"You said you needed five or more people. So shut up and stop complaining."
My house becomes like the subway that afternoon. I get my chop done first. A little Celtic cross on my hip. I'm deep into symbolism. Sometimes we're nailed to that cross; sometimes we're carrying that cross; sometimes we find salvation and peace through that cross. But it's private. I don't want to share it with the world. That's why it's on my hip. But having this party was to ensure my privacy whilst receiving ink. I am alone in my bedroom with Don, nothing but the buzzzzzing of his tattoo thingamajig breaking the reverent silence of an artist at work on a human canvas.
Great. (Major sarcasm in that ‘great’.)
In bursts (ew-ew-ew) Eddie and two of these strangers, into my private space – (my bedroom) – and I cannot obviously run away now, can I? I can't cover up my thong either. I cringe and close my eyes as my cheeks flood with heat. Shudder. Don feels it and the buzzing stops as he glares at the intrusion, "What?"
"What's taking so long, man?"
I take a peek through a half-open eye. Oh skin crawling Gaaaawd. Get that man's slimy gaze off my naked thigh. This is so wrong on so many levels. Eddie is standing there and he has creep written all over him! No no no no no! Fuck OFF.
Don calmly, but in a fabulously passive-aggressive way, says, "Get out and close the door after you."
They seem stunned, but they comply. When bahm! In bounce two more men. I am going to gut Dianne for this.
"Hi Stef!"
A new, kind of acquaintance, Tim, who is about a foot shorter than me but built like a bull terrier, waltzes over to have a look at my half-finished cross. "Looking sweet, babes."
He holds out a hand to Don, "Hey Don. Thanks for doing this."
Don shakes it with a latex gloved hand and pushes his bandana up to wipe the sweat of concentration off his brow. I am beginning to feel like a specimen all scientists with bulging muscles should come to study. I feel like a piece of meat for the first time in my life. I'm embarrassed by Robert's observation of me, as he's filling my door-frame with his humungous build. He's built like the Rock, to put it into perspective for you. I've known him since I was sixteen. We did bodybuilding together a very long time ago. He has a violent temper. I met him when he was going through his first divorce. I still, to this day, have no idea how old he is. But he still looks exactly the same as the first day I met him. Huge, tanned, brown eyes, cropped brown hair and a great smile. Which is aimed at me, "Hey Stef. I didn't know this was your place?"
(Did I mention he's a TV gladiator too?)
"Hi Rob! Please go away, I'm half naked here!"
He winks at me, "Sure!"
So with a sigh of relief, I know that I at least have two friends here who are male. At last I don't feel quite so vulnerable. If Gary could see me now he'd have a seizure. I relax as Tim and Rob close the door. I know I'll be left alone now, until this rather raw-feeling body art, is complete.
When it's done, I rub the ointment over it to prevent scabbing, carefully pull on my jeans, and call the next victim. I get Don a drink. (He, at least, is allowed to have one.) Oh, and did I mention that people would be talking about this party, for years, at work? This nice sweet girl, that blushes, had a tattoo party. And Dianne tells the world that we were the only girls at it. Nice one!
Well, I'm now a chop that has a chop.
Chapter 23
Friday, two weeks from then, I wake up with an overwhelming feeling of dread. I look outside my blue and white bedroom curtains and see it's a fabulous, beautiful morning. The sun is out, the sky is periwinkle blue, not even a breeze. Why do I feel like this?
I walk to my closet and take out a blue skirt suit, don my pantyhose, pull on my matching court shoes. Brush my hair and my teeth – (I no longer have to wear make-up, do I?) – and walk to my door. As I turn the handle, my stomach knots with tension. I start shaking. I sit down on the closest slate grey sofa to the front door, to catch my breath and try to instill calm.
No. I can't do it. Something very bad is going to happen today. We aren't allowed to take a Friday off work without a doctor's note. I don't care. I have to trust this instinct. I never take off anyway. Even when I'm sick I go to work.
I walk back to my bedroom, take off the suit, hang it back up, and pull on skin tight jeans instead, with Chuck Taylor's. I can't shake this fear creeping all over me.
I sit in the corner of my lounge knitting; I do that in winter to keep my hands warm. I'm deliberately sitting where I can see every window and door, but where I can't be seen if someone tried to peer in. From my view I can see my full, floor to ceiling, bedroom window. I notice a white car rev past noisily. My fear intensifies as the car reverses back into my view, drives up the driveway and stops outside my kitchen window. They could be here for anyone, for anything. But I can barely breathe right now. My lungs are constricting with my stomach, and I slowly lower my knitting onto the couch and keep an eye on the car.
Two young white guys get out, and come straight to my front door. Ding dong! I ignore it. My instincts are screaming at me that opening the door will end badly for me. Ding ding ding ding dong.
Just go away!
I hear a noise. I sneak a peek down the passage to my bedroom. One of them is trying the door to my bedroom. It's a glass door and I am now certifiably terrified. At the same time, I notice the front door handle twisting. Fuck! My phone is dead and I don't have a landline. I can't even call for help. I sit back down on the couch with shaking legs, an
d wonder what the hell to do.
I watch in panther silence as the two of them bang, knock and fiddle with my bedroom door, which faces the street. The two of them presumably decide it's better to try the front door because that is hidden from anyone driving past. And it's glaringly obvious that all of my neighbours are at work.
Thump. Gaboing. (Metal clanging.)
I sneak up to the front door to peek through the spy-hole, and see the two of them up against my new security gate. They are both looking down, concentrating on breaking the lock. Crap. I have to take a stand. Aha! I remember, long ago, I saw a black and white movie with Goldie Hawn, where she uses a knitting needle to poke a man in his eye when he tried to attack her. I sneak back to the couch, and pick up the loose knitting needle. I tiptoe back to the front door with my blood gonging in my ears and my stomach, intestines, kidneys and heart all lodged in my throat. I am so afraid, I feel dizzy.
I know I'm going to have to be quick. The element of surprise and pain have to work in my favour. Silently, I unlock the door, and unlatch the bolt. Planting my feet firmly, I fling the door open and am ready with the needle. Ready to stab the closest eye.
Waaaaahahaha. The looks on their faces! I have never seen anyone turn so white, so fast. They just dropped the file they were using to file through the bolt of the lock, and ran for their car. They reversed with stunning skill, as fast as they could, and took off down the road. I let out a looooong sigh of relief. They could have been armed. I took a huge risk. Lucky for me, they simply just wanted to break in. I stare at the file and get my key to unlock the security gate. And I try and I try: the damn thing is now broken. I am locked in!
I sit back down on the couch and breathe, pondering my dilemma. Then I recall the bedroom door. Well, thank God this place has more than one door. The plus and minus factors of an apartment on the ground floor. I give it another hour and a half before I decide they're not coming back. The wild dread has left me. Now I simply feel adrenalised. I have to go and get coffee anyway, so I decide to take my bag and take a quick walk to the mall down the road. This is the one part I hate about living alone. Dealing with drama by myself.
I'm walking with the warm sun heating my limbs, lost in thought. I would almost pin my money on the fact that those boys knew about my place through someone that came to my tattoo party. I don't have insurance yet. If I hadn't been home they would have broken in and left with everything I own. Half of which is on loan from my mom, fridge and TV for instance. I'm now angry that people like that exist in the world. I'm also feeling really chuffed with myself for listening to my instincts, even if it meant a warning at work.
Fuckenhell man! Watch where you’re driving!
This stupid woman, who can hardly see over her steering wheel, just went onto the wrong side of the road and nearly ran me over! What is going on today? Do I have ‘Here I am – come and get me’ emitting from me like a radio wave?
I stop and watch the moron park her Fiat and jump out, "I'm so sorry! Are you okay? I wasn't concentrating …"
I can't believe it. "Cindy, you stupid woman! When are you going to get your bloody license?"
Poetic justice: I have a license and no car. She has a car and no license.
"Stef! Omigod. How are you?"
"Been better."
"Come in for coffee. I've really missed you. It's so great to see you!"
I belatedly realise that I am in her road. "Okay."
I sit in her lounge and light a smoke while I wait for her to come out of the kitchen with coffee. She smokes more than I do, so I don't feel bad about this decision. I also feel shaken up. I don't know why I can't join her in the kitchen, but she didn't want me to see it in a mess.
I smile as she sits down opposite me.
"How are you?"
"I'm okay. How are you?"
"Missing you. I wanted to stay friends, but Graham wouldn't let me."
I nod and sip my coffee.
"How's everyone?"
"They're fine. Gary has a new girlfriend. She's very nice."
I nod. Mouth full of teeth.
"Stef, do you know why you guys broke up?"
I shake my head. I'm not saying anything here.
She gives me this accusing stare. A real bitchy glare. And with scorn and disdain dripping off her tongue, she accuses me. "Stef, men need sex. He broke up with you because he wasn't getting any."
I almost gag on my coffee. I had been watching her, not my cup and nearly throw up as I notice the thick white ring edging my cup half way down on the inside. I feel simultaneously ill and angry.
"Is that what he told you?"
Choke.
She leans back in her black velvet chair and glares at me with ‘don't you dare deny it’ eyes.
"He came to us a couple of weeks ago. He was nearly in tears. He didn't know what to do. He was desperate."
I have read the statistics. 'Normal' couples get laid about twice a week. Gary was getting laid every morning; (he lived by the maxim, ‘never waste a hard on’). He was getting laid every night. He had a blow job literally daily. And he’s not getting any? FUCKING LIAR.
She sits forward and smiles, her long curly hair almost dipping into her coffee as her cold blue eyes impale me, "We all understood where he was coming from. Stef, you fucked up."
I can't sit here and listen to this shit. Complete and utter shit. I stand up and pick up my bag, "Thanks for the coffee. I have to go." And I never, ever, want to see you again. How DARE you judge me?
She gives me a wounded glance. As if she was trying to counsel me, help me see the error of my ways, to get that lying scumbag, back.
I pause at the door on my way out of her lounge, "Cindy, he lied. He was getting plenty."
Her compassionate visage turns icy again. "Bye."
Oh, I'm ready to pop a blood vessel and blow up his face, I am so outraged. He set me up. That lying, conniving, son of a bitch, set me up. He has them all feeling sorry for the poor man that isn't ‘getting any’. ANY! That's quite a statement. So, somehow he's managed to visit the friends as the victim. Not knowing what he's going to do with Stef. Stef, who doesn't have a sexual appetite to save her life.
Bitter tears are blurring my footsteps. My pleasure at being outdoors is stripped. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.
So they all are backing him. Giving him support when I’m the one who needs it. Lying FUCKER.
I hope you go straight to hell, Gary Fuchs.
Chapter 24
Saturday morning Lindsay from work pops in to see how I am. I tell her about Friday, how it sucked so badly and why I didn't go to work. She works with me, as does her boyfriend Ted. Ted was seeing Deborah, who works in reception; it's a huge office scandal that Lindsay ‘stole’ him from poor needy Deborah.
She has shoulder length honey-hued hair and huge green eyes. She's fun, pretty, and totally on my side.
"You're coming out with us tonight. I won't take no for an answer."
(She and Ted both smoke. Both she and Julie manage to make sucking on a cigarette look like foreplay and I'm envious of how seductively she's smoking in front of me.)
"Okay."
She stands and winks, "Come, let's go shopping. You need to get out and forget about those people."
I love you!
"Okay."
That evening, I'm sitting at a picnic table outdoors, with candlelight illuminating this dim place. It's dead boring and I'm wondering why we're here.
"Can't we go somewhere else?"
"We're waiting for Marty," Ted explains. He's shorter than Lindsay, with amazing blue eyes. And wow, can he gossip.
I discover that Deborah's only 'experience' came from romance novels. And he could no longer stand her lacerating his back until it bleeds with her false nails when they were 'at it'. I smile. (And Gary thought he had it tough?)
This tall dude, in midnight jeans and a matt navy blue silk shirt, comes striding purposefully toward us. Ted stands and automatically shakes his hand as
he reaches us, "Finally!"
He gestures at me, "Marty, this is Stefanie."
He nods at me as his hazel eyes slip down me and back up again, "Hi."
Then he dismisses me and sits down next to Ted, "I need a drink. What a fucking day!"
I feel awkward. I'm definitely the extra wheel here. So, I swivel around and stare at the other patrons as I light a new smoke, and think, ‘It's damn cold out here. The music is from the seventies. We're the youngest people here. Why did I agree to this?’
"Stef! Hey Stef!"
Huh, what?
Embarrassed, I turn back to the three heads staring at me. I have no idea what they want. I wasn't paying attention. Oh look, Marty has a drink.
"Sorry?"
Lindsay gives me a stern glare, "Can we leave you with Marty? Is it okay if he takes you home?"
I stare at Marty. Deep sigh. "Okay. Where are you going?"
"We forgot we have to see Ted's sister tonight. We have to run."
I nod, "Okay. Bye."
Well now, isn't this uncomfortable. I am sitting with a complete stranger who's had a shit day, and the only common connection just abandoned us.
"Should we duck? Are you hungry? I'm starving!"
I observe him as I nod. Food is good. He's about six-foot-two. His hair is so black it looks oily. It's wavy like mine. His eyes are dark right now. His complexion is Mediterranean. Olive toned, I think they call it.
Oh wow, look at that, I have the door opened for me. I get into his SLK, and off we go to a restaurant I have never been to.
It's so awkward. We're sitting outside because we both smoke and he's staring off into the night. Neither of us knows what to say. We're at the top of a long road sitting outdoors at a table lit with a lamp. Italian opera floats faintly over us as I stare absently down into the Waterfront. The sea seems limitless from up here. The black night kissing the ocean, merging seamlessly. Both spattered in twinkles of reflecting light. The sky is wearing her sequinned velvet party dress for this special occasion.
This guy must be loaded. On tenterhooks, I flick my eyes at him. I wonder how Ted and Lindsay know him. And why he agreed to have dinner with a peasant like me.
