Revue

by K. M. Golland

  He nodded and went to walk past but paused.

  Our eyes met.

  Time stopped.

  And for a split second I thought he was going to kiss me. Oh God, no. Please, Brad, don’t.

  Fortunately—but not—my stomach churned and my cheeks puffed. “I think I’m gonna be sick,” I blurted, taking off and only just making it to the toilet before I hurled the bacon and egg fluff I’d just consumed.

  What a waste.

  Such nice, perfectly fine food, wasted.

  I hate vomit.

  Wiping my mouth with some toilet paper, I spotted Brad from out of the corner of my eye, sliding a bottle of water beside me.

  “Can I get you anything else?” he asked.

  I shook my head at him, eyes full of grief for so many reasons. “No.”

  He tipped his chin then turned and exited the bathroom.

  “Thank you,” I called out, hoping he’d hear me before leaving. “And thanks for last night.”

  I waited.

  “No probs, Cori. See you on the bus.”

  The sound of the door closing settled over me like a knife to the heart, a heart I no longer cared much for.

  ***

  Not too long after saying goodbye to my grease-filled breakfast, I headed downstairs and we departed for Coffs Harbour. But before that happened, I had no choice but to perform what was known as the-walk-of-bus-shame: a tedious, head down, avoid all eye contact while your skin prickled with the gaze of onlookers, moment. Thankfully, it didn’t last too long, as I managed to snap up one of the front seats; therefore, the only person I walked my shame past had been Patsy. Still, it was awful and not something I wanted to repeat anytime soon.

  As I sat down and shuffled along to inconspicuously hide by the window, Patsy turned in her seat and poked her head in between the two headrests. “So, you know Coffs Harbour wasn’t originally on our itinerary, right?”

  “Right,” I groaned, my head pounding.

  Baz handed me an apple and smiled sympathetically. The torturous green orb of woe was the last thing I fucking wanted, so I placed it on top of my handbag and continued to listen to Patsy.

  “You also know that due to overwhelming popularity, an impromptu show has been arranged.”

  “Yes, I do,” I said, arrowing my eyes behind my darkened lens. What she was getting at, I had no idea. This obviously wasn’t news to me.

  “Well, this is great publicity for the guys, but it also means we were only allotted a limited amount of motel rooms,” she explained, her face screwing up with worried anticipation.

  My eyes narrowed even further. “Yes … meaning?”

  “Meaning we have to share.”

  I shrugged and smiled. “No problems. I don’t snore and I sleep like a log.”

  “Oh good, because neither do Josh and Brad,” she explained, her mention of Josh and Brad almost barely audible due to her turning back around before finishing her sentence.

  “Hell no!” I said with a laugh, liking her not-so-funny joke.

  She huffed and peaked through the seat again. “I know it’s not ideal, Cori. We tried other hotels and resorts, but there’s some kind of festival on this week, and this was all that was available … apart from a bed and breakfast with fewer rooms.”

  I groaned. “But why am I with Brad and Josh?”

  “Would you be more comfortable with Dimps and Slick?” she asked, her eyebrows nearly hitting the roof with mock surprise. “Because Matt won’t sleep in the same room as you for fear of pissing off Sophie, his girlfriend. And Baz and Larry are both married. And there’s me.” Patsy winked seductively at me.

  The sincerity was a fail.

  “I choose you!” I said, calling her bluff.

  She laughed. “Nice try, Sweet Pea.”

  “Okay okay, you’re right. I probably would be more comfortable with Brad and Josh. But still, this sucks arse.”

  “Sorry. But it’s only one night. Spend most of it on the town after the show.”

  Hmm … not a bad suggestion.

  ***

  Opening the door, I stepped into the three-and-a-half-star rated motel room and laughed like a hyena with a headache when I spotted the bedding configuration.

  One double bed. One single bed. Oh well, I hope they like cuddling each other.

  I bee-lined for the single and dumped my suitcase on it—the universal language of ‘this bed has been claimed’.

  “No fuckin’ way, sweetheart,” Josh said, following me into the room with an unhappy this-shit-ain’t-sliding voice.

  Pfft. “Yes way.”

  Brad’s incredulous laugh followed. “Yeah, Cori, sorry, but that shit ain’t going down.”

  “It is. I’m not sleeping with either of you. You guys can draw straws for the floor then,” I said dismissively, still keeping my back to them.

  Warmth touched the skin on my neck, sending an exquisite wave rippling through my body. “You and me are gonna have words, right now.” An icy dread replaced his heat when he stepped back and turned to Brad. “Surfer, can you give us a minute?”

  “Depends if Cori wants that minute or not … Cor?”

  Again, keeping my back to them, I unzipped my suitcase. “It’s fine, Brad. He’s right. We need to talk.”

  “Fine,” Brad huffed, dropping his bag on the floor. “I’ll be outside.”

  I waited until I heard the sound of the door shutting before turning around, only to have Josh’s lips find mine before I could open them and say ‘fuck you’.

  Powerless. My body was simply powerless when it came to him. It would heat just from his mere presence and sizzle on the spots where he placed his hands. Damn, I equally loved and hated how he made me feel. I loved it when we were together and the feeling was right … what it should be. But I hated it when we were apart … like this … and how it had me powerless.

  “Josh, stop!” I said, shoving him away. I’d had enough of his lip’s manipulation.

  He stumbled back and fell to sit on the bed opposite me, his hands finding his hair. “I can’t fucking help myself when it comes to you.”

  “Bullshit! You can’t help yourself full stop,” I spat. “Last night was a clear indication of that.”

  He scoffed, his eyes darkening with anger. “You remember last night, do you? Good. Then you’ll remember the cockhead who had his hands all over you.”

  “Yes, I do remember him,” I bit back, glaring. “I remember sliding my tongue down his throat while he squeezed my arse.”

  Josh’s eye twitched. “Corinne,” he warned.

  “What? What’s it to you? Why do you even care? If you cared half as much as you say you do, then you wouldn’t be so quick to stick your dick and tongue in the first thing that walks by.” I growled with frustration, slumping down on the bed and mimicking his posture. “You taught me that it’s okay to do this, Josh—that holding out for something that’s not real is just stupid. You taught me to say ‘up yours’ to love and ‘hello, happy fucking’. You. Taught. Me. Not. To. Care. So why is it okay for you to fuck freely and not okay for me? Please, tell me why?” I said through gritted teeth, squinting my eyes at him in readiness for a fucking fair explanation as to why the double standard.

  He scrubbed his face with the palms of his hands. “Because it’s not you.”

  “And what ‘is’ me, Josh?” I said, bitterly. “You don’t know … that’s the point. You never gave ‘us’ a chance long enough to find out who I was … who ‘we’ were.”

  We both sat in silence for a few seconds,

  “I do know you. I know that right now you want to take those two or three steps between us, climb on to my lap and cry into my shoulder.”

  I shook my head quickly, afraid that if I opened my mouth to say no that I’d say yes instead.

  He leaned forward, piercing me with sad eyes. “Why are you fighting us?”

  “Because you kill my light, Josh!” I yelled. “You destroy it.”

  Standing up, I placed one h
and on my hip and the other in my hair, gripping it as I paced before him and expelled all that I felt he needed to know in that moment. “It’s funny, you know? Because I once believed touch could heal all hurt, that one simple look could say all words. I believed in you and that I could be your exception.” I scoffed, still raw that I’d been so stupid to think that. “I believed in life’s greatest lie—love. And now, thanks to you, I no longer believe in any of that. Instead, I believe a heart cannot remain whole, that it dies piece by piece until there’s nothing left.” I stopped pacing and sat back down on my bed with a deflated thump. “So yeah, I’m fighting you … ‘us’ … to protect what parts of my heart remain.”

  Silence.

  Staring.

  I could see he was still ready to push me, but I was done with his lies and empty words, with his indecision and regret. I was done being his puppet.

  Breaking the silence, I continued to stare, but kept my voice low and calm. He needed to hear once and for all that he’d broken me … that I’d broken myself—that we were broken. “I knew I was wrong about you all along, Josh, my whispers of doubt constant. Yet I refused to listen, to see through that smoke-filled screen you placed before me.”

  His brow furrowed and he went to object, his mouth opening, but I kept going. “It was me who let that denial cut deep, and now all I can do now is sit back and watch myself bleed. Y … you,” I stuttered. “You were my mistake.” A lone tear fell to my cheek, but I was too frozen with hurt and regret to wipe it away.

  Josh dropped his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. His eyes were glazed over, his jaw set … firm. He looked furious. “A mistake? Is that how you really feel?”

  No. Yes. I don’t know. Swallowing, I inhaled deeply and set my shoulders. “Yes,” I said resolutely.

  Lies.

  Necessary lies.

  “Then we’re done.” He stood up and walked out, slamming the door behind him and leaving me feeling as empty as I’d ever been.

  ***

  Hours later, I was standing left of stage next to Patsy, taking photos just like I had these past few weeks. I hated myself. I hated what I’d become … what Josh had made me become. I hated him. But I especially hated how he had to stick his tongue down every goddam woman’s throat that he just so happened to be straddling. And fuck, was he straddling a lot of them.

  “Christ, Bugs, settle down,” Patsy muttered to herself under her breath. “What the hell has gotten in to him tonight?”

  I set him free, that’s what. I lied to him and set him free.

  You can’t try and change a person. They have to want to change themselves. Clearly, Josh was happy being Josh.

  I snapped a few shots, choosing to capture the exhilaration of the audience. I’d seen enough of Josh’s display and did not need a photographic reminder.

  “This is what he does, Patsy,” I said, my tone emotionless.

  “Not like this he doesn’t.” She turned to face me, her expression stern. “Look, I don’t know what’s happened between the two of you. I don’t get involved in the guys’ personal lives. But when it affects the happy mojo I have going here, I will stick my beak in.”

  “I understand. And I’m sorry. I never meant to cause any disruption to your mojo.” I gave her an apologetic smile. “Josh and I had a thing. But it’s over. It was never going anywhere. How could it? This is who he is and what he does. He wasn’t going to change that for anyone. Least of all me.”

  “Yes, this is what he does,” she said, twisting and gesturing to the room as a whole. “But that? …” She pointed directly at him while he was grabbing two women’s hands and shoving them down his G-string. “That isn’t.”

  Swallowing heavily, I looked down and fiddled with my camera. I was disgusted by his over-exuberant performance, at his apparent lack of class and dancing skill that he normally possessed. Strangely enough, and despite seeing women constantly fall all over him, touch him, and beg for him to touch them, I enjoyed watching him perform. I could see past the physicality involved between him and his audience, and I respected and appreciated the acting, effort and art behind the revue as a whole. But tonight? Tonight he was just repulsive.

  “Corinne, honey, you may not think he can change who he is for you. And you’re right—he can’t and shouldn’t. But he can change his ways. And let me tell you, up until recently he was certainly doing that.”

  Looking back up and out toward Josh, I knew deep down what Patsy was saying held some truth. But you couldn’t form a relationship with only fifty per cent effort. You were either in or out. And he was out.

  “People fuck up,” she continued, her voice sombre.

  Josh helped the two women—who’d grabbed his cock—to their feet, parading them through the audience to applause. He then kissed each of them on the cheek and whispered into their ears. Both women blushed and gave each other a curious smile.

  Turning on my heel, I paused and nodded in Josh’s direction. “Yeah, Patsy, they do … repeatedly.”

  Fresh air—it always calmed and provided clarity. Enjoying it was the brain’s way of rewarding you and saying ‘Thanks for keeping me alive, here … chill out and calm the fuck down’. So that was what I was doing after seeing Josh set himself up for a cosy little threesome. Fuck him.

  The cool night air felt wonderful against my skin, cleansing my thoughts as I sat in the courtyard of the Coffs Harbour Hotel, crickets chirping a symphony in a nearby shrub. I wished they’d shut the fuck up. The chirping little fucklets made the worst noise in history.

  Sighing, I needed to calm my farm and stop allowing Josh to bother me. We were done. Through. Zip. Nada. If he didn’t put value on who he was and what he was doing, then why should I? I shouldn’t, and quite frankly was no longer going to. In fact, I needed to move on and find someone I could have a bit of fun with. Maybe not a dirty little threesome as Josh was partaking in, but one single person who could give me an orgasm and not a broken heart. Yes, I needed a good ol’ fashioned one-night stand … then possibly another one.

  Why not?

  Standing up from the park bench seat I’d been sitting on, I walked back into the hotel, rushing when I heard Patsy announce Brad was closing the show with his new routine. He’d mentioned on the bus, while wearing a devilish smirk, that he was going to ‘perform his fuckin’ balls off’. So yeah, it had me curious. I was keen to see just how one’s balls would be performed into abandoning their owner.

  Bring it on!

  Positioning myself to the right and halfway into the room, I scanned the interior of The Coffs Harbour Hotel. It was typical of the style of venue the guys had been performing at since the tour had started. Except, being in Coffs Harbour, this venue was situated beside the beach and comprising floor-to-ceiling glass windows, which, at night, reflected the interior. I’d already taken a few pictures by way of reflection, loving the unusual perspective and quirky artistic flare. I was keen to get some shots of Brad in that style, as well.

  Pointing Nina at the window, I set the focus on the stage at the exact moment the sound of waves lapping the shore filtered through the speakers. The lights were dim when Brad casually strutted onto the stage, movements controlled and confident. He was nothing but a silhouette and appeared to be carrying something … big.

  It looked like a surfboard.

  I smiled.

  The room morphed from darkness to an amber glow and a woman’s exotic voice kicked in—a vocal arpeggio. I recognised the song straight away: “Drunk in Love” by Beyoncé. Oh hell yes! This is perfect.

  Brad stood casual, leaning against the board with one foot crossed over the other. He was illuminated in yellow light and superciliously winked and tipped his chin to different areas of the crowd. The golden glimmer surrounding his body gave the aura of a hot summer’s day. It also increased the temperature of my own body. He looked hot!

  Wearing long-cut, black board shorts and a white tank top, Brad’s shoulder-length blond hair sat perfectly scruffy. Oh, and the m
an was bare-footed.

  I took him in. My pulse quickened. He looked amazing. And my God, you’d have to be blind or a lesbian not to swallow deeply and lick your lips for the need to dampen your parched mouth. So that’s what I did … swallowed, licked my lips, and pressed my finger on the shutter, taking some quick shots of his sun-kissed body before the lighting changed.

  Beyoncé’s voice blasted through the room, singing about drinking, thinking and being unable to keep her fingers off a guy. The song itself spoke of sex, but with Brad on stage, rolling his abdomen seductively to the lyrics … holy crap! He ran his hands down his chest and abs, stopping to lift the hem of his tank top suggestively. Trailing them farther, he dipped one down the side of his oblique, highlighting his V. The seductive smirk on his face and the hint of golden tanned skin was enough to elicit some excited screams and wolf whistles.

  Trust me, I was tempted to scream myself. He was definitely workin’ it tonight.

  Lowering my camera, I let it hang from my neck strap and turned to face the stage, captivated by how enthralled he was in his own performance. This act was so much better than his alternative, and I was definitely going to be telling him that.

  Brad laid the surfboard down and dived onto it, activating his muscles and lowering his legs very slowly until he was in a push-up position. It reminded me of that worm dance move, but so much sexier. His biceps were tensed and the muscles across his shoulders and back were bumpier than a carton of eggs. Holy fuck! I had the sudden urge to trail my fingers over each and every rise and groove.

  Shaking my head, I took a seat and got comfortable, ignoring the fact I’d just invited myself to sit at a table of strangers. If they looked at me oddly, I hadn’t noticed. And I honestly didn’t care. My feet were sore, I was exhausted, and Brad had me fixated on his body and what he was doing with it. And fuck me was he doing all kinds of wonderful things. So wonderful, that I really wanted to be the goddamn surfboard he was dry humping. Wow!