Who’s That Girl?

by Celia Hayes

  “Hey… hey.” Dave comes over and kneels down beside me. “It’s fine, Sam. Nothing’s happened.”

  At the same moment, we both lean forwards and crack our heads together.

  “Ow!” I sit back and rub my forehead.

  “Careful!”

  I lose my balance and the next thing I know, it’s me on the floor. My dress gets hiked up and gathers between my legs, revealing them, and by the time I’ve managed to sort myself out, I’m no longer the only one who has noticed.

  “I’m sorry…” I say again like a broken record, and he holds out his hand to help me.

  He has never touched me before. It’s the first time in three years that I have felt the touch of his fingers, even though they have only barely touched me. Feeling disorientated, I look up and try to figure out if I’m the only one who has realised this – or if he noticed it too. I find him exactly where he was, with his hand suspended over me. And it is at that moment that his gaze turns into a caress. A slow, soft caress that slips across my skin, climbing up my dress, fold by fold, with no embarrassment. It pauses on my waist, climbs up my hips, descends between my breasts, loses itself in my breathing and unhurriedly reaches my face, savouring every moment like a small victory. And when our eyes finally meet, his proverbial self-confidence dies on my lips, leaving room for something that I cannot explain, that I cannot describe. This really can’t have happened, because I’m just…

  “Sam,” he murmurs in a very low voice, before slowly leaning over me. I stay where I am, immobile, incapable of stopping him, unable to carry on. I watch him as though I were just a spectator of that slice of life that no longer belongs to me – that I had dreamt of until yesterday and that now seems close to becoming a reality.

  “Say no,” whispers Dave.

  “Wh… what?”

  “Please, Sam – say no,” he repeats, his usual cockiness completely gone. You heard the man, Sam, tell him no. “Say no, Sam,” he murmurs one last time, looking me in the eye.

  Did you hear him, Sam? He said to say no! I am trying, I swear… “Dave…”

  “Too late,” he whispers to me before I have time to think any more and he grabs me with both hands and pulls me towards his face, his mouth, his arms. He thrusts his lips upon mine with enough force to keep me from moving, but his touch is oddly gentle, almost thoughtful – a contrast that prevents any possibility of protest right off the bat. Enveloped in his scent, cradled by his breath, I put my arms round his neck and abandon myself to the moment in a way I never have before. Dave senses my surrender and the realisation that I am finally his tears an ecstatic moan from him. It all happens so suddenly. One moment we’re sitting next to each other on the couch and in instant later he has me imprisoned beneath him on the carpet, crushing me with his weight. I don’t have time to think and I barely have the strength to breathe. I only feel his hands which, with an almost angry gesture, force me to open my legs to make room for him.

  “I want you, Sam,” he whispers between one kiss and the next, his eyes looking into mine.

  The only thing I manage to ask myself is, ‘is it actually possible that this is really going to happen to me?’ Because it doesn’t seem real. I’m about to make love to Dave. I’m really about to…

  Halfway between dream and reality, I let myself be devoured and I lose control of my thoughts, my heart, my breathing. I just allow myself to feel how much he needs me, and when his fingers reach the hem of my skirt and pull it up, all I do is wait for it to happen, begging him inwardly to take me with him, wherever he wants to go.

  “Sam…” I hear him mutter my name again hoarsely. He seems barely able to contain himself, and I feel the same way. We move together, tearing off our clothes, and from that moment on I’m no longer Sam, and he’s no longer Dave.

  “Oh Jesus…” I moan, momentarily panicking when he pushes himself against me and makes me realise without a shadow of a doubt that this is not a dream and that my black lace lingerie has just earned my total respect.

  “Touch me, Sam,” he pleads in a whisper, and then his fingers make their way between us and, without any attempt at gentleness, announce that from that moment on, I belong to him. My whole body trembling, I hug him tightly in a desperate attempt to hold back what I feel and…

  And then reality returns between us. He mutters something, freezes and then, after a last caress, he jumps away as though he were on fire.

  “Shit – no, no!” he curses. “Goddamn it, Sam!”

  I somehow manage to open my eyes and look at his pallid face. On his knees between my legs, his shirt half undone, he is rubbing his face and staring at me as though he were no longer able to recognise me after some discovery that seems to have completely traumatised him. What discovery? I don’t know, I can only try to imagine – maybe that I’m a woman?

  Timidly, I catch my breath and then try to pull myself together and somehow find the strength to ask him what just happened. Dave moves away and waits until I’m dressed to offer me a hand to get up.

  “There is no need, thank you.”

  I don’t know… maybe I’m being stupid, but it’s the last shred of pride I have to cling to and it’s certainly more consistent than his interest in me.

  “Sam, I don’t … I don’t know what got into me.” He starts reeling off pathetic excuses that sound immature and irrational.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “No, I’m being serious,” he insists, looking very uncomfortable.

  “So am I, it’s fine.” I look away and smooth out my skirt.

  “I shouldn’t have. I really shouldn’t have.”

  “No, you shouldn’t.” My answer leaves him speechless for a moment.

  “Yeah…” he snarled. “It’s this goddamn thing with the Hoffman story…”

  “Hoffman? The councilman?” I ask in surprise. Okay, I might not be an expert, but turning it into a question of local government seems a little too much.

  “Yes, him and…” He stops. “But I mean, for God’s sake, why are you dressed like that tonight?”

  “Would you mind telling me what’s wrong with my dress?”

  “Does it look suitable for a business dinner?”

  “This isn’t a business dinner!”

  “Whatever it is, then!” he snaps.

  “If you wanted me to be less casual, you should have told me beforehand. I don’t spend my whole life sitting looking at the phone and waiting for you to call, you know.” It’s something that I’ve never really thought, because actually I always have been sitting looking at the phone and desperately hoping that he’d call me even to tell me to take him a coffee, so let’s say that in a moment of profound confusion, I give voice to something that Terry has always thought. A half truth instead of a lie, because it’s still true even if I wasn’t the one thinking it, right?

  “Yeah, I noticed! There’s a lot more going on in your free time than I imagined,” he replies sarcastically, crossing his arms.

  “I can’t work out if you’re more annoyed that I have a life outside the office or simply that it’s one that doesn’t include you,” I say, completely at random. I don’t know why I said that, I swear I didn’t mean to. If only I could turn back the clock a few minutes…

  “What the hell do I care what you do when you get out of work?” he snaps angrily, clenching his fists.

  “You were the one who started it.”

  “You were the one who asked.”

  “And you couldn’t wait to answer, could you?”

  “I…” he starts to shout, then covers his mouth with one hand, looks around in confusion and tries to normalise his breathing. One, two… I imagine he’s counting. He re-opens his eyes and seems to be himself again. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I’m really sorry, Sam. I’m… I’m under a lot of pressure. I’ve got some personal stuff going on at the moment. Nothing serious, not… I think I’m a bit…”

  When I see him suddenly wilt like that, without warning, I calm down too. “Don�
��t worry.”

  “We’re friends again, right?” he asks me, looking worried. “Everything’s like before, right? It’s… It’s just one of those things that happens, isn’t it…?”

  “Sure, just one of those things that happen,” I repeat without much conviction while he seems to regain his usual calm. The moment of danger has passed. No problem. “Friends again,” I say to myself. My anger fades away and I find myself disappointed, bitter and sad – infinitely sad, because before it was all just a dream but now I really know how it feels to be in his arms. It’ll be much harder to get used to a life without Dave now that I’ve seen how it might have been with him.

  “Do you want… some water?” he asks, suddenly turning thoughtful. I think I preferred him when he was being an asshole. It was less humiliating than his compassion.

  “Dave, I’m fine,” I reassure him, “I just want to go home.” And that’s the only intelligent thing to do. Get out of there.

  More resolute than I can ever remember being in my life, I put my laptop in my bag and prepare to leave.

  “If you give me a second, I’ll get my car keys and drive you home,” he suggests.

  “There’s no need.”

  “Come on, I insist. I can’t just let you go home on your own like this.”

  “I’ll call Al and ask him to come and get me.” I only mention Al so as not to give him the satisfaction of thinking that my whole world has just fallen to pieces simply because I wasn’t good enough for him. Even though that is actually exactly how I feel, but he doesn’t need to know that.

  “That guy from the other day?” Dave asks me, a frown appearing on his face.

  “Yes,” I confirm, without being able to figure out what it is about Al that gets to him so much.

  “Sam, listen, it’s none of my business…” he whispers, scratching his head. “Especially after what’s just happened. But the fact is… I’ve been thinking about it for days. I ought to keep my nose out, I know, but I’ve known you for a while and believe me, I’m really worried.”

  “I’m not following you,” I admit, a bit surprised by the direction the conversation has taken.

  “Well, what do you actually know about this guy?” he asks.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Ah, nothing. Just what I’m saying,” he replies awkwardly. “It’s just that I wouldn’t want to see you get hurt.”

  Ah, really?

  “Dave, I’m a grown up.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Well you’re not being very clear, so how am I supposed to understand you?”

  “I just don’t want you to get your expectations up.”

  “What kind of expectations?”

  “Come on, Sam… you’re an intelligent woman, don’t pretend you don’t understand what I’m saying.”

  “You must have overestimated my abilities because I really have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Sam, have you looked at him?”

  “Yes, and apparently I wasn’t the only one,” I answer, my words dripping with sarcasm. “Spit it out, Dave. I think I know where you’re going with all this.”

  “Why do you keep putting words into my mouth?”

  “And why can’t you just be honest?”

  “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with warning you. It just means that I care about you.”

  “Sure, you care about me and think that he’s out of my league. Girls like me are cut out for a different type of guy, right?”

  “I think most women would be better off staying away from guys like that, Sam.”

  “Don’t bring generalisations into it, Dave, because that’s nothing to do with it,” I snap. “Anyway, it’s late. I really should leave.” I no longer want to argue with him, especially not about my life. I walk towards the door. Dave watches me go without reacting, but when he sees me grab the handle, he realises I’m serious. He comes over and holds the door shut, barring my way.

  “Sam… Sam, wait,” he whispers, a worried expression on his face. “Sam, damn it, have you looked at yourself? You’re not the same any more – you’re not working as hard, you’re always distracted and you’ve started dressing like this…” He breathes heavily, perhaps to stop himself from saying things he knows he shouldn’t. “There’s no point you trying to be someone else, because guys like him are only interested in… in certain things,” he says, hoping that he’s chosen the right words. And maybe he has, maybe it’s me who’s wrong.

  “What the hell do you know about it? What the hell do you know about him, or about me, for that matter?” I yell, pointing to myself.

  “I know you, Sam. I’ve known you for more than three years, which is a little longer than you’ve known him, if you don’t mind me saying.”

  “Yeah, Dave. Much longer. And isn’t it weird how in all that time you’ve never actually understood anything about me?”

  There is a deep silence between us. As if suddenly something had broken.

  I only realise that I’m shouting at him afterwards. I never would have thought it possible. Neither did he, and now he’s staring at me looking as though he doesn’t know quite what to say, and probably thinking that it’s somebody else standing in front of him, not Sam.

  “Okay, we’ve both said too much,” I say, trying to sound conciliatory. “It’s late and I’m tired. Good night, Dave.”

  I hope that he doesn’t stop me, doesn’t put up any resistance, and in this, at least, Dave is helpful, because he doesn’t lift a single finger.

  “Goodnight, Sam,” he answers when I’m already far away, then the buzzing of the intercom in the lift drowns out the other sounds and all I can hear is the beating of my heart.

  It’s twelve o’clock midnight on 89.9 FM and these are the sounds of Love Attitude, the radio station that keeps you awake, the radio station that keeps time with the beating of your heart. The cars are shooting through the green lights on Mason Street, there are still people at Fisherman’s Wharf and for all those folk who say, ‘life starts right now’, all those who say ‘there’s still time, another round, another dawn’, these are the right sounds. Love Attitude. 89.9 FM. Stay right here with us, tuned to the frequencies of love.

  Chapter 20

  Metropolitan Manners

  “No! No! No!”

  “You can not stay in that bathroom all night.”

  “Do we wanna bet?”

  “Argh… I… grrr,” she growls. “Sam, come out of there immediately!”

  “I said no!”

  “Don’t make me call security.”

  “I don’t care if you do.”

  “Damn it, Sam, Dave’s been looking for you for over forty minutes. I ran out of excuses after the first fifteen, and you know what happens when I try to improvise. If you don’t come out of there, you’d better prepare a list of alternatives to alien abduction and being sucked down into the drains, because right now I have no other ideas for justifying this sudden ridiculous love of the toilet seat you seem to have developed!”

  “He should have told me,” I say, remaining behind the door with my arms folded.

  “Maybe he didn’t know,” she says.

  “Oh right!” I snap sarcastically.

  “Hey, maybe he really didn’t! It’s possible!”

  “Spontaneous combustion is possible too, but despite my prayers, my Uncle Theodore keeps turning up for Christmas every year.”

  “What the hell has your Uncle Theodore got to do with anything?”

  “Haven’t I ever introduced you to my Uncle Theodore? I should. Why don’t you come over for Christmas dinner?”

  “Sam,” she sighs, “I do understand your frustration, but I don’t think the two things are really comparable.”

  “Well the effects on my digestion are identical.”

  “Sam,” she shouts in exasperation, “it’s only two days – two days – and you told him that you would help him. You can’t change your mind now.”

  “I�
��m not changing my mind,” I explain. “I would have changed my mind if I’d known from the start and, after agreeing to it, I had pulled out, but I didn’t know. I never accepted. So I’m not changing my mind, Terry. I’m just refusing to spend two days in the hotel with Dave, particularly because I’m less than ten miles from home and I can quite easily come back here tomorrow for interviews.”

  “If the organisation expects you to be a guest of the hotel…”

  “They should have asked me!”

  “Will you tell me what the problem is? Until yesterday, this was your secret fantasy!”

  I go quiet.

  “Sam?” She’s noticed. “Sam, did something happen that you forgot to mention when I asked you ‘So how did it go yesterday with Dave?’ and you answered ‘I’m not sure that’s olive pâté?”

  I sigh with frustration.

  “Sam… Sam, I don’t want to rush you but we’ve been locked in the ladies’ bathroom for too long for people to think we’re bulimic or just doing coke. I’m really starting to worry what the angry women waiting their turn outside that door are thinking. Half the town is out there in its best clothes, along with – I hope – the multi-millionaire dentist who’s going to decide that I am the love of his life as soon as he sees me in my Versace dress, which only cost me the modest equivalent of three months’ salary. And you? I mean, in the middle of all this, what are you doing? Barricading yourself in and running the risk of losing the only job you’ve been able to get? I know you’d prefer death to dishonour, but you’re not Joan of Arc and there isn’t the Spanish Inquisition or a firing squad waiting for you out there. So why not quit worrying about being burned at the stake or becoming a human sacrifice or whatever and concentrate on the fact that, whatever it is you want, you’re not going to get it by hiding in the toilet? You’re just postponing the inevitable. Please, please,” she begs me, changing tone, “for once, for one time in your life, listen to me. Can you? Try and be understanding, this can’t be easy for him either. Open the door, go to Dave, and if you just don’t want to stay over, just say ‘Dave, I don’t want to stay over.’ It’s so easy even you can do it.”