Who’s That Girl?

by Celia Hayes

  Well, I have no intention of letting him! Okay, this is just a question of self-discipline. Don’t think about Dave. Don’t think about Dave. Don’t think about Dave.

  “Who the hell can that be at this time of night?” murmurs Al suddenly, reminding me of where I am and who I am. “Did you hear that?” He gets up and stands immobile for a moment, listening. But apart from our breathing, there’s no sound at all.

  “I didn’t hear anything. Did you call room service?” I ask, covering myself with the sheet.

  “No,” he answers, looking slightly disturbed.

  “Go and see.”

  “No, it’s probably just someone who got the wrong room,” he says. But this time we both hear it. Two bangs on the door, and not gentle ones. “No, they haven’t got the wrong room. Sam…”

  “Don’t worry,” I reassure him, “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Okay, I’ll be right back.”

  While I’m sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for him to come back, I steal one of his t-shirts and put it on, and then after waiting a little longer, I stand up and tiptoe away to see what’s going on, wondering what the heck it can be at this time of night. He’s been gone way too long.

  “Al… is everything ok?”

  “Go back to the bedroom, he answers in a voice I’ve never heard him use. He sounds angry, but I can’t imagine why. I keep going and eventually I get to him. Standing before him is Dave. And I won’t try and describe the expression on Dave’s face when he sees me wearing only a man’s t-shirt.

  “I told you to go back into the bedroom, Sam,” repeats Al, pointing to the door.

  “Don’t talk to her like that.”

  “And who the hell are you to tell me how to talk to her? What do you know about how to talk to people?”

  “Try and tell her what to do one more time and I’m gonna break your face,” says Dave, jabbing at him with his index finger.

  “Oh yeah?” says Al, clearly not intimidated by Dave’s threat.

  “Okay, this is getting out of control,” I interject in an attempt to calm the waters. “Al, why don’t you calm down? Dave,” I turn to him, “believe me, he wasn’t being disrespectful.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Right, I’ve had enough. This is my room, so get the hell out or I’ll kick you out!”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got no intention of hanging around. Sam, get dressed – we’re leaving.”

  “Sam’s not going anywhere,” says Al, putting himself between Dave and me.

  “That’s not for you to decide,” snaps Dave.

  “Or for you.”

  “In fact, it’s for me to decide,” I cut in, in an attempt to remind the pair of them that I exist.

  “I’m not leaving without Sam.”

  “Oh, you’re leaving alright, and just be grateful that she was here, otherwise I’ve have knocked those teeth of yours down your throat.”

  “Al, please, why don’t you let us talk for a minute?” I suggest.

  “There’s nothing to say. All you have to do is get dressed. My car’s parked outside, I’ll take you home,” replies Dave, who doesn’t seem much inclined to discuss things. He looks tired and his shirt’s crumpled.

  “Just what the hell do you want? You had your chance and you threw it away. She’s with me now, get used to it,” says Al, throwing his arms out angrily.

  “I don’t think so. Not after she’s heard what kind of lowlife you are,” answers Dave, still looking him in the eye.

  “Me?” asks Al with an incredulous laugh. “I’m the lowlife? Oh, that’s a good one.”

  “Dave, cut it out,” I say. “And there’s no reason for you to be here.”

  “We’ll talk about it in the car. Now do me the courtesy of getting dressed – it’s late and your mother will be worried.”

  “My mother? What the hell has all this got to do with my mother? I’m not sixteen!”

  “No, you’re just acting like you are,” he says.

  He seems to have completely lost his head, but he’s not the only one. Suddenly, Al grabs his shirt and starts dragging him towards the door. “I told you to get out, are you deaf?”

  “Oh God… Al, Al wait,” I murmur. I raise a hand theatrically but it’s futile.

  “Get your hands off me!” snaps Dave, pulling himself free. He turns round and gives Al a shove, pushing him – probably without meaning to – against the wall. I watch impotently from the other side of the room as Al rubs his shoulder, then pulls himself up to his full height and swings a punch that sends Dave crashing to the floor like something out of a movie.

  “Oh, my god, Dave!” I shout. “Dave…” I run over to try and help him and, terrified, feel his face and head. When I touch him, though, Dave jerks away, gets painfully to his feet and pulls his shirt back into place.

  “Dave… Dave, are you okay?” I ask him anxiously.

  “Why, do you care?” he answers as he checks his jaw isn’t broken.

  It’s a question I can’t answer, because as much as I might wish I didn’t, unfortunately, I do. And in the meantime I go over to Al, who puts his hands up and says defensively, “Hey, he started it…”

  “Okay, but you’re twice his size, you could have really hurt him.”

  “He just took me by surprise, that’s all,” says Dave, his pride obviously hurt.

  “Yeah, you wish,” answers Al with a smirk.

  “What the hell, are you two starting again? Can’t you act like adults for five minutes?” I shout at them as though they were two naughty little boys, venting all my anger.

  “You’re right. It’s my fault, I should have minded my own business,” mutters Dave with a shrug.

  “Damn right you should!”

  “Al!” I snap angrily.

  “No, let him,” says Dave. He heads for the door, eyeing me bitterly. “If you’d rather believe him.”

  “Believe what?” I ask, not understanding what he’s talking about.

  “All this Prince Charming crap, Sam,” he says, mocking my ingenuousness.

  “Dave, you’re not funny.”

  “And it won’t be funny when you realise he’s just been messing you around. At least I was honest.”

  “Are you back to insulting me?”

  “Dave, Al’s right. You’ve got no right to talk about him like that.”

  “Sure, of course not. Who am I to dare to criticise Al?” Dave shakes his head as though he were the only one of us to see things as they really are. “Why don’t you tell her what you’re really called, Al?” he says, pronouncing Al’s name as though it were an accusation. “Because you haven’t told her, have you?”

  “What’s he talking about?” I turn to look at Al, who remains strangely silent.

  “What is it, cat got your tongue? Let me help you out. Sam, meet Adam Graham,” says Dave, with a sarcastic smile. “Congratulations, you’ve managed to get close to the most evasive man in the whole country. After this scoop, the front page is all yours, except…” and he slaps his forehead. “What an idiot I am! There can’t be an interview because you quit your job for him. But anyway, what do you care about a job now you’ve got ‘Al’? Goodnight Sam!” And without giving me time to reply, he opens the door and disappears, leaving me in a hotel room for the second time.

  The door closes and I’m the first to speak.

  “Al, all that… all that story… is it true?”

  “Yeah,” he admits.

  “Why?” I somehow manage to summon up the courage to ask.

  “You wouldn’t believe me.”

  “Let’s try anyway.”

  “I was scared you’d have said no.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I swear, it’s the truth.” He seems sincere.

  “Why would I have said no?” I ask, incredulously.

  “Because you would never have believed that I was actually interested in you.”

  “So you lied to me. Great tactic,” I say wearily, and go back into
the bedroom.

  Al follows me, and while I gather up my clothes from the floor he tries to stop me.

  “Sam, wait, look at me.”

  “What?”

  “Are you angry?”

  “To tell the truth, no,” I say haltingly, “I’m just exhausted.”

  “Sam, I like you for real. I didn’t lie about that.”

  “I believe you…” And it’s true, I know it’s true. I can tell from his expression, from his hands that struggle to restrain themselves from touching me.

  “Where are you going?” he asks.

  “I’m going to him.”

  “You’re going to Dave? Now? After everything he’s done to you?”

  “I know,” I admit sadly, “But I have to speak to him. And I need to see if he’s okay. He just got punched in the face because of me.”

  “Sam…”

  “No, Al.” I say, pushing him away, “not now. We’ll speak about it tomorrow.” And a few minutes later I’m listening to the radio in a taxi and hoping I can find him.

  04.52 a.m., 89.9 FM. It’s the middle of the night here in San Francisco. No sound, no light, just an old car driving slowly far away from the traffic down Marina, just a few footsteps from the ocean. And for you who can’t sleep, you who’ve got things on your mind, who are staring at the city through an open window, there’s Love Attitude, the radio station that is always on in the city. The only soundtrack of the heart. And so while you wait with us for the sun to start shining again, this is ‘Ain’t No Sunshine’. Bill Withers on Love Attitude 89.9 FM, from our studios in Fisherman’s Wharf.

  Chapter 35

  The Only Thing Missing Is You

  “Is… Dave in?”

  “Dave? Not right now, no, but he’ll be back soon,” answers a man in his thirties I’ve never seen before. What the heck he could be doing at Dave’s home in the middle of the night I just cannot imagine. “Why don’t you come inside and wait?” he suggests.

  “Is that okay?” I ask as I enter.

  “Is it ok? Sure it’s ok!” he answers, putting a hand on my shoulder and forcing me to accompany him into the living room.

  “I didn’t want to disturb anybody, I know it’s late,” I try to explain, when it occurs to me that it’s not exactly visiting hours, “but I was a bit worried.”

  “You did the right thing!” he reassures me, approaching the corner bar. “Whiskey?”

  “No, I’m good.” I take off my coat and drape it over the back of a chair. He pretends not to be paying attention, but he casts the occasional glance at me as he pours himself a drink.

  “Not even a drop of brandy?”

  “No, really, I’m fine, and I don’t usually drink this late.”

  “You’re right!” He nods. “Soooo… you were worried about Dave…”

  “Yeah…” I look for a corner to perch on while I wait and end up next to the table, where I find an old acquaintance waiting for me, all wrapped up in gauze.

  “Ouch – that was a nasty story,” murmurs the guy, approaching with the half full glass in his hand. “Poor Mr Onky, he fell with honour in battle.” He dedicates the ugly thing a moment of silence.

  “I’m afraid that was my fault,” I confess, with some embarrassment. It’s not one of my proudest memories.

  “Well, how about that…” he mutters, looking at me with renewed interest. “And so you must be Sam.”

  “That’s right,” I say, as he chuckles to himself.

  “The famous Sam.”

  “Looks that way…”

  “I can just imagine the scene.”

  “What scene?”

  “Erm…” He takes a sip of whiskey. “Nothing, nothing. Listen, take a seat, you don’t have to stand up,” and he drops down into the armchair, leaving me the couch. “We have so much to talk about.”

  “Talk about? What?”

  “About you, what else! Sam. Ah, Sam, Sam…” he says, repeating my name ecstatically. I don’t understand what’s put him in such a good mood. “You work at The Chronicle, right?”

  “Not any more.”

  “No?” he asks, looking at me in surprise. “Already?”

  “What do you mean, ‘already’?”

  “Things are a lot further on than I’d imagined.”

  “A lot further on that what? Listen, look…” I’m starting to lose my patience, and I get up from the couch. “I don’t know what you think you’ve understood, but don’t…”

  “Hey, Sam, no. Please, come on, calm down.” He walks over and gently pushes me back down onto the couch just as I was about to leave. “It’s late, you’re on your own, Dave’s on his way back. You’re not going to leave the playing field when you’re this close to a home run, are you? We’re nearly there.”

  “I still have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Confused by his behaviour, I remain seated and watch him finish his whiskey, perched on the arm of the couch. He never takes his eyes off me, and that irritating smile of his returns to his lips.

  “Poor old Dave,” he says, scratching his moustache. “Jeez. That explains why he was so worked up.”

  “Is he ok? Is Dave sick or something?” I say, getting to my feet yet again.

  “No, no, he’s fine!” He puts his hand on my shoulder again to prevent me from standing. “The worst is yet to come.”

  “The… worst?”

  “Yeah… Look at those big eyes. This is going to be fun.”

  “Is there some danger of something?” I’m already imagining him surrounded by paramedics in the emergency room, at death’s door.

  “Danger? No, not danger – absolute certainty! I can see him now.” He clicks his tongue and raises his hand as though he is watching the scene take place in front of him. “White as a sheet, hunched over… You know, all things considered, I think I actually will hang around.”

  “Ok, buster, I’m done. And you need to see a shrink,” I say, with rare conviction. I’ve had enough of this guy’s bullshit and I stand up and head for the door, ignoring his attempt to make me stay sitting nicely on the couch.

  “Why? I’m fine!”

  “Yeah, I think you might want to get a specialist’s opinion about that.”

  “Brian, would you mind telling me why you never close the damn bathroom doo—” says Dave, who walks through the door at that exact moment. As soon as he sees me, he freezes where he is, halfway between the living room and the bedroom. “Sam…” he murmurs, putting down his keys.

  “Dave…”

  “Amazing. Amazing.” Somebody starts to applaud. Who? The lunatic in Dave’s apartment, who I deduce must be called Brian, that’s who. “Great, now I can die happy!” he sighs, picking up a jacket from the couch. “For a minute there, I thought you’d actually got one over on me, you old fox!” he chuckles and, going over to Dave, he ruffles his hair. Dave doesn’t reply or move at all, he just glares at him. That’s not like Dave – that punch must have been harder than I’d imagined. Shall I call the ambulance? “And there was me thinking we’d love each other for ever,” says Brian, self-pityingly.

  “You knew it couldn’t last,” says Dave. “You’re a Yankees fan.”

  “Oh, that hurts,” says Brian sarcastically, putting a hand on his heart. “From now on, spray cream will never taste the same.”

  “Okay, are you done?”

  “Oh yes, I think that should be enough for now. By the look of things you don’t need me here any more.” He looks around and sees me. “Your head is still working, no permanent damage. Next time you get beaten up by a male model, call an ambulance. You can give me the details tomorrow, and by the way – a cheque will do fine,” he says with a smile as Dave seems to have trouble swallowing. One more smug smile, a pat on the back and then he turns to me. “Good evening, Sam,” he says, with a little bow. “Dave… Mr Onky,” he says, turning to the gauze wrapped object and touching his forehead in a gesture of a respect. “My work here is done. Remember to take precautions,” he says, loo
king at me. “Let’s give him a bit more time, he’s not ready to be a father yet,” and off he goes, whistling an old blues song.

  “Is that guy crazy?” I ask Dave, as soon as we’re alone.

  “No, he’s just an asshole,” Dave replies, glaring murderously at the front door.

  “Well, he seemed pretty weird to me,” I say, “I could only understand about a tenth of what he said.”

  “Sam, what the hell are you doing here?” asks Dave, turning to me and radically changing the subject.

  “I was worried about you. When I saw Al hit you, I felt terrible,” I admit, my hands trembling and my face white. Clearly, the sight of me looking so worried doesn’t leave him as unmoved as he would like, because he tries to calm me down by telling me he’s fine.

  “Really?” I push a lock of hair away from his eyes. He doesn’t answer. “Does it still hurt?” I touch the bruise delicately, trying not to make things worse, and Dave lets me without protesting. Without even realising it, he ends up taking my hand in his and squeezing it slowly, and with the same delicacy he raises it to his lips and, his eyes closed, kisses my palm. The moment I feel his mouth touch my skin, I stop being able to move. I can’t even think. I feel an almost unstoppable desire to throw my arms around his neck, but I just can’t, and instead of letting me go, Dave, who always likes to complicate everything, slides his tongue between my fingers in a warm, gentle caress.

  “Dave…” I say, my breath halting. “Dave, I…” No, it’s not true, damn it! I don’t hate him at all. My heart melts, each little part of my body reacts as though it has just been awakened from a long sleep. Dave senses the slight tremor that goes through me, opens his eyes and, looking me straight in the face, takes the tip of my index finger between his lips and sucks it slowly.

  “Dave, I don’t think…” I stammer, trying to find the words to free myself, but my attempt to escape is an invitation he cannot resist. So instead of getting out of there, I find myself with both wrists trapped behind my back and his mouth reminding me who’s in charge.

  “Dave, wait…”

  “No!” he says.