Playing Along

by Rory Samantha Green

  “Well, that’s settled then. I’ll talk to Carl tonight.” Lexi goes back to her computer and sits down. “Now, let’s get clicking on these inquiries. If even a quarter of them turn into something, it looks as if next year could be very busy!”

  Next year. Just around the corner. In her original master plan, next year would have been her fifth wedding anniversary with Andrew. They were supposed to have had two kids by now and a dog. Suddenly she remembers. George. The family dog was going to be called George. Lexi thinks how odd it is that the only thing that has managed to survive her outdated fantasy is that one single word.

  GEORGE

  11th December, 2009

  Camden, London

  George relaxes back in his chair. He’s glad that’s over with. Now things can get moving.

  “Did that chick just say ‘You’re wonderful, Gabe’?” asks Duncan, who obviously has no intention of maturing anytime soon.

  “What?” says Gabe, looking very disconcerted. “She said I was wonderful? Did you hear that George?”

  George is supremely agitated. “No I did not hear that, Gabe.”

  “She’s a hottie, huh. I say let’s go for it!” Duncan drums on the table with his fingers.

  This is getting worse by the second. Now they’re all after her. It’s extremely doubtful that she’s unattached. She appears to put a spell on every man she meets.

  “Look guys, there’s nothing to go for, those two are married!” says George, a little louder than intended.

  “I mean, let’s go for the contract,” says Duncan. “But really? Married? That Russell has got it going on, man!”

  “Who cares,” says George, dismissing the fact that he’s blatantly making this up. Anything to get them off her scent. Anyway, for all he knows they might well be married. “Let’s get back to the contract. What do you two think?” he asks, turning pointedly to Mark and Simon. George is working on learning how to share.

  “I think we should use them. It seems like money well spent to me,” says Mark. “Anyway, by all accounts things aren’t going well in Copenhagen at the summit, so it’s up to individuals to do whatever we can.”

  “I’m in,” says Simon, “Russell’s a dude.”

  “Excellent,” says Gabe, “love it when a plan comes together. I’ll call them tomorrow and seems fairly likely that we’ll need to get them over here pretty soon to do their eco audit.”

  George releases a breath. Just what he’s been waiting for. So, he might have to fend off a few rivals or even overthrow the current king, but he refuses to be deterred.

  LEXI

  December 11th, 2009

  Venice, Los Angeles

  Russell looks elated. “If I do say so myself, I think that went swimmingly.”

  “It did,” agrees Lexi, “there was nothing for me to add, you were on a roll. I’d be very surprised if they didn’t say yes!”

  Russell picks up Boris and kisses him on the lips.

  “Boris, my dear, I think you and I should take our lady friends out for a celebratory drink this evening.”

  Lexi is trying her hardest to hold onto excited, but just underneath the surface something more like fear is gripping the sides of the rug ready to pull. Everything is happening so quickly and her stupid juvenile crush is preventing her from even seeming vaguely professional.

  “Russell, I’d love to, but I’m supposed to be meeting up with Andrew and Carl tonight.”

  Russell looks flustered, “Oh, right—I meant Mildred and Cherub, but of course we’d be happy for you to join us. We could make an evening of it…”

  “No, no of course not,” says Lexi, mortified, “that wouldn’t be very romantic now would it? I’m all set to meet up with the boys. In fact I was going to ask you about the lawyer you mentioned, because Carl is a company lawyer, you know. I think he specializes in contracts. Maybe we could use him?”

  “What an inspired idea. I haven’t actually talked to my lawyer since registering the name of the company, and he was most unsuitable. It turns out he had a cat phobia and spent a good portion of our meeting having heart palpitations.”

  “Well, that’s settled then. I’ll talk to Carl tonight.” Lexi goes back to her computer and sits down. “Now, let’s get clicking on these inquiries. If even a quarter of them turn into something, it looks as if next year could be very busy!”

  Next year. Just around the corner. In her original master plan, next year would have been her fifth wedding anniversary with Andrew. They were supposed to have had two kids by now and a dog. Suddenly she remembers. George. The family dog was going to be called George. Lexi thinks how odd it is that the only thing that has managed to survive her outdated fantasy is that one single word.

  GEORGE

  24th December, 2009

  M4 motorway, England

  Duncan has his feet on the dashboard and is smoking. The open passenger window is letting in the rain and George can see from the corner of his eye that the inside of the door is getting drenched. He is already annoyed and their two days at his parents’ house have barely begun. “Dunc, give it a rest, will you, and close the window. It’s bloody freezing in here.”

  “Yes Dad,” says Duncan, chucking the butt away. “Mellow out, mate. It’s Christmas, we’re supposed to be full of the joys of the season. How bad can it be?”

  “You’ve met my parents.”

  “They’re cool, George. I mean a bit conservative maybe, but they do say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

  “Shut up. I’m nothing like them. I’m exactly the opposite to them. In fact I would venture to say my entire personality developed as an adverse reaction to the three people I lived with.” The motorway is dense with cars. George changes lanes to try to get in the one that’s moving. The moment he does, it grinds to halt.

  “Get me a violin, mate. My dad was a fucking lunatic. He was an Aussie butcher—it can’t get worse than that. He smelled like meat and carried a cleaver.”

  Duncan doesn’t talk much about his family in Melbourne. In fact, in the seven years George has known him, he’s only been back to Australia once. Perhaps there’s a reason after all for Duncan’s manic behaviour. Yet another human attempting to dodge his DNA, only to discover that he’s shackled to it for the rest of forever.

  “Did he use the cleaver outside of the office?” asks George, thinking that maybe he doesn’t really want to know the answer.

  “He threatened to, mate. He’s a barbarian. But he did get me into drumming. He used to listen to Ozzy Osbourne. I drummed my way through my teens to drown him out.”

  “Ozzy or your dad?”

  “Both! He thinks what we’re doing is rubbish. Last time we spoke he told me I’d sold out to the sissies. Anyway, enough about him, he can fuck off. All he wants from me now is money.”

  George can see the exit looming. At least Duncan’s dad wants something from him. George would be happy to give his parents money, but they don’t even seem to think he’s worthy of that. Two days George tells himself, hating the fact that he continues to show up at all.

  LEXI

  December 24th, 2009

  West Hollywood, Los Angeles

  Christmas Eve. The night before the big day. When she was a little girl, Lexi remembers hours spent baking cinnamon cookies shaped like reindeer. She would meticulously place a small cranberry at the end of each of their noses until she got to Rudolph, who was honored with a bright red maraschino cherry. Lexi was the only one in the house allowed to eat Rudolph.

  Tonight, she has agreed to accompany Andrew and Carl to their friend Johnnie’s party. Johnnie is Carl’s partner at the law firm. Lexi first met him a week ago when she went with Russell to discuss drawing up legal contracts. Johnnie and Carl had given valuable advice and agreed to act on their behalf. It had all been very professional, both of them dapper in grey suits and crisp white shirts. This evening, however, is a slightly different story. Johnnie answers the door to his apartment dressed in a Santa Claus hat, a w
hite beard decorated with silver sequins and a short red jumpsuit. He is holding a half bottle of Dom Pérignon. The room is bouncing behind him and the Scissor Sisters are blaring from all open windows.

  “Merry Christmas, campers! Come on in and meet the elves!” Andrew, Carl and Lexi are ushered into the heaving throng.

  “Did I mention that Johnnie’s a wild cat?” yells Carl over the music, obviously noticing Lexi’s slightly uncertain expression.

  “No, you didn’t!” she yells back.

  “Have a drink!” says a Mrs. Claus, dressed in a velvet cape and long false eyelashes. A lime green cocktail is thrust into Lexi’s hand.

  “Thank you!” she replies, but can barely hear herself speak.

  Within minutes, Andrew and Carl have disappeared into the center of the room where a large crowd has gathered to dance. Lexi guesses it will take a few green drinks until she can join them. She spots double doors leading onto a balcony and heads in that direction.

  GEORGE

  24th December, 2009

  Stanford in the Vale, Oxfordshire

  Surprisingly, his family seem to have formed a welcoming committee outside of the cottage. As he turns the corner into the lane, George can make out his parents—Mum and Dad in coordinating red and green jumpers; Polly who looks like she’s put on weight since the last time he saw her; her husband, Martyn, always smiling inanely; and the triplets, with pasty white faces and identical outfits.

  Duncan gets out first and high fives the boys.

  “Thing One. Thing Two. Thing Three. How’s it hanging, dudes?”

  Thing Two glares at Duncan. “You smell like the pub. Mummy says the pub is a bad place.”

  “Padstow! Be polite,” says Polly, tapping him on the top of his head.

  “No worries. I respect a kid with the balls to say it how it is. Polly, lay one on me.” Duncan leans in and kisses Polly smack on the lips. This even stops Martyn from smiling for a second, but he manages to shake George’s hand, “Nice to see you, brother-in-law.” George guesses Martyn has always hated him as much as Polly does.

  George goes to give his parents a perfunctory hug. “Welcome home, son,” says his dad. The word home jars.

  “All right, Dad?”

  “Hello dear. You are looking awfully tired,” says his mother, patting him on the back. She smells like sage and onion stuffing.

  “Well, I’ll be sure to sleep a lot while I’m here, Mum,” says George, beckoning to Duncan. “You remember Duncan?”

  “Mr. and Mrs B.—thanks for the invite. Much appreciated.” Duncan swoops in on Lawrence and Harriet who appear to be cowering. Meanwhile, George can no longer avoid greeting Polly.

  They hug stiffly.

  “Hello, George. Have you noticed the boys’ t-shirts? I bought them off the Internet especially. Aren’t they fab?”

  George looks down. Archie, Padstow and Trevor are all wearing red t-shirts printed with black electric guitars and the words, “MY MUM ROCKS.”

  “Fab,” agrees George, not daring to voice his real opinion.

  As the motley group begin to shuffle inside, George feels a tug on his sleeve. He looks down to find one of the triplets (possibly Trevor? He can’t always tell the difference) staring up at him with big blue eyes, not dissimilar to his own. “Uncle George?”

  “Yes, mate?”

  “I hate this t-shirt. Mum forced me to wear it. The label is itching my back.”

  George laughs and ruffles Trevor’s hair. Maybe he has an ally after all?

  “Don’t worry, Trev. I’ll cut the label out for you when we get inside.” Trevor smiles gratefully. Obviously, George has not mistaken him for one of his brothers.

  Once in, Harriet shows Duncan to Polly’s old bedroom, now kitted out for the triplets.

  “I call the top bunk!” yells Duncan.

  “Polly and the boys will stay at their house tonight, Duncan, so you can have this room all to yourself. Anyway, George likes to sleep in his old room.” Harriet looks at George wistfully, “I do wish you’d come and stay more often.”

  Polly calls from the kitchen, obviously eavesdropping, “It’s hardly worth keeping your room intact for you if you’re never here. Mum could use it for her knitting circle.”

  When George had first moved to London for university, he used to come back more regularly and had begged his mother to leave his room alone. It was the only space in the house belonging entirely to him, untainted by anything quaint or twee. It held the worst of his memories, but the best of his dreams. Was there really any point in hanging onto it now? Wasn’t it time to move on from hoping that his family would finally redeem themselves?

  “You’re right, Pol. Knitting,” calls back George. “That could be your project for next year,” he says turning to his mum, “delete me from the house. While you’re at it—why don’t you cut me out of all the family photos?”

  Harriet shakes her head, “Don’t be so sensitive, George. She doesn’t mean it.”

  Duncan, unexpectedly, jumps to George’s defense, “Sensitive and brilliant, Mrs. B. That’s what makes George such a phenomenal musician. You should be very proud.”

  “Yes, of course we are. Now,” she says, hurrying the moment on, “remember you two, no smoking in the house and dinner will be ready at six. Oh, and the boys are allowed to open two presents each tonight, so let’s all meet at the Christmas tree at 5:30.”

  “Looking forward to that,” says Duncan.

  She leaves George and Duncan standing in the narrow hallway, their heads almost touching the ceiling.

  “Regretting it?” whispers George, who is suddenly relieved to have Duncan with him, remembering how lonely he can feel in this house, even with everyone around.

  “Not yet,” says Duncan, “but when can we crack open your dad’s sherry?”

  LEXI

  December 24th, 2009

  West Hollywood, Los Angeles

  Lexi manages to push her way through onto the balcony where those who have overflowed outside are smoking and talking. She clutches her green cocktail feeling hopelessly out of place. Who would have guessed that Lexi Jacobs, the most popular girl in her senior year, would be this familiar with feeling uncomfortable? She’s contemplating hiding her drink in the jasmine and slipping away inconspicuously, when she hears a man’s voice behind her.

  “Come here often?” Lexi turns around to find a tall guy with blond curly hair and glasses. He’s wearing jeans and a blue striped shirt. She needs to think of a cute, snappy comeback, but her mind is blank.

  “Uh, not really.”

  “Well, I can’t say I blame you. Especially if when you do, guys like me approach you with age-old pick-up lines.”

  She smiles, “I’ve heard worse.”

  “No! You can’t have done. You’re just saying that because you feel sorry for me. I’m Lance, by the way,” he offers his hand.

  “Hi Lance, I’m Lexi.”

  “Lance and Lexi, we already sound like a couple.”

  “We do, do we?”

  “I’m not gay. In case you were wondering. It’s only that a minute ago I was thinking that I might be the only person at this party who wasn’t, until I saw you.”

  “That’s very presumptuous, how do you know that I’m not gay?” Lexi takes a sip of her drink, thankful that she didn’t dispose of it in the potted plant.

  “I have a straidar—it’s a bit like a gaydar, except opposite.”

  “Useful.”

  “Well, it is tonight. So who dragged you along?”

  “A friend. Well, actually Johnnie’s my lawyer.”

  “He is? I guess you got a shock when he answered the door?”

  “I did! And you?”

  “I’ll see your connection and raise you one. Johnnie’s my brother.” Lance has perfectly aligned white teeth.

  “Good choice, he’s great.”

  “It runs in the family.”

  “Unlike modesty?” Lexi lowers her chin and raises her eyebrows. She might be out
of practice, but if flirting is anything like riding a bike, she thinks she may have just gotten back in the saddle.

  “Life’s too short for modesty, Lexi. Tell me something you’re brilliant at?” She can see sparkle lights reflected in Lance’s glasses. She pauses, unnerved by how few things come to mind these days.

  “Baking reindeer cookies.”

  “A traditional woman. I like that. I’m brilliant at dancing. Care for a demonstration?” He puts his hand on her shoulder.

  Lexi is fully aware that she is supposed to have sworn off men, and in the words of George Bryce, be at a ‘table for one’. However, she doesn’t need her mother or Meg clambering up the side of this balcony to tell her that she’d be a fool not to give this one a try. He’s promising. A far more agreeable word than ‘perfect’. Anyway—it’s only a dance.

  “You coming?” he says, searching her face for a response.

  “I’m coming,” says Lexi, as she gives in and allows Lance to lead her into the fray.

  GEORGE

  24th December, 2009

  Stanford in the Vale, Oxfordshire

  The Christmas tree is plastic and festooned in silver tinsel, coloured fairy lights, and gold baubles, three of which have the triplets’ faces superimposed on them wearing antlers.

  Polly points them out to George immediately, “Look at these! Aren’t they fun? I ordered them off the Internet.”

  George wonders if Polly ever leaves her house, or if she spends hours on end sitting at the computer buying cheap crap. Was this really the same girl who used to laugh at him for being such a twerp? Who used to boast about the pervert who approached her in the local supermarket asking her if she was interested in an international modeling career? She actually fell for it. She was even planning on meeting up with him, until their parents found out and forbade her to leave the house for two weeks and tore up his card. She cried for months and accused George of narking on her. It would have suited him just fine had she been abducted.