by Meg Maguire
Colin leaned his bike against a wall of square cubbies and untied his sneakers. “Got to take your shoes off, Libs.”
“Ah.”
He watched as she undid her laces. “You’ve got huge feet. I hope we don’t end up swapping by mistake.”
“Well, you know what big feet mean.” Libby slid her sneakers into the nook next to his identical ones. She breathed in the studio’s smells, much like those of the gym she held a membership to for showering purposes only. The smell of perspiration plus something else, here—combat, maybe.
She followed Colin past the unmanned front desk to the edge of a large, half-curtained-off area, its floor covered in tightly tiled blue gym mats. She felt his hand on the back of her head as they reached the edge of the matting, and she let him push her into a bow. He offered one too, and they entered what she’d heard Reece refer to before as the dojang.
An epic battle was being waged on the other side of the curtain. An epic and noisy battle, riddled with aggressive yells and the thwacks of fists and feet hitting padded chests and helmeted heads. Just two fighters—Reece and someone Libby at first took to be a child. But a long, shining black ponytail identified his opponent as a very short, slight woman.
Libby sat where Colin indicated she should, leaning against the mirrored wall at a safe distance from the action.
“I’ll be back in a minute.” He left her to bow himself out of the gym area.
Libby watched the match with fascination. It reminded her of a complex bird mating dance—erratic but full of patterns. The fighters roughly took turns charging at one another, accompanied by a guttural shout—the woman’s was particularly fierce and unhinged-sounding. The other would then either evade with a display of agile footwork or the fight would blossom into ferocity as one or both threw a punch or kick or a combination thereof. The white uniforms became a blur of aggression until one of the fighters submitted and dodged out of the other’s range again. Their feet danced ceaselessly, poised to attack.
She couldn’t be sure, but Libby suspected this was a good match. Reece was at an advantage with his reach—he was literally a foot taller than his opponent. But the woman was quicker and her strikes sounded just as stinging.
Colin appeared at Libby’s side again, barefoot and dressed in the requisite uniform—loose white drawstring pants and a tunic-style top. He too had a black belt with his name embroidered on it, though it lacked the stripes that Reece’s had.
“Impressive,” Libby said, pointing to it.
“And dusty. I earned this when I was nineteen—don’t expect too much from me and I may not disappoint you.” He sat down to stretch as Libby turned her attention back to the action.
A few moments later an egg timer rang, just as both fighters were clearly tiring. They disentangled from a mutual assault at the chime and took a step back from one another, bowing. This formality done, they tugged their hand guards off and high-fived, opponents transformed into partners.
Reece walked over, waving with one hand as the other pulled his head gear off with the sound of ripping Velcro. His hair was matted and sweaty and his face red, but he seemed pleased.
“Looking good,” Colin offered. “Who won?”
“Who do you think?” Reece replied, nodding over at his partner as she pulled her helmet off, the frightening little would-be assassin reduced to a flush-faced Korean woman wearing a tired grin. Colin gave her a half-hug as they approached.
“Hey, Col. Watch it, I stink.”
“I like girl-stink. Sang, this is Libby. She’s an American,” he added in a loud whisper that suggested Libby might be a bit slow or untrustworthy.
“Hey, Libby. I’d shake your hand but I’m all slimy.”
“Nice to meet you.” Libby could see from the two ends of the belt that fell below her padding that Sang had the same number of stripes as Reece.
Sang turned her back to Reece. “Would you help me with my corset?”
He began loosening the laces that kept her chest guard in place. “Sang is the current women’s national tae kwon do champion in her weight class, and two-time Olympic competitor,” he said grandly.
“And I used to kick Reece’s ass when he was ten,” she added.
Reece nodded. “And still does. You need a lift later? We’re here another hour.”
Libby felt a stab of jealousy at how easy his rapport was with this woman. Libby always got him in a state of agitation. Her own fault, she reminded herself.
“I have to head out,” Sang said. “My man’s got a pizza coming. But you boys have fun. I’ll see you Sunday, Reece?”
Colin interrupted. “Karaoke, Sang. Eight o’clock? Come on, Sang—sing. Sing, Sang, sing!”
“You’re cute, but no thanks. Two drinks and I’d be like a strangled cat up there. It was great to see you, Col. Come for sparring soon. I miss wailing on you. It was nice to meet you,” she added to Libby with a wave of her helmet before bowing to the dojang and disappearing.
“Karaoke?” Reece asked. “Again?”
Libby felt her usual mischievous energy return with the other girl’s exit. “Every Thursday, Reece. You lucked out last week.”
He sat and began stripping the padding from his shins and knees and arms. “I’ll leave you two to it, I think.”
“Oh, come on,” Libby pleaded. “You can document me again. It’ll be so much fun. And I won’t embarrass you, I promise.”
“Favor for a favor, Reece,” Colin added. “I’m letting you pummel me senseless, don’t forget. Isn’t that worth a couple hours of proper entertainment? Plus just look at Libby’s face.” He pointed, and Libby made her eyes large and innocent and jutted her lower lip out in an exaggerated pout.
Reece rolled his eyes. “God, that’s grotesque. Stop it now and I’ll go. You had me at ‘pummel’… And this is for you, not me, incidentally.” He turned his back to Colin, who began dismantling Reece’s chest guard.
For the next hour Libby sat, hugging her knees and leaning against the mirrored wall. Reece and Colin didn’t fight but instead took turns walloping each another in a series of drills. One would hold a large, thick rectangular pad in front of their torso or side, and the other would execute a series of punches or kicks at it, over and over. There was also a smaller pad shaped a bit like a ping-pong paddle, which one would hold at various heights as the other aimed precision kicks, body spinning or hopping or charging to slap it in one direction or another. Libby tried helping with this, but Reece’s back-fist was so fast and hard it sent the paddle flying across the studio and tweaked her wrist. She decided not to chance another injury from his professional skills. Plus, watching was fun. She so often saw Reece working under duress, and now seeing him doing the thing he seemed to enjoy most in the world felt oddly intimate.
“Higher,” he directed as Colin held a paddle aloft.
Observing him in his element, Libby could finally appreciate Reece’s abundant self-control, the utter mastery he had over his body. She entertained an idle fantasy in which he came to her rescue down a dark alley, disarming a hulking, faceless attacker and kicking the crap out of him in a dozen perfectly choreographed ways. Sadly only one of the Nolans had yet come close to such an act of chivalry.
Colin was no slouch either, as a fighter. Reece had speed and compactness on his side, his body like a spring—tight and poised to react in an instant, lightning fast and deadly accurate. Colin had power too, but of a more relaxed variety. He had more grace than Reece, if a six-foot-two tattooed cyclist with a death wish could be considered graceful. His kicks were prettier than Reece’s, or perhaps they were just easier to see, being slower. Watching him made Libby smile, as if she were being let in on a joke—Colin didn’t need a steel U-lock to take a man down.
“You’ve lost a lot of flexibility in here.” Reece indicated his own hip and groin area as they cooled down and stretched. “We need to work on your crescent and hook kicks.”
“I’ve been reshaped in the last half a decade. Flexible hips d
on’t get you up to Kelburn on an eight-speed.”
“Maybe not, but—”
“Enjoy yourself all right, Libby?” Colin interrupted, clearly disinterested in continuing this conversation or, indeed, this teacher-student dynamic.
“Yes, very thrilling. I feel extremely confident about walking around tonight with you two thugs.”
“I was hoping to clock Reece in the head, maybe knock him senseless enough to sing.”
Reece smiled and shook his head. “Keep dreaming.”
After he and Colin showered and changed back into their street clothes, Reece tidied up the front desk and shut the computer down. It’d been a long day, but he was pleased to have finally succeeded in getting Colin in for a workout. It made him feel like his older brother again, and less like an interloper as he sometimes did, following the near-estrangement his years-long absence had created.
Libby turned to Colin as they laced their matching shoes. “So what are you thinking for songs, tonight?”
“I’ve got a few candidates I’d like to run by you. Unless you already have something in mind…?”
“Since you ask.” Libby unzipped her jacket pocket and extracted a floppy red crocheted hat with white polka dots and a green starburst in its center, fashioned to look like a strawberry. She cocked her head to model it for them. “Not bad, eh? What do you think? You promised me a Prince number.”
Reece shrugged his ignorance and Colin said, “It’s raspberry beret, genius.”
“Oh come on, this is so close! I found it in a secondhand store too. Pretty apropos,” she gloated, as energized as Reece had ever seen her.
“You get half-credit,” Colin allowed.
“I don’t see you making an effort.”
“My purple suit is at the cleaners.”
Reece locked the studio, and they started down the steps, the bike slung effortlessly over Colin’s shoulder. Just when had he gotten so strong? When had he grown up, and why hadn’t Reece been there for it?
“I’m so glad you guys are coming,” Libby said. “You can pick my tracks for me. I usually let the DJ do it, but if I get charged with one more Christina Aguilera song I’m going to strangle someone.”
Colin laughed. “Steady now, white girl.”
“There’s too much pop music. You know, like new pop music. They should really get one of those digital karaoke setups where you pick whatever you want and the system just downloads it. Although then I guess Tim would be out of a job.”
Reece held the door open and they stepped into the cool evening air.
“But you guys,” Libby went on, “you should get that for the bar! Like, Karaoke, every Saturday at eight at Paul Nolan’s.” She held her hands up as if envisioning the marquee. “You could get a whole new crowd in there.”
“A crowd, full-stop, would be a nice change,” Colin said.
“Have you forgotten some of us have to sleep above that pub?” Reece asked.
Colin derailed the argument, switching back to the musical fare as they headed toward Ghuznee Street. “For myself I was thinking ‘Brandy’, if they have it. Ultra-hammy?”
Libby nodded. “Always a classic. I’d also like to see you as Robert Palmer.”
“Intriguing. And I have a couple Phil Collins numbers in mind. Want to team up with me for ‘Easy Lover’?”
Reece raised an eyebrow. If he hadn’t been in on Libby’s not-so-scandalous little secret, he’d have found the idea of them singing a song about a cold-hearted cock-tease a bit too close to reality for comfort. It was, after all, Colin she had wrapped around her little finger both on stage and off.
“I like it,” Libby said. “But better yet—‘Paradise by the Dashboard Light’.”
“Oh, genius! And long. We’ll really make these people suffer before the night is over.”
Reece smiled until Colin said, “What about you, Reece?” just as Libby said nearly the same thing.
He glanced between them, his noncooperation crystal clear as they waited for a walk signal.
“Oh, come on. You have to sing one of these nights,” Libby insisted.
“You know,” Colin said, “you’re on to something with this karaoke-at-the-pub idea, Libs. Reece wouldn’t have any excuse for his sobriety. How many drinks would it take to get you to sing, eh?”
“You two conspirators can think again.” Reece caught them exchange a look he didn’t trust one bit as they crossed the road and reached the club.
“Just one little song, Reece?” Libby asked as he held the door for her.
He ignored her. She retorted with an impressed face and a semi-discreet slap on his backside, and sashayed off to the DJ’s table with his brother in tow.
Reece headed for the bar and took out his camera. There’d be no point taking photos of her while she was performing with Colin, but Libby on her own would be all right. There wasn’t anything inherently unseemly about karaoke, and her style of dress was far from revealing. The most incriminating thing about her—that breed of inflammatory, guerilla flirting she constantly engaged in—probably wouldn’t show up on film.
A hour and three soft drinks later, Reece was shocked to find that he was actually enjoying himself, watching his brother and Libby performing. If he didn’t know the two people on the stage, he’d probably assume they must be the most fun couple on the face of the Earth. What his sister had said resounded again in his head—it was nice to see Colin so happy for a change.
He put his camera down as Libby slid onto a stool beside him.
“You having a good time?” she asked, flushed from her latest number.
“I might regret saying it, but yeah, I am.”
“Oh, good. Your brother is.”
Reece nodded. “That was a choice one—he does a mean Prince. Down one octave, I mean.”
“Getting lots of good documentation?” She leaned into him to stare at the little screen on the back of his camera. He turned it on so she could flip through the images, and her hair brushed his cheek, its scent making Reece feel as if he were at the ocean, tidal waves bearing down on him.
“None of me and Colin together?” she asked.
“I love my brother to death and he’s a bloody good bloke,” Reece said. With a pang, he recalled an occasion when he’d been prepared to attest to this fact as a character witness. “But Colin’s got to be the illustrated definition of a father’s worst nightmare.”
Libby frowned thoughtfully.
“But you on your own should be fine. You look about half as respectable as you sound up there, which is saying a lot. Your dad won’t be able to take offense, I don’t think.”
“He’ll manage to,” she said, but sounded pleased by it.
Reece looked her over, trying to square that devious expression with the timid one she’d worn a week ago when she’d first convinced him to kiss her. Then he turned to the stage, where his brother the reformed punk was belting out “Delilah” without a trace of shame.
Libby read his mind. “What was it they said about books and their covers?”
He nodded.
“Bet you were surprised when you got between my pages.”
He gave her a wry look. “How long had you been planning that, anyhow? When did you first decide to recruit me as your…kissing instructor?”
She grinned. “From the moment we walked into the emergency department.”
Reece shook his head. “The sirens should have been a tip-off.”
Another hour passed. Colin smiled to appreciative members of the audience as he made his way to the bar following another duet. He found his brother looking suspiciously content.
“Very nice,” Reece offered.
“Ta.” He ordered Libby’s wine and a tonic water for himself and took a seat. “Aren’t you going to ask me when we’re heading out?”
“Nah, you kids have your fun.”
Colin paid for the drinks as they arrived and nudged Reece’s shoulder affectionately with his elbow, heading back out into the fray to f
ind Libby. He spotted her at a table in the center of the club.
“Oh, shit,” he heard her mutter in an urgent, low tone.
Colin stopped at her side. “What’s up?”
She grabbed the glasses from him and set them roughly on the table. Colin found himself grasped by the shoulders and drawn into a situation that nothing could have prepared him for—kissing Libby.
Out of the clear blue sky, or at least the glowing neon of the club, her lips were pressed into his. Mouth closed but as potent as a hand down his pants. After a few seconds of wide-eyed shock, he was pushed back to arm’s length.
Colin blinked. “Crikey.”
“Sorry. It’s him again—Rich, the idiot you saved me from this morning.” She glanced over his shoulder, scanning the crowd.
“Is he coming?”
“No, he’s gone now. Good work.” She rubbed her thumb at the edge of Colin’s mouth, at the lipstick she’d transferred during the assault.
“Crikey,” he repeated, heart pounding. He glanced back to make sure his brother hadn’t seen, and mercifully found Reece engaged in a conversation with the bartender. He turned back to Libby. “Are you trying to kill me? A hug might’ve done.”
“Sorry.”
He recovered somewhat, though every fiber of his being wanted to toss Libby across the sticky tabletop and make filthy love to her in front of fifty of their favorite strangers. He cleared his throat. “Just for that, I’m picking your next track.”
“That’s fine, I already picked yours. You’re probably up soon, actually. Better start warming up those lower octaves.”
“Barry White?”
“Way sexier. You’ll be beating the girls off with a stick.”
Colin shrugged. “We’ll see.” He’d just been kissed by the only woman in the bar he had any interest in. In the whole city, for that matter. “Wait and find out if I know the lyrics first.”
“Here’s hoping.” Libby raised her glass. “You’re on after this one,” she added as someone’s request for Amy Winehouse wound down.
“Duty calls.” Colin set his water by her elbow. “Watch my cocktail.”
