‘I was playing the odds. And it was only our first meeting. So it isn’t two-timing. But Kat’s right, her friend said no. And I’m glad she did.’ He kissed Kat on the forehead as she wrinkled her nose.
‘So when did you know you were in love?’
They stared at each other. Then Kat said, ‘I’ve told you. In love…’ She made finger dittos and a moony face. ‘… Doesn’t exist. We are best friends. We love each other. You should stop with your romantic notions. They’re pie in the clouds dreams.’
‘They’re not! James. James, you were in love with Kat, right? When you asked her to marry you?’
He shook his head, smiling. ‘Kat’s right, B., it didn’t work that way for us. We went out for a few years, on and off as you know, and got to know each other. The more I learned about Kat, the more I respected her. We enjoyed each other, and we had the same outlook on life. I knew she’d be an amazing mother, and someone I could depend on. Getting married was the next logical step.’
‘Are you telling me you don’t believe in love either? What are you, Klingons?’
‘Realists, B.,’ he said. ‘I– I believe in love. I just don’t believe that that crazy in love feeling is sustainable. Or healthy.’
That sounded like judgment to me. ‘You still think I was wrong to leave Mattias.’
‘I’m sorry, but look at you two. He’s in denial that you’ve even broken up and you’re not exactly finding your one true love out there. I just think you had a good thing. Maybe you could have it again, and find that spark you’re missing.’
‘Has Mattias said something?’
James hesitated. ‘He says a lot of things. Have you thought about giving it another try? Maybe you just needed the break to realise that what you have is at least as good as being in love.’
‘James was in love once,’ said Kat. ‘She broke his heart, didn’t she, Liebchen?’
‘Yes,’ he murmured. ‘She did. Ah, B., I can’t advise you because everyone’s different. But I wouldn’t go through that again for all the tea in China. I’ll take a steady relationship over the roller-coaster ride any day. It’s sustainable.’
‘Sustainable. James, we’re not talking about green energy or economic systems. It’s your heart, not your head. Listen, this isn’t some idea I’ve just come up with all on my own. Millions of people fall in love, billions, probably. They meet someone and they know that’s the person they’re meant to be with. They just know. Billions of people can’t be wrong. Those people are following their hearts, not making a rational decision based on what’s good for them. Who’s to say one way is better than the other?’
‘You are,’ Kat pointed out.
‘What?’
‘You’re saying that the romantic ideal of love is the better way. You’re saying it exists, as a real thing and not just some hormonal change, and you’re saying that romantic love is the sustainable love. Or whatever non-buzzword you want to use.’
‘Well, isn’t it possible that I’m right? That those billions are right? I had “sustainable”, and it wasn’t enough.’
‘How do you know that, B.?’ asked James. ‘When you don’t know what the alternative is?’
‘I don’t know it. It’s not about knowing. It’s about feeling.’ They nodded, not looking convinced. I wasn’t so sure I was convinced either.
I couldn’t deny that Mattias was creeping back into my mind. It wasn’t the sharp, mouth-watering craving that hit me when I remembered Mum’s chocolate-chip cookies or smelled freshly baked bread. That’s how I thought of The Musician. Mattias engendered more of the wistful feeling I had sometimes in the middle of the day, when I was tired and thought of my soft, warm bed.
I should have listened to James about The Musician. Turning up at his gig was not playing it cool. I wasn’t invited. It didn’t matter what Faith said, it bordered on stalking. Bordered on stalking? I was Glenn Close just before she dropped the rabbit in the pot.
‘Stop being so old-fashioned. He told you when the gig was, right?’ Faith peered at me from beneath a jaunty red beret, her interpretation of jazzy cool. I only just convinced her not to wear the white patent go-go boots by reminding her that it wasn’t a beat poetry reading, and that she wasn’t Edie Sedgwick. ‘And he did suggest that you come.’
‘Only in passing, weeks ago. And technically, before we’d slept together, not after.’
‘That doesn’t negate the invitation. And he showed up at your gig, and brought his friend to meet you. That means something. You have to seize these opportunities. But in honour of our friendship I’ll make a wee concession to your cowardliness. We can hover back here by the bar.’
The tiny fizz in my belly felt a lot like excitement. Despite his slightly off-putting bedroom habits, I wanted to see him again. James was right. I’d been too available at first, but then I held strong, and hadn’t contacted him. Though being at his place of employment could be construed as contacting him, if you took an unkind, strictly literal interpretation. Which any sane person would do. ‘Faith, maybe we shouldn’t be here at all. I’m having second thoughts, let’s go.’
‘But his set just ended. Look, he’s right over there. You should at least say hello. We came all the way here.’
It didn’t feel right. He didn’t invite me. I wasn’t sure I could handle the rejection if he looked spooked when he saw me. ‘No, let’s go.’
‘Don’t be such a shrinking violet. Good things don’t come to those who wait. Leftovers come to those who wait. Remember the Sherpa?’
‘No.’
‘Yes, you do. Really cute, owned the Nepalese travel company? Played video games?’ I nodded, remembering her distaste at the idea of a grown man owning an Xbox. ‘The point is, he wouldn’t have asked me out if I hadn’t taken the bull by the horns and booked those tickets for the travel show to accidentally-on-purpose run into him. You’re not going to lose anything by going over to say a quick hello. Then we’ll disappear like sprites in a puff of smoke. Leave him craving your fabulousness.’ She stepped behind me, shoved me in the back and said, ‘Start walking. You’ll thank me later.’
The next sixty seconds happened in slow motion, but without the benefit of a rewind button. I walked towards The Musician. He looked up, saw me. I smiled. He smiled. A woman approached from the other side as he turned to me. She touched his arm, startling him. He turned. She kissed him on the lips, wrapping her arms around his neck. He grasped her waist. I was scant feet away, still walking toward them. A little voice in my head shouted, ‘Abort mission, abort mission!’ It was too late.
‘Hey, B., what are you doing here?’ He asked, kissing me. On the lips. I felt his tongue. His arm was draped over the woman’s shoulder. It couldn’t be happening. I turned to look at Faith but she’d peeled off to stand near the door. A handy position in case an ambulance needed to be called.
‘I remembered you said you were playing tonight. We thought we’d come hear you.’
‘And what’d you think?’ He was stroking her arm with his thumb.
What did I think? What did I think?! I thought that if you were fucking me you wouldn’t be standing here calmly stroking another woman. ‘Good, I thought it was good. Well, see you round.’
‘Hey, don’t go. Why don’t you sit down and have a drink?’ When I perched on the chair he offered, he said, ‘This is Lola. Lola, this is B.’
‘Oh, hello, B. Pleasure to meet you,’ she said, smiling levelly at me. Her hair was black and smooth, so shiny it was nearly blue. Gamine was the word probably most often used to describe her. She wasn’t more than 5 foot 2, birdlike. I felt like a giraffe next to her.
I watched her closely as she poured me a glass of wine from the bottle on the table. She seemed to harbour no ill will toward me. Perhaps I’d misread the situation. Maybe she was just a friend. A good friend. Or his sister. No, not his sister. That wasn’t a sisterly kiss unless they were from Norfolk. A good friend, then. Nothing to worry about. ‘Nice to meet you too. Okay, I’ll stay for a
drink. Oh, my friend Faith is with me, can she?’
‘Of course, the more the merrier,’ said Lola. There was definitely nothing to worry about. She didn’t wear the proprietary glare of a woman who thought someone was trying to steal her man. By which I meant the look I’d have seen reflected back at me had I looked in a mirror. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions, but you had to admit, it did look odd. It just proved how easily things could get twisted. I’d probably misconstrued dozens of innocent situations, applying sinister intent when there wasn’t any.
Faith took two nanoseconds to get to the table after I waved her over. Introductions were made, wine was poured and we settled down with The Musician manwiched between Lola and me.
Something was niggling, though. To make a completely non-suspicious observation, it was odd that they held hands, and that his thumb was caressing the back of hers.
‘Lola,’ Faith asked. ‘How do you two know each other?’ My friend was flashing me signals but I couldn’t read them.
‘We met through friends about, what was it, darling, two years ago? Yes, almost two years ago. But we didn’t go out right away. You didn’t like me at first, did you?’ She jostled The Musician playfully.
‘That’s not true, I did like you!’
‘You wouldn’t know it. It took him about six months to get round to asking me out.’
‘Oh,’ I said, hopefully without too much disappointment. ‘So you went out, then? And you’re still friends. That’s great.’ Read: look how cool I am about this when I really feel a little sick.
‘We still go out.’
‘You what?’ Faith said.
‘As friends?’ I said.
‘Doesn’t she know?’ Lola asked her boyfriend.
‘I may not have mentioned it.’ At least he had the decency to look sheepish. The bastard.
‘You bastard.’ Lola withdrew her hand. ‘Why didn’t you tell her?’
‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry, B., I should have told you.’
‘You and Lola go out?’ I shouldn’t have had such a hard time with the concept when it wasn’t exactly complicated. This man, with whom I’d had sex, twice, was cheating on his girlfriend. With me, the other woman. ‘Ah, well, I think we should leave you alone to talk. Er, thanks for the drink. Ready, Faith?’
‘No, B., you’ve misunderstood!’ Lola said. ‘Faith, please stay. He didn’t cheat on me.’ She clasped his hand again.
Much as I didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news… ‘Well, Lola, I’m sorry but he did. Twice.’
‘No, I mean I’m sure you did sleep together, but he didn’t cheat on me.’
‘Are you saying you’re not going out?’
‘We are very much going out.’
That explained why he wasn’t in touch. It would have been awkward to chat me up with Lola sitting beside him. ‘That’s why you didn’t call.’
‘Uh, no, not really,’ The Musician said. ‘We don’t date other people until the other has met them.’
‘B.,’ Lola continued. ‘We’ve got a flexible relationship. Sometimes we see other people. That probably sounds unusual, and it’s not for everyone, but it works for us. And sometimes we like to include other people. He likes you, B., and he thought that you might be interested in spending time with both of us. He should have told you before. Naughty man.’ They took a moment to explore one another’s tonsils.
Faith scrambled back into her chair so as not to miss another word. I, less gracefully, sat back down with a thud. ‘You want to… date me? Both of you?’ This was not how I imagined the evening unfolding. I figured maybe there’d be a kiss or two, a little banter, some hand-holding. Possibly a proposition at the end of a bottle of wine. Oh wait. Kiss? Check. Banter? Yep. Hand-holding, certainly. Proposition? Couldn’t deny it. So why was I freaking out? Because the proposition just came from someone with first-hand experience of period cramps. ‘Well, er, thanks for the offer. I’m flattered.’
‘Well, you’re gorgeous,’ Lola growled. Possibly she didn’t really growl. My view of her was painted over with the patina of a predator because she’d just offered to show me her nipples.
‘Thanks, and like I said, I’m flattered. But I’m, um, pretty solidly straight.’
‘Come on, B.,’ said Faith. ‘Nobody is one hundred per cent straight. I was with a woman once.’
That was my friend’s idea of helpful. ‘Well, I am,’ I said. Suddenly I felt like a prude. Apparently I was the only one at the table who wasn’t into lesbians. ‘’Scuse me, I need to run to the…’
‘I’ll come too,’ Faith said.
‘This is the weirdest night of my life!’ I said, leaning against the sink.
‘I don’t know why you wouldn’t at least consider it,’ Faith said between puckered lips as she reapplied her lipstick. As if she was propositioned by swingers in the normal course of an evening.
‘Because I’m straight, Faith. I don’t like women.’
‘You don’t really know that until you’ve tried it.’
‘Well, I’ve never been sky-diving either but I’m pretty sure I won’t like it.’
She shrugged. ‘Sky-diving, muff-div–’
‘Stop it! And anyway, I never thought you’d try it. You don’t seem the type.’ I imagined a stocky, shorn-headed brute with her wallet chained to her overalls. ‘You seem to really like men.’
‘I love men. It was only once. And it was very sexy. If the idea grosses you out, then fine, of course don’t do it. But don’t dismiss it just because you don’t think you should. You’re an adult. You’re single. You’ve got the chance to be with a man you already know you like, and a pretty, seemingly very nice girl. Double the pleasure, double the fun. Why not at least think about trying it? This opportunity has an expiration date, you know. You might not attract a couple like that when you’re fifty. I wouldn’t pass up the chance if I were you.’
I couldn’t believe I was even entertaining the proposition. I was straight. Wasn’t I? It wasn’t a label that I’d actively contemplated before. Like being a Brussels sprouts-hater, it was a given. So why was I questioning this status? Because Faith was right. My chances of having a hot couple want to see me naked were going to diminish as fast as my muscle tone. If I did some day want to try it, I might have missed the opportunity. Or I’d get the chance, then spend the whole time holding in my tummy and trying not to let them see the backs of my arms. It was one of those now-or-never decisions. I needed another glass of wine.
‘Do you sleep with a lot of other women?’ I asked them when we got back to the table.
‘No,’ they answered in unison, making me wonder what else they could do simultaneously.
‘It’s rare to find someone we both like,’ The Musician said. ‘It’s not about the sex as much as the connection. We don’t just jump into bed with anyone. Why, are you thinking about it?’ He glanced at Lola, smiling.
Gulp. I was. I was more than thinking about it. I was going to do it.
We were on The Musician’s bed, and we weren’t there to listen to CDs. He kissed me. Someone stroked his (her?) fingers along my leg. I’d have made a definitive call on the owner of the fingers but my eyes were screwed tightly shut like I was afraid of seeing monsters under the bed. The Musician broke off his kiss, gazed into my eyes (when I opened them) and smiled. Then my field of vision was filled with Lola. The time had come. I was about to be kissed by a girl. Our lips met. Soft. And there was a distinct lack of guidance. When I kissed a man he had a definite hand in the way events unfolded. I responded to him. I didn’t realise that before. When he went slowly, softly, so did I. When he was passionate, so was I. Faster, slower, softer, harder, my cues came from him. Lola wasn’t calling any shots. Was I meant to? Did that make me the man? Shouldn’t we have discussed it first?
I had to do something because it was getting a bit boring and I did not want that to be the adjective with which I described my only threesome. So, threading my fingers into her hair, I kissed her harder. Two things ha
ppened. The Musician took the opportunity to start narrating, and Lola opened her mouth wide and thrust out her tongue. Ugh. Bad kissers were disappointing enough when they had anatomy that I was interested in.
The Musician started demonstrating his directing skills, telling Lola exactly what she should be doing. She took direction well, it had to be said. He wanted a bit of a show first (he told us), and Lola definitely gave him one. And while her kissing technique was rather unpleasant on the lips, it was decidedly nicer on the body. I admit it, I wasn’t thinking of her as a woman. With my eyes closed there was really no telling the difference. I wasn’t touching her. In fact, I had my hands on The Musician. It was a bit like fooling around with a man who seemed to be in two places at once. He guided my hands, telling me where he wanted them, and I was enjoying my rather passive role. Maybe threesome courtesy demanded it. After all, when a couple invited you to their house for dinner, they didn’t put you in the kitchen to wash the dishes or peel potatoes. As the guest, you were there to be made a fuss over.
The Musician continued to guide my hands. Oh lord. That didn’t feel like a potato. I recognised it, of course. After all, I had one too. My participation suddenly became active. I didn’t really know what to do with it. Or to be specific, I didn’t know what to do with hers. Like trying to cook in someone else’s oven, it was likely to be a hit or miss operation.
The Musician began demanding my attention. He had those perfectly soft yet firm lips that made kissing such a pleasure. He stroked my back with one hand, all the way up and all the way down, while the other massaged my scalp. Massage, massage, massage, gentle push, massage, gentle push, massage, less gentle push. At least that was a battle of wills that I’d fought before. I knew I’d surrender. I usually did once advantageous terms for me become apparent. Though Lola appeared to be his foot soldier on that front. Once more unto the breach. The Musician’s insistence on getting into the mix was distracting me from Lola’s attentions. I wasn’t a great multitasker. I needed all my concentration and there were too many balls in the air. So to speak.
Bella Summer Takes a Chance Page 10
