by P Mulholland
In the end I went home to an empty apartment without my bestie Old Rip, or my distant cousin Jim Beam. I sank into the couch and began biting the skin around my nails, an annoying habit I had when I felt unnerved by a little demon that plagued me now and again. Actually, the only times it ever plagued me were when I was alone surrounded by empty spaces, or in a room filled with people pawing at me, hungry to get close to an Austin.
To take my mind off the bourbon that I won’t be partaking in, I did an internet search on Brydie Malone again, just in case I missed something the first time. Once again I came up with a dead end, so I text Corey for her surname. After waiting ten minutes and no reply, I started perving at Charlize Theron images with Brydie in mind. They could be twins, they looked so alike, especially the images of the actor when she was younger. HOT! Just to clarify, I’m talking about Atomic Blonde CT not Monster CT.
Thirty minutes and still no reply from Corey, so I snuck into Brydes’ room to see if I could find something with her surname on it. It wasn’t hard, I didn’t know why I hadn’t noticed before. Her bags of clothes were still stacked on the floor, yet to be unpacked. A couple of the bags had old flight labels. One to Johannesburg, the other to Los Angeles. Her name was there in full, Brydie O’Neal. She’d obviously taken her mother’s name. I couldn’t blame her.
O’ Neal.
I’d heard that name randomly thrown about over the past few years. Because I didn’t know who O’Neal was I took little notice of what was being said about her. To be honest I took little notice of what was said about Brydie. It wasn’t until that moment standing in her room, that I realized that Brydie and O’Neal were the same person.
O’Neal.
I vaguely remembered a dinner; it was Red’s birthday and the Malone clan was there, all except Brydie. I’d normally avoid those types of gatherings with that family, but a parent’s birthday made it compulsory, and Red and the Ice Man were long-time friends.
I can’t remember who started the conversation about O’Neal, but I noticed that the female members of the Malone and Austin families seemed to admire her, and were quick to defend her when the male members of the families were critical of her life choices.
Like I said, I took little notice of specifics but that was the general pattern of a conversation or debate about Brydie or O’Neal - lively, heated, and which raised outdated chauvinistic opinions about the role of women in society.
My tattooed Goddess roomy was no Stepford wife, let’s make that clear. She was dripping in an irresistible magnetism that would attract men of all creeds for miles around. I noticed the way men stared at her at the organic store and the animal shelter. She wasn’t just beautiful and hot, she triggered a animalistic urge in men, a desire to own her. Yet she could never be someone’s pet. That restless wildling vibe made her difficult to pin down and trap, and even more difficult to keep.
I checked my phone but still no message from Corey. What exactly would he be doing on a Sunday apart from watching TV like I was? Maybe he’s entertaining a lady or two. I glanced at my watch. It was 2.13pm. I wondered what Brydes was doing.
I went into the kitchen to search for any leftover baking and found nothing. So I made a tomato and cheese sandwich and sat back down on the couch, entering Brydie O’Neal into the search engine.
And…BOOM!
“What the…?”
I was so engrossed by the many articles and images on my Ipad that I hadn’t noticed the tomato had slid from my sandwich and landed on my knee. I also hadn’t noticed how long I sat there breathing in the many layers of my roommate. I traveled back years on her social media sites, reading posts and comments, and downloading the odd juicy pic of her for my own private collection. There were also newspaper articles on her escapades going back years. It seemed she had been a bit of an inadvertent local celebrity. There was plenty of dirt to bring up over dinner and so many questions I wanted to ask.
However, even though the research gave me a new understanding of her, I was still no wiser as to why she was my chosen babysitter. Nor was I getting any closer to figuring out why the Ice Man was punishing her.
Chapter Eight
Brydie
I had to get out of the apartment to breathe in some fresh air.
I felt so trapped, so caged, my chest so tight I thought I was going to have a panic attack. I woke in the middle of the night believing I was still there. I could smell vomit and bleach and heard someone cough. My body ached from sleeping on the floor and my skin crawled from the many itchy bites from fleas.
It took me several moments to adjust to my reality. The song Dazed and Confused by Led Zeppelin fitted my mental state at that very moment. I was in unfamiliar surroundings, yet I knew I wasn’t there. I was in Chicago in a nice apartment living with the son of a billionaire. I chuckled to myself at the absurdity of it. Going from the snake pit to here, my body sinking into a soft mattress and my belly full and satisfied from good organic food. Yet I was still confined, just not the same as before.
I found a spot by the lake and sat down on the sandy shore to gaze out across the silver water. It was mid Summer and some people were taking a dip or sunbathing at the closest thing they had to a beach. I’d deep dived in Lake Michigan several times, taken tourists on explorations to show them what this lake had to offer. There was plenty to see, in fact the bottom of the lake held Chicago history frozen in time, going back over a hundred years. The fish were your usual fresh water variety, salmon, perch and trout. It was all interesting, but not the same as the ocean. Nothing compared to the oceans.
It’s a big lake, third largest in the States and reasonably deep, the deepest parts going down 279 feet. Not as deep as Crater Lake in Oregon, but still deep enough to make my skin prickle. That was one of my jobs when I last lived here and worked for Underwater Safaris.
Sometimes I taught dive techniques to beginners in the pool, sometimes I worked in the shop selling wetsuits and apparatus, but mostly I sat in an office and processed the company’s accounts.
I assume that will be my role when I turn up for work 9am Monday morning. Same ol’, same ol’. I also had to assume the owners of Underwater Safaris were in debt to Isaac or else they wouldn’t have taken me back. I mean, I was good at my job, but I left abruptly 18 months ago, leaving them short staffed.
To be fair to them, I’ll make no secret of the fact that I’ll be leaving in five months. I’ll be on that plane back to San Diego faster than Isaac could say incarceration. My brother won’t see me for dust.
The past few months left me with plenty of time to think. Too much time to think. And I wondered why my life kept playing the same old tune. I liked and enjoyed plenty of freedom. I was adventurous, restless and curious to see what the world had to offer. Yet incidences kept occurring that dragged me from these adventures to place me in a state of confinement of varying degrees.
I had to think hard about the choices I made. Would I stop travelling overseas? No. Would I stop deep-sea diving? Hell, no. Even in dangerous, foreign waters? Nope. Would I stop fighting for the oceans? No! No! No! Some people never change and I’m one of them.
I was pulled out of my thoughts when someone sat a couple of feet away from me on the sandy shore. Without looking at them, I knew from their ungainly movements that they were male. I sighed and turned my head away.
When I was 16 years old, I wanted to cut my face. I figured a scarred face would put men off. It wasn’t that I completely hated male attention, I just got too much attention and a lot of it was unpleasant. Older men who wanted to take advantage of a younger woman were the worst.
My first paid job at 16 was being a lifeguard at the local public swimming pool. I was a strong swimmer, entered many races most of which I won, but I wasn’t ambitious enough to take it further. My coach believed I could’ve gone all the way to the National Champs, but I knew I didn’t have it in me. It didn’t matter what I wore while standing on the side watching the swimmers, I still got harassed by men. Every. Damn.
Day.
It got exhausting and as a shy teenager, I wanted to take drastic action against the ugly attention. Cutting my face seemed like the most obvious solution. It was Leon who stopped me when I held the carving knife to my cheek. He took the knife from my hand and held it to his forearm. Then he pressed the blade into his skin and made a cut two inches long. The blood seeped and my stomach turned.
“Now, you try it,” he said, handing the bloody knife back to me.
I still to this day don’t know if he was deliberately trying to put me off, or showing me how to cut skin properly. Either way, I didn’t have the guts to go through with it after watching the blood dribble down his arm.
“Chicken,” Leon said, then walked away.
The man who sat near me on the lakeshore started clearing his throat as if to grab my attention. I kept my eyes on the horizon. A woman sitting alone doesn’t necessarily want company. In fact, company was the last thing I felt like at that moment. Until…
“Are you deliberately ignoring me or do I have to start singing like a crooner to grab your attention?” the man asked.
I grinned. I knew the voice and the rhetoric but I kept my eyes on the horizon. “Did I just hear the sweet voice of Bing Crosby?”
“I saw you walk by when I was grabbing a coffee,” he said. ‘Triple shot, you know.”
Two scantily clad women hovered nearby, bringing back bad memories.
“How have you been?” he asked, sliding closer to me.
“Did the brother contact you?”
“Yep,” he grunted.
There were several moments of silence while we watched the ripples on the lake. Kids were running in and out of the water while double-crested cormorants bobbed up and down on the waves.
“I stalk you on social media, so I’ve seen what you’ve been up to,” he said. “Hardly good wife material, are you?”
I laughed and finally turned to look at the man I fell deeply in love with over four years ago. He was ruggedly handsome, with a healthy dose of testosterone running through his veins giving him a deep voice, strong jaw and big, broad body. 6 foot 5 and big. He had grown a beard, wore sunglasses and a cap as disguise, but people still recognized him.
“How long are you staying?” he asked, downing the last of his coffee.
When we lived together, takeaway coffee cups were banned from our lives. I saw far too many floating in the GPGP – Great Pacific Garbage Patch, between Hawaii and California. Whenever we wanted a takeaway coffee, we’d take our special ceramic cups with lids. I see he’s failed to keep that habit going.
“Five months,” I answered.
“Exactly five months?”
“Yeah.”
“Then where are you going?”
“Back home.”
“You haven’t got another boat trip planned?” he asked.
“No. Not yet.”
“You’re looking good,” he said, smiling, “considering where you just came from.”
“So are you. You must be heading towards retirement?” He’s a year older than me, 30 years old. There’d be plenty of young players coming up the ranks, quicker and more agile than him. Not that I’d ever say that to his face.
“I just signed with the Bears for another two years, then I’m finishing for good.”
“And then what?”
He shrugged. “Not sure yet. You got a man in your life?”
I was hesitant to answer, because I didn’t want to start something with him. “No. Have you got a woman?”
“Yeah, but…she’s not you.” He shot me a sly smile. “You broke my heart when you left. It took me ages to get back on the horse again.”
The guilt surged. I had to leave, I couldn’t take it any longer. I was a completely unsuitable girlfriend for a sports star and plenty of people liked to tell me so. His manager and coach were always in my ear about keeping a good, clean reputation. Then there was the constant criticism from the Bears’ fans. I didn’t even want to think about that.
“You’d have plenty of offers,” I said. A known fact, he had women after him left, right and centre. We even caught one female fan breaking into the house. She returned a month later to try again.
He examined the tattoos on my upper arms for a moment. “You got some more?”
“Just a couple.” For every pivotal moment in my life, whether painful or joyful, I get a tattoo on my upper arm. He knew that because he did it himself. His upper and lower arms were covered in symbols and images representing various occasions, many of which were sports related.
“I’ll be running out of skin soon,” he said, holding up his forearm to show me a date plainly imprinted into his skin. “It was the date I met you.”
Another surge of guilt and I covered my face with my hands to stop the tears from falling. Then when I was ready, I dropped my hands away and showed him the tattoo I got when I left him and landed back in San Diego. It was of a tiger and he knew exactly what it meant. Our little secret.
He half smiled, then looked away. It still hurt. He glanced at his watch. “I better go. I’m expected elsewhere.” He put his arm around me, kissed my cheek, got up onto his feet and left.
Chapter Nine
Jake
She arrived home while I was still researching her online.
Her face was flushed like she’d been sitting in the sun, and when she looked at me and smiled I knew the anger had lifted, for now. The smile was small and short-lived, but all mine.
“I’m going to order takeout for dinner, do you want anything?” I asked her, when she walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water.
“No, I’ll cook.”
“You’ll cook for me?” I asked, just to clarify.
“Do you like omelet?”
“I eat just about anything,” I said, stoked that she was going to cook for me.
“You can cook tomorrow night,” she said, shooting me one of her looks.
“Yeah, I can’t cook.”
“That’s okay, you’ve got twenty four hours to learn,” she said, taking eggs, cheese and spinach out of the fridge all in one go. She was serious. “I’ll look forward to it.”
“Right.” I might have to buy takeout and place it on a plate to make it look like I cooked it.
“And I’ll know if it’s takeout,” she added.
“Did you just crack my head open and read my brain?”
“No, you’re just predictable,” she said, tossing oil into a frying pan. “You might have skills you didn’t even know you had.”
“I’ll show you skills if you want skills,” I said quietly. “I’ll give you multiple orgasms and...”
“What was that?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
I went back to my research, taking notes to ask questions when the time was right later. Corey still hadn’t answered the text I sent hours ago and I wondered if he’s pissed off with me. It could be possible that he found out about my drinking last night. I hadn’t consumed enough to get drunk and I was sober enough to text Brydes articulately. No rambling. When I re-read the texts they were a bit crude, but I meant every word. I wanted her in my bed.
Once again, Brydes made everything smell great. Whether it was her cooking, baking, or just the scent rising off her skin and hair. She was a marvel at scents. She placed the plate on the coffee table in front of me and my stomach lurched in hunger. It was a crispy, cheesy, spinachy omelet. When I took a bite it tasted salty and delicious.
“This is great, Brydes,” I said, giving her encouragement so she’ll keep cooking and maybe I won’t have to.
“Thanks.” She was seated at the table, staring at her phone, so I decided to join her. “So do you have a job to go to tomorrow or are you still in recovery?”
“I think so,” I said, slowly. “I assume I’m going back to work at my father’s firm. I haven’t been told otherwise.”
“What about college?”
“Ah, yeah, drop out. Drank too much. Missed classes. Slept with t
he…anyway, Red-mond wants me to get a degree like the rest of the clan. So I have to study in my own time.”
“How’s that going?”
“I’ve been distracted. Enough about me. You got a job to go to?”
“Yeah, I have a day job and a night job. Fun. The night job is for Fuckwit.” She put down her phone and began to eat her omelet.
“Every night?”
“Just three nights.”
“Doing what?”
“Accounts and stuff.”
“So Malone has a genuine tax-paying business?” I asked, surprised.
She smiled. “If you want to call it that.”
“So what’s your day job?”
“Working at Underwater Safaris doing the accounts and stuff, I think. Hopefully I’ll get to teach and take tours.”
“Teach what?”
“Scuba diving.”
“Cool. Can you teach me one day?”
“Sure.”
“In the Bahamas in your bikini?”
She frowned.
“I mean wetsuit,” I corrected. I enjoyed finding her limits and giving them a small prod.
She fell silent.
“I Googled you today,” I said. Let’s get it all out in the open. I was hungry to know more.
She met my eye. Her eyes were deep pools of green with hints of curiosity and sadness all in one.
“I just wanted to know what type of person I was living with,” I said in my defense.
“What were you told?” she asked.
“Not much. You’re from California and that’s it.” That was true. I knew so little about Brydie. “What were you told about me?”
“A kid with a drinking problem.”
“Huh! So you didn’t know about the accident?” I asked.
