Nothing special, except you

by Celia Hayes

Some people needed adrenaline, needed to dance in some club, to loud music.

  My reason to start anew was there between my legs. He smelled of talc, of alcohol, of leather jackets, when he stopped pretending to be someone else. He said nothing, he gave no explanations, told no bullshit. He didn’t let himself be bought, he didn’t let himself be used by money, by people. He lived every moment in the same way that he drove his bike. He pushed to the maximum, so he could get there before anyone else, or crash.

  My head had been filled with crap, with wrong ideas, since I’d met him. The worst part was, I didn’t care.

  I stayed with him, then. Yes, it went like that.

  It was a crazy week.

  I more or less organised my move. It was madness, we both knew. We only lived together so that we would not be apart.

  For me it was a mistake. It’s never good to rush. It would end badly, we would end up hating each other quicker than most, more aggressively than anyone, and we would part forever.

  Nolan, instead, thought it was normal to keep me with him. Walking naked across the living room, having coffee sitting on the edge of the bathtub. That was how things worked. Two people meet, choose each other, and live each other from that moment on. The rest was pointless, things like getting to know each other better, finding out each other’s tastes, what you like having for breakfast, how you like your toast done, if you’re a Scorpio. The things that normally make you think that’s a person you could be with: Nolan didn’t care at all about them. I didn’t like toast anyway, I never had breakfast, and even if our zodiacs were not compatible, he counted on me being reasonable enough to make do, and everyone else being clever enough to not come near.

  Sorry, I had a different opinion.

  I’d asked him as he made my bags: «Explain it to me, are we a couple?»

  Because even though I felt different from the others, I was still a woman, and had that terrible need to define things. If I was going to live with him, I wanted to know what he was. A lover? A guy that maybe gets up one morning, all of a sudden, and kicks you out?

  «Are you going to answer?»

  «It means nothing».

  «What do you mean, “it means nothing”?»

  Nolan had ideas of his own, and I couldn’t get him to reveal them.

  He’d closed the zipper, walked to the corner of the bed where I was sitting and taken my face in his hands. «You’re not ready yet».

  That was all he cared about. It was ten AM and I was milling around without resolving myself to help him.

  I couldn’t feel as tense as him.

  I’d had a shower, but as per usual, I was wasting time. I’d put on a shirt and a pair of panties and I was rocking my foot along the side of the bed.

  «Why do I have to come with you?»

  «Because I asked you to».

  «And we’re playing the gossip magazine couple? The doll and the boss...» I blurted out, unconvinced. «Would anyone believe it?»

  «I don’t care what people think. You’re coming with me».

  He’d touched the tip of my nose with his finger. He wasn’t menacing, just firm in his ideas.

  «So we’re a couple?,» I had insisted.

  «Do you want to be with me?»

  «It’s not what I asked».

  «You want me to tell you what you would like to tell me. But it’s not what I want to tell you».

  «I don’t want to be with you».

  In many ways we were the same. We pulled back from emotions.

  «But you do want it. And that’s what I want, for you to want me. Every single moment».

  In other ways, we were completely different.

  «And you’re taking me to your place?» I’d rubbed at my forehead, thinking that had to be the most stupid choice in my life. It was the beginning of a twisted fairytale, the drunken princess and the dealer prince. «You’re making me climb on your white horse and taking me to your castle?»

  Nolan had smiled at me.

  «Much better».

  Ten minutes later, I had discovered that the motorbike parked by my place was his. I hadn’t been happy at first, there were five inches of snow on the road that morning. But I was like water. Unstable by nature, electric, easy to heat up. I found my place against his back by nature.

  That was how we’d reached his apartment: me half frozen, him still on the warpath. He still hadn’t fully boiled off his anger for that missed lunch date. But now I was on his turf, and he would have all the time to take his revenge.

  Which he did.

  Every night. Every morning. When he could get some minutes off work to rock by the Sunset offices. He had me climb into his limousine, tapped on the window, the driver took the car around the block, and he lifted my skirt and fucked me.

  «Don’t stop,» he whispered.

  I couldn’t stop.

  «Keep moving».

  I couldn’t stop moving.

  «I want to feel you come».

  I held him and obeyed.

  Days passed through that fragile recklessness.

  I lost track of the appointments on my notebook, I didn’t go to parties anymore, I didn’t take part in any events, didn’t make calls, didn’t answer the phone, didn’t call back.

  The basket play-offs ended with a Chicago Bulls win. I found out by accident at work, because I’d forgotten to watch them. Weird, because I’d never missed them before. But I wasn’t quite myself, and the people around me had noticed. Doc, too. He allowed me to swap the interviews around, the one with Miko Yakizu was published on the day of the match and was quite successful, after all the clothes were gorgeous. The column about Nolan, on the other hand, went over to the following Saturday. Doc let me work on it some more, because he was scared I would do something stupid more than to help me.

  I took the chance to do absolutely nothing. I was waiting for things to happen on their own. In the mean time, I went with the flow. I lived every moment for itself, one after the other, without thinking about anything.

  Thursday night arrived and I didn’t even notice.

  Nolan had locked himself in the living room with a couple of shareholders, his lawyer, his agent. I was trying to write the bloody article for that Saturday. I was sat on the bed, the laptop between my legs.

  I don’t know how long I’d been staring at the white page. The noise of traffic outside annoyed me, the voices. I couldn’t concentrate and I hadn’t yet decided what I was going to do.

  Doc had figured out that I’d discovered something, but he realised that pushing at that point would not have worked. I think he was convinced I would end up doing the right thing in the end.

  I no longer knew what was right and what was wrong. I had found out by chance who Nolan Carter was. Now I could tell everyone the story of a drug dealer who’d been caught into the arrest of a State prosecutor, or talk about the most prominent man of the moment. An entrepreneur with a mysterious past, who all of a sudden had found himself at the head of a finance empire.

  It was my task to choose. No pressure.

  I checked my watch. It was six PM already, I had roughly thirty hours left. Then I’d have to send my piece to Greta. The magazine went to press around midnight on the Friday.

  I didn’t even have a title.

  I lit myself a cigarette.

  I could hear things getting heated in the other room. Nolan didn’t speak much, but when he did, walls came down if he was angry.

  I was recording everything with my phone.

  Call it a necessary precaution.

  Conversations, phone calls… I downloaded everything on an USB drive, thinking they might come in handy someday.

  At the same time, to pass the time, I kept on with my research. I hadn’t really figured out what was happening, but I knew one thing. A bank was involved. They cleaned up dirty money, bought shares, destroyed evidence, ruined companies.

  It wasn’t much, but it was enough to send someone to prison.

  So that’s what was tr
uly stopping me. I’d found out the kind of information I’d rather not know. It put me in a difficult position, where I had to decide what side I was on, when I was sure one of the two was a criminal. I’d never broken the law before in my life, and I didn’t want to do it now. At the same time I wasn’t turning him in, I wasn’t going to the police. I was taking no side.

  Nolan tried to keep me out of his mess. He told me nothing, but he knew I noticed the night-time phone calls, the way people treated him, the constant fear they had of his reactions. He couldn’t prevent it. Just like he couldn’t stop me from finding a gun in the drawer of his desk.

  «What do you have this for?»

  «To protect my interests».

  «What interests?»

  «You’re one of my interests».

  Sometimes I hoped he would tell me “it’s all right”. But Nolan offered no explanations. If I pushed he shut down, if I asked he replied he didn’t want to talk about it.

  «I just want to figure out what you’re doing».

  «So you can write it in your paper?»

  «I’m not talking about the article, I’m talking about us. I’m caught in this story too».

  «Nothing’s going to happen to you».

  «But something is going to happen, isn’t it?»

  He explained that that was a way he had of protecting me. As long as I didn’t know how he could afford that lifestyle, no one could hurt me. I couldn’t understand why he was protecting me. If it was just a way of feeling less guilty, if he was scared I would tell the FBI everything, or if he was starting to care about me. In any case, that forced silence wasn’t helping me choose what side I was on. I felt cut out. As long as he was touching me I was the centre of his universe, but when he stopped I disappeared. Like that evening, locked in his bedroom while he ran his life from the next room, behind closed doors, where I could not go.

  This was what pushed us apart, his past. It kept a distance between us even when we were together, and the more we kept going, the more it would destroy us.

  I decided to go down, catch some air.

  I tried not to disturb the meeting as I left the bedroom, coat slung over my arm, and crossed the living room to get to the door.

  Nolan’s eyes intercepted me anyway.

  Around him people were talking, some sitting, some walking between the sofas, handing each other folders of notes. He was no longer paying attention to any of it, only to me.

  He realised I’d had enough of hearing them talk. He knew that was not the life I wanted, I could see it in his eyes that if he’d had a way to, he would have given me a different one. But he couldn’t.

  «You’re leaving?,» he asked.

  «I have something to take care of, but I shouldn’t be longer than a couple hours,» I replied.

  He didn’t believe me, but he didn’t stop me either. Leaning against the window, his side against the glass, he watched me go without a word.

  I ended up in a bar.

  I hadn’t been there for a while.

  I sat at the bar. I didn’t want to look for an empty table, a crowd was in that night.

  «What can I get you, doll?»

  «Whatever you want, as long as it’s strong».

  I’d seen the barman a couple times before. He knew his way around cocktails.

  He fixed me a White Russian. I liked sweet cocktails, even if they weren’t too strong. I’d get drunk anyway sooner or later. I was in no rush.

  I looked at the TV screen, they were showing a rerun of the basket game.

  «It’s a crime to let you drink alone».

  «It’s a felony if you sit down».

  I pushed away some guy trying to chat me up, I didn’t want to speak to anyone.

  When he tried again I turned, annoyed.

  «You’re barking up the wrong tree, all right?»

  «All right, all right, I promise I won’t make a move on you!»

  Pity that the person that had just brushed against my shoulder was not the guy trying to pull me a moment before. To start with, it was a woman, and I’d known her a long time. Sandra Grey. We used to go out together a lot.

  She fetched herself a barstool and sat, smoothing her skirt over her legs.

  «I think I’m drunk,» she admitted, laughing.

  She had a new haircut, that made her look like a French actress from a black-and-white movie. And a lot of lipstick.

  «I’m on the same path». I raised my White Russian. She rubbed a finger under her nose and looked at me like she’d only just realised who I was.

  «Hey! I haven’t seen you in a while, darling. Where did you end up?»

  «Making the rounds as usual. I’ve got some work to catch on».

  It was a plausible answer, and she took it. She didn’t care too much where I had been. She was more interested in the course of the evening. She had the barman fix her a tequila and pointed at one of the young men on the dancefloor. The DJ was putting on a random string of hits from the Nineties.

  «You see that guy?»

  I glanced at him. He was trying to grab a blonde’s ass, pretending to be caught in the rhythm.

  «Ruth slept with him,» Sandra whispered, still looking at him. «Makes you want to take him for a ride».

  «Not my type». I went back to my drink, turning my back to the floor. She got a cigarette from her purse and started tapping the filter on the bar.

  «No, you’re after the big shots now,» she teased me.

  «I’m not after anyone,» I bit back. It wasn’t that it annoyed me that someone thought I had a thing with Nolan, but I didn’t like her tone. It implied I was with him only because of his money. While I didn’t care for Nolan’s money. Had it been for the money, I would already have dumped him. But the rest of the city couldn’t know that, of course. And everyone, in their own way, tried to figure out what my part in his life was.

  «There’s a rumour around that you’ve moved in with that guy, new guy… Mister Fantastic Carter». She was trying too.

  «There’s a lot of rumours, they’re not true until I write them down».

  I wasn’t upset. Sandra was not the type to ask questions so that she would have some story to tell around. She was just very stupid, very easy, and very drunk. More often than not I was the same. I couldn’t see a good reason to argue.

  Just like I expected, Sandra changed subject. Something more interesting, for now.

  «Oh! Oh!» She grabbed me by the arm. «There’s a party at Peter’s place. I had half a thought about him». He murmured it from the side of her mouth, looking a little silly. «Want to pop by? He can drive us, he’s got some stuff in his car».

  I found that odd, Peter was always scrounging off other people.

  «You’re getting coke off Peter?»

  «Why would I sleep with him otherwise?» She shrugged and got off the stool, fetching her purse. «So what? Are you coming?»

  I didn’t even want to get off my head on coke, to take a ride in Peter’s car, watching them touch each other, and certainly not to slip in at a party at his place and end up drunk on a sofa with some stockbroker.

  «I’m going to give this one a pass,» I said.

  It wasn’t like me, because up to the day before, having no alternative, I would have said yes.

  «You’re not developing a crush on that millionaire?» Sandra asked, tapping my side with her purse. «Hey, we’re less than nothing to that kind, you know». She was warning me, in her own way. «If he’s not bad as they say, have a good ride and move on». She rubbed my arm and tightened her lips. «He’s not worth it, sweetheart».

  For her everyone was “sweetheart”, “darling”, “little love”. She had that sugary way of speaking, but it was all face. She had no strong ties to anyone, she was lonely like everyone else, in the chaos of that evening.

  Exchange agents, insurance sellers, nurses, junior doctors. American voters, all together in a room.

  I looked at them, without pausing on anyone in particular. We all wo
rked thirty, forty hours a week. The rest was chance meetings, casual sex, cocktails served in glasses with paper umbrellas and the flavourless olives from the supermarket.

  «It’s not that, I told you. I have a job to finish. I’ll be free again after Saturday,» I tried to find a way to come out of it clean. I didn’t want to have to explain, I didn’t want to say I’d promised Nolan I’d come back, because then I would have to tell her that now I was living with him. But I still didn’t believe in us living together, I still thought it was only a momentary state of affairs.

  «All right,» she looked at me with a stoned smile. She said yes, probably thinking I had something else to do, a date with someone I didn’t want to tell her about. I let her believe it.

  «Are you going now?» It was a way of telling her goodbye, I didn’t even want to stay and talk to Sandra. I think I just wanted to be alone.

  He nodded, going towards the cloakroom. «Hey. Sweetheart, I’m having a dinner on Sunday, are you in?»

  «Always,» I agreed.

  «You know that I care. You said yes, right?»

  «Promise».

  Our meeting was cut short when Peter came looking for her. He was already drunk, his suit horribly sweaty, even though it was Armani.

  «Pick up pace, will you?» He grabbed her from behind, ran a hand over her buttocks. «Come on, I’m hard already». He was sticking to her so close, I wondered if they’d make it to the car.

  «Anything else, love?»

  The barman leaned over the bar, as I watched them walk away. I shook my head.

  «No, how much?»

  «No worries, it’s already...»

  «Paid for,» I finished for him. I was starting to get used to it.

  Nolan had reached that bar too, he’d had me followed. That was why he hadn’t tried to stop me. At that point I should’ve got angry. Finding out I’d been followed shouldn’t have left me indifferent. And yet, in the middle of that nothing I was immersed in, it felt like a protective, warm embrace, coming when I was at my most vulnerable, when I’d realised that up to the day before I was part of that nothing, too. Nolan hadn’t saved me from my pointless existence, if you think that’s what I’m trying to say. There wasn’t much good about Nolan, and there still wasn’t much at all about me. But in that moment I felt part of something, which would never be a dream wedding, a garden with a dog and a barbecue, a canary yellow dress, a turkey on Thanksgiving. But what we had was real. It was far more real than a good number of those relationships I saw starting and continuing out of idleness, just so people could look like they were happy, and then break up among the general indifference. I’d always feared that, boredom. Relationships dragging on just because it felt like the right thing to do, out of fear. Me and Nolan ripped our clothes off each other because we couldn’t help touching; we were not wasting our time trying to change each other. I didn’t tell him I liked him without believing it, and he didn’t tell me he loved me when it wasn’t true. So every time he held me, I knew it was what he truly wanted.