by Javi Reddy
There was a large glass cabinet below the bar, similar to how different types of flavours are put on display in a normal ice-cream parlour. Bottles of liquor lay within the cabinet which made him literally clap his hands with delight. He sat on a steel bar stool with a red leather seat. As the night progressed, he had tried a Rum & Raisin, a Vanilla Vodka, a Chocolate Whiskey, a Milky Mojito, a Bubble-gum Bourbon and a few of those rainbow concoctions which he was told were called Kaleidoscopes.
Milk and alcohol suddenly made sense. The barman knew how to make it work. Whilst the ice-cream taste greeted James’ tongue, there was no awful milky, dairy thickness to each drink. And most importantly, each beverage always had a good sting of alcohol to it. James had pushed the limits tonight. Again. He had to be drunk now because he hadn’t been sober in years. Jay Chetty popped into his mind yet again. He thought about what happened when they went outside and when Jay kicked the ball using his left foot.
“Hey, buddy, you okay? Your thoughts. They seem kinda deep.”
He looked up at the barman’s red bow-tie rather than into his eyes. The liquor was pleasant on the tongue, but it was liquor nonetheless, which meant he was too drained to focus. “Hmmmmmmm, I suppose this is the part where you show me how you’re not only good at pouring drinks but also at giving advice. The shoulder to cry on. That bloody placid listener that every barman in the world claims to be.”
“No, no, no. I’m just here to get you drunk. And I ain’t good at pouring drinks. I’m great. Another Kaleidoscope?”
James sussed the slightly obese man out with his haggard eyes, before accepting another drink. “So, what’s exactly in these Kaleidoscopes?”
James lowered his eyes from the fat chin of his pourer to the sleek glass holding his rainbow mixture. “Trade secret. You wouldn’t see the Colonel running out into the middle of Jan Smuts Avenue and broadcasting his chicken recipe on a loudspeaker, now would you?”
“Hilarious. But like you said, less talk and more pouring.”
Every time he turned his back to fix him a drink, James could see the rolls of fat at the back of his neck, rubbing together like the hide of a hippo. A few businessmen strolled in and greeted the barman. James prayed that they didn’t sit next to him. A fugitive needn’t have much company—even the barman’s companionship was a slight risk. The businessmen glided through the Parlour and eventually chose a table away from the bar, planting themselves on a set of colourful plastic chairs. Nobody took their orders. The barman had already started lining up the Kaleidoscopes. Welcome in the regular crowd. James turned back to the fat man, whose forte it was, to anticipate a drunken soul sobering up. He held his hands out, awaiting James’ next order.
“What haven’t I tried yet, pork-chop?”
“I can make you your own drink. What’s your favourite flavour of ice-cream?”
“Anything with alcohol in it.”
The barman’s cheeks popped out as he grinned at James. “Fuck it. Just give me another Kaleidoscope.”
“No problem. No problem. Now, you know why they’re so popular this side of the world.” After taking a sip of his freshly made drink, James caught a glimpse of a lady on the opposite side of the bar in a maroon silk dress. She was smoking an extra thin cigarette in a gold cigarette holder. As she beset herself in shrouds of thin smoke, she looked like something out of a 1950s classic picture. She noticed him noticing her, which gave him no choice but to make his way over.
“Let me buy you a drink. A Kaleidoscope perhaps?”
She lit another cigarette. The barman glared towards them, almost burning through James’ eyes. The fat man hadn’t sported a solemn look the whole night. He almost looked threatening if not for the sweat on his forehead. James’ petered out mind drifted towards thoughts of upper cutting the man under his fat chin, in an attempt to fracture his incisors and canines. He swung back around to her.
“So, what do you say, sweetheart?” She merely chortled. "Sweetheart? Do you really talk like that? And do you really pick up women like this?"
“Anyone could do with some company in this Godforsaken place.”
His words slurred.
“It looks pretty colourful to me.”
“Baaah. Colours mean nothing, unless you got a canvas.”
“You’re cute. But tonight is not the night.”
“Why not? You have a schedule or something?”
“Actually, I do.”
She grinned politely, and it took him a while to figure out that he’d have to pay to get a slot with this gal. “Besides, sweetheart. You can’t afford me.”
“Is that so?”
He slowly readjusted his posterior on the red leather seat. He tried to sit up as straight as possible, but his shoulders kept slouching.
“Yes, sir. I see a lot of important people. Like tonight. Tonight’s company is very important.” He wanted her so badly. His father would have felt the same way. The bodice of her dress was waiting for him to pry open. Her thighs needed to be squeezed and her neck bitten into.
“So, when are you free?”
“Are we ever free? Although, this is a lovely place to at least try to be free, isn’t it? A sort of gateway to the past. Or a throwback to yesteryear. Lovely touches everywhere.”
James nodded, then noticed a little birthmark just above her left breast. How he wished he was that birthmark. He lifted his glass up to hers, in admiration of the heavenly harlot and her fluent tone that gave her an attractive confidence. He wanted to talk big, wonderful words to her whilst she dug her nails into his back. In the end, he respected her wish and got up to leave. He turned around for one last parting shot:
“For what it’s worth, I guarantee I’ll treat you better than whoever you’re with tonight. Mr big-shot important client of yours.”
She blew him a kiss.
“Maybe one day, we’ll get to see for ourselves.”
He sipped on his Kaleidoscope and made his way to a booth instead of heading back to the other side of the bar. The booth reminded him of his couch, which reminded him that he should be heading back to the flat. He sluggishly took a look around and smiled. This was no ordinary bar. This was Rosebank. Anything was possible, which included him getting caught. It was time to slither back into hiding.
“Toffee Tequila before I go, darling?”
That’s all he could blurt out to the waitress who had come to take his next order. One more for the road. He downed the shot gratefully and stumbled back to the bar to bid the barman a gracious farewell. Before James could whistle to the hippo to turn his thick hide around, he was interrupted by a flash of knee-high boots that jumped across him.
“You’re unbelievable, you know that? Who was that tramp? She was such a…”
“Whore? I’m sure she prefers the term ‘pleasure princess’, or something a little more sophisticated. Don’t knock her down. She’s just trying to give back to those who need it most.”
“I’m sure you’d be more than glad to receive something from her. Herpes? Gonorrhoea?”
“So, you can get it twice?”
Layla hit him on the back of the head before taking a seat next to him. “You useless man. Are you really trying to have fun without me? Is that even possible?”
He managed a sloppy grin. She raced her fingers through his coarse, black hair and he knew that no matter what amount of alcohol that had passed through him and into his bloodstream, there was no way that he would pass out. He would not waste this moment.
“I’m sorry about the other night. I didn’t mean to be so, so…”
“Dense? Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t. Frankly, I just want a drink.” She turned to the barman who gave her his usual awkward smile.
“Welcome back, madam. Haven’t seen you in a while.”
Even Layla had been here before. James was inclined to feel as if he was the only one revelling in the novelty, but the way the regulars still seemed to be excited about drinking here as their chatter grew louder, left him less alone as
the night progressed. Layla pointed at the Toffee Tequila with her eyes, and the barman was immediately on it. He poured them one each and also made Layla a Vanilla Vodka. Drinks with the scarred princess—round two. They laughed and clinked their glasses as they caroused into the rainbow of a night.
“You know darling, there’s a chance I’ll go to prison. Or Vinny will kill me if I’m crazy enough to go after him.”
She trembled and put her hand over her mouth while shaking her head once more.
“It’s okay. Don’t be scared. Because I’m not. I’m not gonna go out like a coward. I’ve been running away my whole life. Running away from life itself. I need to face it. And when I see what this prick has done to you and that poor lad, it reminds me that I need to give a damn again. I need to face it all and make it right.”
She gazed upon a passion within his eyes that had long been absent from the callous soul of James Tait. And then, it happened. As often a great moment happened—through a sudden sense of hope. She kissed him. He kissed back. There was no time to be pedantic. No time to worry whether she was drunk. This was a kiss, their kiss, and he prayed tonight did not stop there. It seemed an appropriate last moment to have if he was soon to go to jail. Or the morgue.
“Let me buy you another drink,” she whispered to him.
The cool waves of his next Kaleidoscope hit his tonsils, although it was not the liquor taking him to a higher place. Layla kissed him again; her soft lips slotting in perfectly with his. He didn’t even really kiss back, relying on her sweet scent as the centre of their existence together. Only a fool would let anything else upstage those lips. Her hands glided down his face and her nails grazed over his chest. He was ashamed that he was talking to the lady of the night earlier. He was ashamed that he’d talked to any other woman before.
Thankfully, it looked as though tonight did not stop at a kiss. He was no longer afraid of Vinny De Silva. Seeing Layla scared made him brave. She said Vinny was inescapable. But being brave was all James had. He looked up and saw the lady in the maroon dress making her way out of the parlour. Her arm was wrapped around a tall man in a suit whose back was to James. Another big-shot businessman who had just completed another big transaction. Still, he did not grudge the smartly dressed man too much.
If James had gotten his way earlier with the harlot, he would not be kissing the gorgeous woman he was kissing now. For some odd reason, he looked up again and caught a glimpse of the businessman’s neck. The liquor was surely playing tricks on his eyes. He tried to look harder, but Layla pulled him away for another kiss. When she stopped, he looked up, and the couple was gone. Were those Chinese inscriptions? Was he really that inescapable?
Chapter 9
26 September 2013. Morning in the afternoon
“I mean it’s really something. He’s got all these posters in his room of people like Julius Caesar and Alexander the Great. Which teenage boy does that? I guess it’s probably got to do with the battlefield metaphor for his football or something like that.”
“Or something like that. Caesar never got his hands dirty during battle, which is more than I can say for General Chetty.”
The couch was definitely big enough for James and Layla. The apartment felt infinitely more glorious this morning as their naked bodies pressed against each other and basked in the sunlight. “I’m not sure who the host here is,” James told her as he nibbled on her ear.
“What does it matter?”
“Well, shouldn’t the host make coffee?”
“True. Although, you’re supposed to be Prince Charming, so you should be the one serving me breakfast in bed. Or should I say breakfast on couch?”
“The age of the gentleman has long expired.”
“And what age are we now living in?”
“The bastard!”
He gripped her and tickled her until they fell off the couch. She wrestled with him and landed on top of him. His back itched slightly as it rested against the dusty carpet.
He massaged his temples, as the familiar feeling of a spiralling room in the morning accosted him once again. He attempted to make his way to the bathroom.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
She intertwined her legs within his, and it was her turn to nibble at his ear. “I’m sure a shower is in order,” he feebly told her.
“Maybe, but you’ve always been a filthy old man.”
“Old? I’m barely older than you. What does that make you, granny?”
“Don’t even go there. Otherwise, I’ll definitely throw you out.”
Layla looked fantastic for her age. Pilates explained the tightness of her body, but James couldn’t figure out how her skin was so lovely and glowed the way it did. He wouldn’t mind having a hide like that. His skin was so rough and hairy in the wrong places that he wouldn’t be featuring in a soap advert any time soon.
“Come with me today,” he told her, looking deep into those jet-black eyes. She shook her head ever so slightly.
“Your beloved Jay can miss you for one day. Stay with me. Besides, I’m not ready. I can’t see him just yet. I’m sorry.”
She got up and headed for the shower. James grabbed her hand roughly, but not enough to hurt her.
“But I’m with you.”
She kissed him and entered the bathroom anyway. The water began to sprinkle out as he brooded under the crisp sheets. Suddenly, the bathroom door opened.
“Well, are you coming?”
James’ body gratefully pressed up against hers as the shower washed away his frustrations.
Afterwards, as she towel-dried his hair in the kitchen, she used the tips of her fingers to rub his temples ever so gently. She eventually dabbed at the little cut on the side of his forehead.
“Does it hurt?” she asked, genuinely perturbed.
“Only after drinking with you.”
She hit him playfully. “I mean the scar.”
He shrugged before letting her continue, “What is it exactly?”
“What else? It’s his marking.”
He took her forefinger and used it to trace over the V-shaped scar and the circle around it. “V for Vinny.”
She heard his words and put her hand over her widened mouth.
“It’s okay,” he said, kissing her forehead. “I’m okay now. By the way, my scar is prettier than yours.”
She leant in.
“No freaking way…Pretty Boy.”
She knew that irked him. Many women found him ruggedly handsome, but he didn’t belong in a boy-band. Outside, a tangerine sunset was already threatening daylight. The skies looked tired.
They had slept until the afternoon. James had to make some sort of attempt at getting to Jay before the evening returned.
“You know, I discovered something yesterday.”
“What’s that?”
“He can kick. Jay can still kick. With his left foot. Everything is sort of reversed.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I should have seen the clue earlier. Remember when I told you that he got chased by his neighbour’s Rottweiler?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, before that, he threw the ball over the fence with full force. I thought it was because he was very, very angry. And anger is often the staunchest of motivators.”
“Okay…”
“You see, I didn’t pick it up at the time, but he threw the ball over with his left hand. I found out that he’s not left-handed, but he can chuck like an Olympian with that hand as well as write perfectly with it. He has total control over it.”
“And he’s been trying everything with his right foot!” “Precisely. He’s just been going about his business with what he thought was his stronger side. But everything is reversed.”
“Reversed?”
“When we went outside, he used his left foot. He kicked like when he played for Rosebank. He was as sharp as ever. He pushed off quickly with his left foot and then tapped the ball magnificently with the same. L
ayla, his entire left side/right side movement skill has been switched. I don’t know how yet, but I’m guessing Mr De Silva had something to do with it.”
Layla put her hands on her head. “I wouldn’t put anything past that swine.”
“I should go. I want to help Jay regain the basics. We need to work on his balance and strengthen his right foot. Perhaps, I can help him reverse the damage slowly. Will I see you later?”
She shrugged her shoulders.
He thought of Claire, her dramatic outbursts and her desperation to be loved. Then, he saw Layla in front of him, who had taken over his heart without it being her intention. That’s how it went.
He grabbed his Parker pen and Stuyvesant Blues off the kitchen counter, kissed her on the forehead and made his way out.
“Ave Caesar!” were her final parting words to him.
Chapter 10
26 September 2013. 3:58 PM
Two suits stood guard over Jay’s front door, both with white polystyrene cups in their hands. Whiskey or coffee? James stared at their cups, long and hard, as he began to fantasise once again. Whether he could slot his knuckles into their jaws or his knee into their groins.
The suits eventually snuck around the corner, one of them muttering that it was safer to smoke the marijuana out of sight. James took out a remote for the gate from his pocket. The fact that Jay had given it to him had made James feel that this wasn’t entirely a losing battle. He walked in on Jay, running his forefinger over the edges of his iPod, in the living room.
“What would you like to talk about today?” “It must have been fun, kicking the ball like that yesterday. That’s the Jay we know, isn’t it?”
“It felt really weird with the left foot, that’s all.”
James explained his theory to him.
“Something has affected your skills system. Skills that you’ve picked up far back. Things like writing and football have all been altered.”
Jay sat up, seemingly drawn into what was being said.
“The good thing is that you haven’t actually lost your skill as we initially feared. Your so-called ‘weaker side’ is now your greatest asset.”