by L.H. Cosway
In the end, Nicholas buys me two dresses. The purple one and a bright red one. The red one was his choice. It's tight, sleeveless and only goes down to my knees. I make objections about wearing it, putting on a snooty voice and saying I'll look like a Jezebel or a harlot of easy virtue. He tells me he'll get me into it if it's the last thing he does.
We're laughing together as we exit the shop, bags in hand, just as I walk head first into somebody's chest.
“Oh sorry...” I begin to apologise and glance up at the person when my mouth drops open. Immediately, I am not smiling or laughing anymore. In fact, it feels like all of the blood in my body is running distinctly colder. Before me stands Aaron. Yes, that Aaron, of the psycho stalker ex-boyfriend fame.
He puts on a big (fake) surprised face. “Hello Fred, wow it's been a long time.”
I want to tell him that it hasn't been long enough. “Um yeah.” I mumble. “Hi.”
“This is such a coincidence, I was just thinking about you.”
Coincidence, my arse. “Right well, here I am. It was nice to see you again, but I'm in a hurry.”
I try to move past him, however Nicholas chooses this moment to step forward.
“Freda, aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?” He asks, placing a hand on my shoulder. Aaron's eyes zoom in on the small touch.
I could slap Nicholas right now, but then I think I could also use his presence to my advantage. I plaster a smile on my face and wrap my arm around his waist, leaning into him affectionately.
“This is Aaron, Nicholas. Aaron, this is my boyfriend Nicholas.” I pray to God that he doesn't decide to expose my lie. Thankfully he wraps his arm around my waist too and goes along with the charade.
“Your...boyfriend,” Aaron says the words really slowly, like he's trying to fit them around his big psychotic tongue.
“Yup,” I say, as a sweat breaks out on my palms.
There's a long, awkward silence, within which I'm waiting for Aaron to say something testy. When we were together he was the king of the inappropriate outburst. The first time he met my mum he was in a bad mood because the electricity supply at his apartment was on the fritz. When she asked him if he'd like a cup of tea or coffee while welcoming him into her house he told her he despised hot beverages. I mean, who says things like that? Mum just nodded and smiled, while giving me a wary glance. She knew he was bad news from the outset.
Aaron looks like he's on the cusp of a similar outburst right now, one which would reveal the fact that this is no random meeting. But he manages to reel in his temper when he smiles, too widely to be deemed normal, and says, “It's great to meet you Nicholas. Freda,” he nods to me and then walks away. He doesn't even say goodbye.
When he's gone Nicholas laughs. “I take it that was an ex of yours then?”
“How did you know?”
“First off because you introduced me as your boyfriend, and secondly because of the way he looked at you, all possessive. I didn't like it to be perfectly honest.”
“Yeah well, I didn't like it either,” I tell him. “And I'm sorry about roping you in to pose as my fake boyfriend like that. I just needed to make sure Aaron didn't get any ideas about rekindling our relationship. He's never been the full shilling, if you get me. I don't need him trying to worm his way back into my life.”
Although from the looks of it, he's already trying. I'm suddenly realising that it really was him who came to the shop and asked for me that time. That means he's been snooping around for at least a couple of weeks now, which can't be good.
“How much of the full shilling is he lacking exactly?” Nicholas asks, as he opens the door to the restaurant that we've just stopped in front of.
I walk inside and the waitress leads us to a table for two. I'm still frazzled and jumpy. My heart is beating too fast. I really, really fucking hate Aaron. Just when I've got a nice little life going for myself he decides to show up again. I also hate myself for not putting him straight from the start. If I had of refused to go on a date with him then I might have saved myself the trouble of becoming the object of his obsession.
I sit down and glance at the menu, before thinking what the hell, and I recite the tale of how I met Aaron for Nicholas from beginning to end.
“Sounds like it was a wrong place, wrong time sort of scenario,” says Nicholas. “If you hadn't been at the party then you never would have met him.”
“That's true. We didn't have any lectures together or anything. God, I really wish I never went to the party now.”
“Unfortunately, you can't rewind the clock. But honestly Fred, if it really was him who showed up at your work then you might have a problem on your hands. You need to keep your eyes peeled. I'll help. I'll make sure he's not hanging around the apartment block. If I do catch him snooping I'll run him off. There's no need to panic, just try to be observant and make sure you've got someone you can call on short notice. I'll be right next door when you're at home.”
I stare at him and smile my thanks. It's nice to have someone know about Aaron. Someone who isn't my mother, who can't afford the damage the stress would cause to her health, and someone who also isn't Nora, who would be freaking out left, right and centre. If I told her she'd be calling the police every time she heard a floorboard creak.
By the time we get finished with our lunch it's late evening, and we have to rush to a used car dealership just outside of the city so that Nicholas can pick out some new wheels.
I have no idea what sort of vehicle he wants, but if his home décor is anything to go by it's going to be something out of the ordinary.
My predictions aren't wrong, and we end up driving away in a powder blue Nissan Figaro. It costs just under eight grand and has a sort of fifties vintage look with only two front seats, like a sports car. Not masculine in the slightest, but what else could I have expected from Nicholas? In a way I think he picks out the car to purposely stick two fingers up to society's accepted view of masculinity. I kind of adore him for that.
Back home we leave the car in the car park at the back of the building and go up to Nicholas' apartment, where I help him put away all of his new clothes. He bought a ton of stuff today. I make fun of him when I find the Calvin Klein boxers at the end of one of the bags by putting them on top of my head and wearing them like a hat. Nicholas grins, gives me a good natured slap on the arse and yanks them off me.
“So juvenile,” he scolds, shaking his head.
I stick my tongue out at him and lift up a pile of new shirts to go and hang them in his wardrobe. Just as I'm finished putting them on the rack I spot a stack of old video tapes in the corner.
“What's on the tapes?” I ask, shutting over the wardrobe.
“Tapes?” Nicholas raises an eyebrow as he admires the steel blue tie he bought.
“Yeah, the old ones at the bottom of your wardrobe. Please tell me they have recordings of you as a kid so that I can watch them and you can get all embarrassed.”
He smooths out the tie and tilts his head back to meet my eyes. His seem kind of sad. “They're not of me. They're of my mother. She was a lounge singer when she was alive. Those tapes are all that's left of her performances.”
“Really? Was she any good?” I ask with interest.
“She was one of the best,” he answers, sort of forlorn.
“Perhaps you inherited your singing voice from her then,” I suggest.
He gives me a small smile. “Perhaps.”
“Can I watch one of them?” I blurt out.
Nicholas' expression becomes more closed off. “I'd rather if you didn't. They're kind of something that I like to keep just for myself.”
“Okay, I can respect that.” I pause for a moment before continuing, “Dolores was a lucky woman to have had a son like you. I just know she would have been so proud if she could have seen the man you turned out to be.”
He stares at me for a long time after I've said it. Like it means a lot to him to be told that. I know he's hardly perfe
ct, but if I ever have a son like Nicholas, who doesn't care that what he loves to do goes against societal norms, and does it anyway, I know I'd be supremely proud of him.
“Thank you Fred,” he answers quietly, and comes over to give my hand a squeeze.
For the next few days I spend every evening with Nicholas. Sometimes he comes to my apartment and other times I'll go to his. Nora seems to have warmed up to him again, which makes me strangely happy. Not that she's still interested in him romantically, she knows that I've got a soft spot for him and we're not those kind of friends. We might not have the most harmonious of friendships, but we'd never ever touch a guy one of us liked or had already dated with a bargepole.
Nicholas doesn't try to push the boundaries of our relationship like he did at his house warming party, but he has been becoming more and more tactile. He'll randomly pull me into a hug, or trail his fingers up and down my arm while we're sitting on the couch watching television. Sometimes he rests his head on my shoulder. His hugs make me melt, they are so warm and affectionate.
I've also caught him smelling my hair once or twice. He knows that I notice this and he doesn't even get embarrassed about it. That's another thing that I admire about this man, he is so completely unapologetic for his actions. He is who he is, you can either take it or leave it.
The way he's acting around me is perhaps even more dangerous than when he's overtly sexual, because it's making me want him to stick around. If he decided to leave Ireland and go travelling again I don't know what I'd do.
When we go to The Glamour Patch for his usual gig on Thursday, it feels like we haven't been here in ages. So much has happened over the last week. Normally I'd be looking forward to Thursday because it would mean I'd be getting to see Nicholas again, but I've been seeing him almost every day anyway.
I haven't noticed him going out to pick up other women since he slept with Dorotea. This is another thing that could be dangerous, because if he does go back to his promiscuous ways I will be devastated.
The audience is a little more subdued than usual tonight. The Thursday crowd aren't as rowdy as the crowd you get on a Friday or a Saturday. I'm standing in my usual spot by the side of the stage, watching Vivica Blue do her thing in a long, dark red evening gown, black silk gloves, diamond accessories and a brown wig. She could give Audrey Hepburn a run for her money.
Nicholas glances at me out of the corner of his eye during the show more than usual. We've become so close this past week, just hanging out and doing our own thing in a companionable fashion.
About midway through his act he struts over to the band and begins giving the guitarist instructions, whose name I think is either Liam or Lionel. I can't remember. Whenever Nicholas goes to speak with the band I always know he's asking them to play a song that isn't in the original set list.
When he makes his way back to his microphone stand he turns to look at me for a long moment and smiles playfully. What is he up to?
The band starts playing the recognisable intro to “Every Breath You Take” by The Police. It's not one of Nicholas' usual numbers, and certainly not his usual style. The next time he looks at me I give him a confused glance and in return he nods out to some spot beyond the stage. I look out past the curtain to the audience, but I don't notice anything unusual.
It's only when my eyes travel as far as the bar that they stop dead in their tracks. Sitting with a pint at his side and a serious expression on his face is Aaron. Good sweet Jesus. Would it be wrong to march right up to him and kick him in the balls? Maybe that would help him to get the message. Although I could be pointing a gun at him and he'd still think we were destined to be together. You can never get through to a head case.
His presence tonight shows that he really is unashamedly following me again. Something pinches at my lungs. A mixture of fear and irritation.
Then my brain goes a little loopy and I almost laugh thinking of how he would have had to force himself to swallow down his male pride and come into a gay bar to look for me. A moment later I do actually laugh as the significance of Nicholas' song choice hits me.
He's still singing, talking about how every breath I take and every move I make he'll be watching me. It couldn't be more apt in describing Aaron. For six whole months he hid in the shadows, watching me live my life. Only every once in a while would he venture out to harass me. I don't know which part was more disconcerting, the times when I felt he could be nearby but I couldn't see him, or the times when he'd actually come up and talk to me, making no effort to disguise the fact that he'd been stalking me.
I could hug Nicholas right now, because sometimes you need humour to bring you out of a dark place. I look to him again and he's on the brink of laughter as he sings. To be honest, I kind of wouldn't mind it if Nicholas were the one to be watching every move I make. When you're attracted to someone, extreme behaviour can be sort of...appealing. If Edward Cullen had of been ugly I'm sure Bella Swan wouldn't have been quite so smitten with him coming into her bedroom to watch her sleep at night. We females can be strange, shallow creatures when the mood takes us.
I look back to Aaron and my heart goes haywire, because he's staring right at me now. How did he manage to spot me all the way back here? Perhaps he has some kind of special stalker radar. He picks up his pint, takes a long gulp and stands up from the stool he'd been sitting on. With his eyes still glued to me, he starts walking through the bar and towards the stage. Nicholas is watching him approach with a wary expression. I wonder if Aaron gets that the song currently being played is intended to mock him.
The closer Aaron gets the more panicked I become. For a moment I consider running from the club. Then again, it's probably safer to stay here in a public place. The song ends just as Aaron hops up onto the stage, quick as lightning, and slips in behind the curtains. I fold my arms across my chest and muster a calm expression.
“Fred, you lied to me the other day,” he says, crazy as you like, stopping right in front of me. “You thought you could fool me and expect me to believe that some fucking - I don't even know what the fuck that is supposed be out there on the stage – that that freak is your boyfriend?”
My jaw drops open. He's acting indignant, what the hell? Like he has a right to be pissed off. This is ridiculous.
“Are you serious you fucking nut job?” I ask him deadpan. “What are you even playing at, coming here where I work and acting like you have a right to know anything about my life? Our whole relationship was a bloody joke. It ended years ago and you're still acting like we were some kind of star crossed lovers. I've told you this before and I'll tell you again Aaron, I never even liked you in the first place. You made my life extremely uncomfortable for a long time and now you're trying to do it again. And. I. Am. Not. Fucking. Having. It.”
I pause and run a hand through my hair, surprised at my own outburst. I didn't realise that I was suppressing so much of my anger until right now. Him acting like he has every right in the world to be here has caused me to explode.
“I need you to come back to me,” he says in a dead, oblivious voice, not even acknowledging anything I've just told him.
“It's been almost four years, can't you just get a clue and move on?” I say in exasperation.
The problem with Aaron is that he's never gotten violent or threatened me. I would have gone to the police if he had been. He's just been clingy, possessive, annoyingly obsessive and a touch mental. He's the kind of person who makes you want to create a resolution where you don't let any new people into your life for fear of them turning out to be like him.
He sighs. “I tried. I had a new girlfriend and everything, but she wasn't you. I broke up with her.”
“You're being ridiculous. We're never going to happen ever again, so I suggest you join some online dating agency and keep searching for the one, because it certainly isn't me.” I'm already feeling sorry for whatever woman he might foist himself on next.
I hear the clicking of high heels as Nicholas walks off the s
tage and comes to stand beside me.
He levels Aaron with a hard glare, and even though he's in drag he still manages to come across as threatening, which is a feat in itself. “You have thirty seconds to leave the club before I call security,” he tells Aaron carefully.
Aaron looks Nicholas up and down. “Fuck off tranny, I'm talking to Fred.”
“No you're not, and if you don't do as I say you'll have this tranny's high heel stuck up your arse in a minute.”
Aaron stares at Nicholas before he bursts out laughing. He's never been a laughing sort of a person, so when he does it's highly creepy. “Stay away from my arse, you fucking queer bastard.”
“Oh you've got nothing to worry about there,” Nicholas retorts and wraps his arms tight around my waist. “Fred's arse keeps me occupied on a nightly basis.”
I snicker involuntarily and try to hold in my laughter.
“That's sick,” Aaron narrows his gaze at me. “You're not actually with this freak, are you Fred?”
I take great satisfaction in the disgusted look on his face when I reply, “Oh I most certainly am, we're madly in love. You can come to the wedding if you like.”
Nicholas squeezes my hip and smiles down at me adoringly.
“Wedding?” Aaron says, slow and steady, his eyes turning to slits.
“Yes, wedding.” I state. “So you see, there's no chance for you and I Aaron, because I plan on loving, honouring and obeying this wonderful man until the day I die.”
I'm laying it on thick and heavy now, hoping he'll be disgusted enough with the idea of me marrying a drag queen that he'll leave and never seek me out again. For a second I have a cute image in my head of me and Nicholas actually getting married for real, with him in a wedding dress and me in a tuxedo.
Aaron's shaking his head back and forth like he can't believe what he's hearing.
“You're both sick,” he spits.
He takes a step away and runs a hand over his jaw. He looks like he's about to say something more, but then he just turns and walks away, still shaking his head, like he can't get his mind around the idea.