by Gabi Moore
I quickly checked my phone.
New Message from Zack1985
I quickly opened it and read it so quickly it took me a few seconds to process.
Zack: I had my hearing today. I’m going to be out on July 6th.
Heart still beating madly and full of fire at having told off not one but two toxic people in my life that morning already, I barely thought twice as I tapped out a message and sent it quickly.
Maddy: That’s great news! I can’t wait to meet you :) :)
Good. Assertive. No more doormatting for me. Naked, I continued on to the bathroom and climbed into the shower, setting it as hot as my skin could manage.
Well, didn’t I want to meet him? I had kept him a secret from everyone – after all, what was more tawdry in the world than meeting a prisoner on a dating site? – and I had already had enough of Annie’s ’concern’ about me and how I was probably incapable of choosing a man who wasn’t an abusive douche.
But out? He was getting out?
As the hot water pummeled down over my body, I felt stupid for not anticipating it. Of course he would get out eventually. And so what if I did want to meet him? Maybe I could be a little proactive in life for a change. Maybe I deserved a hot, sweet guy who flattered me and never failed to show up when he said he would. What’s the worst that could happen?
As the water melted over me and soothed my nerves a bit, the panic set in. I roughly shampooed my hair, my head filling with steam and worry. What if he was a murderer? What if he tried to murder me? What if he was already making a plan to head over to my house right now, while I was in the shower and…? I turned the taps off, squeezed my hair out and ran back into the living room, towel wrapped round my dripping body. I picked up my phone and dialed.
“Hello, Annie? Oh god, I’m sorry for that previous message, I don’t know what got into me… I’m just under a lot of stress at the moment, you know? Don’t worry about Jasper, of course he can stay here as long as you need, I understand how hard it’s been for you.”
As I spoke into the phone I double and triple checked the locks on the doors, the warm shower water going cold on my bare legs.
Chapter Four – Zack
“What woman could you have in your life beside your old ma, huh?” she cackled playfully, and did up my tie for me.
“Gah, ma, that’s too tight, are you trying to kill me?”
“Ladies like a well-dressed man, it’s the least you could do.”
I looked at my ‘well-dressed’ reflection, wiggled the knot a little and tried to see exactly what was so much better about me now compared to how I was before. As far as I could see, shiny shoes and a nice collared shirt didn’t do squat to pretty up what was inside my head.
“There, look at that,” she said and looked on with satisfaction. “You always did clean up nice. You have your father’s good looks, that’s for sure.”
If there was one man in the world I didn’t want to resemble, it was him. But a man’s character is more than skin deep. And having just spent the better part of two years in a cage with nothing to my name but my own skin, I knew that better than anyone. We’re all just meat. Just great big bags of meat. When you’re on the inside, your face and your name and all that crap don’t matter one bit. It’s as pointless as a pretty knotted piece of fabric around your neck. No, the only thing that matters is who you are. And I was a man. At least, I was when I walked out of the giant steel gates two days ago. I had to ‘adjust’ now. Living with ma for a little bit, catching my breath, getting a job, wearing white, ironed shirts. These were all things I had to remember how to do. And meeting women. There was also that can of worms.
Ma’s house was oppressive. Too small. It felt like I was in danger of getting caught up in a doily or a lace curtain at every turn. My mom was old, and tired, and had the kind of nice-old-lady home that only widows ever have. She sure as hell didn’t need her six-and-a-half foot tall, thirty-two-year-old ex-con son trampling over her crystal ornaments and little vases of dried flowers.
Before, when I had come back from my first Iraq deployment, my oversized boots in her spare room were …endearing.
Now? Not so much.
Now, when the war had only been with my own stupid self, those big hulking boots were less acceptable. I knew that. But it was all going to work out fine. I’d leave soon, and in any case, her bones were becoming brittle and she needed a little extra help getting up and down the stairs. So we did out little thing, her and I.
“Be good, baby,” she said as she closed the door behind me and I stepped outside into the free world. A free man, choosing of his own free will to wear a too-tight tie.
My mind switched gear: the image of wet, curled hair on bare shoulders came blustering into my mind like it had been waiting patiently for a free moment. I had never expected her to be so eager to meet. In fact, I was banking on her disappearing after I shared the news with her. What sane women would want me? On the other hand, had I ever been drawn to a woman that was sane?
She had been so cheerful about it. She had suggested this coffee place about twenty minutes from ma’s house, and I remembered having gone there a few times, way back in another life. I had beat off to this woman’s picture more times than I could count. And now I was wearing a pressed pair of trousers, a fresh white shirt and new shoes for her.
Life was funny.
I smiled as I descended the steps and half wondered if I’d cream my pants just meeting her in real life.
The bus trip went too quickly, and I found my palms prickling up with cold sweat as I got closer. It had been dumb, to flirt, to say what I had said. I could see that now. Usually I copped out with the strong silent routine and girls loved it all the same, but I had opened up to her because I guess I never imagined we’d actually meet. And so it was all safe. She was safe.
From me.
I stepped off the bus and even from across the street, peering into the giant windows of The Magic Bean Café, I could recognize her instantly.
There she was.
I could have made out her glorious light brown hair in a whole line-up of mermaids. She was sitting in the corner, nervously watching the entrance. Like me, she was adjusting herself, trying on different facial expressions. Trying to look cool.
The bus pulled off again behind me and I stared for a moment, heart pumping. That was her, but without me in her life. Yet. Safe, perfect and happy. And in a moment, I was about to walk in there and change everything.
I took a deep breath, said a little prayer that she wouldn’t be put off by me, and stepped out to cross the road. The café inside was warm and noisy, but her cool blue eyes hooked onto me and held my gaze as I walked over and sat down in front of her.
She looked up at me, hands folded in her lap, and I could see it: she was petrified. And why wouldn’t she be? She probably thought I was a murderer. Most people in this nice little normal-people café probably thought the same thing. Why had I never told her?
“Zack,” I said and held out my hand.
“I know,” she said and hesitated to put out her own hand.
When I touched her fingers, I found them just as clammy as mine. She tucked them quickly back under the table again. I sat, hating how warm it felt all of a sudden.
“Do you want to get some coffee?” she asked.
I smiled, and for the next few moments we called the waitress, ordered drinks, and pretended like we hadn’t already seen one another naked.
“So, what’s the outside world like? Still like you remember it?” she finally asked, a nervous smile playing on her lips.
I had to remind myself that this was the same woman who had told me about her childhood, her dreams, her pets, her work challenges, her little health niggles, and the cupcakes she wanted to make on the weekend. A real, live woman. I only knew one, small, two-dimensional part of her. But fuck, it did feel like I knew that small part really well.
“It’s OK. Two years is actually not that long…” I lied. It was
long. An eternity, without a woman.
Our coffees came and she wrapped nervous fingers round her cup. All at once, she launched into a little speech. The people at the table next to ours glanced over nervously, eyeing my tattoos.
“It’s so nice to finally meet you, I’ve been so nervous and everything, but I have to be honest, before we carry on, I’ve been dying – I really mean just dying – to ask you a question…” she said, looking flustered.
In a way, I was glad she wanted to ask. I stuck my finger into the knot of the tie and wriggled it a little looser, and then I held up a hand and cut her short.
“Hey, I know this has all gone a little fast. You know, I didn’t expect to get out this soon either. But there’s no rush …for anything. And I think I know what question you want to ask me.”
I tried to hide my shaking hands by gripping the coffee mug and taking a sip.
“You do?”
I wiped the foam off my lips.
“Yup. You want to know if I’d like to go for a walk with you after we’re done with this lame coffee act, and enjoy the sunshine out there,” I said, and took another sip, not breaking eye contact for a second.
She giggled and looked at me sideways.
“Oh? Is that what I wanted to know?” she asked with laughing eyes.
“Of course. You’re feeling a little shy though, because I’m just so goddam handsome, so you’re not sure how to ask me outright. But don’t worry, I got you,” I said, and playfully bumped the side of her arm with my fist.
She blushed and broke out into silly giggles.
Thank God.
Thank God she liked that.
Don’t ask me where it all came from, but maybe I still knew how to treat a woman, if I could just dust the rust off those parts of myself.
“Well, smartass, you got me, that’s exactly what I wanted to ask you,” she said laughing, and suddenly, all at once, like I had tripped and fallen face first into something gooey and delicious, her warm eyes caught mine and held my gaze. Held them and trapped them like honey traps a fly, like an immense star traps a little comet and holds it close in orbit.
And so we looked at each other.
And looked.
“I bet I can also imagine what question you have for me,” she purred, lowering her voice a little.
I leaned in closer.
Oh, I had questions all right. I wanted to know why she had ever joined that site in the first place. And what she did late at night, on her own, after work. And what she wanted. And yes, I wondered what her body wanted, too. I had guessed endlessly at how she might like to be touched, and what turned her on, and wondered whether she liked it rough, or whether she painted her toenails, or the precise sounds she made when she came. I wondered what I could ever do to give her an orgasm.
“Oh? Well go ahead then, I am feeling a bit shy to say…” I said, and played a little at being coy.
She smiled broadly at this and leaned in a little closer. I hated the table between us. I would have smashed it to a million pieces with my own bare hands if it meant I could get an inch closer to her.
“Well, you’re wondering… you’re wondering why I agreed to come out here, and meet you,” she said, suddenly a little serious. “You’re wondering if I’m crazy.”
I looked at her blankly. I had been wondering exactly that. The look in her eyes intensified a little and she went on.
“I think… that you’re as nervous as I am. And Zack, I do want to ask that other question, you know the one I mean.”
She hadn’t come across as this candid in any of our long text chats or emails. I was taken aback by her bluntness. Being rusty with women is one thing, but I was all of a sudden reminded that I was never any pro to start off with. This woman, with her long, unstyled hair and powder blue eyes, this woman who was half my size and twice as sweet, well, it definitely seemed like she could hold her own.
“Then ask me,” I said.
My hands were close to hers. So close I could touch them by accident. It felt delicious to pretend I hadn’t noticed. I wondered if she had. I wondered if I could nudge them even closer. She sighed, tossed her hair to one side and looked off to the distance and then back at me.
“Zack, are you a bad man?”
It was as though there was an electrical force field crackling between her fingertips and mine.
“That’s not quite how I imagined you’d ask that question,” I said.
She waited patiently for me to answer.
“Are you asking what I did? Why I went to jail in the first place?” I was beginning to regret not getting all this ugly stuff out of the way sooner.
“No, no, no, I don’t care about that.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’d really prefer not to know.”
“But…”
“But I want you to just tell me, right now, if you’re a bad man.”
I took a deep breath.
“That’s… that’s a very complicated question. It’s not so simple to decide if someone is all good or all bad, you know?”
“Is that your answer?” she said quickly.
I wished I could tear this godforsaken tie off and never lay eyes on it again.
“No, not really. I mean…”
“It is a simple question. Nevermind anything you’ve done in the past, or what happened, or why you were in jail. Of course I’ve wondered about it. But I realized, right now when you sat down, that I don’t care. I just care if you’re a good man, right now.”
I was shocked by her sudden intensity. Outside, she was all soft circles and arcs. But her words were sharp and came quickly and with such force that I found my hands sweating again. Putting on a shirt and tie was one thing, but I hadn’t expected the third degree like this.
“So, are you?” she asked, then leaned back in her chair a little, as though my answer might take up extra space between us.
Was I a bad man? Fuck, I didn’t know. Aren’t all men bad?
“You have a way of asking really difficult questions, you know that?” I said at last, trying to lighten the mood. She smiled naughtily at me, and sweet lord if it didn’t melt me to my core.
“So that’s your final answer…” she said and playfully traced circles round the rim of her coffee cup.
I laughed out loud.
“You don’t let up, huh? Ok, you want an answer? You really want me to answer truthfully?”
“Yes, truthfully.”
“You sure? You might not like the answer…”
She was giggling and blushing again.
“Go on, tell me already.”
“I’m not a bad man…” I started, and gave her a dark, serious look. “But I am a man.”
The smile fell a little from her lips as she looked up at me, trying to decipher my expression. It would have taken no effort to lean forward and kiss her just then, and taste those silky little lips of hers. Had this woman done nothing but give me hard-ons in inappropriate places for the last six months?
She nodded sagely and smiled.
“Good answer,” she said, and traced her finger around the cup again. The static between us was crackling once more. “And now I can see that my coffee is almost finished…”
Chapter Five – Madeleine
Jokes on him: I probably was crazy.
On a whim I had suggested we meet, and on a whim I had put on the only dress I owned that wasn’t matted with cat and dog fur, and on a whim I had flirted hard with him. I had no idea what I was doing. But if felt good. And as the words left my mouth I realized I believed them. I actually didn’t care what he had done in the past. I was certainly no good girl myself. What I cared about was who he was now.
I had dated all the ‘good men’ anyway, and how had that worked out for me? It wasn’t that complicated. My life was passing me by, and if I wanted to have a fun fling with a hot bad boy from prison, so be it.
It was so much nicer and sunnier outside, and as we walked and found our way to the
park, I couldn’t decide whether it was the caffeine that was making me buzz …or the way he kept passing little sideways glances at me.
His jaw was sharp and hard – the kind of jaw that always looks clenched tight – and his cheekbones were the same. It was only his eyes that were soft, and I suppose he thought I didn’t notice when he snuck a peek here and there at me. I tried not to think of all the pictures I had sent him. Of some of the stuff I had written, late at night when I was feeling lonely and reckless.
As we walked through the manicured gardens, we had our same old conversations as always, only this time, he was right there. Not locked away in a cold, steel box somewhere. Not just safe little pixels on a screen. But a real, flesh and blood man. And he was …bigger than I had expected. Before, my images of him had only taken up little squares of space on my laptop screen, and his words had fit neatly onto a phone, or into short emails. When I closed my eyes and thought of him late at night, the thought was always small and manageable, too.
But now, here, in the flesh… he was overwhelming. I chatted and told him about the animals, about the clinic. And all while the sun shone, dark, delicious thoughts crouched on the edge of my mind. He was bigger than me. Much bigger. We could easily take a turn on this innocent path and find ourselves out of earshot for just long enough for him to …whatever.
My thoughts lazily flitted up to the verge of some possibilities but then came dashing back again. We joked about nothing, laughed at this and that. But I never lost track of the way his neck muscles were moving under his shirt. Right there, on the brink of my consciousness, there was another conversation going on. One between our bodies. My mind toyed endlessly with the idea of him as my ‘bad man’ …but I had understood his answer earlier on that day. He certainly was, without doubt, a man.
When he yanked off his tie and threw it carelessly over his shoulders, I thought I’d die of a heart attack.