by Gabi Moore
Perhaps this wasn’t such a bad way of doing things. Start off every relationship with the big question, right out of the gate. And perhaps I could get used to this guy, his quiet manners, gently ironed shirts and secret emotions that flittered under the surface like little fish.
We drove in comfortable silence.
The phone rang again.
“Mark, I’m on my way now, just sit tight, OK? Five minutes.” His milky blue eyes scanned the road calmly as he listened, then hung up.
“The nerve of the man. Makes me wait and now wants me to come running after him.”
“Story of my life,” I said.
“It’s so inconsiderate. Seriously, is it really so difficult to manage your time? I honestly don’t know how some people stay in business.”
“Tell me about it.”
“The guy does brilliant work, I can’t fault him that. He’s been making furniture for our resorts for more than five years. But the man has zero work ethic.”
We were approaching the office again. I glanced over at him.
“Anthony, can I ask you a personal question?” I blurted.
Without skipping a beat he replied, “you can always ask me whatever you like, no matter what.”
“Well …do you actually find me attractive? This is not just, you know, this isn’t just an arrangement for you? Are you--”
To my amazement the car almost instantly came skidding to a halt on the side of the road. He turned off the ignition and looked me square in the eye.
“Oh god, is that what you think? That I’m just looking for some …arrangement?”
He rubbed the back of his neck and exhaled loudly, looking out at the traffic whizzing past the now stationary car.
“Well, yeah, kind of. It’s just that--”
“Kat, I’m enormously attracted to you. You’re a beautiful woman. Anyone can see that. I’m an idiot. You …you do know you’re more than that to me, right?”
My hand was in his again, and my heart was in my throat. I swallowed and tried to avoid eye contact, feeling the blush coming on again. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how I felt about all this. But I think I liked it.
I looked out over the road and saw a faint wobbling shimmer moving just above the surface of the tarmac. Why not marry him? I didn’t believe in a god, not anymore, but if there was one out there, well, he could send me a sign. He could let me know if I should let this serious, blue-eyed stranger into my life or not.
He squeezed my hand then released it, and just as quickly as we had stopped we were moving again.
“I hope you like the showroom,” he said excitedly. “You can tell me what you think of the new cabinets we’ve had made.”
Chapter 4 - Mark
For all the years I had known Anthony Burgess, we had worked with a tacit agreement between us: I would spare him from having to get his goods from crummy sweatshop suppliers, and in return I got largely free reign when it came to the design. He was my largest commercial buyer but paid like a custom client. It was a good arrangement. Most of the time.
I squinted my eyes at my watch and waited for him.
I’d have to get the truck back in less than an hour and I was more than done with him messing me around like this. I had more than six dozen custom made Balinese teak cabinets to offload and a full afternoon ahead of me. I did not need to be waiting like this.
A white SUV crunched over the gravel and into the far end of the parking lot. He parked, and, to my surprise, stepped out with a tall redhead.
I raised my sunglasses.
Yup. Her hair really was that color.
I watched them both climb out of the car and come to stand in front of it while they looked out over the warehouse. I saw Anthony’s hands gesturing wildly here and there, and the redhead looking around smiling, pale hand shielding her eyes. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but I could guess. This is where we design each hotel room, right down to the doorknobs. This is where the magic happens. He’d given me the same speech a few times.
They turned to walk towards me. I lowered my shades and signaled for the workers to start unpacking. Anthony extended a cordial hand and I shook it. We both didn’t feel much in the mood for more than a cursory greeting nod.
“Mark, this is Miss Lilith, I’m showing her around the premises today.” He gestured proudly towards the woman at his side.
And what a woman she was.
Her hair was like polished cherry wood, gleaming pink-red in the afternoon sun. It was almost distractingly beautiful, and it took me a moment to stop gawping and extend my hand for her to shake as well.
“Mark Cane, pleased to meet you,” I said, and took the small, cool hand she offered me. I gave a friendly laugh and led them both to the truck, chattering away about how the cabinets had all come out perfectly …but she clung to the edges of my vision nevertheless.
Her almost supernaturally red hair was like a photo negative, like an alien pigment, like I was some kind of insect who had just realized how to see UV light, and she was some jewel colored orchid, humming at some non-human frequency.
Anthony opened up the main gate and the workers started offloading the cabinets.
My eyes busied themselves with the task at hand but my mind was still on her. I hopped up onto the back of the truck, strode inside and hoisted up one of the cabinets up onto my shoulders, bringing it down the steps and lowering it to both of their feet. I wiped the sweat from my brow and smiled broadly at them both.
“Rhodesian teak,” I said. “And you won’t find better quality than that.”
The woman knelt down in front of the cabinet and traced her white fingers over the intricate carving and reed-work in the door.
“You did all this?”
“Yes ma’am,” I laughed. I could see down her shirt.
Anthony opened and closed the door a few times; satisfied the locking mechanism worked, and then brushed his palm over the counter, giving everything a look over like he knew what the hell he was looking at.
“They’re beautiful!” she gushed. Two soft mounds of white flesh peeped from the top of her blouse. Beautiful indeed.
“So you make all the furniture for Anthony’s resorts? That’s amazing. I always thought things like this were made in a factory…”
While she was busy examining the cabinet, I examined her.
She had high, fragile cheekbones and a little pinched mouth. She was tall, but delicate. She didn’t appear to be wearing a wedding ring. When she finally shot her gaze up at me, the muddy green of her eyes did something strange deep in the pit of my stomach.
She smiled naughtily and rose to her feet.
Our eyes were locked. We both smiled at one another like idiots, till she giggled and pulled her gaze away again. There was no question about it. She was the most beguiling woman I had ever seen.
“Yes, well, Mr. Cane and I have worked together for a long time. I admire his craftsmanship,” said Anthony, trying to catch her eye for himself.
She stopped smiling now and looked around.
“Shall we go inside, my dear?” he said. “You should see the office.” He extended his arm to her.
It was a ridiculous gesture, and she seemed to flinch at the ‘my dear’ part of it. I had always known Anthony to be an uptight workaholic, and had never seen him with anyone since his wife passed. But this woman, she didn’t fit the picture somehow. She wasn’t anyone’s ‘dear’. Her hair was way too red for him, for starters.
“Of course, that’ll be peachy,” she said.
We all went inside while the workers hauled the cabinets in.
“So, you’re a bit like a carpenter,” she asked, smiling sweetly as we walked through the warehouse. “Like Jesus!” Her laugh was electric. I gave her a naughty smile.
“No, not at all like Jesus…” I said slowly.
She blushed and let her eyes wonder, but they caught on the crude leather cuff I had on my wrist. I smiled and held it up so she could see it.
“I
don’t think Jesus would make something like this, do you?”
She examined it and laughed.
“You make things out of leather, too?”
I smiled. “Oh, all sorts of things out of leather.”
Seeing the way her eyebrows arched as I said this sent a juicy thrill all through me. What the hell was this vixen doing with a stale old fart like Burgess? There had to be some mistake.
Women of all kinds have been coming to my studio for years now. Women who are looking for fun, for novelty, for themselves. Really dark women, kinky women, women who’ve made a lifelong habit of pushing themselves to their limits…
I have a theory about these women, the kind of people who decide one day to splash out on a novelty sex toy. They work hard their whole lives, they give and give and give to others, they’re polite, they turn the other cheek, their manners are impeccable and their kitchens are spotless. But one day, something delicious in them just snaps. And then they just say ‘fuck it’.
They get divorced. They stop apologizing, start smoking, wear too much perfume and talk too loudly …and then they come to me and request a handmade steel dog crate with built in leather restraints. Something rebellious comes over them, a wild glint in the eye, a little twitch in the lips, and then they’re off. I know a ‘fuck it’ moment when I see one. And this woman, this Miss Lilith, well, she had it written all over her.
So why the hell was she with him?
I watched her totter after him as he called her to come and look at the office. I mingled around, instructed the guys on where to put the cabinets and how to stack them, and took a rag out to idly polish the tops while I heard them chattering in the office. The guys climbed back into the truck.
I stood, rag in hand, thoughts drifting off to something I probably should not have been thinking of, when they returned.
“I’ve been looking for something like this for my living room for ages,” she said to Anthony. “And you know, this cabinet is so beautiful it’s just begging for a little white vase and a pink orchid on top, don’t you think?”
He nodded. “You see, that’s why we’re going to make such an amazing team, my dear.”
This time, the words made her frown visibly. She looked uncomfortable.
Interesting.
I decided to have a little fun of my own.
“You know, Miss Lili--”
“Please, call me Kat!”
“Well, Kat, if you’re interested, I can show you my workshop. I have a lot more of this stuff I’m working on at the moment.”
“She’s a very busy woman, Mark,” Anthony interrupted.
“I’d love to see your workshop,” she said quickly. They exchanged looks.
“I’m free right now,” I said. “You could have a look for something for your living room?”
The color of Anthony’s jowls seemed to be deepening. She looked up at him sweetly.
“I’ve already postponed most of my afternoon meetings for mini golf, so…”
“Yes, yes, of course, I understand,” Anthony said and smiled cordially. “Mr. Cane is a very talented man, I’m sure you’ll enjoy seeing his work.”
He really did sound like some stuffy hero from a Jane Austin novel. As she flickered her eyes over to mine I almost felt sorry for the guy.
“I’ve got tons to do here anyway so you run off and have fun my dear,” he said, and reached over to squeeze her hand. He didn’t notice the pained expression on her face when he did this.
But I did.
“I’ve given Miss Lilith a ride here, are you fine to drop her off at Montgomery street after?”
Christ, he was sounding more like her chaperone with each passing second.
“Sure, no problem.”
Someone called for him in the office, he checked his watch and excused himself, but not before squeezing her hand again and giving her a warm smile.
“Have fun,” he said.
“I will.” She tossed a lock of red hair from her face.
As we walked away and to the truck, I turned and grinned at her.
“So you and Mr. Burgess, huh?” I asked. She looked mortified but said nothing.
“I feel like I’ve stolen you away from your date or something.”
She climbed into the truck and sat in the passenger seat looking a little distracted.
“It’s not like that,” she said simply.
“Are you sure? He seemed a little put off…”
“Fuck it,” she said.
I turned the ignition, unable to contain my smile.
Chapter 5 - Kat
Well, they do say that God has a sense of humor.
When I asked for a sign, I didn’t imagine that the sign would come blustering into my life with a smile that looked like that. There was something just so …I couldn’t put my finger on it. But he was a strange man, that was for sure.
Dark brown hair, six foot or so, medium build. Nothing I’d be able to pull out of a lineup. But the way it all came together was what made it hard to keep my eyes off him. The way he moved. The way he looked at me.
The sight of the veins on his strong forearms roughly changing gears as we pulled off was enough to make me feel guilty for leaving poor beige-chino-ed Anthony back at his warehouse. I mean, Anthony may have proposed marriage, sure. But what did we actually have together, beside a few awkward moments of handholding and a cancelled mini golf date?
The whole situation was ridiculous.
Now I was in a truck with a hot guy who was probably five years my junior and had a way of lifting the corners of his mouth that gave me a belly full of butterflies. He wore one of those shirts that’s meant to look old even when it’s new, in some kind of in between grey blue green color, and soft jeans. Smatterings of black and indigo tattoos crawled up his bicep and into his sleeves. Dark, tribal designs, geometric figures, strange, machine-like birds.
“You have any of your own?” he asked, eyes still on the road.
“Uh, what?”
“Tats.” He gestured towards his arm.
How on earth had he known I was ogling?
“No, none! I faint if I have to a get flu jab, to be honest.”
He chuckled.
“What’s this one mean?” I asked, and pointed to a thick, inch wide solid bar wrapping the circumference of his broad wrist. He raised it up to eye height and flexed his fist, making his veins jump underneath the black.
“What does it mean?”
“Yeah, does it symbolize anything? Does it have a meaning?”
He chuckled again.
“Does it have to?”
“Of course it does,” I said quickly. “Why get a tattoo if it doesn’t mean anything?”
His eyes still fixed firmly on the road, he wrapped his arms round the giant steering wheel and focused on gliding the truck through the traffic, pulling it gracefully into and then out of wide turns. He was a good driver.
“Does everything you do always mean something?” he asked.
I sighed. “Guess not.”
“If you really wanna know, I saw it in a dream once.”
I snorted. He turned and gave me a sharp look.
“Oh sorry. You were serious.”
He said nothing.
“You saw it in a dream? So you tattooed yourself with it?” I could hear how condescending I sounded. “I’m sorry, that just sounds crazy.”
“And so what if it is crazy? I like to let my intuition guide me.”
“Pffft …and how’s that working out for you?” I said, mostly meaning it as a joke, but when I saw his reaction, I instantly felt like an A-grade bitch.
“I just mean …well, I could never live like that. Just doing random meaningless things? Sounds like a nice way to get yourself into trouble.” I stared again at the veins under the black band on his wrist and imagined getting into trouble with him. “I’m sure it’s fine for you, following your intuition and stuff, but I could never do that…”
“Why not?”
&
nbsp; I sighed and looked out the window. I thought darkly how maybe I preferred flirting with him when Anthony was around to watch. I didn’t reply.
“So, you were saying about the furniture you had at your workshop? I really like Balinese style stuff, it’s so cool the work you do…” I started.
He gave me a sideways smile.
“Changing the topic, huh?”
I laughed. After a lunch date with Anthony, I couldn’t decide if his bluntness was refreshing or just rude.
“I wasn’t, but fine, let’s talk about your meaningless tattoo again.” I don’t know why I sounded so defensive talking to him.
“Nobody said it was meaningless,” he said mysteriously. I rolled my eyes at him and smiled.
“It’s not meaningless, but you don’t know what it means?”
“Something like that.”
“So what was the dream then? Did the dream mean anything?”
“I don’t really remember.”
“So you dreamt about something, but you don’t know what, about a tattoo on your arm that means something, but you also don’t know what. That makes sense.”
“Doesn’t it?” he said, chuckling.
“Well, I sure as hell don’t understand,” I laughed.
“Well, maybe sometimes you do things but you only understand why you did them later on.”
I looked out at the open road. We drove in silence for a while before pulling into what looked like a run-down timber yard. Piles of wood and tarp-covered mounds flanked a humble looking series of buildings. He parked, jumped out, tossed the keys to a guy who jumped out the back and exchanged a few words with him. In a minute the huge truck lumbered off and it was just me, him and piles and piles of wood.
“I have some coffee tables I think you’re going to love,” he said, and darted off.
I followed.
“Changing the topic, huh?” I said, and he smiled.
Inside, the place was cold and dusty and had the faint odor of unfamiliar chemicals in the air. He disappeared and came back quickly wielding a delicate coffee table with dainty legs that reminded me of a violin somehow. He gently placed it before me.
“It hasn’t got the typical Balinese shape you get on the market, but I really wanted to try something new, you know?”