Sweatpants at Tiffanie's

by Pernille Hughes

  The ground floor was a mess. Jess’s men had moved their stuff down so they could start first thing Monday morning. It was also in response to Tiff’s faint hysteria over her beautiful new floors upstairs getting damaged by tools or whomping great workmen feet. She’d ignored the rolling of eyes.

  The sodding sofa was safely shrouded under a dust sheet and the rest of the foyer was stacked with the ladders and tools. They navigated their way single-file through the obstacles. Given she’d checked out his physique, Tiff sucked her stomach in, in case he was doing the same behind her. She doubted she’d hold up so well in comparison.

  The ring stood silhouetted until Tiff turned on the lights. The windowless walls all sported some training-slash-torture instrument. She had neither the plans nor inclination to alter much. Without a coach, she would trust Blackie’s expertise on this. As she walked around the edge of the room, she pushed aside the growing worry about the missing coach. She was riding high this morning. Not even pressing thoughts like that were going to spoil her mood.

  Mike ran his hand along the base of the ring, as he circled it.

  ‘I spent hours in here,’ he murmured.

  ‘Tell me about it,’ she said. ‘Other girls’ boyfriends came to pick them up. We always met here.’

  ‘I was always out on time though,’ he said, imitating her pout. It made her laugh.

  ‘I’ll give you that,’ she said, watching him absorb the ring and the memories it held. ‘Didn’t you already do your nostalgia thing the night of the funeral?’

  ‘Actually, I didn’t. It didn’t seem right, me mooching around down here in the dark, while you were convening with the spirit world upstairs, so I left.’

  ‘In that case, do you and the ring need a little time alone?’

  He dealt her a sardonic look and didn’t comment. She took a moment busying herself tying back the climbing ropes.

  ‘Have you been under?’ Mike asked.

  ‘Under the ring?’ The raised floor was cloaked with its blue pelmet. ‘God no. Years of soaked-through sweat, safely hemmed in by synthetic fabric? It must reek.’

  ‘The flooring is rubber. The sweat doesn’t drip through, muppet.’

  ‘You sure? Bloke sweat is pretty toxic.’ He didn’t rise to her bait. ‘Why on earth would I go under the ring? Oh god, it’s some boxer’s sex-fantasy thing, isn’t it?’ She did not want the mental image of boxers going at it under there. Vonda had been shy of cleaning under desks, there was no way she’d have ventured under the ring.

  ‘Well, it wasn’t until you suggested it,’ he smirked, ‘now I feel I haven’t achieved a thing in my career.’ He lifted the fabric and bent to look under it. ‘This ring is special, Tiff, unique.’

  ‘It is?’

  ‘Honestly? How don’t you know? The underside has the signatures of all sorts of famous boxers. Blackie got his fighters to sign when they left for the bright lights. Many of them were champions. This ring is one big autograph book.’

  ‘Blackie never mentioned it.’ Joining him at the corner she could make out some signatures and messages written scrawled by the corner. ‘Why do you think he did this?’ she asked. ‘Was it an incentive for the lads to strive? Was he banking on you all being famous?’

  ‘If he did, then he didn’t see me getting so far.’ Tiff turned her head to look at him, but he moved away.

  Mike flipped one side of fabric up onto the ring floor and disappeared from view.

  ‘You coming in?’ Mike’s voice sounded muffled, causing Tiff to crouch by Mike’s protruding feet. ‘Get in here.’

  She was slightly reluctant to be crawling around on the ground but in she went, manoeuvring herself alongside him on her back as he illuminated the space with the light on his phone.

  ‘Wow!’ Their exclamation was simultaneous. They’d just been able to make out scribbles in the gloom earlier, but the light unveiled a whole canvas of names and messages written in black marker. And right in the centre, taped to the wood, was a jiffy envelope. Immediately, Tiff panicked it might contain more poo, but got a grip; it wasn’t addressed to her. The envelope had two words written on it, in Blackie’s shaky cursive. Michael Fellner. Mike tore it off and she watched as he turned it over, confused.

  ‘Open it, Mikey. It was important to him, whatever it is.’

  Mike ripped it open, looked inside, then removed a piece of paper followed by a Sharpie. He scanned the note before reading it aloud. Because I never got to ask you and I always wished I had. I’m so sorry. You did me so proud. Blackie.

  Tiff looked away as Mike’s eyes began to glisten.

  ‘Well, do it then,’ she said, when the silence had become too painful. ‘Sign it.’

  She shuffled onto her side, propping her head up with her hand. She didn’t follow the sport, but as the sole witness to this moment in Mike’s boxing career, she figured she should appreciate it. After scoping the boards, Mike located a suitable spot and with an enormous smile on his face, scribbled his name. His hand shook just a little as he did so.

  With his index finger Mike proceeded to guide her through who was who and what level they’d got to in their careers. Blackie had been far more prolific in his coaching than Tiff had known. Her plan to cocoon herself from it all had clearly been successful.

  ‘You’re made for the LA job, Mikey. You’re a boxing Wiki,’ Tiff said, truly impressed. Lying like a couple of kids in a den, the relaxed cosiness made it easy being herself with him now.

  Mike gave a small laugh. ‘I always enjoyed the history and the trivia. And following other people’s careers is…was research for my fights; if I knew their moves, I’d have all the options in front of me to make the right choices. The LA job though…I don’t know.’

  ‘Still not thinking about it?’

  ‘Yep,’ he said with a grin, knowing she was chiding him really. ‘Still not thinking about not having a coach?’ he lobbed right back, well aware she shared his denial tactics.

  ‘Yep.’ She poked him in his side. He grabbed her hand with lightning reactions. Ha! she thought, still ticklish then.

  ‘They’ve made the terms difficult to ignore,’ he conceded. ‘They thought my reticence was about the money, so they’ve upped it and honestly, it sounds like it would be more fun than hard work.’

  Tiff knew this was tough for him. It had to be a fantastic deal if he was contemplating still living in the limelight. But she knew what was holding him back.

  ‘Can’t you take Nanna with you? They have care homes in the US too.’

  ‘I can’t do it to her, Tiff,’ he sighed, turning to face her. ‘She’s confused enough already. She’d know no-one. Here she has her church mates to look in on her.’ He was the only family Nanna had left, and he appeared to have made his decision. He sent a sad smile her way. He loved his Nanna deeply, and she knew watching her deteriorate would be painful for him. She gave his hand a squeeze. He still didn’t release it.

  Their noses only a few inches apart, Tiff suddenly became uber-aware of their close proximity. The concealed space and shadows under the ring created a far more intimate atmosphere than she’d realised at first and it left her supremely dry-mouthed. He held her gaze and she couldn’t drag her eyes away from his face. Seeing it again so close up, brought a mix of emotions rushing back, not least what Shelby called ‘rampaging lust’. Clenching everything, she tried to keep it under control. Some things however couldn’t be hidden. Encouraged by the dilation of her pupils, Mike slowly rolled the remaining distance until his lips tentatively touched hers.

  The small moan that escaped her was like a starting pistol. Within seconds hands were sliding up bodies, in each other’s hair, touching faces as if regaining the years they’d missed and confirming this was really happening. Tiff arched into Mike’s body as he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her in. Her breathing was rapid, her heart was banging in her chest, her blood was hammering in her ears. She couldn’t think of having felt like this before. In fact, she couldn’t thin
k at all.

  It took her some moments to realise the clanging sound hurting her ears wasn’t actually her heart, but the gym’s fire alarm.

  Chapter 25

  Her pent-up body froze. ‘Noooo,’ she whispered against his mouth. The thing was ancient, she was surprised it even worked. Trust it to pick right then to trip.

  Reluctantly she withdrew from his embrace, both of them taking a moment on their backs to control their breathing. Thankfully, it wasn’t just her panting like a horny teen. Knowing her face was some shade of puce, from surprise, from lust, and from annoyance at that bloody alarm, Tiff clambered clumsily out. Standing, she bent over to dust herself down, but really it was to compose herself.

  ‘Can you make it stop?’ Mike asked.

  ‘I’m not a hundred percent sure how—’

  Her nose twitched as a scent curled around it. Was that… smoke? Looking around, there was nothing on in the gym, let alone alight.

  ‘Can you smell that?’

  Mike’s head appeared between the struts. He took a long drag of air. His eyes widened.

  ‘Fire?’

  Tiff was off in seconds, hurtling out into reception. Smoke was filling the room. Drawing closer to the entrance, Tiff saw it coming from a pile of paper bags on the smouldering doormat. Someone had lit bag after bag, stuffing them through the letterbox. There had to be ten at least, all of them fully aflame. Tiff grabbed for the fire extinguisher as Mike came barrelling out of the gym behind her. He raised his foot above a paper bag.

  ‘Mike, don’t! It’s—’

  He brought his foot down on it, just as the sender had intended.

  ‘What the fuck?’ Mike stared at his trainer, now dog-shit brown rather than pristine blue suede. Tiff elbowed him aside and let the extinguisher loose.

  ‘Sorry about your shoes,’ she said, when the flames were out and the alarm silenced. They’d wedged the front doors wide open, predominantly to clear the smoke, but essentially attempting to thin the hideous stench of burning dog poo. Mike was staring at his foot, deep in thought. ‘It might clean off, Mikey.’ She wasn’t sure about the soot.

  ‘I’m not worried about the bloody shoes, Tiff,’ he snapped. ‘What the fuck was that about?’

  Quite. Who would do this? Her suspicions rested with Aaron, but would he really do something potentially lethal? Looking at the sprayed debris, there was no proof of ownership. She didn’t fancy telling Mike about Aaron’s threats. He’d go ballistic. ‘Assassin turned Enforcer’ under a banana-nosed mugshot wasn’t a story Tiff wanted in the paper.

  She tried to make light of it. ‘Oh you know, kids. They’re bored…’

  ‘No Tiff. It’s arson. They didn’t care if anyone was in here.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Why aren’t you more freaked out by this?’

  ‘Because we put it out,’ she hedged, but he wasn’t having it.

  ‘That’s not what I mean and you know it.’ Mike was angry now. ‘You knew what it was, you said not to stamp on them. Why was that? And why aren’t you surprised by any of this?’

  Tiff looked away. ‘I’ve seen the burning bag thing done before,’ she wasn’t getting into the details, so moved on, ‘and someone’s been making prank calls and sending poo-stuffed post recently, so I guess it’s them again.’

  ‘You aren’t sleeping here anymore.’ He said it like a command. While part of her wanted to agree, it also put her back up. He couldn’t tell her what to do.

  ‘No-one knows about that. The calls only come in the day. Nights aren’t a problem.’

  ‘No.’ He put his hands on his hips.

  ‘Yes,’ she mirrored him back. ‘You are not the boss of me, Mike.’ Furious now, he slammed back into the gym, where she heard him swear loudly, before he slammed right back out to her again.

  ‘You’re calling the police.’

  ‘I don’t really want to. The press will get on it. I have a club to open and I don’t want to lead with a story about dog poo.’ She didn’t want the town laughing at her. Not when she hadn’t even had a go yet.

  A staring stand-off ensued.

  ‘It’s over now,’ she said, caving. She wanted to get it cleared and gone. She’d do her major freaking in the privacy of her own room. She’d wanted to show him the gym and for him to be impressed with it. This wasn’t in keeping with her plan. But he didn’t back down.

  ‘You can either move out, or you call the police and report it. Choice is yours, Tiff.’ He wasn’t budging. Stubborn git.

  ‘Fine then!’ Grumbling, she stamped up the stairs like a sullen teen and plucked the post-it with the crime hotline number off the zip-lock bag which still sat on the furthest corner of her desk. As she dialled, she tried to still her shaking hands, telling herself over and over that she’d survived this before, she’d survive it again.

  Mike and Tiff exchanged few words as they dismantled the ring, each lost in their thoughts of the morning’s events, but in synch with each other and without issue – other than the huge kissy elephant in the room neither of them seemed prepared to address. Soon they had it all dismantled and stacked in the first-floor storeroom. The manual labour appeared to have rubbed off their mutual crossness.

  ‘You doing anything this afternoon?’ Mike asked. It felt like an olive branch.

  ‘Nope.’ She’d cleared the day for him and the ring. The police had been, arriving promptly to detail and photograph the scene, and take away the zip-locked poo, which they hadn’t been as excited by.

  ‘Great. Would it be okay if Tiffanie got in my car?’ What was he doing? ‘I thought it best to ask, you being the boss of you, and that.’ Right, he was taking the mick again. That was a good sign. Ignoring his smirk she grabbed her coat, and walked out, neatly stepping over the remainders of the fire mess and waiting to lock the doors behind him. The letterbox had been secured to Fort Knox levels with layers of Jess’s industrial tape.

  At his Aston, Mike plucked a black beanie out of the glove compartment and pulled it down on her head. It was enormous and covered her eyes, effectively blindfolding her.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Shush. It’s a surprise.’ Tiff wasn’t a fan of surprises, and having the scent of him wrapped about her head was disconcerting, although it did reduce the smell from his shoe. She supposed this was his incognito beanie. A less-flash car might have been more useful. ‘Can’t I just shut my eyes?’

  ‘Nope. Have a little faith,’ he said, as they pulled away from the club.

  ‘I look stupid.’

  ‘You look lovely. Gangsta-cute. Only your horsey jammies would improve it.’

  ‘They’re unicorns. Unicorns are the ones with the horn.’ She heard him snort. Feeling decidedly on the back foot, she was not in the mood for innuendo. ‘Oh, grow up!’

  ‘Says she, with the unicorn pyjamas.’

  ‘They were a gift.’

  ‘Thank fuck for that.’

  They drove in silence. She wasn’t giving him the satisfaction of her badgering for details. It allowed her a moment to consider what had happened. Not the fire thing. She’d locked that away in the Denial box too for another time. She was trying to get a grip on what the bloody hell was going on between them. They’d kissed. A proper knock your socks off kiss, the likes of which she hadn’t known for a very long time. Had the alarm not interrupted, who knew where it would have lead, because she’d have surrendered to it without question.

  But it was Mike. Mikey Fellner. Who’d left her. Regardless of how they’d changed and how they were getting on now, her teenage self would’ve been spitting bricks. Oh, but being touched again had felt soo soo good, grown-up Tiff pointed out. Was that the crux of it though? Skin hunger? That was a thing; she’d seen a documentary on it. Maybe her skin was craving touch. Any touch. Gavin’s dumping her might have been so they could follow other paths, but at the back of her head she felt if he’d desired her, then he wouldn’t have done it. That meant, in Tiff logic, essentially, he hadn’t found her attractive enough. Enough to
sleep with her that last night, but not enough to work things out.

  That little nugget sat festering in her head. It had been further basted when he came to see her and hadn’t immediately seen the error of his ways. So wasn’t it possible she was merely rebounding and desperate for connection? Was Mike simply the first guy to come along? What if Mike was just a right guy in the right place at the right time?

  She felt the car pull up.

  ‘Sit tight. I’ll be ten minutes, tops.’

  ‘But Mike—’ The door shut before she could finish. She was sitting there like a prize-prune; semi-balaclava’d, who-knew-where. She was going to check as soon as she thought he’d gone. The door opened again.

  ‘No peeking. I’ll know.’ The door slammed again and the locks clunked down. She assumed it was for her own safety. She settled in and let her mind continue doing its worst.

  By this point, it now played out in her head, as if she, in her touch-deprived state, had leapt on him. In which case, what had he been playing at? He had kissed back. She was sure of it. He had not, she could categorically say, been fending her off. He was a world champion boxer. Even with her lips leeched to his face, he could have swatted her away. That part had her flummoxed. As she remembered, he wasn’t the lad who would go with any girl. He’d fought hard for her when they’d first met. She’d followed the teen magazines’ advice and made him do the chasing. A lot of chasing. And he had always treated her well, valued and cherished her; he’d truly seen her as a prize.

  As promised, he was back quickly, ditched something behind them and closed his door. Her CSI skills told her they were parked outside a bakery as her nose detected the comforting scents of hot pastry, which thankfully outweighed the poo smell from his shoes. Her stomach rumbled in response as they set off again.