Long Time Coming

by Scarlett Parrish

  And the last thing I’d done was plug in the drive I’d just thrown in the bin. The drive Andrew had given me.

  "The evil, sneaky bastard!" Now I felt it. The anger, dismay, panic and burst of energy which made me want to hit someone. Now came the rage. The useless douchenozzle had given me a thumb drive, knowing I would look at it and release whatever hard-drive-raping virus he’d planted on it along with photos of him in bed with my best friend.

  "Oh God... oh God... This isn’t happening. It can’t be. It can’t be happening..."

  I needed to phone someone. But who? Leo?

  "Oh shut the fuck up, Piper!" Despite shaking my head I couldn’t rid it of thoughts of him. And I knew he wouldn’t do any good in a situation like this. Oh hi, remember me? Yeah. I’m calling because I want to cry on someone’s shoulder about my ex fucking one of my best friends, sending me photos of the event and then fucking up my laptop with a virus of some sort. Glad I called now, aren’t you?

  "Christ, Holt, you’re a fucking loon." I picked up my mobile from the coffee table and scrolled through the phone book. Former lovers. Andrew, Gray, Leo. Seeing Gray’s name reminded me of my brother. Matthias would know what to do, surely?

  No, Matthias would berate me for getting involved with Andrew in the first place and his connection to Gray would make things uber-awkward for a discussion about another ex of mine.

  He loved me, my brother, but he didn’t hold back when he felt I’d screwed up. Whatever he thought about the way things had gone between me and Gray, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that his overwhelming urge as regards Andrew would be to say "I told you so. The guy’s a cock."

  Well yes he was, but that didn’t help any.

  Marie, then, after all.

  I hit the call button, my heart thudding louder and louder, pulse ringing in my ears along with the phone at her end.

  "Hello?"

  Too late to hang up, then. Besides, caller display would make it plain who I was.

  "Piper, is that you?"

  Deep breath. "I’ve seen the photos."

  "I’m sorry, what? Piper, is something wrong?" Without missing a beat.

  Boy, you’re good. I mean, really good. Did you know about this all along? Did Andrew tell you tonight was the night he’d be coming round and handing me that damn device? Did you cook this up between you?

  "Piper? Are you still there?"

  "I’ve seen the photos. Of you and—" Gathering my thoughts and my breath, I ploughed on. "The photos of you with Andrew."

  Beat.

  "Oh." Another pause. "Oh."

  "Yeah. Oh. He very kindly brought round a thumb drive this evening, with photos on it. A drive which, incidentally, has also fucked up my computer. It won’t switch on or reboot, so I’m assuming he planted a virus on the damn thing as well, because if he didn’t it’s a remarkable coincidence isn’t it, that my laptop should die on the very evening I’m gifted with several photos of him feeling your tits and you wrapping your gums around his—"

  "I can explain!"

  "Oh. Can you?" Don’t sound bitchy, Piper. Don’t sound bitchy. Don’t. Lose. Control.

  "It was... I mean... I thought..."

  "I’m waiting."

  "You’d already split up with him!"

  Despite myself, I breathed a sigh of relief. "When did it happen?"

  "Piper, listen to me. I can—"

  "When, Marie?"

  "Sunday night."

  "Last Sunday night?"

  "Yes."

  When I was with Leo, then. After the phone call in my kitchen. "God damn it." Had Andrew been so incensed by Leo’s call that he’d marched round to my place, found me out, then...then what? Continued to Marie’s and fucked her out of revenge?

  "He was upset, and..."

  "Upset and carrying a bottle of wine?" I snapped, recalling the photo of her raising her glass.

  "No, I already had... look, I know how this looks—"

  "Yes, and thanks to David Bailey here, I know how it looks in glorious fucking Technicolor. Because that’s the kind of guy he is. He pretended to be upset, then got you drunk and took photos of you both. That’s Andrew Kincaid all over, and you fell for it."

  "Now listen, it wasn’t like that. I mean, he... I..."

  "Yes, Marie? How exactly would you explain the fact you have had sex with my ex?"

  "Piper, come on, be reasonable. It’s not as if you were still together and let’s face it, you’d been to bed with another—"

  "Who I have been to bed with or not is irrelevant here. We’re talking about you. You, creeping with Andrew." Something inside me shuddered. I wasn’t getting it. Yet. "It’s not even that classy. Alcohol? You let him take photographs? Him? I always knew he was a... a... Christ. I expected better of you."

  "I’m sorry. What do you want me to say?"

  "I want this never to have happened. I want you never to have had sex with my ex-boyfriend. Because it doesn’t matter that we’d split up. Or how long it’d been, or how short a time. It doesn’t matter. You just don’t do that. I mean, it’s been, what, weeks? And you..." Yes, it’s only been weeks, and she jumped in pretty fast. "You fell for it? You fell for his act? That’s what he does, Marie. He acts in a certain way to get what he wants and he... he..."

  "Piper, can’t we talk about this?"

  "No, Marie. We can’t. Because it boils down to you let Andrew put his penis inside you. The fact you didn’t tell me about it right away—" I choked on my own suspicion. The penny hadn’t quite dropped, but it was beginning to topple. "The fact I had to find out from him, shows you wanted to keep it secret."

  "I was embarrassed!"

  "Embarrassed, is it? Embarrassed? Interesting that you use that word rather than ‘ashamed’. Hell, I’m embarrassed that I ever went out with the guy. What’s your excuse for doing what you did? You were drunk? I hope your hangover wasn’t too bad; I know there’s not enough alcohol in the world for me to..." There it was again, that internal shudder. Like a penny falling over. "Marie."

  "What?" Her voice wasn’t as small as I thought it should have been, given who was in the wrong here.

  "That night we were supposed to meet up in Kelleher’s and you cancelled."

  She paused before answering. Only for a second, but that was long enough. "What about it?"

  "Did you really have a migraine, or... did you find something better to do? No, no, don’t answer that. Were you ever going to tell me? No, don’t answer that. Fuck. Fuck. I’m going to hang up now."

  "No, don’t! I—"

  "And if you ever, ever try to get in touch with me again..." I bit my bottom lip, eyed the bin on the other side of the room. She didn’t know I’d deleted all photographs... "If you ever try to contact me again, I’ll plaster those photos all over the internet and everyone will know what a cheap little tart you are."

  I slid my phone shut and collapsed back into the settee cushions, waiting for the tears to come, but they didn’t.

  Maybe it had just happened. Maybe they had just fallen into it, or at least she had. Andrew? Devious bastard. But either way, it didn’t bleach out their duplicity. Apologizing now didn’t change the past. "I’m sorry; what do you want me to say?" Marie had asked. Sorry, sorry, sorry. I should have stopped while I —we—had the chance.

  Ah, but that would have meant acknowledging something way back then, recognizing their own culpability. Stopping, pulling back, saying "No," would have been the simplest, surest way to force them to look at what they were contemplating. And why would anyone choose to confront their own potential mistreatment of someone they supposedly cared for?

  Nineteen

  "And there’s your salad." I punctuated my words with an inane grin as our boss liked us to do. Normally I ignored her orders masquerading as advice and spoke to the customers as I pleased—that is, as if they were humans and not brain-dead spackers—but today I pretended. Today I plastered a Hollywood smile on my face so the misery wouldn’t trip me up.

 
; "Thanks love." The gentleman and his wife responded with smiles more genuine than my own and I felt guilty for fooling them as he spoke. "Always nice to be served by someone with such a pretty smile."

  "Steve, leave the poor girl alone; you’re embarrassing her."

  ‘Steve’ shrugged. "What? I was only—"

  "I’d better see to my other tables," I said, hoping my hasty exit would help Steve avoid further nagging. "People. People at the tables I mean. Enjoy your meal."

  It took too much effort to appear normal. I couldn’t hold a smile for that long. I’m a waitress, not an actress.

  For a few days I’d been susceptible to moments of melancholy which was only natural given everything that had happened, but it wasn’t me. Not me at all. Piper Holt was the woman who bounced back.

  But Andrew and Marie, those photos... and my computer fucking up. Whether it was directly connected to anything Andrew had done or not I couldn’t be certain but the timing was too damn convenient for it to be otherwise when I examined the matter closely.

  "Piper?" Karen asked as she passed, carrying a pile of plates.

  Our eyes met, but we said nothing further. She frowned. I raised my eyebrows as if to say nothing’s wrong but we both knew it was a lie. I hadn’t told her about Andrew and Marie or the photographs, just wanted to forget about it. Didn’t stop me torturing myself. At least you haven’t given Andrew the satisfaction of a reaction.

  Too, Marie hadn’t been in touch so while saddening, it was also a relief. She likely believed I would plaster those photos all over the internet and shame kept her from me.

  Well fair enough. I shrugged, not caring what anyone around me thought. I don’t need people like her in my life anyway.

  What I do need is—

  Oh shut up, Piper. Shut the fuck up and get on with your job.

  The diner was busy that day, especially at lunchtime, for which I was grateful. Conversation buzzed, children yelled, women gossiped, cutlery clattered against crockery, people called out requests for another coffee or more tomato sauce.

  The one good thing about the job was there were days when I barely had a moment to myself.

  "Piper, Piper!" Another waitress, Lori, broke into my thoughts. Not very interesting ones. Having managed to avoid Andrew and Marie in my head for all of ten minutes, I’d been thinking about a pair of shoes I’d seen in a shop window the day before and wondering whether they’d be suitable for work.

  "Yeah?" One didn’t have to be as polite with co-workers as with customers. Of course, we were within hearing distance of said customers, but the closer the clock drew me to home-time the less I cared. My desire to fake happiness had all but melted.

  "There’s someone over there asking for you." She thumbed over her shoulder and my own slumped.

  "God, it’s not Andrew is it?" He’d occupied my mind for enough time; I didn’t want him parking his mangy ass in my workplace too, even if technically, as a member of the public, he had every right to do so.

  Lori shook her head. Most of my co-workers knew Andrew as he’d been in here a number of times, or met me from work. "Much better looking than Andrew. Irish accent. Sat at one of my tables but insisted on being served by you." Her lips curved into a conspiratorial smile. "I don’t know where you find them, Piper," she added, her voice dropping as low as it could while still being heard above the lunchtime hubbub, "but you have a talent for finding handsome guys."

  I craned my neck. "Irish, you said?"

  "Yeah. Over by the window. Look." She pointed, and just at that moment, as if he’d heard us speaking from across the room, he looked up. Chin still lowered, but looking up through his lashes, the side of his mouth raised ever so slightly, as if something tickled him.

  "You know him?"

  Mute, I nodded.

  "Well of course. He wouldn’t have asked for you otherwise. Unless he’s some kind of stalker, although if you want my opinion, if I was being stalked by someone who looked like that, I wouldn’t be complaining," she said almost to herself as she headed in the other direction. Always more tables on which to wait, more people to serve.

  My feet, glued to the floor, refused to move. The only sound I heard clearly was my heartbeat pounding in my ears. Vaguely I was aware of the other sounds around me; chatter, chairs being moved, children yelping, but they were muffled now, as if I wore thick headphones, through which only the sound of my own heart filtered.

  Still staring, he lifted his clasped hands and forearms off the table, adjusted his jacket and sat up straight; the movement made me jump and judging by the increasing wideness of his smirk, he noticed.

  Go to him, the voice in my head whispered. He asked for you specifically. Go to him.

  But I couldn’t. Something stopped me. Why I should be nervous around him I didn’t know, but here he was in my place of work. In my world.

  He cocked his head, once, beckoning, and this simple gesture jolted me into action. I cleared my throat, approached, praying no one would interrupt, stop me and ask for a salt cellar, more coffee, a sugar bowl. For once, a miracle happened. On a day as hectic as this, I had free passage across the floor with no interruptions. I arrived at his table with the urge to kick my heels, hands held behind my back, hanging my head.

  Get a fucking grip, Holt. Again I cleared my throat, and reached into both pockets, one for my notepad, the other for my pencil. "Yes sir, what can I get you?"

  He burst out laughing, showing pearly white teeth, and that dimple I had often-

  "Piper. Now there’s a loaded question."

  Drinking him in. Trying not to smile. God, you’re a sight for sore eyes.

  With one arm resting on the table he laid the other hand on his thigh, halfway between his knee and his—

  Don’t look at his crotch, Piper. You’re at work. Don’t look at his— oh fuck it, go on, look.

  And he caught me. There it was, the smile in his eyes, the dimple on his cheek, that knowing look. He knew exactly what he was doing. He’d wanted me to look.

  "What’s on the menu?" he asked.

  "What would you like?"

  That smile. Again.

  He clasped both hands on the table and lowered his voice so I was forced —not reluctantly at all—to draw closer.

  "You really should stop asking me questions like that, you know. I could take them the wrong way."

  "I’m at work. In a diner. These are questions I ask everyone."

  "Tart."

  "Yes, that’s on the menu today. I can recommend the cherry."

  "Does it come with cream?" He laughed when surprise made me cough. "Piper, sit down."

  Why do you have to say my name like that? Why do you have to keep looking at me...? "I can’t. I’m at work."

  "Aren’t you due a break?"

  "Soon. But fraternizing with the customers?" I shook my head and tutted. "Just wouldn’t do. I’d have other people asking why a waitress was sitting down drinking a cup of coffee instead of serving. Which is why I usually leave the premises or sit 'round back. People don’t seem to understand we deserve a break as much as the next person. More so, in fact, what with being on our feet all day, but hey, as long as we’re around to bow and scrape, why should anyone bother thinking about our feelings? And... relax... sorry. Right. What do you want?"

  Eyebrows raised, he stared out from beneath a furrowed brow. "Piper, are you...?" He gestured to the seat opposite him in the window booth. They were usually the first tables to go; Lord knew how he’d managed to find one and keep it all to himself. "Go on, take a seat."

  "I’ll get in trouble."

  "Don’t you want to sit with me?"

  "Do you want me to get into trouble with my boss?"

  "I really don’t give a shit what your boss thinks, and neither should you—"

  "She pays my—" But the look on his face—Leo’s beautiful face—stopped me. At that moment I cared more about his opinion than my manager’s. She would nag; Leo would frown in disapproval. I knew which I thought w
orse.

  I sank onto the bench opposite him with a groan of relief.

  "That sound like the sigh of a woman who’s thoroughly pissed off."

  After shoving my notepad and pencil back in my pockets I continued staring down at my lap. "So why..." Forcing myself to look up, I continued. "What are you doing here?"

  "I’m hungry." He rested his chin on his fist and shrugged.

  "There were no other diners you could go to?"

  "None that have what I want." Wink.

  "This doesn’t strike me as your sort of eatery."

  "Really, Miss Holt—are you putting down your place of work?"

  "It’s hardly the Four Seasons, is it?"

  "You think I’m a Four Seasons kinda guy? Fuck off!" His laughter drew the attention of surrounding diners. Some frowned, some smirked.

  "Put it this way. It’s a diner. You’re... well, you don’t strike me as the kind of man who’d go to a poxy cafe for his meals when you could probably afford to go somewhere a bit more upmarket. Or cook for yourself. You’re good at that." Amongst other things.

  "I really wish you’d stop putting your job down. In fact, I’ve gotta admit, I wanted to see what you looked like in that uniform." He stared as if he had X-ray vision, saw through the top half of my black dress and through the table, into my lap, past the lower half of my outfit too.

  "So you’re not hungry?"

  "Oh, of course I am." He chewed his thumbnail, fidgeted for a second, steepled his fingers in front of his face and murmured, "just not for anything you could legally sell."

  God, he still wants me. Thank the gods, he still wants me.

  "How have you been?"

  "Fine."

  "Really?"

  "Really."

  "Liar. You look stressed."

  "I’m at work. People have me running here there and everywhere. At home, not so much. But when you come into my workplace, see me in this sort of environment, of course I’ll be jittery."

  "So... you’re not jittery because I’m here?" he teased.

  "No. Sorry. I..." Need to get back to work? I had no clue how I was supposed to pull away from him without it sounding like an excuse, some meaningless line I recited with the purpose of getting him out of my sight.