by Ally Sky
“Come and eat!” I hear a shout from the top of the stairs and I know there’s no point in arguing with Danny.
I reluctantly close the box of paints, completely unaware of the time. In the last few hours, I’ve painted and listened to music at a high volume. I wash my hands in the sink and am reminded of Ben, grabbing my wrists and looking with shock at the tiny, scarred lines, with the white circles decorating them. I shake my head.
The table is loaded with food. I sit in front of my plate, facing Danny’s prying gaze. I don’t feel like fighting with him, but I have no appetite. I really don’t.
I put a few pieces of potatoes on my plate.
Danny’s stare leaves no room for doubt—he expects me to eat more. John carries on pretending nothing is going on. I need to learn a thing or two from him.
I take a few more potatoes without looking at Danny. I don’t want to see his angry gaze, and anyway, I have no intention of eating more than this. What I’ve taken is more than enough. I pick up my fork in silence like a good little girl, stick it into a piece of baked potato, and put it in my mouth. I chew slowly and swallow it, washing it down with a sip of the white wine Danny poured for me. Then another piece. And another. Slowly, like Chinese torture, I finish all of the potatoes.
The heavy feeling of food in my stomach is awful. I can just imagine its digestion in my stomach, and with every passing second I’m losing precious time. I have to get rid of it. There’s no way I’m going to leave it inside of me.
“You see that you were hungry?” Danny says to me.
Right. I ate it only to shut him up. I have to get to the bathroom.
“Now that I’ve eaten, may I please go back down to the basement?” I bite out, frustrated.
“Don’t stay down there till late, I don’t want to come and pull you out by your ears.”
“Yes, Dad,” I grumble, getting up and going down the stairs with the clear intention of getting to the toilet as quickly as possible.
I go into the small toilet and lock the door. The toilet bowl is clean and white. I face it and bend forward, holding my hair with one hand, while I shove a finger down my throat with the other. Come on, short and quick. A jet of food and wine gushes out into the toilet. A little more, so nothing’s left. My finger tickles my throat, skillfully stimulating my vomiting reflex. It's used to my finger and my body reacts, obediently and wonderfully. My stomach empties and a wonderful feeling, a high of control, fills me. No harm. Everything came out.
I wash my hands thoroughly and glimpse in the mirror above the sink. I imagine the thick layer of makeup I’m going to have to put on tomorrow to hide the incriminating evidence – the burst blood vessels around my eyes and under my eyebrows.
I’ll just wash my face a bit and hope that under the weak light of the basement, no one will ask any questions.
If Danny knew...he’d kill me. But I don’t care. Not enough to stop, that’s for sure.
Sunday
June 3rd 2012
A long finger tickles my throat, drawing out the food. It rushes up, arriving like a welcome guest. The taste in my mouth is bitter and sour, and tiny blood vessels burst out around my eyes.
Then my heart calms down, and a great quiet overcomes. You’re all right. Good girl. You can breathe again, it’s all out and you’re clean. Nothing is left like a stone inside, not in my stomach or in my heart.
I sit down on the floor, stretch my hand, and flush the toilet. My head leans back on the cold white porcelain.
I rub my collarbone. It still protrudes. See? So does my hipbone. My dear bone, you stick out and I’m calm, calm and purified. Nothing has happened. It’s all out. Now go to bed.
Wednesday morning, I make my way to Brick Lane again to congratulate Gary. Apparently he just had a baby, either a boy or girl, Sarah couldn’t really say.
The city has been busy and boisterous for the last two days, in honor of the Queen’s jubilee. Her Royal Highness arranged two free days for me, and I spent them in the basement, hiding away, writing my blog, and surfing the internet, wide awake until three in the morning.
I know what’s happening. I’m not stupid. I know that my body is reveling and I’m becoming dizzy. But I love it. God help me, I love myself this way, happy and cheerful, mischievous and carefree. Even if after all the fun, a few grey days will come along.
I long for Ben.
I have no intention of letting him know. I need to find the correct dosage that won’t chase him away. I’m not going to phone him like some high school girl. No, my plans are more sophisticated than that.
He wants me; he wants me not. What’s he so afraid of?
His history with Jenny bothers me. Ben might have chosen his words carefully, but I already knew something happened, something which burned him plenty, made him want to play games now and pretend, made him unwilling to get close.
I miss him, too much.
As I enter the gallery, Gary looks down from the top floor to see who it is. A huge grin appears on his face when he sees it’s me. I smile back at him.
“Hi! Talia! I’ll be right down,” he calls out, then clatters down the spiral staircase and joins me downstairs while I’m busy examining one of the paintings on the wall, some abstract painting in a mixture of purples and yellows. I turn my head as Gary stands next to me.
“Do you like it?” he enquires.
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“That was my first reaction as well,” he laughs, “but it turns out I made a good decision by giving it a chance.”
“How come?”
“It was sold straight away. A woman came in and couldn’t resist it.”
“So how come it’s still here?” I pull a face.
“She’ll finish the renovations on her house on the weekend. I’ll send it to her on Sunday.”
“The more I look at it, the more I like it,” I say still standing in front of the colorful canvas.
“What brings you here?” he asks, changing the subject and I glance away from the painting.
“I heard congratulations are in order.” I smile widely and lift the present I have with me.
“Wow, that’s so nice of you!” His grin is full of joy as I hand him the present.
“I’ll open it at home, with my wife.” He takes his phone out from his back pocket. “Do you want to see some pictures of her?”
It’s a girl.
“Of course!” I smile as he opens his mobile and a picture of a beautiful baby girl appears on the screen.
“What’s her name?” I look at the picture of the tiny, sleeping baby.
“Ruth.”
“She’s lovely,” I enthuse. She is lovely and looks so peaceful.
“Funny you came especially for this,” he says, closes his phone and puts it back in his pocket.
“Why do you say that?” I continue walking through the gallery with him while he straightens a painting on the wall.
“I’m meeting your boss this evening. He could have brought it with him, though I suppose that’s not his style.”
He steps back from the painting to see if it’s straight.
He’s meeting my boss today? Which boss is he talking about?
“Who are you meeting?” I ask nonchalantly and pretend to be studying a painting on the wall.
“Ben Storm. We’re having supper together. We have some things to finalize.”
He’s meeting Ben?
“Where are you supposed to be meeting?” I carry on walking around the gallery as a sly and terrible idea pops into my head.
No, Talia, don’t you dare! Calm down immediately.
“At the Hawksmoor, Covent Garden. Your boss has expensive taste.”
I can’t help myself. Cunning plans call for forbidden actions sometimes, and I’m about to do just that right now.
“Didn’t Sharon call you?” I ask him in all seriousness.
Talia, you’re mental!
“Sharon?” he questions.
“Yes, Mr.
Storm’s secretary.”
“Why should she have called?”
“Because Mr. Storm had unexpected family business to attend to and he had to go out of town yesterday. He went up north, I think…” I swallow hard and look at Gary inscrutably, checking to see if he’s bought the story.
Oh God. I’m crossing a line.
“I hope nothing’s wrong,” he says in concern.
“Me too. I’m sure Sharon will call you to arrange a new date,” I mumble, aware that the only one who is going to have to be dealt with is me, once Ben finds out what I’ve done, and then I’ll have to deal with his anger.
“Well, I must get going. Congratulations, again.” I smile slightly as my heart pounds.
I really am mental. What am I thinking?
I say goodbye to Gary, go outside, and sit on one of the benches in the shade. I light up a cigarette, pull out my phone, and dial.
“Hawksmoor Restaurant. How can I help you?” A woman’s voice is on the other end.
“Hello, this is Mr. Storm’s secretary. I just want to make sure you have a reservation under his name for this evening?”
“Yes, Madame, for two people at seven o’clock.”
“Seven o’clock. Thank you.” I turn off the phone, my level of manipulation surprising even myself.
It’s one thirty. I still have plenty of time. If I’m going to be meeting one angry man this evening, I had better wear something really nice. At least I’ll distract him with a gorgeous new dress. I can afford one, plus a pair of matching high heels at New Look. They aren’t expensive.
I’ve started working and I have money from the apartment at home. So what if I’ve spent some money in the past few days? It doesn’t mean a thing.
I know the only one I’m kidding is myself. I’m spending money because nothing concerns me right now. This is just another warning signal I’m ignoring, as I speed toward serious chaos.
I get off at Oxford Street, enter the huge shop, and take the stairs. I want an amazing dress, not just another cheap-looking one, of which they have hundreds here. This demands a serious quest.
Half an hour later, I step out of the dressing room, wearing an elegant, black dress. It’s a bodycon dress, the kind that clings to your body like a second skin. The fabric ends just above my knees. It wraps around me tightly, the cleavage going up in a straight line, connecting to one strap only, leaving my back exposed all the way to my waist. And it costs only fifty pounds. I feel great in it even though it’s very tight. Ben will love it. He has to love it. And now for shoes.
I saunter over to the shelves where I immediately see the perfect pair: impressive high heels with peep toes, covered entirely in burgundy lace, embedded with tiny, twinkling sequins, which create an amazing pattern. I try them on and take a few steps, just to test my balance in such high heels. They fit me perfectly and I definitely know how to walk in stilettos.
The evening has to be perfect, just as soon as I manage to appease Ben’s anger.
I pay at the till. Seventy pounds. Not too bad. He’s worth it.
Should I wait for him at the restaurant or go in after he arrives? The question has been playing in my head the entire afternoon. I stand in front of the mirror, dressed, putting on my makeup. How complicated can it be? I want my dress and new shoes to do the job. And that won’t happen if I arrive before he does and wait at the table. So I should get there after he does, not too long after, maybe just five minutes later. I hope he won’t be late. I could get there early, watch the restaurant from across the street, and go in after him.
Jeez, James Bond, calm down, will you?
I swear whoever designed this dress is a horny genius. There’s not a single curve that isn’t showcased—not that I have curves, only tiny protruding bones. But I’m thin enough to wear it and feel great in it. And the shoes…I’m pleased with them. I’m really pleased for a change.
At six thirty, I take my small black clutch and shove my phone into it. I’m not going to ruin my look by taking a bag with a ridiculous shoulder strap. I go out into the living room. Danny and John are sitting on the high stools around the black marble island. Danny almost chokes when he sees me.
“Whoa!” he splutters in surprise. His eyes open wide and a small smile appears on his face. “Where are you going dressed like that?”
“I have a meeting,” I answer unsmilingly, trying to give the impression that my meeting is purely work-related.
“Meeting-meeting, or I-have-a-hot-date-with-a-guy-I-really-like meeting?” He grins mischievously, staring at me inquisitively.
“A meeting,” I answer succinctly without providing any more details and take out my mobile to order a cab. I’m not taking the tube dressed like this.
“At least we can be sure it’ll be a success.” John looks amused by the entire situation.
“I’ll be back later. I don’t know what time so don’t worry about me,” I mention, looking in Danny’s direction, trying to calm down his natural inclination to worry about me.
“I’m not worried about you, I’m worried about whoever you’re going to meet dressed in that…in whatever it is you’ve chosen to wear.” He laughs.
“Is this a bad choice?” I panic from his reaction.
Maybe it doesn’t look as good as I thought it did? Oh no, the cab is almost here and I don’t have time to change my clothes.
“A bad choice?” He laughs loudly. “Talia, I don’t know what you’re planning on achieving tonight, but you’ll get it before even entering the room.” He shakes his head and I glance at John, needing his approval.
“Talia, you’re going to knock them dead.” He winks, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
Okay. It’s successful.
If they knew whom I was going to meet and what I did to arrange it, there would be a plane waiting for me on the runway. The cab honks its horn outside, cutting off my chain of worried thoughts. I give them a final smile and go outside.
At five minutes to seven, I squeeze myself out of the cab in the crazy dress. I’m five minutes early. I hope he isn’t early as well. I have no choice but to find a good lookout spot.
I find a dark spot and hide, not taking my eyes off the restaurant’s entrance. Occasionally I glance over my shoulder, seriously hoping he’s not going to suddenly appear behind me. That would be embarrassing and lame and ruin the entire evening.
At exactly seven o’clock, I see a pair of familiar broad shoulders coming my way. He’s predictably prompt. My heart pounds with excitement. He walks briskly and disappears into the restaurant. I wait.
Let’s give him two minutes to get settled.
I have no way of knowing how he’ll react, and that makes me nervous. I can only imagine he’ll be surprised. Will he be angry? Upset? Will he laugh at my sly scheming? It’s time to find out.
I open the door of the restaurant with shaking hands and a smiling server checks me out.
“Mr. Storm?” I ask, and she points toward the corner of the restaurant.
“Should I escort you?”
“There’s no need. Thank you very much,” I stammer, trying to calm the beating of my heart. Here goes nothing!
The restaurant is softly lit and the smell of meat spreads throughout the round, wooden tables, set closely together. The place isn’t packed yet, but I assume that’ll change as the evening progresses. I make my way slowly to the table when a pair of surprised green eyes spot me.
Oh God.
I smile my most charming smile and continue walking until I reach the table. His stunned gaze checks me out in my tight dress and new high heels. He looks amazing, dressed in a dark suit with a white shirt and tie, the color of which I’m unable to figure out in the dim light of the restaurant. His short hair gleams and he’s clean-shaven. He looks gorgeous. I try to stay calm.
“Good evening.” I smile, trying to control my shaky voice. I need to give him another second to appreciate my fabulous dress.
“Talia.” He doesn’t hide the surprise in hi
s voice and he’s still checking me out. Okay, I think he’s seen enough. Without giving it another thought, I pull out the chair opposite him and sit elegantly, putting my clutch on the table in front of me.
“Beautiful, I’m waiting for someone,” he apologizes with a smile.
Okay, stay calm. It’s too late now to do anything, so be as charming as possible and he won’t be able to resist you.
“Ah, yes, well, Gary won’t be coming this evening after all.” I pretend to be looking for something in my clutch.
“What do you mean?” He frowns and I look at him with a small, mischievous smile, pleading guilty.
“Talia!” He gets angry. “What have you done?”
“Me?” I feign innocence, unable to wipe the stupid grin off my face. He narrows his eyes. They’re smoldering. Okay, this isn’t good, but for some reason, even now, I have to make an effort not to giggle.
“Gary couldn’t make it this evening. Or maybe, it’s you who can’t meet him? I really don’t remember,” I say, still trying to hold back the giggle that’s trying to make its way out, even as I see how confused and angry he is. Does he know how amazing he is, even when he’s angry?
“What are you talking about?” he asks nervously, but I find the whole situation rather amusing—another sign of a celebration.
“Gary may be under the impression that you’re out of town.”
“What?” He’s furious now. Well, that was expected. After all, this time I went too far. It’s time to calm him down and get us both into a good mood.
“Listen, this is how things are. Gary’s not coming. He’s expecting a call from Sharon telling him when you can reschedule. I, on the other hand, am here and I’m dying for a glass of wine. So what are you ordering me?” I raise a cheeky eyebrow.
“Listen to me carefully, young lady. I have no problem if you want to play your little games, but the minute you start interfering with my work, you are crossing the line.” His expression is scary.
I haven’t seen that expression before and I don’t like it. I swallow hard.