Fractures

by M R Field

  Our business relationship has moved into a friendship, and the lines have blurred where client and employee are drawn. I still feel he wants us to be friendlier, but at times I find it awkward to know how to react. His hand grips my shoulder as we look at plans, his elbow nudging mine to get my attention to something his focus is on—these are all things I’m not used to. I’m not used to the affection that he naturally exudes. But I have mastered not flinching so much when his hand spontaneously gripped my arm in delight.

  My firecracker is the only one whose touch never makes me second guess anything, let alone myself. Smiling at our earlier messages, I look forward to delivering lunch to her and spending a little time with her. Even if it isn’t to get her bent over her desk. It has been a while since any form of desperate, angry sex was needed to distract us from something shit in our lives. Now, the desperation was replaced with a passionate need. There had been a few close calls. So, from those few near misses, where we stood red-faced and attempted to behave naturally, we cracked smiles at them, wondering if they’d seen my … other crack moments earlier. I groan in frustration.

  While I’m meeting Ricardo is not the time to think about Trin and what we get up to. Adjusting the tightness of my slacks behind the sketches while his back is to me gives me little reprieve. Think of your middle school sports teacher who had the unibrow. Think of that hairy caterpillar… and that, folks, is a quick remedy to deflate alter-egos. These weekly meetings usually precede my afternoon briefing back at the office. They also gives my boss an excuse to check up on this ritzy project I’m doing. I never was so hands-on with my other projects, yet even though Ricardo had got me here under emotional blackmail, it gave me a chance to get to know him.

  “Okay, Johnnie, that sounds on track. Call me if you need anything else,” he booms civilly. Turning to face me, his eyes light up as his chin lifts affectionately. I raise my free hand in greeting and walk to the doorway behind him as he finishes his call. The lights illuminate the back room, where the kitchen is destined to go. The polished concrete from the original building gleams under the down lights. It brings a smile to my face as I remember showing Ricardo an image of my own flooring; Elly had described it to him after a recent visit, and he decided to copy it.

  Stepping into the room, the shell of the room illuminates to form as sheets of stainless steel lean against the walls, ready to mount later on as benches are installed, giving a faint outline of what the industrial kitchen will look like. A loan espresso machine sits plugged in the corner on a makeshift bench with a water jug beside it, ready to fill it. I smirk at his coffee addiction.

  “I imported the fixtures for the sink and bench top.” Ricardo ’s voice breaks into my thoughts. “I don’t want cheap shit in my kitchen. It needs to be made to last. I expect it all to be down in three months. No later.” He follows my gaze and asks, “You want a coffee?”

  “No, I’m fine.” I smile. “Once they certify the structure and appliances, I’ll bring the latest document over,” I add as I look around the room, picturing where the dishwasher and cooktops will go. “No doubt it’ll be fine. You’ll have enough firepower here to cook for an army.” I chuckle as I turn towards him.

  “So, a normal Sunday dinner at my place.” He smirks. “Excelente.”

  I hold out the latest sketch, and he grabs it from me and walks over to the bench to take a look at it. He hums softly as he studies the plan for the bar area, which needed a few more tweaks.

  “This will hold a lot of wine,” he says, as he points to the shelving.

  “You did say it was going to be a wine bar, on top of everything else.”

  “I could throw the dance shoes in there, too,” he jokes at the intricate designs above the liquor shelves. I have mapped out where the bottles will go, whilst also keeping with his original idea of a wall of wine. So much for being an architect—now he had me drawing interior ideas as well.

  “Too much?” My fingertips tingle, and I want to move the sketch away in uncertainly.

  “Never,” he muses as his eyes squint at my writing across the page. “Here.” He points mid shelf, and I step forward hesitantly, surprised at my sudden shyness. “There should be two rolling ladders, to span the entire wall. Otherwise someone could be waiting while the other has a jolly time. It’ll make it easier to grab something from the other side if they have to pass each other.”

  “Jolly?” I grin, the nerves reducing speed.

  He waves his hand at me. “You young people don’t understand this term. When I came here over forty years ago, all the Australians said it. So, I am a kangaroo too, and I use it.” He tilts his head down, so his eyes look above his thick-rimmed glasses at me. “No jolly time for us, today. Just work.”

  I snort as I grab the pen from my pocket. Quickly drawing an additional ladder, I position it to the side of the other. After a few moments, I turn to find Ricardo staring at me.

  “To you, a simple drawing, but to me, it always mystifies me to watch you create something.” He smiles, and I feel my collar tighten at the compliment as heat rises along my neck.

  “Uh, thanks.” I cough to clear my throat. I learnt the hard way to not mention that it was merely a ladder, as the last time I did, he scolded me. “Do you think the circle that Giotto drew for the Pope Boniface was just a fucking circle? No! He knew what simplicity was in that drawing, and perfection stemmed from it.” Yep, I got schooled by my new father. The point had been well and truly made.

  “Right, so once this is measured up better, we can look at a few manufacturers who can make it.”

  “Bien.” He nods, tapping the sketch twice with his knuckles. “This is”—his nose wrinkles as a smirk lines his lips in affirmation—“going to be brilliant.”

  I shrug in seeming nonchalance when secretly my insides are about to explode. These compliments are doing my head in. My social ineptitude tells me that silence is the best response, but the look of appreciation across his face pushes me to mutter quietly, “Thank you, Ricardo.”

  “Come,” he commands as he briskly walks past me. “We must review the other areas and check they are up to date.”

  By now, I know this code is bullshit for spending more time with me, but rather than my steps going to the front door as they had a few months back, they trail eagerly behind him. By the time I leave that day, he has coerced me into dinner at his place the next night, effectively collapsing more of the wall that I had originally built to keep him out.

  “So he roped you into dinner tomorrow night?” Elly asks me as I pay for the focaccias and coffees I ordered for Trin and I.

  “Geez, I only left the site fifteen minutes ago. Did he message you already?”

  “Of course he did.” She grins, her green eyes gleaming back at me mischievously. “You didn’t say if you were bringing your girlfriend or not. He wanted to double check so Mum caters enough.”

  I cock my head as an unstoppable grin traces my lips. This is not the first time I’ve heard of Aria and her cooking skills. Being a chef herself, she had gotten Ricardo’s attention at a work function after he complained that the selection of hors d'oeuvres were mediocre. After storming out and confronting him while she was a young apprentice, he took notice of her and pursued her.

  Looking into the brown paper bag in my hand that is not only filled with our lunches, but also a slice of cake each, I shake my head. “If she’s anything like you, I’m sure there will be more than enough, but sadly, not this time. Once the project is done, I’ll introduce her.” Reaching for the coffee tray, I gesture with my chin towards it. “Thanks, Elly. You spoilt me yet again when you didn’t need to.”

  “Oh, Theo,” she mutters. “When will you realise this is the way we Europeans work? You’re going to need to start wearing elastic pants around here. I can’t help but want to feed your skinny arse. You’re as bad as our little sister.”

  “Speaking of which, tell her I have a surprise for her. Got one for you, too. I got it a size bigger as I know she
hates fitted stuff—fuck knows why.”

  “Yep, don’t get me started. But she’ll appreciate it if it’s from you.”

  I shuffle on the spot, using the coffees in my hand as an excuse to get moving. This family and compliments were going to give me a complex.

  “Cool, I’ll see you tomorrow night.” I walk away, eager to get to Trin.

  “Wear your trackies as you won’t need to eat for a week,” she calls out to me, and I chuckle. “She’ll probably give you a take-home container too—just saying.”

  Pushing through the door, I head down the street towards Trin’s warehouse, which is in seeing distance. Excitement pools in my stomach as my steps bring me closer, until I notice a group of people standing out front. I pick up my pace as the excitement turns to unease. Two people appear to be facing off towards … Trin.

  As I reach them, Trin stands there with her hands on her hips, glaring at the couple. My footsteps echo loudly across the pavement as the couple’s faces turn towards me, and I recognise them both. Brit from high school, with a few body modifications, and her fiancé, Ryder, who also happens to be my agent. Dread fills my stomach. Oh, what fuckery is this?!

  “For the last time,” Trin sneers, “I have asked you to please leave my premises. It’s bad enough you felt the need to barge in while I was serving a customer, causing them to leave.” Pointing away from her tense body, she continues, “Now leave, before I get more pissed.” Her shining eyes hit mine, and I watch the stiffness in her shoulders loosen.

  “Everything okay?” I move to protect her and feel the brunt of frustration as my hands are filled with our lunch, preventing me from touching her.

  “Just dandy.” Her voice tilts sarcastically. “I was telling these souls to move along,”

  Brit stands clutching Ryder’s elbow, as her eyes meet mine apprehensively. Yeah, I remember you. Her grip causes Ryder to turn and cast his eyes down briefly to her hand before turning his head towards me. His head jerks back in recognition, and I step closer to greet him.

  “Ryder.” I hold up my full hands in apology, “I’d shake your hand, but …”

  “No, no.” His red face flinches as he’s caught in the crossfire. “That’s fine, Theo.”

  “You know this dickwad?” Trin shrieks. “Oh fucking hell,” she yells, palming her forehead.

  Ryder begins, “Theo is one of my—”

  “We’ve worked together on a few projects.” A lump of lead forms in my throat as I struggle to swallow the emissive lie down.

  “Well, I hope he was more of a gentleman on the worksite than he has been here today,” she snaps as she crosses her arms over her chest. A tendril falls from the back of her hair, and I want to weave it between my fingertips, tugging her closer to me. Pulling her head back towards my lips as she begs for more. When she’s fiery like this, she is magnificent in the sack, but now is not the time to plan my next scene with her.

  “I believe we asked nicely to have you make Brit’s dress and, to be honest, after your revolting display, I hardly think we should have bothered.” Ryder’s voice cuts through the air as the tension begins to rise again. So much for pleasantries.

  “Sorry, I told you guys to get the hell out of my establishment, after you STORMED INTO MY PREMISES DEMANDING MY SERVICES!” She stomps her foot, and I can’t help thinking how cute she is. I school my features, as it will most likely end up with a kick in the shin, if she catches wind of it.

  “Okay, okay.” I stand in between them, more to prevent Trin’s volatile behaviour from hightailing towards them in the air. Blowing out a breath, I hope not to lose my current contract by stating, “Look, in respect to the situation, I think it’s best we go our separate ways. I believe she isn’t interested in being your seamstress. So let’s call it a day.”

  “I did give Brit an option.” Trin’s hand moves to my shoulder from behind me as Brit flinches.

  “Oh?” I pause, watching Brit’s face pale. “What was it?”

  “Um, it doesn’t matter now,” Brit quietly says. “I think we’ve wasted enough time here.”

  She looks up at Ryder and pulls on his arm to encourage him to step away, but he doesn’t move.

  “Honey, you raved non-stop about this place.” His brow furrows as he stares at her. “You told me you knew the owner, and you couldn’t wait to get started. Plus, you made me read all those online reviews.”

  Brit lowers her gaze to the pavement as he continues, while Trin tightens her grip on me.

  “I’d at least like to know what our options are,” he says.

  “Tell him,” Trin urges Brit, stepping to the side of me, releasing her grasp. “You tell him, I’ll make your dress. Without question.”

  I remember all too well how badly those girls hurt Trice all those years ago, and how powerless Trin and Hazel felt watching their friend hide the bruises and cuts from her family. Seeing Trin give Brit a carte blanche makes me pretty fucking proud. It looks like we’ve both been giving unexpected people potential chances lately.

  “I can’t,” she mutters, chewing on her lip methodically.

  “What is it, baby?” Ryder faces her and places his hands softly on her shoulders.

  “I … I was a …part of something horrible in high school. I’m ashamed to admit it. You’ll hate me.”

  I nudge my elbow at Trin and tilt my head towards the door to move us inside. She nods and opens the door for me to follow her, leaving it open behind us. We stride to the other side, the faint sounds of their voices disappearing as we near the back.

  “Whoa, it’s intense out there.” I place the food and coffee on her front counter and turn towards her. Her shoulders, stiff from whatever transpired before, are soon under my fingertips as I step behind her and massage them deeply.

  “They stormed in here”—her voice breaks through the silence, and I knead the knots—“and King Dickhead demanded I speak to them immediately while I was trying to sell one of my formal gowns. I lost a three-hundred-dollar sale as Captain Fuck Face ranted about my disrespect for his beloved fiancée, all the while screaming all sorts of dickheadery around my shop!”

  “I’m sorry that happened, Trin. That was a douche move.”

  “How could you have the patience to work with that piece of shit? I know you have to work with difficult people now and then, but seriously? He takes the cake for being the king of all dicks.”

  “He was never rude to me, but I guess when it comes to protecting those you love, you’ll do stupid shit.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it.” Her head lulls to the side as my fingers crawl up her neck. I lean forward and kiss the side of her face, and she sighs against my lips. Her body softens under my caress as a slow anger builds in my gut. How dare they fucking barge in here? But the tension of the moment is at a standoff, as I can’t rip his head off unless I want to find another publisher.

  I continue to rub Trin’s neck until footsteps from the front grab our attention as Ryder walks in to the shop, alone.

  I lean to the side to see if I can see Brit, and find her back to us, her head tilted down. As Ryder draws near, his face is torn in anguish, and I have little doubt that she’s told him. He stops a foot away from us, his chest heaving in anger, his fists clenched by his sides.

  “I’m a disgraceful idiot,” he shakes his head, as he rubs his hands along his thighs. “For that, I am truly sorry. I should have never marched in here like I did, costing you a customer.” Reaching into the back of his pants, he continues. “Please tell me the cost of the sale, and I will reimburse you.”

  “No, no.” Trin hurriedly moves forward to him, holding her hands up. “Please, don’t. It’s fine. Honestly. Many people have admired it, and it’ll get snapped up. Not to worry.” Her shoulders slump slightly as she asks, “Are you okay?”

  He raises his brows in surprise and shakes his head. “After all your friend went through, you’re asking if I’m okay?” He lowers his gaze to the side. “That shows how blind I was. She is meant to become
my wife.”

  “She still can,” Trin attempts to placate him, but his hands move to his pockets as he turns from her slightly.

  “I don’t know anymore,” he murmurs. “If she was hiding this, what else could she be—”

  “Look,” I cut him off. “This was a pretty shitty thing to hide, but you have to understand why she did it. Not saying it was right, but what you have to learn from this is people change. Brit learnt a pretty quick lesson all those years ago.”

  “She’s in social work now,” Trin adds, her voice softening. “That’s just how much she’s changed.”

  “Why did you want her to tell me?” Ryder turns to Trin, a solemn expression across his face. “Why not keep it a secret?”

  “Because my loyalty is to my friend, as hers is to you in its entirety. She can’t move forward if freaky bitches like myself need closure. It’s not revenge. It’s acknowledgement. It’s walking into my shop, wanting a service from me when last time we were in the same room, I was watching my friend’s wrist bleed. Yes, she was a bystander, but she’s not anymore. I promise, I didn’t do it to be malicious. I did it as it’s something that should never be forgotten and, if anything, I needed to see that she wasn’t that girl anymore.”

  “She’s definitely not her,” he huffs, as his eyes bore into hers.

  “Good.” She sighs in relief. “Now, as Theo said, things change. She has, most definitely. If you still want my services, I’ll make the dress. But on one condition.”

  “Oh, what now do you have in store for us?”

  “That the next time she sees Virginia, she reminds her to make that waxing appointment so I’m not dealing with Behemoth again.”