In Harmony

by Helena Newbury

  She nodded. “But he’s still angry, inside. And now, it has nowhere to go. It’s eating him up from the inside.”

  “That’s why he can’t just make something else,” I said slowly. “It won’t help with the anger because if it’s not a weapon, it’s not revenge.”

  Natasha nodded. “So he lies awake at night and sits around all day and it just gives him more time to think about the past. You remember in Harper’s, when I told you he’d gone sex mad?”

  I nodded.

  “I think that was him trying to find a way to cope with it—to take his mind off it. But it didn’t work, and now he’s just….” She sighed. “I think he’s depressed. I mean, actually, clinically depressed.”

  “And you’re not….I mean, the sex thing has…?”

  “Put it this way—you know I cut, that night when you came to my apartment? I thought he’d see the scar. I needn’t have worried.”

  “God…you haven’t…? Not since…?”

  “We haven’t had sex in a month.”

  I sat there and thought for a moment. “What does Clarissa think?” I’d been wondering, ever since that night when Natasha called me over to her apartment, why she hadn’t been having these conversations with her roommate.

  Natasha hesitated. “She thinks we should split up.”

  My jaw dropped.

  “She likes him. She just…she thinks that we can’t be happy together. She thinks he needs the weapons, that maybe that’s the only sort of work that’ll make him happy. Neil’s worried about him, too. He always hated Darrell designing weapons, but he hates seeing him depressed.” She bit her lip and I saw her eyes well with tears. “But I didn’t want us to split up, so I stopped talking about it with her, but now I think maybe she’s right, maybe we’d be happier apart and—shit, I don’t know!” And she started to cry, big hot tears splashing onto the tabletop.

  I bundled her into the restroom. “Look,” I said with a firmness I didn’t feel. “I’m not like you three. I don’t have all your experience, but I know how good you and Darrell are together. There must be a way to fix it.”

  Natasha lifted her mascara-streaked face from her hands. “How?!”

  “I don’t know. But trust me, okay? I’m going to think of something.”

  ***

  Natasha cleaned herself up and we went back to our table where Clarissa and Jasmine were waiting with fresh drinks. Natasha was still red-eyed and I was worried that Clarissa would demand answers, but as we got closer I saw that wasn’t going to be a problem. She and Jasmine looked distracted…worried, even, as if they had bad news. As we approached, I realized they were looking at me.

  “What?” I asked as I sat down.

  They looked at each other, neither wanting to be the one to tell me. Then Clarissa nodded across the bar.

  Connor was there, laughing and joking with Ruth. It was impossible to tell if they were together or just together, but Ruth seemed to be doing her best to touch him at every possible opportunity.

  The world dropped out from under me. He’d brought her here?! He hadn’t even gone to Flicker much before we started working together, preferring the blue collar bars downtown. In fact, that night he’d wandered in drunk and singing had been the first time I remembered seeing him there. Then I’d brought him along with me the night he’d got together with Taylor…I’d as good as introduced him to it!

  “It’s not fair,” said Jasmine. “You should get custody of Flicker.”

  “We didn’t break up,” I told her. “We were never together.”

  Natasha squeezed my hand. “I’m sorry, Karen. I really wanted the two of you to work out.” She caught my eye and I knew we were thinking the same thing: with her and Darrell on the verge of breaking up, Clarissa and Neil having problems and now Connor and me off the cards, it seemed like there was no hope for any of us. Even Jasmine was single—she’d never mentioned Ryan, the cop I’d given her number to, so I assumed he’d never called.

  “I’m going to the bar,” I told the others, and stood up.

  “You still have half a Pretty Woman,” Jasmine pointed out.

  “I’m not going to get a drink. I just….” I looked across at Connor and Ruth. I just want to be alone, I thought, and walked off.

  It wasn’t quite true. I didn’t want to be alone; I was sick of being alone.

  At the bar, I found a spot where I couldn’t see Connor and Ruth. I knew I was being rude, that I’d have to rejoin the others in a few minutes, but I needed to get my head straight. Maybe we could all move to a different bar; Flicker was clearly cursed.

  “You look like you could use a drink,” said a voice beside me.

  I didn’t recognize him from Fenbrook. Tall and lean, with a shock of blond curls. His voice was as refined as his suit. A Harvard man, at a guess—maybe final year, maybe just graduated.

  “That didn’t work out so well, last time,” I told him.

  “Come on. One drink.”

  I stared at him for a second. He wasn’t bad looking, in an all-American sort of a way. And there was that ache inside me that Connor had left—the need for closeness cruelly denied. I just wanted to connect with someone.

  “I’ll have a 101 Dalmations, please.” I told him.

  He frowned. “But that—”

  “Doesn’t have any alcohol in, no. But it’s what I want.”

  He shrugged and made a big show of holding up a fifty to attract the barman’s attention. A few minutes later I was sucking vanilla milkshake through a straw, the “spots” chocolate buttons stuck to the inside of the glass.

  “I’m Anthony,” he told me. “And you are?”

  He seemed nice, if a bit fond of flashing his money. And he’d bought me a drink and the girls would be happy to see me actually talking to a man and Connor was happy with Ruth and—

  “Karen.” Saying it made my mind up. I’d been standing at the bar, but now I sat down on a stool and he sat down next to me.

  “Actress, dancer or musician?” he asked.

  He knew about Flicker, then. Probably what had attracted him to the place, the chance to meet some young starlet or ballerina. He was going to be disappointed. “Musician.” And then, anticipating his next question, “Cello.”

  He smiled, just like Fifty Shades of Gray Hair had at the party. “Oh—”

  “Yes. The one where you sit with your legs spread.” I’d meant to say it just a little testily, to let him know how I felt about that line. But it didn’t quite come out like that. It came out as confident, even flirtatious.

  He told me he was at Harvard and about his plans after graduation. I told him about playing with the quartet in Central Park and composing and cramming into tiny practice rooms. It felt good, to talk to someone outside Fenbrook’s little world. I glanced over to where the girls were sitting and got an encouraging smile from Natasha. I didn’t dare risk looking at Connor. If I saw him and Ruth were kissing, I felt like my heart would shatter.

  We kept talking and I only realized how much the bar was filling up when someone squeezed their way between Anthony and me, cutting off the conversation. More people were pressing behind us, leaning over us to talk to the bar staff. When the guy between us moved away with his drinks, Anthony waved me closer. “I can’t hear you otherwise,” he said.

  He had a point. The din was rising around us and with music blaring as well…but what was he suggesting—that I sit and he stand next to me? That we share a seat?

  I stood up and moved over to him. He pushed his stool out a little from the bar and patted his lap. Oh. I hadn’t been planning on that. But when I looked round, a woman had already slid onto my vacated stool.

  Anthony was smiling at me, which made me feel like an idiot for hesitating. It was no big deal, right?

  I sat on his lap, glad I was in my usual jeans instead of a skirt or dress. Even so, I could feel the heat of him through the thin denim.

  “That’s better,” he told me, his mouth right up against my ear. It meant that
he didn’t have to shout, which was good. But it also felt very intimate, and that I wasn’t so sure about.

  I told myself I was being stupid, and when we started talking again it seemed okay. He said he was sick of the women at Harvard, and told me how much he liked my hair.

  And then someone bumped against his head from behind and apologized, and as if in response he grabbed hold of the bar and pulled the stool closer in. The bar counter had an overhang, so that put my stomach snugly against its edge and our lower bodies under the counter. Out of sight.

  He told me I was beautiful and then, completely unasked, kissed me on the neck. His lips were too soft and too wet, and I could feel the cool spit they left behind. I was so focused on that, I didn’t notice his hand on my leg, gliding along the outside. And then sliding around to try to push between my thighs.

  “No,” I said, but he didn’t seem to hear. His hand was like a knife-edge, sliding down. “No,” I said again, louder, definitely loud enough for him to hear even over the din. I clamped my knees hard together.

  He made a shh-ing noise, as if I was being silly. And then I felt his expensive leather loafer against my ankle, hooking my leg outwards, and suddenly my legs were open. His hand was on my crotch, rubbing me there, and no one could see—

  “Take your fucking hands off her,” said a deep, Belfast voice.

  We both turned at the same time to see Connor looming over us. Anthony stopped rubbing, but didn’t move his hand.

  “We’re fine,” he told Connor. “We’re fine, aren’t we?” he asked me, the panic just creeping into his voice.

  Connor’s eyes were on mine. “No,” I whispered.

  The stool, Anthony and I were all suddenly sliding back from the bar as Connor yanked on its metal stem, the base making a nasty screeching noise on the floor that killed all conversation around us. Anthony snatched his hand from my crotch, but not in time to stop everyone seeing it.

  Connor’s hand grabbed mine and he pulled me from Anthony’s lap. I recognized the look on his face. I’d seen it before, in the gym. He drew back his arm.

  “I’m calling the cops!” the barman yelled, and I thought of Connor’s past. And his future.

  “Connor!” I grabbed his arm before he could hit Anthony, but he shook me off. “It’s okay!”

  “No,” said Connor. “It’s not.” And he swung.

  It wasn’t like you see in the movies, all slow motion and artistic, with someone flying through the air. It was quick and brutal and over in a second, Anthony’s head snapping back with a sound that made me want to vomit. He fell backwards off his stool and smacked into a table, flipping it over and scattering drinks, a glittering wave of glass and alcohol sloshing across the floor.

  The girls ran over and we all stood there watching as Anthony tried to raise himself up and then slumped back down to the floor. I still had hold of Connor’s arm and I clung to it for dear life, but he seemed to be as shocked as I was. Blood was dripping from Anthony’s lip onto his clean white shirt and fanning out into a red flower.

  “Are you okay?” Connor asked.

  I nodded dumbly. Moments later, blue and red flashes filled the windows. A lot of people chose that moment to leave, but the girls and I stayed. I had to see what happened to Connor—help him, if I could. But I had a horrible feeling I already knew how this story would end—a broke, flunking Irishman with a history of violence, attacking a clean-cut Harvard student. Connor was on his way to jail, and I felt hot tears prickle my eyes.

  The bar staff pushed everyone except Connor and Anthony back and we had to watch from across the room as two cops arrived and questioned them. Now that he was safe, Anthony looked to be mad.

  I ran forward, narrowly avoiding being tackled by the barman. “I saw it,” I said to the back of the cop’s head. “He was only defending me.” I pointed to Anthony. “That man assaulted me!” But I already knew it wouldn’t make a difference. Even if they charged Anthony with something, Connor was still in trouble.

  And then the cop turned around.

  “Karen?” said Officer Ryan Kowalski.

  Jasmine dodged past the bar staff and ran up beside me. “It’s like she said. That asshole’s hands were all over her. Connor just went…a bit Irish.”

  “Jasmine?” said Ryan.

  Clarissa and Natasha ran up, at which point the bar staff pretty much gave up on trying to keep people back. “We saw it too,” they said together.

  Ryan sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, as if it was going to be another very long shift.

  ***

  It took a half hour for Ryan to reason Anthony out of pressing charges. The turning point was when he asked me if I wanted to press sexual assault charges against him. I did, but I wanted Connor to stay out of jail more. I stared at Anthony until he got the message and relented.

  When he’d slunk into a cab and was heading back to Harvard, I ran over to Ryan. “Thank you,” I said, and I meant it. “If it had been any other cop…we were really lucky.”

  He gave me a solemn nod, and then sighed. “It wasn’t completely luck. I knew this bar was where you guys hung out. I figured we should be the ones to check it out.”

  He was gazing across the bar, and I realized he was looking at Jasmine. With a look some would have called longing.

  “Why didn’t you call her?” I asked, bemused.

  He looked at me indulgently and then indicated his uniform. “I remembered what I was,” he said. “And what she is. Cop and actress. Different circles, you know? I don’t think it’s meant to be.”

  And with that he was gone. I stood looking at the spot where he’d stood, and then looked over my shoulder at Jasmine. Jasmine with her life lived by the skin of her teeth, with her string of cheating boyfriends and ill-advised one night stands. “But you’re exactly what she needs,” I said sadly.

  Raised voices from the other side of the bar. Connor and Ruth were arguing, with her doing most of the talking and him shrugging off her questions. A second later, he stormed past me and out into the street.

  I ran after him and found him standing outside taking deep, shuddering breaths to calm himself. He looked up when he saw me. “You okay?”

  “Are you?”

  “Well, I’m not in jail. Thanks.”

  “Thank you. For—” It hadn’t affected me, really, until that moment. Maybe the adrenaline had held it back, or maybe I’d just been too worried about Connor. But now it hit me: the way Anthony had used me for his pleasure, what he might have done with me if he’d got me outside, or into the restroom. I started shaking, and couldn’t stop. The worst part was knowing that, save for some good luck, there would have been one less person like Connor around to balance out the Anthonys of the world. He’d been the one nearly sent to jail. “Why did you do it?” I asked, close to tears.

  “Because you needed me,” he said. He was still breathing hard, trying to control his anger.

  “But you hit him!” I shouted. “You hit him, after you’d pulled me away from him!”

  “Because he deserved it,” said Connor. He turned away from me.

  Hot tears were running down my cheeks. “But you could have gone to jail! Why?!”

  He turned to me and I saw it in his eyes—the same internal struggle I’d seen when I’d first asked him to help me.

  “Because I love you, you idiot!” he said.

  Everything went very quiet.

  “What?!”

  He started walking towards me. “I’ve loved you from the first time you asked for my help, when you called it a stupid beer. That’s why I had to help you, even though I thought I’d mess it up.”

  “But—but you didn’t say anything! You never said anything!”

  “Because I knew I didn’t deserve you. Because I was a stupid waste of space who couldn’t even write a bloody essay, and I knew I’d mess things up for you. I just wanted you to be okay. That would be fine, that was all I needed. Just see you graduate and go off and find some posh guy to marry. Bu
t—”

  He’d reached me, now. I stood there silently looking up at him, barely daring to breathe.

  “But you helped me, and…it started to feel like I was good for something after all. Maybe even good enough to be with you. But I didn’t dare mess it up between us….”

  “What about Ruth?” I asked, my throat so tight it was almost a whisper.

  “She’s just a friend. I’m sleeping on the floor.”

  My world turned upside down. I’d waited so long that it took a second to register that all the pieces had just slotted into place.

  Then I reached up and grabbed him around the neck, dragging his face down to mine and we were kissing, my hands on his cheeks as his tongue slipped into my mouth, his warm fingers in my hair. I was afloat on a silver river of pure, heady elation. We kissed hungrily, starved for months.

  “You daft mare,” he gasped when we finally broke apart. “I thought you didn’t even like me!”

  I stared up into his eyes. “F’ckin’ ‘ell,” I panted, and then we were kissing again. It went on for long, glorious minutes, the energy soaking down through my body and making my toes dance in delight. When we broke for the second time, he stared very seriously into my eyes.

  “We could go to your place,” he said, and what he was implying made the swirling rush of energy become a deeper, darker heat that twisted straight down to my groin.

  But that raised an issue, one I hadn’t even considered until then. One that I needed help with, fast. “Not tonight,” I said breathlessly. “Tomorrow. Let’s go out tomorrow. Is that okay?”

  He nodded, lips twisting into that familiar smile—and for me! “Yeah. Tomorrow is great.”

  I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and looked over to the door of Flicker. The girls were lined up outside, watching us and grinning. Ruth was behind them and though she wasn’t smiling, she didn’t look mad, either. She seemed to be appraising me and that scared me more, somehow.

  Ruth was a problem that could wait, though, if she proved to be a problem at all. I wanted to enjoy the perfect moment and nothing—not even an ex-girlfriend—was going to stand in my way. I pulled Connor close and kissed him again, and this time it was sweet and tender, tasting each other and laying down promises of what was to come.