Her American Classic (Part 2)

by G J Morgan

  As you could imagine the airport was hard too, equally emotional, equally fully charged, lots of hugs, pats on the back, see-you-soons, don’t-leave-it-too-longs. It was all very dramatic, Molly clinging to their legs, Rose wishing Mum her thoughts and prayers, her every finger crossed. Lou didn’t say much, I think he found it hardest, he and Molly had grown quite attached, probably affected him more than he wanted to let on. I gave him my firmest handshake, my tightest grip. I thanked him for all he’d done, the advice he’d given, ended up being hugged, nose sniffs, men doing their best not to let emotions show.

  “Calm winds and following seas, hey,” he said in my ear, as they did their final wave before disappearing towards the runway.

  I hoped Thailand had left its mark on them, like it had on us. Thailand had done its job, gave us all a new energy, life before had made us tired, when cancer came and Lilly left. This trip away if nothing else had made us stronger, made our eyes whiter, smiles bigger, our thoughts less heavy. Regardless of how unhealthy our bank balances would look at the end of it all, we knew those things alone justified any doubts we may have had initially.

  I was on the beach now, found myself away from the one-night stands and loved-up couples, a full moon without the party, a sea I could only hear.

  I looked up, though I didn’t have to look too far, the sky felt lower tonight, ghosts of fireworks still hanging in the sky, a million lanterns, a million amber holes.

  What a place to see in a new year, I thought, wondering why all my new years seem to start with trying to forget the one just gone.

  But not anymore.

  53

  Someone was talking in my ear, not that I could hear, all I knew was he’d bought me a drink I didn’t ask for, but one I drank just the same. I felt my arm being pulled, our camp was on the move, bodyguards were clearing a route, barging people who didn’t need to be barged, as me and the girls were moved from black ceilings to one with stars. Without asking our new table was filled with bottles, gold-wrapped, jewel-encrusted, the shapes of eggs and skulls, the most expensive of alcohol. People had more money than sense tonight and whoever was paying for it was either doing it for self-promotion or to promote their interests. Though why should I have cared? Regardless of how pristinely it was packaged, vodka was vodka and gin was gin, no matter the dollars it cost when I downed it neat, it always tasted like I’d bought it at a gas station. The pool looked inviting, there was something about a pool at night, the way it glowed, lagoon-like and neon. I felt inclined to jump, though I didn’t want to be the first, anyway I wasn’t that level of drunk, no one here was, people looked controlled, no one making fools of themselves, people had the clock in the back of their minds, this wasn’t the time for getting wet and no place for ruined hair and running make-up, not with midnight so close.

  “We need more drink,” she shouted over the music, already filling my glass. “We need hot men, Lilly.

  “We?”

  “Can’t you just have them ordered up to us?”

  “That’s an abuse of power.”

  “What’s the point in power if you can’t use it? Look,” she said, pointing at a group of guys just below our balcony. “Admit those guys are hot.”

  “You do like a shaved head and a tattoo. You’re still not over Prison Break, are you?”

  “What can I say? I like a convict. Please get your dogs to bring them up.”

  “As long as that’s all I have to do.”

  “Come on. What’s wrong with a bit of harmless flirting?”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “Why should you care anyways? Max isn’t here, he’s not even in the state. You have a free pass.”

  “Max might not be, but half of Hollywood Boulevard is.”

  “OK, so you are out of bounds, Miss Prude. Means there is more for me. Gives the rest of us a fighting chance. Damn, these heels hurt,” she said, grimacing as she fiddled with her ankles.

  “You shouldn’t be encouraging me to cheat by the way?”

  “You don’t think Max is doing the same?”

  “No, I don’t actually.”

  “You’re kidding me. That guy is more poly-amorous than me. Come on, admit that guy finds it hard to keep his dick in his pants.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “And when is the last time he was in your pants?”

  “Hey, don’t be gross.”

  “I still need a little convincing on you two.”

  “Convincing of what?”

  “All of it. And I’m not the only one. I think the whole of the planet agrees with me.”

  “And you think me flirting with strangers is going to improve that?”

  “I think, why bother pretending?”

  “I’m not pretending. We are not pretending.”

  We went quiet, sipped drinks through our straws.

  Ten minutes later I was watching one of my hired helps invite hot strangers to join our party. I couldn’t watch, I felt like some wicked tyrant, some evil queen, demanding pretty things for my entertainment and disposal. Frank wouldn’t have stood for it, he would’ve made me do it myself, probably why I was brave enough to ask this time around. One of the few perks of Frank never being around as much, my life protected by a nameless bodyguard who’ll take a bullet and fetch me things to flirt and toy with.

  It was weird to think a few hours before I was in a family lawyer’s office, talking family law funnily enough, now I was pointing at single men I couldn’t have and didn’t want. It was a wasted journey, too, the lady behind her big desk didn’t fill me with either hope or fear, kept asking me questions I couldn’t answer, which meant she couldn’t give me any in return. To be fair I couldn’t blame her, without understanding Tom’s situation, without speaking to Cassie’s parents, what else could she have told me apart from guesswork. All I knew was, as soon as I heard the words “court” and “probable” I knew I’d heard enough. Though it felt good to at least try, to feel I was putting up a fight, be it one I would lose, or die winning. Though I did panic as I made my way to my friends for pre-drinks, had this awful feeling that I’d been stupid, there were only so many lawyers and I’m sure Max knew most of them in town, the ones worth knowing anyway.

  I felt my shoulder being tapped. Our takeaway order had arrived and one of them was walking straight in my direction, looking more edible the closer he came.

  * * *

  Nothing happened of course.

  Some flirting, obviously, which couldn’t have felt stranger – having to resist one decent guy in fear of upsetting the opposite. We chatted for a quite a while, most of the night actually, ended up arm in arm as we sang in 2011, talked about what strangers talked about at the start of a new year, regrets and resolutions, raising a glass to both our failures and forecasts. Turned out he was single, but only just, his relationship sounded as on-and-off as mine and Max’s, so our complicated histories took us through a bottle of whiskey older than the two of us combined.

  It did get a little awkward, as the night drew closer to its natural end, where the louder the music the more you were drawn toward someone to hear and be heard. Though despite our close proximity and the goading of both sets of friends, he still didn’t make a move, as I said, he was a decent guy, said he doesn’t make a point of upsetting boyfriends, especially ones that weren’t there to fight their own corner. Not sure what I would have done if he had tried to kiss me, or leaned in, he wouldn’t have had to lean in far, we were pretty nose to nose by the end of the night. I’d like to say I would have stopped him, I think I would’ve stopped him, still made me feel pretty awful. Flirting was flirting, harmful, the only people who say it’s harmless are only judging the harm caused to themselves. And even though I’d done nothing wrong, I was close enough to see what a mistake would look like, probably why I felt so shitty in the cab ride home, like I owed someone a confession for my near
miss of infidelity, the least of all being Max.

  I guess this may have contributed to why, rather than going to bed like I should’ve done, instead I chose to redeem myself. And redemption, the drunk kind, the 3am kind, was never a good thing to search for.

  Tried his cell first.

  Then his house.

  You would have thought I’d have had some idea how our conversation might go, planned what I was going to say if he answered, even have had the courtesy to make sure I wasn’t ringing when they’d all be asleep, but I’d done none of those things. Just rang and rang and rang, until someone eventually answered, though I wished they hadn’t.

  It wasn’t Tom, it was a woman’s voice, not his mom’s either, younger, a woman with a pretty voice and probably a pretty everything else. I was instantly jealous and instantly angry, Tom had moved on and why shouldn’t he? Anyway, I hung up, threw myself into bed, shouted every curse word under my breath, mad at Tom, mostly mad at myself for being so fucking dumb and so fucking weak.

  To think an hour before I’d convinced myself I could give up Tom, forget him and move on, quit him like everyone promises to quit things on New Year’s Eve, lead a happier and more fulfilled year, get rid of all those addictions and vices, the things that make you hate yourself. But hey, what’s another failed resolution attempt? I’m sure I wouldn’t be the last, though mine didn’t even make it to sunlight.

  54

  I’d always hated ironing shirts and luckily during my few professions I’d managed to avoid it most of my adult life, spent the majority of my working years in collarless jobs, short-sleeve jobs, ones with limited responsibility and tiny pay cheques, on the plus side it meant I very rarely saw an ironing board.

  Today, however, was unavoidable, I wanted to make an extra special effort, so that meant a crisp shirt with no creases. The lady on reception had lent me what I needed and I carried it back to my room, iron in one hand, the other under my arm like a surfboard.

  * * *

  “You do realize there are such things as dry cleaners here?” she said from behind her hand fan.

  “You could help, you know.”

  “My ironing duties finished the day you left school, I’m afraid.”

  “At least do the sleeves. Look at me, I have no idea what I’m doing here.”

  “Give it here, you daft so and so. I thought we’d taught you all these sorts of life skills,” she said, as I handed her the iron. “What have you done to your trousers? You’re supposed to follow the natural crease,” she added, taking over. “Go get Molly’s shoes on, while I try and salvage these poor clothes.”

  It had been a good week, a good few weeks actually. Mum was doing really well, chemo had ended, one last session of radiotherapy in a few days. The hardest parts were now over, and Jesus, had they been hard. I can still remember her lowest days, October was bad, a sinkful of hair, me and Molly washing her face when she couldn’t do it herself, helping her find the strength to want to wake up, but those days had gone. The doctors sounded pleased, they were quite clear this morning that there was still a long road ahead, question marks they hoped to answer, some that they never would. They said we should be happy, that we were on the right path to recovery. They say ‘we’ a lot, I’d noticed, it was the same when Cassie died, like dying and survival was a team effort, maybe it was, they just wanted you to know that you weren’t in it alone, which at first, when dying is new and unfamiliar, is probably what you need.

  We’d gotten used to cancer now, settled into the drills and phases, pretended we understood what they were doing and why. All we knew was we trusted the hospital and over time, whereas before we’d be asking tons of questions, researching worst-case scenarios and alternative treatments, now we all just let the doctors do their thing, trusted the treatments were working, not knowing why things healed and fixed themselves, just happy that they had and only worrying if and when they didn’t.

  I think both Mum and I had changed these last few months, me especially, since that long chat I had to myself on the beach that night, put all my attention into enjoying each day, where before it had been written off before it’d started. I felt like a younger me, bit more caution to the wind, a bit more Captain Ahab. It was nice to have me back again. It had been a long time.

  “I thought I said you couldn’t open this till next week.” Mum slid the shirt back on its hanger.

  “It’s the perfect occasion though.”

  “Means you won’t have much to open on your actual birthday though.”

  “I’m not eight years old. I won’t throw a fit if there aren’t boxes stacked to the ceiling. What have you and Moll got planned for later?”

  “Not sure. She’s got her head set on staying up late, so who knows what she’ll have me doing. Last time she painted my head, so God knows what I’ve got in store tonight. We’re going to pop out in a sec, grab a few essentials for our girls’ night in. Do we need anything? Water? Bog roll?”

  “Both, I think.”

  “Anything else. Chocolates? Bunch of flowers for the lucky lady? Engagement ring?”

  “I think just flowers for now,” I said, as she and Molly took themselves off to buy provisions, and I looked for a tie I wasn’t entirely sure I owned.

  Her name was Emma by the way, the reason for my smart attire, and I’d lost count on what number date this would be, it was a lot, more than ten. We hadn’t kissed yet, which historically would have been a concern, though Emma was a different type of girl than I was used to, not the first girl on the dance floor, not the crowd surfer; no, Emma was a lower volume girl, and I got the impression her kisses weren’t dished out too freely. However, it was Valentine’s, the air was different on Valentine’s, hence the fancy restaurant, hence the need for an ironed shirt. Emma worked over at the hospital so we had met in various hot corridors and sticky waiting rooms whilst Mum was having all her checks. I heard her accent over her desk and felt curious to find out how it got so far away from home, not that she told me at first. Initially I took it personally, how quiet and reluctant to talk she was, but I soon realized her shyness wasn’t just aimed at me. Funnily enough we went to the same university in Sheffield, knew the same places, trod on the same pub floors, got into similar debt. Over the new few months what first started as bumping into each other on the off chance, soon became a habit that I’d make sure to stop and say hello.

  I wasn’t sure why it took it so long to ask her out officially, Emma’s shyness being hard to read, me being scared to jump in. But since that first date things had moved pretty fast, faster than I’d expected, with so little time left here, it forced us into spending a lot of time with each other, trying to cram six months’ dating into two.

  She’d even met Molly, unavoidable really, seeing as the hospital was our second home. Though Molly never questioned the new friendship, to Molly she was just another nurse, another white uniform, speaking a language she recognized as her own. I certainly never called her my girlfriend and didn’t plan to either, there was no need to complicate things, not with me being due to go home any day now. Couldn’t see Emma coming back with us, not based on a two-month relationship, she’d been at the hospital for over a year, chances were she wouldn’t come back at all based on what she’d told me. She was settled here, hence why we could not go to that next step, which also took away any unwanted pressure to feel the need to commit. It was just fun, easy and fun, nothing else, we both knew it would end, we both knew not to get too involved, we were both honest about where this would go and how it would end. In some ways, it was probably better if we didn’t kiss tonight. A kiss could change everything.

  I should just wear a T-shirt instead, I thought, looking at myself in the mirror, worrying that the combination of shirt and trouser would be hard for any woman to resist, even the restrained ones.

  “Still hungry?” I asked passing her the dessert menu.

  “No thank
you. But if you want to I don’t mind sharing maybe.”

  “No, no. Probably for the best. Here is a whole new level of sweet. I want to go back home with most of my teeth.”

  “Forgot to tell you. So sad, my little Ying died this morning.”

  I took a minute to answer. “Ying’s the one that always pinches my butt, right? You OK? Did you see her?”

  “No, that’s what’s so sad. I saw her a few days before, but only in passing, we only had a few minutes to talk. She looked fine when I saw her, was in good spirits, still trying to get me to go on a date with one of her sons.”

  “How many sons does she have?”

  “Three I think. I know the youngest is sixteen, so I assume she didn’t mean him. Don’t worry, I declined her offer. Told her I’d already found my Prince Charming.”

  “What did she say to that?”

  “Said she was running out of time to find them a good wife.”

  “Do you get used to it? Making friends, losing friends?”

  “I’m not used to it, no. It affects me more than the others, they know better than to get too emotionally attached. That’s what I need to do, it’s hard though, they look so lonely and frightened. I feel obliged to be a listening ear, just let them talk.”

  “You are a stronger person than me. I couldn’t do it. Why did you come here? Why not England?”

  “Lots of reasons, the ones you’d expect mostly. Though the real reason was England wouldn’t have me.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not entirely sure. I guess I just suck at interviews.”

  “I know the feeling. You want more wine?” I said, already topping up both our glasses.

  “I bet you aren’t as bad as me.”

  “So, Thailand doesn’t do interviews?”

  “They do, but they are more interested in what looks good on paper. My English education and my Bachelor of Science degree looks a lot better than the real me up close.”