Still Life with Strings

by L.H. Cosway

  The evening comes sooner than expected, and I’m back in my usual spot, tending bar. As the venue starts to fill, I turn to serve my next customer and find Justin sitting on a stool, his elbow leaning on the bar top. He’s wearing a white shirt, several buttons undone, and his sandy coloured hair is all dishevelled.

  “What can I get you?”

  From the slightly bleary look in his eyes, I’m guessing he’s already had a few. “Are you really his girlfriend?” he slurs, and I decide I’m not going to serve him any more alcohol. He must have been warming the seats at the downstairs bar for a while, judging by his current state.

  “Shane’s girlfriend? Yeah,” I say, not really knowing whether I’m lying or telling the truth.

  He sits up a little straighter. “I’ll take a double vodka.”

  I pick up a glass, and fill it with water and ice before placing it in front of him. “That’s all you’re getting from me.”

  He narrows his eyes and scowls at me. This is one thing I like about working here. The clientele are usually of a certain class, so when you refuse them alcohol, they become moody about it. Sometimes they’ll get mouthy, but very rarely do they become violent. It’s a complete contrast to a dive bar I once worked in where the patrons would glass you for so much as looking at them the wrong way.

  Justin’s body slumps against the bar top now as he shoves the glass of water aside. “I don’t want that.”

  “You should drink it. Your head is going to be splitting in the morning.”

  “Don’t care.”

  I give him a concerned look. “Are you all right, mate?”

  He fumbles in his pocket for a minute before retrieving an expensive diamond engagement ring. He sets it down on the counter and looks at it with the most miserable expression on his face. I almost feel bad for him. I actually have to remind myself what this piece of work did to Shane.

  “She gave that back to me this morning,” he mumbles, and air catches in my lungs.

  Fuck, Mirin wasn’t lying. Mona really is planning on getting her claws into Shane again.

  “She said she doesn’t love me anymore, but that I shouldn’t worry. She won’t stop me from seeing my kid once it’s born.” He lets out a long, joyless laugh.

  “Why did she break things off?” I ask, my voice shaky.

  Justin makes a sound low in his throat. “I had sex with a waitress.” He pauses, and a drunken smile comes over his face, like he’s cherishing the memory. “Or two.”

  “Well, then, can you blame her for giving you back that ring?”

  “It’s not like she’s a bloody saint, either. She’s gonna fuck his head up all over again, you know.”

  I stare at him hard for a long moment. “Not if I have anything to do with it.”

  “Yeah, you’re hot and all, but she’s Mona.” He pauses before continuing in a sarcastic voice, “The Mona Campbell. Shane’s been in love with her since he was twenty.”

  Justin’s words give me a quick, violent thump right in the chest, but I soldier on.

  “He was in love with her. Not anymore. He hates her now.”

  “They always say there’s a fine line between love and hate.”

  I can’t listen to much more of this, so I go to serve my next customer. By the time I look back at the spot Justin had been sitting in, he’s gone. Good riddance. The engagement ring is gone, too. I wonder if he’ll sell it off or give it to the next woman who comes along.

  My supervisor slides in behind the bar once the last call for the start of the concert is announced, and asks if I could go help out in the auditorium. Fuck my life. There aren’t any more people waiting for drinks, so I have no excuse. I have to go and witness this concert first hand. Yay.

  She guides me through the entrance for the stalls and tells me to direct people to their seats on the far left-hand side. The chatter of patrons filling the auditorium echoes all around me, but it’s not loud enough to drown out the heavy beating of my heart. I’m so on edge it’s unreal. I mean, what do I think I’m going to see up there on that stage, some sort of lover’s reunion?

  I could probably get away with leaving once the show begins, but there’s this self-flagellating side of me that wants to stay. I want to watch and prove to myself that my fears are unwarranted. That no matter how hard Mona might try, Shane will be unmoved by her efforts.

  When the members of the orchestra walk out from backstage, I sink to a dark corner of the hall, leaning back against a wall and waiting. I’m half relieved that the first piece is a symphony, and not Mona and Shane’s duet. I won’t have to suffer just yet.

  A group of women to my right are excitedly discussing the two musicians in hushed voices, talking about the rumoured love triangle and poor Shane’s broken heart.

  “Excuse me?” comes a recognisable voice from behind.

  I turn around quickly, breaking my attention from the gossiping women to find Mirin and her husband standing there waiting to be seated. I silently take the tickets from her hand and look at the seat numbers.

  “Straight down the aisle, two rows before the steps,” I tell her with a reserved tone.

  “Thank you,” Mirin replies, taking the tickets back from me. “It’s going to be a wonderful show,” she continues as her husband walks on ahead. “I’m so pleased you’re here to see it.”

  I give her an emotionless look and gesture for her to take her seat. She smiles, eyes cruel, mouth hard, then turns and walks away. I let out a long, deep breath and bring my eyes to the stage, where the symphony has already begun. Trust Mirin to be fashionably late. Shane is in his usual spot, his arm moving vigorously with the music, his violin resting just under his chin.

  When it’s time for Mona to come out, she gets a big round of applause, and I despise every clapping hand in the place for giving it to her. Shane stands a few feet away from the piano, and they start to play the same song from their practice yesterday. I’m not sure I can take witnessing this piece all over again, but I stand firm, studying both of them, trying to pinpoint some sign that my heart is going to get broken.

  And there it is.

  If I can’t have him, my heart would definitely be crushed. Does that mean I’m in love with him? I think I might have loved him for a while now, far earlier than would be deemed appropriate. It’s hard for me to know such a talented, beautiful, good-hearted man and not fall a little bit, just enough to zing a tiny spark into my much-guarded organ.

  I should never have even agreed to be his friend, but then again, how could I have helped myself? Show me a working-class girl who doesn’t harbour secret desires to be swept off her feet by a handsome, sophisticated guy.

  The song ends, and the audience is clapping again, a few people getting to their feet. The next piece, Hungarian Dance No. 5, isn’t as difficult to endure. It’s an up-tempo, almost jovial song. The only problem is, Mona’s been looking at Shane the whole time, a small smile shaping her mouth. He isn’t returning the smile, but at one point he looks back at her, and I feel my chest go pop in a bad way.

  What are they sharing? Is her smile a secretive one?

  Okay, I think I’ve endured enough. I hurry right out of the auditorium and dash to my quiet spot, the emergency exit on the first floor. I push the heavy door open, and the sharp night air cools me, sliding over my skin like a soothing balm. Tilting my head back, I look up at the night sky, silently asking the stars for answers.

  Unfortunately, none are forthcoming.

  A couple of minutes later I go back inside, and it’s just my luck that I bump right into my supervisor. The intermission is just about to begin, and I should have been at the bar long before now.

  “Where the hell have you been?”

  I start to say something, but she cuts me off. “Never mind. I had to put Lara on the bar, since we couldn’t find you. Right now I need to you to prepare these drinks and bring them to Mona Campbell’s dressing room. She’s got a reputation for being a diva, so be quick and try not to make any mistakes.�
�� She shoves a piece of paper into my hand and I nod my head, wondering if this night could possibly get any worse.

  I go to the bar and prepare Mona’s drinks, which seems like quite a lot for one very slim woman. Perhaps she’s expecting company. There are special private dressing rooms for visiting musicians, and I try to push away my nerves as I head in their direction. When I reach her room, tray in hand, I find the door slightly ajar. I don’t know why I do, but I pause, taking a quick peek inside.

  It’s a good thing I did, because there’s someone else in there with her right now, and that person is Shane. She’s sitting on a chair in front of the dressing table, and Shane is a few feet away, leaning back against a tall closet. His hands are clenched into tight fists, and I can practically see the tension in the room, it’s so thick. Keeping a hold of the tray with increasingly shaky and sweaty hands, I prick my ears to listen.

  “Why have you asked me here, Mona?” Shane asks as she brushes some powder onto her nose, turning her face from side to side in the mirror to examine her appearance.

  Then she swings around to face him and holds out both her hands. “Do you notice anything missing?”

  Shane raises an eyebrow and replies, “A soul?”

  Mona pouts and turns back to the mirror. “I’m not wearing my engagement ring.”

  “And this is of concern to me why?”

  “Justin and I are over.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “There’s no need to be so sarcastic. I’ve been through a terrible time of it lately. You’d think you could muster a little sympathy.”

  “I’m crying a river for you on the inside.”

  Mona sighs. “And the sarcasm persists.” There’s a long stretch of silence before she tells him in a soft, sweet voice, “I’ve missed you terribly, Shane.”

  “Fucking hell, you’ve got to be kidding me.” He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair and pacing the room now.

  “I have. I’ve been in turmoil over what I put you through. I can’t believe my own actions. It was truly awful, and I want to make it better. I want you to forgive me.”

  “Not happening. Are we done?”

  “Shane!” she cries, standing from her seat and walking toward him. She grabs at his arm, but he pulls right out of her hold. “Please give me a chance. I know it will take time, but I’m willing to work at it if you are.”

  She keeps on following him until he’s in the corner of the room and she’s standing in front of him. If he wants to get by her, he’ll have to physically push her out of the way. My feet are on the verge of walking right in there and pulling her away from him, but I remain still. For some reason I need to see how he handles this, and it feels like everything is riding on it.

  He stares at her, eyes dark, breathing quickly as his chest rises and falls. She takes a step closer and places her hand tenderly on his arm. “Justin cheated on me, you know. Several times, in fact. It must have been God’s way of punishing me. I’m a different person now. I would never be unfaithful again.”

  He keeps watching her, and his breathing slows. “Why are you so intent on destroying me?” he whispers. If I weren’t listening so hard, I probably wouldn’t have heard him. The agony on his face, the emotion passing between the two of them, is too much to take.

  One of my co-workers is passing by at that exact moment, so I shove the tray into her hands. “Will you deliver those in there for me? I’ve something I need to take care of.”

  “Sure,” she replies, taking the drinks from me.

  As soon as the tray is out of my hands, I run.

  Twenty-Five

  When I locate my supervisor, I tell her I’m sick and need to go home. She doesn’t seem too happy about it, but eventually she gives me permission to leave. I don’t go directly home, though — I go to the big house in the heart of the city where I’ve spent many an hour contemplating.

  There aren’t too many people around when I get to Ladybirds. Mary answers the door and invites me in for a cup of tea. I follow her to the kitchen at the back of the building and sit down on a long bench painted a muted shade of green. Rubbing my cold hands together, I watch as she puts loose leaves into a pretty ceramic teapot.

  Bob Farrell, the man who owns the house, walks in and holds a pan under the tap, filling it with water. Then he pulls a bag of chickpeas out of the cupboard and pours some into it. His back is slightly hunched over from age, and he’s wearing a brown shirt with cream polka dots. When he sees me he smiles.

  “Ah,” he says, “the Blue Lady has paid us a visit. It’s good to see you, Jade.”

  “You too, Bob.”

  “How’s life?”

  “Complicated.”

  His wrinkly eyes sparkle. “Stop making me jealous. I remember complicated, exhilarating stuff.”

  “Want to swap?”

  He grins. “The old ticker wouldn’t be able to handle it, I’m afraid,” he says, lifting his hand to his heart.

  “Oh, well. It was worth a try.”

  Mary comes over and puts a steaming cup in front of me. I’m not sure what kind of tea it is, but it smells faintly of wet twigs. I lift a questioning brow at her and she explains, “It’s Pu-erh, supposed to be good for when you want to lose a few pounds.”

  I laugh. “You trying to tell me something, Mary?”

  “No, no! It’s me who’s on the diet. My doctor says I need to lose three stone. He’s the one who suggested the tea.”

  I lift the cup to my mouth and take a sip. It tastes like mud and dust. “Your doctor is a sadist,” I say, scrunching up my nose. Both Mary and Bob have a good chuckle.

  A minute of comfortable silence passes. Mary drinks her tea — she must be used to the god-awful taste — and Bob goes about preparing his chickpeas. All of a sudden, Mary leans forward and takes my hand in hers.

  “Something troubling you, honey?”

  I blow air out through my mouth, enjoying the feel of her soft, pudgy hand on mine. “I think I might be in love.”

  Her answering laugh is light and tinkling. “Well, now, there’s no need to sound so miserable about it.”

  “He’s way out of my league.”

  “And who told you that?” Mary responds, her tone disagreeable.

  “His mother.”

  Bob chuckles some more as he stands by the cooker, stirring his pot.

  “If you ask me, his mother sounds like a bit of a B-hive,” says Mary.

  Now I’m the one to chuckle. “Is that a mannerly way of saying biatch?”

  “The young people aren’t the only ones who like to make up slang,” she replies, a happy grin on her face as she takes yet another sip of that disgusting tea.

  “Oh, Mary. I don’t know what to do,” I say, planting my face down on the table to express just how lost I feel. She leans forward and strokes soothingly at my hair.

  “What else can you do other than tell him?”

  “True, but that would take guts, and I’m a gutless wonder.”

  “You’re not fooling anyone, girl. There’s steel in that belly of yours. Tell him. I can’t imagine any man would find it a difficulty to have a beautiful woman confess her love.”

  “You have such romantic, old-fashioned notions, Mary, and I thank you for the compliment, but I wish you were right,” I reply, sitting back up and trying to regain some dignity after my face plant of despair.

  I spend another half an hour at Ladybirds and then head home. Walking in the door, I shrug out of my coat and slip off my shoes before going straight up to my bedroom. Checking my phone, I see that the battery has died. I’m about to grab the charger when I stop and put the phone back down on my dresser. I need a night of no contact to get my head on straight, so I decide to wait until the morning to charge it.

  It’s going to be difficult enough sleeping, since a vision of Shane and Mona in her dressing room, her hand on his arm, has been constantly flitting through my brain. It wasn’t so much the fact that she was touching him that gets to
me, but the way he’d looked at her. I couldn’t tell whether it was longing or anger in his eyes. It seems that Justin was right — there is a fine line between love and hate.

  I’ve got a couple of audiobooks on my mp3, so I browse through those until I find something that piques my interest. Audiobooks are my Ambien; after a little while listening, I’m usually on a one way ticket to Snoozeville, but not tonight. Tonight my brain has other plans, and those plans involve keeping me up until the wee hours of the morning. I’ve listened all the way to the end of the first book and have started the opening chapters of book two before I finally nod off.

  I wake up with a headache, and somebody’s licking my face. Sadly, that somebody isn’t a hot violinist whose name begins with an “S,” but rather another “S” name. Specky lets out a little yip of excitement and then hops off the bed. Hops back on again, hops off, hops back on again. The hyper bitch.

  What? It’s perfectly acceptable to call a female dog a bitch.

  My bedroom door is wide open, and April’s standing there, laughing her head off.

  “Oh, you’re bloody hilarious, April,” I mutter as I sit up and rub the sleep from my eyes.

  “It’s after twelve, you know. Shouldn’t you be at work?”

  “I have the next couple of days off. By the way, I’m going down the country with Ben, Clark, and Lara for the weekend, so I want no funny business from you while I’m away.”

  She grins like she has absolutely no intention of behaving yourself. “Can my boyfriend stay over?”

  I widen my gaze, incredulous. “You’ve got a boyfriend?”

  “Uh, yeah. You met him the other week, remember?” Her eyes gleam with hope that’s about to be obliterated by yours truly.

  “Right, yes, I remember. And no, he cannot stay over.”

  “Jade, please. I’m begging you.” She gets down on her knees and puts her palms together like she’s saying a prayer.

  “All right, step inside my office and we’ll have a nice long discussion about French letters, more commonly known to you and me as condoms.” I sound out the word just to make this even more embarrassing for her.