Getting Real

by Ainslie Paton

  “You rock my world, Jake Reed.”

  He frowned. “I upset you and that’s not what I want. Not what this is about.”

  How to tell him he touched her soul? That he made her feel sweet, deep pleasure and sharp, sour pain at once. She didn’t understand it herself—just knew she was fractured and he had the means to break all her silos and melt her back to whole.

  She brought warm, swollen lips to his to whisper, “You change me and it’s good,” the words not coming out right, words for a therapist not a lover, but as close as she could come to telling him what she felt.

  He rested his forehead on hers. “I want to believe you.”

  The need to convince him this was good demanded too much of her, needing to come from a place inside herself she never visited. She was a songwriter with no words, a singer with no voice. She dug her fingers into his skull, trying to press understanding into him. She stroked his back to soothe his anxiety. She rocked him against her body to impress her need on him, and when she kissed him, she flavoured her lips with the love she could never trust. It wasn’t nearly enough, but it was a start.

  Later, exhaustion claimed them both again and they slept, waking at a more civilised hour when Rielle’s alarm peeped. She had to climb across him to shut it off. His hair was a scribbled mess and he needed a shave. He looked sleep rumpled and impossibly, generously gorgeous. It was the perfect excuse to lie across his chest and kiss him properly awake.

  Jake played possum for about the length of time it took for Rielle to find out he was ticklish. He grabbed her hands and pinned them to her sides and her laughter was a new delight. A good sound, carefree and happy. He wanted her to feel joy like this not fear, release not shame. He wanted to give her freedom not constraint. But despite the kisses, he was still anxious about how she’d be with him this morning. He didn’t know what to trust from her, the tears or the way she responded to his body. The laughter or the way her eyes could shutter him out.

  No woman had ever had him so confused, so tentative. She cut up his confidence. Made him hesitate when he wanted to be certain. Self conscious when he wanted to be selflessly lost in her. He released her hands and she snuggled into him. Their bodies were entirely open to each other now, but even half crazed with lust, Rie held herself apart from him. It wasn’t enough. He felt gypped. He wanted to get behind her detachment, behind her fears, and fight her to show him her truth, but he knew that was dumb. It would only push her away before the natural end of them came. He’d been capable of the whole Zen thing before last night because he’d denied how hard he’d fallen for her. Now there was no denying it; there was only living it until she called it off.

  She drew him from his funk by flicking her tongue over the four points of his compass tattoo. “What does this mean to you?”

  A dozen ways to answer that—the truth some kind of betrayal—he shrugged. “Just a cool image for a boy scout like me.”

  “Liar.” She scraped her teeth against the ink. “It’s more.”

  “Yeah, it’s more.” What was the point in lying to her? “It’s a reminder to watch where I’m going. Not get lost in all the white noise. To stay centred and remember what’s true.”

  She folded her arms across his chest, propped her chin on her hands, considered him. “Are you lost now, Jake?”

  “You could say that. You’re my white noise, Rie. I’m gone, lost in you.”

  Jake saw distance form quick shifting clouds in Rielle’s eyes. “Hey, it’s okay, I’m a big boy now. I can handle a little distraction without heading too far off course.” He was getting better at this lying gig. She was teaching him the dubious virtue of hiding his feelings. He drew his hand across her sacrum, found the ripple in her skin and traced the scar around her hip. “Tell me about this?” Her lips narrowed and he knew he’d as good as shoved her away.

  She stayed where she was; her heart fluttered softly against his ribs, but her voice was hard, steely. “It was a long time ago, Jake. I hardly remember it.”

  “You’re lucky to be alive.”

  “I try.” She was shutting down, dismissing him even as she moved up his body and kissed him. Her lips were more a seal than an enticement.

  When she broke off, he said, “And the ankle?”

  It was a good save. She rolled over beside him, stretching her leg straight up and pointing her toe at the ceiling so the red heart was visible inside her ankle. “My first. After a fight with Rand. I don’t remember what it was about. I was fifteen and Ben was still alive but too sick to take much notice of anything.”

  He sat up, ran his hand from her hip bone across her concave belly then over her inside thigh, calf and ankle; he pressed a kiss to the ragged red heart. Her dad would be dead before she finished being much older. She’d said Jake had no idea how hard growing up had been for her. He felt lousy with how judgemental he’d been.

  He dropped back to the pillow, rolling towards her and tracing his lips over the little constellation behind her ear. “And this one?”

  “Just something I liked.”

  So much she hid. “Rand has the same one on his chest.”

  She glared at him.

  “Hey, you’re the one who wanted all the shirts off.”

  She blew out a breath. “The planet is Maggie, my mum, and the stars are Ben, Rand and I. We got them done when Ben died.”

  If their point scoring game had still been live, with rules not fuelled by lust alone, Jake would’ve won a point for getting that story out of her. But the game had reached a new level where the play was more intense, and the stakes were about more than mere points. Now he played for trust and truth and some sense of where he might go with this woman.

  He brought the inside of Rielle’s wrist to his mouth for a kiss. “And this one?” It was a strange stick figure. A straight line with an open pin head, dissected into thirds by two different types of lines, one straight, the other wavy.

  “It’s an ancient alchemy symbol.”

  “It’s a wolf.” He could see it now in the aerial view of a head, backbone and tail, the shorter back legs and the longer front legs and paws. “Why the wolf?”

  “The wolf mythology is about good and evil, masculine and feminine, being wild and war-like and faithful and nurturing. Wolves are instinctive, strong and fierce. I got this when we started working professionally and it was so important we made it.”

  Jake traced the line of the wolf’s back with his tongue. “The wolf is your totem.”

  “My wolf is to me what your compass is to you.”

  “And this one?” Where a ring would sit, where one did when she was Gym Girl; the entwined initials A and R were inked. Jake drew her middle finger into his mouth and sucked. “Who’s A?”

  “I’m A. A for Arielle.”

  He sat up fast and leaned over her, hands either side of her hips. “Arielle, your name is Arielle! It’s for you and Rand?”

  She nodded, surprised at his delight. “What did you think?”

  He flopped back on the pillow. “That A was someone special to you.”

  He grunted when she elbowed him. “You can’t be jealous?”

  He said, “I can if I want,” and laughed, dodging another elbow and catching the pillow she threw as she climbed out of bed, heading for the bathroom.

  Jake folded his arms behind his head, stared at the winking fire detector in the ceiling. It flashed out a heartbeat, like it was alive, making it as close to a living witness as he could have for what he’d just learned. She was Arielle Mainline and she’d shown him the pieces of herself she could hide behind socks and watches, sweatbands, rings and hair.

  He wondered what else she’d show him in time—if they had time. He counted off twenty beats of the red indicator light. He heard the shower water run, and smiled at the thought of joining her. He started his count again, made it to five before he got vaguely annoyed she wasn’t going to invite him in, and to ten before she stood in the doorway of the bathroom, naked, wet, wonderful.
/>   “Something wrong with your compass, huh?”

  As he scrambled out of the tumbled sheets, he figured maybe his compass was faulty; jammed up by the magnetic pull of a wolf woman who was inexplicably his true north.

  36. Ghosts

  The after show party in the green room was going off when Jake got there. A load of Rand’s old school friends had joined the tour and intended to party on til the last show in Sydney. They were loud, drinking heavily and still getting over the shock of meeting Harriet Young again. For a couple of the men, this new, unexpectedly sexy Harry was more their idol than Rand ever would be. They were making no pretence about staring at her. Jake figured they’d yet to work out Harry was off the market. For her part, Harry looked amused as she stood with her crew, capturing vox pop interviews. Rand was nowhere to be seen.

  Jake backed out. He wanted to see Rand about the night’s performance. Some minor cueing issues, an idea of Bodge’s, a problem Ron had, but mostly about Rielle. A near fall on the trapeze, a screaming match with Bunk after their ride in the Hand, and a look of distress in her off-stage moments.

  He found brother and sister in Rielle’s dressing room. Rand was slumped on an ugly worn leather sofa, one knee jiggling a fast tempo that matched the annoyance on his face. Rielle was pacing, short, aggressive strides. Neither of them were talking.

  When he closed the door, Rielle fired at him, “I want Bunk replaced.”

  “Okaaay.” He knew Bunk was bewildered about whatever it was he’d done wrong and would probably be grateful to be relieved of his on stage duty.

  “Someone changed the resin. That’s not the resin I need, that’s why I slipped. I want to know who swapped the resin.”

  “Ah-huh.” As far as Jake knew, the resin was the resin, no swap, no change, not the excuse for her slipping.

  “There was something wrong with my earpiece, flaky connection. I couldn’t hear properly. You tell Bruce Ng I want a new kit for tomorrow night.”

  Jake had already talked to Bruce, nothing wrong with the earpiece that Bruce could see. He knew Rielle’s anger wasn’t about Bunk or earpieces or resin. He glanced at Rand who gave him an eye roll, and Rielle snarled, “Jesus! So my comfort and safety on stage isn’t a big deal to either of you.”

  “Rie, lay off,” said Rand, sitting forward.

  “Fuck you. I don’t think I will.”

  “You have to get it together. I mean it. Do whatever you need to do. Make peace. Get over it. Move on.”

  “Get out,” she spat, turning her back, “both of you.”

  Outside, Rand shook his head. “Man, she’s so uptight. She’s got to keep it together.” He leaned against the wall and considered Jake. “I thought you were supposed to be helping with that?”

  Jake flinched as if he’d been poked with something sharp and barbed. “What?” He wasn’t sure if Rielle wanted anyone to know about them.

  “I thought you were going to give her something else to think about,” Rand said, but when he saw Jake’s discomfort he added, “Hey, it’s cool. Sorry man, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I think you’ll be good for her. Anyway, you gonna put up with that attitude?”

  Jake snorted. “Ah, no, I guess not.”

  Rand clapped him on the shoulder. “Good.” He pushed off the wall. “I’ve got a party to get to and a centrefold to claim.” He walked backwards up the corridor, watching while Jake rapped on the dressing room door. When there was no response he called, “Good luck, man,” and took off at a jog.

  Jake knocked again and got a muffled, “Fuck off,” in response.

  He yelled, “Make me!” and the door flew open.

  Rielle, red faced, said, “What did you say?”

  Leaning against the jamb he repeated, lazy and low voiced, “Make me.”

  She went to slam the door, but he caught it with the rubber toe of his boot and it bounced back at her. She stepped away, eyes flashing danger signs as he stepped though, calmly and without haste.

  “Wasn’t I clear before about what I wanted, Jake?”

  “Crystal.”

  “So, why are you here?” She folded her arms tightly across her chest.

  “Because I want to know why you’re so upset.” He closed the door behind him, making a show of doing it gently.

  She scowled at him. “I did a crappy performance and it wasn’t my fault.”

  “Well, how do I help fix that?”

  “Are you deaf? Been hanging around the amp stack too long? I told you what to do.”

  “You gave me excuses.”

  “What!”

  “Bunk has no idea what he did wrong and neither does Bodge, Tef or Liz and they all know that part of the show inside out.”

  “Ah—”

  Jake cut her off. “The resin you used tonight is the same resin we’ve used every night, so that’s not an issue.”

  “But—”

  He cut her off again. “There’s nothing wrong with your earpiece. We’ll replace it, but so you know, it’s not faulty.”

  He imagined he could see a heat haze rising from the tension in her body. He didn’t know whether she needed a lover or a Godzilla tour manager when she shouted, “What are you saying?”

  He’d let her choose. “I’m asking, what’s wrong?”

  For a moment she stood there, taking deep breaths, nostrils flaring, sides heaving like she’d this second come off stage instead of a good hour ago. Then as though doused in a sudden downpour, her fire was out.

  “Can you find Bunk so I can apologise?”

  She’d chosen—tour manager.

  “Sure.” He stepped towards the door to leave her. This new relationship between them was making him awkward and uncertain about how to be with her, especially when she was like this: aggressive, lashing out.

  He was half out the door when she put her hand on his waist. “Will you come back?”

  With a sense of relief, he shifted his weight infinitesimally back into her palm. “What do you want me to come back as?”

  She stepped in behind him, rested her forehead on his back. “Can you come as the man who knows how to love me?”

  He sighed and turned to her, gathered her into his arms, lifting her off the ground for a long close hug. “I can do that, dead easy.” Too easy. For all her twisted, angry ways, it was too easy to love her, and he couldn’t hide it and she knew it. “When I come back will you talk to me about what’s wrong?”

  She didn’t answer, just tucked her head into his neck.

  “Rie, you need to talk about this.”

  She pushed away and he lowered her feet to the ground, but kept his arms around her. “No Jake, I don’t need to talk about it. Talk is cheap. No amount of talk can fix this. I don’t want to be here and I can’t wait to leave.”

  A stalled breath punched out of his chest. There it was—the reminder that there was no time to uncover more of Arielle Mainline. That what he’d jumped into was just the moment—a moment beyond anything he’d ever experienced, one wild time with an incredible woman—but that was it. He was back to Zen, to all or nothing and facing nothing.

  She would’ve have felt him stiffen, heard his sigh. She’d tutored him in lying, but he couldn’t guard his feelings as expertly as she could. “You want out now, before the tour ends, Jake? I can understand if you do.” She looked him straight in the eyes, but she gripped his arms as though without them she might crumple to the floor. She was confusion in its purest, most persuasive form.

  “Nope, I’m not finished with you yet, wolf woman.” He put as much bravado in his voice as he could manage. Bad enough she could read him inside out; he wasn’t giving her up until he had to.

  “I always figured you for a sucker, Jake.”

  “Is that an invitation?”

  She laughed and slapped his rear end. “A sucker and a surprisingly naughty boy.”

  They went looking for Bunk together, found him in the crew break room with Bodge, Lizard, Teflon, a deck of cards and three near-empty six packs
of VB.

  Rielle said, “So Bunk, how’d you get that name anyway?”

  “Ah Rie, I don’t think you wanna know about that.” Bunk slapped five dollars in the clump of money in the centre of the table saying, “I’ll see you, Liz.”

  Bodge said, “I’m out.”

  Rielle quirked her head to one side. “Fair enough, Bunk. But there’s one thing I want you to know.”

  Lizard looked from Bunk to Rielle. As the stand in, he’d only ever had one turn in the Hand with Rielle so far. Jake figured he was calculating his chances of edging Bunk out of the Hand. He slapped the table five times laying down a four, five, six, seven and eight of clubs. He said, “Flush,” with a self-satisfied grin and made a motion to scoop the money in the centre of the table his way.

  When Rielle said, “Hey, Liz, I think Bunk has something up his sleeve,” he paused.

  “Nah he was just bluffing.” He started stacking the coins.

  Bunk fanned his five cards down in one move, and they all leaned forward to see a suit of hearts: A ten, Jack, Queen, King and Ace hit the table.

  “Shit,” said Lizard, rocking back on his chair, grabbing his beer.

  With a wide smile, Bunk raked the money pot to his side of the table. “What did you want me to know, Rie?”

  “That I’m sorry. Bunk, I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have gone off on you like that. I was nervous tonight. Happens sometimes. Wait til we get to Sydney. I’m likely to be completely psycho.”

  Jake shot Rielle a look of incomprehension. Ten minutes ago he’d have been happy if she’d admitted to being anxious during the show and here she was confessing her fears in front of key members of the crew. Was this real or part of her act?