I turned to him. “So she convinced you I was a groupie on the make, only worried about my career?”
He darted his tongue quickly between his lips and sucked in his cheeks, before frowning. “Um, yeah, something like that. Yes. Basically.”
The blood was rushing in my head. “And it was that easy? Did she do this before or after you snorted coke off her…?” I stopped. No. Wrong thing to say.
He seemed to be getting angry too. “Before. Of course. Fuck. I’m not proud of this. Don’t make it hard for me.”
I felt like slapping him. “Don’t make it hard for you? Why the fuck not? Why shouldn’t I?” I could feel the pulse behind my eyes. I was too tired for this chess game. “And AC? Did he back her up?”
Tristan looked away again. “No.”
“Did he tell you he hit on me? Or had you already told him to do it?” What a fool I was. All of them conspiring together, with their little games. What an idiot. The image did not match what was within, obviously.
“No one needs to tell AC to hit on anyone. He’ll do it automatically.”
“So what did he tell you?”
“He told me I was a ‘complete fucking cunt,’ I think those were his words.”
“Was this at 5:00 a.m., when you turned up completely wasted with the ex and Paul?”
“No, actually. It was at 4:00 a.m., when he came to get me from the club. Sharing the rehab love.” He smirked.
“So I have AC to thank for you not sleeping with them? Thank you AC, I guess. Were you horribly disappointed? Or did AC help out? Who was on top? Do you fuck him every time he does you a favor?”
Tristan stopped, and put his hands on my shoulders. I flinched and he took them off. I couldn’t tell whether I was sorry or not. I stood rock still. Whatever he said next—that would decide everything.
“You know, you’re being a bitch. But, fair enough. Yeah, I was disappointed. In myself. For being such an easily led fool.”
I snorted. “Yeah, I know the feeling.”
Then his arms were around me, and my face was crushed against his chest, while he buried his head in my shoulder. I wanted him to hold me like this forever. I wanted the earth to swallow us both up so all this could stop. I wanted to get away from him before he was like a drug I couldn’t say no to. “Partir quand meme,” like the song. I didn’t want to be played. Again. Not again. His low voice rumbled through me. “I’m sorry, Lily. I’m really sorry.”
I just held him. I didn’t know what I wanted to say. He smelled so fantastic, like leather, and water, and sky, and airports, and cigarettes, and sweat, and him, over all of it, the sweet heady scent of his skin. It was like all the cells in my body had been starving.
Tristan kissed my head, and straightened up. “I don’t trust people. My faith in human nature…um…fragile. At best.” He looked at me. “I’m not sure why I choose the wrong people to believe. Trevor asked me if it was because that way I wouldn’t be disappointed, my twisted world view could carry on as before.”
I smiled, in spite of myself. Trevor. “That sounds like something he’d say.”
“He likes you, you know.”
“So on the recommendations of your friends, you’ve come back?” It burst out before I had time to pull it back. I knew it was the wrong thing to say as it was hitting the air. His face crumpled, and his mouth became a line, his jaw clenched.
“Yes. Ok. I deserve that. And what you’re going to say next.”
“Which is what? Enlighten me.”
“That it’s not enough.”
I turned away from him, to look at a tree. Funny, how the bark had little lines in it. I wondered what it meant. I reached my hand out. I couldn’t look at him.
“Are you offering to come back? While saying that you wouldn’t take you back if you were me? That’s not very convincing,” I said towards the tree.
“Ah, shit…yes…no?” He came up to face me. I kept examining the tree. “I’ve been playing games for so long. I…Lily, don’t do this for me.”
“Don’t do what?”
“Walk away. Don’t walk away to teach me a lesson. Please.” He picked up my hands in his.
I stared at his wrists, then at each finger in turn. My throat was tight with the effort not to scream or cry. I felt like I was running out of air. One of his songs was repeating in my head. I couldn’t figure out which one it was. I looked up at his eyes; now they were dark, a burnt sugar and tree color. I noticed the circles under his eyes for the first time, the faint shadow on his cheeks. His mole. We stood there, staring at each other.
His voice, when it came, was like a groan. “Ok. Go.”
And I did.
Chapter 29
I retraced our steps. I was dead. Numb. He was right. If I stayed, he wouldn’t respect me. It would be over before it began. I’d have nothing. Now I had his apology. And the cold comfort of dignity.
I made it to the reservoir, and I stood and stared at the ducks for a while. Then I headed back towards the apartment. I stopped when I saw a bench with a view of a nice tree and the entrance to the park, where we had come in. I sat down, very calmly. I wasn’t crying. I was proud of that. No tears. I’d made my decision. My life had shifted. He had offered the choice—integrity or obsession. No matter than the two of them were tangled up in my head beyond belief. But if Tristan saw it that way—thought that there was only one choice—I had to agree.
I sat there, and the sun warmed the back of my neck, and I watched the nannies wheeling the toddlers to the playground. And a few people came and sat down with coffee. A group of teenagers turned up one of their phones really loud to play some song. One girl had a high pitched squeal, like an electrocuted mouse. They moved on towards the tennis courts and it was relatively quiet again. I watched the people come and go. In pairs. Chatting. Alone. I could hear the buses on the street. More kids came out, threw their knapsacks in a pile and started a game of Frisbee.
The sun filtered the light down through the branches onto my face. It felt nice, I thought. Warm. But soft. I took a deep, gasping breath. Good. Still no tears. I looked at my hands. They seemed very far away. The fingernails were slightly blue. I thought I could hear a voice telling me to go inside. But that seemed very far away as well.
I noted how well my hands fitted over my knees. Strange. Yes, they were mine. I had legs. And then I realized I needed to leave. And I got up, slowly, all pins and needles and walked out of the park. Through the brown stone wall again. Across Central Park West. Down the street. Through the doors. All just like normal.
Just before I walked into my building, I thought about my phone. Did I have it? Right. I walked a bit past my door, and leaned against the building. The bricks rubbed cold and rough against my back. I turned on the phone, and it lit up like a Christmas tree. Four voice mail messages. An uncountable number of emails. Two texts.
I went to the texts first, like a drunk to a tallboy. The first one was from Alice.
I let in flowers had to go Sis broke wrist. Squash bitch. Back Thurs. U gd? Luv u babez
I laughed. Street Alice, with the minted family. Too funny.
I opened the second one without looking at the phone. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to see it.
I miss you.
Chapter 30
Inside, I’d calmed down enough to decide two things. One, I needed to organize my life. Two, I needed some time away. Some retreat somewhere. Trees. Water. Rice. Yoga mats. For now, at least the organizing part. I sat down on the floor next to the bed, looking up at the sky through the window. It was almost like being a child again, little against the big furniture, the big sky. I let out a long, tight breath. The pain in my throat was back, tight and dry, like a rope made of sand. I swallowed hard. It hurt. Fuck, it hurt.
I reached up for the phone, which was resting innocently on the bed. And there the message was, staring at me. “I miss you.” I miss you. I hadn’t been gone that long. Or was he the one who was gone? Organization. I pressed one for the voice
messages, and listened, not without a certain feeling of dread, that fortunately lessened as I deleted each message in turn. One telemarketer, one from Alice, two from Dave. And it was him calling personally, not his secretary. I must still be in his good books, despite my runner from the UK. Or maybe the story of you walking away from Tristan has already made the rounds, intoned the annoying voice in my head, and he wants to hear it personally. I leaned back against the wall and just sat there for a little while, fighting the urge to close my eyes and sleep. Every part of my body felt heavy and thick.
Finally, I dialed Dave’s direct line. It was time. I had used up all my hibernation points, unless I really did intend on walking away from everything—and the shitstorm that would provoke. I listened to the rings, once, twice, then a third time, preparing another message in my head. Something about accounting for my time today. My deep sense of responsibility. I was contemplating how thickly I could lay it on, when the rings suddenly stopped. I was surprised when his clipped, slightly nasal voice came through the phone. “Dave Fanning here.”
“Dave?” I asked stupidly. “It’s Lily.”
“Lily. Good. How are you? Better?” His voice softened from his initial official greeting, but there was still a certain insistence there. Like he knew he’d get his way. I wondered how much he had heard already. How up to date he was. If he’d heard the latest, that would mean that everyone else in the world had too. Well, the line of girls waiting for a chance at Tristan could reform. It probably already had. It probably never had unformed. I shook off the image.
“Oh, I’m fine. A little tired,” I lied. “I tend to feel jet lag more in this direction. Usually means I stay up late, then crash hard.” Well that part was true enough. “How are you?”
“Perfectly well. Your flight, I mean. You said you needed to get back. Have things improved since then?”
I felt like we were talking in code. Not for the first time, I wasn’t sure if we were tapping out the messages from the same book. He’d hear about it all anyway—that was his job. It just didn’t have to be from me. I tried to be evasive without seeming so. “Things are the same. But things are always the same. I suppose you want to know about your piece.”
“By necessity. But I called to inquire about you as well. What do you say to early cocktails tomorrow evening? Send me your draft, we can talk it through then. As well as everything else.”
My throat hurt again. So this was it. My future. Twenty-four hours to decide which way it was going to go. I couldn’t call it my destiny. I was pretty sure I’d missed out on that. “That sounds lovely, Dave. I appreciate you looking after me. Thanks for flying me out. You’re a great boss.” Distance.
“I’m more than that.” He paused. “I think friends should look after each other, don’t you? Benefits. Part of the package deal.”
I laughed, and so did he. I didn’t think it was for the same reason though. “Ok. Well then. Brilliant. Where should we meet?” Which watering hole would he suggest for the shakedown?
“Oh, why not Verlaine? No view, but they have some lovely ginger and sake cocktails. Tuesday’s acceptable there. Take your mind off…” He paused again. “Can’t be all work and no play. Then maybe some Italian food. You looked a bit off in London, we can’t have that. Hold on a sec.” I heard him give some muffled command to someone. “No, need you ready and on form. Especially when you’re about to go out on the road.”
That woke me up. “What?” I said the next part, very slowly, as though I was learning a new language. “Out on the road? When? What about the piece? With who?”
He seemed to find my confusion funny. “Had you forgotten? The second part. Part two. The tour. Devised reunion on hold, but AC has graciously agreed to join Tristan on the tour. Big news. And you will be covering it.” It sounded slightly like a threat. I couldn’t figure out why.
“Still?” It was the closest I could let myself get to mentioning what had happened.
“Still? Always. Consider it a homeopathic cure. We’ll talk more tomorrow evening. Rest up. Finish the piece. You’re probably going to be the cover. If it’s good enough.” He chuckled. “No pressure. A demain, chérie.”
I closed the phone and held it to my chest. Bloody fucking hell. This was what I’d wanted, right? A shot at the big time, drinks at the right places, air kisses, my name in lights? Right? Damn. Not for the first time, I wondered why so frequently you got something just at the moment you didn’t really care anymore. I saw my zafu cushion and bowl of brown rice disappearing in a puff of smoke. On the road? With Tristan. Watching him. Every night. I tried to remember how long the tour was supposed to be. A month? Longer? Tristan on show for me every night. His face, those hands, his long legs. Was Dave right? Would proximity cure me? Or would I simply lose what was left of my mind?
On the other hand, could I really say no? It’s all torture, I muttered to myself. Fuck it.
And then, almost on cue, my phone vibrated. Another text. Tristan.
I want you there. If you hate me, we can fight.
Again. His unseen hands, pulling the strings. I put my head between my knees, trying to rest my aching brain. And Tristan obviously wasn’t going to make this easy for me. Fuck. If I went out with Dave, then it would get back to Tristan. What the fuck was I supposed to do? Tristan. Fuck. I closed my eyes again. I still wanted him, so badly, I could feel it thrumming through me like the sound next to a high-tension wire. But I couldn’t give in. It couldn’t be that simple. And he couldn’t think I was with Dave. That would be worse than anything.
Exhaustion was starting to get the better of me. Dave was right about one thing at least—I needed to rest if I was going to be up for all this. I needed a shaman, some kind of fairy godmother with a magic wand and a big lantern to light the way. I dragged myself up and threw myself, fully clothed, on to the bed, and wrapped the quilt around me. I was nearly asleep again when I thought of Trevor. Trevor. Of course. He would know what to do. I reached for my phone, double checking that there were no more texts. I typed quickly on the tiny keys. Honesty was going to have to take the place of wit on this one.
Trevor. Rose King. What to do? I’m lost. Love Sleeping Beauty
I pressed send, and turned off the phone. I’d mixed, now it needed to bake. And I needed sleep.
Chapter 31
I woke up, twisted in the covers. It had been a fitful night’s sleep, filled with dreams half remembered that seemed vaguely important. It was no wonder I was dazed. I lay back on the pillows, willing myself to have the strength of mind to not just grab for my phone and turn it on. I padded out of the room, still feeling disorientated, my hand reaching out against the cold blank wall to steady my progress. I made it as far as the kitchen, wrapped in a sweater and managed to make a cup of tea before I succumbed to the inevitable and skipped back to the bedroom for my phone.
I pressed the button that would turn the phone on, and looked away from the start-up screen, slightly embarrassed. Very nervous. I didn’t want this, didn’t want these feelings. And Trevor? What the hell was he going to tell me? Nothing, probably.
I opened the text message icon. And there they were. Two from Trevor, one from Tristan. I held my breath and went for Tristan’s first. Maybe Trevor’s words of wisdom would make sense of whatever Tristan was going to say and my response, which I knew was bound to be irrationally emotional.
Lily. I’m not perfect. But Dave? Where are you meeting him for dinner? Give me a chance to fight.
Bloody hell. I let out my breath with a long hiss and chucked the phone on the bed. My head hurt. I lay back and closed my eyes. And if I had pushed Tristan away for good? There was no way of telling what Dave had told him. The idea that he thought I had given myself to Dave… I clenched my fists. No, I would fix this. On to Trevor. I clicked on his text. He was good, coming back with something right away. I hoped it would be useful.
Wake up then, love. Thorns all metaphor no substance. Arriving Thursday. We will go out and drink and discuss. But I
think you know.
Then, the next text.
No money-back guarantees on this one. BTW, what’s your friend Sarah’s number? I feel a bout of pre-flight homewrecking coming on.
I laughed. And then bit my lip. And then swallowed some more tea. Had I really expected he would tell me what to do? Or had he? I sat there for a while, watching the blinking red light on the phone remind me that I still had unread emails. I texted back.
Thursday then. If you know and I know, does he know? Sarah 0207 434 2967. I used to go out with her fiancé. I don’t want him back.
It really was all down to me then. Drink and discuss—by then it might be a post-mortem.
Well, on to the emails. The usual this and that, and there it was—the confirmation email from Dave about dinner that Tristan had alluded to.
Lily. Tonight. Let’s skip cocktails and go further east than Italy. 7. Pylos. Expect to sign contract on whole deal over an expensive bottle of red wine. I know your weaknesses.
Ah. So it really was party time. Dave, cleverly, would never come out and say anything “unprofessional” especially not in an email. But he knew what he meant. And so did I.
Chapter 32
I was right on time. Early even. I peeked in the window. I’d never been here before. What was it with Dave and womb-like spaces? The room was long and oddly low ceilinged and over-decorated in a way that was obviously supposed to evoke the faux peasant earthiness of your last holiday spent at your Greek villa, and the tavern where you finally hooked up with 1) your ex, 2) the bartender, 3) your sailing instructor, or 4) your Sapphic yoga/creative writing teacher. Whatever. I walked up the street and looked at the people in the wine bar, looked up at the windows of the old apartment buildings. I still hadn’t completely made up my mind. The last time I had seen Tristan, I’d been so angry. But he had seemed so broken, yet so distant. The words of his cryptic little texts swirled around in my mind, but nothing stuck, it was all so fragmented, like words of a sentence in a foreign language that you hadn’t quite memorized.
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