The Janus Cycle

by Tej Turner

  To assess the situation I went back to the place where it all started. It was in this club. We saw each other at the bar. He offered me a drink and I said yes. I fell for those eyes. He was just a simple stranger then. Uncomplicated and alluring.

  That was last night. But now I was sober, and it turned out that he wasn’t as uncomplicated as I first thought.

  It was daytime, but the only difference that makes in this place is the smell of coffee instead of ale. I believe that they built this club on a whim that left most rooms without windows. The walls are dark. The place is an enclosed world outsiders cannot glimpse into and insiders are free from prying eyes.

  Janus. The place I met Neal.

  “So, he was married...” Namda said from the other side of the table.

  Namda is my best friend. She has a round face of pretty features framed by mulberry locks of wavy hair. She was wearing a baggy patchwork blue dress and a pair of large boots that day, which gave her the appearance of someone much larger than her petit five-foot-three. We are both artists; she likes to sculpt, and I like to paint. She is also my confidant and advisor because she has more perspective than me – sometimes I believe it’s because she crafts within three dimensions whereas I am restricted to the canvas.

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “How did she die?”

  “Breast cancer.”

  She shook her head. “Oh Tristan,” she said. “You know how to get yourself into these situations, don’t you...”

  She gazed at the wall for a few moments while her mind calculated the scenario and I waited for her verdict.

  “So I am guessing he must be bi...” she mumbled thoughtfully.

  “I hope so...”

  “Is he nice?” she asked. “That’s the most important question.”

  I took a sip from my coffee, pondering. “I guess so...”

  “But I can tell there are doubts...” she finished, knowingly.

  I lifted my phone out of my pocket. “Well,” I said. “He hasn’t text me yet...”

  “You gave him your number?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  She smiled. “Well he won’t text you yet – that’s against the rules.”

  “The rules?” I asked. “What rules?

  “You’re in the honeymoon period,” she explained. “You’ll never be far from his thoughts but he won’t dare to text you until at least ten hours after you left. No matter how much he wants to.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

  “Because then he would come off as too eager.”

  “So let me get this straight,” I said, leaning forward and folding my arms across the table. “He wants to text me but he cannot because of some social convention.”

  “Yes,” Namda said, smiling. “And, when he does, you need to wait at least three hours before replying.”

  “Shall I set a stopwatch?” I asked sarcastically. “Do it by the minute?”

  Namda laughed. “Oh Tristan, you’re not used to this game, are you?”

  “It all sounds a bit retarded to me,” I admitted. “Suddenly taking things naturally is needy?”

  “I didn’t make the rules,” Namda said, shrugging her shoulders.

  “And two people who want to get to know each other will both wait for the other to text or ring them but not dare do it themselves...”

  She nodded.

  “It’s just as I thought,” I concluded. “Humanity is doomed.”

  I was sitting in my room later that evening when my phone finally buzzed. I picked it up and an unknown number appeared on the screen with a message.

  Hey sexy. Hope you had a good day. Let me know if you want to meet again.

  I looked at my watch – it was 6:30 pm – and with Namda’s advice in mind I made a mental note to make sure to not text him back until after 9:30.

  At 7:21 pm I found myself staring at my phone.

  If I just texted him back, would there really be anything wrong in it? To set a specific time instead of just doing what you want to do – now that seems obsessive to me. What are these mind games that Namda told me about in aid of anyway?

  The next thing I knew, my thumbs were pushing away social convention.

  Hi, my day was okay. I am free tomorrow night if you like?

  I put my phone back onto the desk. It was done now. If he can’t deal with the way I roll it isn’t meant to be.

  To my surprise, a few moments later my phone buzzed and a new message appeared on the screen.

  Let me get back to you on that one.

  That night I began a new painting. What Namda had told me today about the rules of dating had given me an idea and I began to brush a picture of two people; a man and a woman. They were gazing at each other with desire but at the same time building a wall between them. The man is placing the bricks from his side while the woman is applying the cement from hers. So far the wall is as high as their shoulders, and it will soon block their lusty glances.

  I began to flesh out the colours in the man’s brown eyes. They gaze at the woman longingly while his hand places another brick between them. I was just adding tones of grey to his irises to signify that he is withholding something, when the sound of my phone ringing suddenly pulled me out of my world of colours and shapes.

  I dropped the paintbrush and scrambled for my phone. When I read the screen it said “Namda.”

  “Hello,” I said as I placed the phone to my ear.

  “Hey Trissy,” she squealed. “How’s it going?”

  “I’m fine,” I replied picking the paintbrush back up. I had just noticed that there was a smudge in the whites of his eyes and I needed to fix it. With most people it would be rude to do such a thing while talking on the phone but Namda knows what I am like and understands. I often get carried away and don’t know when to stop, I even go without sleep some nights because something is unfinished and I can’t relax until it is done.

  “You heard from him?” she asked.

  “Yeah—”

  “Did you follow my advice?”

  “No...” I admitted. “I couldn’t be arsed. But don’t worry, its fine. He text me back straight away, so I am guessing—”

  “That means he won that round,” she interrupted. “You’re his bitch now. The ball is in his court.”

  “I am not playing with any fucking balls!” I exclaimed.

  “Oh Trissy, don’t get pissy,” she said, with a chuckle. “I’m just trying to advise you.”

  “Sorry,” I apologised, realising that I had let myself get wound up too easily.

  “Anyway Tris, what are you doing tomorrow night?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure yet. Maybe meeting up with Neal. Why? What’s going on?”

  “Sam wants to go out to Janus,” she explained. “But don’t worry if you have plans with Neal...”

  “Well Neal hasn’t got back to me yet so I will let you know, okay?”

  “Sure, hun. Anyway, give us a ring tomorrow sometime. Bye.”

  The next day I didn’t hear back from Neal, though I wasn’t too surprised. I always mentally prepare myself for the insincerity of the men who wind their way into my life – I have had years of practice.

  So I had been used again. But, on the bright side, the sex had been good and I hadn’t lost anything, so it was time to forget about him and have a good night out with my friends.

  I rang up Namda to tell her I would be coming out, and started to get ready.

  The thing I have always loved about Janus is that you can dress however you like, and no matter how outrageous it was, no one will bat an eyelid.

  I like customising my clothes so that they feel like my own rather than the cheap chain store crap they originally are when I buy them. I went to my wardrobe and selected a pair of yellow corduroy trousers on which I had painted flames rising from the bottom of the legs, and wondered what they would look like with my red shoes.

  Only one way to find out.

  Dressing yourself can be an art an
d, just like painting, it is all about colours, shapes, tones, and textures. I carried on the theme of fire and cut tassels into the waist and sleeves of one of my orange shirts, to match the flame shapes on my trousers.

  The last thing left was my hair, which is naturally blonde and about three inches long all over. I slapped some gel into my hands and curved it up into the air, like rising flames.

  I looked in the mirror and laughed – I looked like a fire demon.

  Half an hour later, I was standing outside Janus, casting my eyes up and down the street to see if I could spot Namda or anyone else I knew, when I felt my phone vibrate against my leg.

  I held my breath in surprise when I saw the name that was flashing on the screen. It was him.

  “Hello?” I said in a bemused voice, when I answered the phone. I somehow felt defensive.

  “Are you coming over, then?” he asked.

  I looked up and down the road at all the kids filing into the club. I didn’t know what to say.

  “Err… I don’t know,” I mumbled. “You said you would get back to me, and... I thought...”

  “Well I have, haven’t I?” he asked.

  “Can I ring you back in a minute?” I asked. I needed time to think.

  “Yeah, sure,” he replied, with a not-so-convincing air of indifference. “Either way, let me know soon.”

  With a click he was gone.

  “Trissy!” someone yelled.

  It was Namda, and I walked across the road to meet her. We quickly embraced but, as soon as I pulled away, she began to quiz me; she has a way of knowing when something is on my mind.

  “So what’s up?” she asked.

  “He rang,” I replied. “Just now.”

  “Are you going to him?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head. “He’s left it to the last minute... and I’ve made other plans now...”

  “You’re going to him,” she decided firmly, as she grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the club.

  “What about you?” I asked.

  “Oh don’t worry about me,” she dismissed. “I have other friends apart from you, you know. Taxi!” she yelled, raising her hand towards the nearing vehicle.

  It stopped beside us and she opened the door.

  “Get in!” she ordered.

  Namda can be stubborn when she wants to be.

  I got into the back of the car and told the driver the name of the small hamlet outside the city where Neal lived.

  The driver nodded his head and gripped hold of the wheel. The next thing I knew, I was being carried down the street and I rolled down the window to say goodbye to Namda.

  “Have fun!” she called as she waved.

  It was beginning to get dark by the time I was walking up the pathway of his country home. My bright red and yellow clothes must have illuminated me from miles away, but the cold night air cast me chilly.

  I think he had been waiting by the door for me because as soon as I reached for the knocker it swung open and his arms were around me.

  I had prepared a speech about how it was a bit annoying that he had contacted me at such short notice but it was interrupted by his tongue entering my mouth. When he pulled away, his smile made me weak and all was forgotten.

  “Sorry for being late getting back to you. Good thing you didn’t make any plans, eh?” he said as I took off my shoes.

  “Well actually I—”

  “You didn’t have to go to all that trouble,” he interrupted me, as his hand reached over to stroke my gel moulded fire-demon hair.

  He looked me up and down and I blushed. My attire wasn’t exactly fitting for a visit to someone’s rural country home, and he was obviously under the impression that I had dressed up like this for his benefit. I opened my mouth to explain that I had actually made other plans.

  But he placed his finger on my lips.

  Within moments we were fucking on the floor.

  An hour later we were spread out on the couch with our limbs entangled. I turned over to stare at the ceiling but instead my eyes focused on her picture on the wall. It surprisingly didn’t bother me too much but I began to wonder if, for him, it was a haunting presence hanging above us, a witness to what we just did on the living room floor.

  I could see, in the way he had looked at the picture yesterday morning, that she was the love of his life and nothing could ever replace her, but did that mean he couldn’t eventually learn to love others?

  “She’s beautiful,” I said. And I meant it.

  He was silent for a few moments.

  “Yeah,” he eventually said. “She was.”

  It took me a few moments to build up the courage to continue.

  “So you’re bisexual?”

  He nodded.

  “Completely fifty-fifty?” I asked.

  He sighed. “I suppose if I had to say one or the other: I am a little bit more attracted to men,” he admitted. “But your preference doesn’t always choose who you fall for. I mean, I don’t often look at nineteen-year-olds but here you are.”

  In the morning he woke me up with a steaming cup of tea, which I drank down before we took his dogs for a walk.

  The dogs chased each other in the distance while we walked side by side through the woodlands and fields. Every now and then he would point to a particular tree or plant and tell me its name, and I soon found myself discovering a whole new world of tall oaks, leafy ferns, canopies of willow branches, bay trees with sweet smelling leaves, the purple petals of foxglove. I had always been a city boy and was now realising that a lot of the world had so far escaped me.

  “How do you know all of this?” I asked, realising that I didn’t even know what he did for a living. “Are you a horticulturist or something?”

  He smiled and shook his head. “No, you just learn these things when you live in the country.”

  I felt something wet against my fingers, and looked down, surprised, when I realised that Missy was sniffing them. I smiled and stroked the back of her head.

  Neal was frowning.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  With a jolt of his neck he came out of his thoughts and his eyes became icy. “Missy hasn’t really taken to a stranger since she...”

  I suddenly felt a barrier between us. It seemed that I had overstepped a mark without even meaning to. The haunted look in his eyes made me want to wrap my arms around him, but somehow I felt it would be inappropriate.

  “I wish I had my paints,” I breathed, trying to change the subject. “This place is really nice.”

  “You could bring them next time,” he suggested.

  “So there is a next time...”

  He covered his mouth, as if he had just realised that he had said something he didn’t mean to.

  “Maybe,” he mumbled.

  He carried on walking.

  We wandered back to his house in silence but once we got there his mood seemed to lighten. He suggested we sit in the garden for a while and disappeared into the house for a moment to return with a selection of cheeses, crackers and wine.

  We talked for hours. Not about his wife. About my art, the city, the countryside. We talked about our childhoods, our most memorable experiences, what makes us glad to be alive, and times which made us wish we were never born.

  Most of all we laughed. I felt so relaxed around him. I didn’t feel reserved. We were very different people, but there was chemistry, and conversation carried out naturally between us without awkward silences or any need to artificially initiate new topics. I could open up to him. I told him my secrets. He told me his.

  The sun began to go down and cast the horizon with an eerie glow. The garden dimmed and I realised that a whole day had somehow disappeared.

  “I still don’t know what you do,” I said, taking a sip of wine and watching the sun set.

  “Does it matter?” he asked.

  “Well sometimes it can be an important part of who you are...”

  “We are not all flashy pai
nters,” he pointed out.

  “I only just scrape by on it,” I admitted. “I have very little expenses, I earn enough to pay the rent and the bills, and buy art materials. I have no savings; I don’t earn enough to travel or anything like that. I just exist. I’m happy though.”

  “But you still do what you want to do, in your own time. I am an administrator for a law firm. It pays the bills.”

  There was no point in denying it – I was lucky.

  “What do you want to do then?” I asked.

  He gulped down the last of his wine, and reached for the bottle to pour himself another. “I have been saving up to open my own bar,” he answered.

  “A bar? Why?”

  “Were you expecting something creative? Nah. Not me,” he dismissed. “But... I like to get to know people, and bars are where you see the best and worst in them. That is why I was at Janus that night, I’ve been going to different places for research.”

  “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  “Only time will tell.”

  He drank too much wine that day to drive me back home so I stayed another night. It was a sly tactic on his part to get me to stay longer without having to ask, and thus admit that he actually wanted me to stay, but I didn’t mind.

  In the morning we hopped into his car and he drove me through country lanes back to my home. I wanted to stay longer but I dared not ask. This was complicated for him and we needed to take things at his pace.

  In seemingly no time at all, the streets of the city began to appear outside the window and I gave him directions to where I lived. When the car pulled up outside I invited him in to see my flat.

  He entered my studio apartment with wide eyes – my home usually has that effect on people. The walls are plastered in blotchy colours and posters, the floor is scattered with discarded paper, paints and brushes, and the furniture is covered with brightly coloured throws that I dyed myself.

  As we kissed goodbye his attention was caught by something he could see over my shoulder and he broke away, walking over to the painting I had not yet finished.