by Tanith Morse
“And it’s none of my business. Whatever happened in your past has nothing to do with me. Besides, I doubt if you like people bringing it up all the time. I know I wouldn’t.”
I nodded silently, then turned and went to the kitchen. When I returned, we talked about school and Star Trek and what we had planned for the summer holiday. Then I went to Mum’s bedroom and brought back a pair of electric clippers.
“I think we should probably do this in the bathroom,” I decided. “That way, the mess will be easier to clean up.”
Frasier’s eyes fixed on mine. “Just don’t leave me with a bald patch, okay?”
“Frasier, do I look like someone who would leave you with a bald patch?” He opened his mouth to reply, but I cut him off. “Don’t answer that. Relax. I know what I’m doing.”
We went into the bathroom and I had him sit on a stool. Then I plugged in the clippers and carefully began to run them over his head, watching as locks of wavy brown hair cascaded to the floor. My plan was to cut the back and sides relatively short while leaving plenty of fringe on top.
Tilting Frasier’s head back, I began to shape his sideburns, but my hand slipped and the clippers dug into the fringe I had so carefully crafted. Sighing, I switched off the clippers and surveyed the damage.
“What’s wrong?” Frasier asked apprehensively.
I scratched the side of my nose, deliberating on how to salvage the situation. “Um,” I said thoughtfully. “You know, I think you’d look better with a crew cut.”
“A crew cut?” he asked in surprise. “You mean like the army guys wear? Give me the mirror! I need see what you’ve done.”
He tried to stand, but I pushed him back down. “No peeking till I’m finished,” I reprimanded. “If you look now, you won’t understand what I’m trying to do.”
“This is just what I’m afraid of,” he muttered.
Sighing again, I proceeded to shave the rest of his hair off, and when I was done, I handed him a small mirror. There was a long silence as I awaited his verdict.
Unable to wait any longer, I asked, “Well, what do you think?”
“I don’t know,” Frasier replied, tilting his head from side to side. “It makes my nose look big, don’t you think?”
“Not at all,” I countered. “In fact, I think it suits you. It makes you look more edgy.”
“Edgy?” he said suspiciously, but before he could say any more, I heard the front door slam, followed by the clatter of Mum’s high heels in the hallway.
“Darling, I’m home!” she called cheerfully, “and I’ve brought Chinese home for tonight.”
“In here, Mum,” I shouted.
When Mum finally poked her head through the bathroom door, she looked surprised, but quickly regained her composure. She touched her hair, like she did whenever she was around a man. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had company.”
Frasier smiled, stood, and extended his hand. “Pleased to meet you.” Then he added, “Wow! The two of you could pass for sisters.”
That remark clearly made Mum’s day. “Oh, flattery will get you everywhere, darling,” she said coyly. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t catch your name.”
“His name is Frasier, Mum,” I said, rolling my eyes. “He’s in my English class.”
“Lovely to meet you,” Mum said, looking at the pile of hair on the floor. “I see my daughter’s given you a haircut. It looks very…interesting.”
Frasier blushed. “Thanks. We’re going to a party tomorrow night, so I thought I’d make a bit of change.”
Mum clapped her hands and gushed, “A party? How wonderful. Who’s is it?”
“Some boy called Taffin Carter’s,” Frasier replied.
“Hold on,” I added quickly. “Just when did I agree to go? It’s still undecided.”
“Of course you’re going!” Mum said, shooting me a look. “You haven’t been out in ages.” She turned her gaze to Frasier. “She’ll go if I have to drag her there myself. She’s becoming such a homebody, but you can help me liven her up, Frasier.”
Frasier didn’t know what to say. “I’ll do my best.”
“But I don’t have anything to wear,” I pouted.
“You can borrow something of mine,” Mum said cheerily. “Now you’ve got no excuse.”
“Well, I guess that’s decided,” Frasier said, winking at me. “I’ll pick you up at nine.”
“Perfect!” Mum said happily.
We shared our Chinese dinner with Frasier, and after he left, Mum ransacked her closet trying to find me something to wear. She threw several glittery skirts, tops, and dresses on the bed, asking me to pick out anything I liked.
“You know I don’t wear this kind of stuff,” I grumbled. “We have very different taste in clothes, and I just can’t see any of these working for me.”
Still rummaging through her clothes rack, she said, “You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend.”
“Frasier’s not my boyfriend.”
“And he’s a lovely boy, too. So polite and sweet.”
“We’re just friends, okay, Mum? Nothing more.”
She finally emerged from the closet. “Sam, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”
“What?”
“I’ve met someone.”
I was stunned, and didn’t really want to hear any more. “That’s great, Mum. Who is he?”
“Oh, just someone from work. His name’s Greg. We went out tonight and had a marvelous time.” She paused a moment, then continued, “We haven’t been seeing each other very long, but I think I really like him.”
“That’s great, Mum,” I repeated, but my heart wasn’t in it.
Despite my cynicism about romance, I’d always secretly hoped my parents would get back together, so the thought of Mum dating someone else was disturbing.
“Maybe I’ll introduce him to you sometime,” she said hopefully. “Perhaps we could all go out to dinner.”
I rolled my eyes. “Let’s just take one step at a time, okay? Like you say, it hasn’t been very long, and who knows if it’s even going to last?”
Mum pursed her lips, then turned back toward the closet. She pulled out a navy blue jumpsuit made of a chiffon-type material, held it up, and said, “What do you think of this?”
It was the first thing I’d seen that looked remotely interesting, but as I glanced down at the legs trailing on the floor, I shook my head. “Too bad it’s too big for me.”
“Never fear,” Mum said, her face brightening. “I’ll get out the sewing machine and we’ll take it in for you. It won’t take long.”
“Cool,” I smiled. And I meant it.
***
Taffin Carter lived in a white, mock Tudor mansion off Priory Lane, a street in Elmfield where no house cost less than two million. His parents were seriously loaded, and rumor had it Taffin had been expelled from three private schools before ending up at St. Mary’s. His father, John, was a newscaster for one of the big cable channels—I couldn’t remember which one.
Frasier and I arrived at nine-thirty and I was stunned by how beautiful everything was. Hundreds of tiny fairy lights lit up the driveway as our taxi drove through the entrance gates. As we entered the backyard, we saw tables filled with barbequed meat and fruit punch, and there was a bandstand off to one side where a DJ was busy whipping the guests into a party mood.
Frasier was wearing a black fedora, a white pin-stripe jacket with wide shoulders, and a pair of shiny silver trousers that tapered at the ends. For my part, the adjustments Mum had made to the jumpsuit were perfect, and it hugged my body as if it had been custom designed just for me. My short black hair was gelled like someone from an ‘80s music video, and I had even let Mum put some make-up on my face—just a little mascara, lipstick, and blush.
Still, I’d never liked large crowds and there were so many people there it looked as if Taffin had invited the whole school. I wondered how we’d ever find Becky.
As I looked around, Frasier went and got us e
ach a glass of peach-flavored punch. It was way too sugary for me, but I thanked him for the effort and smiled as I sipped it in tiny gulps.
For a long while, we stood observing our surroundings until a boy with a fluorescent pink mohawk came up to us. “Hey, guys! I’m so glad you made it.”
“Hey, Taffin,” Frasier said, giving him a high-five.
“Are you enjoying the party?” Taffin asked excitedly.
“Yeah, it’s great,” Frasier enthused. “Oh, by the way, happy birthday.”
“Thank you!” Taffin turned to me and flashed a devilish grin. “Who’s your friend, Frasier? I don’t think we’ve met.”
“She goes to St. Mary’s with us,” Frasier replied. “Sam, this is Taffin.”
“Hello,” I said flatly, not happy with the way birthday boy was ogling me.
Suddenly, Taffin snatched Frasier’s fedora off his head and put it on his own, saying, “I think I’ll borrow this for a while.”
“Hey, give it back!” Frasier shouted above the noise of the DJ’s PA system.
Without a reply, Taffin raced away and disappeared into the house.
“Great. Just great,” Frasier said, shaking his head.
I bit my lip as I looked at him. His head looked like a shiny boiled egg. I then realized that his fedora hadn’t been a fashion statement. It was a way to cover my botched barber job.
I leaned toward him and asked, “You don’t like your haircut, do you?”
“I never said that.”
“I’m sorry, I messed it up. Can you forgive me?”
“Don’t worry, it’ll grow back,” Frasier replied stoically. “Eventually.”
“Come on,” I said, changing the subject. “Let’s go find Becky.”
We went inside the house and I marveled at the lush decor. Everything was done in white and beige, with marble floors and pillars, and ceilings so high they made me dizzy when I looked up. For the next hour we roamed from room to room, but there was no sign of Becky.
“Well, it’s still early,” I said, glancing at my watch. “She’s probably on her way. You know how long girls take to get ready.”
Frasier nodded glumly. Without his hat, his confidence seemed to have disappeared.
“I’m going to the bathroom. I’ll see you in a bit,” he said.
As Frasier walked away, I suddenly felt exposed and self-conscious. I didn’t even have a glass of punch for company. I had set it somewhere during our search for Becky.
As I stood by the marble staircase, feeling like an idiot, Taffin reappeared clutching a half-empty wine bottle. He offered me a swig, but I politely declined.
Then, leaning into me, he said, “I’ve been watching you.”
“Oh, really?” I said airily. “That’s nice.”
His eyes running up and down my body, he then said, “You’re gorgeous.” As I fiddled with my handbag, he added, “But I imagine you hear that all the time.”
“Actually, I don’t,” I replied truthfully.
“Have you got a boyfriend?”
“No.”
“Seriously?”
I nodded.
“Wow, this looks like my lucky night.”
“Don’t bet on it,” I muttered as I deftly reached out and snatched Frasier’s hat off his head.
“Hey! Give that back!” Taffin shouted.
“Sorry, but it doesn’t belong to you,” I said, hiding it behind my back and turning to make a swift exit.
As I walked away, I stuffed the hat onto my head as Taffin called after me, “Be back soon or I’ll come looking for you.”
Instead of heading back to the party, I slipped in through another door at the back of the house. I didn’t know where I was, but I was intent on getting as far away from that creep as I could.
I wandered aimlessly through a network of corridors and then up a set of stairs, until I found a room where the lights were dim and another DJ was playing slow music. There were only a few people in there, most of them lounging on big Turkish-style floor cushions. I liked the vibe immediately and decided to stay a while. Taking a champagne flute from the drinks bar, I collapsed on a big velvet cushion in the corner of the room, feeling like falling asleep and wishing I hadn’t let Frasier talk me into coming.
“Nice hat,” said a voice from above me.
I glanced up and saw Lee leaning against a wall with his baseball cap so low I couldn’t see his eyes—but I knew he was smiling. I could feel it.
“Thanks,” I mumbled, staring down at the bubbles in my glass.
“Good party?” he asked.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“What time did you get here?”
“Around nine-thirty, and you?”
“I just got here.”
For a moment neither of us spoke, but I could feel his eyes on me. I repositioned myself on the cushion, desperately fighting the urge to look at him.
“So did you come here alone?” Lee continued, his voice as sweet and lyrical as a song.
“No, Frasier’s here somewhere,” I said, my fingers playing with the stem of my glass. “Did you come with Becky?”
“No, I haven’t seen her.”
I felt a tinge of joy, but tried to remain calm. I took another gulp of champagne. As the liquid trickled down my throat, I found myself at a loss for what to say next. At that moment, I almost hated the way Lee made me feel. It was all so confusing.
Lee broke the silence. “What are you doing this Sunday?”
The question took me by surprise and for a moment I didn’t realize he was talking to me. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” I stammered.
Lee smiled and said, “There’s a photography exhibition at the Saatchi Gallery on Sunday. A group of us are going. Would you like to come?”
I pretended to deliberate for a moment. “Yeah, that sounds good.”
“Fantastic. We’re meeting outside Sloane Square station at twelve.”
“Great! I’ll be there.”
Swallowing hard, I tried to focus on a boy and girl slow dancing by the DJ stage. They looked so absorbed in each other as their bodies swayed gently like a solo heartbeat. I envied them.
“Would you like to dance?” Lee asked softly, as if reading my thoughts.
“No, thanks,” I said hastily.
The idea terrified me. I had never danced in my life and wasn’t about to make a bigger fool of myself than I already was. Discreetly, I peeked up at Lee. He was wearing a white shirt and black jeans with a silver belt chain hanging from the pocket. His magnificent lips were pulled back in a smirk. Apparently, he found my discomfort amusing.
I stood and walked over to the table to get another drink. I needed to cool down and collect myself. As I decided which glass to take, I could feel Lee watching me, drinking me in. I exhaled deeply, momentarily lost in a fantasy world. Then I knocked over several champagne flutes, soaking the front of my jumpsuit.
“Damn!” I hissed, knowing Mum was going to kill me when she found out.
In a heartbeat, Lee was standing beside me. His voice filled with concern, he handed me a napkin and said, “Are you okay? You didn’t cut yourself, did you?”
“No, I’m fine,” I replied, running my fingers through my hair and feeling like an idiot. “I guess I need to find a place to get cleaned up.”
Like Cinderella escaping the ball at midnight, I turned and raced into the corridor, and after trying a couple of doorknobs, I finally found a bathroom. When I came out, I ran squarely into Frasier as he was walking down the hall. His face was red and puffy and from the muddled look in his eyes, it was clear he was inebriated.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“I’m fine,” Frasier said, his words slurred. “I just—” He stopped midsentence, looking at my head. “Hey, my hat!”
I smiled, took off the fedora, and as I put it back on his head, I asked, “Did you find Becky?”
“No, I bumped into Hannah and she said Becky’s not coming. Apparently she came down with a migraine.
”
“Oh, Frasier, I’m sorry. I know you really wanted to see her.”
Frasier shrugged his shoulders, his eyes filled with sadness. “I guess it was for the best,” he said, his lower lip quivering with emotion. “It wouldn’t have made much difference anyway. Let’s face it. What chance do I have with a girl like Becky? Just look at me. I’m ugly.”
Gently, I placed my hand on his shoulder. “You’re not ugly. Please stop saying that.”
Wiping away a tear with his sleeve, he turned toward the wall and said, “What girl would want to date me? I look like a bloody freak.”
“Stop saying that!” I said firmly. “You’ve got a lot going for you, Frasier. You’re smart and funny and loveable. It’s not all about looks, you know.”
“Would you date me?” he asked, turning to look me in the eyes.
“Of course I would, because you’re a great person—and that’s what counts.”
He gave a watery smile. “Thanks, Sam. You’re a good friend. I kind of wish I was in love with you instead of Becky.”
My eyes widened. “You’re in love with her?”
“Yes,” he said, nodding sadly.
“Oh, Frasier, I don’t know what to say. I guess you’ve shocked me.”
“Haven’t you ever been in love before?”
“No, never,” I replied, shaking my head.
“Well, don’t do it,” he said. “Love is a horrible feeling, Sam—especially if the one you love doesn’t love you back.”
I laughed nervously and lightly punched his arm. “Hey, this conversation’s getting way too serious. Let’s go downstairs and get some food. I think you need to sober up a bit.”
He nodded and shakily followed me toward the staircase. As we descended, Frasier leaned on me, and I realized that I had never fully appreciated just how heavy he was until that moment. Then disaster struck—again. Only a few steps down, Frasier lost his footing and tumbled to the bottom of the stairs. There must have been at least forty steps, and it looked as if he hit every one of them on the way down.
Immediately a crowd of people gathered around him as I rushed down the stairs. I heard someone say, “This boy’s hurt. Somebody call an ambulance.”
Panic-stricken, I pushed my way through the crowd and knelt by Frasier’s body. He looked up at me and moaned, “I think I broke my leg.”