by Anni Taylor
Who was it?
I couldn’t recall the sound of the voice. Just what they’d said.
What had I been going to go ahead with?
What had I done?
38.
PHOEBE
Sunday midday
I STOOD, TERRIFIED OF THE MEMORY.
Terrified of myself.
I began walking, blundering. I had nowhere to go to be alone. If I went back to Nan’s like this, she’d be examining me with her uncannily sharp senses, putting me like an ant under her magnifying glass.
Rain misted in the air, making people fan out and look for shelter.
“Whoa!” A hand reached out from the crowd and took possession of my arm.
Dash materialised in front of me. “Finished writing up lies about me yet?”
I stared at him uncomprehendingly for a moment, until my mind adjusted.
The dinner last night.
The interview.
The story.
“Dash. Hi. I haven’t written it yet.”
“No?”
I made an attempt to sound light-hearted. “Not quite. It’s Sunday. I can’t be nasty on a Sunday. Better leave it to Monday.”
“Hey, are you okay? You look kind of—”
“I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“Need a friendly ear?”
“Thanks. But I just want to . . . walk. If you don’t mind, I’ll just keep going.” I moved off.
He stepped beside me. “Walking’s good. I can walk with you.”
“Don’t you have seminars to run?”
“I’m not speaking at one until nine tonight. Baxter and Eddie are doing the talks this morning. And the rest of the troops abandoned me. So, I decided to come down here and soak in a bit of the blues.”
“You like this stuff?”
“You don’t?”
“It’s not my favourite.”
“Maybe you just haven’t heard the best of it.”
“Maybe.”
“I’ve been down here for a couple of hours, all alone. I was going a bit stir-crazy.”
I glanced his way. “I thought stir-crazy was when you were forced into a tight situation with people you didn’t want to be with.”
“Yeah. I get stir-crazy in my own company. It’s a curse.” He glanced at me. “I’m guessing you’re not like that.”
“No, I’m pretty comfortable being alone.”
“Is that a hint?”
Sighing softly, I stopped.
Behind us, between the exposed roots of a tree, an elderly homeless man slept. The branches of the tree above him were spread out wide. He’d be protected from the coming rain. Still, it seemed a miserable place to sleep. Briefly, I wondered if he’d ever stepped through this park when he was young, holding the hand of a woman.
“I’m just not feeling good,” I told Dash.
“Why don’t you come back to my hotel with me? You can relax, and we can watch a movie together. And if it’s boring, we can fall asleep before it ends . . .”
I gave him a small smile. “I can’t. Bye, Dash.”
Walking away quickly, I headed towards the cathedral. The spired sandstone building stood across the road from the park. Maybe I could just sit in there on a pew for a while. You were allowed to be upset in a church. I watched a series of cars pull up and park beside the kerb. People in suits and evening wear bustled from the cars. There must be a wedding on. There were always weddings at the church. The church let you in sometimes when it was a funeral. But not a wedding. You were on your own in terms of sanctuary when someone was getting hitched.
I spun around.
Dash was still standing there, watching me.
His expression swapped to surprise as I walked back along the path towards him.
I didn’t understand myself right now.
Didn’t know myself. I didn’t know what I’d done in the past, but it must have been wrong. So very wrong. I wanted something—anything—to numb the terror inside my chest. The crash of the drum—the noise and reverberation through my head.
Waking straight up to him, I took his hand. “Let’s go.”
He didn’t ask questions. Wordlessly, we stepped through the streets. The city seemed restless to me. Darkening, and gathering a storm.
Our hair and clothing were damp by the time we reached Dash’s hotel.
We took the elevator up to the fourteenth floor. Dash took my hand this time, leading me to his room.
His room was small, with a wide balcony that overlooked Darling Harbour.
He switched on the TV. “Any preference in movies? Comedy? Sci-fi?”
In response, I walked over and kissed him.
His hands closed around my upper arms. Pulling back slightly, he drew his eyebrows in tight as if he were figuring out a maths equation. “You said you weren’t feeling well?”
I kissed him again. Deeply this time. I didn’t know what I wanted or why I was even here. I just desperately needed to lose myself for a while. I didn’t want to speak.
He eyed me intently, as though waiting for affirmation. When it didn’t come, his eyes changed. He unbuttoned his shirt just enough to pull it over his head. His chest was as smooth and tanned as his face. He peeled off his shoes and socks and went to stretch out on the bed.
Propping himself on one elbow, he watched me, keeping his expression neutral. But his chest rose and fell at an increasing rate.
I pulled off my jacket and top and crawled onto the bed beside him.
Cradling my face, he kissed my forehead. It felt almost religious. Like he were sanctifying me. My cheeks were wet before I understood that I was crying.
He drew back, alarmed.
I shook my head faintly. “Ignore it.”
He shut his eyes, exhaling. “Would I sound like the worst person ever if I said I’ll ignore it if you want me to? But I can’t say I’ve ever slept with a sad woman before. Their sadness usually comes afterward.”
“I’m not sad.”
“You’re something.”
I half-smiled. “I don’t want to talk.”
*
I woke with his arms firmly around me.
We’d had lunch together, slept together again, watched a movie, and fallen asleep again. I hadn’t slept so deeply in a long time. I’d lost countless hours of sleep over the past few months, and I’d never seemed to catch it up.
He was so close I could see the tiny furrows and lines on his forehead and under his eyes and the curves of his mouth. A man who would never disappoint me (because I’d never see him again).
I didn’t feel better. Anxiety still raced through my veins, burning me. I hated myself and everything about me.
I glanced at my watch. Dr Moran would be contacting me soon. I needed to get out of here within the hour. I imagined taking her call here, with Dash listening in, and the conversation I’d have with him afterwards.
Why, yes, my psych does call me every day to check on me. Doesn’t everyone’s?
Gently, I wriggled from his grasp. If I could leave without waking him, that would be best. No small talk or awkwardness.
My clothes were hanging over a chair on the balcony. They’d been damp with rain, and the room didn’t have a clothes dryer.
He roused, and I stilled myself. With a short, deep breath, he woke fully.
Brushing back a lock of hair from my forehead, a small smile indented his cheek. “Happier?”
“Yes, happier,” I lied.
He rested his head on the crook of his elbow. “Stay.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not? It’s Sunday.”
“Didn’t you have a show to do later?”
“Yeah. I’ll smuggle you in. It’d give you more to write about. You’d see me in action.”
“And have to hang out with nerdy scientist geeks? No, thanks.”
A vague look of confusion entered his eyes. “You think we’re running seminars for scientists?”
“Aren’t you?”
He coughe
d. “I . . . There’s a lot of science involved.”
“Well, yeah. You talk about the study of human relationships, right?” I hesitated. “Please don’t talk about me.”
“Can I think about you?”
I grinned, in spite of myself. “No. Wipe me from your memory banks. I was never here. You never met me.”
“Okay, I’ll lock you away in my heart, then.”
“How sweet. But hearts can be replaced by mechanical devices, you know. They’re not that special.”
“Okay, you got me. You’re dead to me.”
I kissed him on the forehead—“Good”—and padded across to the balcony door in my underwear.
I whirled around at a sudden noise behind me.
People burst into the room. Half a dozen. Men and a giggling woman in a shiny red nightclub dress, her makeup half-on. I recognised the men from Dash’s group at the Christmas in July event.
Dash jumped up from the bed. Grabbing a cushion, he held it in front of his groin. “Saskia, quick, save yourself,” he said playfully. “It’s too late for me. They’ve seen my naked body, and they won’t be able to control themselves.”
I hurried out to the balcony.
But the small crowd followed, cheering me.
I now had the choice of squeezing through a wall of men in my underwear or putting my dress on here. I decided to pull the dress on.
Dash, now in underwear, pushed through the middle of them. “Give her some breathing space.”
“Isn’t that the reporter chick from the other night?” A tall, Black American man squinted at me, like I was a strange species of animal he’d never seen before.
“Yeah, Baxter,” Dash told him. “Now if you could all give us five minutes, I’d like to say good-bye to her properly—”
“No, babe.” The woman pulled me by the hand. “Don’t go. Stay and party. I’m outnumbered by the boys.” She had a pretty (if smudged by makeup) face and was somewhere in her late thirties, her breath smelling of vodka and lemon.
“Better get out and pull some more women before the seminar tonight.” A rotund man (that I remembered was named Eddie) slapped Dash on the back. “That’s what we’re here for.”
Dash shot me an uncomfortable look. He gestured to me to leave, and I tried, but the woman was hanging onto me for grim death.
A tall man with a hawkish nose above small blue eyes and a buzz cut nodded. His name had been—what?—Billy. “Get some tail, Dash, or you’re going to have nuthin’ to talk about. Can’t convince the people if you’re all talk, no walk.”
“You didn’t get any last night yourself.” Eddie leaned back against the balcony railing. “The tail turned tail.”
A round of laughs followed.
Billy shrugged. “My game was tight. I don’t know what happened with that blond bitch at the second bar. She was flirting back. I was heading toward sealing the deal. Then she went cold on me.”
“Awww,” squealed the woman. “Must’ve been worried her boyfriend was going to turn up any second.”
“I snatch ’em away from underneath their boyfriend’s noses,” Billy told her.
“My man, you do not,” scoffed Baxter.
“Dash could.” The woman eyed Dash openly, flirtatiously. “He’s cute. Super cute. Not really fair for the rest of you to wheel him out as an example of a guy who can pull chicks just by using a few pickup tricks.”
I stared at Dash. “That’s what you guys are? Pickup artists?”
“Please,” said Eddie, pulling a fake affronted face. “Professional pickup artists.”
“No.” Dash swallowed tightly, his voice flattened. “We’re not that. We don’t use cheap tricks. We don’t cheat. We call ourselves relationship experts. We give advice, and we take it seriously. And yeah, we use evolutionary psychology.”
They weren’t scientists.
I thought back. He’d never claimed that they were.
“Were you lying to the poor girl, Dash?” The woman used a tone that was more teasing than scolding.
“I didn’t lie to her.” Taking firm hold of my hand, Dash pulled me away from the group and led me inside.
I grabbed my shoes from the floor.
“I don’t get it,” he told me quietly, his eyes hurt. “You researched me. Dash Citrone, right? You knew what I do for a living.”
“Can we just go back ten minutes? We were about to forget each other. Please.”
“If that’s what you want. And I’ll go back to being confused as hell by you.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you still doing the article?”
His face fell as I shook my head. He swung the door open for me as I left.
“Shame you’re not doing the write-up,” he called down the corridor. “I would have liked to know what you thought of me.”
I looked back over my shoulder. “Good things. Mostly.”
39.
LUKE
Sunday afternoon
ROB KEPT HIS EYES GLUED TO a short-legged woman with petite boobs and big hips as she walked from the bar, four glasses of wine carefully balanced between her fingers. “Nice.”
“Bit stumpy for my taste, mate.” I shrugged.
“I like ’em like that.”
The bartender handed two beers to us. We remained sitting on the stools. We’d met with a new client ten minutes ago. He’d wanted to meet at the bar of the hotel he was staying at, but he hadn’t actually wanted to drink. Rob and I were left high and dry and thirsty.
I sipped my beer. “Then explain Ellie.” Everything about Ellie was slim and lanky—even her hair. She was slightly taller than Rob, and when she wore high shoes, the height difference was noticeable.
“Ellie just happened. I was with a little, short girl before her. Charlotte. Something about the way she made me feel in bed was hot, like I was this big rampaging bear or something. It really turned me on.”
“So, what do you feel like with Ellie? The smallest of the three bears?” I turned back to the bar, chuckling to myself.
“Real funny, Basko.” Rob loosened his collar, tugging at his tie. He hated what he called his monkey suit.
“You don’t appreciate Ellie enough.”
“Yeah, I do. I can look at other girls, but she’s the best. Anyway, she’d cut me off at the knees if I ever cheated on her.”
I smiled. “She’s certainly the best when it comes to sales at the agency. Ever gonna let her run the auctions?”
He shrugged to hide his sudden and obvious discomfort. “She’s not ready for that.”
“We’ll lose her.”
“She won’t go to another agency.”
“Won’t she?”
He didn’t look so sure.
Immediately, I thought about Phoebe and what I’d done with Kitty. I was going to lose Phoebe. No, I’d already lost her. I’d slept with another woman and Phoebe had been on a date with another man. Did what I’d done even count as cheating if the marriage was over? I didn’t want it to be over. Maybe Kitty was what I needed for a while to get my head straight. Any man trying to deal with Phoebe would be sent around the twist. It’d cut me in two when Phoebe had asked if I was trying to decide which woman I wanted. She’d been right—I was. If Phoebe wanted me, then it was her I wanted, always. But if she didn’t want me as fully as I wanted her, then I had to look elsewhere.
Three guys about our age walked past and seated themselves on the stools on the right side of me. Two of them were talking in loud, American voices about the girl they’d nailed the night before—both in the same bed, apparently. I couldn’t help a mental picture from jumping into my head. One of the two was short and chubby. The other a tall, slim Black American.
The third, sitting on the stool next to me, was concentrating on his phone. I caught the message he was texting. Change of heart. Need to see you again. Tomorrow? Please?
I wanted to tell him to run. Don’t get caught up with a woman. Be like his buddies. He was a good-looking guy. Yet he was the one
running after a girl.
He glanced up and grinned, putting his mobile away. “Apologies for my friends. They shoot their mouths off everywhere they go.”
I nodded, returning the smile. “Sounds like an interesting night.”
“They’re just making the most of it. We’re only here for nine days, then to Brisbane, then home.”
“What part of the US are you from?”
“Maine originally. In Seattle now.”
“Loved Seattle. Haven’t seen Maine. Except maybe in a mental picture when reading Stephen King novels.”
He laughed. “Yep, they seem to be set in Maine. You’ve travelled America?”
“Not for a holiday. Just for business. We’ve bought up quite a few US properties, and we’re sitting on them. I own a real estate business.”
“Yeah? We’re a lot cheaper over there than you guys. But I wouldn’t mind investing here if prices are going up fast. What’s a one-bedroom apartment go for near the harbour?”
“Sydney real estate’s a mecca for overseas investors. But like you said, it’s hell expensive. You’re not going to see as much of a rise from a one-bedroom apartment as you would for a two-bedder. People want that extra bedroom and more space in general, and they’re prepared to pay for it.” Leaning across, I shook his hand. “I’m Luke. If you have any questions at any time, just give me a call.” I pulled out a business card from my wallet.
“Thanks.” He took the card. “I’m Dash. Dash Citrone.”
“Yo! Dash!” One of the guys that Dash had come in with hollered at him, even though he was only a couple of feet away. “You famous, man. You’re on TV!”
I glanced up at the TV. The guy sitting beside me was indeed up there on the screen. On a hotel balcony no less, pulling up his trousers. A group of five men stood there with Dash, clapping and cheering. The other two that were at the bar were there on the balcony, too. There were two women, one of them facing away from the camera, shimmying into a tight dress. Some wild party that must have been.
Six men. Two girls.
“Oh, man, no . . .” Dash groaned. He jumped from the stool, watching the screen in shock. “How the hell did anyone get footage of that?”