by L.H. Cosway
I tugged on Trev’s T-shirt sleeve. “I think they’re trying to put me in the show.”
He turned his head, perplexed. “What?”
“I’ve noticed the crew filming me quite a bit the last few days. I know it was in the contract that I might be in footage, but I thought it’d be all background stuff. They have a mic on me and everything,” I said.
“That’s just how it is. Don’t worry. They need to cover all bases,” he replied reassuringly.
“I don’t know. She could be right,” Paul interjected. “Jimbo had that handheld at her gig last night.”
Jimbo was one of the crew who tagged along to my show. The news that he was recording me was worrying. Trev frowned now.
“I’ll have a word with Barry.”
I slid my arm through his and covered the mic as I spoke quietly. “You didn’t mention our history to anyone, did you?”
“No, why?”
“I’m just trying to figure out why they’ve taken an interest in me.”
He was quiet a minute, then took advantage of how I was linking his arm to pull me closer. “I can think of a reason. Anyone with a pair of eyeballs can see how I look at you.”
I stiffened and allowed my arm to fall from his as the fact sank in. I meant it when I said I had no interest in fame, not even the small amount that might come from being featured in the background of Running on Air. Though I adored attention for my music, I didn’t enjoy attention that focused on me personally. I knew it was weird. Most people made music to get famous, but I made music to touch people. I couldn’t care less about having my face plastered across magazines or TV screens. In fact, the very idea made my stomach twist with nausea. Such was the life of an introvert.
There was, unfortunately, another somewhat darker reason why I avoided the limelight. If I were to be romantically linked to Trev, the gossipmongers might start looking into my past, my family history. And I couldn’t bear the thought of them discovering the truth behind my estrangement from my parents and siblings.
“You okay?” Trev asked, noticing my unease.
My brow crinkled. “I’m not sure. Can we, um, can we talk later when we get back to the apartment? In private?” I knew there’d be no chance to talk while we were here, not with the cameras and microphones recording our every move.
“Yeah, sure. We’ll talk,” said Trev, giving my hand a meaningful squeeze as we boarded the elevator. A few minutes later we were led into a round glass observatory pod that looked out onto the city below and I momentarily forgot my worries. It was amazing.
As I took it all in, I suddenly realised exactly what this place was: a flippin’ jungle gym built for Trev’s inner adrenaline junkie, only the architects didn’t know it at the time.
“You’re going to climb this thing, aren’t you?” I said, shaking my head.
Trev peered down at me, his lips twitching. “Yes, but it’s not half as simple as that.”
“I should hope not. It’s gonna be dangerous. I can just imagine you sailing down one of those steel tubes like you’re sliding down a staircase.”
He chuckled. “You know me too well, but don’t worry. There’s been weeks of planning and practice put into this.”
I cast him a sidelong glance. “Are you scared?”
He pressed his lips together, made a show of hesitating, then gave me the most tender smile. “Nah.”
I laughed softly. “Didn’t think so.”
I heard him exhale, felt his attention on me a moment before he joined me in checking out the view. “You ever think this would be our life?” he asked quietly.
“This isn’t my life. It’s yours,” I said, a pain striking my chest, because I wished it was my life. “I’ve just hitched my rusty old wagon to your six-figure RV for a little while.”
I didn’t have to look to know he was smiling. “Sounds like a country lyric. Maybe you should switch genres.”
“I don’t have a genre, remember? Unless introverted piano lady is a genre.”
“I think I saw that one listed on Spotify the other day.”
“Ha-ha.”
We shared a look and Trev reached down to interlace his fingers with mine. I let him, because it felt nice. I realised with some surprise that I rarely ever held hands with anyone these days. It was something I did all the time as a child, but not so much anymore. I was pretty sure that the last person I really truly held hands with was David. And I wasn’t talking about a casual touch or grab, but a proper skin-to-skin intertwining of fingers. The kind between lovers. That was shocking, because David and I broke up almost a year ago. Had I not felt this sort of touch in all that time? The thought was sobering.
“You okay?” Trev asked, probably wondering if he was crossing a line.
I shook my head. “I’m fine. I just, um, I kind of miss holding hands with people.”
His eyebrows jumped. It must not have been what he expected me to say. “You do?”
“Yes, don’t you? I think more adults should do it. Why don’t we hold hands when we get older?”
Trev lifted a shoulder, his attention on me focused. “I suppose because it has a sexual connotation. Adults hold hands when they’re, ya know, doin’ it.”
I rolled my eyes at his phrasing. “Yeah, but friends can hold hands, too.”
“Did you know that Arabic men hold hands?” James put in, overhearing our conversation. “It’s a cultural thing. It doesn’t have the romantic undertones, for them it’s simply a sign of friendship.”
“Really?” I asked. “I never knew that.”
“It’s true. Because the sexes are more segregated in certain Middle Eastern countries, with men spending a lot of time with other men, it developed as a means of showing affection and close friendship.”
“You mean like human to human?” I asked.
“Basically. I read an interesting article about it once.”
“That’s kind of nice. I like that idea. We all need affection. It doesn’t always have to be sexual.”
“I agree,” Paul put in. “When I don’t get a hug for a couple of days I turn into a right grumpy bastard.”
“Aw, I’ll give you a hug anytime, shnookums,” Trev teased before his attention returned to me. He didn’t say anything, but his expression was thoughtful.
When we arrived back outside everything sped up. When I finally had a chance to catch a break, I found a place to sit and just watched the group prepare. My phone rang and I pulled it out to see Karla’s name on the screen. A smiled tugged at my lips as I reached around to switch off my mic. It was so easy to forget I was wearing it.
“Hey, Karla, how’s everything?” I answered happily. It had only been a few days, but I still missed talking to her.
“Good. The usual. How’s the filming coming along?”
“Well so far. We’re on location right now, actually. You should see the stunt they’re about to pull off—”
“No spoilers! Don’t tell me anything,” she insisted.
I chuckled. “Okay, you loon. I won’t spoil anything for you. Just know, you’re going to be on the edge of your seat. We’re at this museum, but the building is like nothing you’ve ever seen before.” I watched as the film crew shot the group running up the crisscrossed stairs within the columns at the foundation of the structure. Trev was the first to reach the top, and he began to climb towards one of the giant steel tubes. He was hooked up with all sorts of protective climbing gear, but my heart still fluttered with nerves. It really did look dangerous.
“Reya, did you hear what I said?”
“No, sorry. I got distracted. Do you know how many documentary makers get killed while filming?”
“Not the foggiest. Why?”
“I was just wondering if there was some kind of statistic to look at. I mean, you never really hear about stuff like that, but it must happen. You see all those guys who get up real close with tigers and gorillas and other dangerous animals. Surely, the tigers must freak out and attack them sometimes
.”
“Trev’s not getting up close with a tiger, Reya,” she said, obviously sensing the direction of my thoughts.
“I know, but he might as well be. You should see what he’s doing right now. It’s seriously risky.”
“That boy came out of the womb doing backflips. He never stops practicing and he knows what he’s doing, so relax. What I really want to know is how things have been between you two.”
“Tense. Friendly. Different. Scary,” I answered all at once.
Karla laughed. “That good, huh?”
“I should’ve listened to you when you told me not to come.”
“I don’t know. I can be too judgmental sometimes. Maybe you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.”
“You think?”
“It’s the best way to look at it. Regretting stuff is pointless anyway. You’re there now. You just need to deal with whatever hurdles come your way.”
“I’m jealous of him,” I blurted without thinking.
“Of Trev?”
“Yeah. Aren’t you?”
“I don’t think so. I never really thought about it.”
I huffed a breath. “Maybe jealous is the wrong word. I just . . . I envy him. What he has. He seems to know exactly what he wants from life. I have no idea what I want.”
“You want to play music.”
“Yeah but, is that really a worthwhile pursuit? Could I be doing something a little more productive? There was this kid on set the other day. A teenager from South Africa, and he looked at Trev like he embodied all the possibilities of his future. He’s making a difference, showing kids from shitty backgrounds they can achieve more than what society dictates. He’s like a . . . a gatekeeper to hope.”
“A gatekeeper to hope?” She sounded amused.
I sighed. “You know what I mean. I guess I’m just envious of how everything’s fallen into place for him, whereas I’m the same age and my life feels like a frickin’ bundle of knotted thread. A directionless mess.”
She seemed to be considering what I said because she was quiet a moment before she spoke. “Well, think about it this way. If your life was perfect, if you lived on a cloud, your music would be shit. Your songs ring true because you’ve endured the stuff you’re singing about, you still are enduring it. I’ve seen people connect with you on a level that’s deeper than anything Trev has ever done. No offence to him or anything. Hell, the first time I saw you perform it was like a transcendental experience.”
“You’re just saying that.” But I so needed to hear it. I wanted my music to be worthwhile. I wanted it to affect people.
“I’m not. Your music means something to me. It means something to a lot of people. They just don’t seem like much because they’re not a fixed audience of TV viewers that bring in bundles of cash, but believe me, they’re out there.”
“So I’m Vincent Van Gogh?”
“I have no idea what that means.”
“It means I’ll be a great artist but die penniless.”
“Do you want to be rich?”
“No. But sometimes I get really sick of struggling. Sometimes I just want to see a completely overpriced mattress on TV and say to myself, do you know what? I’m going to buy that mattress.”
Now she laughed. “I’ll buy you a bloody mattress if you’ll stop feeling sorry for yourself.”
I laughed, too. “I am feeling sorry for myself, aren’t I? I’m such a drippy bitch.”
“You’re doing it again,” Karla scolded, a smile in her voice.
“Yes, I am. I don’t think there’s a cure. But thank you for the pep talk. It helped.”
“You’re welcome. And Reya?”
“What?”
“Go have a good time. You deserve it. Quit worrying and overthinking things. It’s all wasted energy in the end.”
“Okay,” I said, breathing deeply. “I’ll try. And I’ll call you in a day or so. We’re taking the train to Paris tomorrow.”
“Cool, talk to you then.”
Fourteen.
Trev was breathless and sweaty by the time they were done filming. And I was, well, I was impressed. On screen, their jumps and runs looked effortless. Behind the sleek perfection of the final cut, it didn’t seem real. But here, seeing it all happen in the flesh, I saw the extent of how much they challenged themselves. I was even more impressed than that day I watched them train in their gym.
I went to Trev and handed him a bottle of water. “That was incredible. And insane. You should be proud though. You definitely took things to another level today.”
“All in the quest to entertain the masses,” he replied with a wink, taking the water and twisting open the bottle. I watched as he brought it to his mouth and took a long swig, far too mesmerised by the way his throat moved when he swallowed. His eyes fell on mine as he screwed the cap back on.
“Hey guys,” came a voice, and I turned to see Isaac approach. I wondered how he got past the security barriers, but then again, he probably had his ways. I didn’t think Trev ever paid a Tube fare in his life back in the old days. He was a master of jumping barriers and evading detection. His morals had always been somewhat questionable, but that was just how he grew up.
A pang of nostalgia hit me. That life was a whole other world for him now.
I wondered what Isaac’s life had been like back in Johannesburg. He was more or less a stranger, so I had no idea about his past. Had he been rich or poor? I suspected it was the latter from the worn Reeboks and tattered jacket he wore. Maybe he and Trev had more in common than I thought.
“Hey Isaac,” Trev greeted, giving him a nod. “You ready to show me what you can do?”
I could tell Isaac was nervous, but he did well not letting it show. “Yeah, man. Let’s do this.”
“I can’t believe you’re going on a run. Aren’t you exhausted?” I asked, flabbergasted.
Trev grinned. “Nah, but I’m glad my energy impresses you.”
I wasn’t sure what his grin meant, but I didn’t have too much time to ponder it. Callum and Leanne came over, and Isaac was adorably star-struck again. They heard about the run and wanted to tag along, too. In the end, Jimbo, the crewman who’d apparently been filming my gig, went with them to capture the action. I think he was under instructions from Barry to capture more behind-the-scenes stuff.
Isaac was asked to sign a release form, allowing the show to use footage of him. He was more than happy to sign, and then off they went. He shot me a look that said Can you frickin’ believe this? Like, none of it felt real. I was just happy to see someone who obviously deserved a chance get one.
There was no sense in me going with them, since I could barely climb a five-foot wall, never mind vault between buildings like they were stepping stones in a garden pond. Instead I joined Neil back at the apartment, and together we went through plans for the evening and following day, made phone calls, arranged catering, answered emails, all that fun stuff. And strangely, even though I’d never done anything like this before, I really enjoyed it. I was organised by nature, so this was right up my alley.
When Neil suggested we order in dinner I told him I’d cook something instead. Aside from music, it was one of the rare few things I was good at.
I had all the ingredients to make lasagne from scratch. By the time I had it in the oven, I felt grubby and sweaty. It had been a long day. Glancing at the clock, I figured I had just enough time for a shower before the food was ready. I lavished myself with my favourite coconut body wash and felt clean and relaxed by the time I emerged.
I heard the front door open and voices chatting as I wrapped myself in a towel.
“Something smells amazing. I could eat a horse,” Callum exclaimed and I smiled to myself.
“Me too,” said Leanne and I just slipped my feet into my flip-flops when I heard footsteps coming down the hall. I didn’t think too much of it until the door handle turned and Trev stepped inside.
I should’ve shouted for him to get out, but for som
e reason my mouth wouldn’t work. I stood there, gripping the edge of the towel that was wrapped around my body. Trev’s eyes went huge when he saw me, and he started to apologise.
“Shit, sorry Reya,” he said, his breathing quickening as he retreated.
“It’s fine,” I replied and waved away his apology. “I’m just finished anyway.” Besides, it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen it all before. The thought made a shiver run through me.
His gaze traced the lines of my shoulders. They were dotted with drops of water that fell from my wet hair.
“Here, let me,” Trev murmured, his voice low as he grabbed a small towel from the rack. My heart stuttered when he came forward, stepped behind me and gathered my hair up into the towel in one swift move. It was a tight twist on top of my head when he was done and I uttered a quiet, “Thanks,” while his fingers swiped away one of the drops on my shoulder.
I closed my eyes for a second and swallowed tightly, unable to move, barely able to breathe. The tension thickened until it was too much to bear. His fingertips continued their journey across my shoulder and down my upper arm. I took a step away, creating distance between us. Every molecule in my body fizzled, loosened, making me feel more like liquid than flesh.
“I made dinner for everyone,” I managed, still facing away from him, my hand on the door handle. “Can you, um, dish it out while I go get dressed?”
“Sure, yeah. No problem,” he answered, his voice cracking a little.
I opened the door and hurried to my room. As soon as I entered the hallway I could breathe again. What the hell was I thinking just standing there like that? Letting him touch me?
But what if Karla was right? Maybe this was where I was supposed to be. Maybe letting Trev touch me was the right thing to do. When his hands were on me it certainly didn’t feel wrong.
But then, that had always been the way, hadn’t it? When he was near I felt happy and content, but when he was gone I felt down, lower than ever. Abandoned.
I dressed quickly in a loose summer dress and tied my wet hair up in a bun. When I entered the kitchen everybody was gathered around the table eating. There were two crewmembers filming, which I didn’t totally get because the group wasn’t doing anything all that interesting right then.