Surely that wasn't how a girl was supposed to think of her boyfriend? Could it be I would soon be telling Tony the dreaded words, I really like you as a friend? Cold sweat broke out under my arms every time I thought of this.
And Gil--I still hadn't caught that slippery fish. We hadn't spoken for four days. Pride had kept me from trying to call him until today, and guess what Dave at the magic pub told me when I did call:
"Nay, he's not in yet. And you know of course it's his last night tonight? Aye; the sod's taken up his old job with that Yank wench he's always havering aboot. Says he goes back on Monday."
So good of Gil to tell me.
Ever since Laurence had described the meeting with Shelly Davis, I had been brooding about Gil. Now that I knew he was going to be reunited with her, I began to burn at fever pitch. Someone else wanted him, which made him a valued commodity, which meant I could not let him go without a fight. I could forgive his return to the recording studio as a career move, but he had to admit my superior appeal.
As soon as it got dark, at about 4:00, I collected all my beauty products and took them into the bathroom. A hot shower with a bottle of perfumed bath gel left me smelling good, and some conditioner I had picked up at a nearby chemist's (drugstore) even tamed most of the static in my hair. Between the conditioner and the improved diet, I now had curls rather than frizz. Laurence had been right about the glossier hair.
I pulled on gray tights, a black wool skirt, a red silk shirt, and lace-up leather boots. I even put on lipstick and mascara, which I normally didn't wear, since my lashes were already dark, and thus, like my eyebrows, didn't match my hair (which was blonde).
I bumped into Sharon on my way out of Room 17. A black overcoat covered my outfit, but she could still see the makeup and the freshly styled hair, and she looked surprised. "Oh, you going out?" she asked.
"Yeah. I agreed to meet some people from work. It'll probably be boring, but I said I'd go." Lying to my little sister. This was getting awful. "Listen, Sharon, you might want to talk to Laurence before you say anything to Eileen about ghosts. She saw something that scared her last night, and..."
She nodded immediately. "I did talk to him. Scares me, too."
"I wouldn't worry. I really wouldn't. She was very impressionable this last week. Being around Tony encouraged her somehow. By the way, he says Merry Christmas."
"I wish I'd been here to say goodbye to him. I feel sorry for you guys, so far apart." She leaned on the doorframe, and her gaze swept down to the carpet.
"Nah, we're okay," I said, though I guessed instantly why she said this. "Hey, how's Thomas?" I asked, referring to that reason and changing the subject in one handy move.
She sighed. "He's only got another few days. He's going back home for the holidays and staying there for good. Transferring to another university in the south of England. It was all arranged before he met me."
"How far away is it?"
"About 500 miles."
"Jeez. I didn't think the island was that big."
"Me neither," she said glumly.
"That sucks. Listen, you can come out with me tonight if you want; it's just that these people are losers...maybe they won't even show..."
"That's okay; I'm going back to Thomas's. I only came to get some stuff."
"All right. I'll see you later, then. Take it easy, hey?" I nudged her sideways, in a friendly older-sister manner, and walked out to the street.
Well, at least Gil wasn't going anywhere. And as I walked, and my heart beat faster at the thought of seeing him, I decided that I was prepared to say, I've seen my boyfriend again, and things are different. I might be willing to give him up. Do YOU want to be my boyfriend for the next three months?
And what would happen after three months? Hell if I knew. Jump off that railroad bridge when we come to it.
It was Saturday night, so the pub was loud and smoky. I squirmed through the crowd to the bar, and stood on tiptoe to wave over someone's head at Gil.
"Oi, toureest!" he greeted. He beckoned me around to a corner where nobody was standing. "You've heard it's my last night, then?"
"Yes. I came up to congratulate you."
"Alone?"
I nodded. "Tony went home this morning. I'm all yours."
"Ooh, is that so? Well, my break comes up in an hour. Drinkies for ye in the meantime?"
So I sipped a weak rum-and-Coke at the bar, and fended off would-be suitors (with Gil's help) until his break. Then he led me through the back door, into the kitchen, and out to the alley where it was quieter. The fresh air, though freezing cold, was a relief after the smoky indoor room.
"Hi. Been a while since I've seen ye," he purred, an inch from my mouth.
I took hold of his shirt--white with yellow zigzags, but cotton at least--and pulled him up against me. We stood kissing in the doorway for several minutes, until a blast of light and sound indicated that someone had opened the door behind us.
"Gil," said Dave. "Er, sorry. That woman's here to see ye. The American from the studio."
"Christ. Shelly?" said Gil.
"Aye, the latter."
"Right. I better talk to her. She's my employer now." He winked at me, and darted back inside.
Left with little choice, I followed him, feeling like a tart. Tony was not even on home soil yet, and already I was getting caught kissing the bartender, by the pub's proprietor, and my lover was more excited to see someone else than to see me.
"Gilleon!" said a brassy female voice. I approached slowly and studied its source.
"Shel-ley!" he answered, leaning across the bar on his elbows to grin at her.
"We heard you were quitting, so we thought we'd come harass you. Harass. Hah! Great choice of words!" She opened her mouth wide in laughter. The two women and three men with her, presumably Gil's former co-workers, joined in, as did Gil.
Laurence was right. Some would have called her pretty, but not me. She was about 4'11", at least two inches shorter than me. She had more bosom than I could ever hope for, but she wasn't fat, just voluptuous. Her hair was dark and cut short, styled up into spikes and curls like a new wave diva. Her makeup was perfect and her eyebrows were plucked to slick little arches, but I couldn't see any attraction in the large round eyes and raucous open-mouthed laughter. She was wearing a shiny buttock-hugging black leather skirt and a vinyl jacket that was green from some angles and blue from others. Late 20's seemed a good age approximation.
I suddenly felt like a frumpy high-school girl, in my wool skirt and clunky boots and eyebrows too dark for my hair. I withdrew to the corner of the bar and played with the coaster under a wet empty glass.
Gil introduced us. "This is my friend Eva, visiting from the States." Shelly Davis leaned over and shook my hand with a big smile and greeting, but she didn't even ask where in the States I was from, or what I was doing here, or anything at all. I clearly did not matter to her.
And I wouldn't have cared what she thought, if only Gil had paid more attention to me. But he chatted with her and his other studio friends for the remainder of his break, then slid right back into work, and kept talking to them whenever he caught a chance. Oh, he talked to me too, but now his cheerfulness seemed to be only the product of Miss Davis's presence.
So at 10:30, two hours after I had arrived, I called across to him over the noise, "I have to work tomorrow, and I got up really early today. I'm going to head back."
He looked sympathetic, but not disappointed. "Ah, if you must. I'll call you with my new work number on Monday, if I get a chance," he said.
If he got a chance. Lovely.
"Goodnight," I said, taking my overcoat from the wall peg.
He nodded to me with a smile. Didn't even seem regretful that I was leaving without a kiss. Didn't even know that I had planned to discuss being his honest-to-God girlfriend tonight.
So, feeling sorry for myself, and genuinely tired, I tried to conjure up some tears on the walk home. The situation seemed to call for it, and I th
ought I would feel better. But I could only get little pinpricks of frustrated salt water. No real, full, heartfelt teardrops.
Laurence encountered me in the stairwell as I stomped up. "We okay?" he asked.
"You know what that Miss Davis reminds me of?" I said. "Betty Boop, with the voice of Yosemite Sam."
He grinned. "Well...I haven't heard her say 'varmint' yet, but give her time, give her time." He came down a few steps nearer to me. "So you met her?"
"Yes, I had the pleasure. She barged into the pub tonight and completely took over his attention." I slumped against the railing, hands in my overcoat pockets. "I was such an idiot. Show up the very night my boyfriend leaves, looking like a harlot, and acting like one. You should've heard me. 'He's gone; I'm all yours'. Kissing him in the alley like some cheap-"
The stairwell door on the next floor down fell shut with a muffled bang. I stopped talking. Cathy rounded the steps at the lower landing, glared up at us, and went past.
"Wonder how much of that she heard," I murmured.
"Probably not enough to make sense of it," said Laurence.
"Anyway," I resumed, "Miss Davis showed up and he pretty much forgot I existed. You were right about everything. Gloat if you want. I just want to go to sleep."
I trudged up past him.
"I'm not going to gloat," he protested gently, but I didn't stop to listen. "Eva," he said. "Turn around."
I turned wearily.
"Open the coat."
I obeyed, bracing myself for a fashion critique.
He studied me up and down, then said, "Put stiletto heels on the boots, make the skirt several inches shorter, and undo one more shirt button. Then you might look cheap. But you don't, as it stands."
A smile pulled at my mouth. Compared to what he could have said, it was very generous. "Thanks, Laurence," I said.
"No problem, honeybunch."
I waved at him, and pushed through the door. A girl could almost see why Eileen adored him.
Chapter Eighteen
Sympathy for Sharon
It wasn't the end for Gil and me. How could it be so simple?
He called me at work Monday morning, in fact, but our conversation was brief. Voices and thumping music behind him made him shout into the phone. He gave me the number at the studio, and said he was having good fun, and offered to meet me Tuesday evening. I accepted, though I didn't let any enthusiasm seep into my voice like I used to.
I went back to the hostel after work and spent Monday evening the same way I had spent Sunday: listening to the rain pour against the windows, playing cribbage and gin rummy with Eileen to take her mind off death, and eating chocolate-hazelnut spread straight out of the jar with a spoon.
Laurence put in words of encouragement for Eileen when he could, but he obviously needed to catch up on sleep, so I stayed with her most of the day. Eileen spent every night that week in his room, and woke up with a shriek and a flailing of limbs every few hours. Lights would have to come on, her goose bumps would have to be smoothed, Laurence would have to lose more sleep and endure more crying than a new father.
But she did not sleep with him--she confessed this regretfully. After a few days she was even able to give me a wry smile and say, "I'm beginning to think February 19th is the day I'll finally get him drunk and into the sack. Happy birthday, sweetie."
"Exactly. I'm telling you, it's nothing," I said. "You were just projecting your feelings for him. It was like a reflection of what's important to you. Eileen! Don't forget his birthday!"
She did calm down somewhat, after a few days of us telling her that there was no such thing as fate. We even promised to stay within inches of her for the entire day of February 19th, midnight to midnight. Several times we promised this. If you die, we die.
"Of course, I don't actually think anyone's going to die," I grumbled to Gil on Tuesday evening, as we sat in one of the few cafes open until 10:00 p.m. "But it soothes her to think she'll at least be taking us down with her if she goes."
"Sounds a bit loony," he commiserated.
I was too tired to suggest the enterprise of dumping Tony. In fact, I strongly felt like giving Gil hell for ignoring me as soon as Miss Davis showed up the other night. But how was I supposed to measure up to Her Mature Womanly Highness if I acted like a teenage brat?
So we covered the usual territory: Princes Street, the Royal Mile, the Castle Esplanade, then back down Waverley Bridge, sliding on patches of black ice. The rain had stopped at midday, and everything wet had promptly frozen at dark.
Sharp star-flecks floated between the clouds. I turned to look at Orion hanging in brilliant splendor over Edinburgh Castle, and my heels flew out from under me. Gil caught me by the arm before I could hit the pavement. "Ach! Buggery ice," he said, good-naturedly. "We all right?"
I nodded and tugged my arm loose, in an especially irritated mood now. Anything else I could do to look stupid for him? Spinach caught between my front teeth, maybe? Toilet paper stuck to my shoe and trailed around town?
We continued down the steep slope into the relative warmth of Waverley Station, and took a bench in the waiting room. A high domed ceiling and constantly open doors kept it very drafty. Trains whooshed and squeaked on the platforms outside, voices on the loudspeakers told of arrivals and departures, and people in heavy coats tugged their luggage past us.
Gil was describing how one went about re-mastering an old song, and I was trying to pay attention, when a young couple walked into the station and went to a ticket window.
"That's Sharon and Thomas," I interrupted.
"Oh, where? Aye, so 'tis. Anyway..." And he continued with the music-industry instructions.
I stayed on the bench, but watched Sharon and Thomas closely. They didn't notice us. He was buying a ticket, and she stood with his arm clasped in hers, eyes downcast. When the purchase was complete, they walked off a few steps, and stopped so that he could put the ticket in his wallet. Then he kissed her, and touched his forehead to hers. Neither of them smiled.
Even from here I could see Sharon's large blue eyes get rounder, and her lips begin to tremble. Thomas looked up from his wallet, murmured something, and embraced her. With his arm around her shoulders, he led her slowly out of the station. Sharon was surreptitiously wiping her eyes.
He undoubtedly had to leave for England soon, perhaps tomorrow. Not tonight, I hoped, with a surge of agony for Sharon. Lord, give her at least one more night with him! And this barely a week before Christmas. What a gift.
They were gone from sight in a few seconds.
"...and sometimes that improves the sound quality, but sometimes not," Gil concluded.
"I hope she's going to be okay," I said.
"Who, your sister?"
"Thomas is going back to England. Maybe I should go find her. No. I should let them be." I stirred indecisively on the bench.
"England? Ah, they're all undesirables. One big manky country. And Wales is even worse. She'll not miss him if she's got sense."
I stood up. "Yeah, and I won't miss you if I've got sense." Oops. Maturity, Eva. I tried to make light of it by smiling at him.
He smiled back, and jumped up. "Shall we go off walkies again? I'm warmed up a bit."
I agreed; cold air might feel good on my hot, angered face. But when we went out the doors, I caught sight of Sharon and Thomas again, far down one of the platforms.
They were sitting on an isolated bench, wrapped in one another's arms, faces hidden. Sharon was crying, I could tell because I knew her so well. But to my surprise, Thomas soon shook out a tissue from his coat pocket, blew his nose, and wiped his eyes. Then, with a shudder like a sob, he put his face on her shoulder again.
Since I had stopped walking and was gazing, stricken, at this scene, Gil stopped and noticed too. "Aww, isn't that cute," he said, as if amused.
Because I wouldn't have been able to look at him without ripping out his throat, I tightened my mouth and answered, "Only I get to make fun of my sister."
> "Wasn't making fun," he said casually. "It is somewhat cute, is all. Aye, it is too bad, them having to leave the other. Well, maybe we should gi' them some privacy." He strolled a few steps toward the Princes Street exit.
Did he know how much I wanted to run down the platform and embrace my little sister? And was he just leading me away to keep me from doing something like that, something that I would regret? Making the Herculean leap of giving him the benefit of the doubt, I turned and followed him.
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