She spun around and grabbed him in a tight embrace. He lightly scrubbed her back, and walked her forward under the water, massaging her back beneath the hot droplets.
“Tip your head back.”
She complied. He massaged shampoo into her scalp, then rinsed it out. Repeated with conditioner. She smiled, looking so beautiful stripped of makeup with her hair wet, natural. He kissed the tip of her nose.
“Turn around.”
She spun, allowing the jets to rinse the last of the soapsuds from her body.
“There. Feel better?”
She nodded, and turned to face him. He kissed her languorously, savoring the way her lips molded to his. She was perfect. He pulled back, ran his fingers through the silky strands of her hair, then gently claimed her lips once more just because he could. They were kisses for the sake of kissing, not meant to lead anywhere. No destination, just two people coming together in a gentle choreography of lips and tongues that carried them away on a journey of sensory bliss.
***
“Malcolm?” Her voice was hesitant, her hands stroked the forearm that wrapped around her.
“Yes?”
“When you took that man down in … when you … ”
“What about it?” Where was she going with this?
“I never saw you coming. And then when you had him on the ground, you moved so quickly, and he was just … done.”
“I did what I had to do.” He didn’t feel pride at what he’d done. Only anger at the man for trying to hurt her, and anger at himself for almost not being there in time.
“I know. But, you’ve obviously taken martial arts, right? I mean, you knew what you were doing.”
“Yes. And some other defense techniques.”
“Would you teach me some things?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Why not?”
“There are a hundred reasons why it’s a bad idea.”
“And a thousand why it’s a great idea.”
He moved back as she faced him. “I’m not qualified.”
“You did say you wanted to get to know each other outside of full frontal nudity.”
“But I’m not an instructor. You really should learn from a professional—”
“I want to learn from you. I trust you. I don’t want to learn something that teaches, ‘if a guy is standing in this specific pose, then I do this specific pose to counter it,’ crap. That doesn’t work in the real world. Not without months, years of training. I need something that will help me now.”
He agreed she should learn something, but not from him. What if she rejected him after he told her the truth? She should find someone who would be there for her long term. He wanted to be, but their future was uncertain. “You could take a self-defense for women course. They put those on—”
“They’re not the one-on-one training I need. I want to learn faster.”
“Jayne it’s not that simple. You could get hurt.”
“You wouldn’t let that happen.” No he wouldn’t, but that was beside the point. She kissed his neck, and ran a slow hand up his thigh.
His arguments suddenly felt just beyond his reach.
“Please?” Her breath tickled his skin.
“Fine, I’ll teach you a few basics.”
“Thank you.” She kissed his cheek. And then the other. And then his lips. If fighting was all about seducing the enemy, or outsmarting them into forgetting their arguments, Jayne could be considered a lethal weapon.
A week had passed since the attack. It was their third defense lesson. Malcolm had decided to teach Jayne some basic grappling, and defenses, and the best one for her, he decided, was Krav Maga. Rather than taking years to become proficient, it was something that he could show her, and if she practiced, she could get some things right away, but become fairly skilled at most of it within a few short months.
They pushed his couch and coffee table to one side of the living room. She’d wanted something that would turn her into a ninja overnight, which just wasn’t going to happen. But this showed how to get out of holds, how to take an opponent down, how to disarm an opponent, and how to attack them. It had a bit of everything, and seemed perfect for what Jayne needed.
“No taking it easy on me this time.” She was the cutest thing he’d ever seen in her baggy green sweatpants and tight grey tank top.
“I won’t.”
“I mean it! I’ll … Krav Maga your ass, Guitar Boy!”
“I believe you!” Pride filled him at her deep determination to learn.
Initially he’d taken it easy on her, not wanting to hurt her, until she’d reminded him that her attacker wouldn’t do the same. He still held back, but he made it realistic.
He felt comfortable teaching her some of the techniques as well, as they weren’t rooted in philosophy like some of the other martial arts, but also because they focused on how attacks happened on the street. It was fast, and dirty, and furious, and effective. He’d already taught her the hammerfist punch, the three basic groundfighting kicks, and how to move in fighting stance. Yesterday they’d worked on elbow strikes.
Jayne had really taken to it, and he debated taking her to his kickboxing, but didn’t want to extend any invitations she’d ultimately refuse. It would depend how things went at the reunion.
Then again, if she admitted she was going there instead of work, he could come clean too. All of the worry and hiding could be over.
But their relationship could be over too.
He focused on the lesson. If Jayne rejected him when she found out the truth, he wouldn’t be there to protect her. He didn’t like thinking about that possibility, but it was vital she know how to protect herself.
“Now I’m going to show you a couple wrist releases. These are as they sound. If someone grabs you by the wrist, or forearm, use these to get out.”
“Okay.” Her expression was serious, and it made him glad. Self-defense, fighting wasn’t something to fuck around with. She genuinely wanted to learn, she wasn’t trying to flirt. It was good, but highlighted again how freaked out she’d been by the attack. At least the douchebag would plead guilty, and be locked up for a while, according to the lawyer. Not long enough for Malcolm’s happiness, but it was something. Sentencing wasn’t for a few weeks. Jayne might relax a bit more when the whole thing had been put safely behind her.
“This is a same side release. If I grab your right arm with my left hand,” he demonstrated. “Now, it’s called same side because you’re going to take a step into me, and pivot so our elbows are close together. Bend the elbow a bit,” he corrected her. “Good. Now while you bring the elbow to mine, snap your wrist out of the hold.”
She stepped in and chopped. And failed. “What did I do wrong?”
“Try to keep your forearm parallel to the ground so the side of your wrist chops through the attacker’s grip. It gives you more leverage. Sort of karate chop toward yourself.”
She turned and snapped her hand free, then stood there stunned. “I did it!”
“Yes.” Her disbelieving triumph made him smile. “And from there, you’d either want to spin away, or launch into an attack. It really depends on the situation. Typically, you want to avoid fighting if you can, but that’s not always an option.”
“Awesome.”
“Let’s practice some kick/punch combinations. I want these ingrained in your muscles so they become automatic. Practice at home too. The less you have to think about the motions, the more you can focus on the surroundings. Opportunities to get away, get help, find a weapon – but remember, any weapon can be turned against you. Sometimes weapons give people a false sense of security. If you have a knife, be prepared to use it, and for it to be used against you.”
She nodded, and moved into starting position.
A good half an hour later, they moved back to wrist releases. He taught her an opposite side release, and they practiced them until Jayne felt comfortable doing them without hesitation, and his fingers s
tung.
“I think we’re good for today. I don’t want to introduce too many techniques too soon and flood your retention. You’re doing really well.” He handed her a bottle of water. “Are you sure I can’t talk you out of skipping work tomorrow?”
“What?”
“The conference.”
“Oh! No, I really have to go. I wish you could come with me.” She slipped her arms around his waist.
I wish I could too. Just be honest! “I know. I do too.” If she’d agreed to go, it meant she had let go of the past and would be more likely to forgive him and move forward in a relationship, despite their past. He could have come clean right here, right now, and they could have gone, or blown off the reunion, together.
But she was still gripped by insecurity. For whatever reason, she had to go back there to prove something to them, or herself. If that was the case, he couldn’t tell her now. She wasn’t ready.
He’d have to meet her at the reunion and hope for the best.
He gave her a squeeze and kissed her cheek. “Let’s hit the shower.”
Jayne had gone with an expensive, tailored charcoal skirt, and a more casual dark royal blue satin halter-top. She looked classy, and expensive, and successful. She’d rejected the idea to roll up wearing her sexiest, slinkiest little black dress, or something skimpy to show her body off. She’d seen a few too many Geek to Chic episodes of Maury Povich where the geeky high school girl came out looking like a stripper to go that route.
Showing up looking trashy wouldn’t impress anyone. Showing up looking amazing, and being wildly successful, would. Having someone as amazing as Malcolm on her arm would have helped, and given her some badly needed support, but he wasn’t there and that was okay. If he’d been here she’d have focused too much on him, had him as a distraction. She’d ultimately decided not to bring Amber either. She needed to do this alone.
Alone through school, and alone now. But she was strong now. No one could look down on her anymore. She’d come a long way, determined to have a good time – even surrounded by people who once treated her horribly.
Welcome back Class of 2004!! Reach for the stars!
The message was written in big blue and white bubble letters on a large black sandwich board sign outside the school’s front door. The class’s grad colors and their theme. Jayne had hated that theme. But one of the cheerleaders had suggested it, and everyone had creamed their panties in agreement. Motion carried. It was so overdone. Three other classes in the past ten years had done it. The parents on the committee were glad – being able to reuse some of the old decorations meant one less bake sale for them to participate in.
Most high school reunions Jayne had heard of took place in nice relaxing hotels, away from the actual schools. The former students were given a group rate discount on rooms, and access to the bar. Jayne hadn’t been that lucky. Her reunion planners decided to take them all back to the scene of the crime, and pack them into the gymnasium like a school dance, plus ten years.
It would have been awful to go to a nice comfortable hotel, with a room right upstairs, and real bathrooms with real toilet paper, rather than the worthless junk they used in the school. And the chance to see each other in the original setting. Yup. Would be a real travesty to miss any of that. Jayne sighed.
A couple pulled the door open and hurried inside. Jayne gave them a minute and waited until the coast cleared, wanting to avoid small talk, at least until she was inside. She needed a minute to psych herself up for this. What had she been thinking? Why was she here? What the hell had possessed her into thinking that coming and chit chatting with these people was a good idea?
She pulled out her phone. One missed text from Malcolm.
‘Hey, Beautiful. I’m thinking about you. Miss you.’
She missed him too. But she’d see him tomorrow night when she got home, when all of this was over.
‘Miss you too. See you tomorrow night. XX’ she replied.
She sucked it up, and left the safety of her car, shaky legs carrying her through the front door.
Other than looking a bit smaller, the hallways looked the same. Same ugly mauve lockers, and grey linoleum floors. Fucking fluorescent lights that probably made her look pasty as hell. Her stomach flipped a bit, but she squared her shoulders and walked more fiercely, letting the tapping of her heels be the rhythm of her battle cry. Louboutin war drums announcing that yes, she was here, she was amazing, and she was so over it.
She tapped through center court. The cafeteria. Schools and malls were creepy when they were empty like this. She waded through four years of eating alone, and came out the other side realizing those experiences had given her a confidence in solitude that others her age didn’t possess. She was happy with her own company, and that was priceless. The realization allowed her to relax a bit.
A table had been set up down the hall from the entrance of the gym. A long-haired hippy woman sat behind it, and another stood beside it, her short blue hair messy and spiked, manning the two dozen or so name tags sitting on the surface.
“Hey! Name?” The blue haired woman asked.
“Jayne Griffin.”
“Ho. Ly. Shit. You look unbelievable!”
“Thanks.” She was taken aback by the woman’s open admiration, and glanced at her name tag. “Claire?”
“Yeah! Here,” she stared at, then grabbed a name tag from those left. “Here you are. Most people are already inside.”
“Thanks.” Jayne peeled the back from the sticker, and plastered her name on the front of her shirt, glad it wasn’t a pin that would poke a hole in the top.
As if that was her biggest problem at the moment.
She wanted to laugh hysterically.
Better to keep moving lest one of The Girls ambush her. She really wanted to choose her entrance.
“I guess I’ll see you guys in there?”
Claire nodded. “See you later – remember to vote who you think was most successful!”
“Okay.”
Her nerves jangled together as she walked toward the gym. She could so do this. Steeling herself, she grabbed the handle of the gym door, and chickened out at the last second. Moving quickly before anyone could see her freak out, she veered off to the adjacent hallway, and ducked into the locker room. Not an ideal choice sentimentally speaking, but it was the nearest washroom. And it was empty.
She ducked into a stall, and had just sat down when the locker room door opened and closed. She held in her pee to listen for footsteps, letting go when hard heels clacked across the floor, the stall door next to her closed.
***
Malcolm entered through the side door, Claire having told him he could park closer to the gym so it was more convenient to unpack his guitar, and any equipment he might need for performing. The guitar was his only equipment, but he was glad for the more convenient parking. It was private, and away from the main doors. He wanted to choose the perfect moment to approach Jayne.
It would be best if she first saw him performing on stage. She could see him, possibly figure out that he was really Dylan and that he’d been an old classmate. He’d get to show up all the assholes who had ever fucked with him. She’d have time to get over her initial shock while he played, and by the time he finished, she might be calm enough to talk. And maybe listen. And if he really lucked out – forgive him.
The parking lot looked benign as he paused before removing his guitar from the back seat. He hadn’t known what to expect, but it had been such a terrifying place for him once. He stepped inside and followed the blue and white balloons and streamers toward the two women sitting at a table covered with white squares of paper.
Name tags, he realized when he got closer. One of the women paced back and forth, agitating her hands. Her bright blue hair was pointy like an edgy hedgehog, and she wore stompy black boots, and a corset over a long skirt. Sort of a steampunk thing going on, and it really suited her. She turned full on to him as he approached the table, and he got a prop
er look at her face. Holy shit, it was Claire!
“Claire?”
“Dylan?”
“I go by Malcolm now, actually.” How the hell had she recognized him?
“It’s in the eyes.” She answered his unspoken question. “I could see you were wondering. Plus, I am not of the straight persuasion.” She gestured at the pretty, hippy looking woman with long wavy hair and an open smile. “My partner Theresa.”
“Nice to meet you, Theresa.”
“Likewise.” She handed him a name tag from the table. There weren’t that many left, meaning he was one of the stragglers. He tried to peek to see if Jayne’s had gone, but didn’t want to look like a creeper. Plus they were upside down from where he stood, making them harder to decipher at a glance. “Oh. Should we make you a new one with ‘Malcolm’ on it?”
He took the one she proffered. “This is fine. None of them would know me by Malcolm anyways.” He peeled the adhesive backing from the back and stuck the sticker-name tag on his shirt, then turned back to Claire. “But what does your being with Theresa have to do with how you recognized me?”
She grinned. “You do look a lot different, but the eyes are the same. I’m sure my hetero peers would be too busy drooling over your appearance to connect the dots and recognize you.”
“Fair enough.”
“Thanks for performing for us. We thought if maybe you played now for a while when everyone settled in, then we’ll break for a couple speeches. We have a DJ coming for the dance in about half an hour. And then we’ll do the slideshow and standard updates of alum and the old most improved, most successful votes then too. So make sure you vote!”
“That works for me.”
“Unless you’re wanting to mingle too, in which case we can work something else out and you can just play before the dance.”
The Best Laid Plans Page 15