“Um. I’ve come to inquire about the room? I phoned this number?” A confident-sounding guy. The number he showed me on his phone was Taylors.
“Oh.” I could kill that girl. “Did she mention that the room wouldn’t be ready until tomorrow?”
“No. She said to come on over and somebody would be there.”
“Did she see a picture of you?” I had to ask. Taylor was very picky. We only ever got his type here.
“No.”
I sigh deep down inside. “Well, you’re free to come and have a look at the place. I’m sure you have all the details?”
“Some of them.”
“Ok. Come in. Come in.”
Once he stepped in. I stepped back. I almost had a run-in with his bare arm. And that would be electrically mortifying for me. I tried to concentrate when he walked into the living area. “What’s your name?”
“Stanley Morgan.”
“Ok.” He doesn’t look like a Stanley. More a captain America with dark skin and a very shaved head. Balder than a crystal ball. But it suits him. “I’m Megan Mitchel.” Should I shake his hand? Should I not? I awkwardly do. It takes him by surprise. He stares down at it like it’s an alien trying to make his acquaintance. I find myself getting rather hot and bothered over it. Why won’t he just shake my hand? Take it? Do I have bacteria on them? What’s the issue? I get so worked up over little things.
The front door opens and helps to break the ice for me and Stanley. Taylor’s home with some roses in a vase of water. “I have a secret admirer.” She’s about to brag and boast about it, but she spots Stanley and her eyes go right to where they aren’t supposed to: down to the point of having to go to confessional next Sunday. The priest wouldn’t have Taylor. She says nothing, then turns to me. “Is he renting the room?”
“Um.” Me and Stanley both say um.
“I …” –
“He …” –
Taylor looks at me weirdly. Or more so, us weirdly. “I was just about to do his screening. Maybe while I do, you could clean up the basement and get it ready to be viewed?”
Taylor would flat-out refuse if it wasn’t for Stanley being there. Score one for me. She actually goes to clean. Amazing! “You can take a seat if you like?”
Stanley takes a seat on our brown single sofa with the white chickenpox covering. “Would you like a glass of water or cup of tea?”
“I’d say a beer.” –
“We have beer.” –
“Na. I was joking. I’m fine.”
“Oh.” I lick my lips, but not at him. Well, I was facing him at the time and his eyes did shoot me a vast emptiness of confusion on the highest level. I think Stanley finds me a little loco-looney. I sit to the side of him on the 2-seater sofa with the same covering, only black spots this time. “Tell me about yourself?” I’m glad that came to me so quickly.
“Yeah. Right. So, I’m a … I’ve just got back from the navy last week. I should be going back in a few months’ time. But for now, I’m looking for a room because this location is close to where my daughter stays. I have her from time-to-time when it comes around to my turn. We share it evenly.
“So, you would bring your daughter here if you were staying?”
“If that would be ok with you both?”
“I mean yes. If you … the last guy who stayed here had a daughter and I practically became a second mother to the girl.”
“Is it common for single dads to share with you?”
“We’ve had 3 here so far. Taylor always does the ads, and, God forbid, I never think to check if what she puts down is appropriate.”
Stanley smiles slightly, “you might want to check your ad. It said a single father preferred that is athletic, fit. single.” Stanley was remembering it all whilst counting his fingers. “Nightlife. Reputation … that part got me questioning what that meant? But I’m sure it will make a few guys laugh.”
I surely wasn’t laughing. “And Navy or soldier was on there. Minimum stay of 3-months.”
“You tick her perfect boxes.” Why is Taylor this way? Who-oh-why?”
“Do I tick none of yours?” Stanley’s voice drew to a deeper intonation, and it gave me the same withering chills that Carl did to both me and Taylor. I found my hand rising to my hair: wanting to twirl it and coyly flick it back behind. I avoided his eyes by all costs as I struggled to move my lips to make any mutual sense. Nothing came out. If I said anything, it would be, “a-b-c-d-e-f-g-h-i-j-k-l-m-n-o-p.”
I had to find a location to stare at that would be safe, and not too obvious that I didn’t want to make eye contact. He had a tattoo. I could divert my discomfort by talking about that. “Nice tattoo.”
“Does that tick your box?”
I guess that didn’t work. “Sort … sort of.”
“I mean nothing by it. Just, with your friend … I assume friend?”
“Yeah.”
“I wonder what individual you would like to be sharing a home with?”
“A straightforward human being would be fine.”
“Then I tick another box.” My right-hand goes around my wrist and squeezes. Then I start to rub it up and down my forearm but not to the elbow. My arm feels smooth. Then I scratch. I’m not itchy. But I scratch. It’s Carl all over again. I’m starting to feel tense – wondering if there are any more screening questions that I could ask Stanley.
Taylor comes up from the basement; carrying Henry the hoover and some of the black bags with her. She makes 2-trips and comes over to hand me the black bags of rubbish. Is it my turn to screen Stanley?” She holds the two black bags out for me to grab, which I take as I get up.
“Yeah. Your turn.”
…
I gave the room a spray with the air freshener. Taylor comes down with a small bin. “Can I bring him down to view?” She takes a look as I take it from her and place it near the bedside drawer. “Looks brand new.”
“Bring him down.”
“I think we should let him have it. If he wants it.”
“We haven’t screened anybody else yet.”
“I know. But I like him.” -
“Course you do.” I puff out the pillows and flatten the blanket with my palm like an iron. It’s a basic black noir duvet set.
“Why should we bother with anybody else?”
“I’m not getting another Carl in here.”
“Oh.” Taylor places both hands on her waist. “Is he making you itch down there already? Are you weak minded with no self-control? Is the possibility of …”
“Taylor, I’m just saying, can we please interview other people? It sure is stuffy down here. We need to get a fan or install some sort of air conditioning.”
Off the track, Taylor says, “you owe me.”
My neck is thrown back, as I turn to face that you-owe-me-line on her facial expression. Such a tired set of words. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” My head drops back down on that final line with a fierce gaze. I’m growing weary of it.
“There’s something about Stanley. Just like Carl. Only with him, I feel he might lack the douche-bag label and be more honest about not wanting anything serious.”
“Here we go.” I roll my eyes like the rotation of the earth.
“You just don’t understand.” -
“That you have a poor choice in men? Yes. I don’t understand.”
“You don’t find him attractive at all? I saw you when I came in. Practically salivating over him. So, don’t stand there all high and miss perfect with a boyfriend. I think you’ve made up your mind to. You’re just too self-righteous to admit it.”
“You really piss me …” –
“Hi, is it ok if I come down? I have to pick up my daughter in an hour.” Stanley was calling from up those 15 – steps. I hoped he didn’t hear mine and Taylor’s argument. We weren’t exactly subtly quiet.
I stammer, “uh … uh … sure.” I give Taylor that look.
She gives me an elevated eyebrow on the right-side with
the other lowered. “Let him have the room?”
“No.” –
“Yes.” –
“No.” –
“Nice room.” At the same time, me and Taylor see Stanley standing on the bottom stair: peering all around. “This is exactly what I’m looking for: double bed. Private. Spacious. Room enough to have some of my daughter’s toys here. You also have a lock and key for the door?” He comes in a little more. But seems reserved like he knows two women have been bickering in here.
We both reply with, “yes.” My response sounded nervier.
“I’d be happy to pay the deposit up front?”
Taylor tucks in her hands: makes a knot. I avoid that stare. Yes, that one which I know is ridiculed with drama-drama-drama. She’s letting it burn. Making me sweat. I can’t have Stanley here just because she wants to jump on his lap and play the game called find my manhood which doesn’t exist. It would be a repeat procedure. We just share this damaging effect to fall for the same … “We’ll get back to you.”
“I say you can stay.” –
“I’m going to Marcus!” I’d had enough. Taylor can deal with this since she’s in charge and has made up her mind. Go ahead. I grab my coat. My car keys. A bottle of water which I drink on the way to my car and drive off. I won’t be back until she makes the decision that she has already made.
Chapter 3
I’m on top of Marcus: riding him whilst cupping my breasts in my hands. They feel like they need some love, and Marcus likes when I do that. I’m taking his pole around the globe and then to the center point. Then my hands fall upon his chest as I jerk back and start to bounce until I can feel it slipping in and out of me. I know that when I do him in such a way, I’m banishing any negativity that Taylor forces upon me.
I’m bouncing away, Marcus is saying, “Oh yeah,” in a gasp that pleases me as I do love to hear the satisfaction. I want control here. I need it. I sit down on him … stop … slant my stomach to a point where I can feel my buttocks is poking out. It is. I elevate it slowly up and down. Almost in the way the chest rises and falls, only, I have to spread my legs wide and divide and conquer his crotch area with my lower body turning in - and then gyrating around an invisible hula-hoop.
My waist swirls, Marcus is getting excited. I love it. But not him. Or his face. Or the way he grabs onto me with his sparkling eyes and glimmer of hope that I could love him. Fool. Idiot. Stanley. Stanley’s underneath me. I’m riding him now. I close my eyes again. It’s Carl. No Stanley when I open them. I squint with precision and see Marcus sitting up; taking my lower back, and then using his hands to control the power of how hard I will slap the top of his legs.
I press myself close enough to clasp onto his neck. I help him out with the hard work. I outstretch one arm and hand onto the duvet, and the other, I keep a lock around his neck. As if throwing a rope and drawing it back in, Marcus is continuing to moan as he takes the reins and I’m his reindeer. I let go of his neck; throw my other arm back … spread my legs like a flower blooming: he’s still gripping my waist with my knees pointed out.
I’m getting into it. But not him. No. “I think I …” I know what he’s going to say and he better now. “The way you make me feel …” I leaped up and covered his mouth, so he could only mumble whilst I drew the rope from above and climbed it and came back below to meet him without looking into his eyes. I’m coming to a point where my va-jay wall is tightening to the point of it trapping him in. I must be close. A first time, but I know he’ll ruin it? Or maybe I shouldn’t jinx it?
To late. He squeezes my wrists and it hurts, it works. I remove my hands from his gob and he takes my head into his palms: Marcus must think he’s a juicer. “I love you!” I was still briskly and lively. But I sojourn and instantly climb right off. “Did you hear me? I said I love you, Megan.”
“I know. I know.” I run down his stairs naked. And he follows with his rear-ends that’s lumpier than mine. I sit on the sofa. He stands before me like I should apply my tongue to his Willy Wonka because it’s just there: all happy-go-lucky and ready to be brought down from its hard-dom. I bring my legs up and avoid that. But he follows, and there it is again. I swiftly go to the left of the sofa; knees up to my chest. And Marcus has had enough and lifts me off my legs and ass. “Marcus!” I shout loudly. “Put me down!?”
“Not until you tell me what’s going on?” I don’t do wrestling. He’s about to crush my thighs against my chest.
“Nothing. I’ve been here with you for the past week. We’re happy, aren’t we?” I really want to get down. But Marcus is strong.
“No. You’re not. And I can’t understand why.” He chucks me onto the sofa I bounce – bounce – bounce - and then settle: happy that he managed to slam dunk. Marcus dashes upstairs. I think he’s gone for good, but he’s back down here with his boxers on and a box of caramel chocolates which he just chucks at me … how rude! But then, I open it, and it’s not chocolates at all, it’s large enough to keep a handful of letters.
“Why have you got these?”
“Because that soldier must’ve gotten the wrong address from you. He still writes. Yeah. That must come as a shocker? Still insisting that you leave me for him and come to the join him out in the middle east. Maybe he’s the reason why you’re so frigid and unable to look at me?”
“Marcus … we aren’t even a couple? Or in a proper relationship!”
“And whose fault is that!?” He’s getting passionate. If he dares to speak Shakespeare I’m out of here. “I’m just something that you need to waste your time with.”
I sigh and blink wearily; “Marcus …”
“Na girl. You use me to get away from that friend of yours too. Only here to have sex with me and then go back when you and Taylor can handle each other again. You think I don’t know how you females work. I treat you well. Stay faithful. And yet, you’re there still not listening to a word I’m preaching to you.”
Preaching was perfecto for Marcus. He was good at it. “I’m listening.” I wasn’t. I childishly open my eyes widely and say it again, “I’m listening!” But I wasn’t.
Marcus points at the unread letters. “Are you still wanting to run off with the soldier?”
“Of course, I’m not.” I entertained the mysterious writer. But I was never going to run-away with him.
“So, that’s just a sick joke to hurt me?” He walks over and snatches the box from my clutch. He honestly made me flinch. -
“That was unnecessary! Those are addressed to me. You have no right to hang onto them for so long.”
“And you had no right to hurt me the way you did.” -
“I’m leaving Marcus! I can’t … you knew the situation before we started to get together. I explained to you what I was looking for. Have you forgotten?”
“You’re right. Leave!”
Chapter 4
I hadn’t been back to the house for a week. And the unpaid bills, including a red letter, was what I stepped on when I came through the front door. I saw a sports bag: Nike on the living room floor. We had no foyer. So as soon as anybody entered the house they would see the stairs that were painted white and on the right. The door would always narrowly miss it when swung open.
The front room consisted of a single sofa and double, Tv: 30-inches, dvd player, 2 – calendars with the Chinese alphabet. A straw but comfortable rug saying welcome friends, and a standing lamp with a jaguar-black-shade and a string switch. There was a segregated wall that was half complete on the right-hand side where our miniature kitchen was. The basement was next to the cupboard where we kept our tea cozies and tablecloths.
Stanley has just come up from that basement that I was just about to check. He jumps – I jump. We both are alarmed. So, she chose him to stay after all. How fitting for Taylor. “Sta … Stanley, right?” I pretend to forget his name. I know it alright.
“Yeah.” He looks at the bills that I have in my hands. “I haven’t seen you around. Taylor said you were staying at your bo
yfriend’s?”
“He’s not really my … yeah, I was staying at his.” I can’t be bothered to go into details. “So, she chose you then?”
“She vetted a few other guys. But in the end, she chose me. I … I hope that’s ok with you?”
“It’s out of my hands.” I hoped that didn’t sound rude?
“That doesn’t sound positive for me?”
“It’s not you. It’s uh … Taylor who I have to deal with.”
“I get you.” I hadn’t noticed his other arm tattoos which were mainly naked women in pin-up form and perky – pig breasts that were larger than double-ds. They were dressed in coloured booty shorts and sucking on the muzzle of the gun.
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