Hell's Music

by Therese von Willegen

  Emily smiled into her Earl Grey and allowed a slight shake of her head.

  Rae leaned forward, cupping her chin. “So tell me about him.”

  “What’s there to tell? Si’s taking me out for dinner after sundowners.”

  “That’s a step in a positive direction, at least. You haven’t just ignored him, like you did with the other guy last year.”

  Emily frowned. “The other guy last year was a total loser. I found out he was married.”

  “You didn’t tell me that. Yuck. Married men. Yuck, yuck, yuck.”

  “Well, not many of the good guys are single when you get to my age.” That was the sad truth. “Or they’re gay. Or psycho.”

  She hoped Simon wasn’t the latter. She sure as hell didn’t think he was the former.

  * * * *

  “Emily’s got herself an almost-boyfriend.” Rae examined the lollipop she’d just unwrapped.

  Davy peered up at her from beneath his unruly fringe. “What the fuck’s an almost-boyfriend? Someone you want to fuck but you’re not sure?”

  “Oh, I think she’s going to shag him and, from the sounds of it, he’s hanging around her like a fly to a carcass.”

  Her friend winced at the reference, which made Rae cackle.

  “You sound like a witch when you do that.” Davy’s expression was sour. “I’m glad you’re not my sister.”

  “And I’m glad you’re not my brother.” Rae swiped at Davy as she popped the sucker into her mouth then pulled it out to examine how the color had changed from a dull powdery red to bright and shiny from her saliva.

  “And so?” Davy lay back on the couch.

  “So, we see. But on the other note, we need to start buying double the usual amount. I’m running out far too quickly, and I’m going to start getting rugby player muscles on my thighs if I carry on walking up Buitenkant Street every day to pick up more from you.”

  Davy groaned. “I’m not really in the mood to talk business.”

  * * * *

  The shop phone rang at noon and cut through the buzz of conversation in Interzone. It had been a busy day so far and a group of British tourists looked through her collection of vintage postcards. Emily took the call, the distraction welcome.

  “Interzone books and art, can I help?”

  “You’ve not changed your mind, have you?” Simon’s rich baritone made her shiver.

  “I didn’t.”

  He laughed. “I realized last night I didn’t have your number, but you kindly left a bookmark with my purchases from the other day. I hope you don’t think I’m some weird stalker type.”

  “Not in the least.” Emily couldn’t help but grin. He could stalk her any day.

  Voices sounded in the background on his side. She thought she heard drums in the distance, some pounding beat. “You at band practice or something?”

  “Rehearsal, yup. Taking five before I go see what the others are up to. I’ll see you at closing, okay?”

  “No problem.”

  His breath hitched as though he wanted to say something, and an awkward pause made Emily’s skin crawl.

  Someone on the other end of the line spoke to him and the receiver was muffled.

  “Gotta go. It was good seeing you again yesterday.”

  “Okay.”

  Simon killed the call, and Emily found herself half leaning off her chair, completely off balance. She cradled the receiver for a few breaths then replaced it. “I’m out of practice,” she muttered to herself.

  “Sorry, did you say something, luv?” one of the British women asked her.

  “Nothing,” Emily was all too aware of how warm her face felt.

  * * * *

  The rest of the day passed in a haze with Emily often cursing herself for dropping things and forgetting to make the few calls she’d promised some of her clients. All the while her stomach performed a very good impression of a carnival carousel, and she kept checking the wall-mounted clock. The hour hand moved slowly but irrevocably.

  Perhaps it was the expectation of knowing the attraction was mutual, that this near-stranger who had stumbled into her life could potentially lead to… What exactly? What did she want? After the last disastrous relationship, was she even ready to try again?

  Two years was a long time but, on top of that, Emily didn’t know what she wanted anymore. Too comfortable in her routine, she wasn’t sure if she could handle any drastic changes, and Simon certainly brought with him the certainty of incipient change.

  When he did arrive, at precisely five minutes to five, it was as if he’d somehow materialized at the door. His boyish grin made him look much younger. Hell, she hadn’t asked his age but she thought he was in his early thirties. He’d made some effort with his appearance, dressed in black jeans and button-up shirt. This time his hair was loose, falling in an ebony sheath to his waist and making his face appear paler than she recalled.

  “Hey.” Simon strode toward her.

  “Hey.” She rose.

  Before she could think further, Simon was in her space. He gave her a quick hug, kissing her lightly on either cheek as though they were old acquaintances. There was some truth to the statement of one’s body going limp in the presence of someone attractive but she sucked in her breath and tried to stand firmly.

  “Ready?” Simon asked.

  “You know the drill. I’m pretty much ready, just need to lock up.”

  Her hands trembled as she fit the key to the padlock then caught a sideways glance at Miriam’s shop where the woman looked up from behind her counter long enough to give Emily a brief thumbs-up.

  Simon smiled as she joined him on the way out. “So was it a good day?”

  “It would appear Cape Town is currently suffering a bad infestation of Brits. Last week it was Koreans with a mingling of Germans. It seems to happen in waves.”

  “Good to know they’re still visiting. When I first went to the States, I had to pretend I was from the UK, otherwise everyone thought I was a racist. Being a white South African and all that.”

  “But you got the American twang off pat now.”

  He shrugged. “Hazard of living there.”

  “How long?”

  “A good couple of years, probably close on ten. Went over when I was in my early twenties.” All right. She’d estimated correctly. Early thirties then. Not too old compared to her twenty-six, and it was with some relief that she figured she’d probably never snogged him in the past, though if she read her cues properly, the two of them were pretty damn close to some sort of physical intimacies the way things were going.

  He’d parked the Alfa in the same spot as last time and Emily was glad the air conditioner was running once he’d started the engine.

  “Where to, mister?” Emily flashed him what she hoped was an impish grin.

  “Tafelberg Road. You drink wine, right?”

  She nodded.

  “Got a bottle of that pinotage.”

  “Oh, my. The Diemersfontein?”

  He gave an appreciative whistle. “I like a girl who knows her wines.”

  Emily smiled to herself as Simon maneuvered the car into Long Street. The traffic was pretty hectic this time of the evening, so she didn’t bother him with small talk while he jostled with the lemmings on their way home. Besides, he’d turned the music up loud, some old Ozzy-era Black Sabbath number she half remembered and hadn’t heard in ages.

  Table Mountain gleamed gold-orange in the setting sun, the sandstone heights riffled with layers and ravines. A perilous mountain, she knew. Every year numerous foolish walkers would misjudge the many pathways contouring the slopes, either getting stuck overnight on a ledge or, worse, wasting themselves, tumbling down a precipitous cliff. At any rate, they provided fodder for the mall’s inhabitants and their idle conversation when business was slow.

  Simon lowered the volume as he nosed the car into Tafelberg Road. “You’re quiet.”

  “Just thinking about all the stories I’ve heard from my friend
s. The mountain’s beautiful but dangerous.”

  “She’s temperamental.”

  “She?” Emily laughed.

  Simon shrugged. “Just something my mother always used to say. If you treat the mountain with respect, she’ll take you places you never imagined. If you don’t, you’re in for a good bollocksing. Just like a woman.” He offered her a meaningful look.

  “Sounds about right.” Emily smiled. What was he getting at?

  They drove past the lower cable station, the road still lined with hundreds of cars. Emily supposed many people were using this opportunity–a summer’s day without wind–to enjoy the sunset from the top of the mountain. Like many locals, she’d been up the cable way more times than she could remember, and the trip no longer interested her. At least Simon hadn’t insisted they turn the evening into a cliché with that well-worn route.

  Simon drove past the lower cable station, following the undulating road that contoured the mountain’s flanks. She stared out the window, admiring the city anew, the way the ships in the docks looked more like toys and how Table Mountain’s flanks really did curve into a bowl to protect the inner city.

  A traffic boom blocked their route and Simon pulled over at a small lot on the edge of the road. “I can’t believe they still haven’t fixed damage from the rock fall. We used to be able to drive farther.” He shook his head.

  “It’s been like that for a while. They’d rather build a multi-billion-rand stadium that’s no more than a white elephant.”

  He gazed at the view. “The damn thing really does look like a bedpan.”

  Emily giggled, following his gaze to the stadium, a white round blot that rose out of Green Point’s buildings. “And it’s been standing near-empty since the World Cup. They won’t get the rugby players to budge from Newlands, and the local soccer clubs don’t bring in the hard cash to be profitable.”

  Simon gave a low laugh. “Why on earth are we talking about sports?”

  “Dunno.”

  He filled the awkward pause by opening the wine and produced two crystal glasses from a small basket at the back. “Paper cups are just so common.”

  The wine was good, its mocha notes hitting her palate. Emily closed her eyes and enjoyed the sun’s glow. When she turned to face Simon again, her heart gave a small lurch, because the intensity in his gaze suggested he’d been doing this all the while.

  “You know,” he said, “when I came to Cape Town I never thought I’d meet someone who could captivate me so utterly.”

  Emily’s face warmed and she pulled a sweep of hair down to obscure her blush.

  “Don’t try to hide your face.” He reached over and pushed her hair back behind her shoulder. “You’re beautiful.”

  “I-I don’t know what to say.”

  “Then don’t say anything.”

  She drew in a sharp breath as he leaned in to kiss her, his lips warm and hesitant. It wasn’t a long kiss and he pulled away, his expression wary, as if he expected a slap.

  A dozen thoughts ran through Emily’s head. Where are we going with this?

  “How’s the wine?” he asked.

  Emily glanced down at the glass she held. “It’s great.”

  Simon unlocked the door and got out. “Come enjoy the view.” He walked toward the edge of the cliff overlooking a narrow ravine clogged with eucalyptus and alien Australian acacia that would no doubt need clearing soon when fire season started in earnest.

  A bench stood near the edge, so this place was obviously intended as a lookout point. Emily followed him and sat next to Simon. He stared out across the city, not saying anything, and Emily admired his profile: a straight nose, high cheekbones and sensual lips. Lips that had left an imprint she still felt on her own.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked.

  “How good it is to be back. I hadn’t intended to ever return to this country. Now I’m glad I have. It’s like putting on an old pair of shoes.”

  She had to laugh. “An old pair of shoes? That’s hardly flattering.”

  Simon turned to her, smiling. “You know, as if your feet fit into all the hollows.”

  “That’s a very strange way of talking about the city.”

  “It’s true, you know.”

  Emily shrugged. “I’ve lived here my whole life. Grew up in Claremont, lived in Rosebank for a while then moved to Tamboerskloof. Not very adventurous, I know. The shoe analogy is…amusing.”

  “Ah. Traveling’s been good. Met new people, experienced new places. But it does make you tired when you don’t set down roots, so I suppose it’s a good thing for me to find a balance here.”

  “Are you going to stay here permanently?” She knew if she didn’t ask this question now it would bug the living hell out of her.

  “I’ll have to see. I do own property, but it’s not as if I’m ever here long enough to make decent use of it.” He sighed, as though he didn’t really want the conversation to flow in this direction. “South Africa doesn’t have a hell of a lot to offer alternative musicians. Oh, they can play a few gigs around the country, but the money’s not worth the amount of travel. And touring the small towns isn’t the best of options, not when they’d be happier to run you out of town for having long hair. I’m essentially on holiday. Having a reunion with my old band, rehearsing a bit, maybe playing a few gigs then seeing how things go.”

  “What’s it called?”

  “Dead Voices.”

  Emily sifted through her memories. Damn, she should remember something about the band, but she didn’t want to appear like a blithering idiot. “I think I heard of them. They were on a lot of the old fliers some of my friends stuck on their walls. I never got to see you guys. The band broke up a year or so before I started going out. People loved your music.”

  He gave a dry laugh. “Yeah, they loved the music all right.”

  “And I heard the mosh pits got out of hand.”

  “They had to call in the cops on more than one occasion. Those were the days.”

  “And the band you were with afterward?”

  His expression grew pained. “I’d rather not talk about it, okay? We’re taking a hiatus from gigging for a bit. Rehearsing for a new album in a few months at some point when I go back to NYC, but that ain’t gonna happen too soon the way things have gone.”

  When I go back to NYC. That stung. He might not stay here permanently. That realization sunk claws of disappointment into her. It was better not to pry and they lapsed into a silence, Simon looking out across Table Bay where an oil tanker lay stationary just off Robben Island.

  When he enfolded her hand in his, Emily couldn’t help the slight smile that tugged at her lips. They sat like this for a long while and watched the shadows grow longer. Her skin raised in goose flesh where they brushed against each other and some invisible barrier remained, making her ache to do more than just hold hands. But even the tension was perfect, promising more interesting activities to follow. Crickets chirruped, and if she listened carefully, she could discern different rhythms and pitches in the chorus. Endless streams of cars meandered below, the low rumble reminding her of the ocean’s breakers.

  A minibus pulled up and expelled a family clearly intent on enjoying the evening, for they carried camping chairs and cooler boxes. Simon didn’t need to say anything. They rose and returned to the car. What moment of contemplation they’d shared had been disturbed and it was time to leave.

  “Pity.” Simon fastened his safety belt.

  “Can’t blame them for coming out today. It’s not often we have a wind-still evening like this. Surely they wouldn’t have bothered us, though?”

  He gestured in the new arrivals’ direction. “Kids already staring. You know they’d be talking. They’d make comments about long hair and it would go on from there.”

  Emily didn’t really see what the problem was. Simon of all people should be used to people’s reactions to his appearance by now. “Suppose so. Was kinda hoping since it’s a weeknight we’d hav
e had the spot to ourselves. Where to now?”

  He turned the key in the ignition. “A little hidey hole in Gardens. Carmen’s.”

  “The Carmen’s?” Emily failed to keep the disbelief out of her voice. “Isn’t it horribly expensive?” Marula Mall’s inhabitants had often spoken of the place, but she’d never considered going there herself. After all, apart from occasional family, who would go out with her?

  Simon grinned as he reversed the Alfa. “Expense is all relative. It’s the experience that’s worth it, and tonight’s the perfect night for it.”

  “Wined and dined to within an inch of my life. I am a lucky girl.”

  His laughed. “No need to run yourself down.”

  * * * *

  The restaurant’s interior was every bit as magical as she’d been told. The walls had been painted in warm tones of ochre, olive and gold, with gilt baroque furniture. Numerous chandeliers, the crystals toned in bold shades of blue, crimson or emerald, cast their light in shattered fragments.

  The waiter ushered them through the main dining area through a set of double doors into a small courtyard where ornate wrought-iron tables had been arranged around a small pond filled with koi. A fountain shaped like a leaping dolphin spat water that splashed down in a cascade of glasslike notes.

  They were still early, and another couple sat at a far table, quietly immersed in their meal, the clink of their cutlery adding to the water’s notes.

  “You like?” Simon asked as soon as the waiter had taken their drinks order.

  “It doesn’t even feel as if we’re in the city anymore.” Emily glanced around at the stately oaks that shaded the courtyard. The particular mustiness of their fallen leaves prickled her sense of smell.

  “It’s the perfect hideaway,” Simon agreed. “A small world tucked away where you’d least expect it. Drove right past the place the first time I came looking for it.” He took her hand in his, the contact sending shivers down her spine. Those pale, pale green eyes sought her own. “I must admit something. I…I really, really like you very much. An unexpected gift.”

  Emily broke eye contact, examined the crisp white table linen and turned a salt pot with her free hand, glad for the low light lessening the heightened color she felt sure rushed to her cheeks. After a deep breath, she looked at him again. “I hadn’t expected such a handsome stranger to stumble into Interzone.” She laughed. “God, this conversation is so corny.”