Blake was grinning at her like an idiot. “You ok?” She’d forgotten that for a big guy he could move so well. She laughed in his face and he laughed too, caught her close and whirled her in a circle. She’d forgiven him. It wouldn’t take much to have them snarling and spitting again, but for tonight at least, they could be at ease with each other.
The longer the four of them danced together, the more Bailey became aware of being watched, and not just because Blake, throwing in the occasional John Travolta or Mick Jagger move, was a crowd pleaser. From across the floor, Aiden had made her a butterfly and pinned her wings back. He was inspecting her with a precision that made her intensely aware of herself. But when she caught his eye, he looked away with a furtive gesture.
Blake said, “He won’t dance.” Of course he’d seen all that. She rolled her eyes. “Why not?”
“One wedding waltz, that’s all he had in him. Bet you a hundred you can’t get him up here.”
She looked from Blake to Aiden, now pouring a drink for Willow. She had her dance floor confidence back, and to hell with Aiden for making her feel uncomfortable. And what was he doing coming to the house and not telling her? She left Blake to a wave of his laughter and bopped her way over to Aiden and Willow.
When she was in front of him she did a little bow and said, “I limp but I can still dance, but I hear you won’t.”
Willow laughed. “No, he’s big stick in the mud. I can’t get him out there.”
Aiden said, “I told you to go dance with anyone you wanted to.” He looked tense, he sounded pissy. But Willow wasn’t put off, she said, “I only want to dance with you.”
“Like that’s gonna happen.”
That was Aiden shooting for humour, doing his best Cody and still managing to sound more like Willow’s father than her boyfriend. It was easy to feel sorry for Willow, especially if Aiden was always this constipated around her. This was dark side, office bad guy Aiden in a social setting. A shocking combination of charisma and standoffishness. He dragged you in, but when you got up close, he could reduce you to feeling like fly speck. What was wrong with him?
Willow was obviously totally smitten with him, and he should’ve seen the success of the drinks session for what it was as well—a triumph over the old Tony Jones days, a tribute to his own hard work turning the office around.
“Willow, see the cute blonde waving at us?” Bailey pointed across the room and waved back. “That’s Chris, he’s with me. He loves to dance and I’m a bit slowed up with the limp—you’d be doing me a favour.”
Willow hesitated. Aiden said, “Go on,” again with the fatherly vibe. She looked him in the eye and gave a resigned sigh. As she moved past, she put her hand lightly on Bailey’s arm. “Maybe you’ll have better luck with him than me.”
Bailey almost said, “I’d put money on it,” but stopped herself, watching as Willow joined Chris. Did she only mean dancing? Didn’t matter, this was only about dancing. She gave Aiden her best challenging tone. “Blake said you don’t dance.”
“Blake would’ve told you he’s seen me dance precisely once in his life.”
In spite of recognising she was annoyed with Aiden for his avoidance and eyeballing her across the dance floor, for his shoddy boyfriend act, and for the damn scowl he was wearing for no good reason—Bailey laughed. Because of course Aiden would know exactly what Blake said.
“Why not?”
“You’re not here to talk about why I don’t dance.”
Oh yes she was. Even if it was stunningly obvious to both of them by the way they’d edged slightly closer, and were entirely self sufficient in a room full of people, that it wasn’t the only reason she was here.
“I’m here to get you to dance.” Even if that now seemed like an insult to Willow.
“Don’t you think Chris might be annoyed?” How easily Aiden could add patronising to fatherly. It was impossible to resist wanting to take him down a peg.
“I just danced with Blake, and Chris is dancing with Willow, so no I don’t. Besides he doesn’t get to call the shots on what I do, or who I do it with.” Take that, Pops.
“I see.”
“No, you don’t see anything.” Though call her a skeleton and him an X-ray, his eyes never left her face, and that made her think about red pillars and boom gates, and the citrus smell of his skin, the black silk of his hair.
“I think I do. He’s the long lost boyfriend, warmly welcomed home from the sea.”
“That’s what you think?” He sounded what—jealous? “What do you care anyway?”
He frowned, blinked, his expression going from supercilious to concerned, his voice from scornful to apprehensive and questioning. “I care that you’re happy, Bailey. I’ll always care that you’re happy.”
“If you cared, you wouldn’t be avoiding me.” She heard her own voice as a whine, child to his parent. She broke eye contact, looking down at his feet in black boots.
“Don’t you think that’s for the best?”
“No. And certainly not if we’re going to work together.”
“Are we?”
She turned her head to look at the dancers. Someone spilled a drink and Blake was mopping up. “I don’t know yet.”
“Bailey.” Aiden’s hand was on her shoulder. She felt it all the way to her knees, liquid warmth. It made her want to lean into him, feel more of him. “It can’t be anything else, especially now. Chris looks like a nice guy.”
She had to clench her teeth to stop herself telling him Chris was on the couch. That she had no idea he was coming back, and didn’t know how she felt about him anymore, or what she wanted to happen between them. But what was the point telling him, it would make no difference.
“Can we talk about something else? How are Cody and Jas?”
Aiden dropped his hand and sighed. He looked away. “Cody’s father came home. I lost my access to the kids.”
When she met Aiden’s eyes she saw all his defensiveness slough off and drop away. She could see that he hurt. “Oh Aid, is there anything you can do about it?”
“Only hope he relents over time. But I’m not sure if that’s a good thing. It might be disruptive.”
“You loved those kids.”
He smiled sadly, “Snuck up on me, but yeah.”
The mood between them had shifted, turned inside out. He was no longer trying to hold onto her and push her away at the same time, and she no longer wanted to scream at him for his indecision.
“I only just found out you came to the house.”
“It’s not important. I told Chris not to bother you.”
“Aid?”
He exhaled hard, and passed his hand across his face. “It was a rough day. I wanted to hear how you felt about Blake and the offer.”
Possibly. But since he’d had time to ask that question since, Bailey figured that for a lie. He’d wanted something else, something else he no longer thought he needed. It took the smallest of movements to brush her fingertips against the back of his hand. He turned his palm and their fingers locked.
“Please dance with me.”
He shook his head, “I can’t dance.”
“And I limp. Please.”
He said, “I really can’t dance,” but he let her led him to the very edge of the makeshift dance floor. Someone took pity on them and dumped a hard-core rap song for Florence and the Machine’s You’ve Got the Love. It was a song even uncoordinated teenage boys could shuffle too. Aiden stopped uncertainly behind her, but when she turned to him, he put his arms around her back. “I really can’t.”
“Yes you can.”
He closed his eyes in discomfort, but his hands spread across her back, palms open, fingers pressing, and she led him into a slow side step. He tucked his head down so his cheek brushed her hair. Was he hiding his face in embarrassment, or did he want to be close to her like she ached to be to him?
When Florence sang the lyric, about losing the things you love,” he groaned, his grip on her tightening.
“This is a bad idea, Bailey.”
“This is just dancing.” She could lie too. It was only dancing because there were other people around. If they’d been alone it would be the beginning of something far more intense. Aiden had folded her into his chest so there was no space between them. She could see the pulse in his neck throbbing, feel the breath in his lungs, smell beer and a trace of his aftershave. Her own arms were around his neck, her fingers against the base of his skull and their eyes were locked on each other.
When the song ended, he was slow to release her, his hands retreating in increments, his eyes memorising. But he was quick to walk away without a word. She’d won the bet but it felt like bankruptcy.
●
Olivia pulled on his arm. “What did you do, Bear?” Her mouth opened in shock as they watched Aiden release Bailey from his embrace and stalk off the dance floor as though he’d suddenly woken from a dream and remembered he had a plane to catch. Bailey stood still her eyes closed and a look of devastation on her face.
“I played God.”
“The real God will get you for that you know.”
“The real God has better things to do. “
“Did the whole room see that?”
“Most of the room is eating and drinking our month’s profit margin. Chris is playing David Attenborough again, but look at Willow.”
“Oh Bear, she knows! You stupid man. Aid’s going to end up alone.”
“Then he might wake up and do something about it.”
Olivia spun to him, eyes popped with confusion, “But you said he had no fight left in him.”
“I know. But he’s never given up on anything. I’m hoping he has something in reserve, if he’s pushed hard enough.”
Bailey was back by Chris’ side. He had his arm slung over her shoulder.
“It might not be up to him.”
“I know.”
“Oh, Bear.” Olivia tucked her face into his chest, so she missed Aiden get himself another beer, missed Willow retrieve her coat, take one last look at Aiden’s back and leave by herself. This playing God business was enough to give you a headache. He said, “Take me home, Liv. I want to show you how much I love you.”
40: Symmetry
Chris thought the abandoned couch was a comment on the disposable nature of today’s consumer oriented society, or a piece of junk that missed the council clean up.
It was an ugly dull pink colour circa 1980. One cushion was missing, grey coloured stuffing dribbled out of the slashed backrest and one arm had been treated as a scratching post. It had spills and stains; it stank and was irretrievably toxic. But someone had placed it on the hill where it looked out over the ocean, a panorama of coastal beauty at its three remaining knobbly wooden feet.
Bailey shot it from an oblique angle so you could see its awful shabbiness aligned with the majesty of its outlook. It felt strange to have Chris with her on her morning ramble again. It felt odd to know he didn’t see any irony in her sending out the pic with the caption, ‘On the couch’.
Of course it wasn’t ironic to him. He’d bought a futon and moved into the second bedroom. It wasn’t ironic to anyone but Bailey. Ironic and pathetic. She sent the pic to five thousand and fifty-two subscribers but she only wanted one of them to see and understand it. Mopha posted he could almost smell the cat piss. MacGuffin appeared and quoted Shakespeare, ‘This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars. This other Eden, demi-paradise.’
She’d had no other contact with Aiden for a week since the Friday night drinks. She’d heard Cara organising airfares for him, Melbourne, Adelaide and Perth. She had no idea when he’d be back, and she didn’t want to make an issue asking about him. She thought about simply calling him, but to say what? Despite the undeniable pull between them, he wasn’t willing to take it any further. He was with Willow and unless she decided differently she was with Chris.
It’d been so easy to slide back into the life she’d had with Chris. He’d started job hunting, making a business of it, out every day in a suit and tie, seeing recruiters and attending interviews. But every night she came home to a cooked meal, a clean house and a welcoming smile. There were flowers. There was folded washing. There were weeds pulled from the front garden. He was broke, but he never asked for money. He was worried about picking up his career as a security systems analyst, but he never made a big deal of it. He was nothing but supportive. They’d once been in love. They could build a good life together.
But Chris was still on the futon and Bailey didn’t know what it would take to make her want him in her bed again. When he reached for her hand to hold, she found something else to be busy with; the TV remote, the car keys, her phone or camera. When he kissed her, she knew he wanted more, though he was careful not to press. She didn’t resist but there was no magic, no stolen breath, no wings around her heart, or ache in her belly. She had no urge to climb into his skin and never separate, and it felt like cheating on him.
She could forgive him, but she wasn’t sure she could love him the same way she’d once done. She only wanted one man in her bed, and Aiden wasn’t even talking to her. Yet thinking about the way he’d held her, touched her, said her name was enough to make her lose her concentration.
Again and again she called up his photo to remind herself Aiden was as irretrievably damaged as the couch. She replayed his words ‘she was the worst possible thing for him’, and knew he mean it. It should’ve been enough to snap her out of this fog of wanting. It was disconcerting. She’d always been the practical one, the organised one, the one who knew exactly what she was going to do next. She barely recognised herself. She was indecisive and slow witted. She couldn’t decide about Chris or the partnership. It made her irritable. It made Blake anxious. It made Chris more patient and conciliatory. She wanted to be sixteen again, boyfriend, job and mortgage free. She wanted to run away and forget it all. She wanted to go to Aiden, and make him see she was strong enough for his pain, and bright enough for his darkness.
Instead she sent out photographs every morning that would’ve been a secret code between them if he’d known who she was. It felt both dangerous and safe. Dangerous because it spoke of her connection to him, and safe because he’d never queried her password, never connected it to the blog, and in any case, she had no idea if he still paid attention to it.
After the couch came a shot of two school students wrapped around each other slow dancing to the rumble of the bus waiting at the stop. They thought she’d make them famous. She picked up new subscribers the next day. She sent a shot of a heart shaped cloud pierced by sunlight. A lucky, clever captured moment. She sent a shot of a Love Sux concert poster taped to an electricity pole, and a cappuccino with a heart shaped in the foam with coffee crema.
It was pointless and self indulgent, embarrassing and very sixteen year old. The equivalent of chasing a boy so hard you made him run all that much faster and further on his way to hating your guts, and telling everyone you were a lunatic stalker.
Subscribers posted messages about her obvious running theme, speculated about her broken heart and volunteered suggestions for feeling better. The suggestions ranged from the genuine to the obscene; capped off by MacGuffin who quoted Dr Seuss, ‘I'm afraid that sometimes you'll play lonely games too. Games you can't win 'cause you'll play against you.’
She should have been amused by that. But watching the comments feed pissed her off. Because though she knew it would never happen, she waited for Aiden to post something. Her inner teenager wanted it to be a message of acknowledgement and submission. Her outer bitch wanted to smack herself for the offense of indulging the fantasy.
When Friday night rolled around again, Chris joined her at Heed for drinks. It was a miserable cold, wet night; a last blast of winter and the hot chocolates Cara was making were more popular than the chilled beer. They’d be no dancing tonight. People were keen to be home and warm. She was about to make a move to go when Blake and Aiden appeared, dumping suitcases and coats, bringing a sense
of conquering heroes returned from the fray to the otherwise cosy gathering.
She tried not to watch for Aiden. He’d gone to his desk with a beer in hand. She settled in to listen to Blake tell stories, but her eyes kept wandering from the open space to the workstations where she could see Aiden, checking messages, and unpacking his satchel. When he turned his head and caught her out she almost spilled her drink. She was the first to look away, flushed with the embarrassment of how she’d spent the week actively mooning over him.
She looked for Chris, time to get out of here. He was playing Super Mario with a group from the accounts department. He flashed her a ten minutes sign followed by prayer hands in a please gesture. She had nowhere to go when Aiden approached, and when he stood near, every nerve ending flickered with tension. She suddenly hated him for reducing her to a quivering, indecisive, out of focus mess.
“Good week?” It came out like a curse, hollow and angry. It felt good, soul cleansing.
“Long week.”
He sounded weary. Who cares? He could take his weary home to Willow. “You’ll be glad to get home then.”
He stepped closer so their conversation was more private. “Bailey, you have every right to be mad with me.”
She kept her face turned away from him, watching the theatre size projection of Super Mario trying to save Princess Peach. “What makes you think I’m mad with you?” Bailey’s mouth was dry; it made it hard to sound indifferent. On the screen, Princess Peach was lost in the desert and about to die of dehydration. Mario had to get water to save her.
“I’m mad with me. You must be furious.”
“Look, I started it last Friday night and I shouldn’t have.” She looked over her shoulder at Aiden, quickly enough to take in his tiredness, not long enough to hold eye contact. Mario was jumping over a half dragon, half turtle creature. “You’ve been clear you wanted me to stay away. Let’s leave it at that. I hope you and Willow can make a go of it.”
He didn’t answer, but out of the corner of her eyes, she saw him drop his head, a gesture of resignation. It took the edge off her annoyance. “She’s very nice and she obviously adores you.”
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