“I won’t,” she said, leaning against the kitchen counter for support.
Maria placed her hand on Alexia’s shoulder. “We’ve all said this before.”
“I should go.” She walked towards the door.
“How can you know how things work?” She stood on Maria’s front steps. You all want too damn much, she thought. Dad wants me to talk to Theodora. You and Christina don’t. And every time I ask a question, I find out more crap about this family. About him. He went back to Greece to be with Dimitria. His first love. For all I know, his only love. How pathetic. He didn’t give a damn about me. I was a kid. A stupid little kid.
Maria was like the rest of them. Sure, she was open about stuff, but she didn’t want any gossip about the family either. “Think of the shame this will bring.” What about doing the right thing? That never occurs to these people.
Alexia walked up the alleyway to where she’d parked her moped, got on and rode in the direction of Achilles’s favourite bar. Where was the harm in it? At least Achilles paid attention to her. It had been a long time since anyone treated her like a woman. Dan and her colleagues saw her as one of the guys. A perfect work buddy. That’s me. Perfect. The perfect daughter. The perfect lawyer. Where did that ever get me? “I know what I’m doing,” Alexia had said to Maria. “I’m so sick and tired of taking care of things, always doing what’s expected.”
Alexia accelerated, lurching forward as the moped begrudged her foot’s demand for more speed. Perfect, Maria had said. I don’t think so. Achilles was an old, self-centred lech, but she wasn’t looking for anything permanent. Just a bit of a mindless escape. Was that so bad?
She parked the moped, clipped her helmet around the handlebars.
The lights in the tavern were dim and cigarette smoke enveloped the room in low floating haze. Upbeat, fast-strumming bouzouki music played in the background. She put a hand over one ear to dull the noise. The heavy bass pounded in her chest.
Her eyes adjusted. Achilles sat at the bar with his back to her, a glass of beer in front of him. The bartender wiped glasses, nodded as if he could hear what Achilles was saying. Neither noticed her walk in.
She stroked his back and kissed his cheek. “Have you forgotten me already?”
“My little bird returns.” He scooped her close, leaning in to kiss her mouth.
She turned. He pecked her cheek and tightened his arm around her waist.
“Paristani ton yoe,” the bartender said.
Alexia pushed Achilles away. “Yes, he acts just like that. A magnet for women.”
“I do not know my own strength.” Achilles grabbed a pistachio from the bowl in front of him. He cracked it open with his fingernail and tossed the shell on to the heap of discarded bits he’d piled on the counter. He threw the pistachio up and opened his mouth to catch it. He swallowed it whole.
She pulled up a stool and ordered a beer. The bartender ducked under the counter and brought back a bottle and a filmy glass. He disappeared into the back.
Alexia sipped from the bottle, listening to the clatter of dishes.
Achilles stroked her hand. She pulled it away, tucked both hands under her legs and gazed at the multi-coloured, half-filled bottles of alcohol on the shelf in front her.
They left the bar, his arm inside hers as they walked up the street to where she had parked the moped. He nattered on about the boardwalk project he had in the works. “You will see. I have important friends who believe.” He hugged her.
You’re pretty damn sure of yourself, she thought. She smelled cigarette smoke on his sweater and stale beer on his breath. She squeezed in closer. What the hell. She wasn’t a little girl anymore, even though everyone here treated her like one.
He gazed into the distance. “It’s a magnificent place. People will come from all over.” His arm loosened its hold on her. She leaned into him. He looked at her and smiled, squeezed her close. He kissed the top of her head. “Let me show you.”
“Of course,” she said.
He kissed the inside of her hand. His beard tickled her palm. She caught a quick glimpse of the tiny spot of scalp at his crown and felt a tenderness she hadn’t felt for him before.
She eased her hand away, put on her helmet. She felt his stare. She didn’t look at him. She dug into her pocket for the keys.
He touched her forearm and signalled to toss him the keys. “It is a man’s responsibility to drive a woman wherever she needs to go. It is our role in this life.”
What era do you come from? she wondered, shaking her head. He smiled, boyish and charming. She gazed down at the ground. She shrugged. Get off the soapbox once in your life. It’s not like you’re going to change him. And besides, this isn’t a big deal. Let him believe what he wants. You’re not marrying the guy. Just going for a ride. She handed him the keys.
He started the moped, and she slipped on behind him. He leaned against her; put his hand around her thigh to hold her in place. Her stomach seemed to drop away. His back warmed her. Putting her hands against his chest, she held him as he eased the moped forward. Her jacket rode up, exposing her lower back. Air played on her bare skin. She didn’t pull her jacket down. She gripped him closer. As they rode through the dark streets, his hand loosened its hold on her leg.
He took her hand and led her down the concrete boardwalk, jumping over the spots where the cement had buckled and cracked. Large gaps had opened up, dropping to the stones and sand below. Water gurgled against the rocks. Across the inlet, lights flickered.
Some of the streetlights along the walkway sputtered on and off. The sky was clear and a half-moon gave enough light for Alexia to see Diakofto’s splintered mountains. The breeze had disappeared. Moths flitted in and out of the light. Achilles nipped kisses from her when she tried to ask a question about his plans for the boardwalk.
“What do you think of the lights?” He squeezed her hand.
She followed his eyes up to one. It flashed bright as if for her benefit. He smiled.
She wasn’t sure why Achilles was so pleased with himself. “Some fresh light bulbs might help. And some of these things look like they haven’t been hooked up. Dangling bits don’t exactly add anything.”
Cupping her face in his hands, he kissed each of her eyelids. “People don’t worry about these things when they have the ocean in front of them.”
She held onto his hands. “How many people actually walk down here? What’s here? What do you like about it?”
He kissed her forehead. “You think too much,” he said, dropping his hands. He walked ahead.
He’d asked her a question. What was she supposed to do? Act like she didn’t have an opinion? She noticed the slight sway of his walk, like an aging mare with a sagging rear.
“Okay,” she said. “I get it. I’ll walk home. Return my keys whenever.” She jumped off the boardwalk and onto the beach. She jogged towards the road, her feet slipping in the sand, her shoes filling with tiny stones. She told herself she should be home. It was late. Christina would be worried. She’d probably called Maria and half the town by now. It would serve them right though. They’d think twice about keeping their stupid secrets from her.
“You don’t have to be this way.” He ran beside her, quick and agile like her father had been before he got sick. She picked up her pace, stared at the shadow of the road she could see a short distance in front of her.
He pulled at her arm.
She stopped. “If you want a parrot, I’m not that girl.” She met his gaze defiantly, like she dealt with all her adversaries around the negotiating table. But like a disobedient child, she kept her hands behind her back.
“I want the woman,” he said, stroking her face. He pressed his mouth against hers.
She stepped back and he released her. Running her tongue over her lip, she sucked her own salty blood. “Being gentle is okay, you know.”
He shrugged.
Maybe he wasn’t as sure of himself as he liked to pretend, she thought. She went to him. Hi
s tongue slithered over her lip, into her mouth.
He lay her down on the sand, kissing her breasts and stomach through her blouse. He tugged at the zipper of her pants with his mouth. It didn’t budge. He tried again, yanking hard. He gave up, tried to lift her blouse. She held it down. “Right here?”
Achilles stroked his beard. He sat up without looking at her, crossed his legs and leaned against his knees. He picked up a small stone and threw it. It fell a few feet away.
She adjusted her blouse and sat up. What was he thinking?
“The fire is ready. There is no shame in this,” he said. He wiped his hands against his shirt, pulled her down again and edged himself on top.
Her body arched upward as he kissed her neck.
He pulled at her zipper, again. He tugged her pants down. She slipped one leg free. Her pants now hung from the other leg. She tried to kick them away, but he whispered to leave them where they were. “We might have to react quickly,” he said.
“What?”
“People talk,” he said. I have to live here.” He drew back her underwear, but didn’t take them off.
She laughed.
He pulled himself up on his hands and hovered above her. “Have I done anything funny?” he asked. “You do not like what Achilles is doing?”
She stared up at the moon. “Even you worry about what people say?”
“Achilles? No,” he said. “I have what I need without taking chances.”
He bent down over her, forced her to look at him.
She turned her head. He stuck his tongue in her ear. She tried to squirm away. He held her head steady, sucked her earlobe. She twisted, finally giving him her mouth.
He pecked at her lips as he unzipped his pants, held her underwear to one side, pushing at her until he found her. She rocked up to meet him. Burying his face against her shoulder, his arms lay on the ground like a halo around her head. His beard rubbed at the tender spot below her collarbone, sand branded her backside. She stared at one bright star in the sky. It glimmered like a laugh.
A few seconds later, Achilles gasped. His full weight dropped on her. His arms closed in around her ears and muffled the sound of the ocean, all sound. His chest moved up and down in a slow, steady rhythm. She lay still, pierced to the ground, aware of how his zipper pinched her pubic bone, how the metal snagged at her skin. Her lips were dry. She bit and nibbled at her lip until she felt the skin rip open.
He heaved himself up onto his knees, used a handkerchief he’d pulled out of his pocket to wipe himself. He adjusted his sweater and zipped his pants, brushing sand away, then smoothed his hands over his hair and beard. He hummed. Slipping the soiled handkerchief into his shirt pocket, he stood up. “This was good for both of us. Yes.” He gazed out in the direction of the boardwalk.
Alexia supported herself on her elbows. Watching Achilles, she remembered how her father would look at himself in the mirror whenever he got ready for work. He’d comb his hair, pulling it back into an elastic band. He’d make sure a few strands hung down around his face. He’d run his tongue over his teeth, brushing them a second time, then he’d drip his cologne onto his hands, slapping it on his face and the back of his neck. He’d check the wrinkles on his forehead and around his mouth, say no one liked an old guy. She’d tell him he was handsome. What else would the perfect daughter say to her father? She’d wanted him to be happy.
He’d smile and kiss her forehead.
She ran her fingers over her forehead. Sometimes she still felt his kiss. She sat up. This is ridiculous. He’s gone. He never thought or worried about her as much as she worried about him.
Achilles pulled out another handkerchief from his pants pocket and handed it to her. “We should get back,” he said. “Ella, paidi mou.”
She stroked her cheek with the handkerchief, smelled lavender.
Achilles stood with his legs apart, one hand on each hip. She hadn’t noticed that angry stare in him before. The hunt was over for him, she thought. He got what he wanted. Now, he wanted to get going. She understood that. She’d done it herself before. They weren’t that different. Don’t worry, I don’t feel like hanging around either. It wasn’t the escape she’d hoped for, but it would have to do.
The handkerchief had been carefully pressed. Standing up, she adjusted her underwear and pulled up her pants. Sand sprinkled down and semen dribbled from her. She was cold and felt clammy. She needed to be home with Christina and Solon. They were her family. All she had. They pissed her off, yes. But, she was no angel either.
She handed the handkerchief back to Achilles, folded and unused.
“Do not worry,” he said, pressing the handkerchief towards her. “I have a woman. She does my cleaning.”
“I do for myself,” Alexia said. The ocean cracked behind her. She didn’t move.
“Maybe a storm comes tomorrow,” he said.
She shrugged. The breeze had picked up. It pushed at her.
“There will always be women who want to take care of me,” he said, putting his arm around her. “Should we meet here tomorrow night if there is no rain?”
She held out her hand. “How about my keys?”
“Good idea,” he said. “We shouldn’t be seen together. Why invite troubles?” He pulled out the keys and handed them to her. “We can come to this spot and accidentally run into each other anytime you want. We do that well, yes?”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” she said. “My family.”
“You are like your father.” He pulled away. “He worried about what his sisters thought, what his father said, who was talking about him, and so on. It paralyzed him.” He put both hands in his pockets, gave her his back to ponder. He stared out at the ocean.
She jerked his arm until he faced her. “You knew my father?”
“It will be daylight soon,” he said, gazing beyond her. “We have to go.”
“Not until you tell me how you knew him.” She stood in front of him.
“He was my partner on this project. That’s all.”
He walked away from her. She yanked him back.
“I knew him since we were kids. We were good friends once.”
“What else?”
He turned to face the boardwalk. “He gets himself in trouble and leaves. That is why we have a construction zone here, as you call it, and not the dream.” He threw his hands up, again. “You are a child. How can you understand?”
“A child you had no trouble fucking.” She shoved him.
“If he was a good father, he should have come back to take care of her,” he said. “I told him. He had no excuses. I told him.”
“You mean he didn’t know?” She grabbed his arms and meant to shake him. She tightened her grip. Her hands hurt, but she wouldn’t let go.
He wrenched himself out of her grasp. “Dimitria did not want him to know. I am the one who wrote to him.”
“Because you wanted him to come back for this stupid project of yours,” Alexia said. “You didn’t give a damn about Dimitria or Theodora.”
“They all wanted to protect poor Nicolai,” he said without meeting her eyes. “Someone had to tell him the truth.”
“Who tried to protect him? Dimitria, his family, who?”
“We could have made this town,” he said.
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” You’re a womanizer and a damn liar, she thought. We’re not alike. I may screw the odd married guy, but at least I’m honest.
He put his hands on her shoulders. “Achilles is a simple man with a dream. There is nothing difficult to understand with me. What you see is all.”
“You couldn’t convince my father,” she said. “You thought you’d convince me?”
He grinned in that crooked adolescent way she so hated in weak men. She shoved him away. He stumbled backwards. I’m so sick of selfish, needy men who just expect you to take care of them, she thought.
“Do not be like this,” he said, his arms open. “Tonight, you saw how good we are
together.”
“Give me a break,” she said and walked away.
“Let us talk,” he mumbled. “Maybe you could change old Achilles.”
Picking up her pace, she began to run, the sand biting at her heels.
21
2009
Nicolai thrashed out of his jacket and heard the tear of fabric under his armpit. Armani isn’t what it used to be, he muttered. He threw the jacket on the sand and yanked at his tie until it hung limp around his neck. Sitting down, he kicked off his shoes and flung them as far as he could. He’d been tired when he’d left the doctor’s office, but had left his car parked there anyway and managed to walk for two hours until he reached this spot on Beach Avenue just below his condominium. The sun warmed his face. He dug wells in the sand with his heels, then tossed fistfuls of sand over his feet until they were completely covered. A seagull stood on a patch of brown grass close by, staring at him with its beady eyes.
Where had all the time gone? When Alexia was a little girl, she needed him to take care of her. He shook his head. No, she didn’t. Stop fooling yourself. Too late for that crap. His feet were baking. He leaned back on his elbows, burying his feet deeper. She’d gone to a university at the other end of the country even though he’d tried to convince her to stay in Vancouver. She had to take more courses, complete another exam after her degree so she could practise law in British Columbia, and at first she wasn’t sure she wanted to come back. “I have friends here, Dad,” she said. But eventually she came home. It didn’t stop her from pushing him away. She’d bought her own condominium, gone to a start-up company even after he’d tried to talk her out of both those moves. They were good decisions, though. He saw that now. She knew what was best. She always did. So much time had slipped away. His headstrong, serious little girl was now a stubborn, self-assured woman.
He had a year left. “Give or take,” the doctor had said. He was the third doctor Nicolai had gone to see. The first doctor had been right all along. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nicolai had said to him. “I feel fine.”
Nicolai's Daughters Page 29