‘Lift your hair up,’ he said, slipping into the bathtub behind me. It wasn’t really what I had in mind when he made the offer, but it was, after all, his bathroom.
I gathered up my hair and he went to work. He was good at it, like he was good at most things when he wanted to be. And for a while we sat in companionable silence as he washed most things, not just my back.
‘When I was coming, what was it you thought I was going to say?’ he asked softly, soaping my chest. To his credit, he didn’t just concentrate on the tits, he was doing a good job.
‘Oh, it doesn’t matter,’ I replied. I was tired of all the psycho drama.
‘No, I really want to know. What did you think I was about to say?’
‘How about we make it easier? What were you going to say?’ It was back to the old Sebastian. He was fucking with my head again. This time, I was armed.
‘Well, I know what I was going to say. I just wanted to know if you were right.’
‘Oh, Sebastian, please. Don’t play these fucking games with me. I’m tired. Just tell me what you were going to say, and I’ll tell you whether I was right or not.’
‘Shirakins, why don’t you just tell me what you –’
‘He was going to say he loves you,’ the soft, high voice interrupted. My head snapped around. Jean was leaning on the doorframe, looking at us. ‘Ask him.’
‘I don’t think I want to know, actually. Because that would top all the other weird shit you said while you were screwing me. Wouldn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
I squirmed around in the tub to look back at him. ‘Yes? Yes what?’
Sebastian leaned back in the bath. He smirked and shrugged. ‘That’s what I was going to say.’
I dunked myself under for a moment to rinse off, stood up and stepped out. Wrapping a towel around myself, I looked down, considering him in the water.
‘Well, I’m bloody glad I stopped you,’ I snapped. ‘If there’s one thing worse than a woman who can’t suck cock, it’s a man who screams he loves you when he’s coming.’
CHAPTER TEN:
ALL THE NEWS THAT FIT
At about three in the afternoon, I left Sebastian’s house with the excuse of having to go to practice. The band rehearsal wasn’t scheduled until five but I couldn’t stand the proximity. Feeling both inadequate and confused, I headed for home through the new snow, looking forward to the company of women.
Liz, being the earth mother and psychic she was, had accommodated me by filling the house with her friends. I arrived to catch the tail end of a long, drawn-out brunch that was still in full swing.
‘Shira! You’re back!’ said Liz, hugging me tight as I entered the kitchen. ‘Sit down, have some pasta, and tell us all about it.’
Some of the women around the table I knew, and some I didn’t. I found a gap at the table and squeezed into a chair between Naomi and Lydia. The two of them were grinning from ear to ear. They’d smoked some skunk; the kitchen was fuggy with it.
Liz passed a plate down to my end and someone handed me a mug of coffee laced with something that tasted vaguely bitter and chemical. I shrugged and gulped it down anyway, tucking into the food in front of me.
I was so busy feeding my face it took me a couple of minutes to notice that the kitchen had gone silent. I looked up and I caught all eight of them staring at me.
‘Um . . . is something wrong?’ I asked, a mouthful of pasta still in mid-chew.
Naomi grinned and prodded me with her elbow. ‘Well, come on. Tell us.’ She was a live music reviewer for a local entertainment rag. It wouldn’t do my upcoming gig any good to be rude to her.
At the far end of the table, Sam – my ex-roommate of the many piercings – stuck out a pink tongue with a silver ball embedded in the middle of it. ‘Liz told us. So you might as well be generous and tell us the rest.’
It’s hard to be angry with a person who has just fed you, but I was. I glared at her. ‘Thanks for your discretion, bitch.’
‘It’s your boyfriend who couldn’t keep his mouth shut!’ Liz protested defensively. ‘Apparently you guys were at the Warehouse on Saturday night and Jean told everyone that . . .’
I groaned, nodded, and covered my face with my hands. So much for the rules.
Lydia put her arm around my shoulder and said, ‘I’ve been trying to get my gay friend to sleep with me for years!’
‘Is it like being with a lesbian with a cock?’
‘Who fucks who?’
‘Did you do them both at the same time?’
‘For fuck’s sake!’ I screamed. ‘Can’t anyone get a little privacy around here?’
The room went quiet again for a couple of heartbeats. Then Sam muttered, ‘Nope.’
Suddenly, everyone was chattering wildly again, firing off questions and answering their own. Liz sat back from the table with a cigarette in one hand and a cup of coffee-with-whatever in the other; she was smiling that crooked smile that said, ‘you know you’re gonna give it up, so just do it’.
‘Okay. Yes, I slept with Jean and Sebastian. No, I didn’t get fucked by both of them at the same time. It’s absolutely nothing like being with a girl who has a cock. They’re both most definitely male.’ The table fell silent again. ‘So . . . now you know. Okay?’ I said cheerfully.
Sam shook her sleek, black, bobbed head. ‘No. That’s not nearly okay. I’ve heard that Sebastian is . . .’
‘Hung like a horse?’ I finished, testily. ‘Yes, he is. Ask him to show you – he’s not shy. If you ask nicely, I’m sure he’ll fuck you.’
Lydia curled her arm through mine. ‘But was it nice?’ She gazed at me through heavy black, trendy eyeglass frames. ‘Was it – you know – nice?’ She ended the word with a hiss.
‘Of course it was nice!’ I grinned. I couldn’t help myself. ‘Why wouldn’t it be?’
Liz tossed the lit butt of her cigarette into the sink behind her. ‘But was it good. Mm-mm good?’
I surveyed the expectant faces around the table. These were all wonderful women – some of them good friends. What was I going to say? I couldn’t lie. I cleared my throat, had another gulp of coffee and grimaced.
‘Well, it’s interesting.’ Catching the look of outrage on their faces, I continued quickly. ‘It’s good, but it’s difficult. I mean . . .’ I was scanning them, thinking of a way to phrase it. ‘Okay, how many of you gag when you give head?’
‘Oh, fuck, I do,’ burst out Jane. ‘All the time. Can’t help it. Actually, I hate sucking cock.’
‘Me too.’
‘I don’t mind it. Sometimes. Occasionally.’
A woman I didn’t know all that well put her hands up ‘Uh-uh. Don’t look at me. I’m on the strictly pussy diet.’
‘It anyone even tries to hold my head when I’m sucking them off, I just refuse!’ Naomi snorted.
There was a lot of agreement around the table. The only one who wouldn’t admit to any problems was Sam, which didn’t surprise me. That little ball on her tongue probably got them off so fast she didn’t need to deep-throat anyone.
‘Well, you can imagine. Gay guys – they’re fucking experts at sucking cock,’ I pronounced. Heads around the table nodded sagely.
‘In fact, I’d say that when it comes to sex, they are way out of our league, ladies. They just do it better. They think about it more, they have more experience, and they know their way around the equipment. We rely on our cunts. We rely on our tits – well, some of us do anyway. They have technique, girls, like you wouldn’t believe.’
‘Most straight men don’t,’ muttered Liz.
‘No, they don’t. Which is why when we sleep with them, everyone’s happy. Everyone just relies on body parts and nature. And it’s easier, believe me.’
I left the girls to their personal gag bests and went to my room to change. Just as I was finishing, the phone rang.
‘Hi, this is Shira, Lizzie’s busy,’ I said automatically.
‘Well, that’s perfectly fine. It�
��s not Liz I want to talk to.’
‘Sebastian. Hello. What’s up?’
There was a pause on the line and I heard a sigh. ‘Where are you?’
This was a patently idiotic question since he’d called my home number, which I assumed he’d gotten from Jean. He knew very well where I was. ‘Let’s restart. Okay? What’s up, Sebastian?’
‘I wanted to apologize, again. You are coming home, right?’
‘Oh, please. No more apologies. I’ve got to go to band practice and I don’t know when we’ll be finished.’
I could hear Jean in the background yelling something at him. ‘We’ll be at Jean’s tonight, okay?’
‘I thought that tonight was the chocolate buffet at the Meridian. Isn’t Jean reviewing that?’
‘He is, but it ends early. After that, we’ll be at Jean’s. So . . .’ I heard a rustling and squeaking on the line.
‘Hello? Honey, it’s Jean,’ he said, redundantly.
‘Hi.’
‘We’re going to be at my place. We’ll see you there, later, right? Good! TTFN.’
‘I’m not –’ But of course, the line had gone dead. It wasn’t an invitation. It was a summons.
CHAPTER ELEVEN:
INSTRUCTIONS
The snow had turned the roads to ice and I was late for rehearsal. The rest of the band was already sitting around writing up the set-list for the gig on Thursday. It was only an hour’s set, so we’d have no problem finding enough songs.
Once we decided on the order, we ran through the songs that way, working on the transitions. Although it was cold outside, and I hadn’t even warmed my voice up, it felt effortless. The notes just came fluidly. I had all the voice control I could ever hope for. As we finished the set, Tom, the guitarist, gave me a surprised look.
‘You’re sounding excellent. Especially on “Slide”. Practising any?’
‘No, not much. Maybe sleep deprivation is good for my voice.’
Matt, the keyboardist snickered. ‘Or maybe it’s all that sex.’
I grimaced at him. ‘Fuck you!’
He held up his hands in a mock warding off gesture and sneered at me. ‘No thanks, I’m off the fish. Unlike others, no names mentioned.’
‘You were at the Warehouse on Saturday?’
‘Oh yeah.’
I turned around to look at Dave, the drummer, who also frequented the club. ‘Hey, I wasn’t there. I heard it from him,’ he said, pointing at Matt.
Tom shrugged. ‘Well, I don’t give a shit what’s causing it. Your voice sounds great. Whatever you’re doing, keep it up. We have that A & R rep from San Fran coming on Thursday.’
‘Who?’ I asked. This was news to me.
‘Some indie label guy. Max told me. But it’s a pretty big company. And they’re looking to sign. So . . .’
‘So it’s serious.’
Tom nodded. ‘Yeah. Apparently so. Max sent them our demo. I don’t think they’d bother flying up for nothing.’
Lindsey, the bass player, gave a whoop. ‘San Francisco! I’ve never been to San Francisco. Went to LA once, but only the airport. It was shit.’
‘Should we go through the set again?’ I asked. If the guy was going to be there, we had to be perfect. It was a good venue, good sound system. Even the lighting rig wasn’t bad.
Shaking his head, Tom packed his guitar back in its case. ‘Can’t. I’m on the night shift at the post office.’
Then I remembered what Sebastian had said. ‘Oh, by the way. I’ve had an offer from someone who wants to do set design for us.’
Tom shook his head. ‘We don’t have the money for that.’
‘No, he said he’d do it for free.’
Matt looked interested. ‘Like video running behind us, that kind of thing?’
‘I guess so. I’ll ask him what he has in mind.’
‘Who is it? That weird guy, Stevo? Because that boy’s a freak. He does that stuff with dead animals rotting and crap.’
‘It’s not Stevo.’ I hesitated for a moment. ‘It’s Sebastian Delacroix’
Matt rolled his eyes. ‘One of the faggots you’re fucking.’
I glared at him. ‘Don’t fucking use that word. I hate that word!’
‘Faggot?’
‘Yes. Stop it.’
‘Honey. I can call them whatever I want. I am one.’
That took away my thunder. I looked over at the other members. ‘Do any of you have a problem with letting this guy have a go at some design for us? It’s free, for God’s sake. At worst, it won’t work and we can say “thanks but no thanks”.’
Lindsey shrugged. ‘It would be nice not to have to play in front of another brick wall, don’t you think?’
Dave was busy breaking down his drum kit. ‘I don’t give a shit. As long as the guy from SF signs us to a deal. I’m tired of playing for no money.’
Shrugging his coat on, Tom nodded. ‘Tell him sure.’ He was halfway out the door. ‘He does know our music, right?’
‘Oh, of course. He loves it! He’s been coming to our gigs for ages.’ That was a total lie. Or rather, I had no idea. I knew he’d been to see our last gig, because he went with Jean and Jean had never missed a single show I’d played, since the band started.
Matt sniffed. ‘Fine. But none of the rotting animal shit.’
I seriously considered not going over to Jean’s. I hadn’t had a lot of sleep, I was tired, and had lived through forty-eight hours of extreme ups and downs. I didn’t think I could handle any more of it. But if I didn’t go, I knew that Jean would only be phoning up, acting petulant or sulky, or both. I also considered calling up and pleading sickness, but that would only elicit a visit from Jean in his ‘angel of mercy’ mode. He’d show up bearing hot and sour soup from Wang’s.
Lindsey was putting her gear in her car as I walked out into the loading zone of the rehearsal studio. ‘Want a ride?’
‘Sure. I guess. Where are you going?’
‘West end,’ she said, smiling.
Lindsey and I weren’t great friends or anything. Whenever she wasn’t playing with the band, she was studying or at school. A year shy of her law degree, I could never figure out why Lindsey played – the rest of her life was so damn normal. But she said it kept her from taking the world too seriously. I could see that.
I climbed into her little Honda. It always amazed me that she could fit her bass amp in the back, but it did. It was cold in the car and we had to wait for the engine to warm up.
‘So,’ she said, rubbing her ungloved hands together. ‘You’ve got a boyfriend, finally.’
My state of singledom was, it seemed, talked about more than I knew. I tucked my hands in my jacket pockets to try and get them warm. ‘I don’t know yet. Too soon to tell.’
‘Matt said gay boyfriend, or just bi?’ she asked, looking at me with an expression I couldn’t read. It wasn’t derision, or disapproval.
I shrugged. ‘Both? I guess?’
Slipping the car into gear, she pulled out onto an almost empty street. The snow ploughs had done their job on the main streets, so the driving was good. ‘Both? I know I’m being nosy, but how could he be both?’
I had no idea why I said it – we weren’t all that close, but I did. Maybe I just wanted to talk to someone who wasn’t going to ask about Sebastian’s dick, or be bitchy about faggots. ‘It’s two people, actually.’
‘Ah,’ she said, quietly. ‘Gotcha.’
We drove in silence for a while. As we crested the bridge, she said, ‘It’s hard with three people.’
I sighed. ‘Yes, I think it is. I don’t think it’s going to work out.’
She nodded, quiet for a while. ‘With three people, it’s got to be about love – for everyone. Otherwise, there’s not enough reason to get through the rough parts.’
‘Is this the voice of experience?’ I was seeing Lindsey with new eyes. It had never occurred to me to wonder what her personal life was like. I knew she was married. I’d met her husband a couple of ti
mes after shows. He worked in construction, or something. ‘I thought you were married?’
‘I am,’ she said, turning onto Robson Street. ‘But at one point, there were three of us.’
‘Here’s good, Lindsey.’ She was coming up to the corner of Davidson Street. I could walk from there easily, and I thought the exercise would do me good. ‘So what happened?’
‘Not enough love, I guess. Good luck with yours.’ Pulling the car up the kerb in a no-stopping zone, she gave me a smile. ‘See you on Thursday.’
‘Yup. You too. And thanks for the chat, Lindsey. I appreciate it.’
I could have walked further – I needed to think – but the cold was damp and soaked into my clothes, my skin and then my bones. When I reached Jean’s apartment, I didn’t feel right about using my key, even though I’d had it for four years. Somehow, it didn’t seem polite, so I rang the buzzer.
‘Have you lost my key, you careless bitch?’ squawked Jean through the intercom.
‘No. I just . . .’ Suddenly it seemed stupid not to have used it. ‘I left it at home,’ I lied.
Jean met me at the door to his apartment, wearing a very sexy black and red kimono. It was a new one I hadn’t seen before. Instead of just waving me in as he usually did, he flung his arms around my neck and smooched me loudly. I felt like a nine to five husband arriving home after a day at the office.
‘How was the Meridian?’ I unzipped my jacket and shrugged it off. The apartment was pretty toasty compared to the outside and it gave my cheeks that pleasant tingling sensation. I could smell chocolate.
‘Oh, good! Chef Maurice was in top form and kissing ass beautifully. He even sent us home with a little doggie bag.’
There were candles all over the living room and, for no apparent reason, a couple of sheets spread out on the floor. Sebastian was sitting on one, propped up on pillows, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants. ‘Hey, sugar!’ he said with a fake Southern accent. ‘We’re havin’ ourselves a lil’ ole picnic. Sweets for the sweet.’
The coffee table was littered with bottles and bowls and fruit. In the middle sat a copper fondue pot over a burner. The scent of rich, dark cocoa was almost overpowering. The room looked like a calorie rich opium den.
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