by Ashley Logan
“I hate my life.”
“Maybe in this moment, but everything could change in the next. Now move that ladder to the left again. This time you’ll be hanging three vertically, exactly below each other, but starting six inches above the line of that landscape you just hung.”
Taking a deep breath, I exhale slowly, shove my pencil behind my ear, take out my tape measure and move the ladder over.
ARRIVING BACK AT THE apartment from the rest home, I’m surprised to find it empty on a Saturday this late in the afternoon. It’s usually our busiest night in the club, and I thought I’d come home to girls rushing in and out of bathrooms and up and down the stairs asking me if I’ve finished making dinner yet, but the place is silent. Taking a full breath, I release it with all of the tension I’ve been building up over the week and soak up the peace.
Washing the remnants of paint from my hands, I dry them off as I move around the kitchen to the music I can play as loud as I want, because no-one is here to stop me. Checking the dinner roster again, I see my name and not the ‘fend for yourself’ tongue-sticking-out emoji. In the who’s attending column, there are twelve strikes, meaning even Nina is coming for dinner tonight. Looking around, I smile. It will be quite nice to make dinner without interruptions.
Checking the fridge, I decide on a Thai beef salad. For twelve. None of us like dancing on a full belly, so salads are often the best way to go. Once I’ve finished the salad and dressing, I put the massive amount of beef strips aside to grill once everyone is home, then I get to work on a huge bacon and egg pie for munching on during debrief.
Dusting the flour from my hands, I poke a few steam holes in the pastry I’ve just rolled out, once it’s on top of the pie. It isn’t until I put the pie in the oven that I hear the racket of our mixed tribe clambering up the stairs. Setting the timer, I move to the kitchen doorway to see everyone arriving at once.
“Where have you guys all been?” I ask, eying the strange packages I can see under a few arms. “Early Christmas shopping? Without me?” I feign disappointment with a hand over my heart.
“You hate Christmas shopping,” Scar says on her way past, shifting her armful away from me. “You were out, so you missed the memo.”
Stopping, her eyes narrow at me and she takes a step toward me, dropping her tone. “Also, you have paint on your face,” she says, reaching out a hand. “Right here.” Her fingers brush over the side of my forehead, by my hairline and I do my best not to lean into her touch.
“Dark green this time,” she says thoughtfully. “And a little flour from dinner,” she adds with a smirk as she moves away down the hall.
Sighing, I head to my room to check the mirror and find the streak of paint and several sweeps of flour, bright white over my darker skin. Dusting myself off, I rub away the paint and check myself for any other marks I may have missed. Satisfied, I return to the kitchen to cook the beef in batches.
The girls come and go in various states of half dress, showered or not yet, as they shovel food down their throats at an alarming rate to be ready in time. Not dancing, we men folk sit around and enjoy our meals, knowing we won’t have strangers ogling our goodies within the hour.
Setting my plate in the dishwasher, I notice one meal still on the bench untouched and know whose it is immediately, because I would have noticed her come by. Heading down the hall to Scarlett’s room, I knock on the half open door.
“Scar? You’re running out of time for-” My words end abruptly as I see Scar in nothing but a gold pair of bootie shorts. Standing in front of the mirror, she has one hand on her breast and another over her scars.
“Shit. Sorry!” Backing up, I wait in the hall.
It is one thing to see my roommates on stage touching themselves. It is something completely different to see them touching themselves in their own bedroom. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have gone charging in like that, though my suddenly alert dick would love to jump right back in there. Her door was probably only half open because she’s at the end of the hall and nobody goes walking past.
“It’s fine, Bruno,” she calls from her room. “Nothing you haven’t seen already.”
My heart is still pounding in my ears. I’ve never really seen that, actually. Stage stuff is different; public. This seems much more personal; something I should be invited to, not happen upon. And I wasn’t invited. Right now I probably don’t even feature on the list of eligible bachelors who might receive such an invitation.
“What were you saying?” she asks, shrugging into her robe as she opens the door wide.
Forcing my eyes away from her very appealing breasts, I look into the room behind her and clear the lust from my throat. “Your dinner is still on the counter,” I manage to say before I lose my breath.
Set on the chair next to her full length mirror is my painting of a windswept wildflower meadow in the rough shape of her biggest scar, the one that wraps around her side. It could be argued that it wasn’t the exact shape and has nothing to do with her, but to me it’s like looking at her soul. “Wh-where? How?”
“Benji found the details for the exhibition,” she says, looking over her shoulder at the painting. “I liked this one best. When did you do it?”
“This one wasn’t meant to be sold,” I croak, my voice trembling a little as I try to figure out how it got in with the general works I submitted for the exhibition.
“I’m glad it was. I love it. It’s special to you?” she asks, stepping forward, her eyes searching my face.
Closing my eyes, I keep my mouth firmly closed and give a single nod.
“Would you mind if I kept it?” she asks, sounding even closer than she was before. I can smell her freshly showered skin and it’s as if I’m standing amongst the flowers in that painted meadow. Keeping my eyes closed, I shake my head ever so slightly.
Without opening my eyes, I step back from the heat of her, my blood pumping hard from both need and anxiety. Taking the three steps to my room, I shut the door behind me and lean against it, trying to get my rapid breathing under control.
All I want to do is walk her backwards, fall on the bed and make long, slow love to her, but I made the mistake of trying to do that before, lost my secret and ended up driving her into someone else’s arms. My dick takes a while to give up on the idea, which would be uplifting, if it weren’t for his pathetic, half-assed effort of standing tall.
Anger wells up in me and I wonder if this is how Jenkins feels before he rages out. Taking my coat from the closet, I set it next to me on the bed as I try to soothe myself into a meditative state.
CHAPTER TWENTY
SCARLETT
Mom picks me up from the train station as always, but today is my birthday, so I try to keep a smile on my face as she fills the car trip with small talk about my cousins, and asking about Violet and Serge, and what I’ve been up to lately, and am I being careful when I approach ‘those homeless people’ I like to keep an eye on, and have I given any more thought to a real career.
“I’ve been writing a novel actually,” I inform her as I look out the window. “It’s almost done. I just need to work out a believable ending, because my characters want it to be a happy one.”
“Oh that sounds lovely,” Mom says, her tone showing more interest in this than any other ideas I’ve mention. “I love happy endings,” she says, turning into the driveway. “What are your characters’ names?”
“Sam and Janet. It’s a romance.”
“Ooh,” she says, her eyes widening as she turns to me. “Inspired by real life?”
Shaking my head at her, I open my door. “Don’t be daft. You know I hate the world and everyone in it,” I say, laughing.
She huffs a little. “I wish you wouldn’t joke like that. I have legitimate motherly concerns about your level of happiness and unhealthy involvement in the world. You’re not just hiding in fiction are you?”
“Maybe a little,” I admit with a shrug. “It’s nice there. But you can think of it as more of
a social experiment with no fallout if it makes you feel better.”
She grumbles something as she heads for the door. Taking out her keys, she fumbles and drops them.
“Where’s Dad?” I ask, wondering why the door is locked, because I was expecting him to be home.
“He went to the store for more cream,” she says, retrieving her keys. “I let the last lot run and it turned to butter.”
“You’re making meringue layer cake?” I ask, starting to grin.
“Well it is your favorite choice of birthday cake,” she says flippantly, holding the door open for me. Kicking off my shoes, I use my foot to sweep them under the bench as I shrug out of my coat and pop it on one of the hooks inside the door.
“Did I remember to tell you you’re the best, Mom?”
“Just did,” she says, hanging her coat next to mine. “Now go on in where it’s warm.”
“Surprise!”
Jumping at least a foot off the floor as I enter the living room, I clutch my chest as my heart threatens to escape through it.
“Holy shit! What the fuck?”
“Scarlett!” Mom scolds as she bustles past giggling on route to high-five Dad, who is standing amidst the stunning crew from Beyond.
“Cream, my ass,” I mutter under my breath. “This is why the apartment was so quiet today?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at Vi, knowing she is the common thread behind this devious plot. “And I suppose you just sped over here with those two as soon as I left?” I ask a guilty-looking Benji, while jabbing my thumb at Coop and Lex.
Walking over to Dad, I give him a hug. “I’m presuming this was Mom’s idea, but don’t think I don’t know you’re enjoying it, old man.”
Dad kisses my head and raises his palms up. “Guilty. Don’t get growly because I like seeing my baby on her birthday. Or any day. And look,” he says, nodding at the others. “Now I know that you have friends I’ll quit worrying about you so much.”
I give him a friendly punch on the arm. “You know better than to worry about me, ya big cheese puff. That’s Mom’s domain. You’re the sane one, remember?”
“It’s coming back to me,” he says with an easy smile.
I look around the faces of my favorite people, frowning a little when I don’t see Bruno. Pushing the disappointment aside, I remind myself that he’s very busy, and it probably has nothing to do with why he’s been avoiding me again all week.
“You’ve already done introductions?” I ask, putting a smile back on my face.
“Of course,” Vi says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “And we’ve already heard about the tree climbing incident, the mid-winter ‘lost underwear’ incident and the late night swinging incident, where you somehow also managed to lose your underwear. Scarlett Warner was a wild child!”
“What do you mean was?” I ask in mock offense. “And we prefer the term ‘curious’. I was a curious child.”
Just then Bruno skids into the room. Breathing hard, he comes to a stop inches from me.
“Sorry I missed the surprise! Happy birthday,” he says, kissing my forehead before stepping into the background to double over and catch his breath.
“And this must be Bruno,” Dad says eying him up. “You run from the station or something, son?”
Shaking his head, Bruno stands tall to shake Dad’s hand. “No Sir. Just stopped to help an old lady push start her car. Took more than two blocks before it kicked into gear, then I had to run back to my car,” he explains, taking another deep breath. “Luckily it wasn’t that far from here,” he says, looking back to me apologetically. “Sorry I’m late.”
Waving him off, I walk over to the table to get him a drink from the tub of ice sitting next to the plates of chips and nuts.
“Relax. I only just got here myself,” I say, handing him a beer. “Anyone else need refreshments?”
Everyone raises their glasses and bottles, obviously having already been supplied before I got here. Taking a sip of beer myself, I raise my bottle to Dad in thanks for supplying my favorite beverage.
“Wait a minute,” I say, turning back to Bruno. “You don’t have a car.”
“I borrowed Shermansky’s,” he says, running a hand over his hair and looking uncomfortable. “He’s already at Brad’s, so he doesn’t need it tonight.”
“How is Brad?”
He smiles briefly. “Getting better, I think.” Wiping his brow, he frowns at his hand. “Um, whereabouts is your bathroom?”
“Down the hall, second on your right,” I say, pointing him in the right direction. Turning back to everyone else, I let out an embarrassingly excited squeal, followed by an immediate apology for doing so.
“It’s just so nice having everyone I adore under one roof.”
“Well,” Mom says, looking at the clock in the kitchen. “Not quite everyone, but Debbie should be here within the hour. She’s flying in special,” she explains to my friends, as if they give a shit.
“Great,” I say through the teeth of a forced smile. “Gotta love Debs.” Pulling Mom aside, I lean in close. “I thought you said she couldn’t make it,” I say in a less than pleased whisper.
“Turns out she could. I thought you’d be pleased,” Mom says, leaning back a bit. “She rearranged her whole schedule to be here for your party.”
Blowing out my anger in a gush, I nod. “The secret party you knew I’d love, because you got my friends and my favorite beer and meringue layer cake. You did good. Thanks Mom.”
“You’re welcome,” she says, standing on tip-toes to kiss my forehead. “Go have a nice time with your friends while Dad and I finish the food prep. I don’t know how you all manage to cook for everyone every night.”
I laugh. “It’s not as hard as you might think, and some nights we just go it alone. Benji doesn’t even cook on his nights,” I say, giving him a wink.
“What do you all eat then?” Mom asks, looking around the happy faces. The volume of the shared response, “Pizza!” is loud enough to make her jump a little, making me laugh as she pretends it wasn’t too much and scurries to the kitchen for safety.
“Your parents are so sweet, Scar,” Lex says, nudging me with her elbow.
“Thanks. I like them okay,” I reply smiling as I bring my beer to my lips.
The afternoon plays out beautifully, full of laughter and stories. I notice Dad taking quite an interest in Bruno and I try to keep myself close enough to hear their conversation; half out of interest and half out of sympathy, knowing I can jump in any time to save Bruno from another Warner interrogation.
Mostly they talk football, and I learn that Bruno had earned a scholarship to college, but had join the armed forces because he’d ‘needed a reliable pay check at the time he graduated’, or so he said. Dad doesn’t seem to deem that worthy of further prying, though I wish he would. Whatever drives Bruno’s need to earn more than a comfortable living is of every interest to me.
“You’re spacing out again,” Vi whispers discreetly as she reaches past me for more chips.
“Sorry. Thought I was onto a good line of questioning,” I say, bringing her back into focus. “Where’s Serge? Mom’s desperate to meet him.”
Vi chuckles. “He was feeling too shy. Family stuff weirds him out a bit.”
“Oh,” I say, nodding a little as I covertly glance at Bruno, wondering if he’s feeling weirded out, but he seems comfortable. Catching me looking at him, he smiles and raises his beer at me. I do the same and turn back to Vi before my Dad’s smile makes me blush any more.
“You are being too cute,” Vi says, swatting my arm. “If you don’t let up, your Dad’s obvious suspicions will be proved accurate.”
“No they won’t, because Bruno and I aren’t anything, so they can’t be. And shush. I can’t hear what they’re saying when we talk.” Straining my ears, I try to pick up their thread of conversation again.
“So will you be asking my permission to date our Scarlett?” my darling father says, making me wish I could just curl up
and die. Bruno laughs a little; nervously, I think.
“No Sir. I don’t think that will be happening.”
“And why not?” Dad asks, sounding somewhat insulted. Bruno chuckles again.
“Well firstly, Scarlett doesn’t want me to date her, and secondly, if I asked anyone’s permission but hers, she’d likely have several strong words to say about it, before boxing my ears,” he says with a smile in his voice, as if he might quite enjoy that argument.
Dad laughs a little himself as he grunts in agreement. “Sounds as if you know her well.”
“We enjoy the odd debate,” Bruno confirms, and again, I can almost hear him grinning.
Vi pinches me and I have to stop myself from lashing out as I realize she’s warning me of my mother’s approach. “Thanks,” I whisper. “You’re really good at playing wingman.”
“Wingwoman,” she corrects as we both turn at the noise coming from the front door.
“Oh great. Debbie’s here,” I mutter, trying not to roll my eyes.
“What is it between you two?” Vi asks quickly.
“Sibling rivalry, I guess,” I say out the side of my mouth as Debbie flamboyantly enters the room with her hands up, as if we’ve all been eagerly awaiting her arrival.
“I’m here! Where’s my wittle sister!” she says, sashaying her way past Smith and Coop, who don’t fail to admire her ass.
“Happy birthday Backup!” she says, throwing her arms around me in some dramatic performance of sisterly love. I stay perfectly stiff within her hold, making it clear to her, and probably everyone else that I am unmoved by the false display of affection.
“Hi Debs. Thanks for coming,” I say, barely breaking a monotone.
Mom comes in and saves me.
“Oh Debbie, you’re here! Wonderful,” she says, making me roll my eyes, but at least Debs releases me from my begrudged confinement.
“Oh Deborah!” Mom continues, “I told you not to wear those heels on the wood, go and take them off!”