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Blue Jay

Page 5

by A Zukowski


  Alex loves how Chris’s cheeks show a flash of pink

  and his dimples deepen. He could watch Chris all

  day.

  Alex is pleased he’s made Chris laugh, too. Apart

  from Sam, he never used to make much effort of

  chatting people up. He has been told so many times

  that he’s too intense.

  Still laughing, Chris says, “Sometimes these

  flatmates are far too colourful. Feel free to tell me

  more about your dull security job.”

  Alex grins. Chris’s invitation to a budding

  friendship is helping to heal Alex, to deal with the

  troubles that have plagued him for the past five

  years.

  ~~~

  Chris flows down the aisles in the supermarket on

  autopilot. It’s his night off, and he’s officially off the

  meat market until next time. The last creep he

  hooked up with proceeded to stalk him on social

  media, telling everyone what a slut he was. Fuck

  that shit. Chris plans to stay home and make some

  proper food instead of thinking with his dick.

  Shit. That big man currently examining the

  bread selection… Alex is unmissable, even with

  oversized Ray-Bans and his baseball cap. He stands

  out more because of the obvious disguise as if he

  was in a bad comedy movie. Chris shakes his head,

  turns down another aisle and plans to come back

  later for the bagels.

  Displacement.

  46

  Now, which coffee grind? With the corner of his

  eye, Chris sees Alex approaching. Why is he

  everywhere I turn? Without thinking, Chris puts

  the nearest pack of coffee in his basket and starts to

  walk away.

  “Why are you avoiding me?”

  Busted.

  Chris turns slowly, maintaining an act of

  innocence despite the blushing. Alex’s forehead

  furrows.

  “I’m not avoiding you. I thought you might want

  some privacy while shopping. You know, what with

  the glasses and headwear.” He twirls his forefinger

  around his head.

  An amused smile appears on Alex’s face. “What?

  Because I’m afraid you know what I eat for my tea?”

  “Oh, fuck off.” Chris can’t help but grin too.

  Alex grabs a jar of instant coffee. “Do you want to

  walk home together, or am I violating your privacy

  knowing where you live?”

  “Fuck right off.” Chris is still smirking, though.

  “All right. I may let you walk alongside me.”

  Chris can sense the man’s raised eyebrows and

  amused expression, hidden behind his large

  sunglasses.

  “Why, thank you.” Snarky.

  “I’m nearly done.”

  Still with a smile, Chris surveys the contents of

  Alex’s basket: loaves of white bread; tins of tuna;

  packs of ham, cheese and coffee. Diet Coke.

  Chris tilts his head back towards the bread

  products aisle. “I’ll grab some bagels. Won’t be a

  sec.”

  47

  When they walk out of the shop, Chris is loaded

  down with three bags of shopping while Alex has a

  single bulging sack.

  “Shall I take one for you?” Alex offers, pointing to

  Chris’s shopping.

  Chris rolls his eyes and wonders if they’ll stay on

  the top of his head if he spends any more time with

  Alex.

  “I may not have as much muscle as you but I can

  definitely manage my own shopping, thank you very

  much.”

  Chris’s sinewy biceps are mildly impressive. The

  hours spent in the gym are not only for cruising and

  his job.

  “Oh, you’re sensitive, too,” Alex muses, seemingly

  enjoying Chris’s tough act.

  “Fuck you,” Chris retorts.

  “And very eloquent.”

  Chris stops and glares at Alex. “Are you sure

  about this walking back to the flat business? Do you

  think we’ll make it to the front door without

  throttling each other to death?”

  Alex considers Chris and smiles at his

  exasperation. “There’s only one way to find out.”

  Surrender.

  Chris dons a pair of Jackie O glasses, shielding his

  eyes from the slanting sun, and takes off, not

  waiting for Alex. Alex has to jog along to keep up

  with Chris, who marches on, his long slender legs

  carrying him along quickly.

  Five minutes later, Chris stops outside a coffee

  shop. “Wait, I’m going to grab a coffee. All right?”

  Eyeing the hipsters sitting on benches and

  48

  working on their computers, Alex asks hopefully,

  “To go?”

  “We can sit down for a few minutes if you want.”

  Chris cocks his head to challenge Alex to spend

  more time out in public.

  Alex considers it, hesitating outside the coffee

  shop. He looks from the patrons to Chris, his feet

  rooted to the spot.

  Sensing Alex’s fear of public places, Chris pushes

  open the shop doors without giving him a chance to

  flee.

  “We’re going in,” he declares.

  As they walk in, several of the customers gawk at

  Alex with curious gazes. Is it because of his size and

  tattoos? Chris glances over at his flatmate, who

  keeps his sunglasses on and faces straight ahead, as

  though he’s trying hard not to be the centre of

  attention.

  Alex walks quickly, his movements stiff, all the

  way to the back of the café, and sits at a small table.

  Chris joins him and looks around the half-vacant

  shop.

  “Can you tell me why we’re sitting by the toilets?”

  Chris waves his hand to indicate the free tables

  around them.

  Alex peers over his Ray-Bans. “I like it here.”

  Chris raises an eyebrow, but he can’t argue with

  Alex’s eccentricity.

  Alex pulls out a ten-pound note. “Would you

  mind getting me a cold coffee?”

  “What kind?”

  “The dark-brown kind.”

  Chris points to Alex and shakes his head. “You!

  49

  All right. A cold Americano it is.”

  He returns with two cups.

  Alex sips his drink but keeps his head down,

  sitting uncomfortably.

  “Blue. Is that you?”

  Chris and Alex look up to meet the enquirer: a

  scrawny, middle-aged man with a moustache and

  greasy hair.

  “I thought I recognised you as soon as you walked

  in.”

  Chris waits for Alex’s response, but he’s

  speechless for the moment, his hands tightening

  around the coffee cup. Beads of sweat grace his

  forehead.

  Brake. Stop and hold.

  Blue.

  50

  CHAPTER 3

  BLACK

  ALEX’S TENSION VIBRATES in the air like the humid

  oppressive atmosphere before a storm. Chris

  straightens and inhales, sharing Alex’s discomfort.

  The intruder carries on, oblivious to Alex’s

  anxiety. “Are you going to box again? Man, I l
oved

  your matches. I thought you were the best

  heavyweight this country has ever produced.”

  Not eliciting any response from Alex, he quiets

  down. “I’m sorry…you know…for what happened.”

  After a pause, Alex mumbles, “I think you’ve

  mistaken me for someone else.”

  The man blinks. “Really? You’re not Alex Whale?

  Are you his brother? I swear you’re the spitting

  image of Blue.”

  Alex nods. “Yeah, I’m sure. Sorry to disappoint. It

  happens a lot.”

  The man scratches his head. “Okay. Uh. Sorry.”

  He goes into the bathroom.

  Chris watches Alex until after the interloper has

  re-emerged from the toilets and returned to his

  seat, with a few backward glances at Alex on his

  way. Chris asks, “Blue? I like it.”

  Alex draws a breath. “My surname’s Whale, as

  you heard.”

  Chris processes that for a moment. A nickname

  for his size.

  51

  Chris should have known from the broken nose

  and scar on his cheek under the left eye socket. She

  has a hundred questions for Alex but promises

  herself she won’t pry too much unless Alex wants to

  talk.

  “You used to box. You had a nickname and people

  recognise you, so you were successful.” Chris

  whispers as though she’s uttering something illicit.

  Alex shifts in the seat, away from Chris. “Yeah, I

  was doing all right.”

  Chris considers Alex, who takes off his

  sunglasses. His irises shimmer like tiger eyes in the

  cheap lighting of the coffee shop. Alex sits in a rigid

  way as though Chris’s gaze is a spotlight shining on

  him.

  “You were not only doing okay, though, were you?

  Your fights were on the telly. How famous were

  you?”

  Alex shakes his head and sighs. “I’m sure you can

  find out all about me if you search the internet.”

  Chris frowns at the suggestion. “But I’m not going

  to unless you want me to know. Why don’t you tell

  me about yourself when you’re ready?”

  Alex plays with his plastic cup of Americano. “I’m

  not sure if you’ll want to speak to me ever again if I

  told you.”

  Chris absorbs what Alex has said. “Try me. My

  person specs definitely include discretion and being

  non-judgemental.”

  She also takes pride in being able to read people.

  She’s mighty pleased with how she uses that

  transferable skill on her new flatmate.

  She looks around the café, and a few people are

  52

  still glancing Alex’s way, but most of them have

  returned to their drinks and conversations. “You’re

  so successful that a lot of people on the street will

  recognise you, right?”

  Alex sighs again as a ‘yes’.

  “Something happened, and now you work as a

  security guard. Why can’t you box again or train

  other people? Isn’t that what athletes do when they

  stop competing?” Chris cocks her head.

  Alex squeezes the bridge of his nose. “I can’t face

  the boxing ring, but I’ll think about training others.

  My old coach has asked me to work with him. For

  now, I only want a normal life.”

  “What’s a normal life?” Chris pronounces the

  word with disdain while she stretches her long legs

  across the floor in front of her.

  Alex shrugs. “You know, the kind where you don’t

  have strangers approach you in a coffee shop.”

  Chris quiets while she drinks her coffee. Despite

  her usual annoyance with Alex, she wants to

  comfort him because he sounds so pained. She’s not

  sure if he might welcome a hug or a distraction.

  “Welcome to my world. I’ve no idea what I can do

  when I ‘retire’ and I’m not getting any younger.”

  She’s been looking for laugh lines in the mirror

  lately. Despite the fact that she has no career plans,

  she’s tired of her life, her job, and some days she

  seems to be losing her sanity when she keeps

  dwelling on things that should remain buried.

  Alex takes his sunglasses off. “How old are you

  anyway? If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “Twenty-six. My birthday’s soon. So, nearly

  twenty-seven.”

  53

  “Fuck me. Look at your fresh face and bright eyes.

  Do you eat babies or something?”

  Must the man’s compliments be so backhanded?

  Chris gives him an eye-roll. “I won’t fuck you, but

  thanks, I guess.”

  “I thought you were in your early twenties. And

  how long have you been a wh—I mean…escort.”

  Chris wags her eyebrows. “Since I was eighteen,

  on and off.”

  Alex whistles. Chris glares at him.

  “Sorry. You surprised me with your age and how

  long you’ve been in the job. Eight years.”

  “Yes, I can count.” Although she’s lost count of

  how many times she’s sold sex in that time. A

  thousand? Two? She’s lucky and grateful for the fact

  that she earns good money. She knows there are

  other types of sex work and different conditions and

  prices.

  Chris doesn’t want pity from anyone, though.

  Why should she worry about what Alex thinks of

  her, anyway? It’s not like she’s not used to people’s

  negative reaction to meeting a sex worker. It’s

  refreshing for Chris to meet someone who isn’t

  freaked out much by it. Chris always feels as though

  she

  repulses

  respectable

  folk.

  They

  are

  contemptuous and assume she’s dirty and diseased.

  She’s learned to refuse the hurt; a stony heart is the

  only way to stay immune.

  Yet Chris wants to disclose more about herself

  when she’s with Alex, while worrying about what

  he’ll think of her. Peculiar. “Y’know, people don’t

  aspire to be prostitutes when they grow up, but it’s a

  job. I tried to make it as a model when I left school.

  54

  It didn’t work out.”

  Alex gaze meets Chris’s. “What kind of

  modelling?”

  “Pretty much anything. You know how it is.” She

  shrugs.

  “No, I don’t know. Have I seen anything? I’d

  remember your face.”

  “I doubt it. I’ve done stuff like fashion catalogues,

  advertising. Some were…more adult.”

  “Oh, that kind of modelling.” Alex’s eyes widen.

  “You were a porn star?”

  “No, it’s not porn. Just glamour stuff and

  underwear.” Chris frowns. “Well, it’s still modelling.

  I’ve accepted lots of different gigs. That’s all.”

  “You sure like taking your clothes off, don’t you?”

  “Work.” Plenty of people enjoy looking at a body

  like hers, but they despise her for what she does.

  Chris sucks up the last of her coffee, then she purses

  her lips and
licks them slowly to provoke the other.

  Alex gazes at the soft lines of Chris’s mouth,

  transfixed.

  Chris returns the look. There’s something very

  beautiful and expressive about Alex’s beaten-up

  face, the scar and the sharp, strong planes.

  “Don’t you parade in front of people, show them

  your muscles and tattoos, and beat the shit out of

  other men? Do you call it entertainment?” she

  retorts.

  “Sport,” Alex replies with conviction and takes a

  sip of his drink.

  “Same fucking difference. You were selling your

  body, man.” Deep down, Chris knows it is not the

  same. Alex must have trained hard to be a top

  55

  boxer.

  Chris doesn’t harm old folks and minors, and the

  men who buy her do so willingly. She sells personal

  services at a price. Why does Alex have this effect on

  her? For brief moments, Chris has doubts. If she’d

  never started working in the sex industry, might she

  be the one Alex wanted? She might be the one

  someone wanted. Damn. What even is the meaning

  of their budding friendship? Times like this, Chris

  has to agree with people who tell her she’s dumb.

  Alex comments, “You must be good at what you

  do.”

  Huh? “How do you know that?”

  Alex shrugs. “You’ve been at it for eight years, so

  you can’t be that bad. And look at that face. I bet

  men melt at your feet.”

  Another backhanded compliment.

  Why have you not crawled at my feet yet? That’s

  not a question she can ask Alex. “Why do I find you

  really annoying, Alex Whale?”

  Alex grins. “I know that feeling. I find myself

  quite infuriating.”

  Chris smiles back at him.

  “Listen. What are you having for dinner? Tuna

  sandwiches? I’m making a pasta dish. Do you want

  some?”

  “What’s wrong with tuna sandwiches? That’s

  what I’ve always eaten. I need protein for training.”

  Alex sulks.

  “But you don’t box anymore, remember? It’ll be

  good for you. Pasta, tomato sauce, vegetables and

  cheese. Get some vitamins in you, my sweet. I can

  even put some tuna in it if you like?”

  56

  “Yeah, I’d love a home-cooked dinner. Thanks,”

  Alex says.

  “Well, drink up or take it with you, Alex Whale.”

  Alex smiles as though amused by Chris’s use of

  his full name. To Chris, a laughing Alex is gorgeous.

  His stern and broken face lights up, revealing

  perfect white teeth.

  Alex leaves the rest of his coffee and follows her

 

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