The Christmas Exhibition

by Vaughn, V T

  Wham!'s Last Christmas played gently out, drowned by a series of wolf-whistles and cheers.

  If I rounded the corner and found Jill putting herself on display for the labourers again...

  Tracey offered a weak, disingenuous smile.

  I stepped up to the higher level. A bulky individual was leaning his head into a dry wall, holding a mobile phone to his ear.

  “Ally,” he called, his tone trampolining beyond tipsy, “is that fucking you?”

  Tracey rolled her eyes.

  “Put your mother on the fucking phone!”

  Tracey nodded towards the office door. I hesitated, then squeezed past the pisshead.

  I felt the first eyes burn upon me the second I entered. The music continued, drowned under the attempts of a girl I soon learned to be Sharon at singing along. The male members of the workforce, I approximated a total of around twenty-five, were scrutinizing the intruder in their midst. Who was I? What did I want? And why was I staring at the blonde stunner in the red miniskirt and tight, black lacy top. The blonde stunner who was looking up into the eyes of a tall, bulky builder-type. There was measuring tape strapped to his belt. Paint splattered on his trousers. A tin of beer in his hand. Jill was laughing, touching his arm and telling him to stop.

  “All right?” asked one of the younger labourers.

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “This is Matt,” Tracey said. “Matt, meet the apprentice.”

  The apprentice extended his hand. “Good to meet you, Matt.”

  “He's Jill's boyfriend,” Tracey added, twirling a finger on the thin ends of her red hair extensions.

  The apprentice failed to hide his surprise. “Oh right.” His handshake weakened.

  I released him.

  Jill looked over, a plastic cup in one hand, the muscle of her labourer friend's arm in the other. Her fingertips stroked his tattoo for a split-second longer than I was comfortable with, then snapped to her side. Her face grimaced, then she feigned a smile.

  “Who's he?” I heard a male voice snivel to one side under a set of flashing Christmas lights.

  “Fuck knows,” came the whispered response.

  I sensed Tracey shush them behind my back.

  I broke between desks, side-stepped stacks of pages and narrowly avoided tripping over an unplugged printer.

  Jill fixed her hair behind her ear. She looked stunning as I approached.

  “Hi, sweetheart,” I said, the music seeming to dim in the background.

  “Hi,” she replied.

  I embraced her. Her face fell deliberately to one side of mine, pulling me into a hug rather than a kiss. I felt every male eye in the office upon us. The women too. Everyone knew how Jill had danced the week before. They had watched her. Hell, each labourer present had probably had their turn with her. Had their erect cocks grazed against her?

  “This is Jim,” Jill said, tapping the back of her hand against the tattooed man's chest. “Jim, this is Matt.”

  Jim. One of the men she had danced with. One she had willingly encouraged, pushing her ass into his hand... And his crotch.

  We shook hands.

  “Good to meet you... Matt.”

  I recalled Jill saying he hadn't been hard as they danced. “I'm Jill's boyfriend.”

  Jim's expression noticeably changed, then he channelled his surprise to a smile and a wink. “You're a lucky lad, mate.” He looked down to Jill.

  Her face was coy.

  “Make sure you look after her.”

  “I will,” I insisted.

  There was silence between songs. Nobody in the room was speaking. Upwards of thirty people, and awkwardness was the prevailing emotion. The apprentice fiddled forcefully with the sound system, as if desperately trying to break the mood. Numb/Encore, a mash-up hit by Jay-Z and Linkin Park, exploded suddenly, shaking the office. Younger waists twisted above younger hips. Older hands found older ears. The apprentice's hand swiftly turned the volume to a more acceptable level.

  “Someone get this man a beer,” Jim shouted.

  A number of cheers, claps and a nervous smile from Jill ensued. Within seconds, a tin of Harp was in my hand.

  4

  There was the usual, predictable small talk, which I would have happily avoided at the best of times, never mind when I was under an overwhelming sense of suspicion. The labourers talked. Talked extensively and nonsensically. They switched subject from one thing to another. Swiftly and without warning. The girls Jill worked with, Tracey, Sharon and Nici, transpired to be much more sober than the previous week, and were full of questions rather than answers. I was pushed from person to person, involved in everything from conversation to chatter and finally to uninterrupted rant. The silence was physically non-existent, but in the fact that nobody was saying anything of substance I became certain they were hiding everything.

  I met another labourer, George, and realised he was the one who had dry-humped Jill on the dance floor. He was huge, a menacing presence, and issued a clear message to my place in the hierarchy when he, just like everyone else I was introduced to, made it clear he didn't know Jill even had a boyfriend.

  “Yes,” I insisted. “We've been going out for a few months now.”

  George rolled his eyes, as if the seriousness of the relationship existed only in my mind.

  “Nine months, to be precise.”

  Nici whispered in Jill's ear. She was good looking, but none of the girls were anywhere near Jill's league.

  “Well,” George said, clearly glancing at the top of Jill's cleavage and roaming his eyes to her miniskirt, “she's let on round here she's still single.”

  A couple of the guys laughed behind us.

  I stood awkwardly, and downed more beer.

  U2's Vertigo shook the stereo sound system.

  I was dragged into a conversation about the Dharma Initiative by two of the smaller, skinnier lads, who were in turn mocked by the others, led by George and Jim. Each of the boys were insistent on their theories of the Lost island. I leant a comment about star Evangeline Lilly, detailing what I would do to her in a doggy-style position, and my escape from their clutches was secured.

  Nici asked how Jill and I had met. I told her.

  “She never said a word,” Nici replied.

  Sharon's dressing down came in a similar fashion, resulting finally in “We thought she was out every weekend playing the field.”

  “She can play in my field,” shouted one of the guys, though I failed to spot who.

  My anger was rising as The Darkness' Christmas Time (Don't Let the Bells End) threatened all-out ruination. Fingers drummed. Feet fell in unison. Whether consciously or not, the room was passing its permission for the influx of further Christmas tunes.

  “Bah-humbug,” I muttered, as Tracey placed a Santa hat on my head.

  Nici and Sharon were giggling.

  The first labourer to fall was a man on the edge of retirement. A taxi was subsequently called.

  I tapped Jill's elbow as she hung on every word of a tall workman named Billy. She was incessantly fixing her blonde hair. His eyes feasting vicariously on her form in lieu of his hands. She ignored my second tap, stood one boot heel in front of the other, twisted her mouth in mock innocence before him and pushed her pert breasts skyward.

  Poor Billy's tongue escaped his foaming mouth.

  “Jill,” I said, and seized her elbow.

  “What?” she said back, suppressing a snap only because of the watchful eyes of the other girls, each ready to pounce on the possibility of gossip.

  “Can I have a word?”

  She sighed, then looked up to Billy and flashed a grimace which suggested disdain. Disdain about boyfriends and their infantile insecurities.

  5

  Jill's heels clicked on every steel step as we descended from the office party to the reception. My hand was on her lower back, encouraging her to continue until we hit the ground floor.

  “What is it?” she asked, shivering as a cool draft
blew in from a gap under the front door.

  I looked at her. She looked truly beautiful. A fantastic beauty whom many men would fight over. “You tell me,” I said.

  Jill screwed up her mouth, and pushed me aside. “Out of my way, Matt. I can't be bothered with this shit. This is my Christmas party. I just want to enjoy myself before we break for the holidays.”

  I had my hands on the bottom of her ribs, holding her in place through the fabric of her thin, black lacy top. “Kiss me.”

  She sighed, relinquished a thin smile and placed a peck on my cheek. “There.”

  I pulled Jill's head back to mine, and placed my lips on hers.

  Smack! We kissed.

  I let go of her. “Was that so difficult?” I demanded.

  “No.” Jill gently edged my hand from her ribcage. “Can we go back upstairs now?”

  I released a ridiculous excuse for a chuckle. “What's the point, Jill? Nobody knows who I am. Not one person up there even knew you had a boyfriend. You don't want me here. You're obviously ashamed of me. I might as well just leave now and let you have your fun with your rough.”

  Her eyes stared on mine. No one would tell Jill what she could or could not do. Her stare stretched for seconds.

  I could feel a vein swell by my forehead. Anger was turning to rage. Rage to resentment. Resentment boring a hole in resilience.

  Jill melted into my arms. “I'm...” Her perfume, beautiful and intoxicating, ascended my nostrils. Our lips met and embraced. “Not...” Her gold hooped earrings swivelled as she gave her body to mine. “Ashamed...” Her talons scratched at my back. “Of...” One leg raised from the floor and propositioned my hips, pushing her scantily-clad pussy against my thigh. “You...” Her tongue traced the length of mine in my mouth.

  I broke the kiss, and looked at her. Jill's eyes were bulging, gorgeous and steeped in desire. Her mouth parted, almost panting in need. I seized her lower back and pulled her in for another kiss.

  “Fuck,” she whispered into my mouth. “The taste of beer on your mouth is so sexy, baby.”

  “Why does no one know about me... Baby?” I said finally.

  Jill bit her lower lip. “Matt, it wasn't the way you think it is.”

  “The way I think it is? Jill, the way it looks. We've been together for months now and the people you see everyday thought you were single. The men seemed to think you were available. It looks like that's the way you've wanted to portray yourself.”

  “No.”

  I scratched the back of my head, steering my eyes away from her for a second in search of my thoughts.

  “Baby...” Her legs were together, bare, revealing and in brown leather boots. “Can I explain?”

  Anxiety exhaled my breath. “I hope so.”

  “Matt, since I've worked here every relationship I've tried to start has ended miserably. You've no idea what that does to someone's self-esteem. To think that every man you meet is attracted enough to you physically, but can't stand you once they get to know you. How do you think that feels? All those rejections. All those failures. And then there's my reputation to boot. I didn't tell anyone here about you because I was scared.”

  “Scared?”

  Jill nodded. “Yes, baby.” She folded her arms and pressed her cleavage higher. “You're a couple of years younger than me. I can't help but feel you'll tire of me and want someone else.”

  I laughed. “Jill, you're stunning. You're beautiful.” I leaned forward. “You're fucking irresistible.”

  A door upstairs opened momentarily. Some Britney Spears shite escaped. The door slammed suddenly.

  “See, Matt... All you see when you look at me is my looks. It takes more than looks to hold onto a man, especially a good one... Like you.”

  I thought faster than my mind would permit rational, helpful thoughts to proceed. “Why not take up a cookery class?” I suggested.

  Hope fell to misery on her face.

  “I'm kidding, Jill.”

  She looked up, above my eyes, and bit her lip to silence her oncoming laughter.

  “What is it?”

  “Your hat.” Jill shook her head. “Baby, you look ridiculous.”

  I caught the pom-pon in my hand.

  “No!” She swiped my hand away. “Leave it on. Please.”

  I sighed. “All right, Jill.”

  “Shall we go back up?” she asked, reaching her hand out and taking mine. “I want you to. I'm not ashamed of you, Matt. Baby, please, believe me. I'm just not as secure as you seem to think... Or expect me to be.”

  I smiled. “I don't expect anything of you, Jill.” I stopped myself from telling her for the thousandth time how beautiful she was. “I'm just glad you're mine.” I squeezed her hand. “Mine.”

  “Yours,” she whispered.

  I turned towards the steel steps. “Come on.”

  “Wait.” Jill kissed my mouth again. “Do you have any cigarettes on you?”

  “Yes.”

  She pulled my hand in the direction of the front door. “Come with me for a quick smoke... Then we'll go up. Then I can show you off as my boyfriend.”

  6

  Jill huddled herself up close to my chest, slipping her arms inside my coat and around my waist. Her breasts pressed against my torso. She purred, then rubbed her legs upon mine.

  “We'll just share a smoke,” she said, as her warm breath lit up in the darkness.

  “Okay,” I replied, lighting a cigarette over her soft shoulder. She felt amazing against my body and I couldn't wait to take her home after the party. “I'm gonna fuck you senseless when we get home, Jill.”

  “Mmmmmm, that'd be nice, baby.” Her hands locked around my lower back. “And will you punish me for keeping you a secret from my colleagues?”

  “Yes, Jill, your behaviour more than warrants another spanking.”

  “In this weather, baby?”

  I smiled, toking on the cigarette. “Your ass was built for my belt, sweetheart. Your denial of my existence perhaps even a subconscious desire to be beaten.”

  Jill broke her hands behind my back, slid one palm around my waist and ascended my abdomen and chest until she could reach for the cigarette, swapping it from my mouth to hers. “Baby,” she paused to take her first drag, “when I want something from you I'll not need to imply it or beat around the push.”

  “Oh.”

  “I'll tell you.”

  I inhaled her second-hand smoke, stifling a cough from the bitterly cold air. “Really?”

  “Yes.” Jill took another draw, then replaced the cigarette between my lips. “So tell me, baby, are you going to cum on my face tonight?”

  “Top o' the mornin' to you!” shouted a boisterous voice, feigning a Southern Irish accent.

  I turned, believing at first that we had been mistaken for another couple.

  A tall, rotund fellow of my age or perhaps even younger was jumping between puddles, avoiding ice and slicing falling snowflakes away from his face with his hand. “Hello there!” he called.

  Jill's hands left the inside of my coat. Her boots retreated from between my shoes.

  My confusion sought comprehension. “Who...” My whisper fell to silence.

  The big guy shook his jacket and swept snow from his shoulders as he ducked under the extended exterior roofing of the building for shelter. “I suppose you thought I wasn't going to bother showing up,” he said, twisting a grimace into a smile aimed at Jill. His eyes fell instinctively to her legs.

  I wondered if I was going to have to introduce myself.

  “This,” began Jill, the back of her hand grazing my chest, “is-”

  “Matt,” he interrupted, and offered his hand.

  “Hello,” I replied, impressed and yet dubious as to how he knew my name when everybody else hadn't a clue.

  His handshake was firm. Certain. Confident. “I'm Sean.”

  I felt the colour drain from my skin. His demeanour was so different from how she had described him. He was overweight and fa
r from good-looking, but it was his stature which first threatened my composure. He towered over us both. He looked down upon us. He smiled down. He slithered intimately and invisibly between us, his desire for Jill obvious and her vulnerability to his vulture-like tendencies opaque. His shoulders were large, his arms wide and his incessant gesturing as he spoke frighteningly insincere.

  “I've heard about you,” he added, flashing teeth which boasted a financially secure silver spoon.

  How? When? From Jill? Or by phone from one of the labourers? Or one of the girls? How was it Sean was the only person in the building other than Jill who fostered any foreknowledge of my existence? “It's good to meet you, Sean,” I said.

  Jill was staring at him, with neither complaint nor contempt.

  He was so overtly aware of her attention. That he thrived upon it. He looked at me as if to suggest he knew that I knew what had happened between them. That he was rubbing it in my face. That he was secretly saying he could have my girlfriend any time he wanted.

  Jill was nibbling her lower lip.

  “How is the party?” Sean asked, pulling a cigarette from his inside pocket.

  Jill leaned forward, holding a lighter to his tip.

  Sean's lips curled. So smug. So delighted. So playing with her every conceivable intention. “Thank you, Jill.”

  “It's okay,” I said finally, when it was apparent Jill was too lost in her attention to fathom a sentence.

  “Fecking shite then,” he said, laughing.

  It was infectious, rousing Jill from her silence. I traced her vision from her eyes to his mouth. She was staring at his mouth. She wanted to kiss him. I looked back at her. Her eyes had shifted. Down. I followed. Down. To his crotch. I glanced to her once more. Jill's tongue was rounding her upper lip. My girlfriend was caught in a world of desire, desperate to fuck the brains out of this other guy.

  “The music isn't really my thing, Sean,” I said. “I'm more of a heavy rock person.”

  “Me too, Matt.” His eyes were looking past me, down to Jill. Down to her cleavage. And down her torso. To her skirt. His X-ray imagination rumbled his pupils, roaming her insides.

  I took a deep inhalation of smoke, held my breath as I seethed, then released it through my nostrils.