by J. S Ellis
‘That’s your third one,’ he warned.
‘Who are you, my mother?’
‘Fine,’ he said, ‘your funeral, lady.’
A waitress stopped at my side to clear away my napkins, I grabbed them before she could.
‘These are mine,’ I said.
‘I was just going to take them out of your way,’ she said.
‘I didn’t ask you to move them, did I?’
‘Whatever,’ the waitress said.
‘I’m sick of people touching my stuff,’ I mumbled.
The barman placed my refill and a bowl of peanuts in front of me. ‘Eat something,’ he said.
‘You eat something.’
I sighed, reaching for the fresh glass of whiskey, and noticed Michael two stools away, leaning against the counter. His blue eyes burned into me. I didn’t know for how long he had been standing there, but he had a look of total disapproval. He’s twenty-one for crying out loud, doesn’t he drink?
‘Oh, don’t look at me like that,’ I said, taking a sip of my whiskey that set my throat on fire.
‘Like what?’ he said.
‘You know what I mean.’
He moved to sit next to me. ‘Whenever I see you, you’re either buying alcohol or consuming it... you should slow down.’
‘You came here to tell me this?’
‘No.’
‘Are you working?’ I asked.
‘No, I just came here to pick up some stuff. Why?’
‘How about a drink, I owe you one?’
‘I don’t think it would be a good idea,’ he said.
‘Why not?’
He noticed the wedding ring.
‘Oh, I see, I said, looking down at my ring. ‘And that should stop me from talking with you?’
He smiled, and ordered a bottle of beer.
‘Have you got a girlfriend?’
His eyes looked me up and down. I felt myself blushing or was it my body? ‘No,’ he replied.
‘Oh,’ I said, remembering the girl I’d seen him smitten with, ‘I see.’
We sat in silence for a while, watching the band and taking sips of our drinks.
‘Is this what you do?’ I asked.
‘What do you mean?’
‘A musician, is this what you do for a living?’
‘Yes’
‘From where do you get the inspiration to write such wonderful music?’ I asked.
He reached for the beer. ‘I will get it from the landlady every month.’
I laughed hard. ‘But you live with Evelyne.’
‘Yes, but I am renting a place of my own, it’s getting too crowded over there, and I need my privacy.’
‘You’re moving out?’ I asked, and signaled the barman for a refill. Is that why he was in Camden to look for an apartment?
‘Soon, how about you don’t refill that drink,’ he said, putting the bottle of beer down.
‘And if I don’t, what happens then?’
‘I guess there’s only one way to find out,’ he said smiling.
Michael tapped his hand against the counter, abandoning his beer. ‘I’m out of here.
‘See you later, mate.’ The barman said.
Michael stood in front of me, hands in his jacket pocket. ‘What do you do?’
‘I’m an accountant.’
‘Are you keeping your whiskey receipts?’
‘I am.’ I laughed
‘Were you always an accountant?’
We began to walk. ‘Yes... so you have no other interest besides being a musician?’
‘You sound like my mother.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Where did you learn to play?’
‘I learned to play the flute at music school, and then switched to sax... how long you been living here in Notting Hill?’ he asked.
‘Eleven years, right after I got married.’
‘You’ve been married for eleven years?’
‘Yes... why so shocked?’
‘You married young.’
‘I was a fool in love.’
He stopped walking. ‘Are you still a fool in love?’
I laughed. ‘You ever been in love?’
‘Yeah...’ he said.
I thought of the brunette with him the other day. Was she the lucky lady? But he said he doesn’t have a girlfriend. Maybe he has more than one girlfriend, so what?
It felt like he was flirting with me, and I was flirting right back. Going to bed and waking up with the same man can be a little boring after all. I’m not complaining, as far as I’m concerned, despite the drinking. I have been a good wife. Loyal, dutiful, and caring. I’ve stood behind Richard through the good times and the bad. After the operation, I took time off from work and nursed him, making sure he was comfortable. I never complained. I did what I had to do as a wife, through sickness and health. I took those vows seriously.
To be looked at by someone new, a stranger. It felt good. I shouldn’t have gone to the club. He must think I’m leading him on.
‘I saw you the other day,’ he said.
My heart stopped. ‘When?’
‘You know. When I was with that girl.’
‘Oh.’
‘You were looking.’
By this time, he’d walked me to my street.
‘Yes, I. Erm, was walking back to work?’
What does he want from me?
‘I find you... interesting.’
I sniggered, ‘Really? I don’t know why.’
We stopped in front of my apartment. Why would Michael notice someone like me? I stood on the step. He was on the pavement, with both hands in his trousers pocket. A man marched past and looked at us suspiciously, then kept on going to wherever he was heading. How must we have looked in the eyes of strangers - the colorful, glamorous blond, and the dull corporate potato of a woman?
‘My husband might be home,’ I said.
‘I’ll leave you to it.’
‘It’s sweet of you to walk me home.’
‘It’s a pleasure.’
Why am I so nervous? Why have I been circling around the room trying to reassure myself that it is? Innocent situations don’t need to be labeled as such.
Later,
I didn’t feel any better during the day. I went to a seminar at the Hilton. I arrived there early, located the bar, and ordered a Black Velvet. The taste of whiskey sung wonders in my mouth. I drained the glass in one go and asked the barman for another.
I thought about Michael. Does he sense I crave affection? I emptied the glass and ordered another.
‘Madam,’ the barman said, ‘are you all right?
‘You are not a priest, you’re a bartender, so just pour.’
He refilled my glass and kept staring at me. ‘Thanks,’ I said.
God, I can be such a bitch sometimes!
I mustn’t do anything like that ever again. Going to the club where Michael works is a ridiculous thing to do.
17th February
Afternoon
Diary,
I ran into Michael again on my way out to the grocery store. I’d bought a bottle of gin, half a dozen cans of tonic, two lighters, and cigarettes. I felt my cheeks flush.
We made small talk about our day. It was a friendly, neighborly chat, nothing out of the ordinary. When he was about to walk away, he turned again and caught me gawping at him. I lowered my head as if I were a naughty child who had done something she shouldn’t.
‘Don’t take this the wrong way,’ he said, ‘but you’re a beautiful woman. You have no idea how beautiful you are, and you’re throwing it all away. Gordons is not your friend, the same goes for the Marlboros.’
My chest caved as I stared blankly at him. I wanted to drop the bags and cry.
‘Take care of yourself, will you?’ he said.
His eyes begged me to do so.
I wanted to reach out and hug him, but instead, I watched him swagger away from me, with no care in the world.
What did I do, di
ary? Opened the bottle of Gordons that’s what I did and smoked. I sat at the kitchen table with my feet up and cried until I couldn’t cry anymore. Afterward, I ran a bath and laid there with a cigarette tingling between my fingers, and a large glass of gin.
In the bedroom, I inspected my face in front of the mirror. My hair needed trimming and color. Was that another fine line on my face?
20th February
Morning
Diary,
Richard and I rowed last night. We’re okay now, but I hate it when we fight. He came home grey and miserable, placed his briefcase by the coat hanger and loosened his tie.
‘Bloody day,’ he said putting the kettle on.
‘Nothing a cup of tea can’t heal,’ I said.
He kissed me on the cheek, ‘smells good, darling,’
‘I wanted to cook us something nice tonight. I made roast chicken,’ I said, opening the oven to check on the meal.
‘That’s jolly good dear, how was your day?’
I folded the cloth and reached for my glass of wine. ‘Tiring.’
He frowned. ‘What did they make you do?’
‘Clients... they want everything done at once, it’s so annoying. ‘I paused, taking a deep breath, ‘I hate my clients.’
‘Clients are important, without them, you’ll be out of a job.’ Richard said, ‘I'll go have a shower, while you finish dinner.’
I opened the window. No music tonight. Has he moved? I waited, hoping it would start. It didn’t. It’s been days now. I set the table with silver cutlery, crystal glasses, and red napkins folded into neat squares. As I was about to serve dinner, Richard came out of the bathroom smelling fresh and clean, wearing sweatpants and a jumper. He switched on the small TV on the counter and flipped it to a football game. Richard rarely puts on the telly when we’re having dinner. But, last night, of all nights, he wanted to watch a bloody game.
‘Richard please,’ I said as I placed his plate of food on his table setting.
‘It’s a big game, Sop.’
‘I don’t care, switch it off.’
He pressed the remote, and the kitchen fell quiet.
‘This looks stupendous,’ Richard said.
‘Thanks.’ I said.
We both tucked into our meals. In the corner of my eyes, I saw Richard chewing and staring at something. I looked at the TV screen. It was still on but on mute.
‘Richard! What did I tell you about TV during dinners?’
‘It’s on mute, so I can still have my attention devoted to you.’
I threw the napkin on the table. ‘Switch it off now!’
‘Oh, this is childish!’
I jumped out of my chair, ‘I have stood by you all these years, and I looked after you when you got sick. I buy you your pills. I stand by you, even when you drag me to your events. I support you. All I ask is for no TV during dinner. Do you know how lucky you are to have me? We don’t have children. All we have is each other. We can at least value our moments together! Do you know what people are saying about us? Do you even care?’ I said, raising my voice.
Richard drew his eyebrows together, holding his knife and fork. ‘Yes, I know, but I didn’t think you were one of them!’
He placed the cutlery on the plate, threw the napkin on the table, and stood up. The chair scraped loudly on the floor.
‘I've had enough of your behavior. I’m not hungry anymore. The drinking is affecting your mood, do something about it or I will!’
‘I’m not drunk!’ I yelled.
He switched on the TV in the living room, the sound of the game blasted through the speakers. I sunk down on the chair pushing the plate away, all that hard work for nothing. I got up, smoked, and cleared the dishes away, I stomped my foot on the pedal of the bin and threw the food in. I slammed the plates in the sink and marched out of the kitchen.
I circled the bedroom and then jumped into the shower to cool off. Afterward, I stood in front of the mirror in my dressing gown. I undid the knot and let the garment drop off my body. I stood naked in front of the mirror gazing at my body, not knowing what I was looking for. Does Michael actually think I’m beautiful? I tried to see what he sees. What does he really think of me? Does he eroticize this body? Why am I thinking about him?
‘Oh come on!’ Richard yelled. The room fell silent.
I sighed, and put my dressing gown back on. Richard walked into the bedroom. I sat at the dressing table and brushed my hair. Our eyes met in the mirror. Richard placed his hand on my shoulders and caressed them.
‘Forgive me.’ He said.
Sex is always the go-to after a row. When it was over, we laid side by side on the bed. We didn’t talk, we just laid there like two figures on tombs. I needed a cigarette! Richard doesn’t let me smoke in the bedroom. He doesn’t know how good a cigarette tastes after sex. I kissed his neck and climbed on top of him.
‘What are you doing?’ Richard asked in alarm.
‘What does it look like I’m doing?’ I said placing his hands on my naked breasts.
He gently positioned me back on the bed. ‘Are you trying to kill me?’
Urgh!
25th February
Afternoon
Diary,
Ran into Michael, again. Listen to me raving about a boy because he’s gorgeous. I stopped at the grocery store to purchase cigarettes. I lit one and took a deep drag. Michael and his friends were sitting outside a pub, smoking cigarettes and chatting. His friends are dark, tall, and beautiful, dressed in strange clothes as if they dropped from another planet. Michael appeared to be having an in-depth, intense discussion with one of them, gesturing with his hands. He saw me, said something to his friend, and then came over to speak to me.
‘Who are your friends?’ I asked.
Michael turned to face his friends, I didn’t like the way they were looking at me, especially the one with the hat.
‘The wavy-haired one is Sam’ Michael said softly.
I couldn’t see Sam properly, but the way he looked at me, it was so strange God knows, what was going on his head. All I saw was a mess of fluffy black hair. He waved at his friends, and they waved back at him. He’s such a happy, carefree boy, with the world at his feet. I envy him.
‘Andy’s, the one with the hat, and Nicky’s the one with the long hair,’ he added.
I looked at them both. Andy looked like he could be of gypsy origin. Michael gazed at me, warmly.
‘Can I see you, again?’ he asked.
It cracked out of me ‘ha, ha, ha.’
He stared at me without blinking.
‘What, why?’ I said, alarmed.
‘I like talking to you.’
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
‘Why not?’
I gazed at my shoes, smiling, ‘Michael, you’re beautiful and sweet, you’re amazing, but I’m a married woman.’
‘You never said happily married.’
This reply made me uneasy. So, he assumes I’m unhappily married because I didn’t introduce myself with, ‘Hello, I am Sophie Knight, and I’m happily married.’ My marriage is nobody's business, except Richard, and mine.
‘It’s none of your business,’ I said.
‘What?’ he whispered.
‘How happy I am. Anyway, it’s a bad idea.’
‘Is it, though?’
Of course, it is! I wanted to yell, but I didn’t. Why the sudden interest in me. Did he pity me? Is this what this is all about?
He moved closer, ‘I think you shouldn’t be wearing that.’
I gazed down at my navy skirt suit. ‘What are you talking about? It’s just a suit.’
Sam yelled from across the street, ‘Come on, man!’
Michael signaled for him to wait. Andy rolled his eyes. Michael returned his gaze to me as if I were a precious ointment on display. I threw a disapproving glance at him.
‘I’m not referring to your outfit,’ he said slowly.
‘That’s enough!’ I said in a firm t
one.
I moved past him.
‘Catch you later, Sophie,’ he said, smiling and looking me up and down.
I don’t understand how men think, but mostly it's with their cocks. Boys like him-at such tender age, they want to experiment, learn, and gain the experience. At their age, they focus on their pleasure rather than on their partners, they want to get on with it and move on to something else. But, for a split second, as I hurried away from him, I imagined what it would be like to lay beneath him. To have his hands on my body, that mouth on my neck and on my breasts. Teaching him what he didn’t learn in school. I shivered, what’s wrong with me? What is happening to me? What is this? I looked over my shoulder. He lingered on the pavement watching me. The drinking is bad enough, but Michael tempting me into being disloyal to my husband is monstrous. I poured myself a large glass of gin, which danced in my mouth.
After eleven years of marriage, I never thought about what I'll look like in the eyes of other men, especially younger men. My main concern is what I look like in the eyes of my husband. He doesn’t say much, he doesn’t have to remind me he loves me, and he’s aware of how I feel about him. I have shown my love, and I have proved it. I’ve been there for him every step of the way.
Because we’ve had a faithful marriage, I haven’t thought about what it might feel like to be kissed by someone other than my husband. To feel the pressure of another man’s mouth pressed against mine. To feel his foreign touch on my body, not until now. Things fall asleep after marriage. It’s natural that sexual alertness dies down.
I am grateful to be married. I don’t have to put myself out there ever again. I don’t have to sit across from someone and prove I am the right candidate. Dating is a form of a job interview for me, at least it was. That’s why I only had a string of long-term relationships. Dating just wasn’t for me. In fact, when I got married, I was relieved I didn’t have to kiss or stand naked in front of strangers ever again.
The few dates I had were friendly meetings that sometimes ended in bed. I had forgotten how it feels, and how exhilarating it can be, and yet the buzz of it all, to be a little scared. Today, with Michael, it came back in an instant, the high of it all. How could I have gone on without it all of these years? Did I sleepwalk through them?