Taking the Plunge

by J. B. Reynolds

  She gave a mournful sigh. “Don't ask.”

  “Why? Is he okay?”

  “He's fine. He’s with Lawrence. It’s just… she’s there too,” she said, rolling her eyes. “They’re moving in together. Apparently she's going to be Corbin’s stepmother.”

  Evan’s eyebrows shot towards the ceiling. “What, they're getting married?”

  “Who knows? Wouldn’t surprise me,” she said cynically. She took a sip from her glass, closing her eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” murmured Evan. “That must be hard. But no one can replace you — Corbin knows that.”

  “Too bloody right. She’ll find that out soon enough, the silly cow. But the thing is, they looked so good together, the three of them — all fresh and wholesome like the perfect TV family. I don’t think we ever looked like that.” For a moment she thought she might cry again, so she took another hit from her drink, hiding behind the glass. “It’s all such bullshit!” she spat, surprising herself with the vehemence of her words.

  Evan looked at her silently, his gaze curiously unfocused so she wasn’t sure whether he was staring at her or through her. She felt a touch on her fingers, and looking down, saw his hand was resting on hers. A gentle heat pulsed from them and her stomach fluttered.

  She gave him a wistful smile, then slipped her fingers out from beneath his, breaking the spell.

  “It’s for the best. At least now I know that chapter in my life is truly finished and I can move on.” She took another sip. “Speaking of moving on, I guess I’d better get to this party.”

  “Yeah,” said Evan, blinking, “thash right.” He raised his glass to his mouth, finishing it off, then wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “I found a photo. Of Yumi. In case you didn’t get a good look at her the other morning.”

  “No, I didn’t,” said Kate, “though I could probably recognise her scream.”

  Evan frowned at her, then crossed the floor into his bedroom, returning a moment later brandishing a photo. Kate took it from him, studying it. The picture was shot from the waist up, Evan and Yumiko against a background of dark-green bush, clouds of mist and a rushing waterfall. They wore rain jackets, Evan’s sunshine yellow and Yumiko’s scarlet, the bright colours in vivid contrast to the muted greens and greys behind them. Yumiko was short, her face round and rosy with a warm, toothy smile, framed by curving waves of dark brown hair, the tips of which rested on her shoulders. Evan towered above her, his arm around her waist, his smile equally joyful.

  “Where's this?”

  “On the way to Milford Sound. We hiked the Hollyford Track.”

  “She’s cute.” Kate handed the photo back to Evan, her stomach dancing again. She felt a twinge of something — was it jealousy? Swallowing, she forced a grin. “You look happy.”

  Evan inspected the photo. A faint smile scudded over his lips, then disappeared. “We were.” He put the photo down and looked at Kate, eyes wide and doleful, like a scolded puppy, and she wanted to give him a hug. She blinked, resisting the urge, and asked for Jamie's address instead.

  “Fernhill. Caples Place, off Greenstone Road. You know it?”

  “Vaguely.”

  “It'sh right at the top of the street. I can’t remember the number but you’ll see it. No fence, and there’s a big old tree with a tyre-swing in the yard. If I know Jamie he’ll have invited half the town.”

  “I'm sure I’ll find it. Right then,” she said, taking a final scull of her drink. “I’ll get going.”

  “You want the photo?”

  “Why, because all Asians look alike?”

  “No,” said Evan, frowning. “I just thought—”

  “I’m kidding,” she said, poking him in the chest. “It’s fine. I’ve got her image burned into my brain.” She moved to the door, opening it to the night, then turned to face Evan, who had the vodka bottle in his hand, ready to pour himself another drink. “Make that your last, huh? I won’t be long, and you need to be conscious when I get back.”

  “Yeah, sure,” he said, nodding.

  “And for God’s sake, cheer up, will you? It’s not that bad. Who knows, I might even convince her to give you another chance.”

  “Do you think sho?”

  He looked so hopeful that again she wanted to hug him. This time she did, darting across the floor to embrace him. He stiffened, but then wrapped his arms around her, gently patting her back. She felt the heft of muscle beneath his T-shirt, and her stomach twirling again, she let go, stepping back.

  “I wouldn't count on it,” she said, looking him in the eye. “You really have cocked things up. But you know what? Stranger things have happened.”

  Evan sighed, long and loud. “Thanks, Kate. I’m still not sure why you’re doing this.”

  Neither am I. It was a stupid idea and it wasn’t going to work but she’d come this far and at least she was doing something. It was better than going to bed early and lying there staring at the ceiling and feeling sorry for herself.

  She tilted her head, lips curling into a lopsided smile.

  “Because I want to. And because I can. You’re an idiot, Evan, but you’re not a nasty idiot. Despite your myriad of faults, deep down I think you’re actually a nice guy. You’ve got some work to do — heck, we all do — but maybe one day, if you do the work, you'll make someone a decent boyfriend.”

  FORTY-FIVE

  Cars lined the street on both sides as she made her way up the hill. She could hear the thrum of dance music, a driving bass-line that vibrated through her seat, coming from further ahead. She found a gap in the line and parked, then continued on foot, her arms folded against the cold, following the music.

  At the top of the hill the road became a cul-de-sac, the music emanating from a sprawling old villa located at the mid-point of the turning circle. As Evan had directed, a large pine tree grew in the front yard, a tyre swinging from a low hanging branch. Between the tree and the house, a small group of party-goers were gathered around a forty-gallon steel drum, flames leaping from within. By the light of the fire, she could see that the yard was strewn with junk — car tyres, broken furniture, the rusting carcass of a shopping trolley. The house was an anomaly in the street, a canvas of wilful neglect that lowered the tone and she felt sorry for the neighbours.

  A concrete path, cracked and twisted where the roots of the tree extended beneath it, led to the house. She surveyed the gathered fire-worshippers as she approached, nodding in greeting. Certain that Yumiko wasn’t amongst them, she stepped over the covered porch to the front door. She knocked and waited, picking at the flaking paint with a nervous fingernail, but no one answered.

  She turned the knob and pushed on the door. It opened onto a wide hallway where several young people leaned against the walls on either side, clutching drinks. The music assaulted her ears, another level of loud, and she felt the wooden floorboards bouncing beneath her feet. While the other doors leading off the hallway were closed, the door immediately to her left was wide open, the music pulsing from it. Smoke and light spilled out and she poked her head through to see a large room crowded with dancers, bodies swaying and jerking to the beat. A UV light had been rigged up high in one corner, and the ceiling strung with cut-out cardboard shapes — stars and moons and planets — that were spattered with fluorescent paint. A red laser light burnt maniacal patterns onto a wall and the whole space was shrouded in a pungent chemical fog. She sniffed at it, wrinkling her nose in distaste. Through the tight mass of twisting bodies, she caught glimpses of a DJ standing behind a desk and turntables, one hand holding a pair of headphones to his ear, the other pumping the air above his head.

  Clutching her handbag, she pushed inside. In the haze and swirl of bodies, finding Yumiko was going to be more difficult than she had anticipated. Squirming through the press of dancers, she made her way towards the centre of the room. The music changed as one tune fell away and melted into the beginning of another. She relaxed a little, allowing her body to bob and sway, carried along by the so
ng’s melodic flow. A figure seeped out of the throng, drink in hand, and stumbled, colliding with her chest, liquid flying.

  “Whoa!” shouted the man, wiping his shirt. “Watch where you’re goin’!” She could just make out his words above the music.

  “Me? That was your fault!” she snarled, inspecting her sodden blouse. “Look what you’ve done to my—”

  “Hey, I know you,” he said, pointing a sodden finger. “Kate!”

  She glared at the man. He wore baggy jeans and a black T-shirt with the word Ramones printed in white above some kind of coat-of-arms that included an eagle and a baseball bat. There was something familiar about his face, his nose especially…

  The man cocked his head. “Don’t you remember? We met the other night.”

  Through the fog of her memory his name came swimming up to her. “Darryl!” she said, shouting to make herself heard.

  “That’s right,” he said, leaning into her. His breath reeked of alcohol and she took a step back, blinking. “Did you have a good time?”

  “Pardon?”

  “The other night? You enjoy it?” He swayed as he spoke, liquid sloshing over the side of his glass and onto the floor, though he didn’t seem to notice. “You and Evan seemed pretty cosy.”

  “I guess,” said Kate. “We both got a little drunk.” She didn’t like the way Darryl was leering at her and she scanned the dancing crowd, looking for a gap she could slip into.

  Darryl laughed. “You weren’t drunk. You were high.”

  “What?” she said, her eyes snapping back.

  His face broke into a twisted grin. “We spiked your drinks.”

  Kate stared at him in confusion. “You spiked our drinks?”

  He took a swig from his glass, spilling liquid down his chin and onto his shirt. He didn’t wipe it off. “Yeah, Jamie and me. We slipped some pills into your drinks. Well, it was his idea but he asked me to deliver them. Said he wanted you and Evan to have a good time.”

  “Jamie?”

  “Yep.”

  Her blood rose, pounding in her ears, the music pushed down and away somehow, a swirling backdrop of noise. As mad as it sounded, something in his eyes — a savage, callous glint — told her it was true. A weaving body pushed against her, pressing her closer to Darryl. She braced herself, pushing back, the thought of touching him repugnant. Her mouth dry, she asked, “What were they?”

  Darryl gave a nonchalant shrug. “Roofies, he reckoned.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. The name meant nothing to her. “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s pretty simple. Jamie’s got the hots for Evan’s girlfriend. Not sure why, since she’s a chink, but anyway, he thought if he helped lubricate things between you and Evan, he’d have a better chance with her.”

  “Lubricate?” Kate felt dizzy, the chemical smoke tickling her nostrils, making it hard to breathe. She looked Darryl in the eye once more, then kneed him in the groin. He doubled over, groaning, spilling his drink again. She pushed her way into the hurl of dancers, her head spinning, not turning back. On the other side of the room a wide doorway led into a small dining space with a narrow kitchen off to the side. The dining table had been pushed up against the wall and was piled with bottles of alcohol, bowls of chips and a jumble of empty pizza boxes. Beyond the table a set of French doors led outside. There were people in the room but she barely noticed them in her rush to the door. She burst out onto a low wooden deck, collapsing at its edge, gasping for air.

  Behind her came a voice, soft and languorous. “Ahh… are you okay?”

  She turned to see a young woman, pale and thin with straight black hair, a ring through her nose and a cigarette on her lips.

  “I think so,” said Kate. “The smoke machine… I just needed some fresh air.”

  “Same.” The woman sucked on her cigarette. “Downtown never cleans it.”

  “Downtown?”

  “The DJ.”

  “Oh.”

  Kate watched as the woman smoked. There was something musical in her manner, relaxing, a rhythmic inhale and hold, exhale and tap, the ash falling gently to the deck. She found herself matching the women’s rhythm, extending the sequence of her own breathing, and the effect was calming.

  The woman finished, flicked her butt into the grass, removed a packet of Marlboro’s from her jacket and placed another slim tube between her lips.

  “Want one?” she asked.

  “No, thanks.” Kate shook her head. “I don’t smoke.”

  “It’s a dying art.” The woman cupped her hands around her mouth and lit up again, taking a long drag. “So,” she said, blowing a lazy smoke ring, “enjoying the party?”

  Kate shrugged. “It’s not really my scene.”

  The woman nodded as though this was obvious.

  A gust of wind blew and Kate shivered, the wet fabric of her blouse cool where it touched her skin. What kind of circles does Evan move in? It was madness and she wanted to run away, abort her mission, go home and curl up in the comfort of her own bed. But she’d told Evan she’d try. She pictured him then, grinning goofily in the doorway of his bathroom, proud because he’d managed to put his pants on. The image made her smile. She didn’t want to desert him, not now especially, when it looked like everyone else had. “Actually,” she said slowly, “I’m looking for someone. Yumiko. Do you know her?”

  “Yumi?” said the woman. “Yeah, I know her. She was around but I haven’t seen her for a while. Noemie might know where she is.” Gesturing for Kate to follow, she crossed the deck. Someone had closed the door after Kate’s rapid exit, and she opened it, releasing the thrumming music, and poked her head inside.

  “Noemie’s in the kitchen. You can’t miss her,” she said to Kate, pointing. “She’s the black one.”

  FORTY-SIX

  “Ahh, thanks,” said Kate, stepping past her into the house.

  A few people were gathered in the kitchen, one of whom was immediately notable, both for the colour of her skin — a deep, dark ebony — and the fact that she was bald. She wore a black striped tracksuit zipped up at the neck, the casual attire doing nothing to detract from her beauty. Her shaved head only served to accentuate her large, long-lashed eyes, the curve of her cheekbones and the fullness of her lips. Resting against the counter, beer in hand, she laughed as the man beside her, his hair a mat of long, thick dreadlocks, leaned into her ear.

  “Noemie?” Kate said, approaching. The woman didn’t acknowledge her, so she repeated the name, speaking louder to be heard above the music. Noemie turned to her and smiled.

  “Yes?”

  “Hi. I’m looking for Yumiko. I was told you might know where she is.”

  “Yumi? She’s in my room, lying down. Had too much to drink.” She spoke with a heavy French accent, her voice deep and musical. “Who are you?”

  “Denise,” Kate lied, surprising herself, the name rolling off her tongue — the first that popped into her head. She extended her hand.

  Noemie shook it, smiling, her grip light. “Pleased to meet you. I don’t think she’s mentioned your name before.”

  “We only met a couple of days ago.” That much was true. “I’m new to town. She thought I could meet some people here tonight. Is she okay?”

  “Yeah, she just said she wanted to rest for a while.”

  The dreadlocked man slid closer to Noemie and spoke into her ear again, too quiet for Kate to hear. Noemie giggled, then turned to him, eyebrows raised, a lascivious glint in her eyes.

  “Can I see her?”

  “Sure,” said Noemie, eyes on her man. “It’s the last door on your right at the end of the hall.”

  Kate thanked Noemie and made her way out into the hall. There were people gathered there but no one paid her any attention as she knocked quietly on Noemie’s door, her ear pressed against it. Hearing nothing, she pushed it open and stepped into the room, closing the door behind her.

  To her right, illuminated by the soft light of a standing f
loor lamp, two well-worn sofas rested beside a glass-topped coffee table, with a wooden bookshelf, dresser, and freestanding wardrobe against the wall beyond. To her left, a woman’s figure lay curled on top of the covers of a double bed. She’d kicked her shoes off but was otherwise fully clothed, in tight black jeans below a chequered shirt rolled up at the sleeves, and with a woollen beanie on her head. A plastic bowl lay on the bed next to her head, thankfully devoid of vomit. She snored peacefully, her chest rising and falling with each breath.

  Kate tiptoed to the edge of the bed, crouching to get a better look at the woman’s face. It was indeed Yumiko, and she wondered again whether she should just go, leave Yumiko to her slumber, but she’d promised Evan she would try talking to her. Now that she had the opportunity, it seemed a waste to let the moment pass.

  “Yumiko,” she whispered, leaning over her, “wake up.” Yumiko didn’t respond, so she placed a hand on her shoulder and shook her gently. “Yumiko,” she said again, louder. “Wake up.”

  Yumiko stirred, giving a little groan. Kate shook her again, and she rolled onto her back, smacking her lips.

  “Noemie? Wha… what time is it?” Yumiko opened her eyes, blinking, then stopped, looking at Kate, her brow wrinkling. Suddenly she sat up, springing back against the headboard. “You! What the fuck? What are you doing here?”

  “Sshhh, it’s okay.” Kate raised her hands. “Calm down. I just wanted to talk.”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down!” Yumiko adjusted her beanie, pulling it tight onto her head, eyes wide. “How’d you… who let you in here?”

  “I asked Noemie. Please, Yumiko, can we just talk?”

  Yumiko closed her eyes. When she opened them again she looked confused, as though she had expected Kate to be gone. “Go away. I don’t wanna talk.”

  “Please,” Kate pleaded, “it won’t—”

  “Did he put you up to this?”

  Kate paused, mouth open, then nodded. “He asked me to come, yes.”