by K T Morrison
“All right, come on in,” Ben said, ushering them into the kitchen. He stopped a second, said, “Hey, you know I married Libby, right?”
Chelsea said, “I know, I heard, Libby Sanders is now Libby Todd.”
“It’ll be our third anniversary next month,” he said.
“Wasn’t exactly a surprise, Ben,” she said. “You guys were dating a long time.”
He agreed: “All through high school.”
“You guys were tight,” she said.
“She’s the light of my life, even today,” he said, heading down the hall and letting them follow behind, secretly wincing at the effete phrase: light of my life. Not exactly cool, Ben.
In the kitchen, Libby was still in congregation with Carol, Gwendolyn, and Mike and his wife. Their faces lit up seeing him escort Chelsea and Finn. Chelsea was a real-live celebrity.
“Hey, Finn, shit, man, good to see you,” Mike said, getting right in for a close handshake. Gwendolyn and Carol went glassy-eyed seeing Chelsea, saying in a harmonic singsong: “Hi-ii, Chelsea.”
But Chelsea went right for Libby, and Libby flinched. She’d been holding a glass of water with her arms folded across her stomach and seeing Chelsea coming close made her move her back against the kitchen counter and bring the glass up in between them protectively. Chelsea wasn’t deterred, practically cooing as she put her arms around Libby.
“Oh, Libby, oh, my God, look how beautiful you are. I haven’t seen you in so long...”
Chelsea was a half head taller than Libby, and Libby’s eyes blinked behind her glasses, looking up and shifting from side to side. “Hi, Chelsea,” she said quietly.
“Welcome to the neighborhood,” Chelsea said.
“I heard you were living here,” Libby said.
“Crazy coincidence, isn’t it?” Chelsea stood back from Libby now, holding onto her upper arms and looking her over.
She said, “Seriously, Libby, look at you...”
“You look… You look good, too,” Libby said with a creaky, unsure voice.
“Thank you, sweetheart. This is so damn crazy. We’re going to have real live friends right here in the neighborhood. I can’t believe it.”
Now Chelsea hooked an arm around Libby’s neck and stood side-by-side with her like they were best buddies, both of them leaning back on the counter. She said to her husband, “Finn, look at this. This is who I said was going to be my new best friend.”
Finn was talking close with Mike, and he looked up, smiled, said, “Libby, right?”
Libby blanched when her eyes met Finn’s, her mouth wormed around and she whispered, “You’re Finn?”
“Pleased to meet you, Libby,” Finn said and crossed to the two women. He took Libby’s hand in both of his, her small hand disappeared between them. He said, “Hey, it’s really so great to meet you. Chelsea says so many great things about you.”
“She does?”
“When Chels heard you were moving into the neighborhood, she was amped.”
“Amped?”
Chelsea said, “I was. God, Libby and Ben. Libby Sanders and Ben Todd. Sorry, Libby Todd now. Such a blast.”
Libby looked from Finn to Chelsea and back again, nervously tweaking on her nose.
3
As the evening wore on, Ben was called to his barbecue duty less and less. Just around dusk, a woman named Margaret showed up with her two kids, six and eight. She was a single mother, and lived outside the Triangle, but had friends who’d come by earlier. She was funny and a good sport about how haggard she was. He was glad to cook up hot dogs and hamburgers for her kids, and when she took them home about an hour and a half later, he sent them with leftovers. Then the BBQ was closed.
After six o’clock Libby reckoned it all right for the hosts to drink, and he had a beer, she had a glass of wine. He had a couple more beers and was pretty sure she might’ve topped up her glass once or twice afterwards as well. Her cheeks had blossomed rosy moons just below her big brown eyes. It had been a long and arduous day but one filled with fun and good cheer and he could see it in his wife’s beautiful face.
When it grew dark, the older crowd seemed to thin, and they were left with people closer to their own age. Finn and Chelsea were still there and some other people they knew, and someone turned up the stereo. Libby asked if anyone thought it was too loud, and Finn said, “Everybody in the beaches is pretty cool, Libby.” Then he presented himself to her holding out those two big tattooed hands, taking Libby’s glass and setting it on the deck and hoisting her out of the lawn chair.
“Come on and dance with me, Libby, let’s kick off the summer with some fun.”
“I don’t really dance,” she laughed, those rosy blooms widening in circumference.
It got Ben laughing to see Lib so carefree. There was a lot she kept buttoned up, and it was good to see her let loose a little, have some fun like the regular people.
“Hold up,” Finn said, got his iPhone, flicked through it quick, then some old sixties surfer rock played on the stereo and Chelsea applauded his selection. He tossed his phone onto the picnic table where the bowls of macaroni salad and potato chips and veggie slices had diminished, clapped his hands and said to Libby in his fun-loving cool drawl, “Kick off your shoes, Lib.” Then he started to watusi, but a slowed-down expressionless heroin version that fit the music. It made Libby laugh then blush and turn away for a moment. She slipped her canvas Keds off. There was a woman called Amber jumping up now, joining in so it wasn’t just the two of them, taking Libby’s hands and showing her how to do it. He watched his wife loosen up a little. Watched her try to shimmy despite the fear and self-consciousness. One-to-maybe-three glasses of wine really suited her.
“Hey,” Chelsea said, “look at her go,” and she grabbed his forearm and patted it. The two of them were sitting still in deck chairs.
He said, “It’s good to see her kick it out a little.”
Chelsea shimmied her chair closer, said, “She was always so quiet.”
“I know. She’s happy in her shell.”
Chelsea clapped her long hands with the music, shouted, “Go, Libby!”
Ben joined her clapping, saying, “That’s it, baby!”
Lib had a concealed sexiness. She was petite in stature, but full-figured. Thin waist and wide hips, full breasts; what she had she kept tightly and modestly confined. It was only him who got to enjoy it—he only wished she liked to do it with the lights on. It was mostly his hands that got to experience her femininity.
Finn took Lib’s hands now, both of them wagging their hips back-and-forth and squatting down almost with their butts to the decking before corkscrewing themselves back up to stand. They laughed and bounced on their toes and Finn showed her some jerky arm movements he managed to somehow not look foolish performing. He was one of those cool guys who could keep a stone serious face, yet somehow let you know they were on the verge of breaking out laughing with you. He performed for Lib, getting her laughing, her silky hair swinging around her shoulders.
Chelsea said, “It really is good to have friendly faces in the neighborhood.”
“I’m glad you’re here too,” he said, leaning close.
She said, “Show me around your place.”
He said sure, thinking he’d slip in and grab a fresh beer, too, while Libby was occupied.
It was just the two of them in the kitchen and he asked Chelsea if she wanted another drink. She said she was good, but he popped another beer from the fridge anyway and handed it to her. When he withdrew one for himself, they clinked bottlenecks and took swigs. “All right, the grand tour. Now, you know, the place isn’t very big, so we’re going to be done in about forty-five seconds. Like this right here,” he said, wagging a finger around like helicopter blades, “this is the kitchen. That’s about it...”
They moved out of the kitchen. “There’s the family area,” he said, strolling, “this is the hall, you’ve seen this. There’s the front room...”
“What’s up
stairs?”
He said, “You want to see upstairs?”
“Sure,” she said. “Hey, you guys buy or you renting?”
He shrugged, said, “We’re renting for now, but Lib loves the area, maybe we’ll buy something in a couple years.”
“Finn and I bought when we married, but we’d just come from B.C., and we got a lot for my place on the Island. Vancouver prices versus T.O.” She showed two hands, one suspending the bottle, moving up and down showing the balance of a close scale. “But my place in Van was a lot bigger.”
“I know, tell me about it. That’s why we’re renting now, a few more years we’ll have a family and, you know, what will we want then? This place is perfect for the two of us, but there’s only two bedrooms and an office.”
“And the size of the bedrooms...” She rolled her eyes.
“I know, I’ve been in bigger dorms.”
“Show me,” she said now, nodding her chin up the staircase.
He led the way, going up the stairs ahead of her and flicking on the light. He said, “That’s my office there, it’s got a balcony. If you go out and stand on it, you can see a bit of the lake.”
“Cool. You got a view of the lake?”
He laughed. “You have to go out and stand on the deck, and you have to lean out.”
“Let’s take a look,” she said.
He flicked the office lights on, went past his swivel chair and his monitor with its geometric patterns opening and folding across its blank surface while it slept. She was behind him and she asked him what he did.
“Buy and sell. I did two years of internships during business school and I found all these, what you’d call relationships, I guess, contacts. All overseas. I buy cheap luxury goods here, then sell high where there’s scarcity and demand.”
When he opened the door to the balcony, Chelsea flicked off the office lights. He looked back and saw her silhouette approaching him. She said, “Too bright.”
“What are you, a vampire?”
“I played one in a movie once,” she laughed.
“So you still do movies?”
“I’ll do parts whenever I’m offered, but I rarely audition,” she said, stepping out onto the balcony with him and then sliding the doors closed behind him. “Mostly I’m at the theater.”
He said, “You were always so great.”
“Thanks, Ben,” she said. “Yeah, after high school I went to L.A., then I came back, went to York, dropped out, then did a whack of movies here, B.C., Europe... Like eight in two years. Got married, came to The Six and figured I’d take a go ahead on whatever Canadian productions were going on, and I’d get my chops working the theaters. Now all I really care about is doing plays.”
“Hey, you remember when you did Streetcar Named Desire?”
“In Aurora?”
He asked waggishly: “Did you do it somewhere else?”
“I did.”
He laughed. “Of course you did, what am I thinking... Yeah, I meant at high school. You played Blanche...”
“You remember that?”
“Remember it?—you were awesome.”
“What was so awesome, Ben?” She set her beer bottle down on the railing.
He said, “I don’t know, it was just good to see somebody I knew who could do something so well. You know, like something you saw on TV or movies.”
“You think I was that good?”
“You were in movies, Chelsea. I saw all the movies you were in, at least when I knew you.”
“Did you really?”
“Of course I did.” Then sheepishly admitted: “All the guys watched your movies.”
“Ben, are you telling me you jerked it?”
He startled at her forward question. “No,” he said, “Uh, no.”
“I’m teasing, Ben, chill out,” she said warmly. Then: “But you probably did.”
“No, I didn’t,” he said, but laughed nervously.
His laugh made her laugh, and she said, “Uh-oh, sounds like you really did do it...”
“Get out of here,” he teased.
She studied his profile quietly, and he grew uncomfortable. “You were always so cute,” she said, and from the streetlights down on Sarah Ashbridge he could see her watching him. Her beautiful face turned toward his, lights catching in the underside of her eyes, the slight tug of a smile...
He said, “Yeah, sometimes you’d say that.”
“It’s true, it’d make me feel good seeing you in the halls.”
“I used to love seeing you in the halls,” he said quietly.
She sniffed a laugh, still watching him. “Tell me if you jerked it.”
“I didn’t,” he said, his throat getting tight.
“Why don’t you tell me for real. Don’t be shy.”
“No, I never did.”
“I bet that you did,” she said slyly, still staring at him.
He looked past her, pointed out on the horizon between a frame of tall maples and honey locusts lining his street, said, “See, look, you can see moonlight on the waves of the lake.”
Chelsea’s hand gently cupped him right between his legs, her clawed fingers gripping his bulge. He jumped back, his stomach muscles bouncing, a chuff of air escaped his shocked lips. He gasped, “What are you doing?...”
4
Chelsea studied him, eyes in narrow slits, her beautiful lips pulled in a foxy smile. Hands clasped together now, she leaned on the railing. “Relax, Ben,” she said. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”
“Geez,” he said, “I don’t think you should...”
“You never wanted it?”
“I mean...”
“Just be honest—tell me you wanted it, Ben...”
“‘Course I did, I was a teenage boy in high school.”
“Yeah, I wanted it too. There were a couple guys I always had questions about...”
He was quiet as his mind raced. Traffic from the beaches washed their city sounds through the muffling trees and he could hear the lake on the cool wind coming from the south. He licked his lower lip in the dark. “What kind of questions?”
She tossed her hands, let them drape. “Guys I just never got to spend enough time with but that I thought about sometimes.”
He looked at her sideways, but only saw the caramel sweep of her hair. “I was one of those guys?”
She turned her face to him. “You sure were, Ben. I thought about you a lot.”
He nodded. “We went to public school together, we knew each other a long time.”
“Yeah I know, it was more than that, more than... fondness, I guess. There were a lot of things I wanted to do with you. You were so cute—sorry, are, you still are.”
A tightness worked in his stomach from having a surprise fondling of his genitals. His testicles ached from the flinch—the boys had tried to jump back inside his body when she’d touched them. But now her words had produced a new response down there: he’d grown hard.
He chewed his lower lip, said, “What did you want to do?”
“At school? I thought about you a couple times.” She looked back at the view over the treetops.
“Thought about me how?”
She faced him. “You had—have—a nice smile, Ben. You’re a nice guy. A decent guy.”
“Doesn’t sound so exciting...”
“I dunno, Ben. You meet a lot of guys who you think are going to be amazing, you know, big muscular jock types. Then they put you to sleep. They’re way more into themselves than into pleasing you.”
“What are we talking about here?”
“Fucking, Ben. I was with a couple of guys from our school who were all show and no go. Makes a girl wonder about some of the other guys she meets. Not the ones who are selling themselves, getting in your face and putting on the man show. The ones with the cute smiles who you know would kill for you.”
He smirked. “You think I would kill for you?”
“In high school you would,” she laughed.
“I don’t know about that,” he said. It was possible. “Yeah, you coulda got me to do things for you.”
“Carry my book-bag?”
“I would’ve done that,” he said, giving her a sidelong glance and noticing she’d moved closer again.
She said, “If I’d have done that in high school, what would’ve happened?”
“Done what?”
“Grabbed your dick like that. What would you do to me?...”
His heart rate doubled, and he felt its beat in his eyeballs. Probably grab your tits then come in my pants. “I don’t think we should talk about that...”
“It’s just conjecture, Ben. What do you think would’ve happened?”
He chewed on his lower lip again knowing he should dart back into the house and get back down to join the party and avoid this awful situation. But instead, he said, “I imagine you could have got me to kill for you.”
“I bet you’re good in bed,” she said.
His stomach bounced and the urge to flee ricocheted around the cavern of his skull. “You do?”
“I totally do. That’s how I pictured it. Like you know some of those guys, remember Ronnie?...”
“That guy was such an asshole.”
“Ronnie had an unbelievable body, but I’m serious, Ben... Total dud in the sack. I caught him flexing one time while we were fucking. You know? Like I mean making one of those bodybuilder biceps and looking at his own arm—can you picture that?” She posed for him, cranking up her long thin arm and flexing.
“What a tool.”
She kissed her bicep, laughed, slunk her arms back over the railing. “Total tool. So into himself.”
“Yeah, no, you’re right, I would be into you, not myself.” His voice felt like a distant friend prancing in a field alongside him, autonomous but unsure.