2 ~ Steffi

“The usual, Steffi?” Hank, the bartender asks.

“And a bowl of fries. We doubled the Jack’s Point trail today,” I tell him.

“Thirsty and hungry. My kind of customer. Go find a table, and I’ll bring your order over.”

“We’re there, in the corner.”

The friend I’m with, Terra, has managed to snag us a table in the busy bar. As I cross the room, my walk is ungainly. We’ve cycled directly to the bar after a day of mountain biking which means my gait is hampered by a combination of my padded bike pants, tired legs, and my cycling shoes with their inflexible sole and cleats.

Terra snorts as I drop into my seat. “You’re right. You do look like a waddling duck with bad hips.”

“I watched you from the bar, and you looked the same. Anyway, do ducks have hips?” I ask.

“You’re the medical person. You should know.”

“We treat humans, not animals. And I’m a practice manager, not a doctor.”

Hank delivers a bowl of hot, golden, hand-cut fries, and two glasses of the local IPA beer made in the craft brewery out the back. I take a mouthful, let the bitterness flow over my tongue, close my eyes, swallow, and sigh.

“How’s that?” Hank asks.

“Bitter perfection, with bubbles,” I say. “What is it?”

“A new release. Hop ’n’ Roll. It’s not officially for sale yet, but I thought you’d appreciate trying it out.”

“It’s good.”

“I’ll tell the guys you approve. Why don’t you stay for the band tonight?”

Under the table, the toe of Terra’s shoe digs into my ankle. She thinks Hank fancies me and when he’s gone, she’ll tell me that invitation proves it.

“I can’t. My parents leave in the morning so I’m staying in to make sure they don’t get any last-minute ideas about canceling their vacation.”

“Cool. Well, sing out when you want another beer,” he says, then returns to the bar.

“He still fancies the bike pants off you, Steffi.”

Terra has a beer-foam mustache. She purposely does that every time she drinks beer, and I purposely avoid drawing attention to it. If I ignore it, she’ll wipe it away. Mention it, and it’s there for the next hour. A Nordic-blonde braid hangs over her shoulder, and even with her mustache and bike helmet-flattened hair, Terra draws attention from the men around the bar. Her eyes are impossibly blue, her cheeks still flushed from the exertion of our ride and her super-tight cycling top displays all of her assets.

“I’ve already been out with him. It was fun, but there’s no chemistry.” I’m not telling her anything she doesn’t already know.

“I worry about this chemistry you’re searching for.” Terra swipes her mouth with her sleeve. “I think you’ve got the wrong idea about what it is.”

“A frisson,” I say, grabbing the longest, most perfect fry before Terra sees it. “Electricity. Tingling. I don’t know. Something. I need to feel something.” I bite into the fry and make a little sound of pleasure. It’s cold outside, approaching winter. The sun had vanished from the trail as we finished our ride, and a stiff breeze blew off the lake on our approach to town. Waving the half-eaten fry in the air, I continue. “I want to feel what I feel right now when I bite into this. A thrill. Instant satisfaction of a raw hunger that burns in my gut. Rapture—”

“Oh, for god’s sake, Steffi.” Terra snatches the fry from my hand and shoves it in her mouth. Two quick chews and it’s gone. “You need to find yourself a man who knows his way around your body. That other magic you’re looking for doesn’t exist. Take Mr Tall-Dark-and Confidently-Handsome over there.”

I look to where she’s pointing. The guy’s wearing a tight black sweater that leaves nothing about his gym regime to the imagination. He smiles at us. It’s a good smile, nice teeth, and he’s self-assured, not looking away from our scrutiny. “Yeah, what about him?”

“He’s been watching you. And he’s hot. Look at the size of his hands?”

“Big hands.” I shrug. “What have hands got to do with it?”

“Hands like that will take you to heaven. And that mouth. Smile at him. Let him know you like the look of his hands.”

“I’m not interested in his hands.”

“I am. Look at the length of his fingers. Imagine how deep they can reach.”

“No, I’m not imagining anything,” I say.

“Really? I am. If his hands are that big then, proportionately, his cock must be a good ten inches.”

I turn back to face Terra. “I refuse to think about the length of that man’s cock. I’m not looking for anyone. I’ve been out with all the decent guys in town, and I’m not hooking up with a tourist.”

“Come on, Steffi. He’s gorgeous. If you don’t, I will.”

“That’s not even a threat.”

“We’ve got to find someone to cure this problem of yours, and that guy looks qualified.”

“Will you be quiet? I don’t have a problem, okay?”

“You’re an otherwise healthy twenty-three-year-old—”

“What does ‘otherwise’ mean? I’m a totally healthy young woman.”

“Who has never had an orgasm,” Terra manages to explain to half the bar because her voice has risen right at the moment the room goes quiet.

I take my health and fitness seriously. The bowl of fries in front of us doesn’t happen every day. Nor the beer. But I burned a zillion calories on the trails today, and I’m ravenous. And now, thanks to Terra, my shameful secret is known to half the clientele in one of Queenstown’s most popular bars. So I laugh, a crazy kind of manic laugh, thump the table with my fist, laugh again, and the bar chatter resumes.

“You have a big mouth,” I mutter at her over my glass of beer.

“And you have a big problem that you’re ignoring.”

“Do you think we could not discuss this in a busy bar?” I ask.

Terra leans across the table and grabs my forearm. “I’m concerned about you.”

I tug my arm from her grip. “Stop it. You’re acting like a crazed aunt. This so-called problem of mine helped me get through my studies in record time instead of being sidetracked by random sexcapades the way the rest of you were. I graduated. Now I can pay some attention to my personal needs.”

“I think you should talk to a doctor.”

“I work with the only doctors in town. One of whom is my father, another being my mother.”

The local district has grown beyond the scope of its small public hospital, so my brother got a group of investors together and has built the type of medical facility this area needs. It’s almost complete, and I’m going to manage it. For now, I’m managing my parents’ private practice.

“Yeah, I can see why you’d find that awkward. Find a doctor in another town.”

“There is nothing wrong with me,” I insist.

“I read this magazine article the other day—”

“I’ve already read it,” I cut in.

“You don’t know what I was going to say.”

“Listen, Terra.” It’s my turn to grip her forearm. “Your concern is sweet, and I know you mean well, but I’ve got a handle on this, okay? I’m sorting it out.”

“How?”

“I’m talking to a professional about it.”

That’s not a complete lie. I am talking to someone. A stranger. Several times a week in an online chat room. I don’t know if it’s accurate to call this person professional, but they write erotica, so I guess that’s some sort of qualification when it comes to orgasms. And whoever it is (I think it’s a guy) lives overseas so I’ll never have the humiliation of running into him. The anonymity gives me a wonderful sense of freedom.

I want to tell Terra that the “frisson” I’m looking for is real. I feel it when I log in to the chat room and find Doctor O is online.

Doctor O. Cheesy name, I know, but he’s fun, and so are the other chat room users.

“Good, I’m glad to hear you’re getting help. I hate to think of you missing out.”

“Terra. I love you. I always will. But this is my body, and my complication, and most of me wishes I’d never mentioned anything about it to you.”

Terra looks hurt. “I bought you another vibrator. It’s this new shape and the reviews say it—”

“Please, Terra, stop buying me things. Thanks to you, I have a larger sex toy collection than a dominatrix.”

“Well, just say if you want it.”

“Sure,” I say, draining my beer. “I’ve got to go. Farewell dinner for the parents.”

We stand together and hug. “Give your folks my love, and tell them to relax and have a great vacation,” Terra says.

“I will.”

***

We’re at the airport by ten the following morning. My parents have worked hard their entire lives, dedicating themselves to the primary care of the local residents and visitors to this region. Among a lot of things Queenstown is famous for, it’s a popular ski resort, and winter is one of the busiest times of the year. Joints, bones, cartilage and ligaments come in for some serious punishment on the ski slopes. This is the first winter my parents have had off since taking over the main medical practice twenty-five years ago. Their vacation takes them to the US and Europe to enjoy three months of summer.

Beside me, they’re bristling with nervous energy.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” I tell them. “Noah’s coming in on the flight which is twenty minutes away. You know all of this.”

“I worry that he may have missed his connection,” Mom says.

“He’s not that irresponsible teenager any more, Felicity,” Dad says. “If he’d missed a connection, he’d have been in contact.”

A message comes over the PA system. “They’re calling you to the gate,” I tell them. “You’re going to be the ones who miss your connection. Go, now. Have fun. Send postcards, and for heaven’s sake, don’t phone every day. I want you to forget about us. We’ll be fine.”

We link arms and make our way to the security area. Dad’s excited, and trying not to show it. Mom fusses about the impending bad weather. “We live in the mountains,” I tell her. “Storms are part of our lives. Go and enjoy your sunshine.” We kiss and hug goodbye—again—then they finally disappear through the door, waving all the way.

I head for the cafe to grab a coffee before Noah’s flight arrives. I was sixteen when he left to study emergency medicine in the US. I recall what a bad and handsome boy he was when he first showed up at our house with my brother, Cam. As a child, I found him somewhat intimidating. He’d been raised rough in what was little more than a hut halfway up a mountain, midway between Glenorchy and Queenstown. He had a father who liked cheap whisky and a mother who liked more home comforts than their spartan cabin provided. She left the region, and Noah, when he was a boy.

My parents saw something in Noah that most others couldn’t see. I’m not saying they turned him around in a year because it wasn’t like that. But they were patient with him, and nurtured him when other parents went no further than warning their sons about hanging out with a kid like him. Noah’s transformation was gradual, but he paid my parents back by earning a scholarship to medical school and graduating with honors—and a lot more tattoos than the ones he’d had when he first left town.

Medical school hadn’t entirely removed the bad from the boy.

I collect my coffee and take a seat at one of the large windows that look over the airport runway and the Remarkables mountain range behind. It’s a crystal-clear day, no sign of the storm Mom’s predicting. Commercial planes, private jets and helicopters come and go as if to prove Queenstown is a popular playground for everyone—rich, famous and ordinary. I find I’m holding my breath as my parents’ plane lifts off, then do the same when, minutes later, Noah’s plane touches down.

I haven’t seen him for seven years. When I was sixteen, I thought he was hot, and totally beyond reach. I wonder what I’ll think today.