“YOU TWO HAD sex?”
The X-rated visions of Lenic that have been swimming around in my imagination all week, start blinking out of existence like popping balloons.
“No,” I deny to Cross. A little too much. Spooning a mouthful of the strawberry cheesecake Cross shouted, it occurs to me he is the kind of guy who brings it all down to the bottom denominator, making everything about sex.
Sitting across from him at a corner booth in Marge’s café, I look around and then glance back at him. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but we’re not close enough for you to be sitting here with me and acting like we’re girlfriends who lunch.”
“You’ve got that look is all I’m saying.” He glances at me suggestively. “I know that look.”
“Amazing. Only a two minutes conversation and you know me better than I know myself. You should know — it’s quite obnoxious when a guy’s ego gives him false authority to tell a girl he knows her better than she knows herself. How’s your relationship with your right hand going, by the way?”
He chuckles, setting his black coffee down on the table. “Bit of a sprain, but we’re still solid.”
“I’m ecstatic for you both.”
I wipe the corners of my mouth and peer out of the window, watching the afternoon crowd mill around Saint Mary’s Square. I spot Pigeon Girl sitting in her usual seat. I see her nearly every day. Near enough when the clock strikes twelve, she comes and sits by the fountain and feeds the pigeons for an hour.
You’re not allowed to feed the birds, but I don’t have the heart to tell her. Her perpetual expression of melancholy is heart breaking. Meek and timid, she is hunched over like she’s permanently apologising to the world for existing. It hits a chord with me. No one should feel worthless.
“Are you really telling me there isn’t something a little more to you and Big Man, other than friends?”
Cross’ question draws me back to the café. I sense something strange in the pit of my stomach as I try to dismiss the memory, try to turn my mind to something else, but I am fighting a losing battle. And there it is again, the tangible memory of Lenic’s body hard-pressed against mine, kissing me, invading my senses. I remember it all: every movement, every breath, every tick of his Rolex watch … everything that happened is impressed into the memory of my skin. I can never forget it.
My cheeks flush bright under the warmth of the café, and I do my hardest to bite back the I-heart-Lenic smile creeping on my lips as Cross studies me like a hawk.
I shake my head, and bite down on my bottom lip, not trusting myself to speak with the vision of Lenic’s body still burning in my mind, the taste of his tongue still entwined with mine.
Oh dear, now I am sure Cross suspects something and I also know if I start denying it, he will smell a rat and call me on it. So I shove three mouthfuls of cheesecake into my mouth, all at once. Gesturing to my mouth with a pointed index finger, I indicate my lack of ability to reply to his question, my eyes telling him I'd really love to discuss this further, when all I want to do is dine and dash.
He runs a finger around the rim of his coffee mug. “He told me you’ve been having breakfast at his for the last week.”
Since the kiss, every morning when Lenic returns from his early run, we sit out on the deck of his boat for breakfast, and fill the time with general small talk and our usual banter. I wouldn’t say we were BFF, but I enjoy his company. And unless he is a glutton for punishment, he seems to return the sentiment.
I swallow the heavy load of cheesecake in my mouth. “Was there another reason you wanted to meet up, other than discussing if my sexual needs are being fulfilled?” I pick up the crumbs that have fallen onto my strapless black-and-white gingham summer dress.
“As his manager and trainer, I should order you to take those videos down.” My body tenses and I glance up at him. He sits back in his seat, crosses his arms. “But I won’t.” I feel my shoulders relax. I should count my lucky stars. He would be well in his rights to force my hand.
“Thank you. I appreciate it.” I smile across at him. “How come?”
He nods, looking thoughtful. “Let me be perfectly honest with you. There’s no such thing as bad publicity. And Lenic’s got a charity fight coming up soon. Tickets sold out in less than an hour after that video of him in the shower went up.” I nod in understanding. “But that’s not the real reason.” Pausing, he eyes me while parking his elbows on the table, and stabs a finger at me. “You’re the reason.” My brow lifts. Before I can respond, he beats me to it. “You’re more than pretty, but it’s deeper than that. You bring something long dead out of him.”
He shakes his head in disbelief and peers out of the window. I am a little too shocked to say anything as I listen to the steamy hiss of the coffee machine and the clatter of plates and cutlery.
His gaze drifts back to me. “The guy doesn’t smile let alone laugh these days. Didn’t think he had it in him. It’s because of you, I tell you.”
Fair enough Lenic’s laughter is once in a blue moon, but I think Cross is over-exaggerating. “He isn’t as bad as you’re making him out to be. I’ve seen him smile a fair bit.” He eyes me with a see-my-point look.
“Keep doing what you’re doing. I’ve not seen him this happy or interested in a chick for a long time.” He shakes his head and sighs. “The man deserves it. Sexy bastard saved my life, more than a few times.”
My interest is suddenly piqued. “How long has it been for him?” I try to mask the desperation in my voice.
The corner of his mouth turns up. I can’t hide anything to save my life. “Long enough I was thinking about calling the RSPCP.”
“What’s the RSPCP?”
“Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Penises.” I laugh out loud, Cross following suit. “He's never been a promiscuous kind of guy,” he adds, his shoulders still shaking from his laughter. “He’s sort of old-fashioned when it comes to the ladies.”
Brooke, our waitress, stops by our table and offers us a refill. A little younger than me, she has bright green eyes and shoulder-length copper hair. She fills the mug in front of Cross and tops mine to the brim, giving me a warm smile. Cross doesn’t get the same treatment.
I thank Brooke for the coffee and notify her that I’m not on a date with Cross. Her shoulders sag with relief. Poor girl. She’s got it pretty bad. I invite her to join me on a girls’ night out soon.
Cross shuffles in his seat, at least showing her the courtesy of looking uncomfortable. He tries to appease her with a smile. Brooke huffs, turns on her heels, and struts off, the clicking of her shoes on the floor sounding behind her.
I give him a pointed look. “Ring her.”
“We went out on a couple of dates a long time ago. We didn’t click — and I never slept with her.” I shake my head, narrowing my eyes in suspicion. “I’ve just got cheated on because my ex girlfriend couldn’t resist putting Mr Whippy in her mouth,” he moans. “Gimme a break.”
“Lenic told me you were only dating Alice for three months.”
“It was three months and five days … Look, I really was beginning to get serious about Alice…” He sips his coffee and shrugs. “I’d like to ring your sexy French friend. There’s just something about her...”
I cough out a laugh. “Keep dreaming. She might not be able to handle her drink, but she’s classy … when she isn’t drunk. And still way out of your league.” He fits her type of trouble with a capital T, but I think Jack Cross’ box should sweat a little before it is opened.
“Come on, it’s obvious she can’t get enough of me.”
I cross my arms on the table and lean forwards. “Take my advice, Cross, quit the cheesy pick-up lines. Or the only relationship you’re going to get with my friend is with your imagination and your fiancée.” I point to his right hand.
“Noted.”
“If you’re not serious about my friend, you mess her around…” I glance over at Brooke. “…I’ll make you sorry you were ever born. Do we understand each other?” He gives me a knowing smile. “What?”
“You and Lenic … you’re more alike than you both realise.”
Cross pays the bill and we part ways outside the café, after I thank him again for treating me to lunch. I start to walk in the direction of my house when Cross calls out, “Wait up.” I wait as he approaches. “Don’t tell Lenic we met for lunch.”
“And why would I want to do that?”
“The only reason we met in public is because Lenic’s in Canada visiting his parents. If he asks, this never happened.”
I laugh and nod my agreement. I don’t have the heart to tell him that word spreads like wildfire in this neighbourhood, and that I think he should probably emigrate when Lenic finds out.
He hesitates on the spot. “Listen, I've got nothing to gain from not being on the level with you. I'm not trying to score points to get into your friend’s underwear. I'm just saying it like it is. You’re good for him. In a sick twisted way, your humiliating videos are bringing him out of his misery.”
I don’t know why, but it suddenly feels like Cross is putting a lot of pressure on me. I blow out a frustrated breath. “I told you, nothing’s going on.”
“Then be a friend. Don’t let his ice exterior scare you. His bark is worse than his bite. He’ll try and push you away, Felicity, but I think you’re the first person who won’t let him.”
When Cross leaves for the gym, I take in a deep breath and let it out, falling into a world of confusion. How can I tell him what I don't know? It is hard to explain your feelings, especially when they don’t make any sense, and that is the problem.
Ready to edit my bikini haul video, I make my way across the Square and notice Pigeon Girl is still hunched over by the fountain. She is tall and thin, dressed in leggings and a short leather jacket. Covered from head to toe, I wonder why she isn’t sweating in this summer heat.
Now that she is barely centimetres away, I realise how pretty she is, even with her wan complexion. Her brown eyes are big and her long hair is golden blonde.
“You OK?” I ask her in a gentle voice.
Her whole body flinches. I detect more than just a note of alarm. I see panic and fear. I recognise it, because I know it. I’ve felt it, lived it.
She looks up at me. She’s got that wary look on her face that dogs get when they've been kicked one too many times. My eyes are immediately drawn to her arm when she pulls on the sleeve of her jacket, but her movement isn’t quick enough to hide her fresh bruise. I grind my teeth.
Some bastard is hurting her.
Her eyes dart to the left then right before she barely focuses on me again. “Yes,” she sniffs, staring at her boots.
I sit down on the bench beside her, because I don't really want to leave her all alone. She seems ready to break into a million pieces.
“Hi, I’m Felicity.” She acknowledges me with a hesitant smile. “Nice day, isn't it?” She seems on edge, remaining quiet. I dig into my bag, pulling out my take-out muffin. Breaking pieces off with my fingers, I throw them towards a group of pigeons. “Local Council don’t permit people to feed the pigeons but don't tell anyone, I like to feed them.”
It’s not untrue. I eat enough bakery goods out on Saint Mary’s Square that the crumbs alone should feed a hundred of them.
“Are you the girl who’s on YouCube?” she murmurs, giving me another one of those brave smiles that don't even take the edge off of the hurt that's plain in her eyes.
I raise a warm smile. “Yes, that’s me. Do you watch my channel?” She nods, chewing on her bottom lip. “Well, I hope you like them. What’s your name?”
“Rose.”
Somehow, I manage to persuade her to have a cup of tea at my place so she can have a wander around my studio. She just sits there on my sofa, silently, hunched over like a hedgehog rolling into a protective ball. I can almost see the protective spikes she is trying to put out. Even so, I sit down next to her.
“So,” I begin, watching her hands tremble as she picks up her mug, “you live in Stonebrook?”
All of a sudden, she puts her teacup haphazardly down on the table. Tea spills over the rim of the cup onto the table.
“I-I should go. I’m sorry. I remember I need to get back.” She shoots up and heads for the front door. “Thank you for the tea. I’m sorry I—”
I reach for her arm, only to have her flinch and pull away. “I’m sorry, I know it’s none of my business,” I tell her in a rush, “but if you need a place, if you need to get away from whatever, I can help you.”
She keeps her eyes on me, searching for proof of deception. “Why would you do that? You don’t know me.” Her tone is more bewildered than offended, as I would have expected.
I place my hand over hers in a comforting manner and raise a smile. “I can help you.”
Rose leaves my home, the door shutting with a quiet click behind her. I watch her walk away with her head down. I let out a sigh.
You can’t help someone until they help themselves.
‘I’VE NOT SEEN him this happy in a long time ... In a sick twisted way, your humiliating videos are bringing him out of his misery.’
Sitting by the computer in my studio, the conversation with Cross at the café resonates in my head. Lenic is like a two-sided coin. On one side, he grins lopsidedly and delivers the occasional joke. On the other side — the one that faces up more often than not — he wears a permanent stormy look on his face. It is a more serious and darker side, where he has a boatload of baggage dragging behind him like a boat anchored to sea.
It is a connection I’ve found between us. Once upon a time, I’d been the serious silent type. The haunted pain in his eyes was once mine. But I had Grandpa Joe to help lift me up. He taught me that laughter is the key to happiness.
I want to pass on that favour.
The first time I saw Lenic’s dark eyes light up, really light up, was when he laughed in my studio after our live-streaming showdown.
If I keep doing what I am doing, as Cross suggested, maybe Lenic will finally let go of whatever is anchoring him down to a perpetual state of misery.
This might backfire, but it seems to me that this is the only way to get him to find the fun side of life.
I start to feel a buzzing sensation building up inside my chest as I press down on the record button on my camera, perch myself on top of my chair, and start recording my new video for The Tempest playlist.
“It has recently been disclosed that Lenic Reevus lives and rides a boat. A big boat. Aside from the fact that this is strange for a grown man to want to purchase and live on something that so closely resembles a penis, rumours are arising around what he could possibly be ... compensating for. A local expert on male sexual behaviour has described such vehicles as the ‘little dick complex’, whereby men who obviously lack horsepower in other areas, try to make up for it with their phallic-shaped cars. But Lenic had to go one bigger. He chose to buy a phallic-shaped home … Maybe, he has a lot more to compensate for than the average man…”