1.
Eddie
Of course she’s late. She’s always late.
I go to take another sip of the cappuccino in front of me and realise the cup is empty. I’ve been here almost half an hour. I really can’t wait much longer.
But it’s Lucy.
I’ve been her friend forever. She’s known me for years, ever since we met at university. And she sounded strange on the phone. Really strange. Something is definitely up. I can’t abandon her. If the tables were turned she would wait for me. I know that. The pain in the arse thing about that is that the tables would never be turned. I am never late. And she always is. Even when I try to arrive late I seem to get there five minutes early.
But Lucy… she’s something else.
I glance at the time on my phone. Five minutes. I’ll give her five more minutes.
The coffee shop she’s chosen to meet me in isn’t busy, and there really is only so long I can people watch. I don’t understand how that can be a pastime. People simply aren’t that interesting. I’m not being egocentric or anything, I know I’m no different. I’m not some amazing, fascinating specimen of humanity. But nor is anyone else.
I pick up my phone and start flicking through it. Half an hour seems like such a long time. I can’t even motivate myself to play another game of Candy Crush. I check Facebook, but unsurprisingly nothing has changed in the last 10 minutes. Just as I am about to load the Independent’s news pages, my phone beeps.
A message from Cassie. Another one. The woman cannot take a hint. I’ve been giving her the virtual cold shoulder for almost a week now but she doesn’t seem to notice.
I sometimes wish I were the type of guy who could break up with a girl face to face. If I wasn’t such a fucking coward I could say in all honesty, “It’s not you, it’s me. I don’t do commitment. I thought you understood that when we got involved.”
And it’s true; at the beginning they all understand. Every last one of them is fully aware of the situation. I’m careful to use the phrase “no strings attached” and they all seem down with that. Some of them actually are, and that’s great; two consenting adults having a bit of fun, passing the time or whatever.
It’s the other ones I can’t bear. It’s the ones who have watched one too many Sandra Bullock films or read one too many bloody romance novels. It’s the ones who think that I am “brooding” and “troubled” and that they can “change me” or “tame me” or whatever. I’m not brooding or troubled. I am a guy who likes sex. It really is that simple. I’m not a glittery fucking vampire who watches women sleep like it’s a perfectly normal thing to do and not totally creepy. Nor am I some egotistical, misogynist businessman with a penchant for beating women. I don’t need to be changed or tamed. I am happy just the way I am. I don’t need someone else to “complete me”.
But it doesn’t matter how many times I spell it out to these women, they don’t seem to get it. I can say, “no strings attached” until I am blue in the face. But all they’ll see is their own personal romantic story, with themselves at the heart of it and me as the reluctant anti-hero who will, eventually, fall for them before getting down on one knee. That’s what they all want, a wedding proposal. And for some unknown reason they think I am the one to give it to them and are then surprised when I don’t.
Again, I am not egotistical. This is simply my life. The price I pay for sex.
Cassie is a case in point. When we met at a friend’s party she was relaxed, easy going, laughed at all the right things, showing the right amount of cleavage and leg to look appealing without putting it all on display. And I said, “no strings attached”. More than once. I even rolled out “I’m not looking to settle down” a couple of times. But it clearly fell on deaf ears, because now I am getting texts from her asking if I’ll be her date for a family wedding. No. Absolutely not. I have not been in contact with the woman for over a week and then it wasn’t much more than civil.
I know I should respond. If I were a “nice guy” I would make an excuse. I can’t that weekend, that kind of thing. But I must not be a “nice guy” because I can’t bring myself to lie to her. I can’t lie to any of them.
Telling the truth doesn’t help because they don’t want to hear it. By this stage in the game it’s way too late for the truth. If they didn’t hear me say it at the beginning, or have forgotten or decided they are somehow exempt, then they are too far gone to hear it now.
The trouble is I’m not good at spotting the point of no return. So instead, when shit hits the fan, like it did when Cassie started getting mushy last week, I cut them off. It may seem harsh, but at least then they can hate me and move on, rather than stringing them along like other guys do.
I know that not all women are like this. Perhaps even most aren’t. But it’s one of those cases of the few spoiling it for the many.
As a result, I’m not friends with many women. It’s easier that way; fewer mistakes, fewer unnecessary complications, fewer fucking headaches. Lucy is one of the only exceptions.
“Eddie!”
I look up to see the woman herself bounding towards me. Backpack slung over one of her cardigan-covered shoulders. Her black, wavy hair is pulled up in a messy bun as it always is.
“I’m so sorry I’m late.” I can see that she is. The apology is written in her eyes, which peer out at me through thick, black-rimmed glasses. She throws her bag into the back of the seat opposite me and starts rifling through it until she pulls out her purse, triumphant. “Can I get you a drink or a cake or something to make up for it?”
I smile at her because I simply can’t help it. She’s one of those people that could bring a smile to anyone’s face. I don’t know how she does it. “That’s alright.” I gesture at my now empty mug and she winces.
“Shit. I really am so sorry. Do you mind waiting another 30 seconds more while I…” Lucy points towards the counter.
I wave her away. “Do what you need to do. I have time.”
She smiles for the first time since she arrived and I feel something inside me relax. I watch as she places her order, pointing at the cakes and laughing along with the barista serving her.
When she finally sits down she seems far less flustered than when she arrived. She pushes a white chocolate and raspberry muffin in my direction. “To say I’m sorry,” she says. Her brown eyes are large and remorseful.
I laugh. “You really didn’t have to. You forget; I know you. I wouldn’t expect you to be on time.” I rip off a bit of the muffin and eat it. It’s really good. Chocolate and raspberry are one of my favourite food combinations; sweet and juicy with bit of bitterness from the chocolate. I don’t think there’s much that could top it. But of course, she knows this. She knows me too well. “Thanks though.”
The barista brings her coffee over and we chat about the season finale of Game of Thrones. She’s read the books and I haven’t, so naturally there are some disagreements, but only good-natured. After a while I say, “But you didn’t call me to talk about Cersei Lannister, did you?”
Her demeanor changes completely. Where a moment ago she was laughing and joking, she suddenly draws back inside herself. It’s weird. I’ve not seen her like this ever. She doesn’t say anything, avoiding my eyes and picking at the crumbs from her lemon drizzle cake.
“Luce? What’s wrong?” I don’t like this at all.
Her teeth are planted firmly in her bottom lip as she looks up at me. She shakes her head. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“Then what’s going on?” I care about Lucy. She’s one of my only female friends. Actually. Come to think of it she might be my only female friend. The only one I care about at any rate. I lean forward. “Please tell me. You sounded so upset on the phone and I don’t like seeing you like this.”
She takes a deep breath, her eyes still locked with mine, as though she’s gearing herself up for something. I stay very quiet, certain that even the smallest movement will make her retreat. Finally she says, “I need your help.”
“Anything.” I answer quickly, without a moment’s thought. “What do you need?”
“Hang on.” She holds up a hand in front of me as if to slow me down. “Don’t agree yet. You don’t know what I’m going to ask you, and honestly, I wouldn’t blame you if you said no. Hell, I’d be amazed if you said yes.” She looks back at the table shaking her head. “But I have to ask. I’m running out of options…”
“What?” What can she possible have to ask me that I’d say no to?
Her brown eyes meet mine once more and I can see the fear and anticipated rejection in them. Whatever she asks I’ll say yes to. It has her so worked up, how can I not?
“I want you to have sex with me.”