‘Nothing broken I hope. In your box.’
‘I hope so too. Something came flying off the balcony and startled me,’ he complained. ‘I couldn’t see what it was, but I thought it was going to hit me.’
We both gazed upward. ‘I can’t see anything …’ I started to say, when Rick tapped my arm and pointed upward at the tree that grew outside his house.
There was another article of clothing, dangling from the branches, not that far above our heads, perfectly visible due to the street light. What was it? Finally, after a great deal of squinting I recognised it as that terrible old leopard skin thong, which Uncle Vic had given me for Christmas one year and which I had certainly never worn. Where on earth had Blake found that and why had he tossed it over the balcony?
‘Oh darling,’ whispered Strauss, still in ‘Queer Eye’ mode. ‘That’s a fashion faux pas.’
Blake was still ranting upstairs and I began to catch some of what he was saying. ‘I’ve never seen that underwear before. Why did you have it hidden away? Who do you wear it for? What other secrets are you …?’
He stopped mid-sentence. Then after a few moments, there was a murmur, then a regretful ‘oh’ above our heads. I looked up. Blake was staring down at us, shame-faced that Rick had witnessed his performance.
We all just stood there. No one seemed to know what to say. I didn’t dare look at Rick, so I stared at his shoes, which were a style of Campers I’d never seen before. It was Strauss who broke that terrible silence. ‘Welcome to the neighbourhood darl,’ he exclaimed brightly, and then strolled off down the street.
I stole a glance at Rick. Should I introduce myself and my demented boyfriend? The circumstances were so different from the welcome to the neighbourhood I had imagined. But before I could say anything, Rick had turned away, muttered a curt good night, and walked up to his own front door.
‘Good night,’ I called after him. ‘I’m … we’re … sorry …’
His front door closed with a resounding thud.
My head jerked up. I was so angry with Blake I probably would’ve given him a piece of my mind right there on the street, even if it did confirm to Rick and the neighbours that we were a couple of absolute harpies. But as I looked up, Blake flounced away inside, and the French doors were slammed shut with a thud which sounded just as final as that made by Rick’s door.
I had some explaining to do.
6
Chapter Five
I am not a morning person. The following day, when the doorbell sounded horribly early, I was deep in the fog of slumber. I managed to rouse myself enough to give Blake a kick—after all, he had to get up to go to work—then rolled over and sank back into sleep.
The next thing I knew, the bedroom lights had been rudely switched on without dimmers and Blake was clattering around the room. ‘Who on earth was at the door so early?’ I moaned.
‘Actually, it was 8am, so it wasn’t that early.’
‘Was it Eleanor?’
‘No, it was our new neighbour.’
That jolted me wide awake and I opened my eyes. Blake was ironing a shirt. ‘Rick? What did he want?’
Blake was intent on his ironing, avoiding looking at me. ‘To return your thong which he had to fish out of the tree with a broom …’
‘That thing is not really mine. It was a gift and one that was in exceptionally bad taste. I hope you made that clear.’
‘He did make a joke about it,’ Blake smirked, finally meeting my eye. ‘Asked if it was a relic from the Jungle Sleaze Ball. When was that? Sometime last century?’
I had attended the Jungle themed Sleaze Ball, though I certainly hadn’t worn anything like that to it … though now that I thought about it, Uncle Vic had. A leopard skin thong was exactly what he’d worn to that party. Surely he hadn’t recycled his nasty old costume as a Christmas gift to me? Though with Uncle Vic, anything was possible. I made a mental note to wrap it up as Vic’s gift for this Christmas.
I gave Blake a withering look. ‘Well, that was nice of him to retrieve it for me.’
Blake snorted. ‘Well I don’t think he wanted it hanging outside his house in case anyone thought it was his.’
I sighed. ‘Fair enough.’
It was then that I noticed Blake was clad in only a pair of blue boxer shorts. ‘Did you answer the door dressed like that?’ I asked sharply.
Blake nodded and shrugged.
‘Couldn’t you have been a little more modest? Half the street already thinks we’re flashers.’
‘Rick didn’t seem to mind,’ replied Blake a little too smugly for my liking. ‘Though I did put a tee shirt on when he came inside.’
‘He came inside?’
Blake turned the iron off, hung his pressed shirt on a hanger, then turned to me. ‘I invited him in for coffee. We’ve been downstairs for the past hour, having breakfast and chatting …’
‘What? Why didn’t you come and get me?’
‘Because you never want to get up in the mornings,’ retorted Blake. ‘Besides, I thought you’d hear us talking and come blundering down the stairs to see what was going on.’
I glanced at the bedside clock. It was almost nine. ‘You are very late for work,’ I said severely.
‘I know,’ winced Blake. ‘But it won’t matter this once.’
He tugged off his boxers and headed down the hall to the bathroom. I watched him walk off, not out of any erotic interest, but with a speculative eye. He had a certain spring in his step. He also seemed remarkably relaxed about getting to work which was very out of character. Blake had this precise morning routine prior to leaving the house. If I did anything to disrupt it, such as venturing into the bathroom when he wanted to use it, I was soundly berated. Yet, here he was, calm and serene, despite the fact that the bus he caught every morning had departed 26 minutes ago. Missing that bus usually meant a major tantrum. He would phone from the bus stop to blame me.
I could only deduce that he was exacting his revenge on me. Entertaining our new neighbour downstairs and deliberately allowing me to sleep through the proceedings was his way of getting back at me over the Bodyline indiscretion. It had been careless of me to leave that incriminating pass in my pocket. It had been pressed on me by Gabriel, this gorgeous Latin boy I’d met there, who’d written his number on the back. Usually, I would never accept a number but we’d chatted so easily after the sex—admittedly, what I’d said was all rubbish—and I couldn’t help wanting to continue our conversation. I’d thought that perhaps we might do so by phone. But evidently, I’d left his number in my pocket. I thought that I’d stashed it in my wallet.
I had attempted to talk to Blake about the situation last night, but when I’d reluctantly trudged up the stairs to face him, the bedroom door was closed and the light was off. I decided that perhaps it was best left for morning. His temper might have cooled a little by then. It also meant that I had more time to come up with a likely story. Sometimes I worried about Blake. He was appallingly gullible and believed the most unlikely tales that I told him. It was a testimony to my acting talent that he always believed me.
I sank back against the pillows and had a little doze, but was soon woken again by Blake stomping around the bedroom, in a haze of Calvin Klein Crave. Sleep was impossible. ‘I hope that appalling scene in the street hasn’t prejudiced Rick against us,’ I ventured.
Blake shrugged and pretended to be engrossed in choosing a tie. ‘Blake,’ I said loudly.
‘Actually, he was very sympathetic.’
At first, I didn’t understand what he meant. Then I realised that I had been blamed. Blake must have narrated my ‘alleged infidelity’ to our new neighbour. I sat up in bed, thoroughly alarmed. ‘Blake, what did you say? I hope you didn’t confide your deluded accusation to him.’
Blake just gave me a look.
‘What sort of first impression is that going to give him of us?’
‘You mean, of you,’ snapped Blake. ‘I think he has a perfectly nice impression of m
e.’
‘Blake how could you slander me like that? Without even talking to me first and letting me explain …’
‘What’s to explain? It’s obvious what you’ve done. Fucked with someone at Bodyline and taken their number so you could do it again. There was a phone number written on the back of that pass.’
I had my explanation all worked out. Gabriel had not written his name, just his number, so in theory it could be anyone’s number. ‘But that was Shaun’s number. You remember me talking about Shaun? I went out with him years ago, before I was with Ant. Anyway, I ran into him in the street. Hadn’t seen him for an eternity and so we swapped numbers. The only piece of paper he could find in his wallet to write on was that pass from Bodyline.’
‘Why didn’t you just put his number straight into your mobile?’ asked Blake stonily.
That stumped me for a moment. Blake usually didn’t ask questions or at least not any that I had difficulty answering. I gave him a sheepish smile to stall for time and allow inspiration to strike. ‘My phone was dead. You know how I always forget to charge it.’
Blake still looked sceptical. ‘Hon, if you don’t believe me we can call Shaun’s number and you can ask him.’
Blake hesitated for a moment, biting his lip. ‘I ripped it up.’
I’d been counting on Blake’s destructive streak and was 99 percent certain that the voucher had been shredded. I pretended to be annoyed and frustrated that I’d lost touch with Shaun all over again. ‘Though, I guess to be honest, I would never have gotten around to calling him,’ I concluded with a sigh.
Blake gave me a look which I couldn’t quite decipher. Was he still suspicious or just felt awkward that he’d jumped to conclusions? Then he turned his back on me and finished dressing.
‘So, were you too busy baselessly slagging me off, or did you happen to broach the subject of the renovations with Rick over breakfast?’ I asked.
Blake gave me a frosty look over his shoulder. ‘No, I thought that was best left to you. You’re so good at explaining things away.’
I decided to ignore that last comment. Blake probably just needed some time to digest my explanation, think things through, and calm down. ‘Oh well, I guess I can always pop next door and explain about the renovations,’ I remarked. ‘And at the same time clear up any misapprehensions he might be under.’
Blake didn’t reply and I snuggled back down beneath the duvet. That would be my task for the day, though first I needed to doze for just a little longer … I probably should have waited until Blake had left the house before doing that, as he turned on me again. ‘Do you intend to loll about in bed all day, instead of looking for a job?’ he demanded.
Obediently, I sat up and swung my legs out of bed. ‘Oh, is that the time. Of course, I should get up. Gee, I hope you don’t have to wait too long for your bus honey,’ I replied, all-concern.
‘Look for a job,’ he repeated, grabbing his jacket and heading for the stairs, ‘and clean the house. It was embarrassing having Rick over this morning when the place was such a tip.’
‘Yes hon,’ I called after him, as he ran down the stairs.
The front door slammed, and I sank back beneath the duvet. I was getting fed up with Blake nagging me about a job and also his presumption that all domestic responsibilities fell to me because I wasn’t working. He seemed to forget that he was living in my house and paying a token rent for the privilege … but this train of thought was interrupted by the sound of Blake laughing. I sat up and listened. Why was he dawdling outside our door, giggling, instead of rushing to the bus stop, all stressed and serious? I could distinctly hear his voice, though couldn’t make out the words. Who was he talking to? Surely not Rick again? I started across to the balcony, then realised I needed to put some clothes on, something sexy too, in case it was indeed Rick. I dashed across to my underwear drawer and yanked it open—empty. Today was laundry day which was another of my responsibilities as the unwaged of the household. The leopard skin thong sat alongside those black trousers on the bed as if begging to be donned. From outside, I heard Blake laugh again and then a man’s voice in reply. I snatched Blake’s wet towel up off the floor and draped it round my middle. I marched across the room and flung open the French doors, just in time to witness my boyfriend clambering into the passenger seat of the silver Mini. Meanwhile, Rick sauntered around to the driver’s door. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll have you there in no time. It’s my fault you’re late.’
Rick jumped in, started the car and any other conversation was lost to me. I watched the car pull out from the curb and tear down the street. Even after it had turned the corner, I stood there, lost in thought. Was that something spontaneous that had just happened on the street, or had Rick offered Blake a ride over breakfast? Going by Blake’s curiously relaxed attitude about getting to work, I suspected the latter. Though why hadn’t he mentioned it? I could only surmise that he was still aggrieved over my infidelity and being deliberately uncommunicative. Or simply competitive and wanting to forge a friendship with Rick first.
Just then, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Eleanor, the night owl from across the other side of the street. She was with her husband Arthur on their balcony and both of them were looking at me, with what could only be described as mounting relish. Did they imagine I was going to bare all to the street in broad daylight? I gave them a merry wave and ducked back indoors.
I tossed the towel, slipped into my robe and padded downstairs to investigate the scene of this breakfast tête à tête. But the only thing that was out of the ordinary was that Blake had actually put their mugs and plates into the dishwasher. I found them there. Usually, he left that for me to do. So was it to impress Rick that he was a good housewife, or to erase the evidence of their breakfast? Perhaps he’d even considered not telling me of Rick’s early morning visit.
My mobile was sitting on the kitchen table which prompted me to send Blake a text.
Stephen: Hope bus came quickly and traffic not hideous. xxx
While I waited for him to reply, I wandered into the living room and winced at the squalor. This was definitely not how I had envisaged that Rick would find us ‘at home’. The previous night, after Blake had stormed off to bed, I’d adjourned to the couch, finished off the champagne, treated myself to some ice cream and caught up on Paris Hilton’s latest antics in ‘NW’ magazine. The evidence remained, littered about the couch: the discarded Magnum wrapper, the empty champagne bottle, numerous scrunched-up tissues and that trashy magazine. I was aghast. Those magazines were banned from the coffee table when guests came over and approved reading material such as ‘Abercrombie and Fitch’ catalogues, ‘Vanity Fair’, and ‘Blue’ were artfully displayed instead. I did a circuit of the room. What other horrors might Rick have noticed?
My eyes fell upon the DVD player and suddenly those tissues by the couch made sense. I hadn’t been blowing my nose last night. Before I’d staggered upstairs to bed, I’d jerked off to ‘Manhattan Latin’. I prayed that I might have put it away afterwards, but no, there it was in full view, lying on the floor beside the TV. What was worse, however, was the fact that alongside in the cabinet, my entire erotic library was on display. Usually, this clandestine and rather comprehensive collection was hidden from view behind rows of conventional cinema DVDs and a false wall. But in my drunken haste to locate ‘Manhattan Latin’, I’d simply swept shelves of DVDs and the wall out onto the carpet. Even to my own eyes, the extent of my collection—the greatest works of Kristin Bjorn, Titan Studio, and Falcon—seemed rather vast and indicative of some grand obsession, or perversion.
It was galling to imagine the first impression that Rick might have formed of me. Nor would Blake, sulking over our misunderstanding, have said anything to correct these misperceptions. Plainly, I needed to salvage my reputation urgently. My mobile beeped and I snatched it up to retrieve the message.
Blake: Go 2 Coles and get something 4 dinner. Thx.
I couldn’t believe he had
responded to my thoughtful text with another order, and that he was still actively deceiving me about how he had travelled to work. If I didn’t know him better, I would almost suspect that my boyfriend was angling for another sort of ride.
I deleted the message and returned my attention to the problem of my sullied reputation. What could I do that would cast me in a more flattering light in Rick’s eyes? Surely, the fact that I was an actor, a celebrity even in certain circles, would impress him? Should I ask him over to watch some old episodes of ‘Sunnyside Street’? But even as I considered that option, an even better idea occurred to me, something which would show me off to much greater advantage. I would invite him to an exclusive screening of ‘Roman Holiday’.
I don’t mean the Audrey Hepburn film about an obscure European princess adopting a new identity in Rome, although it could be argued that this other version also features a couple of princesses. It is literally a Roman holiday: our holiday, Blake and I in Rome. It’s my current project. ‘Roman Holiday’ was devised, directed, produced and edited by me. I’m also the star. Blake was largely relegated to the role of cameraman, but that’s entirely appropriate given that I’m the one who’s a seasoned performer. It was filmed on our new Sony digital video camera which we bought duty free. Originally, I planned for the film’s narration to be in Italian (both Blake and I took lessons before the trip) with English sub-titles, but in the end, I decided that was a tad pretentious. There was also the consideration of those Leggos television commercials which have the same concept—I did not want any comparisons with Kerri-Anne Kennerley. Especially given the fact that I also spruik a tomato product on TV. The upshot was that my narration is in English, but the musical accompaniment is all Italian: Vivaldi, Cecilia Bartoli, Ennio Morricone, Mario Lanza and Madonna.