One Night at The Club 01:14 May 05 2012
Times Read: 675
Introduction:
One’s memory is fragmented at the best of times and when you think back to certain events, it is rarely in a linear fashion.
So it was, when he thought back to the past and a time when they had little, but one another and that’d been enough, for him.
It wasn't as though he didn't think of the good times: he just found the bad much easier to recall, because of the emotional impact that they’d had upon him.
Yet societies conventions dictated that as a man he shouldn't feel as he did, but that was impossible. There had been a time when his had been the way of the macho-male, when he'd been cold and quite unfeeling...
But, that was before, whilst this was now... his heart had been torn from him and he felt bereft at its loss.
* * *
Early in the evening Aaron had decided to go for a walk.
As he’d prepared to go out he pressed play on his tape deck: and Thin Lizzy blared, loud, 'as they should be heard,' he thought.
Then when the album had got to the track 'Don't believe a word' he'd thought of her.
When he’d heard the lines, "'Coz words can tell lies," he turned off the sounds, even though he wasn't ready to go out, yet.
What he'd heard was too near the mark - he didn't want to hear anymore.
Standing in the centre of the flats main room, wondering where his keys where, he turned slowly, thinking. She was everywhere. He had to get out.
Then, stepping onto the street, he’d mused, "this is probably as good as it gets."
There’d been a clear sky and the only star visible so far, the North Star.
He’d listened to the quiet walking toward town.
Looking up he’d seen dark clouds in the sky moving rapidly toward him.
Then feeling droplets fall on his forehead he’d looked upward, as it began to rain a fine drizzle that quickly soaked his clothes.
'Perfect,' he’d considered, 'just perfect. S'pose that sets the seal on the night?'
He had heard and disliked many of the various helpful platitudes that'd been heaped upon him. Things like, 'time heals and 'you can move on.'
But they irritated, because he’d wanted to know how could he move on and let time heal, when he didn't want to do that? He couldn't, it was as simple as that.
And, although Aaron felt the urge to cry, he could not, as he had cried the last of his tears away, such a long time ago.
People, he scorned them all, especially those who smiled, as they walked hand in hand together.
Although he’d left the flat, Aaron hadn't left the memories behind, which annoyed him, aware as he was of how he’d decided to live and the path he'd chosen: a social-pariah, the self-absorbed baggage carrier, Aaron allowed himself to smile at this self-analysis.
He was after all, his own worst critic, of everything that he did.
Beneath the lean young man’s feet the rain-slick cobblestones provided little purchase for his shoes, so he walked with slow measured steps.
He had taken a short cut, through an alley leading away from the cities bustling nightlife.
Then, from the corner of his right eye watched a couple approach.
They’d passed hand in hand and very much in love, so Aaron thought, feeling jealous as he watched them walk, aware how sad that made him seem.
The rain continued to fall as he’d walked streets that were now almost empty, which suited him. It began to make his coat sodden as time grew by and this also suited him and his current mood. Then, when night had fallen and dim yellow street lamps cast the only light, Aaron sighed, realizing the exercise might be good for him, but the damp was starting to chill his bones.
Yet although he’d sought solace in his own company, the four walls were sometimes just too much, hence the walk. But, her presence filled his mind.
Vengeance wasn't an issue, he'd told himself, walking back to his home.
How he had felt, during that time, way back when, was that the world had been his.
And now, he turned the key, to open the door to his world, where he felt safe and secure, away from all that he cannot trust.
He brewed a pot of fresh coffee and picking up a book, considered his past, once again, wondering whether it had been worth it: unable to vilify the actions of the other; who had left him feeling betrayed.
But it’d hurt so; after all the time and energy invested, he’d considered, as he sat in his worn, favourite armchair.
Setting his alarm clock, so as to be ready early for the next day... he turned on the boob-tube, to ignore all that was outside his front door... and soon, the charms of the flickering light lost their appeal and his tired eye-lids won their battle to close. He was asleep.
* * *
The Day Before the Night
A lot of people had passed Aaron Mason since he left the house.
‘It's a busy day,’ he reminded himself, ‘my Giro Day and it’s half-day closing’
And today, he was to claim the money, which the state said he needed to live, which wasn't very much he considered, walking to the post office.
His mind distracted with thoughts of how his benefit would be budgeted he had not noticed the passing young woman's brown eyes flash with a moment's recognition as they passed in the street.
In the post office he’d waited patiently in the queue to cash his Giro-cheque. Then with money in his pocket he’d left, to begin the day properly.
First he’d visited the nearest newsagents, to buy a newspaper, tobacco and papers. Then he did his shopping, purchasing food from Sainsbury's, for the quality, as he appreciated good food; although didn’t cook as much as he used to...
Next he’d bought his toiletries and cleaning products from the nearby SuperSaver store, as the prices weren't too bad.
Then after taking his shopping home Aaron had a quick coffee, putting every purchase away in it's in respective home; something he had learnt to do since he has been on his own, as it did make life a lot more convenient, he'd found. Then checking the change in his pocket, he’d said aloud, "Good, I've got enough. There's a drink to be had."
So, he’d boarded a bus, taking him out of town, to the coast, where he sometimes walked the promenade, to enjoy the fresh air.
On the front was a pub and still having some money left Aaron walked in for a whiskey, surveying the quiet bar for anything that could be interesting. There was little to see, or hear though, as it was lunch-time, mid-week and the few patrons in the bar sat quietly nursing their half-glasses, of mild, or bitter, for as long as possible.
He’d drank his scotch on the rocks slowly, his memory on the past, as it often was, when he looked up toward the clock to check the time, thinking, "I don't know why I bother... it's not as if I've got anywhere to go."
Looking around the bar at its customers, he’d wondered if they have lives to lead more interesting than his.
Then smiling he considered they must, "after all, I exist, that's all," he mused sadly.
"You got anything special to do tonight?" He’d heard a voice ask.
Looking up from his drink Aaron had stared balefully at the barman, asking him,
"You mean me?"
"Yeah course," the jovial sounding fellow responded, adding, "gloomy you may look... but, you're alive and this is Saturday night. C’mon. This is your life, not a book."
The barman’s smile had widened as he finished speaking, "Whoa, I'm rhyming... well, at least... half of the time..."
Aaron had grinned a little in response and said, "Yeah maybe, But, you had to work on that one."
"It doesn't matter, the points made, isn't it? You should go out, get out there: see what’s there, otherwise you’ll be wondering, what if, won’t you?"
"Yeah, I guess... well maybe..." the young man muttered, staring into his drink once again.
"Maybe Chris had been right?" he’d mused.
"Maybe I should get out more. What was he had said?"
"It's good! You'll enjoy it. There's loads of totty there."
"But it was a club,' he'd thought answering simply, "It's a club and I don't do clubs."
"Don't be silly," his friend had responded smiling, "you don’t know, you might just like it. You just don’t know"
Perhaps he might, but that’d entail being sociable and not only did he not "do" clubs, he also didn't "do" sociable.
That should have been the end of it, although it had been an evasive answer he realised. But, what else could he say?
The conversation had become irritating and what was worse was that he did want to go out, find company, perhaps even enjoy the odd drink, or two. But, he thought, it was hard to out with one’s guard down and possibly run the risk of being hurt once again.
So, he'd told his friend, "Okay, I'll think about it..."
And that should have been the end of it.
Aaron looked up at the smiling bartender, polishing a glass with a tee-towel, finished his drink and left the pub, to continue walking down the promenade, his mind on what he would do, if he had the money to spare.
A bright sun and an almost cloudless blue sky served to lift Aaron Mason from his usual grey mood.
He still looked around himself, as had become his custom, so distrustful had he become. But, this fine day, his actions owed more to established habit, rather than paranoia.
There was a sigh of a wind, which had caught at his hair, blowing a long dark fringe into his eyes. Aaron brushed his hair to the side, breathing deeply, walking slowly, casually, looking around cautiously, filled with an air of expectation.
Then, as if to break the spell of the moment, a gull, circling overhead, cried, as if in triumph, leaving a deposit...
Aaron had scowled for a moment, before saying aloud, "See, distract yourself, for a sec, with thoughts of how nice a day it is and..."
Looking upward, he’d grinned, pronouncing, "And it drops on you..."
Aaron had turned back to the rail and looked down to the river below, musing, "Where does it come from... ? Where does it go to?"
And removing a white linen handkerchief from the left rear pocket, in his coal-back straight leg jeans, wiped the white discharge trailing down the right side of his brown leather jacket, muttering, "Ah well, they say it's lucky."
Then, having cleaned the mess as best as possible, Aaron resumed his walk with the sun so bright overhead he’d lowered his gaze.
It was as he walked, head lowered and eyes downcast, that he’d caught a fleeting image his brain registered as interesting. So, Aaron retraced his path several paces, to see what he has missed. Incredibly, there just before his right boot tip was what looked like a note, purple and brown, partly embedded between a crack in the roads surface...
Reaching down, he’d picked up the paper and unfurled it carefully; both surprised and delighted, to find that it was what he'd hoped that it would be, a twenty-pound note.
“Hmm,” he mused aloud, “more lilac I think.”
* * *
Then, after his find Aaron had continued walking, deliberating on his good fortune, suddenly aware of how fine a day it actually was.
His mood was far lighter than usual; so much so that he had smiled at the couple walking toward him, their heads inclined inwards, his right hand holding her left.
He considered the note sitting in his front right pocket and smiled.
"It isn't a lot to some people," he’d said wryly, saying it aloud so as to hear how the words sounded, with what could be approximated as a grin on anyone else, "but, it could mean at least a good night out for me. It's not as though I can't afford to spend it,” he told himself, adding, "all my bills are paid."
But, it had been so long since Aaron Mason had been out for the night that he'd forgotten why he had decided to stop doing so anymore.
For a moment he’d thought of the place that Chris had been trying to entice him to try out, sure that he'd said the club was open tonight.
"But I don't do clubs anymore," he’d muttered.
Aaron Mason was indecisive at the best of times, but this was a dilemma.
He couldn’t think of any justifiable reason for staying in tonight.
"I can't believe it," he’d mused, "things like this don't happen to me."
The smile had slipped from his face, as he’d thought, 'this is bad. I've got so used to my lack of a social life that just the idea of going out for the nights got me really worked up.'
Yet, that evening had found him at the biggest of three clubs on the front, nervous and sweating at the mere idea of being around a lot of people.
"I'm not sure about this, just not sure at all," he’d told himself, on joining the throng of people slowly forming a line outside the main doors.
The doorman, who’d been standing at the entrance to the club was a big fellow, dressed in a black zip-up puffa-jacket, coal black jeans and heavy boots. It was the uniform of his trade - an occupation that in less politically correct times would have labelled the man, 'bouncer.'
As Aaron had neared the front of the queue his gut tightened and his pulse quickened.
The doorman wore gold-framed John Lennon glasses, which he’d pulled to the tip of his squat nose. Then squinting, the big man peered at Aaron over his glasses.
He’d smiled and said, "Are you going in dressed like that?"
Aaron realized that he wasn't dressed in the height of fashion, whatever that was. He’d brushed his light fair hair, had a shave and used his Denim aftershave. He’d felt smart and when he'd looked in the mirror, prior to leaving, that's how he thought he looked.
"What do you mean?" He’d asked, a little embarrassed at being singled out like this.
"Well, put it this way granddad, you'll have... an interesting night!"
"But I can go in?" Aaron had asked, hesitantly.
"Sure whatever," the doorman replied, "go in. Have fun."
He’d smirked, as Aaron had blushed.
"Er, thank you, I think." He'd responded, quickly walking past the big man and through the heavy fire doors, into the club.
He’d walked through the foyer where he paid his entrance fee and had the back of his left hand stamped with a smudged, barely legible Chinese dragon, within a circle.
The sound of the dance music assailed his ears as he’d opened two swing doors and with little regard to the density of the crowd Aaron made a bee-line for the bar and the barman, who’d smiled brightly at his approach.
He’d worn a tee-shirt with the club’s name and logo emblazoned across the chest.
As he’d poured the requested whiskey, Aaron glanced to either side of himself, feeling conscious of the youth of the people around him and reflected in the mirror, as he bellied up against the bar, grasping at the edging, his knuckles white.
He’d been nervous of being amongst so many people and wary of the eyes of others watching him.
Then, with drink in hand Aaron found a 'spec by the wall where he could watch and assume what he considered a cool stance: leaning with his upper back against the wall, feet crossed at the ankles.
As Aaron had watched he’d seen through the mask that each of them wore.
He observed the meat-market, as young women paraded themselves for the young bucks, vying with each other for their attention.
Aaron watched the young males strut and preen themselves, like male Peacocks, he thought; as they hoped that their look would be the one that caught the eyes of a possible mate, for the night, or perhaps longer; whilst the women in turn seemed to lap up their behaviour and encourage it.
He’d begun to watch one young man, slim built, with fair hair, whose posturing had paid dividends, it seemed.
The object of his attentions had been a young lady of Latin extraction, with long dark hair, worn with a red elasticised band drawing it loosely together at the nape of the neck.
Her eyes had danced with energy as she had sensed his interest.
She’d accepted a drink, turning away from her friends with a toss of her hair and Aaron smiled as she touched her admirers arm as she’d sought to make a point during their conversation. Her flirtatious manner amused him as he’d noted how readily the young man revelled in her attention.
She’d pointed to her empty glass and he’d taken the hint, leaving her to buy another.
"He might learn." Aaron had muttered, sipping at his whiskey.
Borne of his own experiences, his cynicism was not a trait he relished.
Aaron had wanted to be proven wrong, yet was not surprised when the young woman returned to her friends, drink in hand, completely ignoring the attentive young man, who’d stood alone feeling humiliated in front of his peers.
"He might learn." Aaron had muttered again, looking away from the scene and toward the dance-floor.
Most are female he notices, aware they are being watched and enjoying it.
There was a lot of flesh on display from those dancing and Aaron turned to briefly glance in a mirror at how he was dressed, before seeking the sanctuary of the bar once more.
The scantily-clad young people have made him suddenly very aware of everyone of his thirty-five years and he'd smiled at his reflection, considering, 'Perhaps I am just a tad over-dressed for this place.'
It was the discovery of the twenty pound note and his friends suggestion that he 'get out' that had brought him to this club and since his entrance he'd avoided eye contact with anyone: he had found himself stood at the bar, drink in hand, occasionally looking around himself, still apprehensive at being there, whilst wanting to be there, for the distraction from the everyday, if nothing else.
Moments after he’d returned to the bar a young woman had taken her place at his left.
She’d heard him ordering his drink, a scotch and said to the young man serving their end of the bar, "I'll have the same... as him."
Then from the corner of his eye he’d become aware of the slim young woman to his left, whose gaze seemed to be fixed intently on him, which made him even more nervous. He’d found her interesting though, as she’d she surveyed her surroundings in the same way he did, scanning for any possible threat.
Continuing to glance surreptitiously to his left, between sips, he’d drunk his whiskey, noticing her eyes, the deepest brown that he'd ever seen, staring at him with an intensity he’d found difficult to comprehend and that had disturbed him.
‘She stares likes she knows me,’ he’d thought.
"Don't look over again," Aaron had muttered, half-hoping that she would.
"I'm your worst nightmare young lady, the bitter ex of a girl who'd told me that I could trust her and that she 'wasn't like all the others.'"
His was a happy world.
Then, she’d caught him staring at her and he knew it.
"I haven't seen you here before," she said aloud.
‘She's talking to me, I know she's talking to me,’ he’d thought in a flurry, panicking at the thought he had to respond to her statement, so didn't, choosing instead to remain stoic.
She’d found his disinterest quite alarming at first, but then quickly this was displaced by arousal.
She had expected more of a reaction to her approach than she found and considered his lack of a reaction to the attention shown him quite enticing and somewhat of a challenge.
She wanted him ‘and soon,’ the young woman had considered, ‘he'll realise that he wants me as well.’
She’d noticed the earring he wore in his left earlobe, a yin-yang design and had touched it surface gently with a curious finger, asking of him, "What does it mean?"
He’d turned at her touch, surprised to find this young woman still by his side.
"Man in woman, Woman in Man. Bad in good, good in bad."
Smiling at his response she’d asked, 'Are you scared of me?"
"No," he had replied defensively, "me? Why should I be?" He’d asked hurriedly, words slurring one into the other.
"No reason."
"Good," he’d answered tersely, downing the rest of his drink and turning toward the bar to order another.
She’d taken his left elbow and turned him toward herself and in a mock Scouse accent asked of him, "So, are you dancing?"
"No," he’d told her sullenly.
"Why come here if you're not going to dance..." she’d expanded, still holding his elbow and guiding him to the dance-floor, where she took his other hand and led him in movement, to match the beat of the record.
He’d been stiff in his movement at first, until she’d taken both of his hands in hers and looked into his eyes, saying, "Just feel the music... move with it..."
Smiling, he’d looked at her as they had moved: and as one record flowed into another they’d stayed on the dance-floor, intent on being with one another, allowing the rhythm of the music to govern their motion.
"Okay, first time out in a while," he’d mouthed, close to her ear.
"Pardon?" She had replied.
"Tell me, is it always so...?" He’d begun, frowning.
"Noisy? Bright? Energetic?" She prompted, laughing.
Finally he’d said to her, "Crowded! Is it always so crowded?"
She’d looked at him and saw that he felt out of place: it hadn’t been hard to tell – as his blushing and the sidelong glances around, to see if he were being watched, had been a giveaway.
Scanning the crowd she looks around, before gaining his attention by glance.
"I see a free table," she’d told him, indicating a small circular table with a couple of chairs on the outskirts of the dance floor.
They both sit, facing one another.
He tells her, "You dance well."
"Why thank you kind sir," she’d responded.
"I haven't asked your name." He’s said, with his face close to hers, so he could be heard over the music.
"No you haven't, have you?" She’d countered, grinning.
"Okay then, what's your name please?"
"Beverly."
"Well Beverly, I'm Aaron, would you like another drink?"
"Yes, I would, thank you. But, no more shorts. Please?"
"Okay then, what would you like?"
"What are you having?"
"Bitter. The lager here's like a knat's been overhead."
She’d run a hand through her hair and smiled at his remark.
Then as Aaron stood, she’d said to him, "Okay, bitter it is."
"Pint, or half?" Aaron had enquired.
"Pint of course..."
"Okay," he replied, turning and walking across to the bar, which was heaving with people.
Finally Aaron had been served and he returned to their table, with a small tray with six pints of bitter on it.
"That's it," he’d announced, "I'm not getting up to that bar again."
"You don't come out that often, do you?" Beverly had asked him, as she watched him look anxiously around himself.
"Er, no I don't," he’d replied.
"Why?"
"Long story..." He had explained, trying to dismiss the story that he feels sure that he'll be telling, very shortly.
"Well, I've got till two a.m. or so..." she’d assured him, smiling broadly.
Slowly he’d begun to tell the young woman, over the first pint, how he had been quite unceremoniously dumped for a younger model; then, over his second pint, he’d found himself explaining that what had happened had left him wary of placing trust in another person again, so he didn't go out.
As he’d spoken, Beverly had placed her hands on his, to illustrate that she was listening, which pleased him. Then, once he had finished talking she’d told him of a relationship turned sour, hers, to reciprocate this intimate discourse.
Oblivious to the people around them, Aaron had smiled, touching the back of her right hand gently, as they had shared their past angst.
She’d matched him drink for drink as she talked. Then as she had finished telling her tale, Beverly placed her hands on the table, pushed herself erect and announced in a slightly slurred voice, "I'm going to the toilet."
“Okay,” he’d told her, watching her wobble a little as she’d walked to the Ladies toilets.
While his companion was absent Aaron looked around himself, at the dancers and their admirers; at the young bucks standing by the door, eyeing up 'the talent' that they're too drunk to approach, without looking completely idiotic. So, instead these bucks insult everyone who isn't them and isn't slowly drinking themselves to oblivion.
Aaron had been interested to note these young men also had their female counterparts, who sat at tables making comparably catty remarks out their fellow club revellers.
"Well, at least I'm with someone who seems to listen," he’d mused, watching Beverly walk across the dance-floor toward him, looking much brighter than she had and he’d asked, "You feeling better now?"
"Yes," she’d told him, sitting down again.
Once comfortable, she’d steepled her fingers together, with her elbows on the table and told him, "I had my break up 'bout a year ago. I stayed in, like you, for a couple of weeks. But, I'm glad I started getting out again. I feel as though I wasted so much time."
As she’d spoke, Aaron stared deep into her eyes, thinking how beautiful they were and finally he’d said what she had so wanted to hear from him, "Okay then, your place, or mine?"
Beverly had wanted him since she had seen him earlier and now they were promised lovers and that thought pleased the young woman.
"Mine," she’d told him, "I've a cat who'll kill me, when I get home, if he isn't fed soon."
"Well," he teased her, a finger’s light caress to her right cheek, "we can't have you eaten, now can we? So, I suppose it's your place then."
He had held her hands, as they stood apart, then, "So, where is your place?"
"Edge of town," she had replied, lifting his right hand to her lips with her left:
"I live in digs."
"You a student?' He had enquired.
"Sort of,” she answered, a smile on her face, "a student of life." Then, she kisses his fingers, with moist lips.
"Now," he started, "What, I might ask, is a 'sort of student?'"
She had blinked several times beneath the intensity of his gaze, as the man waited for her answer.
"Later..."is all she’d replied as a young woman collecting glasses tapped her on the shoulder, having said to them, "time to go."
The two had stood reluctantly, smiling at one another.
Other than the bar staff, Aaron and Beverly had been the last patrons to leave the club, neither had wanted their evening to end, equally apprehensive about what the rest of the night would bring.
* * *
The doorway to the club was recessed several feet away from the pavement.
When the last employee had left the building he keyed the alarm and locks the door, before drawing down the heavy roller door and bolting it home either side.
Then quickly he’d run across the road to where his car was parked.
He’d opened the door, sat in quickly and as the car pulled away from the kerbside Aaron looked closely into Beverly's eyes.
It had been dark and raining and although there was a chill in the air, neither minded, this moment was theirs. They had each other.
"We're alone now," he stated simply.
A fingertip lifting her chin gently upward was all it took Aaron to bring her eyes to meet his, as her skin flushed and her pupils had widened.
Mouths came closer and then, their lips met, with arms wrapped round one another and eyes closed, their tongues searched. Then they parted, somewhat breathless.
Blushing a little, Beverly looked down, saying into his chest: "That sounds nice."
She’d lain with her head against his breast, smiling as he held her, as the minutes passed and the rain continued to fall.
"I can hear your heart..." She’d told Aaron in a quiet voice, her fingertips just inside his shirt, brushing his flesh.
"Er, I'm getting cold..." He had suddenly announced.
"I can tell..." She’d told him in response giggling a little.
Beverly had found his nipple, erect with the cold.
"Er... yes," he’d mumbled, then added, "So, where to then, yours, or mine?"
"I live not far from here," Beverly informed him, sliding her arms around his neck.
As their lips met, each of them had closed their eyes.
Then Aaron reached to his neck and unclasped her hands, before taking Beverly's right hand in his left and squeezing it gently, said to her, "Well, it looks like the rain's showing no signs of stopping. Shall we go now then?"
They’d left the clubs entrance and its relative sanctuary from the elements; and the rain had soaked the couple, as they ran laughing up the road, toward her home.
They had met, this was their now and the rest of the night was yet to come.
* * *
The Day After the Night
"Coffee?" Beverly asks.
She had noticed that he is awake and smiling, as he watches her sit with books on her lap and small half-frame reading glasses perched on the end of her nose.
It is now mid-morning.
"Wow," he exclaims, "and I actually do get a coffee."
"Sarky!" Beverly responds, swinging her slim legs around to the side of the bed and shuffling her feet into a pair of pink low heel fluffy mules.
Noticing Aaron stare at her footwear Beverly asks, "What's so interesting then?"
She bends at the waist, to pick up his shirt from where Aaron had dropped it the previous night. He smiles, admiring her taut, well-shaped buttocks and drawls, "Nice slippers, excellent view..."
In the doorway she turns her head to look at him from over her left shoulder.
There is a smile on her face.
"Tell me," she purred, "do you want to drink your coffee, or wear it?"
They both laugh, before she left the room.
Folding his hands behind his head Aaron closes his eyes, just a moment and within seconds he is asleep again.
He wakes bleary-eyed, as she calls, "Coffee? Toast? Or?"
Sitting, the duvet fell to his waist and momentarily he feels a little embarrassed at her seeing his body. Aaron smiles.
Rubbing at his eyes with the backs of his hands he looks to the bottom of the bed, where she stands tray in hand.
"Coffee, tea, or... me?" She asks this time, a little impatience in her voice.
He finds her manner and the question quite disarming and didn’t answer; instead he’d puzzled as how his shirt could look so good, acting to emphasise her shapely legs.
She set the tray down, saying, "How do you like it?"
He tried not to smirk and failed.
"Coffee." she emphasised, chastising his deliberate misunderstanding of a simple question with a frown.
"I didn't know whether you took milk, or sugar,” she says, adding, "So I brought both."
Beverly spoke hurriedly; surprised she should feel quite so self-conscious.
"Thank you," he responded "but I prefer it black and strong, with no sweeteners at all."
Then Aaron asks, "What time is it?"
"Er, it's..." she pauses, thinking she was being silly; then answers, "It was about ten past eleven, ten to fifteen minutes ago, when I was making this."
He finishes his coffee and sets the mug down on the floor by the side of the bed.
"Thanks for the coffee, it was really nice."
"Humph," Beverly snorts in reply.
Aaron says quickly, "Hey, I was telling the truth, I liked the coffee."
Momentarily very quiet, she says after a moment or two, "I brewed it fresh. I woke up before you."
She begins to walk toward the door, then to the window and back again, until finally Beverly stands before the small gap in the curtain.
"You don't remember do you?" she asks him, abruptly.
There is silence after she finishes speaking.
Then Aaron sighs, with resignation.
"Bev?"
"Beverly!" She snaps back.
"I do remember last night you know. We talked about a lot then."
"Yes that's true," she concedes. "But, maybe that was because you were trying to get into me?" She added.
"I did though, didn't I?" Aaron states, immediately regretting having said it.
"Men!" Beverly explodes, "That just proves what I'd thought, you're all the same!"
"Hey, that's not fair!" He protests, adding quickly, "Besides which, its inaccurate..."
"Why?" She asks, calmer and quite curious.
"I hadn't gone there last night to tap off..."
"Then why did you go?" Beverly queries.
"Because I had the money and the four walls were killing me..."
"Oh," She says quietly, struck by his honesty.
She looks at the world, through the gap in the curtains.
"But, that's not really important," she adds, a trace of annoyance in her voice, "I'd meant that you don't remember me, do you?"
"You mean before last night, don't you?" He enquires quizzically.
"Yes, that's right..." she replies, with enthusiasm; adding, "Well, do you?"
With furrowed brow, he brushes his long fringe back in place and stares at her face, intently. Aaron pauses, looking for what to say next, that wouldn't cause further offence, as he’d decided that he really liked her.
Finally, after several moments of silence he answers, "If I say 'no' does that mean I don't get breakfast?"
"That's not a straight answer."
"Er, do I have to be honest?"
"Yes."
"Then, no I don't."
"And I thought you might have, after getting to know me, again."
She sits on the end of the bed, her weight on her right hand as she leans forward, "I'd seen you during the day and when I saw you in the club I had to talk to you...
"Why?" He asks, intrigued.
"At school, I used to..." Beverly began, her head lowered, cheeks suffusing with blood.
"School?"
"Yes..." she says lifting her head a little, to look at him.
Looking down, he murmurs thoughtfully to himself, "School?"
He looks up again, saying to her, "That was awhile ago you know, a long while ago."
"You left in '76... I remember that," she declares, quietly.
"You remember that?" He responds, surprised.
"Yes," she admits, "I was a second year and..."
Beverly stands and walks to the table with the tray on. She pours coffee into a mug, which is handed to him, then one for herself, which she puts milk and one sugar in.
"Er, you were a second year...?" He asks, sipping at the hot drink.
"Yes," she answers, sitting once more on the end of the bed with her own drink in hand; "and I remember you, so well."
"Why?" He asks incredulously.
"I'm not too sure." She says quietly.
Then standing once more, Beverly walks toward the curtains and draws the drapes apart a little more.
As bright light shafts into the room, causing him to wince, she says slowly, in a faraway voice, "But, I do recall seeing you in the school-yard and thinking how much I wanted you to show interest in me. Huh, I even remember that I'd joined the school choir and the debating society, just because I'd wanted to be near you..."
She turns toward him and says quietly, "you were always so apart from the crowd. An individual. And, well I..."
Then she adds, "I thought you'd understand me."
"But I never noticed you, I'm sorry. And now this'll make things even worse, I know. But, I don't even know your surname. What is it?"
"It's Cox."
"Hang-on, I knew a Billy Cox. Not too well, but I knew him."
"He was my older brother..." She muttered.
"But, when we hung round his little sister was small and well... gawky with heavy glasses and..." she continues, as he sipped at the remains of his drink.
"Yes, okay, I don't need reminding," she snaps. "That was me. I've lost the weight. I grew and now I wear contacts..."
"Pardon?" He asks again, truly surprised now.
Still with her back toward him, she answers him, in a very soft voice, "Back then. That gawky little girl who followed you around was me and I loved you, with all my heart."
He swallows hard, then says again, "Pardon?"
"Once more, that's all..." she replied. He doesn't see the smile on her face.
"I loved you, with all my heart."
Crestfallen at this discovery and her admonishment, Aaron frowns in silence for nearly a full minute, before saying quietly, "I never knew."
"Yes, I know that, now," Beverly acknowledges, turning slowly toward him,
She takes his empty mug from him and walks over to the tray.
He watches Beverly pour two more mugs of steaming coffee, silently contemplating all that he has learnt.
"Look," he tells her finally, "You didn't want to be reminded how you used to look, did you?"
"No," she replies, handing him his drink.
"And I needed to be told that you'd been interested in me then..." he continues, "Well, now I'm the one who's interested in you. So please, bear with me, as I've got a question to ask."
"Go on?" she prompts, sipping her own coffee.
"Well, I want to know. Does the fact that I couldn't remember you from back then, preclude me from remembering you now?"
"Huh, what did you say? I'd like to think I'm pretty intelligent..." she begins, smiling a little. "But, I didn't understand a word you just said."
"Okay - fair comment, sorry. But, what I'm asking is whether yesterday could possibly be a pleasant memory, in years to come...?"
He pauses, allowing her to digest what he’s asked and then adds, "If you want, that is?"
"I don't know," Beverly tells him in a flat, matter-of-fact tone of voice, "I told you why you're here. But, that doesn't explain why I should want there to be a tomorrow, for us. I just wanted to know if you were what I thought you were, back then."
"And?" He asks, hesitant to hear the answer.
"I'd thought you were special," she says, her words drifting away, into the furthest recesses of her past, when she'd looked for something, or someone and found a young boy, who couldn't cope with the simple adoration she had shown him.
"That's why I'd trailed after you, like a lost puppy. Like I said, I'd just wanted to be noticed... like I noticed you, in the street and at then at the club."
Mortified by her statement, Aaron notices a wide smile on her face with puzzlement.
"Well that was then and this is now," she tells him, having poured their drinks and walking toward the bed.
Then she adds, "But I'm not who I was then..."
Beverly reaches forward with her right hand to caress the side of his face, saying to him, "It's almost a pity, but what interested me then doesn't now."
"Tell me, what you mean, please?"
"It's simple. I'd thought you were alone and understood how I felt."
"Yes, and?" He prompts.
"Well, since then I've learnt. We're all on our own, no matter who we are, where we are, or who we're with."
Her voice sounds cold. He hears this.
"You sound like my coffee," Aaron tells her, very seriously.
She looks at him puzzled and asks, "What do you mean?"
He looks straight at her, quiet.
Then Aaron smiles, answering, "Bitter."
In response, Beverly takes his right hand gently in hers and their eyes connect.
"I don't know what you mean," she tells him, in a sing-song voice.
"Oh you do,' he suggests, "I'm sure you do."
Their eyes meeting, the flesh of hand upon hand and his answer, all serve to make her smile, once again at a memory.
"Perhaps you are that boy and I'm that girl, but time has passed by and now we're grown up..." Beverly says wistfully, finishing her top-up.
"Yes, but..." he splutters, surprised again.
"But nothing: The past is what it is. Maybe you did understand then, but what is there to understand now?"
"You need company, someone who will listen?" He suggests.
"Yes," she snaps, pulling her hand from his, "but that's what we all want isn't it?'
"Yes it is," Aaron responds, reaching toward Beverly for her hand, adding, "it's what we all want."
She pulls her hand away from his, suddenly annoyed.
"You lot annoy me," she fumes. "You say that you'll be there and then when you're needed..."
"That's it," he thunders, "I've had enough."
He stands, holding the duvet over his body with one hand, reaching for his jeans with the other, as Beverly looks at him, mystified.
"You brought me here and we had a good night, I think. Then ever since I woke up you've given me nothing but stick."
He pulls on his jeans, beneath the duvet.
"Well, I've had enough, simple."
"You seem wound up," she states, smiling.
"Sheesh girl," he counters, "it's you who wound me up."
"All I wanted to do was talk, that's all!" Beverly exclaims defensively.
He stands, allowing the duvet to fall to the floor.
Then Aaron zips his jeans, saying, "You just haven't listened to me, at all..."
"But..."
"And, Ms: Cox, I'm not willing to argue the point anymore."
"It's Beverly... and I just wanted you to understand..."
"Lady," he interjects, "don't you think I've heard enough? Please, don't make me the scapegoat for something in your past."
"Aaron, don't be like that," she pleads.
"Like I said, I think that you've got issues in your past you still need to work out..."
"Pardon?" Beverly explodes.
"I just said..."
"I heard you..."
"Well, when we talked last night I thought..."
"You'd thought," Beverly retorts, "you'd thought... That'd mean that you had a brain-cell more than most men use... and... "
"Hey,” Aaron starts defensively, "I'd thought we were talking about you and I?"
"We were..." Beverly answers.
Then she pauses a moment, before saying, "So, about my past, where did you dig up that pearl of wisdom?"
Aaron stares at his hands, on the knees of his black jeans.
"I could say you were mixing your metaphors," he mumbles, annoyed at having been made to feel guilty for something he had no control over, her past and present.
His grip on his knees tightens and he grits his teeth.
"Hey, less of the sarcasm alright?" Aaron exclaims, standing to face her.
"Sorry," she tells him, in a tone that suggests she isn’t.
"Whoop-de-do, words that's all they are," he's on a roll, his anger having risen and finally he says, "You've talked and talked... almost like you didn't want to hear what anyone else might want to say."
"Like you, now," she counters, very quietly, turning away from him.
Compared to his raised voice, hers is quiet, as she says aloud,
"I think you're over-reacting!"
"I'm what?" he shouts, "I heard that! Me, over-react?"
Then Aaron adds quickly, "Lady, will you take my shirt off and I'll be gone."
"Why?"
Stumped, he looks at the young woman open mouthed, before saying, "Ms... er, Beverly, let me put it like this..."
Aaron pauses, to add emphasis to what he says, "I was a loner at school. Now, I feel bullied and I want to go. I want to be alone."
"You don't mean that really... really?" Beverly asks.
"In one syllable... yes."
"Oh,” she responds, looking to her feet.
He reaches for his shoes and socks.
"So okay, maybe yes, maybe not," he mutters as he ties his shoelaces.
Then Aaron looks to her and says, "I liked you, I really did. But, this... ?"
She hears the sadness in his voice and reaches toward his face.
Then Beverly finds herself both surprised and hurt when he visibly flinches.
"I'd only been looking for that connection," she tells him sadly.
"Yeah," Aaron mutters in response, "aren't we all..."
She hears his words and the tone in which he speaks.
"You did understand after all..." Beverly suddenly exclaims, smiling and adding "you did understand."
Suddenly her face darkens and Beverly began to pace the room once again, suddenly feeling extremely confined.
Aaron sat, aware that he wasn't going to get his shirt back, yet.
Then, in a soft, dreamlike voice, her quietly spoken words are easily heard, as she says,
"I remember that faraway look in your eyes. They said... "
She means to say 'so much.'
Beverly wants to tell him how good it had felt; knowing someone, 'out there' had seemed to understand. But instead, her words drift into silence.
It had all been so many years ago... so many years of 'if onlies.'
Suddenly Beverly steps toward the curtain, pulling them apart.
"It's not fair!" she exclaims, as sunlight fills the room.
"Easy, " he says to her in a gentle voice.
He repeats the word several times, to try and assuage her temper.
Aaron wants to placate her and ease her emotional crisis somehow, but he doesn't know how.
He stands slowly and walks behind her, as Beverly begins to weep silently.
"Hey, it's okay... y'know?" He says, unaware how lame this sounds.
"Words, just words," she murmurs, so quietly he can hardly hear.
Then, she stares unblinking, recalling the pain of the loneliness she'd felt.
He steps forward and very carefully Aaron holds her, holding her gently by the shoulders. She does not flinch at his touch.
"Let go... just let it go..." he whispers gently in her ear.
Beverly stands looking out, her mind elsewhere, still conscious of his hands on her shoulders and how gentle they felt and she recalls that the previous night he had been a considerate lover.
He tightens his embrace just a little, to assure her that he is here, now.
Aaron feels her breathing ease a little, until he asks,
"You could try, y'know? ..." He says softly, adding, "Have you tried?"
"Can't..." Beverly says quietly, then suddenly she turns in his arms, eyes blazing: "'Have I tried?' Of course I have," she spits out, annoyed he should ask, and after all that she'd said.
Now she cries.
And what begins as a tear soon becomes many, as a lot of frustration is suddenly released, all at once.
Her hands, held at her sides, clench into fists and with head looking down, Beverly sobs, from the heart.
"Hey, easy," he murmurs, softly, "I was just..."
"Just what?" Beverly bites.
"Aaron steps closer, carefully enfolding her in his a gentle hug.
It isn't sexual, although the embrace is intimate.
She senses his intent is honest, that he wishes to comfort her and she does not baulk at this display of familiarity.
Aaron feels the beating of her heart and hears the rapidity of her breathing.
Slowly the flow of tears ceases and Beverly relaxes a little in his arms.
"I told you... I wanted to understand..." He murmurs quietly, his chin on her head, which rests on his left shoulder.
"I know..." she sniffles, pulling away from away from his arms.
"I know..." she sniffles again, before adding softly, "I know... But... I was just so caught up in how I felt, I didn't hear you..."
"It happens," he tells her, brushing at her hair with gentle fingers.
Together they look out of the window.
He shivers a little, which Beverly feels.
"Do you want your shirt?" She asked.
"Well, I would say no," he began, "Because I figure it looks better on you..."
'There,' he thought, 'I've told her.'
"But," Aaron continued, "if I'd got my shirt back on and you were warm beneath the duvet, I could go downstairs and make us a coffee, or tea?"
He kisses her neck. Then, slowly Beverly turns, still in his arms.
She wraps her arms around his neck and their lips meet in a lingering kiss.
Then as they part from the embrace Beverly looks to Aaron and smiles.
Then with her head down, she looks up to him coyly, unbuttoning the shirt.
He watches her undo the top two buttons, before asking:
"So, I've forgotten, how do you like it?"
She lifts her face to watch his, as she undoes another button.
"Hot and sweet," she answers.
They both grin.
Then Beverly finishes undressing, before getting back into bed and pulling the duvet up to her neck.
"I'm ready," she announces, in a light almost girlish voice.
He picks up the breakfast tray smiling ruefully.
Then, Aaron leaves the bedroom muttering, "Yes, so am I. But, I'll get the coffee instead..."
Fin.
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