Getting Even (27 page)

Orianna winced. “Me too.” On the whole she had to concede Dan had been pretty discreet about his affair with Cassie, and for this, at least, Orianna was grateful. Whether it was out of humility, diplomacy, or embarrassment, Orianna didn't know or care—she just appreciated it made working together slightly more bearable. But seeing Dan bring Cassie a tumbler of fruit juice reminded her that
she
had been the one he'd attended to until recently, and it cut her to the quick.

Orianna had kept busy since they'd parted in an attempt to anesthetize the hurt. She'd thrown herself into work with a maniacal vengeance, aided by Ivy, who had been keen to do all she could professionally to help. “I've missed you,” she'd said, and Orianna had been touched. Orianna had avoided much contact with Cassie; instead getting Ivy to oversee her work—Ivy, bless her, had been most amenable. What was more, to Orianna's relief, Ivy had also volunteered to fend off their colleagues' inevitable questions about her split with Dan. “I tell them not to pry or else,” she'd said, and laughed. “And you know how frightening I can be.” This had given Orianna the strength to go out in the evening occasionally too—often with Ivy. Once or twice they'd even had something approaching fun. But deep inside, Orianna's heart was bleeding; an unremitting ache was with her every hour of every day, and most nights she sobbed into her pillow.

For all his despicable behavior, I'm not over Dan, she admitted to herself. Sometimes I wonder if I ever will be.

Her thoughts were broken by Ivy nudging her in the ribs. “Wonder why Cassie's not drinking?” she whispered. “Always thought she liked a tipple, myself.”

But Orianna was watching Dan—those familiar hands curled around the glass—and only half listening.

*   *   *

“Some sit-ups to finish?” suggested Rob.

“I suppose,” said Dan. He'd hoped a trip to the gym might lift his spirits, get his endorphins going, but even after fifty minutes of intense aerobic exercise followed by weight training, he still felt a heaviness of spirit.

What's the point in toning up my abs when there's no one to notice the benefit? he thought, lowering himself onto the mat. He was reminded of Orianna and her affection for his little tummy, which only made him more morose.

“Ready?” said Rob, taking his place alongside.

But as Dan looked up at the ceiling, he decided: the only six-pack he was interested in right now was the kind to help him numb the pain.

Screw it, he thought. A tiny glass of champagne is one thing: a pint of beer another. It's time to drown my sorrows. With any luck, Rob might be happy to have his ear bent.

Dan had found the last few weeks tough—and he didn't have many male friends he could confide in; not that way. He always felt more comfortable exposing his vulnerability to a woman, usually whoever he was going out with at the time. And there was no one of the opposite sex he'd ever been able to talk to as intimately or frankly as Orianna. Yet he didn't have her to share his most heartfelt emotions with any longer …

However Rob might be more open than Dan's straight friends, more inclined to listen. After all, Rob probably had had his fair share of trauma, coming out, and he seemed to enjoy talking about people and intimate subjects.

Without bothering to complete the exercise, Dan sat back up. “What are you doing this evening?”

Rob turned to face him. Their eyes met, and Dan thought he detected a flash of understanding. “Nothing. You're my last client. Why?”

“Great.” Dan sprang to his feet. “Fancy going for a bevvy?”

 

32. This is the night that either makes me, or fordoes me quite

It's looking good, thought Rob, as Dan headed off to buy a third round.

He watched Dan make his way to the bar—my, what a great rear view he had! Nicely rounded, yet firm. He's got me to thank for that, Rob congratulated himself. Though I did have fine raw materials from the start.

Rob could tell Dan had been far from happy of late, but had held back from pressing Dan too closely about the state of his love life during their sessions at the gym. He'd decided to follow Ivy's advice and wait for Dan to take the initiative. Now they were in a social environment, he was hoping Dan would open up.

From this it's only a small step to an admission we're mutually attracted, he thought, and from there it's but a skip and a hop to a snog.

Rob was confident he was pretty hot stuff, and had every faith they might reach the point of no return in the taxi ride that would whisk them both back to his place …

Going out together was even suggested by Dan—he was
lying next to me
on the mat when he mooted it. I mean, speculated Rob, how revealing of Dan's unconscious motives was that?
Purlease!
They'd locked eyes, for heaven's sake!

To compound things, Dan had suggested they come to Freedom on Wardour Street, a bar known for its mixed crowd of gays and straights. It had a late closing, so time was on Rob's side and a dance floor downstairs with dark alcoves virtually purpose-built for seduction. Furthermore, not only was Dan exhibiting the characteristics of a man in emotional turmoil—he appeared in something of a flat spin—he also seemed keen to get plastered. Rob had had his own first homosexual encounter under the influence of copious quantities of Bacardi many years before—and was growing increasingly convinced if anything was ever going to happen between them, tonight was the night.

As Dan stood poised to sit back down beside him, slopping beer unsteadily as he did so, Rob decided to up the ante. After all, he'd been patiently listening to Dan tell him how much he loved Orianna, yet when Rob tried to get him to clarify
precisely
why things had gone irretrievably wrong, Dan couldn't begin to explain. He was simply insistent that they couldn't communicate properly, didn't understand each other, and were on different planes. If this wasn't a euphemism for diverging sexual paths, what was? To Rob, who'd had a few affairs with women as a teenager that had been similarly confusing and dissatisfactory, it was obvious. Orianna wouldn't ever satisfy Dan. Not only emotionally, but physically.

“Shall we go downstairs?” he ventured.

“Why? I'm alright here, aren't you?” It was true they had a table to themselves.

“Have a dance?”

Dan frowned. “I don't—er—like dancing.”

“Really?” Rob was bewildered. Hadn't Ivy said Dan had been seen at G-A-Y? If he didn't like dancing, why go?

But then Dan elaborated, “I love dance music—just not dancing.”

“They play better music downstairs. We can sit and listen, if you prefer.”

Dan appeared happier. “OK,” he said amiably. “Let's go.”

Rob led the way down the spiral staircase. The basement was red-lit, smoky, and the sound system pulsed heavily and hard.

The beat subtly shifted, and Dan bellowed, “I love this one!” over the laid-back intro. He stood gulping his beer, taking in the surroundings. Shortly, as a catchy keyboard melody segued into the mix, he started tapping his foot.

Good, Rob thought, he's relaxing. And he knew a surefire way to speed that up: “Fancy a chaser?”

“Oh, um, yeah, why not?” Dan grinned, and followed Rob over to the bar.

As they leaned their elbows against the cool surface, Rob was acutely conscious of the proximity of Dan's forearms to his own. Aah, he sighed to himself. When we were roommates, Chloë and I spent many a happy hour contemplating the unique appeal of male forearms. And whether it was the dark hairs that promised an equally hirsute chest, the thick wrists that hinted at real muscular strength, the understated watch, or the uncannily beautiful hands, didn't matter. Dan had a fine physique all around, and it was everything Rob could do to restrain himself from reaching out and touching him.

With a stroke of luck, at that moment the bartender came to take their order, and as Rob leaned forward to ask for two tequilas, his forearm brushed against Dan's, almost of its own accord. It was a way of gauging things without seeming too obvious, and Dan didn't flinch or try to pull away.

Exhilarated, Rob led them to an alcove and sat down. Dan plonked himself next to him and—to Rob's delight—drained his tequila in one gulp. Rob did the same. His ability to rationalize was now reduced further; his actions governed by lust, not reason.

Rob edged closer to Dan so that his thigh was ever so slightly pressed up against his. He slipped his arm around the back of the sofa—not so close that it was in contact with Dan—but close enough so other punters would realize Dan was his territory. Steer clear, the gesture indicated.

“Tell me,” he said, with more than a touch of flirtation in his voice, “has it made you think again about women at all, this stuff with Orianna?”

“What do you mean?” Dan furrowed his brow.

“I just wondered…” Rob ran his finger suggestively around the top of his tequila glass, “whether it's made you, well, think … that they're more trouble than they're worth?”

Dan snorted. “Too bloody right.”

Rob nodded in sympathy.

“Keep this to yourself, obviously, but I'm probably going to look for another job.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Get out of Green. It's all too heavy for me, frankly. Too much gossip; too many people knowing my business.”

Hmm, thought Rob. I wonder if you're frightened someone's going to blow the lid on your sexuality. Sounds that way to me. But he realized Dan might not be ready to admit as much without some gentle guidance. “I mean forgive me for saying so—I'm sure Orianna's a very nice girl and everything, when I met her I
really
liked her—but nevertheless, you could say … her behavior as you're describing it, all these neuroses about other girls and so forth—it does seem a mite, well, irrational…”

“You're telling me.” Dan nodded vigorously. “I really don't get it.”

“That's women for you,” said Rob. He felt slightly guilty at condemning an entire sex but his focus was not on fair play.

“You think?”

“Sure.” Rob took a large gulp of beer. “They're from Venus, remember?”

“Different species,” agreed Dan.

“Prefer Martians myself.” Rob laughed, and Dan laughed with him, loud and long.

This is my sign, Rob decided. He leaned forward, and before he had the chance to reconsider, kissed Dan full on the lips. Dan's mouth was wonderfully warm and soft, a sensation made more erotic by the way his stubble rubbed against Rob's skin.

As Rob sat back, it took him a second to gauge Dan's reaction. Dan hadn't recoiled, so at first Rob was sure he'd done the right thing. Although Dan looked faintly surprised, Rob was convinced this must be because he was anticipating another more intimate and exciting move. After all, Dan's mouth was open.

But as Dan's expression took shape, Rob realized with mounting horror, that the look on his face wasn't one of pleasure, or anything approaching it. His gaping jaw was the result of speechlessness. Oh Lord, thought Rob. For he could tell this was the aghast response of a totally straight boy when confronted by the utterly unexpected—a thoroughly unwelcome pass from someone of his own gender.

*   *   *

Hell, thought Ivy, sneaking into the loo for another little snifter, so what if I've got work tomorrow? I know I promised to call Ed when I got home, but it'll keep. It
is
my birthday, after all.

She inhaled, first up one nostril, then the other. Yes! Who needed alcohol, when there was cocaine? The night was young. She'd an urge to text Russell. He'd turned down the invitation to join them all at Cassio's after work, explaining he had an agency project he wanted to finish off at home. Earlier Ivy had been content to leave him to it, but the cocaine high meant the need to fulfill her dominatrix fantasy was more urgent. Still, however keen she was for speedy gratification, she couldn't resist a witty text, so tapped:

On my birthday I like to tie up my own presents … Thought I'd make my way over to yours so we can see in All Hallows Eve in X-rated style together. OK?

Then she quickly replenished her lipstick and went back upstairs, where Orianna was waiting on a stool pulled up at the bar. The rest of their colleagues had gone home long since, protesting they didn't have the stamina for late-night drinking.

“Isn't it funny,” Ivy mused, confidence increased by the drug, “to think of the last time we came here together?”

Orianna looked doubtful. “I'm not sure
funny
is exactly the word I'd use.”

“Oh, OK, not
funny
then,” said Ivy lightly. “Interesting.”

“Mm.” Orianna nodded.

“We've come a long way since, though, haven't we?” Ivy smiled.

“Er … yes,” said Orianna. “A lot's happened…” Her voice trailed off, and she looked away. Ivy knew she was thinking about Dan, and how they'd still been together then. Ivy had believed Orianna was getting over him, but this was a clear indication that she wasn't. That Orianna continued to view events in terms of how they related to her relationship with Dan, rather than to their friendship, upset Ivy, and from her upset sprang malice. A touch of spite was all she needed to lose her restraint; combined with cocaine confidence, it gave her the incentive to reveal the fact that she'd been withholding the entire evening.

“Cassie's pregnant,” she said.

The color drained from Orianna's cheeks. “What?”

“Cassie's pregnant,” Ivy repeated.

“
No!
” A howl of intense anguish, then Orianna's face crumpled and she fell silent.

Ivy felt remorse. She and Orianna had become much closer again; she was even beginning to believe she might be able to forgive her at some point—not yet, but one day. Seeing Orianna's face contorted like this, she had an impulse to reveal the baby wasn't Dan's, but Leon's. But she pulled herself up short. What a
stupid
idea! Of course she couldn't. Such a confession would only expose not just all the lies she'd told regarding Dan and his supposed affairs, but also the information she'd withheld about who Cassie was really sleeping with. No, she was in too deep to start being honest. And although Ivy had a nagging doubt this fabrication might backfire on her, at this point the only way forward was to continue. “Yes, indeed.”