Twinned (11 page)

We grab a few hours’ sleep. The alarm wakes us at eight o clock. My headache has calmed down a bit. I lay there, thinking we’ll have to start packing by nine because we have to check out by 10 am.

Richard jumps up and grabs a quick shower and while he does that I swiftly check that the letter from Joel is still in my hand luggage bag on the floor where I hastily stuffed it as we got ready to go out the night before.

Yep, it’s there. I don’t know what to do with it though. I can’t let Richard find it. I click my tongue on the roof of my mouth while I hastily think.

Brainwave: I reach up and grab a Paris Hotel envelope and a pen from the desk and stuff the letter inside. I write on the front “Nat West” so if Richard sees it he will think it’s a cheque to my bank to post or something. He doesn’t have a Nat West account so there’s not much danger that he will post it for me. He wouldn’t know where to send it.

I stick the envelope (and pen) in my bag, grab a few more envelopes (well I have paid for them) then collapse back on the bed. So tired, so very tired.

I am somewhere between asleep and awake when Richard comes out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel and clutching complementary toiletries. He deposits them in his open suitcase then turns to me, his head cocked quizzically.

“Help me out here, Beth. Is this our honeymoon or what?”

“Yeah,” I reply, so tired it hurts to speak.

“So do I get some nookie before we check out then?”

Oh God, I think.

“Come on Beth, you know you want to make the most of this nice big bed!”

“Hmmm.” I stretch out, trying to wake myself up at a cellular level. Feeling repentant, I decide to take one for the team. Team Married.

“Hell yeah, stud!” I enthuse. “Come on over, big boy!”

Before I can even think, he’s on top of me and it’s actually kind of fun.

Joel

I paid Elvis two hundred dollars in cash to deliver Beth to her suite. He stuffed it down the crotch of his tight white leather pants. It was a mighty lucky he was passing when I found her.

I am buzzing from a barrage of feelings. I can’t tell you how it felt to see her there, to actually hold her hand, to touch her cheek and brush her hair from her face. There were – are still - so many conflicting emotions resonating through my body. I just can’t explain. I don’t even know what I think. I feel like a cheater. But more than anything, I feel alive. It’s like the first time I played a stadium. It feels momentous.

I am not proud to say it but yes, I was keeping tabs on her, checking up on her periodically both in my mind and by way of my assistant, Baz. He’s the guy who gave her the letter and tickets outside the Bellagio. After that, I had him stakeout the Voodoo Lounge with instructions to see she got back safely. He then checked into the Paris and managed to talk his way to getting a room just down the hall from her. I told myself I was keeping tabs so that I could be sure she would leave town. He tailed her the next night too, then called me to say she was back at the Paris with Richard at about one am and to tell me he was turning in for the night.

To be brutally honest, as I only can be with myself; Yes, I almost hoped she and Richard would have a second fight during their stay. If she was alone for a significant amount of time I could perhaps meet her. I hate myself for admitting it but it’s true. The thought was only fleeting though; if I am to keep Georgia and Harry, I need for Beth and Richard to be happy. I need for her to leave and stay out of my life.

Beth could cause a lot of trouble for me if she was running around trying to split Georgia and me up. She might actually have a chance of ruining everything.

After Baz called I just couldn’t sleep. I felt sick and I started walking, my hat pulled down low so no one recognized me. And before I knew it I was at the Paris. I sat at the slots, feeding dollar bills for a few minutes, when suddenly I knew she was in trouble. I closed my eyes and ‘saw’ her collapsed in a heap outside room 1628. I ran to the lifts.

And when I got there... God, it didn’t matter that she was drunk or ill or not my ‘type’. She could have been fat or bald and it wouldn’t have mattered. I just... I just... I just felt this overwhelming love for her. I wanted to protect her. Like she was ‘mine’ or something. It was like someone had mixed the way I feel about Georgia with the way I feel about Harry. Dangerous stuff; intoxicating and damn freaky.

I sat with her for only a few minutes in the corridor before 'Elvis' showed up. It saved me the trouble of having to wake up Baz and anyway I could hardly have him knock on their door after his fight and Richard’s previous suspicions. So I convinced the Elvis impersonator to help carry Beth to her room. I knew the number because her room key lay on the floor where she fell. And there I left her, fleeing as soon I saw the door open.

And now I’m at the slots drinking Jack Daniels when Elvis appears at my side, flicking up his collar and smoothing his gelled hair.

“We-hell they bought it,” he boasts, still in character. “Hell, I haven’t acted in a long, long time. Now when was it? Aha, 1969, ‘A Change of Habit’ that movie was called. That chick had the best legs North of Mexico. Oh it sure felt guuuud to be acting again.”

I don’t know what to say. He is obviously quite convinced he’s the King.

We sit talking for a while. He asks me why I’m here alone. Obviously has no idea who I am, which is refreshing, actually. I tell him I sometimes have trouble sleeping and that I should really go back to my room and take a couple of sleeping pills. I need my sleep. I’m flying home tomorrow.

He looks mortified. “Listen, pal, you seem like a real good guy. Don’t you start with those sedatives, those painkillers, son,” he warns me. “They don’t do ya no good. Nearly killed me you know?”

We sit in silence for a moment. I take in his rounded cheekbones, deep-set eyes, bushy brows, flabby jaw. Obviously not Elvis. I wonder what Elvis would look like if he really had lived? I wonder if I’ll end up dying young. It’s a sad story repeated all too often.

I feed a ten dollar bill into the machine and pull the handle. Press the green button. All of a sudden, lights start flashing and a siren sounds.

“You hit Jackpot!” Shouts Elvis. “You lucky son of a...”

The machine begins to noisily chug out quarters, along with peppy, celebratory music. People turn to look, smiles on their faces. I don’t want the attention, I sure don’t need the money. I can’t have anyone notice me!

“It’s all yours, Elvis!” I yell, as I turn and run. “Enjoy it my friend!”

“What the - well bless you ma boy!” I hear him yell after me. “Waaa hoooo!"He punches the air.

And I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity. Oh, how I love Vegas. I am holding onto my hat, running down the Strip at two thirty in the morning, weaving in and out of tourists, with a huge grin on my face.
‘I love Beth, I love Beth, I love Beth’
, thumps my traitorous heart.

Beth

We tell ourselves it is not an affair. It’s not ‘real’.
We don’t meet at hotels or sneak around in the conventional sense. We don’t physically meet at all. It’s a union of minds!

It doesn’t reflect on how we feel about the people we love. We were destined to be together.

And my personal favourite:
It’s not our fault!

Platitudes.

Excuses.

In our hearts, we know
that we are lying. To ourselves, to our loved ones and to each other. We simply don’t have the strength to stop.

Oh, these are crazy days. The best.

There’s a fire, inside my head and pretty much everywhere else; a wild excitement that almost seems all the better for being so wrong. It's so mad that I compartmentalise in my head; there's the me that's with Richard, then there's this other me that will not be denied.

We meet in our heads, if that makes sense.

I’m writing a story about us. I keep the file password protected on a USB stick so that Richard doesn’t see. The password is 'Twinned'. I’m writing it as it happens but in the style of a screenplay. Here’s a bit from the last time we ‘met’:

Beth:

It wasn’t our intention to get back in touch at all, other than so we’d know the other was OK after Vegas.

Joel
:

I didn’t know what to do. I made contact that first time just to see that you were alright. I was worried.

Beth:

And then we left it a few days. I tried not to think about you. I didn’t listen to your music, which was really hard...

Joel:

I got back to San Diego and got into recording, spent time with Georgia and Harry, you know – normal life.

Beth:

I think it was a week later that it happened. One minute I was in the changing rooms at Debenhams, trying on some new jeans...

Joel:

And the next minute you were in my arms, at the top of the
Empire State Building.

Beth:

I still don’t know how you did that! It was mental. I was so shocked!

Joel
:

You were just freakin’ out, worrying cos your jeans were ‘round your ankles and they still had the store tag on them.

Beth:

And I was in New York – and I’d just involuntarily shoplifted – and I’d left my handbag in the changing room.

Joel:

But I don’t remember you complaining after I kissed you?

Beth:

(Pauses) No. No it was perfect. I’ll remember that forever.

Joel:

(Laughs ruefully)
We’ll always have New York.

Beth:

Where next? Barcelona
, Rome, the Maldives...
(giggles, twisting her hair)

Joel:

And then you had to go.

Beth:

And all of a sudden I was back in the changing room, all on my own. I thought I was mad, that I’d had a stroke or something. I bought the jeans, though. I kind of felt I should...

Joel:

And I zapped back home, back to my bed.

Beth:

Back to your life.

Joel:

And you back to your life.

Beth:

Yup.
(Looks pensive. Joel strokes her hand.)

Joel:

And it’s time to go back now, Beth.

Beth:

Don’t say goodbye. Say “See you soon”.

Joel:

I love you.

(They look away and we see they are sitting on top of the Hollywood sign. Then they are gone.)

I read it back and I can't believe this is happening to me. This is a once in a lifetime ride. Whatever the consequences, I just can't stop. It would be a waste of this gift.

Beth

I pull up in front of the Holiday Inn. I have to make this look convincing should anyone see me, so under my coat I am wearing trackie bottoms, a t-shirt and white trainers. I go straight to the receptionist and ask about gym membership. She directs me to the leisure centre.

I follow the narrow, carpeted corridor. I round a bend and I realise that 'leisure centre' is a generous term. Frankly, it’s a cupboard. Still. It has some gym equipment and there is a 40ft heated swimming pool through the next door that looks OK. I wait until a super tanned, buff man – incredibly fit and obviously a member of staff by what he's almost wearing  - sees me loitering, closes the conversation he’s having and strides over to greet me.

Mr Fit gives me a whitened smile, shakes my hand and consults his clipboard. Wow, his calf muscles look like ham joints, his legs stretch up to some tiny navy shorts and a cut-off navy polo shirt that is slashed to reveal a washboard stomach. His dark, wavy hair hangs down to his chiselled jawline. For some reason I expect his accent to be Australian but when he opens his mouth it’s unmistakably Essex.

I bet he waxes.

“Can I help you?”

“I’d like to join the gym,” I say, suddenly feeling transparent, like it’s obvious that I have a motive other than fitness.

“Awesome!” Another grin. He has piercing blue eyes. “Great, I'm Eric by the way." He shakes my hand. "I’ll just get some forms, pull up a seat and I’m all yours!” He says, pulling out a bar stool for me and patting the vinyl cushioned seat.

I perch on it, aware that I am at least five years older than him. He winks at me. Crikey, is he flirting? Probably does it to all the women. And the men, I reckon. He asks me some basic questions about my fitness level and ticks some boxes. He then asks me to read the legal bit and sign.

“Do you want to pay by direct debit?” He asks. I think. I was going to pay in a lump sum but it will be all the more convincing that I am going to the gym if there is a regular payment, just in case Richard sees my bank statement.

We set up the direct debit and he offers to book me in for my induction. “Can we do it now?” I ask. “I’m looking forward to getting started.”

He looks around, there are only three other people using the equipment. “What the hey,” he says, smiling. “Pop your stuff in a locker and I’ll show you around personally right now.”

“Thanks. That’s great.”

By the time the induction has finished it is seven fifteen in the evening. I work back. That’s eleven fifteen in the morning on the West coast of America. There is no point trying to contact Joel right now, he will be busy.

We have agreed that I will go to the gym each morning before work, which for him will be last thing at night. That way, if he is free he can get in touch and if he’s not then I can have a workout. If nothing else I will be fit. He usually stays up later than Georgia as he tends to do his music in the evenings, or sit up playing computer games until the early hours.

My mind flinches from the thought of his wife's blonde perfection and his perfect family life. I push the thoughts away, trying to console myself that he shares me with Richard as much as I share him with Georgia. That doesn’t help either. It sounds disgusting, like we’re swingers or something.

I just want to get to know him, to be with him some more. I mustn’t forget that I am one of the luckiest girls alive.

I say goodbye to Mr Fit and leave the hotel. It’s raining. I pull up my hood and hurry to my car. I break a nail opening the wet door handle. Damn. I miss the warmth and dry heat of Vegas. I can hardly wait until tomorrow when I next see Joel. I’ll need to get to bed early if I’m to make it to the gym by seven thirty am.

I get home. Richard is waiting for me. He has cooked a chilli con carne, it smells delicious. He pops open a bottle of expensive looking red wine and pours me a glass. I take it from him. He kisses my forehead then asks me about my day. Despite my deception, I smile all through dinner.

He makes me laugh, telling me about some people at work. We have a wonderful evening. If I can just keep my emotions compartmentalised, this arrangement could work, I think.

And still, I don’t mention Selina.

Joel

“Wow that was amazing!” She smiles and stretches. Clasps my hand in hers. We both look up at the ceiling, breathing hard and
reveling in wondrous post-sex sensations. I imagine our thoughts are very different though.

I shiver. She notices, pulling the sheet up to cover me. She snuggles up. Her skin is warm and soft, her foot traces up and then down my leg. For some reason, I feel numb.

She is staring at me adoringly. “I have something to tell you honey,” she whispers. “I’m so excited, I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure but I can’t wait.”

She wriggles against me, excitedly.

“I think I’m pregnant!”

Oh.