Whirl

Whirl

by

Jessie M.

Copyright ©  Jessie M. 2013.

Hot & Dreamy Books

Barleycorn Media LLC

All Rights Reserved.

This book is sold subject to conditions that it cannot by way of trade be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the author’s prior consent, in any form or cover, other than which it is published.

This novel is a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it, while at times based on real figures, are purely the work of the author’s imagination.

The black rose symbolizes the start of new things or a major change in the direction of life.

Some just love it's simplicity and beauty.

An asexual symbol, the black rose adorns male and female bodies world wide.

I turn on my heels and leave the bar in the most dignified manner I can manage. I'm in a state of acute shock. How could he let me find out that way? It was just so cruel. I bet it was her idea. She has never liked me.

Men are such unfaithful bastards. At this precise moment, I hate them all.

My eyes sting with the coming of tears. 

I run as fast as I can down the main street, the rapid clicking of my high heels ringing in my ears. My stomach's churning, my heart hurting, my eyes blurring. The dam finally bursts as I run blindly around the corner towards home, hot tears streaming down my face. With shaking hands I let myself in through the doors, fumbling with keys, slamming doors behind me. I practically fall into my bedroom and onto my bed.

Only now do I give way to the wracking sobs. And I sob as if my heart is breaking, because it feels like it is. I thought we had something special. My sobs escalate as I vividly recall the feel of his hands and mouth on me, his deep kiss and the scent of his body. The way he smiled at me with his lovely brown eyes crinkling up at the corners. His silky soft fair hair between my fingers. Our words of lovemaking. Here, in this bed. My bed. My whole body still aches with desire for him despite the cruel scene he has just subjected me to.

Chris had seemed different than the others. There had been no pressure, no rush in his approach to me. I had felt so positive about things. It was sweet and loving. This was going to last.

But it hadn't been loving enough, apparently. I had no warning at all. No idea. At least I now know the real reason why he was 'too busy with work' to see me for the last three days.

His possessive arm around Jemma's waist had told the story. The placing of his lips on her cheek, the final scene. I was out of his life and she was in. He didn't even have the guts and decency to tell me properly. To say goodbye on our own, face to face. The cold look he gave me clearly said 'it's over' and the triumphant smile of victory from the bitch at his side was like a knife twisting in my gut.

I knew she'd had her eye on him for a while. But I mistakenly thought he loved me, and after all, I knew I was far more of a catch than her. She was never any competition in my mind. She's nothing special at all. Short, average looking, quiet, with a boring job in a packaging factory. The only thing she's known for is her bitchiness. There's no accounting for taste, obviously.

I'll have to reassess myself because there must be something seriously amiss with me. I have passable good looks, an interesting job, and a sexy appealing hobby. But despite that list of pluses, it never lasts. The longest relationship I've ever had was with Chris and that was a short two months. Maybe I'm too independent. Or overly affectionate; I know I'm very demonstrative and forthright with my feelings. Perhaps I'm just crap in bed. I really don't know what it is. It could simply be bad luck with my choices, and I'm attracted to the wrong sort of man. Not that there's a great deal of eligible choice around here.

I dab at my wet face with my black and purple floral duvet cover. How many times have I done this? Cried into this fucking duvet? Well it's the last time. I'm not giving my heart to anyone else. I'm going to get a cat to cuddle and love and use men like they've used me. I can't bear being hurt and disappointed any more.

I pick up my phone and with teary eyes text my best friend Kelly. She's another singleton. But happy to remain that way. She doesn't seem to want or need a boyfriend at all.
Lucky old her.

“
Just got dumped again :( ”

“
Oh no. Need some company?”

“
Really, really desperately :(  :( ”

“
Be there asap.”

I go into the bathroom and look in the mirror at my red blotchy face and messy tear dampened hair. I give my hair a quick brush and clean away the mascara which has smudged everywhere after dabbing it blindly with the duvet. I can't do much about the blotches. I wander around aimlessly feeling fretful and alone, on the verge of yet more tears, awaiting Kelly's arrival. I can't stand waiting for people at the best of times. I come to a stop in my bedroom. There are some of Chris' things lying around. Clothes, aftershave, hair stuff and other things. A tearful anger arises in me. I don't want anything of his in my space for another second.

Out of sight, out of mind. The healing process is starting right now!

I find a plastic bag and pick up each of his possessions coldly with a steely determination. I resist the strong temptation to bury my nose in his clothing and draw his sweaty man scent into my lungs one last time. I have a final root around the apartment to make sure I have found everything and carry the bulging bag downstairs and out to the communal rubbish container. I send him a message with an evil streak of satisfaction.

“Your junk is in the yellow bin outside.” Then I delete him from my contacts.

Kelly arrives an anguished twenty minutes later wearing a paint stained Minnie Mouse T-shirt and her favourite tattered jeans which are just about holding themselves together. Her dark blond hair is clipped up messily on the top of her head. She really looks the part today. Kelly's a struggling artist, waiting to be discovered. She has had some success, but not as much as I feel she deserves. Not that I'm a good judge of artistic brilliance, but she does have a unique talent to my mind. Her paintings are so striking, so colourful. Moody and modern with a humorous twist. A couple of my favourites flash through my mind. Her deep red abstract street scene with black and white polka dot buses and her ochre yellow waves crashing onto a midnight blue shore covered with pink crabs. That's the kind of thing she does nowadays. She calls it her 'modern fantasist' phase. She's had a few phases, but this is definitely her best.

She greets me with a long, silent hug in the doorway, affectionately rubbing my back and patting me gently. It chokes me up. I eventually pull her inside and close the door.

“
God, I'm really sorry I took so long, I couldn't get the bloody cat to come in.”

“
It's okay. I can't expect you to drop everything the second I have a love crisis.”

“
Tell me then... I thought it was going really well with Chris? What the hell happened?”

“
Jemma. Out of the blue. At Signals Bar, just now.” I croak. I can't help it. I'm tearing up again rapidly at the thought of the two of them together, going home, kissing, and having sex. She puts her arm around my shoulders and gives me another tight affectionate squeeze which sets me off crying full flood.

“
Really? But she's so plain and such a horrid bitch. What on earth does he want with her?”

“
I don't know, I really don't... and d'you know what? I don't give a fuck.... I'm so fed up with it all. I'm not dating anymore... I'm going to have one night stands like you do from now on, no strings stuff.”  I splutter between sobs, grabbing a tissue and dabbing again. I blow my runny nose noisily.

“
Well it does save you from all this heartache, that's true, and it suits me because I'm a natural loner. I don't want anyone permanent in my life. But I don't know if my kind of lifestyle will suit you in the longer run.”

“
I know that. But I can't keep doing this to myself.” I try and calm down with a couple of deep breaths.

“
You need a break, that's all. A few one off shags with some hot 'n sexy men and you'll be ready to get back in the saddle. That's what you need, my girl. A relationship holiday. I'll find you some perfect guys on POF.” She smiles at my miserable tear dampened face. “I've brought my PJs and toothbrush just in case you wanted me to stay tonight.” She fishes around in her large shoulder bag producing a chilled bottle of wine wrapped in a see through plastic bag which she slaps in my hand with a flourish. “Now go open that PDQ and pour us both a glass of happy potion, eh?”

“
Oh God Kel, you're such a wonder. What would I do without you?” Kel's so thoughtful and practical. I love her to bits. I go into the kitchen to collect the glasses feeling a lot better all of a sudden.
Damn men. No actually, fuck them all to hell! I don't give a toss any more.

***

I go to work the next day in a quiet and reflective mood. The Chris experience has made me feel a deep sense of dissatisfaction with my personal life. Actually, it's not just him. It's been growing inside me for a while, before I met him. I feel stale and uninspired. I want to escape. To leave this crowd, and all my old school friends behind. Apart from Kelly of course. She's my best friend and I love her dearly. But I desperately need a new outlook, to meet some new people and to take a break from this town for a while. Maybe even leave permanently. I've lived here all my life. I don't want to live and die in Hempstead.

I do in fact meet lots of people through my job in London, but my working environment doesn't lend itself well to making real friends. I work for a corporate events company. Arranging conferences, banquets, parties and so on. It can be quite interesting at times. I've met some very famous people in the last three years. Corporate events tend to be the higher end of the budget spectrum and can afford high profile entertainment. I've rubbed shoulders with top ranking DJs, bands, singers, and musicians who have passed briefly through my working days. It can be very rewarding, exciting, and stimulating, but it's not really the place to forge new lasting friendships. It's a superficial glamorous world and I'm fully aware of that.

I'm still thinking about the change I need in my life as I make my way out to my other job later that evening. Not that it feels like a job to me, it's more of a paid hobby. I'm a part time professional singer.

It happened completely by accident.

We didn't know anything about it until we arrived there that night. They were holding open singing auditions in “The Blue Lounge” restaurant and club. My sister Antonia nudged me up on stage. Being a mad karaoke fan from my childhood, I didn't take much nudging. I was up there and into Mariah's 'We Belong Together' in a flash. I'd practised it for years and had it down to a fine art. I could even replicate her little throat catch and her long notes. Not that I have her vocal range by a long shot, but I must have put on a good show, because the next thing I knew I was working there two nights a week, and I still am, two years later. I love singing with a passion. Always have. It's my emotional safety valve, and heaven knows I need it at times. I put so much into my club sessions. It's as if I'm living the whole lyrical experience inside of me, pouring out my deliriously happy or desperately sad soul. More often than not the latter, unfortunately. I don't know if I'm good enough to make a real career out of it, I've never looked at that seriously, but I enjoy the little I do and the audience seems to appreciate me enough.

I park my car and slip inside the club through the back door and head for the tiny dressing room. I offer a quick “Hiya” to the manageress Jeanette, popping my head inside her office as I pass by and into my windowless dressing cupboard.  I kid you not, that's about the size of it. Once inside, I take off my jeans, T-shirt and trainers, open my bag and get dressed, putting on my dark blue dress and high heeled shoes. I apply some heavier make up and choose a set of costume jewellery from the box I brought with me. Standing back I take a long, hard, critical look at myself in the long mirror hanging on the back of the door.  I'm slim, a little too slim to be truthful, but I do have curves where they should be. Although I'm naturally dead lazy about exercise I try to keep what little there is of me toned by using the gym at the office once or twice a week, and I avoid the demon junk food as much as possible. Basically because I'm paranoid about getting cellulite. Unfortunately I have a severe addiction to
donuts and cheeseburgers which I simply have to indulge in now and then.

I fluff up my long dark hair, which is wavy with a tendency to curl at the ends. I turn this way and that, having a thorough look at myself. In all honesty, I feel I'm not that bad in the looks department. Not a great beauty, but better than average. I don't have much trouble getting men interested in me, my trouble is keeping their interest. It's something I do, or don't do. What the hell that is, I just don't know. One thing I do know is that I'm having a severe confidence crisis. I've put myself under my own microscope and just can't stop looking in it.

I curb my current need for further self examination and misery by turning my attention to my six music choices for tonight. I look through the masses of backing track CDs I have stacked on the shelves and floor. I'm going to go a little more up tempo to cheer myself up and set a lighter mood. No gutsy soulful ballads tonight. I settle on some fun Kylie Minogue tracks. Sweet and flirty and upbeat. 

After my session at the club, I'm back home at half past eleven and have a quick half hour on the laptop before I go off to bed at my usual midnight hour. My sister has sent me an email, only three minutes ago, I notice. I don't get one every week without fail, but we keep in contact fairly regularly. She married an American we met on holiday in Florida a few years ago. A Marine helicopter engineer, Brendan, who is stationed at Camp Pendleton, San Diego in California. They now live in the nearby town of Cardiff-by-the-sea.

I tap her contact number on Skype... She might still be online... I'm so pleased when she answers and her smiling face, so similar to mine, appears on the screen in front of me. I smile back enthusiastically. I love my older sister and miss her terribly. I haven't seen her in person for twenty two months. Basically because neither of us can afford the flight costs as we're both buying homes, furniture, cars and all that kind of boring old stuff.