Eight

Under the stars they came together

I wondered after Jack’s abrupt departure whether or not he still wanted me to come by that night. Then I wondered about what he planned on doing with me when I got there, and I became tingly all over. The idea of being with him frightened me a little, but I sucked it up. This was freedom, and I was determined for it to taste good.

The show that evening went over a storm, and there was a buzz in the air. I went to the gazebo with Lola for something to eat, and there seemed to be a bit of a party going on. There were some local women who had obviously come to see the show and were now enjoying an after party. I felt a little grimy in comparison. I was still wearing my blue dress from earlier, and it had paint stains all over; my hands were covered in paint, too, and my hair felt messy. I hadn’t had the chance to run a brush through it since that morning.

A space had been cleared for people to dance, and music was streaming from the speakers, some kind of French rap. It was curious. I only caught the odd word here and there, but the basic gist was pretty racy. I guessed that was why Julie was dancing all by herself wearing a tiny slip of a dress. In fact, I thought it might actually be a slip. Huh. She shook her hips and threw her hands up into the air before seductively running them down her body and swaying from side to side.

“Excuse me while I go pour some bleach in my eyes,” Lola deadpanned before steering me towards a table where Luan, Pedro, and Raphael were sitting. Air got caught in my lungs when I saw how half of Pedro’s face was bruised up. Lola sat beside Luan, chatting amiably, and I went to the opposite end of the bench, as far away from Pedro as I could possibly get.

He glanced at me, brown eyes hardening, then knocked back a gulp of whatever drink was in his glass. I got the distinct feeling he wasn’t done with me yet, and my throat ran dry.

“Don’t mind me,” came a hard yet humorous voice from behind me, and I jumped, turning to see I’d almost sat on top of King. I’d been so focused on Pedro that I hadn’t noticed him skulking in the corner.

“Sorry,” I apologised, and sat down across from him. His eyes weren’t as bloodshot as usual, and you could actually make out the colour of his hair now. It was an attractive shade of dark blond. Almost the same colour as mine. Somebody must have forced him to take a wash. I wondered if it was Jack. His clothes were still pretty worn and dirty, though.

His long hair and beard obscured half his face, but I thought he had probably been a very good-looking man at one time. I couldn’t really tell what age he was. It was difficult to pin down, due to his appearance, but he could’ve been anywhere between thirty and forty years old. And his eyes, man, I still couldn’t get over them. They were so beautiful and yet so sad.

“I don’t think we’ve properly met yet,” I said, holding my hand out to him. “I’m Lille.”

His icy blues narrowed on me somewhat warily, but he didn’t shake my hand. “I know who you are, love,” he said, then looked away over my shoulder where Marina sat with Winnie and Antonio, muttering under his breath, “Stupid meddling old bitch.”

There was a harsh, cutting tone to his words that surprised me. He must have seen the wide-eyed look on my face when he went on to explain. “Not you. My sister. The bitch has everyone watching me. Can’t get a fucking drink around here to save my life. What’s the point of living in a shithole like this if you can’t have a drink every now and again, eh?”

“Everywhere’s a shithole to you, King,” came Jack’s voice as he threw his leg over the bench and sat down beside me, his breath whispering over my ear when he said, “Hey.”

I glanced at him, getting goose bumps. “Hi.”

“Yeah, well, this place really is one,” King griped, and pressed his fingers to his skull. “Shitting cock bastards, I feel like someone’s trying to drill a hole into my cranium.”

Jack laughed. “Your mouth is a real thing of beauty. And the hole drilling would be what the rest of us who actually stop drinking every now and again call a hangover.”

“I wish somebody would hang me,” King complained. “Do you know that’s where the word comes from? Hangover? Historically, when there was a hanging, there’d also be a big street party, everyone boozing it up. Then the next day, when the hanging was over, they’d all feel like a steaming pile of shit, hence the now commonly used term. Kind of fucked up when you think about it. Having a party while some poor old sod gets hung.” He paused, his sad eyes growing even sadder. “People are depraved.”

“Look at you, using your words. Seems like the alcohol drought is doing you well already,” said Jack, and King grumbled. I thought that maybe Jack was the only person in this whole place who King allowed to tease him like that.

All of a sudden, the music got louder, and we all turned to see that Julie had gotten up on a table to dance. The straps of her dress had fallen down and hung low around her arms, showing more cleavage than before, along with the top of her black lacy bra.

“Red’s putting on a show for you, McCabe,” said King, letting out a cynical laugh that then transformed into a painful-sounding cough. Sleeping outdoors must have been wreaking havoc with his body. I shot him a sympathetic look, which he didn’t appear to appreciate.

Jack waved him away. “She puts on a show for everyone. Nothing special there.”

King began coughing again, and Julie continued to dance her way across the tables, finally reaching ours. Her eyes were honed in on Jack as she swayed, then came to a stop in front of him. She licked her lips and ran her hand over her collarbone, then down her chest. I felt myself grow incredibly uncomfortable and a little bit upset. She was pulling out all the stops to get Jack’s attention, and it must have been working, because he was staring back at her. I couldn’t read his expression, but still, the fact that he was looking at her made me feel about two inches tall.

Invisible, really.

“Licence my roving hands, and let them go,” King began loudly over the music, “before, behind, between, above, below.” The way he spoke made me think he was quoting from somewhere, but I didn’t recognise the lines. Julie turned to him and scowled. He was ruining her performance.

“Before, behind, between, above, below,” he repeated. “But if you let them all go, what is there left for anyone? What is there left for you?”

He was talking in riddles, but Julie still seemed annoyed. She kicked her leg out in a calculated move that hit King right in the shoulder. He went flying backwards and almost fell off the bench.

“That’s right,” he coughed, “hit a man when he’s down.”

Julie narrowed her eyes and leaned over to him. I was the only one close enough to hear her whisper-hiss, “You’re no man. I bet your cock is necrotic by now.”

When she turned around she was smiling again and I sat there in shock. She definitely didn’t know that I’d heard her. What a cruel, cruel thing to say. King might not have been the most pleasant person in the world, but it was obvious that he was the way he was because he was suffering.

I looked at him and saw genuine hurt on his face. Without thinking, I reached across the table and took his hand into mine. I don’t know why I did it. I guess I was just driven to comfort people when they were in pain.

“Don’t listen to her,” I told him, and at the same time he swiped his hand from my grasp.

“I don’t need your sympathy, girl,” he said, then got up from the bench and walked directly to a table of men who were drinking cans of beer. There was a half-full bottle of whiskey sitting right there in the open, and I was the only one who saw King swipe it, tuck it inside his coat, and walk right out of the gazebo.