Logan, page 6
part #2 of Tough London Series
‘Oh really?’ he says. ‘And I suppose you paint, do you? What are your subjects?’
‘I only paint very badly,’ I reply, sheepishly, ‘and I mainly paint myself. I feel bad making other people sit there as I paint them. Feels like it’s an imposition on their time.’ In truth, I would love to paint other subjects, but I haven’t painted since prison, and I’m far too anxious and full of self doubt to even attempt anything at the moment.
‘Very noble,’ he says, ‘or, I suppose from another point of view, extremely self-centered. Egoistical, in a way.’
‘Hey,’ I reply, ‘that’s not a very nice thing to say.’ I draw myself up to my full height.
He shrinks back, immediately. ‘Apologies. If I can just have a full refund for the white and the other two,’ he deposits the other tubes on the counter (they’ve obviously had some paint squeezed out, too).
‘No can do.’ I shake my head. ‘We have a strict no-returns policy. Especially on half-used tubes of paint.’
‘Nonsense,’ he whimpers, laughing nervously, ‘you see, myself and the manager, we have an understanding. I’m your best customer, you see, and losing my business would be a severe blow to this tiny little shop.’
‘Friend,’ I say, doing my best to let him know that he is not in any way my friend, ‘there is no way in hell that you’re getting a refund for any of those tubes. You’ve used up some of the paint, and we don’t do refunds.’
‘Well, friend,’ he says, stepping closer to me, so close that I can smell his rancid breath, ‘I demand to talk to the manager right this moment.’
I step back, cross my arms.
‘Not a fucking chance in hell.’
He explodes with rage, his voice raised to a frenzied shout.
‘How dare you speak to me in this manner! Haven’t you ever heard that the customer is always right? Get me Clark out here this instant! I’ll have you fired, I’ll have you thrown out, I’ll have you arrested!’
What can I say? He touches a nerve.
‘You better be careful what you say to me, you tiny little man,’ I say, ‘because if you get on the wrong side of me,’ and I step forward, dwarfing him with my full size, ‘I can be very, very dangerous.’
Then, the thing I’ve been worrying about happening, happens.
‘What is going on out here?’ Clark’s voice, loud and clear, comes from the direction of the back room.
‘This man is threatening me!’ shouts the customer.
‘That’s not true,’ I counter, even though I guess, technically, it is. I mean I just told him he should be careful what he says to me. But that’s just fucking useful advice, not a threat. ‘Look,’ I say, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. You just got a bit personal.’
‘Personal? That was nothing, you thug. You uncultured, preaching, jobsworth nuisance!’
Thank fuck I’m able to keep my temper under control. I definitely recognise that this is a time to keep my mouth shut.
‘There’s no need for that, Marco,’ says Clark.
Marco. That name suites this guy perfectly. He doesn’t seem to have a drop of Italian blood in him, of course, but he has a fucking pretentious name. I wonder what his name really is. Joe or Steve or some shit. I mean, Mark is the obvious guess.
It takes about five minutes to calm Marco down. Obviously Clark gives the prick a refund as well. Not even an exchange for other items. A full refund. And of course because he’s used most of the paint in the tubes he brought back, we just have to throw the rest of it away.
Clark looks totally miserable for the rest of the day. I try to keep myself to myself. Just before five, he comes up to me.
‘Logan,’ he says, ‘there’s no excuse for talking to a customer like that, you know. It doesn’t matter if they are the biggest prick in the world, you just have to be nice to them, give them what they want.’
I feel anger bubbling up inside me. Not with Clark, but with Marco.
‘I disagree,’ I say. ‘I know it’s not my place, but you can’t let guys like that walk all over you. As soon as they think they’re in control, they will just take and take and take. I know, I’ve had experience with people like that before.’
He sighs.
‘Maybe you’re right,’ he says, those big blue eyes almost look like they have tears forming in them. He rubs his neck. I watch his hand, and he moves the fabric of his top a little. Is that a scar underneath?
He spots me looking and seems suddenly very self-conscious. He moves his hand away.
‘But you’ve got to pick your battles,’ he says, ‘make sure that they’re worth the fight.’
‘He is worth the fight to me,’ I reply. ‘This isn’t the first time he’s done something like this, is it?’ I feel so angry.
He shakes his head.
‘I knew it.’ I shake my head. ‘And if you let him do it, he’ll keep doing it. And he’ll take more and more. You’ve got to stand up to him.’
‘This is the most you’ve said all day,’ he comments.
‘Well, I don’t like seeing good people get shit on.’
We don’t talk for the rest of the day, and just before I’m due to leave, the phone rings in the store room. Clark heads through to take it, and I stand guard, making sure that no-one comes in. Now, I know it’s bad, but I can’t help but overhear some of the conversation. I’m not doing it on purpose, but he’s left the door open a crack, and what am I mean to do, turn off my ears?
‘No,’ he says, ‘he’s been no bother at all. No, no, nothing bad. In fact, he’s been a real asset to the shop. I’m very pleased.’
I can’t believe it. He’s not snitching on me. He didn’t say a bad word about me to Tom. It was a glowing fucking review.
For the first time in what seems like years, I feel a surging rise of happiness fill my chest. I guess he wasn’t too upset about the way I’d handled Marco after all. I guess maybe he does like me.
When he comes out of the staffroom, I can’t help myself. I have to thank him.
‘Clark,’ I say, ‘I heard what you just said to Tom. I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it. I just wanted to say thank you.’
‘Well,’ he says, ‘it was an honest review. Mostly.’
I step forward, closer to him, so close that I can smell him, a light vanilla scent, exotic and intoxicating.
‘It’s just,’ I say, feeling the emotion rise in my throat, ‘I’ve been through a lot these past few years. This opportunity means the world to me.’
He looks straight at me, locks eyes with me. I can feel it again, feel the energy between us, the latent passion just waiting to rise up and take control.
There is a moment of understanding between the two of us. I know he can feel it, I know he can feel it too. There is a bond here, bringing us close.
‘You’re welcome,’ he says, his voice faltering.
‘I didn’t say thank you,’ I say. I put my arms around him, holding him tight. I’m so desperate to touch him, to feel his body next to mine.
‘What are you doing…?’ he says, but he pushes his body into mine. I can feel the desire in him. He looks up into my eyes and I move my lips to him.
For a moment — just a sweet, fleeting moment — I taste him. He pushes his lips into mine and the embrace feels like heaven. I feel something I haven’t for years, that I haven’t since…him. Then, quickly, far far too quickly, he pushes away, and it’s over.
‘You should leave,’ he says.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘No,’ he says, ‘I’m sorry. But you have to go, right now. We shouldn’t have done that.’
‘I disagree,’ I say. ‘This day in the shop, it’s the first time for years that I like I might be close to finding a purpose again in life.’ I want to carry on, to plead and beg, but this wasn’t the right fight, and it isn’t the right time, so I turn and leave. I didn’t know if I’ll ever get the chance to see him again.
I turn back, the taste of his lips still on mine, hoping to see him watching me leave, but all I see is an empty street, and the first few stray snowflakes of a winter drift.
9
CLARK
* * *
What have I done? I’m at home, with Franca, trying desperately to justify my behaviour, trying to convince myself that things aren’t about to spin out of control.
‘Clark, Clark, Clark,’ says Franca, carefully topping up my glass of red from the fast emptying bottle in front of us, ‘you sure know how to get yourself into trouble, don’t you?’
‘I guess that’s one way of putting it,’ I reply.
I take a big sip of red from the glass. I love the way the thick liquid tastes. So rich and heady. It feels like with every sip, more of the shame and anxiety of the day washes away.
My flat is a mess of canvases and paints, even more so than usual. I’d been frantically painting that day until France came round. I have a book of photographs of male nudes, and I’ve been desperately trying to get rid of some of the latent lust from my brain by sketching endless sets of perfect abs, the lines of buttocks, even the low, heavy hang of a set of beautiful male genitals.
Course, when Franca knocked on my door I quickly stuffed the most explicit sketches into my set of deep, flat artist’s drawers, but there are still a couple out.
‘It seems like he’s really been on your mind tonight,’ she says, picking up a large sketch of a man’s stomach. ‘You think this is what his abs are like?’ she says. ‘Mmmhmmm, boy, you’ve got to tap that.’
‘I can’t!’ I say, with sudden mania in my voice. ‘He’s bad news, I’m telling you. It’s not right. Today, he threatened a customer. I like he was creepy with me. It’s like Ryan all over again.’
‘So why are you sketching pictures of his god-damn naked body,’ she says, ‘if it’s so wrong.’
‘Because,’ I admit, ‘I’m obsessed, that’s why.’
‘Hey,’ she says, drinking deep from her glass, ‘nothing better than a healthy obsession.’
But it doesn’t feel healthy. That moment he leaned in and kissed me, I’d true lust for the first time in years, for the first time since it had ended with Ryan. And don’t get me wrong, it good, like really good. Like, the best feeling you can imagine. For years I’ve blocked that part of myself off. I haven’t let myself feel anything for anyone. It’s too dangerous. I already have plenty of scars from that last relationship, and I don’t want to get any new ones.
It feels like something has changed in me though. Like I’ve opened the floodgates and now I’m not strong enough to close them.
I must look miserable, because Franca’s expression has changed. Her usual, cheeky expression has been replaced by one of concern.
‘Oh sweetheart, I’m sorry, I was only teasing. It’s been such a long time since you’ve seemed excited about anything other than your work. It made me feel good to see you pumped up.’
‘I know,’ I reply, ‘I think maybe I’ve forgotten how to feel safe enough with someone to really be attracted to them. And it doesn’t help that the only guy I’ve been attracted to in god-knows how long is an ex-con.’
‘Well you definitely have a very specific type. You really love bad boys, don’t you?’
‘I sure do.’
Franca shifts her weight in the blue armchair. She’s such a cutie. So petite, but with such a fiery temper.
‘So, are you going to tell the agency you can’t have him back?’
‘Let’s not get hasty,’ I say. She smiles. ‘In fact,’ I continue, ‘I kind of already told Tom from the Agency that Logan did a great job and that he should come back. I mean, that was before he kissed me, obviously, but it’s not like I called him back and told him about it.’
She giggles, ‘You are so bad!’
‘It’s not that,’ I say, smiling, ‘it’s just, I do think he deserves a second chance in society. I don’t want his record to show that he worked with me for just one day and then got fired. He’s just trying to get back on his feet.’
So I’m going to have a serious talk with Logan tomorrow. I’m going to sit him down and explain that what happened today will never happen again, and that if he is OK to forget it, leave it in the past, we can move on and get to know each other as colleagues.
What could be fairer or more straightforward than that?
Just as I finished explaining my plan to Franca, there’s a knock at the door.I’m not expecting anyone. Weird, it must be a Jehovah’s witness or a salesperson.
‘I’ll just get that and send them away,’ I say.
‘Sure thing honey,’ says Franca.
I have a weird feeling as I walk to the door, like the ground is moving, like stuff is shifting beneath my feet. I’m not drunk, and anyway, this doesn’t feel like inebriation. This feels like the world is falling out from under me.
Of course it isn’t a salesman. It isn’t a Jehovah’s witness. It’s Ryan. My biggest mistake. My only regret. The only man I’ve ever loved. The only man I’ve ever truly hated.
‘Just let me talk, Clark,’ he says.
His cheeks are angular and covered in hard, short stubble. His ice-blue eyes are open wide, pleading with me. His lips, still as soft-looking and pouty as they’d ever been, are drawn into a strange, desperate smile.
‘You shouldn’t be here,’ I say.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says, ‘I’m sorry about it all. But it was just an accident, Clark. It wasn’t my fault.’
So many feelings come rushing back to me. The love, the pain, the helplessness, the feeling of betrayal. But most of all, the pain.
I can’t help it, I raise my voice.
‘It was your fault Ryan, it was all your fault.’
‘You owe me!’ he says, raising his voice to match mine, ‘You said things to me that you can’t take back. You told me you’d always love me, and you said no matter what that you’d always love me!’
I had said those things, it’s true. But just because you feel something in the moment, it doesn’t mean you can’t change your mind later on. Especially with all the craziness that happened between us. Especially with what he did.
‘Ryan,’ I say, trying to calm down, trying desperately to keep my voice under control, making sure that he doesn’t win, doesn’t make me lose my cool. ‘Ryan, I’m going to ask you to leave, and if you don’t, I’m going to call the police. And if you come back, ever, I’m going to call the police, immediately.’
‘You think the fucking police is going to help you?’ he says, giving me a threatening look.
I have to admit, that right now, I feel scared. Franca is just inside, and I don’t really think that Ryan would actually do anything to physically hurt me. But I don’t know him anymore. Just how desperate is he?
‘This isn’t the way to win someone back, you know.’ I say, trying whatever I can to try and make him leave. His face changes, becomes less hard, less intense. There is emotion there, real feeling.
‘Then what is the way to win you back?’ he says, ‘Because that’s all I want. And I know you want it too.’
‘He doesn’t want it you fucking psychopath!’
Now Franca is right here, next to me.
‘When are you gonna get some sense into that thick head of yours? I told you the other day. He’s told you a hundred, no a million times. It’s over! And he might not have the balls to call the cops, but I sure as fuck do. Now get away from here right now.’
Ryan looks at me with tears starting to form on the rims of his eyes.
‘Is this what you want?’
I nod. Thank the Lord that Franca is here. I can already feel my strength wavering? Who knows what might have happened if it had just been me and Ryan here together, alone. Who knows what he would have done?
‘Fine,’ he spits, ‘but this isn’t the end. I want you to know that it’s not over. I still love you, Clark, and you still belong to me.’
I shut the door with as much force as I can muster. For a second I hold it together. I feel strong too, like I’ve managed to turn my back on my past again. Then, the adrenaline rushes away from my heart and I feel big tears forming. I start to gulp and sniff, and in seconds I’m bawling like a child.
‘It’s OK honey,’ says Franca, holding my head close to her heart, stroking my hair. ‘He’s gone now, he can’t hurt you now.’
Then the thought enters my head that’s been threatening to get in since the very first time I saw Ryan, angry and mad at my door: I wish Logan was here.
I don’t want to think it, I don’t want to feel it with all my heart, but I don’t have a choice. It was there, like a stubborn cough, impossible to ignore, impossible to cure.
And later, when Franca is gone, when I’m all alone in the dark of my bedroom, I imagine Logan here with me. I imagine his big arms round me, his strong chest under my cheek, the smoothness and warmth of him all around me.
But I imagine more. I don’t just imagine him around me. I imagine him inside me. Moving with lust, driving into me with hunger. I can’t wait to see him tomorrow.
10
LOGAN
* * *
‘You did what?’
‘I walked out, man, what was I meant to do?’
Dizzy is looking at me like I’m a madman.
‘Meant to do? You were meant to lay some pipe, brother! You were meant to take it to the next level! You were meant to pound that ass like a boss!’ He’s making his trademark disgusting hand movements again.
‘OK, I get it,’ I say, ‘but you weren’t there. You didn’t see it. He wanted me gone. I dunno, it’s hard to explain. He wanted to kiss me, I could feel it. I mean, you know, he pushed into me, he was kissing me.’
‘That’s what I’m talking about.’
‘But then,’ I continue, trying to ignore him, ‘he looked at me like he’d seen a ghost. Like something really bad has happened to him. And I just knew I had to go. He didn’t want me anymore. I don’t know if he recognised me. Fuck, maybe I just had bad breath. I don’t get it.’
