We’d met on our arrival in the newest of many cities. Smithy and I had forged an immediate and close bond, both odd outcasts, both handicapped by dorky names. His honouring his place of conception and mine because my parents were definitely smoking crack at the time. It was the only explanation, although I didn’t like to speak ill of the dead. Winsome Light! What were they thinking?
Vegas Smith’s adolescence was more complex than most. After the judge dumped his mother, who ran away to a commune when she lost custody of her baby, Smithy’s father traded a series of wives, each getting younger. The current model was spanking fresh and sat somewhere in her mid-twenties.
In retaliation, Smithy held everything the judge did in contempt, disfiguring himself with dreadful haircuts in fluorescent shades and owning the churlish ‘emo’ attitude. He rode every parent’s nightmare motorcycle, was into extreme martial arts and bone-shattering parkour. Once, he got staggeringly drunk and urinated on the shag pile in front of the judge’s guests, including two senators and the British Ambassador.
“What happened to you, Smithy? You’re not hammered, naked or creating a public nuisance. Are there even enough anonymous programmes in existence for you?”
“Art school. The Judge had his heart set on me graduating in Law and following in the family tradition. Family!” he snorted. “As if that applies. Naturally, I had to disappoint him. If only I’d come up with it sooner. I wouldn’t have had to waste years on all that other stupid stuff.”
“I’m glad for you, Smithy. Happiness suits you. But I’m still not speaking to you.”
He grinned and quirked an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”
Having never taken anything I’d ever said seriously, he didn’t look set to start now. Circumstances took a considerable turn for the worse when Tiffany reached our spot.
“Don’t touch her, Vegas! You’ll get scabies or a tapeworm.”
Should I have Hugo shoot her? It was very tempting. Possibly just a kneecap.
Smithy’s smile vanished. “Retract your claws, Tiffany. I’ve had it with your drama. I told the judge to stop inviting you to his events, and you wouldn’t be here if not for your father’s attendance. Apologise to Winsome.” His face blazed and he protectively squeezed my hand.
“Don’t be angry at me,” Tiffany moped. “My phone’s missing and I didn’t get your calls. You know I’ll always text you back.”
“I haven’t called you. Or messaged you. Nor will I ever again, unless you say sorry to Winsome.”
I frowned, addled by Smithy’s sudden re-emergence as a butterfly, rather than the slug I’d come to expect. “Don’t bother, Smith. I can take care of myself.”
Contrary to what Bea believed, I did not need a saviour. At the sound of my voice, Tiffany puffed up defensively. I knew where this was heading. I had to get away, but my aunt was nowhere in sight. Bodies jostling to a slow beat on the dance floor blocked the view. The moody lighting didn’t help.
Sensing my desperation, Smith took charge. “We’d better get you out of here before the judge sees you and can’t resist dropping another age bracket.”
“Truly, it isn’t necessary.” Smith didn’t grasp he was the largest reason for my discomfort. “And Bea would skin your father alive if he so much as breathed at me wrong.”
“Vegas,” Tiffany pouted. “Come and dance with me.”
She sashayed forward, holding her hand out like Cleopatra greeting a kneeling suitor. Smith paid her no heed. He nestled closer to speak softly in my ear.
“You’re a pretty big enticement, Bear. I’m not sure anyone could resist. Besides,” he sat back and peeked at me from beneath long lashes, “I really want you to be the first to see something.”
Reaching over with a wistful expression, Smithy touched the pink enamelled flower in my hair. My cheeks prickled. From the corner of my vision, Tiffany’s eyes bulged. She slithered over to the neglected food with a dogged expression, scooped a handful of caviar and hurled it at me. Chilled eggs slimed my bare chest, oozing fishily into my cleavage, dripping onto my skirt and splattering Smith’s sleeve. We smelled of beached seaweed on a hot day.
I sighed and stood. Where the hell was the man mountain? Not that I required his help, but he normally adhered to me like superglue. I turned to scowl at him and he shrugged with a smirk.
“You didn’t let me know you needed your handbag.”
I closed my eyes and prayed for patience. “Essence of Beluga. Charming.”
I’d copped worse and had learned to pick my fights. With the number of wasted rich kids present this had a tinderbox feel to it. Nearby dancers stopped and gawked, their stillness contagious. We were quickly the focus of onlookers. The twins Prue and Priscilla clapped and laughed from the midst of the group. It was easy to get them enthused; their combined shoe sizes outbid their IQs.
Smith jumped to action, his jaw clenched in angry profile. “Come with me.”
Hugo made to follow us. Smithy beckoned Prue over as we cut a swathe through the crowd, saying softly, “See that big blond guy?” He pointed at Hugo. She tilted her head, inspecting the target with a cascade of flaxen locks, and nodded eagerly. “He’s a single, straight, multi-millionaire, who loves shopping and Pomeranians. Adores dressing them up in little diamante coats. I’d dibs that special before the stampede.”
Her face lit up. Seconds later, the persistent twins and a tittering flock of their friends waylaid Hugo. If I wasn’t so busy laughing, I might have felt sorry for him.
“That should keep him occupied for a bit,” Smithy said with a satisfied nod.
In the background, someone called, “Hey, there’s a mobile in the punch!”
We brushed past Tiffany without a word. Her mortified face revealed our departure together was better justice than drowning her phone in vodka and fruit-pulp. If we weren’t enemies before this, the vendetta was now cemented. Smith lightly grasped my elbow and propelled me through the spectators, oblivious of the withering looks I received and the open-mouthed yearning he encouraged.
“How did you know Hugo wasn’t bluffing about his gun?”
“You’d never believe me if I told you.”
“You’d be surprised by what I believe these days.”
“Guns, plural. And two knives. A small-calibre strapped to his ankle and a knife on his other calf. One big military blade under his shirt on his right hip and a large bore canon in a holster at his back, loaded with hollow-points. He also has knuckle dusters, a garrotte and throwing stars in his pockets. The man’s a walking munitions cache.”
“But how do you know that?”
“Um, I could smell the polishing compound and see he was carrying from the way his jacket fell.”
The answer was as watertight as a sea sponge, and from his shifty look, he knew it. We headed up the curvaceous staircase and along the hall, far away from the delightful Tiffany. I thought of a few more questions, but decided I’d had my fill of cryptic half-baked responses for one day and let the matter drop. My existence seemed to have transformed overnight into a giant Rubik’s cube. And Smithy didn’t seem particularly astonished by my new friend Hugo’s hobbies. Or that I’d actually acquired a new friend, of sorts. He guided me into his room and almost kicked the door out of its frame on closing it.
“I can’t believe Tiffany did that,” he said. “I’m so sorry, Bear. You can clean up in here, while I find you something to wear.”
He steered me into his spacious ensuite, and awkward memories of another day two years prior sprang to mind. I’d come home from an evening run to discover an extremely inebriated Smith lying dishevelled in my doorway.
“What are you doing here?” I’d asked him. “Look at the state you’re in.”
“He’s dumped another one, Bear,” he hiccupped miserably, reeking of tequila. “I’ve got a joke for you. How many stepmothers does it take to raise a son?” He paused. “None, if you’ve got a real mum. Or even a father would do.”
“You made that up,” I said, as I hoisted him to his feet. “And it isn’t very funny.”
“No,” he said, his arm draped over my shoulder. “It’s just the lousy truth. You’re all sweaty.”
We staggered across the street and I negotiated the security system so we could access his building. “And you’re blitzed.”
We eventually straggled to his room – somewhere I’d never previously been – and I jostled him fully clothed into his shower, turning on the cold full bore. He refused to release me and pulled me to the floor with him.
“Hey! Let go, idiot.” I fell on top of him. The water was freezing.
“You know, Bear? I can’t talk to anyone else like I can talk to you. I love you,” he spluttered, water streaming in rivulets through his cobalt hair and clumping his dark lashes. “You always take care of me.”
I wriggled to get free, but he had me pinned. “Well, aren’t I the lucky one.”
“I mean it. I really do love you.” He stroked my cheek, his breaths accelerating.
My patience frayed and my teeth chattered. “And I mean it. Let me up!”
“You can’t go. I’ll give you a reason to stay.”
Abruptly, he leaned over, clutched me to him and kissed me gently on the mouth. It was wet, boozy, and uninvited, but at the touch of his warm lips my body burst awake. He pulled back, gazed dreamily at me for a moment and then puked in my lap. I’d left for Austria two days later, upset that he’d plied me with alcohol-fuelled lies like any other of his bimbos. I’d thought we were true friends, outcasts sharing the burden of our difference.
Recall brought on embarrassment and hurt that stung worse than my sunburn. Time to make another swift getaway. I managed two steps before Smith reappeared in the doorway, minus his jacket, holding up a man’s white shirt.
“Will this do?” He smiled winningly in a clean t-shirt, while I struggled not to notice muscular contours stretching its fabric across his chest. The skinny string bean he’d used to be was well and truly gone. “It’ll be long on you. You’re so petite.”
“Thanks, but I’m going.” His new charm didn’t fool me. Somewhere buried beneath that scrumptious, polished exterior lurked the old tarnished Smithy. “I’ll fix this at home.”
“I knew I’d blown it when you didn’t respond to my apology flowers,” he blurted. “Or the chocolate, or the card and the letter. Bea never let me know when you were home for holidays, either. No matter how much I begged. Give me another chance? Stay. I really need you to see something.”
What letter? I didn’t know anything about flowers or chocolates. His cheeks were flushed and forehead furrowed, one arm dropping so the shirt dragged along the floor. Maybe this was as awkward for Smithy as it was for me.
“Fine,” I grabbed the shirt, refusing to look at him. “Out.”
A little later, barefoot and barely dressed, I allowed him to lead me to the judge’s private gallery in an upper-floor loft. Smithy’s father’s less-than-savoury taste contaminated these walls too. Indescribable monuments littered the hall made out of random bits of garbage, rusted metal and plastic.
“You’re not seriously showing me your etchings, are you?”
“Not in the way you think, Bear. I’m on my best behaviour.”
“Hmm, that’s a dubious pledge.”
A plain white plinth stood in the farthest corner, inconspicuous amongst its gaudy neighbours. No brass plaque or any other inscription announced the artist’s name. Upon it, a small marble mermaid reclined, about the size of a man’s palm. The lovely figure’s head rested on an upthrust arm, one half of her body draping land. Her tail floated on water expertly rendered in stone. Starfish and tiny shells decorated her long wavy hair, her round breasts were faultless and her charming face was serene, her eyes shut. Vegas led me over to her, indicating with a silent nod I should pick the sculpture up. He seemed unusually jumpy.
“Isn’t she special? Bea will want to buy this.” I made to go downstairs and fetch my aunt, forgetting my less-than-respectable, gossip-provoking outfit. “Why is she stuck back here? She’s the best piece the judge has ever brought into your home.”
Vegas still gripped my elbow. “It’s not for sale. The judge wouldn’t have it here if he knew about it.”
“Why not? This one little figurine pardons the judge for years of abuse with the rubbish he calls art.”
He laughed. “I made it for you, Winnie. My first sculpture.” Just as I didn’t used his first name, he didn’t normally use mine. I stood there dumbly. “Consider it a token of affection from a boy with blue hair for not flinching when you were out in public with me. And for being the best, never-critical, most-special friend through all the years I made a mess of things. Thank you, Bear.”
I fought the desire to tear up. He embraced me and tenderly kissed the top of my head. Holding me in the warm cloak of his arms he muttered, “I’ve really missed you. You should check your emails once a millennia.”
My mind tried to catch up to the pleasure coursing my body. I was fairly convinced this new intensity to Smith’s reaction towards me was no drunken pass. I wasn’t sure how to respond. Of course, I should have known any second of peace was bound to be short-lived.
“Thank God, Winnie,” Bea raced into the room, stopping just inside the doorway. “There you are.”
Vegas and I broke apart, me cupping his wonderful gift in my hands, feeling exposed and ill at ease. Her timing was wretched. A disgruntled Hugo glowered over her shoulder. Taking in the scene, Bea’s face went slack with an emotion that seemed closest to guilt. She had to be the one who’d hidden Smithy’s messages. He mumbled sheepishly about an ‘overreaction’ as more people converged from the search she’d no doubt orchestrated. It was all very humiliating.
“Have you received a death threat or something, Bear? I’ve never seen Bea so uptight. And that’s saying something.”
I sighed. “I honestly don’t know. It could be my state of undress.”
Tiffany pushed to the front of the group, the twins dutifully in tow. They sidled towards Hugo, who stepped away. I swore under my breath, earning a sharp glance from Bea. Her hearing was better than that of a lynx.
“Vegas, bay-bee. I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Tiffany crooned. She seemed happier now Smithy seemed to have pulled his infamous vanish-the-clothes act and I was just another of his disposable one-nighters.
Bea edged further inside the room, rudely giving Tiffany her rear. Thin-lipped with her arms crossed, my great-aunt was thoroughly scary, but it wasn’t aimed at me. Did I really seem so inept that I needed another person to jump to my defence? Well, I wasn’t up for some silly territorial quarrel. I’d had my fill of merriment and food. My over-full stomach compacted my lungs, probably needing a litre of antacid. Smith hovered so closely I could detect the warmth of his skin.
“Thank you for the mermaid. She’s absolutely lovely.” I had to get on my tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. Bea, who was doing a fabulous job of not demanding an explanation for my lacking an outfit, threw a hostile glare at Tiffany. “Shall we?” I asked, gesturing in the direction of our warehouse.
“Bear,” Smithy said. “When will I see you again?”
“I’ll be around.” Bea and Hugo trailed in my wake out the door.
Tiffany wore a conquering smile when I passed. Her groupies shot poisonous glances at me for exiting with a potential ex-boyfriend, but Hugo looked entirely relieved to be going. I felt a bit wrong for deserting Vegas with the buzzards circling, but was confident he could handle himself. Strangely, our departure was not the grateful end to another chore, his teasing heat still warming my flesh and begging me to stay.
