Marian Keyes - Lucy Sullivan Is Getting Married (30 page)

Where was my dinner?

I no longer cared.

"But you're kinda cute."

"Thanks," I muttered. Don't bother, please.

"Yeah, on a scale of one to ten, I'd give you a...let's see, yeah, I'd give you a seven. No, let's say a six point five. I gotta deduct a half a percent because you drank alcohol on the first date."

"I think you must mean half a point, not half a percent, you're talking about tens, not hundreds, and what's wrong with drinking it on the first date, as opposed to any other time?" I demanded coldly.

He frowned slowly at me. "You got a big mouth on you. You ask a whole lot of questions, ya know that?"

"No, really Chuck, I'm very interested in knowing why I've lost half a point with you."

"Okay. Okay. I'll tell ya, I'll tell ya. Sure, I'll tell ya. You realize the signals that drinking alcohol on a first date gives out, Lisa? You see the kind of statement you're making about yourself?"

I stared blankly at him.

"No," I said sweetly. "But please do enlighten me."

"Huh?"

"Enligh...er, please do tell me."

"A, V, A, I, L, A, B, L, E," he spelt out slowly.

"Sorry?" I said, confused.

"Available," he said impatiently. "It says to me that you're available." lucy sullivan is getting married / 357

"Oh, available," I said, understanding. "Well, perhaps if you had spelled it properly I might have realized what you were trying to say."

His eyes narrowed.

"Hey, what are you trying to say here? That you're smarter'n me or something?"

"Nothing of the sort," I said politely. "I was just letting you know that there are three As in available." God! He was nasty!

"No man has any respect for a woman who is a drunk," he said, looking with narrowed eyes at my Bacardi and then at me.

This had to be a joke. It had to be some kind of setup. That was the only explanation. I looked around the room, half expecting to see Daniel sitting at one of the other tables laughing hysterically.

But I recognized no one.

Oh dear, I sighed to myself, I wish this was over. What a waste of an evening. Especially a Friday evening, when there were such good things on TV.

"You know, you don't actually have to put up with this," a rebellious little voice whispered in my head.

"But of course I do," a dutiful little voice whispered back.

"No, honestly, you don't," replied the first voice.

"But, but...I agreed to meet him, I have to stay the allotted time. I can't leave. It wouldn't be polite," protested my dutiful part.

"Polite," spluttered the rebellious voice, "polite! Is he polite?"

"Yes, but, I hardly ever meet men and I shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth and..." explained my dutiful part.

"I don't believe what you're saying," said the rebel 358 / marian keyes

lious part, sounding genuinely shocked. "Do you really have such a low opinion of yourself that you'd rather be with a man like this than alone?"

"But I'm so lonely," said the dutiful voice.

"Desperate, you mean," snorted the rebellious voice.

"Now that you put it like that..." said the dutiful part reluctantly, loath to turn away a man, any man, even a truly awful man.

"I do put it like that," said the rebellious part firmly.

"Well, okay then, I suppose I could pretend to be sick," said the dutiful voice. "I could fake a broken leg or a burst appendix, or something."

"No, you damn well won't," said the rebellious part. "Why spare him? If you're leaving, do it properly. Let him know how objectionable he is, how obnoxious you find him. Stand up for yourself--make a statement."

"Oh, I couldn't..." protested the dutiful part.

The rebellious voice was silent.

"...Could I?"

"Of course you could," said my rebellious voice warmly.

"But...but...what am I to do?" asked the dutiful part, excitement begin- ning to burn in the pit of its stomach.

"I'm sure you'll think of something."

Chuck was droning on again.

"I was on the tube today and no kiddin' here, Lizzie, I was the only white guy on it..."

Right! Enough! No more.

"But I'm afraid of him," realized my dutiful part. "What if he tracks me down and tortures me and kills me--let's face it, that's the kind he seems to be."

"Don't be afraid," said the rebellious voice. "He doesn't know where you live, he doesn't even have your lucy sullivan is getting married / 359

phone number. All he has is a P.O. box number. Go on! You've nothing to worry about."

Feeling light-headed with unaccustomed power I stood up, gathering my coat and my bag.

"Excuse me." I smiled sweetly, interrupting Chuck's speech about how there should be tighter controls on emigration and how only white people should have a vote. "I'm just going to the little girls' room."

"You gotta take your coat to the rest room?" inquired Chuck.

"Yes, Chuck," I said sweetly. Dickhead!

I walked away from him, my legs shaking. I was afraid but I was also happy.

I passed our waitress clearing a table and I had so much adrenaline throbbing through me I could barely speak properly.

"Excuse me," I said, my words tripping over each other, my tongue far too big for my mouth. "I'm at the table by the window and the gentleman would like a bottle of your most expensive champagne sent over, please."

"Certainly," said the woman.

"Thank you," I smiled, and moved past her.

As soon as I got home I would call the restaurant to make sure that the waitress didn't end up having to pay for it herself, I decided.

I reached the Ladies, hesitated for only a moment, then kept on walking. I felt as if I were dreaming. It was only when I crossed over the threshold from the restaurant into the rainy street that I really believed that I had done it, that I had left.

My initial plan had been to just leave and go home, letting the passage of time be Chuck's indicator that I was never to return. But that would be a mean thing to do. 360 / marian keyes

His dinner would get cold while he was waiting for me to get back. And waiting, and waiting...

Always assuming the revolting man would have the manners to wait for me to get back before tucking into his meal. Nevertheless I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. I pulled my coat on, and even though it was a wet, Friday evening, I got a taxi immediately.

The gods were smiling on me. That was the kind of sign I needed to feel that I had done the right thing.

"Ladbroke Grove," I told the driver excitedly, as I clambered in. "But before that can you do me a favor?"

"Depends," he said suspiciously. But that's London cab drivers for you.

"I've just said goodbye to my boyfriend. He's going away forever and he's sitting by the window in this restaurant here and I wonder if you could drive slowly by until he sees me so that I can wave farewell one last time."

The taxi man seemed genuinely moved by my request.

"Just like Frank Sinatra and Ava Gardner. And I thought that romance was dead," he said hoarsely, a catch in his voice. "No problem, darling. Just tell me which one he is."

"That, er, tanned, handsome man just up there," I said, pointing to where Chuck was sitting, admiring his reflection in his knife.

The taxi driver drove up right beside Chuck's table and I rolled down my window.

"I'll turn the light on, love, so he can see you better," said the driver.

"Thank you."

Chuck twiddled the knife backward and forward, catching his reflection in different lights.

"Likes 'imself," commented my driver.

"He certainly does." lucy sullivan is getting married / 361

"You sure that's 'im, love?" asked the driver doubtfully.

"Certain."

Chuck was starting to look annoyed now. I had obviously spent more time than Meg used to in the Ladies and he didn't approve.

"Should I toot the horn, love?" asked my faithful driver.

"Why not?"

The driver beeped the horn and Chuck looked out into the street to see what all the commotion was about. I leaned out of the taxi window and waved energetically.

He smiled in cheery recognition when he saw me and raised his hand to wave back at me.

But then confusion began to inch its way painfully slowly across his stupid face when he noticed that the familiar looking person he was waving to was actually his date for the evening, the woman he was supposed to be having dinner with, the woman whose scampi-in-the-basket was, as we speak, being placed reverently in front of her empty chair, and that she was sitting in a taxi about to depart the scene. The fledgling cheery wave halted abruptly in its tracks.

He wrinkled his orange forehead. He didn't understand. This does not compute.

And then the penny dropped.

The look that appeared on his face was worth it all. When he realized that I was not in the little girls' room but was in fact escaping in a taxi, it was nothing short of beautiful. It had been worth the whole vile evening just to see the disbelief and rage and fury on his smug, weird, tanned face. He leaped up from his chair, and dropped the knife that he had so admired himself in.

I couldn't stop laughing. 362 / marian keyes

"What the...?" he mouthed out the window, his face contorted with fury. He looked almost animated.

"Fuck you!" I mouthed back in at him. Then I thrust both my hands out into the wet night and raised the first two fingers of each hand in a `V' gesture at him, just in case his lip reading wasn't too good. I made short, sharp upward motions with both my hands for about ten seconds while he stared at me in an impotent fury from the window.

"Drive," I ordered.

The driver put his foot on the accelerator just as two waiters appeared behind Chuck, one with an ice bucket and a white napkin, the other with a bottle of champagne.

In the cab I realized who Chuck had reminded me of. It was Donny Os- mond!

Donny Osmond singing "Puppy Love."

Orange, sincere, soulful Donny Osmond with puppy dog eyes to match his puppy love. But a Donny Osmond for whom the glitter had faded, who had had a hard life, a Donny Osmond who things hadn't worked out for, a bitter, humorless, right-wing Donny.

Long before I reached home, I felt guilty about Chuck and the bottle of champagne. It wasn't fair that he should have to pay for it. Just because he was a nasty, horrible person didn't mean that I had to behave like one too. So the minute I got into the apartment I called the restaurant.

"Er, hello," I said nervously. "I wonder if you can help me. I was in your restaurant earlier and I had to leave suddenly, and before I left I ordered a bottle of champagne for my companion. It was an...er...surprise, and I don't think he would have wanted to pay. And I want to be sure that the waitress didn't have it docked from her wages or anything..."

"An American gentleman?" a man's voice asked.

"Yes," I reluctantly confirmed. Gentleman, my foot! lucy sullivan is getting married / 363

"And you must be the woman with the mental illness?" inquired the voice.

The cheek of him! How dare the voice imply that I was crazy.

"The American man explained how you often do this kind of thing, that you can't help yourself."

I swallowed my rage.

"I'll pay for the champagne," I muttered.

"There's no need," said the voice. "We have agreed to overlook the damage he's caused to the furniture if he pays for the champagne."

"But it hardly seems fair for him to have to pay for it when he didn't drink it," I said.

"But he did drink it," said the voice.

"But he doesn't drink," I protested.

"Yes, he does," said the voice. "Come and look for yourself, if you don't believe me."

"You mean he's still there?"

"Oh, yes! And that's not alcohol-free tequila he's drinking."

Oh God! So now I had turning Chuck into a drunkard on my conscience. But what the hell--it might be the best thing that ever happened to him.

Now for the TV!

To my great dismay, Karen and Daniel were in the front room. They were sharing a bottle of wine and were sickeningly holdy-handy, watching my shows on my TV.

"You're home early," said Karen, annoyed.

"Mmmmmm," I said noncommittally.

I was annoyed also. That means no TV for me. I couldn't stay in the same room as Karen and Daniel while they were cuddling.

I would have to go and sit in my bedroom while they stretched out on the couch and Karen put her head in 364 / marian keyes

Daniel's lap and Daniel stroked Karen's hair, and Karen stroked Daniel's...well, whatever else they got up to, which I didn't really want to think about.

They were so lovey-dovey, they were disgusting.

Charlotte and Simon never made me feel awkward, I just didn't know what it was about Daniel and Karen.

"How are you?" asked Daniel, looking all smug and superior.

"Fine," I said airily.

"And how was your blind American?" asked Daniel.

"Crazy."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Oh Lucy, not again," sighed Karen. "You're beginning to make a habit of this kind of thing."

"I'm going to bed," I said.

"Good," said Karen, winking lasciviously at Daniel.

"Ha, ha," I said, keen to seem like a good sport. "Good night."

"Lucy, don't feel you have to leave just because we're here," said Daniel, polite as ever.

"Do," corrected Karen.

"Stay," urged Daniel.

"Don't," laughed Karen.

"Karen, don't be so rude," said Daniel, looking embarrassed.

"I'm not being rude," smiled Karen. "I'm just being honest. I'm letting Lucy know where she stands."

I went, feeling inexplicably tearful.

"Oh, by the way, Lucy," called Karen after me.

"What?" I asked, standing by the door.

"There was a phone call for you."

"Who was it?"

"Gus."

"Well, what did he say?" I demanded, excitedly.

"That he'd call again in an hour and that if you weren't back then he'd call every hour until you got home."

Happiness flooded through me. He hadn't abandoned me, I hadn't done anything wrong, my position hadn't been usurped by Mandy.

A thought struck me.

"Where did you say I was?" I asked breathlessly.

"Out."

"Out with a man?"

"Yes."

"Great! That might worry him. What time is he calling back at?"

Karen sat up straight and stared at me.

"Why?" she asked. "Surely you're not going to speak to him?"

"Er, yes, I am," I said sheepishly, shifting from one foot to the other.

Daniel shook his head in a "will she ever learn" kind of way and gave an exasperated little smile. The gall! What would he know of the agonies of unrequited or semi-requited love?

365 366 / marian keyes

"Haven't you any self-respect?" asked Karen disbelievingly.

"No," I said absently, wondering what tone I should adopt with Gus--amused? cross? stern?

I knew I was going to forgive him--it was only a question of how hard I was going to make him work for it.

"Well, it's your funeral," said Karen, turning away from me. "He should call in about twenty minutes."

I went to my room and jumped up and down with delight. Twenty minutes--how could I contain myself?

But I had to be calm, I couldn't let him know how thrilled I was so I forced myself to take deep breaths.

But I couldn't stop smiling--at five to ten, I'd be speaking to Gus, Gus whom I thought I'd lost forever, and I could barely wait.

When my digital alarm clock said nine-fifty-five, I placed my feet in the starting blocks and waited for the starter gun.

And waited. And waited...

He didn't call. Of course, he didn't call.

How could I have possibly thought he might?

So that I wouldn't cry, I fed myself all the usual excuses. My clock could be fast. Gus couldn't tell the difference between five minutes and an hour, he was probably in a pub where, if there was a phone at all, it was probably broken and if it wasn't broken it was probably being hogged by some young woman from Galway on a marathon tearful call home.

But after eleven I admitted defeat and went to bed.

"The little bastard," I thought angrily. "He had his chance and he blew it. When he does ring, I'm not going to speak to him. And if I do speak to him, it'll only be to tell him that I'm not speaking to him."

Some time later I heard the doorbell ring and I sat up lucy sullivan is getting married / 367

in bed in horror. Oh on! He was here, on the premises and I'd taken my makeup off! Christ, what a disaster. I leaped out of bed and heard Karen or Daniel pressing the buzzer.

"You keep him talking," I hissed at Karen, sticking my head out of my bedroom door. "I'll be ready in five minutes."

"Keep who talking?" she asked.

"Gus, of course."

"Why, where is he?"

"On his way up--you've just buzzed him in."

"No, I haven't," she said.

"Yes, you have," I insisted. "Just now."

She was behaving very oddly, but she didn't look drunk.

"No, I haven't," she insisted. She looked at me closely. "Are you all right, Lucy?"

"I'm fine," I said. "It's you I'm worried about. If it wasn't Gus, then who did you open the door for?"

"The pizza man."

"What pizza man?"

"The pizza man delivering the pizza for me and Daniel."

"But, where?"

"Here," she said, flinging open the front door, revealing a man in a red plastic suit and a bike helmet, with a cardboard box in his hands.

"Daniel," she shouted. "Get out the plates and napkins."

"I see," I whispered, and slunk back to bed.

Why had Gus ever bothered phoning at all, I wondered tearfully. What good had it done me? None whatsoever. Just caused upset and upheaval.

Hours later, when everyone was in bed and the flat was in darkness, the phone rang. I woke immediately--even in 368 / marian keyes

my sleep my nerves were still on full alert, hoping for Gus's call. I stumbled out into the hall to answer it because I knew it had to be Gus--no one else would call at such an hour, but I was too asleep to be happy about it.

Gus sounded drunk.

"Can I come over, Lucy?" was the first thing he said.

"No," I said, as I wondered, "Whatever happened to `Hello'?"

"But I must see you, Lucy," he shouted passionately.

"And I must get my sleep."

"Lucy, Lucy, where's your fire, your passion? Sleep indeed. You can sleep anytime. But it's not every day we get the chance to be together."

I knew that only too well.

"Lucy, please," he said. "You're angry at me, is that it?"

"Yes, I'm angry at you," I said evenly, trying not to sound so angry to frighten him away.

"But please, Lucy, I've got an excuse," he promised.

"Let's hear it."

"The dog ate my homework, my alarm clock didn't go off, my bike got a flat."

I didn't think it was funny.

"Oh-oh," he sang. "She's gone all quiet on me, that must mean that she's mad again," he said. "Seriously, Lucy, I do have an excuse."

"Please tell me it."

"Not over the phone. I'd rather come and see you."

"You won't see me until I hear your excuse," I said.

"You're a hard woman, Lucy Sullivan," he shouted sadly. "Hard! Cruel!"

"The excuse?" I asked politely.

"It's really better if I explain it in my full three dimen lucy sullivan is getting married / 369

sions. Disembodied voices aren't half as good," he said wheedlingly. "Please, Lucy, I hate the phone."

I was well aware of that.

"Come over tomorrow, then. It's far too late now."

"Late! Lucy Sullivan, when did the time ever matter to the both of us? You're like me--a free spirit who is not bound by time, as issued to us by that crowd of meanies in Greenwich. What's happened to you? Has your soul been stolen by the goblins of clock watching?"

He paused for a second and then said in tones of hushed horror, "Jesus, Lucy--you haven't gone and bought a watch!?"

I laughed--the little swine. How could I scare him if he made me laugh?

"Come over tomorrow morning, Gus." I tried to sound crisp and author- itative, "and we'll talk then."

"No time like the present," he said cheerfully.

"No, Gus. Tomorrow."

"Who knows what tomorrow will bring, Lucy? Tomorrow is another day and who knows where we might be?"

Whether or not he meant it as one, I knew a threat when I heard it--he might not call me tomorrow, I might never hear from him again, but right then, at that very moment, he wanted to see me. He was mine, and I would be well advised not to look a gift horse in the mouth, to catch the ball on the hop, and to learn the difference between birds in the hand and birds in the bush.

Do you really want him on these terms? asked a little voice in my head.

Yes, I replied wearily.

But, haven't you any self-respe...?

No, I haven't! How many times do I have to tell you?

"Okay, Gus." I sighed, pretending that I had just given 370 / marian keyes

in, although, of course, the outcome had never been in doubt. "Come over."

"I'm on my way," he said.

That could have meant anything from fifteen minutes to four months, and my dilemma was should I put my makeup on or should I just stay as I was.

I knew about the dangers of tempting fate--if I put my makeup on, he wouldn't come. If I didn't put my makeup on, he would come, but would be so shocked at what I looked like that he would immediately leave.

"What's going on?" whispered a voice. It was Karen. "Was that Gus?"

I nodded, "Sorry for waking you."

"Did you tell him to go and fuck himself?"

"Er, no, you see I haven't heard the full story yet. He's, er, coming over now to tell me it."

"Now!? At two-thirty in the morning?"

"No time like the present," I said weakly.

"In other words, he was at a party and didn't score with anyone and he's in the mood for sex. Nice one, Lucy, you certainly put a high price on yourself."

"It's not like that...." I said, my stomach lurching.

"Good night, Lucy," she sighed, ignoring me. "I'm going back to bed.

"With Daniel," she added smugly.

I knew she was going to tell Daniel all about it, because she told him everything about me, well, all the embarrassing and shameful stuff, at any rate. I had no privacy, and I hated him knowing so much about me and being smug and judgmental.

He was always in the apartment, I almost felt like we lived together. Why couldn't the pair of them go to his place and leave me alone in peace?

"I wish they'd split up," I thought fiercely. lucy sullivan is getting married / 371

I decided that I'd hoodwink Fate; I was sick of it having all the power. So, while I did put on some makeup, I didn't get dressed.

And, in no time at all, the sound of the buzzer boomed through the flat in a manner that would wake the dead. It stopped and gave some welcome peace for a few seconds before starting again and continuing for what seemed like hours--Gus had arrived.

I opened the door of the flat and waited for him to appear, but he didn't. And then I could hear raised voices from a few floors below. Eventually he stumbled up the stairs, looking cute, sexy, disheveled and drunk.

I was lost, hopelessly, completely lost. It was only when I saw him that I realized how much I had missed him.

"Jesus, Lucy," he grumbled, as he wriggled past me and into the flat, "that neighbor of yours has a ferocious bad temper. It was a mistake anyone could make."

"What have you done, Gus?" I asked.

"I rang the wrong bell," he said sulkily, clumping straight into my bed- room.

Now, now, wait a minute, I thought. He's being too forward altogether. He can't just waltz up here after no contact for three weeks and expect to jump straight into bed with me.

Apparently he could. He was already sitting on my bed, taking off his boots.

"Gus..." I said tentatively, about to embark on my lecture. You know, the usual--how dare you treat me like this, who do you think you are, who do you think I am, I've too much respect for myself (a lie), I'm not putting up with this (another lie), etc., etc.

"And I said to him, Lucy, I said, `I only woke you up, it's not like I in- vaded Poland.' Ha, ha, I knew that'd give him something to think about. German, isn't he?" 372 / marian keyes

"Sorry, Gus, no. He's Austrian."

"Sure, it's all the one. Aren't they all big and blond and always eating sausages?"

Then he focused his bloodshot eyes on me, seeing me for the first time since he had barged in.

"Lucy! My darling Lucy, you're looking beautiful."

He jumped up and ran over to me and the scent of him triggered a longing and lust that surprised me with its intensity.

"Mmmmmmm, Lucy, I've missed you." He nuzzled my neck and slid his hand under my pajama top. The touch of his hand on my bare skin made me shiver with lust that had slumbered undisturbed for three weeks, but with supreme self-control I pushed him away.

Get off! I thought--I haven't given you my lecture yet.

"Oh, Lucy, Lucy," he murmured, as he relaunched his attack. "We must never be apart again."

He slid one arm tightly around my waist and opened the top button of my pajamas with the other. I fumbled with it, trying to close it again, but it was merely a symbolic gesture.

I couldn't help myself--he was too sexy. Beautiful and dangerous and roguish. And he smelled so nice, so like Gus.

"Gus!" I wrestled with him as he tried to get my top off, "you didn't call me for three wee--"

"I know, Lucy, I'm sorry Lucy," he said, tugging hard. "But I never wanted it to be that way. Jesus, you're beautiful."

"I deserve an explanation, you know," resisting hard as he pushed me toward the bed.

"Indeed you do, Lucy, indeed you do," he agreed vaguely, as he pushed down on my shoulder, trying to get