Metal Urge (20 page)

“Are you gonna answer that?” Thom called down from the landing.  “It‘s probably Nigel.”

“You knew he was coming over?”  Deanna shouted angrily.  “Why didn't you tell me?”

“We’re working on a song together, love.  It’s called “Beyond the Darkness.”  I told you about it last week, remember?”

It made no difference whether she remembered or not, he should have mentioned this to her yesterday.  His casual indifference made her feel like he had arranged a surprise visit from Nigel just to see how she would react.  That made her blood boil and her hackles rise.  “Stay cool, Deanna,” a little voice in her head advised as she stalked to the door and pulled it open, avoiding Nigel’s unreadable sunglass stare.

“Oh, uh...hi, Deanna,” he stammered.

He gawked at her in a ridiculously annoying way that could only be described as “gobsmacked.”  The disgusting British slang term made her feel like searching the bottom of her slippers for something gross and slimy.  She almost laughed at how perfectly it suited Nigel's silly expression as he fidgeted with his leather gloves.

“Hey,” she muttered and stepped aside to let him in.

Thom was standing on the stairs holding a bath towel, waiting for Nigel to come into the living room.  “I’m gonna take a quick shower.  Deanna can get you a cup of coffee or tea if you like.”

“
Deanna can get you a cup of coffee or tea if you like
.”  She imitated Thom’s simpering tone silently.  What had Nigel said at the club last Thursday?  He said that Thom had threatened to bash his face in, yet Thom's suddenly acting like the two of them are as thick as thieves.  He must not see Nigel as a threat anymore.  If he only knew what the egotistical bastard had done to her at the club.  He definitely wouldn't be kissing Nigel's ass like some pathetic...

“Deanna?” Nigel was waving at her, trying to get her attention.  “Someone’s knocking on the door.  It's probably Alistair.  He called and said he was on his way right before I left my flat.”

“Lovely,” she said with a saccharine smile, its bitter aftertaste coating her lips and making her want to gag.

Alistair greeted her with a bear hug and a kiss on each cheek.  He picked up his guitar case and joined Nigel in the living room.  They both thanked her profusely for the tea and biscuits she served after Alistair’s arrival.  When Thom finally joined them, she excused herself, taking Mims out to the garden for some fresh air, reluctant to go back inside until Thom informed her they were leaving for a meeting with Andy Trent.  Grateful for something to do after Nigel’s unforeseen visit, Deanna tidied up the flat. Thom called to tell her he had invited the lads over for a game or two of cards, and asked if she would mind making his favorite dish---spaghetti with spicy meatballs---promising to make up for his last minute request.  She assured him it would be no problem.  What was the point of being angry and refusing to make him and the guys a simple meal?  Did it really matter that she had been forced to play hostess to Nigel, feeding him chocolate biscuits and tea while smiling like a demented Cheshire cat to hide the hollow, wretched sensation in her gut?  What about Nigel’s behavior?  He was acting as though his attack on her at the club had never happened.  Even so, she felt his eyes follow her every move as she attempted to look busy in order to avoid unnecessary contact with him.  Did Alistair notice the pathetic little drama being played out by the two of them?  God, she hoped not.

Feeling weighted down by a peculiar sadness, she threw out the Sunday newspaper, washed the few dishes left in the sink, and began looking through cupboards to gather ingredients for dinner.  Without warning she began to cry.  Her body reacted so violently to the overwhelming emotion her legs could not support her.  She slid down the wall to the cool tile floor, her body shaking with the force of her sobs.  She tried to wipe her face but the onslaught of tears was unrelenting, and she cried even harder.  When she was able to pull herself up, Deanna stumbled to the couch and curled up on its soft cushions.  Every inch of her felt hot and sore, but she couldn’t staunch the flow of tears that had been building up since her encounter with Nigel at the club.  Crying out in frustration, she fought to get her emotions under control.  She sat up and looked at the pillow Nigel had lounged against while he drank his tea and chatted with Alistair.  Grabbing it, she pressed her face to the material and breathed in deeply.  Why did she have to fight so hard to resist him?  It was a never-ending battle, and she was emotionally exhausted.  As she lay back down clutching the pillow tightly to her body, she remembered what her parents taught her about trust and respect: without those two key elements a relationship was doomed.  Nigel hadn’t earned her trust or her respect, and it was doubtful he ever would.  Loving him wasn’t enough to overcome all that had gone wrong in their woefully short relationship so why couldn’t she let him go? It was obvious that he only wanted her back because she was with Thom.  What a blow it must be to his enormous male ego to see her with his band mate.

Despite her resentment towards the insensitive jerk, she couldn’t deny that it felt so right being in his arms at the club, kissing his sweet lips, relishing the feel of his hands on her face and in her hair as his body pressed close against her.  Sadly, those feelings came back to haunt her only because she was clinging to the past...a sad, pathetic past that she had embellished and re-worked in her mind to give it an intimacy and a bond that had never really existed between them.  The sex had been heavenly but what had Nigel really done for her except perform like a seasoned pro in bed?  Absolutely nothing at all.

She knew in her heart and soul that Thom was the better man.  Affectionate, kind, and caring to a fault, he loved her…really loved her.  Why couldn’t she love him just as deeply?  People loved and lost often many times before meeting the person they would spend their life with.  Her relationship with Thom was real, not a sick, obsessive fantasy.  Each day brought them closer together, and if she chose to share her life with him, it would be a good, no, a wonderful life, filled with love, laughter, and emotional harmony.  Forget running back to Phoenix like some silly, spoiled brat who didn't get what she
thought
she wanted.  Her life was here in England with Thom McCordy.  Sitting up, Deanna wiped her face with the soft material of her robe, tossed the pillow aside, and made her way to the kitchen.  Although her fingers felt numb, and her hands behaved like foreign objects that didn’t belong on her body, she managed to get the spaghetti sauce on the burner and water boiling for the pasta.  The garlic bread posed a challenge, and she dropped an entire stick of butter on the floor.  Mims ran up and began licking it so Deanna left it there and took another stick from the refrigerator.

While the food simmered, she cleaned up what was left of the buttery mess and went upstairs to apply a bit of make-up and get dressed.  After a cursory glance at her slightly puffy face, she returned to the living room where she sat with trembling hands folded in her lap, her mind fighting hard to get her body in sync with her emotional epiphany while waiting for everyone to arrive.

Chapter 27

Nigel slammed into the flat, flinging his leather gloves down and storming towards his bedroom.  Nick stepped into the hallway, blocking his way.  “Would you care to talk about it or would you prefer to carry on by destroying valuable property?”

“Piss off, Nick,” Nigel snarled, trying to push past his flat mate.

“Piss off?  That’s fucking rude, mate.”

Nigel shook his head and leaned against the wall, running his fingers through his wind-blown hair.  “I’m sorry, Nick.  It’s just that…fuck!  Bloody, sodding, fuck!”

Nick nodded and grasped Nigel’s shoulders.  “C’mon mate, let’s have a drink while you tell me all about it.”

It wasn’t easy at first but soon Nigel was spilling his guts about the torturous evening spent at Thom’s flat, forced to endure hour after hour of being near Deanna while powerless to reach out to her and tell her how much he wanted and needed her in his life again.  Just like the old adage “the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife,” Nigel felt the negative vibes swirling around him, suffocating and heavy.  He wanted to slash through the miasma, grab Deanna, and take her away from all of the lies and deception to a place where they could face one another with raw, painful honesty. Abruptly, he leaned back against the chair and rubbed his face, startled to feel wetness on his cheeks.  “God!” he groaned.  He couldn’t believe that he was crying.  Nigel rubbed the back of his neck and closed his eyes.  Six years had passed since he had allowed himself to indulge in such childish behavior, and he was ashamed that Nick had been witness to it.

Nick finished his drink and set the glass down.  He knew Nigel loved the little American blonde, but he never saw this coming.  It was insane, but he almost envied a love so deep and yearned for that it would move a stodgy bloke like Nigel Guilford to tears. Settling back against the sofa cushions, Nick waited for Nigel to continue.  It was obvious his mate had much more he needed to say, and he would listen without judgment to whatever the poor bloke wanted to get off his chest.

“I was eighteen years old when I married Thom’s sister Chloe.”

Nick’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.  Nigel shrugged and wiped his eyes.  “I reckoned that would take the piss out of you.”

Nick tried to smile although he felt a bit unnerved but motioned for Nigel to continue his tale.

Nigel picked up his glass and held it out to him.  “Pour us another drink, mate.  I’m gonna need it before I carry on.”  Nigel downed his whisky in one long gulp while Nick sipped his slowly, each man gearing up for a story Nigel would never be fully prepared to tell.

“Thom and I grew up next door to one another in a working class neighborhood of Bilston just outside of Wolverhampton.  Our parents were really good friends as well as neighbors.  Thom was born just two months before me, and his sister Chloe, barely eleven months after him making the two of them more like twins than just brother and sister.  In looks they were polar opposites; Thom, blonde and fair, Chloe, brunette and dark like an exotic gypsy princess.  Thom’s dad used to tease his wife, claiming that Chloe was a changeling left behind by gypsy tinkers that passed through the Wolverhampton city center the day their daughter was born.  Chloe might have indeed been a changeling because at times she seemed such a strange, otherworldly creature.

Growing up we were the three musketeers, spending all of our spare time together, eating and sleeping at each other’s homes whenever possible.  Beautiful Chloe loved to push the limits of everything we did---she was a daredevil---taking mad risks, scaring the hell out of Thom and me on a daily basis.  As we grew older her behavior became more erratic and aggressive as though she couldn’t get enough danger and excitement to stimulate, or satisfy her.  It was becoming a nightmare to keep her in check, and both Thom and I were growing tired of her dangerous shenanigans.

When Thom was twelve, his dad found an old, beat up acoustic guitar and gave it to him.  I suppose you could say the rest is history because music quickly became his first love.  As the years went by the three of us still hung about together, but Thom was spending more and more time with his guitar leaving Chloe and me to our own devices which had begun to turn a bit naughty as our teenage hormones raged like fire.  I always knew I’d marry Chloe someday; it just went without saying.  I think our families knew it as well, but no one, including me, expected it to happen while we were so young and immature.

We did everything we could think of without actually doing the deed, but it was becoming difficult to resist Chloe’s increasing desire so I backed off a bit out of respect for her and her parents.  Chloe didn’t like that and got herself thrown out of school as a play for more of my attention.  I stuck to my guns, and Chloe ran wild, wreaking havoc within the counsel estate and the town. I tried to appease her by taking her out to films, concerts, even a club or two, but nothing much changed, and Chloe’s parents began to view me as a bit of a bastard for failing their daughter.  They had no idea she was acting out because she wanted sex, and plenty of it.

When I turned seventeen my dad bought a wrecked 1965 Harley Davidson Hummer for fifty quid from an American soldier stationed in England, and presented it to me on my birthday.  I immediately went to work doing odd jobs so I could make a bit of dosh to fix up the bike.  It was my pride and joy…it still is.  I suppose Thom and I spent more and more time on our personal interests, leaving Chloe to fend for herself---with disastrous results.  I mean, we still dated, still messed about---a lot---but I wanted our relationship to cool down.  We were too young, and it was too bloody intense.  A few months after she turned seventeen, Chloe nicked a hundred quid from her mum and hopped a train to Edinburgh.  Her parents were going mental, having no idea where their daughter had run off to, and the police were brought in to find her.  Thankfully my parents had gone to Bristol to visit my aunt because I got a phone call from Chloe, screaming and crying for me to come and get her in Scotland.  She begged me not to tell her parents, or Thom, and I reluctantly agreed even though I knew it was wrong, especially when the police were involved.

That night I left for Edinburgh hoping my bike would make the long trip.  Incredibly, Chloe was hiding out with some Scottish football yobs in a dreary squat on the outskirts of town.  She was lucky they hadn’t assaulted and robbed her.  They let her go without a fuss.  She had roughly thirty quid left so we found a grotty little motel off the motorway to spend the night.  I felt fiercely protective of her, and somehow guilty for her predicament.  When she looked at me with her beautiful black eyes glittering with tears of regret, I wanted to make all of her dreadful, terrifying episodes disappear and never happen again.  I stupidly believed that my love for her harnessed that kind of power.  We made love for the first time on the squeaky little bed while the neighbors pounded on the wall and shouted for us to stop making such a racket.  We went at it all night not caring fuck-all about them.  It was bliss.