Blowing It (21 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

On Saturday night, I met Becky at a trendy wine bar on
Holloway Road. She’d offered to travel into Shoreditch, but I wasn’t sure Max
was reimbursing her for all the taxi fares our “dates” were incurring, and I
didn’t want my drama to cost her more money than was strictly necessary. Unlike
her, I actually enjoyed taking the tube, and given my conservative outfit of slim-fitting
jeans and T-shirt, a charcoal grey waistcoat buttoned over the top to add a
touch of style, I wasn’t in danger of being heckled by strangers. Becky, in a
long, tunic-style purple top with a deep neckline, worn over black leggings and
cute ankle boots, was far more a target for unwanted attention than me.

“You look nice,” I said, taking her hands as I
kissed her on either cheek. “Special occasion?”

“I thought I’d push the boat out.” She smiled and
flicked her hair behind her shoulder before sitting and sipping the glass of
white I’d already ordered.

“It seems a shame to waste it on me.” I eyed her
breasts, pushed high and close beneath her top. I suspected she wasn’t wearing
a bra so much as scaffolding.

“Keep looking at me like that, and I’ll get the
wrong idea,” she said, laughing.

“I’ll admit to a certain… fascination. Are they are
soft as they look?”

She choked on her wine. “Owen! What would Magnus
say?”

I grinned. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
Besides, I’m not
interested
, just curious.”

“A couple more of these, and I might let you find
out.” She held out her glass, already half-empty.

“If it’s going to be that sort of night, I need to
catch up.” I picked up my practically untouched glass of red and took a healthy
sip.

“Is it?” she asked.

“Is it what?”

“Going to be that sort of night?”

I eyed her warily. “I was kidding about copping a
feel.”

She shook her head, causing her hair to cascade
around her shoulders. Loose, it was surprisingly long. “I’m not
actually
going to let you molest me. I’m just wondering how long we’re going to be out
for.”

“You got somewhere to be?”

“I should say yes, but sadly, no. Why, have you?”

“Not tonight.” I swallowed another mouthful of my
drink. It was a decent wine, with a full, rich flavour. Sometimes reds could be
too metallic, but this one went down easily. “How are you settling in?” I
asked, realising I’d never asked. “Do you have many friends here?”

Setting her glass on the table, Becky avoided my
eye as she answered. “Not really. There are some girls I work with, but since I
signed with Cardwell, they’ve stopped talking to me. I think they’re jealous.”

“Where do you work?”

“Only for a temping agency. It pays the bills.”

I gave her a sympathetic look. “Let me guess, every
last one of them is a wannabe something?”

“Pretty much.” She laughed. “You’d think they’d be
happy one of us was getting somewhere, wouldn’t you?”

“People are sharks. If they can’t be happy for you,
cut them loose.”

“Easier said than done. I didn’t know anybody when
I moved here. Manchester’s such a friendly city compared to London. I had no
idea people would be so… cold.”

“London’s too big, and everyone’s too busy,” I
agreed. “It’s a culture shock. I remember what it’s like.”

“I can’t imagine you having trouble making
friends,” she said, meeting my eyes again as she smiled.

“I went to university here, and I’ve kept in touch
with the friends I made there. It made things easier.”

She nodded. “I should have done that.”

“You’ll be fine.” I covered her hand with mine. “You’ve
not been here long.”

“It’s miserable going home to an empty flat every
night.”

“You don’t have a roommate?”

“She’s never in. And the odd occasion when she is,
she’s got her boyfriend with her.” Becky pulled a face. “I’m not that desperate
for company I want to put up with being the third wheel.”

“You can always call me,” I said. “Just because we
have to meet to keep Max happy doesn’t mean I don’t like spending time with
you.”

“But you’re busy,” she protested. “You’ve got your
friends, and work, and Magnus….”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t have time for you. Seriously.
Next time we all go out, I’ll send you a text, and you can decide if you want
to come along.”

Her cheeks pinked. “That would be nice,” she
admitted.

“Heh, you haven’t met them yet,” I warned.

“I can imagine. I bet you’re wild when you let your
hair down, aren’t you?”

I leant over the table, dropping my voice to a
conspiratorial whisper. “You have no idea. I’ve even been known to sing
Meatloaf on karaoke.”

Her snort of amusement was decidedly unladylike,
and I laughed as she coloured with mortification, covering her face with her
hands.

“Karaoke?” she asked incredulously once she’d
recovered her composure. “You do
karaoke
?”

“I hope you’re not judging.” My tone was stern, but
I grinned to let her know I was teasing.

She wiped her face blank. “Of course not. Would I
judge you?”

I gave her a long, assessing look. “Yes.”

“Bastard.” She slapped my arm playfully. “For the
record, I love karaoke.”

“That’s good. Otherwise I’d have to rethink this.”
I indicated between us. “I pick my friends very carefully, I’ll have you know.”

She laughed and drained her glass. “I’m sure you
do.”

She got in the next round, and we talked more
generally about life in London. I shared some reminisces from my university
days, and she regaled me with stories from the office where she was temping.
Apparently the receptionist she was covering for had been having an affair with
the CFO, and it all came out when his wife stormed the building and made an
unholy scene in front of their biggest client. Even third-hand, it sounded
hilarious. The employees were now on administrative leave while the company
decided what to do with them.

“Save that,” I said, wiping my eyes. “You can put
it in a book someday.”

“Just as long as I don’t appear in one of yours,”
she said, grinning.

“I’ve already got my kick-ass girl, thanks.”

Her smile broadened, and she graciously accepted the
compliment.

҉҉҉

 “We should go out,” she said after her third drink.

“We are out,” I said, indicating our crowded
surroundings.

“I mean
out
out. With your friends.”

“I don’t know what they’re doing tonight.”

She gave me a reproachful look, shaking her head.
“Haven’t you just spent the last hour telling me all about the wild times you
used to have? Don’t you miss it?”

I opened my mouth to retort, then closed it again.
I
had
been dominating the conversation somewhat, bitching about how I
felt I was losing my identity, stifled by Max’s insistence I always present the
perfect public image. I’d regaled her with tales of the nights out Ryan and I
had spent tearing up the town, bedecked in glitter and glammed to the eyeballs.
Of course Becky wanted to see for herself.

“It’s only nine,” she continued, glancing at her
watch. “How long would it take to go back to yours so you can get changed?”

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I asked, a
little affronted.

“Nothing, but it’s obviously not you, is it?”

“I can’t,” I said. “Max would kill me.”

She tossed her hair. “How can he if I’m with you?
We’re still doing what he wants, right?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“No buts, Owen Barnes. You said you wanted to get
back at Max for setting us up, right?”

I nodded reluctantly.

“This is the way to do it! Come on.” She stood,
rounded the table, and tugged my arm. “You can call your friends on the way to
your flat, and we’ll meet them out somewhere. Max won’t have a leg to stand
on.”

I let her pull me to my feet. In heels, she stood
an inch or two taller than me. “We could, couldn’t we?”

“Yes!” She bounced enthusiastically on the spot, almost
causing a wardrobe malfunction. “It’s going to be so fun! I haven’t had a
decent night out in
forever,
and I want to get wasted.”

Linking my arm, she half-walked, half-dragged me
through the bustling throng to the door. On the pavement, the sight of a
familiar face halted me.

“What is it?” Becky asked, pulled up short by my
abrupt stop.

“Him.” I nodded at a man opposite, an
expensive-looking camera hung around his neck. “Does he look like a pap to
you?”

Becky squinted at the man, then shrugged. “I
haven’t a clue. He’s not looking at us.”

“He seems very deliberately not looking at us,
doesn’t he?”

The man lit a cigarette and leant nonchalantly against
the shuttered window of the shop opposite the bar.

“What are you waiting for?” Becky asked.

“I don’t know.”

Before I could change my mind, I crossed the road.
The man looked surprised and a little defensive when I approached, but he heard
me out and thanked me when I was done talking.

“What was that about?” Becky demanded when I
returned to her side.

“Just setting things up for later.” Grabbing her
hand, I turned towards the tube station.

“What does that mean?” In her high heels, she
struggled to keep up with me, and I slowed my stride. “What did you say to
him?”

“Just told him if he’d been hired by Cardwell, he’d
want to get himself over to Heaven later.”

“Heaven?” She frowned. “The gay club? The huge
one?”

I grinned. “That’s right.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

On the way back to my flat, I phoned Ryan and
explained what we were doing. “This I
have
to see!” he declared,
shouting down Sameer’s half-hearted protest. “What time will you be there?”

I lifted my phone from my ear to check the time. “Shit,
is it really almost half-nine?” Stepping into the road, I flagged a taxi. Normally
I’d have taken the tube, but from where we were, the journey would require a
bus as well, plus walking, and Becky was already tottering along in her high-heeled
boots. Giving the driver my address, I bundled her into the back of the cab. “Twenty
minutes to get to my place, that’s ten, then time to get changed and get the
tube to Heaven, that’s what, eleven? Can you make it?”

I heard Sameer grumbling.

“What’s he saying?” I demanded.

“He says by the time we get out, it won’t be worth
it.” Ryan covered the handset, and I caught snatches of a muffled conversation.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said to me, his voice clear again. “We’ll get a taxi
home if we have to. It’s not a big deal. It’ll take us ’til about eleven to get
there anyway.”

“Eleven it is, then. Meet you out front?”

“Wait at the station,” he decided. “We can walk up
together.”

“Plan. See you later.”

Becky giggled. “Are we causing trouble?”

“No more than usual.” I grinned.

Twenty minutes later, the taxi deposited us outside
my flat. Becky halted in the foyer, marvelling at the decor.

“It’s a bit posh in here, isn’t it?” she asked in a
stage whisper. “They let you in?”

“Bitch,” I said good-naturedly, leading her to the
lifts.

“Good evening, sir,” Derek, the night watchman,
nodded to us from behind the stainless steel desk. “Mr. Cassidy not with you
today?”

“Girls’ night out,” I explained, while beside me,
Becky stifled a snort.

“Very good, sir. Have a good night.”

The lift doors opened with a soft ping, and we
climbed in. They’d barely closed behind us before we burst into raucous
laughter.

“Your doorman is a gossip whore!” Becky declared as
the lift rose.

“He’s just being polite.”

“He’s wondering if you’re cheating on Magnus.”

The thought sobered me, but I barely had time to
reflect before we arrived at my floor and Becky was demanding free rein to
snoop around my flat while I changed.

“You sit on the sofa and wait for me,” I said
firmly.

“Ooh, that means you’ve got something to hide.” She
followed hard on my heels as I entered my bedroom. “Go on, where do you keep
your toy collection?”

I gave her a long look. “I grew out of toys years
ago.”

Playfully slapping my chest, she opened my
wardrobe. “Don’t act coy with me, Owen Barnes. You know
exactly
what toys
I mean.”

I let her rummage, relieved when she crossed to the
bed but only opened the nightstand drawers. There were some things I didn’t
feel the need to share, the contents of the drawstring bag underneath the bed
being high on that list.

“Enough!” I protested when she gave up on the
bedroom and made a move towards the bathroom. “You’re supposed to be helping me
pick something to wear.”

“What have you got?” she asked, sitting on the bed.
The mattress bounced under the force of her weight, making her boobs jiggle.
“Eyes up!” she demanded when she noticed me looking. “God, gay or straight, you
men are all the same.”

Sniggering, I turned to my wardrobe and started
pulling clothes out, holding them against me for Becky to approve or veto.

“What’s that?” she demanded, pointing to something
shiny hanging beside the jacket I’d just removed.

I put the jacket down and took out the top. It was
a loose white tank, made of ultra-thin cotton and baggy enough that when I wore
it at least one nipple peeked through the oversized armholes. The front was
decorated with a stencil print of Banksy’s famous
Kissing Coppers
, two
policemen in uniform engaged in a full-on lip-lock. The white of the original
was metallic silver on the shirt, detail added with black sequins which shone
in the light.

“I fucking love it,” Becky declared fervently. “You
have
to wear that!”

“You don’t think it’s a bit… much?” I, too, loved
the top, but I’d never worn it out. When I was younger, I’d have done so just
to fuck with people in the street, but since Max had gone through my wardrobe
with a fine tooth comb, I’d lost my nerve.

“I think that’s exactly why you should wear it,”
she insisted. “Now, what have you got that will go with it?”

We decided on a staple pair of skinny black jeans and
my heavy, calf-high black leather boots. A thin jacket which reached halfway
down my thighs and leather cuffs studded with silver completed the ensemble.

I laid the clothes neatly on the bed and gave Becky
a pointed look.

“What?” she asked.

“A little privacy?”

“Don’t tell me you’re shy?”

“I’m not putting on a show for you,” I protested.
“Go to the bathroom and pick out my makeup.”

“Ooh, I can do that!” Leaping to her feet, she
scurried from the room.

I closed the door behind her, wishing it had a lock.
I unbuttoned my waistcoat, pulled my T-shirt over my head, and had my jeans
halfway down my thighs when she barged back in.

“I’ve found your eyeliner—” She paused mid-sentence
and gawped at me.

“Oh my god, Becky, get out!” I shouted, caught somewhere
between pushing my too-tight jeans down and pulling them back up. Giving up, I
spread my hands over my groin to cover myself.

“Don’t hide, lemme see!” she insisted, approaching
and trying to pull my hands away while I squirmed in her grasp. “Owen Barnes,
you kinky fucker.”

My cheeks heated.

“Is this what you wear when you come out with me?”
she asked, surrendering her efforts to make me expose myself more than I
already had. “Jesus, no wonder Magnus can’t get enough.”

I curled my fingers in the waistband of my underwear
in case she changed her mind about making another grab for them. “Can we please
pretend you didn’t see anything?” I asked, dying a little inside. I could have
worn anything under my jeans—I had several pairs of plain shorts which would
have done fine—but no, I’d had to indulge my own private
fuck you
to Max
and chosen to wear my favourite pair of hot pink silk pants.

Becky sobered as she looked at me. “Why would I
pretend that?” she asked. “Owen, you look incredible.”

“I didn’t wear them for
you
,” I protested.

“That doesn’t matter. I’m not judging you, honest
I’m not.” She gave me a sly look. “You dark horse.”

I grinned bashfully.

“Come on, we’re going to be late if you don’t hurry
up and get changed.” The swift move back to business startled me, but I
couldn’t say I wasn’t grateful. “I’ve found eyeliner and lip gloss in your
bathroom cabinet. Do you have mascara?”

“I don’t think so,” I said, struggling to kick off
my jeans.

“You can borrow mine this once. I don’t think
you’ve got conjunctivitis, have you?”

“No!”

“I thought not. I’ll go see what other goodies
you’ve got, you finish getting dressed and come find me.” She smiled, her
attention firmly fixed on my face. When I returned the smile, she left the
room, closing the door behind her.

Affection warmed me as I heard the catch click. A few
drinks might have made us both loud and brash, but the moment she realised she
was sailing close to actually touching an insecurity and hurting my feelings,
she’d backed right off. What I’d told Magnus on our second date was true: I
wore the clothes I did because I liked them, not to impress anybody else. It
shouldn’t matter if others had an opinion on my tastes—they were only
clothes
,
for fuck’s sake—but whenever somebody new discovered what I liked, I always
felt the same sense of vulnerability. Like I was offering a secret part of
myself up for them to approve or condemn.

I wriggled into my black jeans, threw the shirt
over my head, and strapped the leather cuffs around my wrists. I tied the boots
low, leaving the legs open, my jeans tucked into the sides. Pulling the loose
jacket around my shoulders, I went to find Becky.

She was still in the bathroom, a row of bottles and
tubes laid out before her. I sat obediently on the side of the bath and let her
fuss with my hair and face until she was satisfied. Finally allowed to inspect
the finished look, I stood and stared at myself in the mirror.

“Do you like it?” she asked a trifle uncertainly.

I gazed at the stranger in the mirror. It was me,
plus
.
Becky had styled my hair, the front swept to the side, the back scrunched into
an artful mess which sat high on my head. It was the sort of look I’d always
aimed for but had never been able to perfectly replicate on my own. My eyes
were wide with kohl, a touch of mascara lengthening my lashes but still
appearing natural. I touched my cheek and felt the slippery residue of powder
she’d used to brighten my face. She’d applied the subtlest touch of eye shadow
in grey and dark green, which made my brown eyes seem brighter and deeper than I’d
imagined they could. My lips shimmered with clear gloss, making me look like I’d
just been ravaged.

“Owen? You hate it, don’t you? Don’t worry, we can
wash it off—”

“I fucking love it,” I declared fervently. “From
now on, you’re doing all my makeup.”

She smiled, her cheeks pinking with pleasure. “It’s
nothing,” she said modestly.

“It’s awesome, is what it is. Ryan won’t recognise
me.”

“I’m sure he will. What time are we meeting him?”

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and checked the
time. “Shit, in half an hour. Come on!”

We hurried out the building, waving to Derek as we
dashed through the foyer. I hailed another taxi to take us the mile to
Whitechapel Station, where we could get on the District Line through to
Embankment. We arrived on the platform as a gust of hot air heralded the
arrival of an incoming train.

Taking seats in an almost empty carriage, we sat
side-by-side, rocking gently with the motion as we thundered through the light
and dark of the Underground network. The journey took just under half an hour,
and we climbed the steps up to street level at precisely ten past eleven.

Ryan and Sameer were standing under the arches of
the Golden Jubilee Bridge, out of the way of the steady stream of pedestrians crossing
the busy road and moving in and out of the station. I paused to let a late
night jogger run past before greeting them.

“It’s about bloody time,” Ryan groused. “How is it
we can get ready and get here from Elm Park before you make it ten minutes down
the road?”

“It’s a bit more than ten minutes,” I protested,
but Ryan had stopped paying attention to my words and was staring at me with an
alarmingly avid expression.

“What have you done to your face?”

“Becky did it. Do you like it?”

Sameer crowded in and also gave me the once-over,
although given the poor lighting under the bridge, I wasn’t sure how much they
could make out.

“You look younger,” was Sameer’s final assessment.

“Hey!” I protested, slapping his arm.

“I said young-
er.
That’s a compliment.”

I shot him a glare. “It sounds like a backhanded
one to me.”

“If my husband says he complimented you, take it,”
Ryan said. “He never compliments me anymore.”

Sameer staggered, his hand over his heart like he’d
been mortally wounded. Ryan immediately snuggled against him, apologising
profusely until Sameer relented, slung his arm around Ryan’s shoulder, and kissed
him silent.

“What are you wearing?” Ryan asked, breaking from
the kiss and staring at me anew.

I opened my jacket to show off my tank top.

Sameer laughed. “They’ll see you coming in that.”

“I’ve got a point to prove.” I grinned. “What do
you think Max will say when he sees
this
in the papers?”

“You sure you want to do this?” Ryan asked, a note
of concern entering his voice.

I had been, back when I still had three glasses of
wine sloshing around my system. I’d sobered since then, and I couldn’t deny a
certain amount of anxiety about what we’d arranged, but it was too late to back
out now. Besides, as Becky had pointed out, she was with me. As long as Max was
pushing her as my cover to the press, anything I did in her company could be
chalked up to young people engaging in hijinks.

Nodding firmly, I linked Becky’s arm and started
towards the club.