Blind Carnival

Those Were Just the First Sparks

"We should have some in bed. Is it something you write in your novels?" he asks, and kisses her firmly. "Surely, it requires proper investigation."

She giggles and kisses him back.

"How about a shower shag tonight? And then chocolate syrup next time? I've had enough sugar for a few days."

She moves onto his jaw and gently bites into his beard.

"Ah..." he exhales. "The infamous shower shag. On our first date you discouraged me from it..."

"I said it's not without flaws. But I'm sure we can make it work."

He carefully puts her down.

"Alright, Liv, let's go offend the sensitivities of some cabbie, and then... shower."

He of course wiggles his eyebrows, and she of course loves it.

***

In the cab, they do try to behave, but his hands properly wander her legs, and then she can't wait anymore, so she snogs all sense out of him.

The cab is almost near her place. They've agreed she'll change, and then they will go to his flat, so he can 'show his male prowess without sneezing' - in his words. She might also want to take her car. She didn't drink and can drive herself home. It's Sunday tomorrow, and the fact that he's vague on when he assumes she's leaving his place hasn't escaped her attention. She asks herself whether staying at his place overnight and then spending a Sunday together would mean taking their relationship to a new level. Or is it exactly the same level where they are right now? And then she makes a mental note that she should probably just talk to him, since currently her doubts and thrashing thoughts are like a stand-up routine in front of an empty club. After all, there are two tangoing here.

She sorts of forget her important, existential thoughts because he's pulling the collar of her dress with his long index finger, and his warm lips are on her shoulder - when her mobile starts ringing again.

It's Bea again, and it surely doesn't feel like one of her 'I just saw the cutest Birkin' fits. Olivia presses a finger to John's lips, which he predictably kisses, and she picks up, smiling to him.

"Where the fuck have you been, Olivia?!" Bea yells in her ear, and Olivia sits up straight. That surely doesn't sound like a Bea-ish 'let's talk buying new sexy knickers' routine.

"Bea, what–"

And then Bea is screaming into the phone, and out of the flood of swearing and crying - and Bea never cries! - Olivia extracts 'your father' and 'your whore of a mother' and 'threesome' and then a name that Olivia is sort of familiar with, but just can't place.

"Bea– Bea–"

Olivia's trying to insert a word, but Bea is so loud that John stops nuzzling Olivia's shoulder and shifts in the darkness of the cab.

"And it's everywhere!" Bea's hysterical. "Twitter! Bloody YouTube! Facebook! How am I to come out of the house now?!"

"Bea–"

Olivia doesn't understand anything. Her mind is whirring, and Bea's crying loudly in the mobile, and John's hand finds Olivia's, and he pulls her in. She presses her forehead into his shoulder, and he's squeezing her fingers, and it's a bit easier to breathe. His warmth and his smell ground her, anchoring her to reality, and she can actually focus to hear Bea.

"And your fucking mother!" Bea's sobbing. "How could he?! And it's sodding everywhere! My phone just wouldn't shut up! And that slag out of all of them!"

"Bea, where are you? What can I do?"

Olivia sounds lost, and then John lets go of her hand, and she realises they are by her building.

He probably pays, but Olivia doesn't notice. She's trying to estimate how bad Bea's state is. She's loud, and hysterical, and, Olivia's starting to think, also drunk. And then John's hand is in front of Olivia's nose.

"Keys, Liv," he says softly, and she fishes them out of her clutch and pushes them in his palm.

"Bea! Do you need me to come? Are you in the mansion? Where's– he?" Olivia's raising her voice.

"I'm here... but I hate it all, Olivia! He'd probably been fucking her here, I just know it! And that wanker too! I can understand the blond slag - but your Mother?!"

Everything starts making sense. So, the three way went as such: Olivia's father; and her mother - they've been divorced for ten years, previously having tried to kill each other at least once, and that's not a figure of speech, so she isn't sure how that's even possible, plus the rising star from her Dad's show. Blond. Male. Hardly of age.

Olivia feels nausea rising. That's her anxiety symptom number one. Clenched teeth and splitting headache are coming.

John opens the cab door and gently pulls her out. She's a ragdoll, still trying to communicate with Bea, who's screaming and using the expressions that in normal circumstances would make Olivia blush. Currently she's just annoyed that between all these anatomical descriptions she can't determine if she needs to let Bea sleep it off, or if it would be wise to rush and break into the bloody mansion her Dad bought two years ago.

And that's when the first flash of a camera comes.

"Miss Dane, what do you have to say about your father's affair with Lee Mirk, and the footage of their sexual exploits that leaked online tonight?"

There are about twenty journalists around, and suddenly voice recorders are pushed into her face.

"Did you know he's having an affair with your mother again?!"

"How do you feel about him cheating on your best friend?!"

"Did you know your father was bi?!"

"Miss Dane, just a few comments, please!"

"Miss Dane, how do you feel about this scandal being so similar to the plot of your very first bestseller?"

"Miss Dane, you've described exactly the same story in your novel Blind Carnival, the very book that made you rich and popular. Was your father involved with another young actor already then?! And was your mother a willing participant then as well?"

She's trying to walk through them, but the cameras are blinding. John's leading her, shielding her, his arm around her shoulders - and then the worst question comes.

"Who's the gentleman with you, Miss Dane?"

Or not. Maybe, the next question is worse.

"Will we see him in your next book?!"