Trying to Throw my Arms Around the World

Chapter 3 of 'Come and Go'

CHAPTER THREE

Sunday, 2 October 2011

I walk into Shelley’s Yard at one thirty, stake a table at the large open window and order a white wine spritzer. I hardly slept after Stella’s message. I shouldn’t drink in this agitated, wrecked state but I need to feel the heat of the alcohol, even if it’s watered down, glow in my throat, my insides and my blood. All night I pictured Stella lying in her king-sized bed in her fancy apartment on The Peak, sleeping soundly above all the mortals—like she has no idea what she does to us, to me. I got up at ten, took a cab to Bowen Road and ran my heart out. October still has some hot and humid days; my t-shirt was completely drenched, the drying drops of sweat making me shiver in the cold conditioned taxi air on the way back. In the shower my legs shook, and I had to steady myself. In the harsh morning light I almost hated Stella. I could have stood her up, but I feared it wouldn’t even dent her soul.

I watch the people on the escalator as they glide by and are then spat out at the top. Soon one of these people will be Stella. This is why I arrived early. I want to see her slide by, on her way to meet me. I want her eyes to look for me when she enters the restaurant, recognise me, smile. She will kiss me on each cheek, but I will have anticipated the shudder it will send through my skin and my bones—I will have steeled myself. That’s what the spritzer is for. It’s almost two, and I order another.

A flash of white announces Stella’s arrival. She slowly breezes past, her bright top bringing out her mocha skin. She has dressed to impress—me at least. I feel it in my tummy now. I brace myself for the touch of her lips on my cheeks, first the left one and then the right one. This is my time to be brave.

“Hi Lee.” She doesn’t just peck me on the cheeks, she hugs me, a long soft embrace and, as she lets go, runs her fingers through my hair. If this is her plan of battle, she has already won. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting?” She nods at the two empty wine glasses. What is it with these waitresses anyway? I know it’s busy but don’t they pick up glasses anymore? “Another one?”

“Waiting for you is my favourite hobby, Stella. You know that.”

She smiles. She looks surprisingly good, not at all like the woman who stumbled out of Veto last night. I hope she and CJ haven’t made up. Surely they couldn’t have had time for that? “I was expecting sunglasses and shaky hands from you today.”

“I’m quite sturdy for my age.”

“I guess that’s what hanging with a young crowd does to people. You’re only as young as the people you feel, right? Which makes you—”

“Before you continue, I came here to apologise. I just want to make that clear.”

“Apologise for what exactly? I mean, if it’s for breaking my heart, you’re a little late.”

She looks directly at me, her eyes pleading, like she wants to say something but doesn’t know exactly what, or where to begin. “Can we start this conversation again, please?”

Maybe two spritzers on an empty stomach was a bit much, even for me. I look away. Suddenly all the people on the escalator seem to be happy couples, not a thing on their mind but to enjoy a glorious blue-skied Sunday together. You just wait, I think, till some bitch comes along and stabs you in the heart. I take a deep breath and try to remember the speech I came up with during my run earlier in the day. I draw a blank.

“If only it were that easy.” I wanted it to sound cynical, instead the words come out all mousy and hurt, like I’m about to cry. Am I? Oh no, this is not the plan. No more tears for Stella Morales. I swallow slowly. Where’s that wine? And where are my eggs benedict? “The service in this place—” I feel Stella’s hand on my arm. The words stop. A tear crashes down, leaving a stain on the napkin in my lap.

“Would you like to go somewhere else? Somewhere more private?”

What is wrong with me anyway? I never used to be like this. “God no, I’m fine, really.” Stella’s hand is burning the skin off my arm. I’m sure it will leave a five-fingered black mark once she removes it. I need for it to stay there a little while longer. The waitress brings my wine and Stella’s coffee. I tap the glass and say, “I should go a bit easier on those, right?”

Stella smiles, baring a thin sliver of perfectly white teeth. Her lips are brimming with lip gloss again. I wonder if it’s the raspberry one—the one she wore the day she broke up with me. I can still taste it sometimes, at night, when I lie in bed on my own, replaying the events. I wonder if she still loves me, or if she ever did.

Stella retracts her hand and sips from her coffee. Her eyes glare at me over the rim of the cup. The food arrives, and we eat in silence for a while. There is so much I want to say, but really, what’s the point? We’ll finish our meal, she’ll apologise for last night, maybe we’ll have one more drink and then she’ll be off again, out of my life, and it will hurt like hell to see her walk away—again.

“Do you want to go see a movie this afternoon?”

Is she talking to me? Is this a date now? “Oh Stella, I wouldn’t want you to sacrifice your Sunday just because I shed a little tear earlier.”

“You don’t have to act tough with me.”

“Of course I do. You hurt me the most.”

“I know and I’m sorry. Just give me a chance to make things right.”

“Why? So we can be friends now that your girlfriend is leaving you? It feels like shit, doesn’t it?”

“As a matter of fact, it does. Which makes me all the more sorry for what I did.”

“When is she leaving?”

“In a month.”

“What’s going to happen in that month?”

“What do you mean?”

“Will you be together until she leaves or are you breaking up?”

“God, I have no idea. She only told me yesterday.”

“Aren’t you her boss? Why didn’t you know?”

“Because she applied for a job with another bank behind my back.”

“So if she wanted, she could stay in Hong Kong.”

“That’s correct.”

“But she doesn’t.”

“Nope. Serves me right, don’t you think?”

“Well, I guess so. Really, what else can I say?”

“Nothing.”

“Is that why you want to go to the movies this afternoon? To forget?”

“Yes.” She pinned her eyes on me, but I couldn’t meet her gaze. “And to spend some time with you.”

“I’m not going to the movies with you, Stella. I’m sorry.”

I wanted nothing more than to sit next to her in a dark theatre, feel her arm touch mine, close my eyes and smell her perfume, hear her breathe. We could go for a cocktail afterwards, maybe even dinner. I could have said I found that bracelet she lost, it was under the couch and my cleaning lady finally found it—I always suspected her of not cleaning under there. She would come home with me, kiss me with her raspberry lips and cheat on CJ, with me. I wanted it but I couldn’t do that to myself. I have some self-respect. Not a lot, but enough not to let Stella Morales ruin my life twice in one month.