Obsession: A Twin Menage Romance Page 2

  I know that comment is an allude to some of the drawings I’ve done in the past, a kind of common theme in my personality if you will, but as much as I like to let my mind wander and imagine otherwise, ever since I found out the truth, this world has turned me into a cold hard realist, with perfectly socially acceptable and easily managed obsessions.

  “There’s a difference between fantasy and reality”, I say.

  “You tell that to your mother.”

  “I think this one might be for real”, I add. “Of all the things I thought she’d bring back home, a boyfriend would have been last on the list.”

  “Who is he?”

  “I don’t know. What I do know is that he flies first class, he has a house in Manhattan and he’s definitely not married.”

  I push the straws out of the way and sip the second glass of water down to the level of the first.

  Alice lets the bourbon wet her lips while she pauses for thought. “Does he have any kids?”

  “That would be way too weird”, I say. “Even for me.”

  “I wasn’t thinking about you”, Alice jokes.

  “Not that I know of.”

  “How does she know he’s not married?”

  “Mom’s been an air hostess for almost thirty years, which means she’s met almost every kind of person there is at points where they show their vulnerabilities the most. The moment you set foot in her cabin she knows pretty much everything about you. Believe me, she’s like the Sherlock Holmes of the 747. I spent an embarrassingly long time thinking she was some kind of special agent, but with the way she can pick someone apart in seconds, she could easily have been if her career as a trolly dolly didn’t work out. It made lying growing up a practical impossibility and it makes me sad to think she was so in love with my dad for such a long time she just couldn’t see he was lying to her. Either that or she just tried to ignore it. Anyway, if mom says he’s not married, he’s definitely not married.”

  “That’s good”, Alice says.

  “Is it? Just because he’s not married, doesn’t mean he’s serious.”

  “I think you’re just jealous your mom’s found someone before you have.”

  “That as well”, I say.

  “Anyway, it could be the break you’ve been looking for. You know, if he’s rich, he might want to kickstart or crowdfund you, or whatever it’s called now. You could finally get your artwork in front of a massive crowd.”

  “I don’t want to get my artwork in front of a massive crowd”, I say.

  “Can you imagine the looks on people’s faces if those images from your sketchbook were blown up and displayed at one of those street art galleries in Williamsburg?”

  The idea fills me with horror.

  “There are a million and one things I’d prefer”, I say. “A new job for a start.”

  “Everyone wants a new job, I thought you were more creative than that”, Alice says.

  “The real world has beaten it out of me”, I say cynically.

  “No wonder you’re single with that attitude”, Alice says.

  “I said a new job, not a new man, you know Casper left a horrible taste in my mouth.”

  Alice giggles at the image, and I can’t help join her, sniggering over the puerility of the double entendre.

  “Anyway, it’s the weekend, you can forget all about that. If your mom can meet the man of her dreams thirty thousand feet in the air, there’s nothing to say you can’t five feet off the ground.” She swills what’s left of the bourbon round the glass and drains it back. “Are you going to have a real drink now?”

  “I’ve got the car”, I say.

  “I know that. Just leave it here and get an uber home or better still, stay at mine. We can make a night of it. Find ourselves a distraction.”

  “Alice.”

  “Come on.”

  “I’m on shift tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow is Saturday.”

  “I’m still on shift”, I say.

  “Call in sick.”

  Alice belongs to the group of people for whom sick days are interchangeable with days in which you just don’t want to work. I try a different tack because this could go on for a while. I don’t get paid for sick days, my asshole boss wouldn’t believe me anyway, and I need the money.

  “I thought we were going to get food”, I say, realigning the glasses again, and then evening up the water levels with sharp sips from each straw in turn until perfectly equal.

  “We can do that first”, Alice says amicably, side swiping through my attempt at a guilt trip.

  I narrow my eyes at her. “Are you looking for a hook up, Alice?”

  I think I already know the answer to this.

  “I’m not looking for anything per se-.”

  “I just wanted a quiet night to complain about the fact my life is going nowhere, some good food, a prime number of double rounds of water and a door I can close and check repeatedly is locked, and here you are, dragging me out on another one of your love missions again.”

  “You complain about your life every Friday night, nothing’s going to change unless you decide to change it yourself, obsessions or not.”

  I narrow my eyes at her again. “And I’m really really horny”, she adds, almost pleadingly, pulling a face like a lost puppy dog.

  “Me too”, I agree reluctantly, stabbing what remains of the water in both glasses with morse code patterns. “It’s been ages, and Casper wasn’t exactly a lion in the bedroom.”

  “There you go then.”

  I sigh, louder than I want to and loud enough for two people on different sides of the bar to look over at me to see where the noise has come from. It’s a sigh of acceptance. This represents the two sides of my personality completely. One side wants nothing more than to drink my water, eat my food and drive myself home like a virgin waiting patiently for her wedding night, while the other side wants to enjoy Friday night like I should be able to without having to worry about the consequences, nor think too much about work. I’m too old to be working on Saturdays anyway, even if there aren’t any other options right now to change it. It takes a huge effort for me to let myself go sometimes, especially when both plans have their potential benefits. Although unlikely, I might meet someone tonight that changes my life for the better and I can see the merit in rolling the dice. But then equally, I might do nothing more than make myself feel worse about who I am, if I meet someone and they make fun of my somewhat obscure personality. Really it boils down to a very simple decision. Either I go home and feel safe but lonely, or I roll the dice and risk either shame or reward.

  “Your water’s running out”, Alice reminds me.

  She can see I’m mulling it over. She knows me too well to know this is anything but an easy decision for me. I know her well enough too to know that this was coming. It’s the reason I packed an overnight bag, the reason I left extra food out for the cat. It’s the push-pull dance we constantly find ourselves in and it wouldn’t be the same if I didn’t give some token resistance, however much I know what I’ll really end up doing.

  “I’m not sleeping with anyone tonight”, I say.

  Alice beams excitedly.

  “I’m not getting drunk either.”

  “You really have a very low opinion of me, you know that?” Alice says, eyes sparkling mischievously and hand in the air to signal the bartender back over. “And besides which, you can never say never.”

  Chapter Two

  I’m sure dating has got way harder than it used to be. I wouldn’t exactly consider myself the latest generation and most of the people I know of my age have met their significant others via some kind of internet app. Approaching someone, engaging in a conversation and then asking them out seems so outdated now it’s almost creepy. If you haven’t got a cell phone in your hand to give away your location and arranged your meet-up in advance (even if that’s only a minute in advance), you run the risk of being accused of harassment. God knows how the human race is going to surviv
e if a whole generation of millennials only know how to hold a conversation if they do it via an internet messenger.

  I’m not anti-progress by any means. I love my smart phone and the whole new way of communicating thing kind of suits the introverted side of my personality, I just worry we’re hiding ourselves behind technology, or we are creating technology to hide ourselves behind because it’s much easier that way. And then the less we need to do something, the less inclined we are to want to. It’s a kind of reverse evolution on a social scale. We’re going to end up in virtual caves, thousands of years after emerging from them. I suppose at least then I’d have an excuse to draw on the walls. And there’s something hot about cavemen, although I imagine all of the cavemen of the future to look a little bit like Elon Musk, but with bigger heads and thinner bodies.

  It’s what I see when I emerge from my cave, the long queue of sour faced girls waiting to get into the cubicle who aren’t likely to appreciate the scene I’ve just left on the brick wall above the paper dispenser, and out into the frenetic buzz of the bar. I want it to be that famous scene from Star Wars but it’s more like the office party of another crowdfunded startup, with way too much facial hair and plaid.

  I rejoin Alice in the booth she’s commandeered for us which gives us a perfect view of the rest of the bar. She doesn’t need to say anything, her look tells me she knows where I’ve been.

  “I couldn’t resist”, I explain.

  I have a tendency to draw on walls. Some people keep eye liners in their bags, I keep sharpies. It’s not an obsession, not in the same way as the other ones, but it is compulsive. I blame my imagination, which I blame squarely on my childhood. In short, it isn’t really my fault.

  Oh, and drinking makes it worse.

  “I had to put something in there, the wall was bare and white, it was asking for it”, I add.

  “You’re wasted in that shop”, Alice says.

  I don’t really want to talk about it. Six years in the same comic book shop I used to spend all of my saved up pocket money in. I’ve probably spent more time between those four walls than anywhere else. So much for my bachelor’s degree in graphic design.

  “I’m going to quit”, I lie, “just as soon as I’ve got something else lined up.”

  “That means you have to apply for new jobs, you can’t just expect something to fall into your lap like that.”

  “There aren’t any”, I lie again.

  There are, I just don’t have the confidence to apply for them. Plus my portfolio isn’t exactly normal at the moment. Erotic artwork featuring well known celebrities can only get you so far. It’s good, but it’s super niche.

  “Then get something part-time so you can spend the rest of the time drawing”, Alice says. “I hate to see your talent go to waste.”

  “I’ve got walls”, I say. “Plenty of walls.”

  “Walls don’t pay your utility bills, and besides which, you can’t exactly leave your number in case someone wants to contact you.”

  She has a point, so I change the subject.

  “Have you noticed how there doesn’t seem to be any distinction between the men in New York anymore? They all look like they are related in some way. Same ridiculous facial hair, same clothes, same tattoos in the same places on their bodies, same outlooks and values.”

  “That’s just Brooklyn”, Alice says. “Head across the bridge and it’s not anything like that. There are people in suits over there.”

  “No seriously”, I say, only half joking. “I’m worried about the future of our men. We used to have punks and skaters, jocks and preppies, geeks and goths. All we’ve got now is a kind of weird sort of weakened down one-cup blend, as though they can’t decide what they want to be.”

  “I think it’s kind of hot”, Alice says. “And anyway, it’s just fashion.”

  “You mean people like to look like other people?” I say.

  “Doesn’t everyone? If you’re going to make a statement about yourself it’s way easier if there are a bunch of other people making the same statement as you, and it doesn’t even matter now if you don’t really believe that statement in the first place. Fashion has always been like that, you know, more about the need to make a statement rather than the substance of it. We’re all the same, even if we think we’re not.”

  “It’s making this bar look like a page from Where’s Waldo.”

  Alice sniggers. “Maybe it’s just not your thing.”

  “That’s my point, there isn’t much other choice”, I say.

  “There are a thousand different styles of beard, a multitude of different plaid patterns and some of these men even have color in their tattoos”, Alice jokes. “You’re just not looking at the details.”

  “Every tree is different even though the forest looks the same?” I ask cynically.

  “Exactly.”

  I sip my two drinks and look out at the crowd as though examining amoeba in a lit up dance floor petri dish. Is the father of my children somewhere amongst that crowd, tapping things obsessively, holding two drinks and sipping each of them in time to the beat? Actually, the last thing I’d want to do is find someone like me, that would be way too much to handle. One person with irrational obsessions is enough for any relationship.

  “It’s always been like that anyway”, Alice adds. “From the dawn of time, there has always been one prominent fashion and several different subgroups. It’s just different as a kid. You notice the differences more, that’s all.”

  “Everything’s different as a kid”, I say. “Life is much easier.”

  Alice holds up her cocktail. “Yeah, but nowhere near as fun.”

  “And you don’t have to worry about finding a partner”, I add.

  “We don’t have to”, Alice says. “I just thought-.” She can tell the whole thing terrifies me. “Why don’t we have a look on Tinder?”

  “It’s everything I hate about the modern world”, I say.

  “Which means I know you secretly love it. It’ll just be for a laugh anyway, we won’t be doing it seriously.”

  “Alright, if it’s for a laugh”, I say.

  Alice grabs her drink, slides out from her side of the booth and pushes me along the seat so she can sit alongside me. I carefully realign my two glasses of wine, tap the counter with each of my fingers twice and lean into her.

  “I guess you haven’t got an account?”

  I give her my best what-kind-of-person-do-you-think-I-am-to-sink-that-low look and hope that she buys it. It’s not like I use Tinder often, it’s more for research and image ideas.

  “We’ll use mine then”, she says.

  This is an opportunity for me to speak up against the wave of communication change spreading through the world but I literally don’t have the balls. Even if I spiritually belong to a different era entirely, one of prospectors and pirates and hidden treasure, I’m way more Rapunzel than I am Elaine Marley, and besides which, emotionally I’m stuck firmly in the modern, digital age. In short, meeting new people terrifies the bejesus out of me, and just thinking about it makes me need to tap the table in sequence again.

  “Just for fun?” I feel the need to confirm before we begin our location based search.

  “Never say never”, Alice says again, as she watches me nervously guzzle back the rest of my wine like some kind of rampant alcoholic.

  “But they can see where we are?” I ask.

  “That’s kind of the point”, Alice says.

  I can’t help but feel both simultaneously excited and gut wrenchingly nervous. It’s like watching someone get undressed from such an exposed location there is no doubt you’ll be getting caught. It’s like going to a library and watching porn only because you know everyone else is doing the same.

  I don’t go to libraries to watch porn, by the way, I just go there to draw on the walls.

  “Greg”, Alice says, and turns the screen towards me.

  “No”, I say straight away.

  “You haven’t even
seen him.”

  “He doesn’t have any frames on his glasses”, I say. “It’s way too suspicious.”

  Alice swipes left. “Paul”, she says excitedly, holding her cell towards me.

  I shake my head. “Definitely not.”

  “Look at those abs”, Alice argues.

  “Look at the photo he’s taken. It’s way too conceited.”

  Another swipe left. “Okay”, Alice says holding the phone against her chest for a moment. “You’re going to like this one.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Alex, twenty five, artist.”

  She shows me the phone. “He looks normal”, I say, taking it from her. “Normal photos, nice smile, doesn’t look like a serial killer, which probably means he’s a serial killer.”

  I swipe left and hand it back to her.

  “You are way too picky, you know that?”

  “I’ve just had bad experiences with artists before”, I say.

  “Casper wasn’t exactly an artist”, she says. “He was a painter and decorator.”

  “That was just his day job”, I say, unsure really why I’m defending him. “In his spare time he was an artist, just not a very good one.”

  I call the waiter over and order some more drinks. Two more glasses of wine for me, and another cocktail for Alice. I get the expected look of confusion and have to reaffirm my order.

  “I thought you weren’t going to get drunk”, she says, without taking her eyes off her phone.

  “I’m building up the courage to swipe right”, I say to her.

  “This one”, she says, holding the phone in my face. “He looks like a real man.”

  “He’s cute”, I say. “But not quite right.”

  Alice sighs and swipes left. “I’m going to end up without a single match.”

  “I don’t suppose there are any twins on there?”

  “If you want to double date, we’re going to need triplets.”

  “I’m beginning to think we’re going to need to do this the conventional way.”

  “Here we go”, Alice says. “Mike, twenty four, junior doctor. That’s weird.”