Razor Ch 08

I hadn't given up and I hadn't given in. Giving in to my need for instant relief, trying to quick fix my inner chaos by drinking myself into oblivion would after all have been the easy way. And I didn't do easy, I never chose the simple way out. Not if there was a better, more logical way anyway. Simply quitting wasn't the smart way forward.

After coming to the decision that I would keep going I went home, treated myself to a cup of hot chocolate, painkillers and a shower. I then went to bed and kept the bad thoughts away by imagining long, inventive lovemaking with Simon, and I fell asleep with a satisfied smile on my lips. Lust was after all a quite powerful emotion too, and a thoroughly pleasured body and mind is always easier to settle, no matter how handmade the pleasure.

A couple of weeks passed and I kept myself busy, putting the finishing touches on a few things here and smoothing more than a few wrinkles there. I wrote letters to all of my friends, signed a huge pile of papers and... I cried a lot.

All sorts of things could set me off, like a cute commercial with babies running around in their diapers, an article describing the terrible acts of war in Africa or simply the fact that my cocoa powder had run out. It was as if my tough outer layers had started to peel off and I had unprotected nerve endings just sticking out everywhere.

When William called and told me he thought it would a good idea for me to come on my usual Friday afternoon appointments, I managed to say "yes, I'd like that, but perhaps in a few weeks" with a relatively normal voice, but after ending the call I started blubbering, because he was such a kind man, and he had helped me so much... and I would miss him.

I cried a lot over poor Lily and her brother too, but in between the tear-filled moments I made sure they had enough money for Pete to be able to stay in their home environment or in a good, home-like care facility, so Lily could choose and make a decision based on what she wanted to do, not just what she had to do. The money I used came from one of the secret accounts owned by Rose's husband and family. It felt like putting the money to good use was a better option than turning it over to the police. I didn't tell Sean because he would have probably had a different opinion, his moral compass was sometimes a bit too straight.

Rose's husband and his partners in crime were all locked up and I hoped they would be processed quickly, so that we could all close that chapter of our lives. Most importantly, so that Rose and Sean could start healing, living and loving. I still beat myself up about sending Rose straight into the arms of that slimy meditation teacher, but after talking to Susan on the phone about it I tried to convince myself that it wasn't my fault. I can't say that I managed convincing myself very well, but still, I did try. After talking to Sean and hearing the story about how he and Rose met, I booked a special place in hell for the slimy sleazebag; a proper, real life experience courtesy of some old friends of mine. I didn't tell Sean about that either, but I promised myself to tell Rose, at some point...

I didn't go to see Samuel in his apartment again, but we communicated daily via his recently built, independent messaging app. We sent each other everything from short pieces of code to puns and scientific articles. We didn't need to be close to feel close and it felt like we had never been apart. He seemed content to have an online friendship with me, and I was happy that he was happy. And at least his jokes made me laugh instead of cry, which was a great relief in between bouts of crying.

When everything was planned, documented and finalized I called William and asked him if I could come see him again and when he answered "yes, of course" we settled on my usual time. One final meeting, with one small favor to ask of him.

- - - - -

I met Sarah and Susan at the bar one Thursday evening and I could tell that my hopes of them finding love and happiness had come true; I saw that they were both deeply in love. From the beginning of the evening Susan was still wearing her slightly cold mask, but there was light and energy behind it, and a wicked glint in her eyes. Sarah was pink, shining, warm and full of giggles and she pulled me and Susan into it, in a proper girl talk, until we were both as pink and giggly as she was.

"I just wanted to tell you that I absolutely love that lingerie shop you told me about a few months ago." Sarah said to me after containing her giggles and taking a deep breath "It really does have the perfect underwear, even for women my size, I don't have to worry about 'the girls' anymore, they're always perfectly in place, in lace, in all sorts of colors. And yes, John told me to say 'thank you and thank you again' to you for telling me about it."

"Ohh yes," Susan added, her eyes slightly dreamy "my boys like 'the girls' in the outfits I got from there too, so yes, they really do stock all sizes. Thank you for telling us about it."

I nodded and smiled and wondered if I should tell them that I owned the store, so they knew it wasn't all just "the kindness of my heart" that made me tell them about it, but I decided not to. I knew it was the only place in the city where you could find what you needed in both small and big sizes. I had started the business after finding one of my big size angels crying after an unsuccessful shopping trip, and she had told me about the humiliation of never finding the right size, of always having to squeeze your breasts into an uncomfortably small bra, of people staring at the result of it. It was also one of the businesses where I could hire some of the people my organizations "rescued" when they needed to readapt to the outside world.

I took a small sip of the surprisingly well-tasting non-alcohol wine I always got when we met up at the bar and happily watched my friends as they talked about their men's appreciation of the underwear they had bought. I wondered how long it would take before Susan noticed the ring on Sarah's finger. The way Sarah was waving it around as she described the perfect, blue lace set that had made John go absolutely crazy, it seemed blue was his favorite color, I didn't think it would take too long.

"Whaaat is thaaaat?" Susan interrupted Sarah's happy description of manly adoration "On your finger? Oh my god, is that for real?"

"Yes," Sarah squealed "John took me to dinner this Saturday evening and before they brought the dessert he got down on his knee and asked me to marry him, and to please give him an answer before my chocolate soufflé arrived... because we might not make it all the way through dessert... it's a... long story, but he likes the way I eat chocolate... and... I said yes!"

"Of course you did," I nodded and smiled at her "you love him and he loves you and... there's this one tiny, tiny thing that connects you two even more now, isn't there?"

Susan was still getting over the shock of seeing a ring on her friend's finger when my ending words seemed to reach her and shock her even more.

"What?" Susan said in a whisper "No? Really? Now? How?"

"I suppose they did do it the normal way," I said with a too sweet smile "that's usually the way it's done? And I think someone once told me that practice does make perfect... so...?"

"Yes," Sarah whisper-squealed "it wasn't planned at all, it seems that there isn't such a thing as a completely 100 percent safe contraceptive, but... we're both so happy about it."

Susan seemed to be lost for words and I could tell that she was thinking hard, probably about her relationship with Ben and Jerry and possible future children. The way her life was set up, still working hard, and liking it, there would be no space for children, and added to that was the complication of having a relationship with two men, but perhaps she hadn't quite closed the door to a real family-life? She saw me looking at her and nodded with a small smile, telling me that she was ok about it all, her choice of life was still the one she preferred.

We kept talking for a while and Sarah entertained us with stories about her silly crying spells, her extreme consumption of nectarines, her initial sleepiness and her libido going into overdrive. We laughed and cried and when we left the bar we all hugged and Susan said that everything was not going to be just okay, it was going to be great. I had a feeling she was right about that; in the end, everything was going to be absolutely perfect.

Susan pulled me to the side before we parted ways and asked about Rose. I told her that I thought everything was going to be okay for Rose in the end too, but that she had to go through a few difficult months before she could be as happy as Sarah and Susan. As I walked away I promised myself to remind Rose that she needed to talk to our friends before the news about her husband were revealed to the public. She might need the help and loving support of her oldest friends when that particular shit hit the news fan.

When I got home I once more thought about my life and all the happy memories I had shared with my friends, and, for once, I didn't cry. I sat in my kitchen, realizing that I had nothing left to do, truly surprised that my usual nervous "I've got to find something to do" energy wasn't there to fill me up and send me to my feet and out the door. It was a strange moment of contentment; my mind wasn't absolutely still, but much calmer than its usual full speed space machine. I felt more settled and content than I had frankly ever been. I sipped my hot chocolate and thought about the few things I had still left to do.

My phone rang and I contemplated ignoring it so I could just continue exploring the calm I felt inside of me. I didn't recognize the number on the screen and that, of course, made me curious.

"Hello?" I answered.

"Hello there!" a warm, well-known voice answered my obvious who-the-hell-are-you question.

"Mike!" I yelled "I've missed you buddy; what part of the world are you in right now?"

"I'm back home," Mike answered with a laugh "finally, back where I belong..."

"I thought all you superstar musical artist people belonged on the road?" I answered with a laugh "Don't tell me you've grown tired of it already?"

"It's been a long year," he answered "so yes, very, very tired..."

"You should come over," I said with a small smile on my face "I'll make you a cup of cocoa and sing you to sleep in no time!"

"That sounds absolutely lovely," he said "but it'll have to wait, see I have this small, exclusive, one-time only gig tonight..."

"Ohh, nice, close and personal?" I answered "The way you like it?"

"Yes, the way I like it..." he answered with a short laugh "and I wondered if I could persuade you to join me. It suddenly hit me that I wanted to tell my story tonight, to take a trip down memory lane. I suppose that it might be this strange feeling I always get when I'm back home, I'm both happy and sad, the memories get much sharper... and, to tell you the truth, I think I need you right there next to me when I do that."

"You are stronger than you think, my friend..." I answered him with a sigh "you should know that by now."

"Yeah, I don't know about that..." he answered, his voice a bit wobbly.

"You're still completely drug free?" I asked him softly.

"Yes... completely. No more, never again, you know that." he answered "But it's been a struggle this past year, it's not like the industry has cleaned up since my last tour. The constant exposure... it's just... a struggle..."

"You knew it would be," I answered softly "and you've survived it, haven't you? Just think about how strong you are to have made it out clean and alive!"

"Yes... I know. I still feel dirty and corrupted somehow." he answered with a serious and sad note to his words "That's why I wanted to do this small gig, to find myself again. To be happy about myself and music again, you know?"

"I do know," I answered him in a whisper "because music is your heart and your soul, you need it to stay sane."

"Come sing with me like you used to, please?" he begged after a short silent break.

"For old time's sake? As in the good old days?" I laughed softly.

"Well except for the drugs, yeah..." he answered me back.

I thought about it for a few seconds. I had always loved singing with Mike, but that was back in the bad old days, with a constant supply of calming, thought-suppressing drugs. After I had pulled myself out of that swamp of destruction and later, after I had managed to pull him out of it too, we hadn't sung together even once. It was as if we were both afraid of the memories, that they would pull us back and destroy us again. There was just an endless supply of things that could destroy you, things you were afraid of, wasn't there? I made a quick decision, to not let myself be ruled by my fears.

"If you want me to come, I'll be there." I answered him "Should I dress up, dress down or undress for this particular show?"

"I'd say 'come as you are'" he answered with a loud laugh "and then there's this internal fight inside of me where one side says 'it would be pretty fun if she's wearing an ugly old dressing-gown' and one side says 'I hope she's wearing her usual jeans and t-shirt combination'..."

"So, it'll be a surprise then..." I laughed and looked at the clothes I was wearing.

"I suspect I will be disappointed..." he answered.

After telling me where to go we hung up and I thought about the mysterious ways of life. I hadn't thought about Mike in quite some time, and then out of the blue he called, just as I was trying to summarize the life I had lived. I was glad that I would have one more chance to talk to him, to sing with him, perhaps to help him get over his obvious disgust for the music industry.

I showered, fixed my hair up slightly and put some makeup on, trying to remember how long ago it had been since I'd actually done anything to improve my nature given looks; years? Instead of putting my usual loose-fitting clothes on, I decided to wear slightly tighter jeans, a black long-sleeved t-shirt that hugged my curves and a bra that was soft and comfortable but also very good at lifting, separating and... enchanting. I laughed when I realized what I was doing, dressing up as if I was going on a date.

I contemplated changing my clothes back to one of my usual outfits, but there wasn't really time for it and instead, in one final act of self-defiance, I completed the date image by pulling on a pair of expensive high-heel boots.

I took a cab to the club, because parking was difficult in that area of the city, and when I got there my entrance was stopped by two guards of the big, burly and brutal kind. After talking for several minutes, trying to make them at least look at their approved admittance list, one heavy, grabby hand on my shoulder made me snap. Those kinds of guys aren't usually built for speed, and I figured I would be able to get more than few hits in before they bundled me up and sent me off. A well-known, laughing voice stopped me before I could do any more damage than a couple of twisted fingers and a sore kneecap.

"Don't hurt those poor men now, Mary." Mike said, still laughing "It would look really bad on their references, you know. After the club owner fires them for not letting his 'hired artists' into the club."

I backed away and saw the angry expressions on the two guards faces melt away into expressions of real chagrin, and I nodded in a silent 'I told you so' motion. We were both hastily let into the club where they were still setting things up for the night's musical event. We sat down in a corner booth and talked about the songs, the informal arrangements he had in mind and the feelings he wanted to communicate to his audience. He wanted people to hear it, feel it, from the beginning, the darkness, the light, the energy of music; everything.

When everything was set up, when the small crowd had gathered, when we sat side by side, singing, feeling, being, breathing the music, Mike forgot about all of his ambitions and just let his thoughts and emotions lead him the way. And he guided both me and the audience through his life, through the ups and the downs, using his own music, and sometimes the music of others. It was in truth a real musician's version of memoirs, with notes and vibrations guiding us through the landscape of his life.

With music we covered almost every emotion known to mankind; our two voices blending, mixing, making sweet musical love. I sat on my chair, on stage, my physical reactions to the music sometimes subtle, sometimes clearly evident; the fine hairs on my body standing, sometimes in excitement sometimes in horror; the tears on my face as I cried for people we'd both known that were no longer with us. And all through this, there was a humming electric feel to the air and the stories we told in speech and through our songs were all intimate, personal, sometimes sad and sometimes sensual, erotic, exciting. It all started in darkness and sadness and ended in strength, energy and passion, the way all perfect stories start and end.

We hugged each other warmly before we thanked the people who'd listened patiently to Mike's story. Most seemed obviously affected by the show they'd been given. I saw tears, smiles, laughter, shock, anger, every possible emotion still being echoed through the room. I was absolutely exhausted at the same time as I was completely, utterly on edge, passionate, energized, buzzing, high on music, high on life. A dangerous country for a recovering addict to stay in, but I let myself enjoy it for a little while longer, my whole body vibrating, head to toe. I walked away to find myself a calm corner to be able to pull myself back slightly, but I was stopped by another hand on my shoulder, and another too well-known voice.

"Mary, I don't know what to do, Mary, 'cause every time I look away from you, you're all I see, Mary..."

Simon's words hit me dead center and I turned around to look at him. I saw that he was as thoroughly affected by the music as I was. His eyes were large, his pupils wide, and he was buzzing from his own inner high, probably as erotic in its nature as mine was.

"Shit," I whispered before he stepped even closer "dangerously potent stuff that."

"You..." he whispered back "are dangerous and potent. And I love it."

Our bodies collided and in moment of insane sanity I thought that it was strange that the collision in itself didn't create an explosion that blew the whole place out. But then thoughts became blurred and the rest of the world became insignificant as his arms pulled me in close and his lips met mine. Ravenous need and aggressive passion filled me then and I pushed myself against him and pulled him in closer, needing him as close as he could possibly get.

* * * * *

I had been thinking of, no more like obsessing about, Mary. It's like everything around me was designed to steer me and my thoughts that way; my biological mother telling me about her work answering questions and helping people at a web site called "Mother Mary", laughingly telling me that she never thought anyone would want or need her particular words of wisdom; my usual alternative radio channel deciding to have a "Mary hour" with songs from around the world; people calling out "Mary" wherever I went.

I had never quite understood the "I've got you under my skin" reference. I couldn't say that she was "deep in the heart of me", but she was definitely inside of me, messing with my usually almost perfect focus.

I had tried to talk to Sean about her but he'd been walking around with a silly smile on his face that turned to a stony "stay away from my friend" expression if I so much as mentioned Mary. Some additional words about her having had a tough life, and that she didn't need my puppy attention was said to keep me away. If only I could have kept my thoughts away too, then that would have been perfect.