Short Story: Company

Short Story: Company

Company by Kate Lord Brown

The sign above the door read 'Mes Amis': The hard edge of the neon words were softened by the rain, which dripped over its twisting tubes like quick tongues around candy canes.

'Mes Amis. What a misnomer,' I thought as the notoriously aggressive landlord threw another drunk out onto the pavement outside. I watched as the man lay there, talking to his own reflection in the window. A car drove past sending a shower of water from the gutter over him. He didn't skip a beat, just went right on talking to himself, the street lights washing away on the glassy pavement around him.

I forced my attention back to the cast meeting. Margot was sitting at the head of the table, waving her arms as she spoke. I sat at the other end, the actors in our company between us. Margot insisted on the usual symmetry, as if we were still married, rather than just director and producer.

'Did she choose this place deliberately?' I thought as I swirled the ice around in the base of my heavy tumbler, the condensation cool against my fingertips. She knew I'd hate it. It was times like this I could really do with a proper drink. I glanced at the window again, and then at my watch.

'She's late,' I thought. 'Boris has probably taken the long route from the airport. I know I would have done if I'd had the chance.' My eyes flickered over Margot's face. I can hardly bear to look at her these days. She's just a constant reminder of everything that's gone. Behind her was the reflection of a man. It took me a moment to realize it was my own image floating wretchedly in the gloom. The lighting in the bar accentuated the heavy lines on my tanned face. I ran my hand through my hair as I looked away. I felt tired, and old. I needed a haircut. 'Boris must be around the same age as Eva,' I thought. It bothered me, the thought of her with him. 'Eva can handle him though,' I told myself. 'She can take care of herself if he ever … But he's a good-looking guy. Any woman would be flattered. Who am I kidding?' I thought.

Distantly, I heard Margot still chattering on and on about the production.

'Why did she insist on a meeting tonight of all nights,' I thought. 'She knew Eva was flying back into London,' I glanced over at Margot. As she smiled at one of the cast, her eyes bulged like a panting Pekinese. She had cerise lipstick smeared across her teeth, I saw with distaste. God how that stuff used to cling to the glasses at home. The last time I kissed Eva good bye, she had just eaten a slice of a Cox's apple, and she smelt sweet and clear. I love apples too. I beckoned to the waitress.

“Same again,” I said, placing the empty glass on her tray. My voice sounded alien to me, as if someone else had spoken.

“Sure thing. Get you anything else?” she asked, giving me the eye. Maybe she had recognized me. It happens a lot.

“Pascal, what do you think about Act II?” Margot asked loudly, her voice cutting through my appreciation of the waitress like an unseen gull screeching in fog. She glared at the waitress as she spoke.

The girl was pretty in a bland way. Not beautiful, not like Eva, though she was around the same age. I shook my head and smiled as she shrugged her shoulders, then looked at Margot.

“Act II? What do I think of Act II,” I mused. I stood and put my hands in my pockets. Through the hole in the left one, my fingertips brushed my inner thigh. It felt illicit somehow, to be touching myself so intimately, but I kept my hand there all the same.

“Perhaps you should ask your leading man,” I said, leaning on the table with the other hand. The shadow I cast across them lengthened as I leaned closer to Margot. She sensed my mood immediately and backed down.

“When he turns up of course I will,” she said quietly.

“Boris can't be much longer,” one of the company giggled, and Margot glared at her furiously.

I sat down again when the waitress brought my drink over. Just then some guy came in at the door, shaking the rain from his hair. I caught Margot looking up at exactly the same time as me, and we both looked away disappointed. She shuffled her papers, and began to discuss the casting again.

I sipped my drink. 'What I wouldn't give for a shot of bourbon,' I thought. 'Just the one. But Eva hates how I get when I drink.'

“Maybe I'll take a part this time,” I said suddenly, and the whole table turned to look at me. I hadn't meant to say it, I had just been thinking it to myself. If it hadn't been for the shock on their faces I would have questioned if I'd said it out loud. You know how sometimes you say something and then can't remember five minutes later if you'd actually said it or if you were just wondering about it, but you don't want to run the risk of repeating yourself and end up looking like an idiot? That happens a lot to me lately.

“But you haven't acted for years, not since Eva left in fact,” Margot said with a clipped tone to her voice.

“Well maybe it's about time I did,” I said, swaggering slightly.

“But who would produce the show then?” she said, her eyes narrowing.

“I would, as usual,” I said, squaring up to her. “I didn't say I wanted the lead did I? Just a small part, that's all I want in anything, now that Eva's gone.”

Margot looked away.

“I don't know how Boris would feel about being on the same stage as you,” she muttered, shuffling the pages of the script. “Even in a minor role, you would completely overshadow any attention paid to him.”

“Poor Boris,” I said sarcastically.

“What is it with you? What have you got against him?” she said, scattering her pages on the table.

Everyone seemed to be receding until it was just the two of us there. It seemed like she was very close to me. I felt too hot, the smoke and the noise made my head swim.

“It's Eva, isn't it?” Margot laughed finally, folding her arms. “You're jealous about Eva.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” I said too quickly. ‘Jealous?' I thought, 'Of course I'm jealous. Eva. That was always my favorite name. Now I hardly ever get the chance to say it aloud, although I think about her all the time. I want to jump up on the table and yell her name until she comes running to me again. Right now Boris is no doubt chattering away as he drives her here, Eva this and Eva that. It's come to this. Now I'm jealous even of her name.'

“Eva!” Margot said suddenly, and I turned to see their figures in the doorway. Eva was handing Boris the jacket that he'd given to her as shelter from the rain.

‘How chivalrous,' I thought dryly, and had to fight the urge to run to her and take her in my arms. There was a time when she would have run to me.

“Hi everyone!” she called brightly. She had grown thinner I thought. 'Everyone' leapt up to kiss them both and I hung back as Margot fussed around them. I saw Eva glance at me once or twice, uncomfortably, the way I look at Margot sometimes now. How did it come to this? How did all those years of loving her come down to this, more awkward than strangers who at least give one another the benefit of the doubt?

“I think we're about done,” I heard Margot say.

'The ballet starts at 8.00,” Eva said to Margot. 'We'd better hurry or we'll be late.' I saw Boris' face fall. She turned her body into him and spoke quietly. As she did so, I saw his stupid handsome face light up like a Christmas tree. I made a mental note to play poker with him sometime. It would give me the greatest pleasure to take him to the cleaners. So Boris was going to see her later. What about me? As they turned to go, Margot took pity on me. She spoke quickly to Eva. I was too disappointed to come forward. Eva walked towards me. She looked so beautiful, she took my breath away. There were so many questions I wanted to ask her: Was she happy? Did she like living in the south? Did she still like cinnamon toast for breakfast? She looked at me with those sad eyes of hers, and smiled, nervously.

“Hi,” she said, and kissed me gently on the cheek.

'Eva,' I said, and I squeezed her hand. It fell like a wounded animal at her side.

“I've got to dash,” she said, her voice disjointed. “We booked these tickets months ago. Perhaps I'll see you over the weekend.”

“When are you leaving?”

“Sunday night,” her eyes flickered to her mother and the door.

'So soon?'

“I have to work!” she laughed, backing away. “I've got to go. Bye Dad,” she turned and I watched them walk away.

The breath caught in my throat as I waited for her to turn to me once more, to smile and wave, but I found myself, one hand still raised, no longer waving, staring at the door as it closed softly behind them. The rain still slicked down the panes. Was that it? Was that what I had been looking forward to for weeks? My baby and her mother. The women I love more than any other in the world, walking away again. I am alone, again. How did it happen? How did it come to this? All for one minor indiscretion, some waitress whose name I can't even remember. Yes I betrayed them, but at least it was quick and sharp, and they moved on. Their betrayal is more treacherous. They wield the enduring disappointment that has covered my life like a cape of pale fog, deadening my senses, killing every pleasure in my life.

“Forgive me,” I said. “I'm sorry,” I said. Even then they turned and walked away leaving my sorrow to drift on and on. Perhaps we betrayed each other, in our ways. I was weak, but they were strong. Lost in the fog of my own life, lost in blind misery, lost without them, I sensed that Boris had been hovering at my side for some time, and I pulled my attention back to the surface, and the noise of the bar flooded in.

"Buy you a drink?" he asked cautiously. I nodded dumbly, and joined him at the bar. His question was a relief. I thought for one dreadful moment that he was going to ask my permission to marry Eva. It seemed appropriate somehow; two disappointed men together while two bright, happy women went off into the night. I envy them, their easy relationship. I miss the company of my women. I miss the color they brought to my life. There are too many bars and too many waitresses like this one. 'Bourbon, on the rocks.' They are only attractive when you have a home to go to. I miss my life, my home, my wife, but more than that I miss my child, my baby bird, my Eva. Eva, Eva, Eva, like a sigh. Where did you go?