Page 17 of The Tourist

“Look, I justneed to—”

“No, I don’tmean you jump to answer it. You actually shake.”

I felt thepressure of Dan’s hand on my arm. Tellhim! But I didn’t know how, and I wasn’tsure what. Things buried so far inside I couldn’t see them clearlymyself. Shame and fury and… fear. I wanted to keep this man for aslong as I could. But if he saw what a mess I was… “Dan, it’sokay.”

“The hell itis! Why won’t you trust me?”

“What the hell’s it to do with you?” I snappedback.

His eyes wentwide and he took a step away from me. I’d really hurt him, hadn’tI? And I didn’t even mean it. I was just lashing out, to protectmyself. But I must have known I didn’t need to do that withDan.

“Look, Dan, I won’t answer him, okay?” We both glancedinstinctively towards the phone. I knew the promise was made ofempty words. He’ll keep calling, until Ianswer. I knew he would.

Dan’sexpression was hard. “So that’s it, then?”

“What?”

“Ricky, I’mnot pissed off because he keeps calling you. It’s because you don’ttell him to go to hell.”

“Don’t bestupid,” I countered.

He sucked in abreath. “Thanks.”

I groaned.“God. I didn’tmean—”

But Dan backedaway a couple more steps, shaking his head. “If there’s nothing totell me, I’ll call it as I see it. You’re still thinking of him.You want to be with him. Look, I can see why. You go well together,both good-looking, he’s rich, obviously devoted to you…”

“No!” Now Iwas pretty sure I’d raised my voice to shouting level, becauseDan’s eyes narrowed.

“Guy likeyou, you could have anyone. I understand, believe me. I’d justprefer you to be honest.”

“I don’t wantjust anyone!”

He shrugged.“So, it’s your turn to find the balls for it, Ricky. To go for whatyou want.” He looked around for his jacket, thrown over the kitchenchair when we first came in. “I’ll go back to my place now. Callyou in the morning.”

But would he?I grabbed his arm, my mouth moving but no words coming out. Heslowly pulled himself out of my grasp and shrugged on hisjacket.

And I watchedhim leave, for good this time.

***

Find theballs for it!

Was Dan right?Had I become such a weakling, I’d chased him off? Maybe I wasencouraging Calder, even by ignoring him. Guys like Calder didn’ttake hints, didn’t fade discreetly into the background. So, I hadto find the nerve to brush him off for good.

Did I dare?

The damn phonerang again. I glanced at the number, but why bother? I let it ringon. I knew who it was going to be. He called me plenty of times aday, and had done, since the day I told him I didn’t want to seehim anymore.

Yes, that wasa shock, right? That I had the balls then to tell him. It had taken me aweek to get up the courage, and I’d done it in the bar withMarianne and Jerry and other friends in the background. Just incase Calder… protested. He’d just smiled and said we’d talk aboutit. I repeated my statement, and I asked for my stuff back from hisflat. Calder still smiled, but his eyes went hard, in the way I’dlearned to dread. When he left the bar, I didn’t feel the reliefI’d hoped for.

It was awrench, even though it was what I wanted. Calder was the first guywho ever paid any proper attention to me. It was obvious howdifferent we were; I was a bartender, whereas everything about himreeked of confidence and success. He had a great job, money, smartflat by Chelsea Creek. And he apparently liked the look of me. Whowouldn’t be interested in all that?

My host’s bodyshivered. My tourist’s mind remembered a cold, wet yard and agrubby coil of rope.

One night inthe bar, Marianne had suggested I do a college course, and work myway into teaching or social work. It was something I’d said I mightbe interested in, one day. But… Norush, Calder had said, shutting down thewhole conversation. He wanted to spend all his free time with me,he didn’t want me out when he called.

And he couldcall any time, day or night. He laughed when, at first, Icomplained. What else did I have to do? he said.