Tigers & Devils (2 page)

“YOU’RE coming whether you like it or not,” Roger commanded. I ignored him and pretended to be shuffling through my briefcase, looking for some important documents which in actuality didn’t exist.

“I know you can hear me,” Roger said unhappily.

“Of course he can.”

Without looking up, I knew Fran had returned to the room. We were in their lounge. They had invited me over for dinner, and I had come straight from work, stopping at home briefly to feed the cat and get scratched thoroughly for daring to leave her alone again. I rubbed absentmindedly at one of the wounds on my arm again, causing it to break open and seep a tiny rivulet of blood.

“Gross.” Roger noted the obvious.

Fran squeezed in between us, a new bottle of wine in her hands. I hadn’t even realised that we had finished the first and knew that this next glass would have to be my last if I still wanted to drive home. I didn’t want to have to catch a taxi home tonight and then back here the next morning to pick up my car, and if I crashed here overnight I would
really
be in the cat’s bad book.

“I don’t want to go either,” Fran told me. “But what can you do?”

“I’m not the one sleeping with Roger,” I said. “I’m not beholden to his demands.”

“Neither am I, and I
am
sleeping with him,” Fran countered, giggling to herself.

“Hey!” Roger protested. “I
am
here, you know!”

Like I said, things have long been back to normal with us now, enough that the casual mention of the thought of the two of us sleeping together no longer made him react like Dracula pulling open the curtains an hour early.

“Pour the wine, hun.” Fran threw herself back against the couch and propped her feet on the table.

Both Roger and I reached for the bottle at the same time.

“She meant me, Simon,” Roger said, although I knew he wasn’t being serious.

“No, I didn’t,” Fran said, a smirk suggesting otherwise.

“I’m man enough to back down.” I held up my hands in mock surrender.

TIGERS AND DEVILS | 7

Roger sighed, and I knew he was thinking for the millionth time that it was no fun when we ganged up against him. He passed us our glasses, and we fell into a peace that only broke when Roger murmured, “You’re coming, and that’s it.”

“I don’t even know these people.”

“That’s the point of a party. To get to know new people.”

“I don’t want to know new people. I get to meet enough new people at work every day.” That was true enough, and they more than exhausted my quota.

“There might be some cute guys,” Roger said desperately. I looked at Fran. “Did he just say
cute guys
?”

Fran raised an eyebrow, a trick I wished I could master. “I’m as surprised as you are. I apparently married a fourteen-year-old girl.”

“Shut up.” Roger sulked. “You know, you
could
help me convince him to come.”

“Oh, he’s coming.” Fran turned to me, and I could see the glint in her eyes that told you in no uncertain terms you shouldn’t cross her. “He knows he is.”

And that was that. I could hold out against Roger, but Fran got the best of both of us every single time.

“So…,” Roger said finally, as Fran drank from her glass. “Friday. Get here by eight. No sense in being the first to arrive.”

“WHOSE party is this, anyway?” I grumbled, wrapping my scarf tighter around my throat to protect it from the winter winds everybody claimed blew straight up from Antarctica. I could see the fence of Melbourne Cemetery as we walked along, and truth be told, I would rather be spending the night in there than going to a shindig where the only people I would know were currently alongside me.

“I don’t know,” Fran replied, snuggling in closer to Roger for warmth. “Roger knows them.”

“I thought you knew them?” Roger asked.

I groaned. “Aren’t we a bit too old to be crashing a uni party?”

“I don’t think it’s a uni party,” Fran said. “It’s somebody’s engagement party.”

“I thought it was a thirtieth birthday party,” Roger murmured.

“Great, just great,” I said in an even lower tone of voice, which they couldn’t help but hear anyway. “
Is
there even a party?”

“Don’t be Mr. Grumpy,” Fran warned. “We’re saving you from a night of sitting at home and watching reruns of crappy rom-coms.”

“Or talking on message boards about whatever crappy cancelled-too-soon TV show you’re obsessed with at the moment.” Roger laughed.

8 | SEAN KENNEDY

I would have given him the finger if my hand wasn’t jammed so far into my pocket.

“That all sounds much better than going to a party where we apparently don’t even know what it’s for.”

Roger and Fran ignored me, and the only sounds on the street were our shoes scraping on the bitumen of the road and the clanking of beer bottles in the plastic bag Roger carried. Gradually we could hear music from a distance away, guiding us in like a buoy on the ocean.

“Okay, here’s the plan,” Roger said. “Synch up our watches, if we’re all bored shitless after an hour we sneak out.”

That sounded like a good plan to me. I agreed happily. I set my watch a little fast because I already couldn’t wait to make a break for it.

“Look at Simon, that’s the first time he’s smiled all night.” Fran sighed as she adjusted her watch.

“I can’t help it if you’re the only two people I like associating with on a regular basis. Or maybe that you’re the only two who
will
associate with me.”

“Oh, boohoo,” Fran said dismissively. “Try to act a little suave at this party, and people might even talk to you this time.”

Suave isn’t really me. I’m the doofus who normally will end up spilling drinks on somebody or inadvertently insult the host’s partner. Then it’s time for a quick getaway and a renewal of vows to never go out again. Until, of course, the next time when Fran and Roger forget about whatever heinous social crime I committed before and force me out again.

We paused before the front door. From the sounds of it, the party was in full swing.

“Do we knock?” Fran asked.

“They wouldn’t hear us,” I said.

“Doorbell?” Roger suggested.

I sighed and took the initiative. The door was unlocked, and I pushed it open.

“Enter,” I told my friends.

They took my lead. In the hallway we unwrapped our scarves and shucked out of our jackets, and threw them upon the bed we could see from our vantage point. It was obviously acting as a coat rack for the night.

Fran and Roger were big fat liars. They instantly found people they knew, mutual friends who I had met only vaguely. From what I could remember we had all come away from the night still uninterested in each others’ existence. I circled nervously around the lounge room, the main congregating area. I groaned when I saw the first person I knew properly—Jasper Brunswick. He had worked for the Triple F a couple of years before, and he was a royal pain in the arse. I hadn’t been manager at the time, but I was being groomed for eventual takeover. Jasper was one of those know-it-alls who thought he could do everything better, but really didn’t want to have to do the work. I had burned my bridges with him when he drunkenly tried to seduce me one night, and my mouth

TIGERS AND DEVILS | 9

had fired off before my brain had the opportunity to think of a kinder answer than “No way in hell!”

A cold war began between us and was exacerbated when I had to do some admin work and discovered that his name wasn’t Jasper Brunswick at all, but Jon Brown. Yeah, I’m sure you’ve got him all figured out now.

He was sitting in the centre of the lounge on a red couch that had seen better days. He drew everybody into a circle around him, regaling them with tales about himself and various celebrities he had schmoozed with. Jasper had made a name for himself recently for penning a gossip column for the local gay rag. His ego certainly had recovered nicely since I last saw him.

I immediately slunk into the shadows lining the walls and made a beeline for the kitchen. I needed that beer now and had to find out where Roger had put them. As I did so, I looked at my watch. We had only been here for ninety seconds, and I was ready to do a runner. That had to be a record, even for me. Sure enough, Roger was in the kitchen. Anywhere there’s food and beer, that’s where you’re likely to find him.

“Roger!” I hissed. “Beer! Now!”

He grinned at me infuriatingly. “Did you see your best mate is in the lounge?”

“Why do you think I need a beer so badly?”

He took pity on me and handed me a bottle. I twisted the cap off savagely and downed half the beer in a few huge mouthfuls.

“Pace yourself,” Roger warned.

“We’re only going to be an hour, right?” I pleaded.

But it looked as if I may have lost this battle. Roger wore an expression that signified he might be ready to settle in, and Fran could be seen lounging comfortably against the wall, her posture relaxed and her attitude sparkling. I began to formulate whether I had enough money in my wallet for a taxi should the need arise, but the beer started to have an almost immediate effect on me. I’m a true Cadbury kid, needing only a glass and a half to get me going. In fact, even the Cadbury kid could drink me under the table.

“Maybe you
should
sleep with him,” Roger said out of the blue as if he had pondered this for the past four minutes.

I almost spat out my beer over him, such was my disgust. “Are you high?”

He giggled like he had already downed a six-pack and it was affecting him already.

“I don’t know, maybe you should just get laid.”

“Does your wife know you talk like this?” I polished off my beer and resolved to take the second one slower. I gestured for Roger to hand me another.

“When single
you
are,” Roger said, imitating Yoda dispensing advice to Luke, “get
laid
you can. When married you get,
make love
you do.”

10 | SEAN KENNEDY

“Oh, one of the magical gifts afforded to people who can
actually
get married,” I said, never one to miss the opportunity to climb up on my soapbox.

“Well, if I had my way you could,” Roger said, draping a casual arm over my shoulder. “But you’d also have to find someone first.”

I snorted as I opened my beer. “It’s not going to be Jasper Bloody Brunswick, that’s for sure.”

Roger peered behind us to take in the decadent form of Mr. Brunswick draped over the couch with his small crowd of neophytes sitting before him, desperate for some tenuous connection to celebrity. “Yeah, I wouldn’t wish Jon Brown on anybody.”

“Shut up!” I hissed. “He’ll hear you!” The last thing I needed was Jasper Brunswick hunting me down throughout this party because he heard his true name being spoken.

“Do you think if you say it three times in front of a mirror, he appears and slits your throat?” Roger was obviously very amused with himself this evening.

“Are you talking about Jon Brown?”

It was Fran, who had suddenly appeared behind us and was up to speed on everything as usual even though she hadn’t been a part of our earlier conversation.

“Fran!” I protested weakly.

She took Roger’s beer away from him and drank the remains. “Yes, please, babe, I’d love a drink.” As Roger dutifully trotted away to fetch her one, she leaned in teasingly to me and murmured, “Jon Brown, Jon Brown, Jon Brown.”

“Simon Murray.”

I knew it was Jasper Brunswick from Fran’s expression. “Three times and he appears! Watch your throat.” She grinned wickedly and slunk off to find her husband. I took a deep breath to contain myself and turned to face him. “Jasper Brunswick.”

His face was flushed, and his pupils were dilated from whatever drugs he had consumed either before or at the party. He leered at me, and I grew uncomfortable under his gaze. “Been a while, Simon.”

“Really?” It had seemed far too short to me.

“Mind you, I’ve done very well for myself since leaving Triple F.”

Triple F’s full name was actually the Furtive Film Festival, but I found it a bit too earnest and changed it when I took over. Plus, it made the logo look less cluttered.

“Why, what are you doing?” I asked innocently.

“Don’t pretend to be thick,” Jasper Brunswick said, his eyes narrowing as he tried to ready his best insult. “Although it is one of your more endearing traits. I’m sure you’ve seen my column.”

“Column?” Thankfully at that moment Roger passed by and clandestinely pressed another beer into my hand. Three in about fifteen minutes. They would be peeling me off the floor soon enough.

“In the
Reach Out
.”

TIGERS AND DEVILS | 11

“I don’t read it.”

“I find that hard to believe, Simon.”

“Yeah, well, it’s hard enough to keep up with publications I have to read for work.”

“Can I give you a piece of advice, Simon?”

Oh, this would be good. I remained silent.