Look to His Like

Chapter Nineteen

Author's Note: Some more Australian slang in this chapter - hey, I'm writing an Australian story and that's how many people speak there! Here are the definitions anyway:
'I wasn't Robinson Crusoe" - this is an Australian way of saying, 'I wasn't alone'.
sooky la la - wimpish
Kiwis - not Australian slang entirely, just a term used for people from New Zealand
sheilas - girls, women
Poms - people from England
pansies - various things: wimps, homosexuals (yes, Steve is obviously not PC!)

Cricket is the most popular summer sport in Australia. It is also popular in many other countries of the Commonwealth: England, New Zealand, the West Indies etc.

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For almost thirty years, Soup Plus has been the place to go in Sydney for live jazz, swing and blues music. It is a small, dark, usually noisy and crowded meeting place, without glamour or pizzazz, but with a modest charm. I had been there a handful of times, and only the harsh jangling on my claustrophobic nerves of the congested, close atmosphere prevented me from going more often - I certainly preferred it to any number of hangouts in the city, for I could just about tolerate the music, and I liked seeing people dancing the old fashioned way, rather than jerking in the one spot two feet away from a partner to a head banging clamour, or - worse - without a partner at all. Based on the popularity of the dancing amongst other people of my generation, I wasn't Robinson Crusoe where that issue was concerned, either.

I did feel somewhat uneasy about venturing there again and wondered how my claustrophobia would hold up. When Drake and I approached the entrance, I found myself hanging back, until he turned around and regarded me with assessing dark eyes. My phobia had been one of the many topics we had touched on in the past few days, and he did not have to ask what perturbed me on this occasion. He draped an arm around my shoulders. Duly comforted, I entered the venue clamped to his side.

It was as crowded and as dark as my memory recalled it. Rising above the chatter and laughter of the patrons was the crooning voice of a woman on the stage; actually, she was reclining on the top of the grand piano, making love to a microphone, while singing rather bawdy lyrics. She had long, white-blonde curls and a curvy figure clad in a revealing red silk blouse and black leather mini skirt. How she managed to remain decent while she writhed in ecstasy on the piano was beyond me.

"Tired of bein' lonely, tired of bein' blue,
I wished I had some good man, to tell my troubles to
Seem like the whole world's wrong, since my man's been gone
I need a little sugar in my bowl."

As many in the audience let out a couple of suggestive whoops, I looked around for Steve, my eyes adjusting to the dimness of the interior. It had occurred to me prior to arriving here that apart from the client function six months ago, I had not seen Steve in a social setting since we were eighteen - since commencing our odd, illicit liaison, we had always met at my house, and when we did, we were always alone. I felt that an important piece of the picture that was Steve's current personality was missing for not having witnessed him in a social setting as an adult. I didn't like to think that his behaviour on the night of the function - the way he had come on strong with me like a sex-starved hobo - was any indication of what made him tick these days. I told myself he had simply been thrilled and excited to see me that night, after so many years of avoiding each other. So, this was going to be a fascinating encounter; for that matter, how Drake conducted himself socially would also be interesting and would shed some light on his nature.

I spied Steve sitting alone at a table, nursing a beer. He watched the singer on the stage, as most men were, with a slightly open mouth and saucer-like eyes behind his glasses.

"There he is," I said to Drake, pointing him out.

"Why don't I go and fight through the crowd at the bar and get us some drinks - give you two a few minutes alone?" suggested Drake.

I nodded in agreement and we parted. I weaved my way through crowded tables and thronging people towards Steve as the woman crooned and writhed on, accompanied by appreciative whistles and hoots:

"I need a little hot dog, on my roll
I can stand a bit of lovin', oh so bad,
I feel so funny, I feel so sad
I need a little steam-heat, on my floor…"

"Hi, Steve," I said, arriving at his table. During the progress through the crowd, I had felt the familiar prickling of perspiration on my forehead and the nervous thumping of my pulse thudded in my ears. My greeting to Steve held a hint of desperation. I longed for him to provide much needed reassurance, as panic at being so enclosed threatened to overcome me.

"Oh, hey," Steve said with distraction, shooting me a quick glance. I sank down into a seat opposite him, licking my lips, my hands twitching to reach across the table and grasp his.

"Maybe I can fix things up, so they'll go
What's the matter, hard papa, come on and save you mama's soul
'Cause I need a little sugar, in my bowl, doggone it,
I need a little sugar in my bowl."

"Sorry I'm a little late," I said trying to draw his attention. "I was - er - detained."

"Yeah, no worries," said Steve, his eyes nearly popping out of his head as the singer ran her hand up and down the stem of her microphone. "Busy at work?" he managed to ask in an effort at making polite conversation.

"No - well, I haven't been at work most of the week." When Steve did not react to that morsel of information with a skeric of interest, I added, "I - er got married on Monday."

"Oh. Cool." He looked at me and smiled in an encouraging way. "Solved your little problem, eh?"

"I need a little sugar, in my bowl,
I need a little hot dog, between my rolls
You gettin' different, I've been told,
move your finger, drop something in my bowl
I need a little steam-heat on my floor,
Maybe I can fix things up, so they'll go."

"I guess so …I hope so," I said as Steve's focus flashed back to the stage. Hearing the tumult of whistles around us, he put his own fingers to his mouth, but what came out was more a raspberry and spit than a whistle. I dashed perspiration from my forehead.

"The man I married - he came with me tonight," I forged on, speaking louder. "He knows about our situation, and thought you would like to meet him."

"Get off your knees, I can't see what you're drivin' at!
It's dark down there!
Looks like a snake! C'mon here and drop somethin' here in my bowl,
stop your foolin', and drop somethin', in my bowl…"

"Holy crap," muttered Steve, shifting in his seat. At last he seemed to absorb what I had said, blinked and looked back at me. "He's here?" he asked with mild curiosity. "Where?"

I barely heard him over the thunderous applause and cheering. I turned to examine the bar area, seeing Drake leaning back against it, clapping slowly, a small smile on his face as the woman slid off the piano to take her bows. As she bent over, she flaunted the deep valley and massive globes of her bust to all, and the wolf whistles grew piercing. As I watched, her gaze idly swept the room, passed Drake, and shot back to him in surprise. She waved and blew him a kiss, and Drake lifted his hand in reply. My heart did a crazy, little frightened leap.

"Well, well," breathed the woman as silence fell. "I've just seen a very good friend of mine!" She gestured at Drake, and he was at once the cynosure of hundreds of interested stares and a bit of applause. "Long time, no see, darling!" she cried. "So, this one's for you! Hit it, Merle," she said to the pianist.

The pianist struck up a tune. She began to look dreamy and her throaty, husky voice soon filled the small room.

"I come to you, sweet man
And I'm, I'm fallin' on my knees
I come to you, pretty papa
Fallin' on my knees
Ask if you don't have nobody
Won't you kindly take me please."

"Jo? Which one is he?" said Steve.

I looked away. "The one she's singing to," I said, unable to hide my glumness.

Steve's not that quick on the draw usually, and he didn't surprise me this time by detecting my feelings.

"Really?" he said, looking back at the bar. "Sexy bastard," he said without rancour, just as if he was assessing a slab of meat at the butcher's. "Now, Joey, a man like that doesn't live with a woman like you and not want to have a sexual relationship with her," he said with a grin. "You can't tell me you two aren't shagging each other."

"Cause I'm a mighty tight woman
I'm a real tight woman
Lord I'm a jack of all trades
I can be your sweet woman
Also be your slave
Lord I can do things so good
You will swear that I behave…"

Steve's indifference to whether or not I may be intimate with Drake upset me further.

"Well, no one lives with a woman like Leanne and not have a sexual relationship with her," I rejoined, at the same time aware of how and what the woman on the stage was singing and wondering fearfully how Drake was reacting. At the same time, it annoyed me that I cared.

Steve pursed his lips and flicked back a lock of floppy dark hair from his forehead, having the grace to look embarrassed.

"Touché," he murmured, providing the tacit proof of my long-held, barely-acknowledged suspicion that he was being intimate with his wife, despite his assurances to the contrary.

My panic heightened for a reason other than from being confined. For a long time, my plans for a future with Steve formed part of a yellow brick road to my Emerald City, through the quagmire of my life. I had the overwhelming impression now that the road was a sham and my Emerald City an illusion.

"I got all of them sayin'
That I'm tight in everything I do
I got all the men cryin'
I'm a broad that will never be blue
What I need is a good man
And I will make him happy too…"

"Man, she's hot stuff," muttered Steve. "Hey, here's your husband coming."

My husband. I turned my head to see Drake weaving his way through patrons towards us, carrying a glass of wine and a can of beer. I felt a tremendous relief. His dark eyes glinted at me in a smile before settling on Steve.

"G'day, mate" said Steve with a cheerful smile, standing as Drake came alongside me. Drake laid down the drinks and the two men shook hands warmly and introduced themselves before taking their seats. Drake's arm brushed mine. Inexorably, my heart beat steadied and the tension seeped from my body. Steve's attention shot back to the stage.

"If you're a married man
You ain't got no business here
Cause when you're out with me
I might make your wife shed a tear
Cause I'm a mighty tight woman
There is nothing, nothing that I fear…"

The song drew to an end and after more riotous cheering died down, Steve sighed in amazement, and grinned at Drake. "So you know her? Lucky bastard."

I sensed a subtle coolness in Drake's manner. His arm pressed tighter against mine. "Alana? Yep, I known her for a while," he said in a clipped tone. "She was doing the jazz bar rounds when I was living in Sydney many years ago."

"And she remembered you? You must have made an impression, mate!" Steve chortled. I shifted in embarrassment at his coarseness. Under the table, Drake's hand went to my thigh and pressed it.

"I met a man last night, people he was just my size
I met a man last night, people he was just my size
I taken him home with me, to bake my cakes and pies…"

As Steve's jaw inched southward at the suggestive lyrics, Drake spoke out loudly, evidently in an attempt to draw Steve's attention.

"Have you caught any of the Test?"

"Wha - ?" said Steve.

"He's a kitchen mechanic, and he makes my biscuits rise
He's a kitchen mechanic, and he makes my biscuits rise
He use the best bakin' powder, and his biscuit's just my size."

"The cricket?" said Drake. "What's the progress do you know?"

Steve did not betray his Australian upbringing - the subject of sport caught his interest at once.

"Oh, it'll be a draw, mate," said Steve. "Those sooky la la Kiwis are batting like sheilas as usual, and the pitch isn't giving our blokes any assistance."

"Steve, Adam's from New Zealand," I said at once, pleading him with my eyes for civility, while reeling with shock at his brash manner.

"It's okay," Drake was saying now with a cool smile. "My loyalties are pretty much divided three ways on the cricket," he explained, as Steve looked at him in vague enquiry. "I support the Australians and the English as well - puts me in a happy position." I could tell he was purposely being voluble to keep Steve's focus, while Alana gushed about her man being just her size and not being "too doggone fast".

"Argh, those Poms may as well give up the game, mate" scoffed Steve. "Talk about a bunch of pansies."

We absorbed that unedifying piece of information while Alana wrapped up her act and more loud applause and whistles rocked the venue. Steve was roused from his staring and drooling with a start. "Holy crap," he breathed. "She's coming this way!"

Oh, no, I moaned inwardly. I restrained myself from looking around, as with avid interest Steve followed Alana's progress through the crowd towards us. Drake also did not look around, casually lifting his beer to his mouth and taking a swallow. I tensed as long feminine hands with red talon-like fingernails slid over his shoulders from behind.

"Adam, darling!" crooned Alana. "Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world - you walk into mine," she quipped. She slid into a chair beside Adam and draped an arm around his neck.

"How are you, Alana?" said Drake with a friendly smile, before his last words were lost in a smacking smooch from a red lipsticked mouth. Did I imagine it, or did Drake's touch on my thigh turn into a reassuring grip? My sentiments were in such turmoil that I picked up my glass of wine with a hand that was not quite steady and drank from it as if it was lemonade.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Alana move away from the smooch and wipe at Drake's mouth with a coy smile.

"All the better for seeing you now, darling," she said throatily.

Drake indicated me with a jerk of his head.

"Alana, this is my wife, Jo."

I think both Alana and I gave a start at that announcement. Alana was the first to recover. She threw back her head so that her blonde curls danced down her back, and laughed self-deprecatingly.

"I should have known he'd be taken," she said, withdrawing her arm from around Drake's shoulder. "My apologies. Nice to meet the woman whose made Adam Drake want to settle down, Jo."

"Oh, they’re not --," burst out Steve as we shook hands - me in some bemusement, Alana with what appeared to be genuine affability.

"And this is a friend of hers, Steve," interrupted Drake smoothly. Alana turned her exotically made-up blue eyes on Steve and sized him up. For his part, Steve was struck mute and, leaving his left, be-ringed hand under the table, eagerly reached out his hand to shake hers. After they had exchanged greetings, Alana - who either liked what she saw, or because he seemed the only man at the table captivated by her charms - moved around to sit next to him. While I drank more wine, and Drake turned slightly side-on to watch the next act on stage, Alana soon had Steve engaged in flirty conversation. For his part, Steve's eyes were nearly popping out of his head and his glasses had steamed up, for Alana's low cut blouse now revealed crimson crescents of her nipples. I wondered how she had managed to achieve that effect and had to admire her self-confidence in wearing such a garment, when something weird happened to me.

As I saw Steve transform into a salivating sex-hungry hobo before my eyes, I began to think not only of myself and of Steve's supposed commitment to me. I remembered Leanne - at home with their two kids, ignorant of Steve's flirting. I felt sorry for Leanne, if you can believe it …I wanted to fight for respect for my arch nemesis …and I became angry at Steve for treating her without consideration by lusting after a nipple-baring hussy of a three second's acquaintance. From there, it was an easy step to want to fight for every woman in a similar situation, as I recognised - and regretted - my own culpability in the cheating game.

"Steve, isn't Leanne expecting you home?" I cut into their conversation with all the efficiency and force I had honed to perfection in the courtroom. The two ceased flirting and stared at me in surprise. I felt Drake's steady regard on me. "Leanne is Steve's wife, mother of their two small children," I said sweetly to Alana who then cut a cynical glance in Steve's direction.

Although another singer had taken Alana's place on the stage and her mellow, sleepy-toned voice now filled the room, an awkward silence settled on our table. I was aware of Drake's hand, warm and heavy in my thigh, Alana - now weirdly in league with me - pursing her lips crossly at Steve and shaking her head as if he had been naughty; and Steve staring at me in anger. I met his eyes without flinching. His gaze was the first to fall.

"Yeah, yeah, I should get going," he muttered. After several tense beats, he looked at me again as he stood up, this time without rancour, but with a pleading for understanding and forgiveness. That accord borne of our long friendship flashed between us. We exchanged small, rueful smiles. For that brief second, it was only Steve and I - and our shared past - in a silent bubble of our own making.

"I should go, too," said Alana brightly, springing to her feet. She smiled at me and I found myself returning the gesture in a surge of sisterhood. "Nice to meet you, Jo. Take care, Adam." She waggled her fingers at him and in a second had sashayed away through the gloom.

Steve said his goodbyes, shaking Drake's hand. He mumbled something vague to me about seeing me soon, and scooped up his suit jacket from the back of his chair. In a trice, he too had gone. I passed my hand across my face as if to smooth away the strain that I suspected had stiffened my features.

Drake said nothing, although his index finger of the hand resting on my thigh commenced a soothing circular motion. We had not discussed Steve at all over the past few days, and Drake would not have been human if he had not felt some curiosity. Yet, I knew he would not quiz me unless I provided the openings, so if I wanted to muse over Steve with him, I knew I would have to make the first move.

"Steve's from Wagga, too," I began and sunk into troubled silence.

"Oh, really?" murmured Drake in gentle encouragement.

"Mmm …I've known him and his wife Leanne since we were all in kindergarten. The Van Tighems are the richest and most influential family in town. And Leanne's family - the Langs - are the second most richest and influential family," I added dryly. "It was a match made in heaven," I said, hoping I didn't sound as bitter as I felt.

"And the Butlers?" Drake asked as I wallowed in uneasy quiet again. "Where did they fit into Wagga's hierarchy?"

"Oh, I'm your original kid from the wrong side of the tracks," I said breezily and laughed. The sound came out as false and strained. "That's why, when Steve and I started dating in high school, my parents were so thrilled. They imagined us getting married, and their own respectability around town being elevated because of it. Unfortunately, they hadn't banked on Leanne's countless attractions - not only for Steve, but also for his family. Steve dumped me like a hot potato - no doubt encouraged by his family - as soon as Leanne sent out the signal to him that she was 'available'."

I didn't need to tell Drake how I felt about that - even after thirteen years, the humiliation, and the pain of my parents being disappointed at the turn of events, were profound. Somehow I knew that he understood - and that he also saw far more than I had revealed. The realisation did not perturb me. In fact, while I was indulging in hazy ideas about treacherous yellow brick roads and the like, I had to admit at that second - being touched by Drake, enveloped in his camaraderie and understanding, sharing his life in even a minor way - I envisioned a new road beneath my feet … and it shone like smooth gold.

Drake removed his hand from my thigh and entwined my fingers with his.

"Dance with me?" he said, nodding towards the dance floor.

"Oh, really, I - thanks, but I can't dance," I said with an embarrassed laugh.

'Anyone can dance like that," insisted Drake, standing up and tugging at my hand. I supposed he was right - the main form of dancing appeared to take the form of moulding one's body to your partner and swaying gently to the sultry music.

I stood up reluctantly. To be honest, I thought if I danced close to Drake like that, I would dissolve into a boiling puddle within minutes. "All right," I muttered as he led me to the dance floor, "but I won't be responsible for my actions."

Drake drew me into his arms and against his body. "Responsible for what actions?" he said with a grin, his sensual mouth tantalising close to mine.

By way of answer, and under cover of the dimness, I put my lips to his and slid the hand not held in his grasp from the side of his waist and around to his buttocks. I touched his tongue with mine, grasped him and pressed my loins into his.

"And that's just a start," I whispered after a heady few seconds.

He expelled a somewhat shaky breath and drew me closer. For a long while, we danced to music and song. This singer was a young, dark haired woman who accompanied herself on the piano, and also sang bluesy songs - however she sold them with the sexy tone of her voice and the feeling she put into her song, rather than with a cleavage bearing blouse and mini skirt.

"I'm wild about that thing, just give my bell a ring,
you touched my button, I'm wild about that thing
If you want so satisfy my soul,
come on and rock me with a steady roll
I'm wild about that thing, gee I like your ting-a-ling…"

"Phew," I muttered absorbing the lyrics. "I think I could quite like this music," I added.

Drake laughed. "I think it's vintage sex night tonight or something …did you know, back in the 1920's, women jazz and blues singers were quite ribald, and disregarded conventional views on sexuality in their songs?"

"And didn't bother with subtle metaphors either, by the sound of it," I said.

"Come on turn the lights down low,
say you're ready, just say let's go
I'm wild about that thing, I'm wild about that thing,
come on and make me feel it, I'm wild about that thing."

"What are you wild about, Jo Butler?" asked Drake in my ear.

"You know," I said, taking my hand from his butt and sliding it between us to stroke the hard ridge at his loins. He expelled a whispered "Ah", and pressed his hand hard against the small of my back, evoking my frantic assessment of the chances of him taking me as we swayed here on the dance floor. Figuring - rightly - that it was hopeless, I gritted my teeth and tried to think about something other than Drake's hot, hard thigh area, not made any easier by the words of the song.

"I'm wild about it when you hold me tight,
let me linger in your arms all night
I'm wild about that thing, my passions got the fling,
come on, hear me cryin', I'm wild about that thing."

"Apart from that," Drake said, clearly also trying not to think sexy thoughts. "What else are you passionate about? You have any hobbies you adore doing, for instance? Or one that you'd like to take up?"

I had to admit I didn't have any interesting hobbies. " But if I could play music, like the piano for instance! To be able to play Mozart, Beethoven or Chopin - I think that would be comparable to a sexual orgasm for me …well, almost," I added, thinking of Adam Drake-induced orgasms to which nothing could compare.

"You should learn," said Drake at once.

"Oh, I would rather not attempt it and be disappointed in myself." Although I liked how Drake seemed interested enough in me to make such enquiries, I wasn't keen on how my answers revealed what must seem to him to be a distorted personality. Wishing to turn the tables, I said, as a new song commenced, "What's missing in your life then? It can't be all a bed of roses."

"Loving is the thing I crave
For your love I'll be your slave
You gotta give me some, yes give me some
Can't you hear me pleading, you gotta give me some…"

sang the pianist.

Drake's head tilted to the side in contemplation. His dark eyes flickered down to meet mine, but his expression was unreadable. His chest lifted as he drew a deep breath, and he let it out slowly before he smiled in apparent light-heartedness. "To be honest, I'm pretty happy with my lot in life right now."

I sighed in envy. What wouldn't I give to be content with what I had at that second, instead of focusing exhaustively on that Emerald City of my ambitions pertaining to Steve and my job, which seemed only accessible by what seemed now to be dodgy and treacherous yellow brick road - and perhaps even one I was reluctant in many ways to tread, given my revelations this evening?

Then it occurred to me - perhaps an Emerald City accessible by such a road was also illusory with its promises of riches and personal satisfaction; whereas, the Emerald City existing at the end of Drake's road paved with gold likely shimmered and glittered with treasures beyond my wildest imagination.

Problem was, I could not walk that road with Drake. We had agreed ours was a short-term association of convenience. If there was an Emerald City at the end of Drake's road, it was not my destination.

That left me with little choice - I either had to keep stumbling along the treacherous road, or drown in the quagmire surrounding it. And at the end of the day, there was no choice, was there? In other familiar terms, I had to keep rolling down that mountain, forever gathering speed and destructibility, towards ultimate, devastating Chaos.

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Further Author's Note: For reasons other than enunciated in this chapter 'Emerald City' is actually an alternate title for this book. Of course, the Emerald City was at the end of Dorothy's yellow brick road in the story of The Wizard of Oz. For those interested, 'Look to His Like' is taken from 'Hamlet', although there the quote is 'look unto his like'. We'll see how things pan out, anyway!

More about Adam's past in the next chapter ….

Further Author's Note: in the interests of getting more reviews and readings of this novel, and also to better reward readers/reviewers, future chapters will be added as separate items.

Link for Chapter 20 below:

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