—Stars—

Stars

He missed me "like a knife cuts without blood" at the first bar from the airport. But by dinner time I was the "heartless bitch who had sodomized his heart." It was a small but concise microcosm of our relationship ten years before.

He met me at international arrivals, clutching a drooping balloon that said "Happy 70th, Bernard," obviously repurposed for the occasion. I was June, or "Jazz," according to Jono. He had crammed his spilling body into his signature leather pants from way back. He looked like the love child of one of Snow White's dwarves and Keith Richards.

Agreeing to meet him on a stopover had been a last-minute decision. How I imagined a woman might be tricked into a second round of childbirth because she had forgotten the poop and the blood and the ravaged lady bits. I was instantly knee-capped with regret.

We had a friendship of sorts, which worked really well, a few thousand miles apart. When I could block him when he referenced my "shriveled ovaries" and reminded me that I ruined his life. Without him rocking up and spray-painting WHORE in red on my white apartment wall or wailing Leonard Cohen love songs in the rain outside my mother's house. True story.

But there he was in real life. Full five feet six of him high and across. In a purple shirt and leather boots (with a heel). And a beard that made him look like he lived out of a shopping trolley.

He insisted that we visit our old haunt, Rascals, where we now sat. The grimy red tablecloth showed gouges and tears like a murder victim. Behind Jono, the yellowed prints of trains tilted off their rails.

"Wait, wait, just lemme finish my story," he said, interrupting me for the billionth time.

He tried to pour me another glass of wine while I tried to deflect it with a flattened palm, but the red wine just spilled over my fingers. I wiped my hand on the paper napkin as he sloshed my glass up to the brim. Oblivious to my needs as always.

"Then, Jazz, just listen to this. Just listen to what this woman did!" he said. His eyes were shot with blood. Thank sweet Jesus, he had moved on. He was now ranting about some other poor woman whose life he had upended, and not me—his lover/killer.

"So, Suzie," he continued.

I nodded hazily into my glass.

"So get this, Jazz. Jazz?" he clicked his thick fingers under my nose. There was paint under his fingernails.

This amused me. Jono hadn't painted for years. Playing the "struggling artist" was his classic MO. The trust fund twat.

I was quite drunk. I had hardly got a word in the whole 6 hours, 36 minutes, and 2 seconds, not that I was counting. Jono spewed out his signature diatribe—the latest hit list of people who had wronged him or "ruined his life."

"So you know we were living in this shitty bedsit, Suzie and me? My ex? In Kent, It was small, man, so small, and we had to share the shitter with this other couple—some fat limey called Baz and his chav, Beverly. We had stopped for a kebab on the way back from the pub, yeah?" he said, warming up to his story.

He threw back his glass of wine, his thick, hairy neck bobbing up and down as he swallowed.

"But the kebab was bad. I guess you could call it a keBAD." He snorted at his own joke.

"So she needed the toilet badly. From the bottom, not the top, yeah? But there was someone inside. You could hear them splishing in the tub. Suzie was doing this dance and moaning and groaning at the door."

He mimed clutching his guts.

"I tried to ignore her. It was late, yeah. Selfish cow. Knew I needed 8 hours. Then I heard it. The sound of her going all out! In our room!"

I stared at my barely touched steak as it congealed menacingly in its gravy.

"Oh god, Jono, gross, I don't want to—"

"And do you know where she did it, do you know?" he asked.

He paused. His unruly beard threw his face in relief, the skin of his cheeks red under his beard.

"In my lunchbox. The lunchbox I take to the park when I am searching for inspiration, yeah? My art lunchbox!"

"That's when I knew that she wasn't the one. I could never make love to her again without imagining her squatting there. Defecating into my lunchbox," he continued.

I shifted in my seat and glanced around blearily at the few remaining patrons. Then I saw him on the far side of the room, in the corner. Luke.

His face brought it all back. My heart lurched in its bloodstream, thick with wine. Like, 15 years had never happened. Like my stupid heart was still lying on that mattress on the floor in our first shitty apartment, waiting for him to come out of the shower and put his penis in it.

My instincts served me out of Luke's eyeline and in front of Jono opposite me while I struggled to rein in my galloping twat of a heart. I was afraid that the magnetic pull of my stubborn, never-say-die love would somehow levitate him to me like a cartoon cat smelling chicken.

Jono paused mid-rant and eyeballed me as I pressed my hair behind my ears and straightened my blouse.

"Wathcha lookin at?" he said

"Don't turn around," I whispered.

Jono immediately swiveled his bulk in his chair as dramatically as a sideways Nosferatu.

"Who, who?" he seemed to bellow.

I scrunched down in the chair, trying to origami my body into its tiniest folds.

"Don't, don't let him see me," I hissed-whispered

Too late.

"Oooh," he cried, "is that…LUKE?"

I kicked him under the table with great force, feeling the bones of his kneecap buckle in a satisfying crunch.

Jono let out a yowl, buckling down his bulk to clutch his knee like a soldier with a newly severed limb. His lurch sent his beer glass hurtling over onto the floor, where it smashed with the decibels of a head-on collision.

"WHY YOU KICK ME! WHY OH GOD, IT HURTS," Jono continued to caterwaul through his ugly, fat beard, doubled over so I was entirely exposed.

In terrible slow motion, Luke looked up at me. His face slipped from confusion to recognition. Then, a deep discomfort. Then, a fake smile. He managed a feeble wave.

I attempted some kind of jaunty military salute, but my fingers forgot how it worked, so I just tapped my forehead like I was telling Luke to think about something. Nice move.

Jono was upright again, so I maneuvered so that he was once again in front of me. His face was puce, his blue eyes bulging with indignation.

"Why did you KICK me? He shouted again. The other people seated around us turned slightly in their chairs.

"I TOLD you not to turn around," I hissed. My foot twitched with the urge to kick him again.

We stared at each other, both breathing hard.

"Listen, I am sorry, I didn't want him to see me," I said

"Who, LUKE?" He shouted.

"Shhhhhhhhhhhh," I mimed frantically, a finger to my lips.

He stopped rubbing his knee and waved his fat hand in the air at a waitress and mimed a drink.

When she returned, he threw his head back for a slug, his thick, hairy Adam's apple sliding up and down. He belched, eyeing me myopically.

"So you still have that thing for Mr Winchinster. Mr Wonder Dong," he said, his cheeks puffed out in importance, a slight sneer under his foamy mustache hair.

"I do not, I just didn't expect to see him here," I lied.

"Oh, so you don't still have a thing for him?" he was enjoying this.

"Oh, then let me go and call him over, then," he continued.

As he stood in his seat, I lunged for his arm. He sat down again with a satisfied smirk.

He leaned back in his chair, his arms folded across his ample stomach, his purple shirt with the "eat the rich" logo. His fuzzy belly peeked out of the bottom of the shirt like a sex-offender Winnie the Pooh.

"Now Jazz, didn't that purveyor of the finest penis kick you to the curb?" he asked, clearly enjoying himself.

"Oh god, Jono, don't start."

"No, no, remind me why he gave you the boot. He said you were a bit batshit? Couldn't handle the DRAMA?

"What was it he said, the real kicker, huh?" He leaned forward across the empty glasses.

"Oh yes." He leaned back, "he couldn't see you being the mother of his children, yeah?" he tsk-tsked under his beard.

"Johnathan," I said through a clenched jaw. For the first time, anger was wrestling my excruciating boredom into submission,

"Are you still holding a flame for him?" He sniggered through his beard.

"It was a long time ago," I said.

I stared at Jono. Freshly gobsmacked by the simple fact that I had once let this fat, boorish quarterwit put his willy in me. Multiple times. For two years, I consented to allow this cretin INSIDE MY BODY.

Jono pulled my plate in front of him and speared clumsy forkfuls into his mouth.

I poured myself another glass of wine.

"Well, you probably still carry a torch for me as well," he peered up at me hopefully.

"Oh, for God's sake, Jono, you promised you wouldn't—"

"Okay, a candle. No? A match-tip?" he asked, his fingers miming holding something tiny.

I shook my head slowly. He did this sometimes. Begged me back.

"Jono, the only way I would consider getting back with you is a severe head injury."

"Oh, really?" he said spitefully, "Well, I could arrange that."

He brooded sullenly for a moment. He shook his head side to side and breathed heavily through his nose.

"Was it my penis, does my mediocre willy not measure up to Mr XXL Trojan, yeah?"

"No, Jono, it was not your 'willy.' Christ, are you like 5? It was because you are a nasty, narcissistic piece of wank shit." The words just spilled out of me. Oh god I was doing it I was getting sucked in. Hadn't I grown at all?

He looked triumphant that I had taken the bait. "OOOOh. Wank shit. How eloquent. How lady-like." his nostril flared like he smelled something bad.

I mimed a pen in the air at the waitress. My jaw was set hard. I began stacking my phone, my cigarettes, ignoring the shitty wilted flowers Jono had brought me.

Jono snorted. Angry now. He speared the remnants of my steak like a murderer.

"Well, honey, you were no great shakes either," he said through masticating mouthfuls. Not in the bed and sure as fuckin hell, not in the head. You were all like, 'Look at me, I am a sex machine,' and when it came down to the crunch, you were a sex nerd."

He peered up from the plate, hoping to see some hurt in my eyes, some sign that his nastiness was hitting home.

I stared back, my eyes hooded. I could feel a vein pulsing at my temple.

"Jono, I always wondered, If you love anal sex so much, why not cut out the middle woman and go straight to the source. Find a man who will treat you like the sloppy bear ex-twink bitch that you are," my eyes slid again to the corner table. Luke was sitting alone now. The guy opposite him had left.

I scrolled on my phone, my head lowered. I tried to calm my heart. I had promised I wouldn't let Jono get to me, that I would rise above, that I was older now, but as usual, I was wrong about many things.

I didn't notice Jono slipping from the table. For a fat man, he had some stealth. I pictured those dancing hippo ballerinas from Fantasia. Because when I looked up, he was striding towards me, the leather making a swish swish between his portly thighs. Behind him was lanky Luke.

Luke's tall, graceful body made Jono look even more like a toffee apple rolled in dog hair.

I straightened my back and tried out an unconvincing smile. I prayed there was nothing on my front teeth.

"Come sit, come join us," Jono bellowed.

Jono pulled a chair from the empty table next to us and shoved it into the side of the two-seater. Luke had to bend his tall body to fit the table, his knees pressed against me.

"Hey, June," He put out his hand as I went in for a hug. When he went in for a hug, I put out my hand.

Jono squashed his bulk back opposite, his eyes shining.

"Wow. You are looking great," Luke smiled.

"Thanks, "I said, pressing down my rumpled blouse, "you look great, too!" My voice came out squeaky, like a cartoon lady.

"Well, not so much. I got the dad bod thing going…" he smoothed his shirt over a barely noticeable belly.

"Yeah. They say it's hard to shed your baby weight. I said, instantly regretting my word choice.

The word ''baby'' hung heavily in the air between us, and we both spoke at once.

"When did you arrive in Cape Town?"

"So you took over your pool business—"

We laughed nervously, and Jono laughed even louder, A high-pitched giggle more suited to the theater. While Luke explained something about how no one had swimming pools anymore, he then asked me which high-flying celebs she had met in her event management company. I rattled off a couple of names, my palms juicy with nerves while Jono mouth-breathed opposite me.

He was watching us to and fro like a tennis match, his bloodshot eyes taking it all in. Then he settled his stare on Luke, who became more and more uncomfortable under Jonos' manic gaze.

Finally, Luke took his cue.

"Well, it's getting late. It was great catching up. Are you on Meta? He asked.

"No, don't leave. Junie has something to confess!" Jono's face was imperious as an emperor's face on a Roman coin.

"Oh, go on…tell him," he prompted me with a sharp elbow nudge.

Luke looked at me nervously. His smile was wavering slightly at the corners.

"Junie still carries a torch for you. She has never gotten over you. Look at her, still a love-sick puppy even though she is as old as Methuselah.

He held his hand to the side of his face in a pretend aside and whispered to Luke, "Shriveled ovaries."

Luke laughed nervously, stuck half out of his chair. Adam's apple bobbed up and down in his long neck.

"He's just drunk, hon, just ignore him. I will be in touch—" I tried, god I tried. But then Jono really cranked it up.

"You gave her all the orgasms. You left no orgasms for us that followed. You orgasmed her up dry ." Jono said.

"Couldn't you have left just a little over, for me?" Jono asked his hands to open on either side of him.

I jumped up, my chair scraping on the chipped tiles. I took Luke's arm, trying to explain, trying to smile.

That's when Jono broke into song:

"And when she came back, she was nobody's WIFE, well I SEE YOU there with a ROSE in your TEETH, one more thin gypsy THIEF""

Leonard Cohen's Famous Blue Raincoat. Of course.

"Hey guys, if you are having some kind of a thing, I hope I didn't cause…" He said, holding his hand out to Jono.

Jono stared at Luke's hand like someone was offering him excrement.

"Oh no, Luke. We aren't together, we haven't been for years." I tried to explain.

"Lies, LIES are you going to stand here and LIE?" Jono trumpeted.

Luke was backing away with his hands up in front of him like he was miming pushing something large. His green eyes showed panic.

Jono rose to his full height, which took him up level with Luke's nipples. He threw down his napkin.

"You took her fruit and left me your rinds," he yelled.

Luke was patting his pockets for his keys,

"Hey Jonathan, June, I have to go. I hope you sort out…this…the guy clearly loves you," he stammered.

"LOVE? I never stood a CHANCE, Jono was near tears, his face twisted. Spittle on his lips.

"JUST GO, HAVEN'T YOU DONE ENOUGH DAMAGE?" Jono shouted at Luke.

Luke moved quickly towards the exit, ducking his head to get his length through the door. Jono was sitting down calmly now. My knees buckled, and I landed back down on my chair heavily. My hand reached mechanically for another glass of wine.

We sat in smarting silence for what felt like several years, while the servers stacked tables around us. I slid the bill from in front of Jono and took out my purse. I knew the drill.

"Hey, Jazz," he said, "remember Tel Aviv, the night we arrived, and we swam and we made love in the ocean. Remember the stars?" He gazed up at the nicotine-stained ceiling as if it were the heavens.

"We were stars then, you and I, Jazz. Fucking stars" he said whistfully.

I remembered the night. The water was warm, even at midnight, and we were still beautiful. Our bodies, innocent of the years and years. How we felt the world opening up its beauty to us alone, so wide and so deep that we were rising up into the night sky.

He smiled that sweet smile I remembered, and a younger me smiled back at him.

"Stars, yeah?" he whispered, taking my hand gently.

"Stars," I echoed him, sadly holding his hand in the emptying room.