Anybody Out There - Marian Keyes (10 page)

A    t the airport Mum studied the departure board, looked from me to Rachel, then exclaimed,
"Isn't it a bloody shame that both of you live in New York." She put her hands on her hips and
thrust her bosom at us. She'd persuaded Claire to give her her "My Boyfriend Is Out of Town" T-
shirt and kept trying to draw attention to it. "Would one of you ever move somewhere else so
we'd have a free place to stay. I've always liked the sound of Sydney."
"Or Miami," Dad said, then he and Mum bumped hips and sang, "Welcome to Miami!"
"Say your good-byes," Rachel said coldly.
"Ah right, of course." They looked a little red-faced, then took a deep breath and launched into a
flurry of kindness and concern. "Anna, you'll be okay, pet." "You'll get over it." "Just give it
time." "Come home anytime you want." "Rachel, make sure you look after her."
Even Helen said, "I wish you weren't going. Try not to go too mental."
"Write to me," I said. "Keep me posted with your screenplay and send me funny e-mails about
your job."
"Okay."
But the really peculiar thing was that despite all their well-wishing and hand squeezing and
encouragement, no one so much as mentioned Aidan.
15
A    fter Jacqui had decreed that Aidan would be a hard dog to keep on the porch, she told him,
"You pass. We like you. You can come out with us whenever you like."
"Er, thank you."
"In fact, tomorrow night it's Nell's strange friend's birthday. The Outhouse on Mulberry Street.
Come along."
"Um, okay." He looked at me. "Okay?"
"Okay."
The love-in between Jacqui and Aidan continued the following night, when, in the heaving bar,
Jacqui indicated an Adonis leaning against a wall. "Look, your man's gorgeous. On his own.
Think he's waiting for someone?"

"Ask him," Aidan suggested.
"I can't just go over and ask him."
"Want me to go?"
Her eyes nearly fell out of her head. She clutched him. "Would you?"
"Sure." We watched Aidan shoulder through the crowd, say something to the Adonis, saw the
Adonis say something back, then twist his head to have a look at the little knot of us. Further
chat ensued, then Aidan turned to come back...followed by Adonis.
"Sweet Jesus," Jacqui hissed. "He's coming over."
Sadly, Adonis turned out to be called Burt and up close he had a peculiar immobile kind of face
and no interest in Jacqui, but as a result, Jacqui thought Aidan was the cat's pajamas.
Great stuff. Everyone getting on well. However, because Aidan had come out with my friends
twice, I was obliged to meet Leon and Dana and I was not looking forward to being judged and
found wanting. But--unlike the last time I'd met them--they didn't treat me like a cardboard-
cutout woman, and we had an unexpectedly (unexpected on my part, anyway) nice time.
Then, a few days later, the Real Men had a Halloween party, where they (the Real Men) dressed
up as themselves. I was standing around wondering whether Aidan was going to show when
someone appeared in front of me, wearing a sheet over his head and going, "Wooooooh!"
"Right back at you," I said.
Then the person lifted the sheet and exclaimed, "Hey, Anna, it's me!"
It was Aidan; we shrieked with surprise and delight. (Not that it was that surprising to see each
other, but anyway.) I launched myself at him and he grabbed me, his arms around my back, our
legs tangled together, and a jolt of want leaped from me. He felt it, too, because his eyes
changed, instantly becoming serious. We held the gaze for a timeless moment, then Nell's
strange friend stuck a pitchfork in Aidan's arse and broke the spell.
At this stage I'd seen Aidan about seven or eight times and not once had he tried to jump me.
Every date we'd gone on, we'd had just one kiss. It had improved from quick and firm to slower
and more tender, but one kiss was as good as it got.
Had I wanted more? Yes. Was I curious about his restraint? Yes. But I kept it all under control
and something had held me back from getting Jacqui in a headlock every time I came home from
an unjumped-on night out and tearfully agonizing: What's his problem? Doesn't he fancy me? Is
he gay? Christian? One of those True Love Waits gobshites? Feathery Stroker in disguise?

A    idan rang the day after the Halloween party and said, "Last night was fun."
"Glad you enjoyed it. Listen, on Saturday night, Shake's in the local heat of the air-guitar
championship. We're all going along to laugh. Like to come?"
A pause. "Anna, can we...talk?"
Oh Christ.
"Don't get me wrong. I really like Jacqui and Rachel and Luke and Shake and Leon and Dana
and Nell and Nell's strange friend. But I'd like to see you, just the two of us?"
"When?"
"Soon as possible? Tonight?"
A funny feeling started fluttering in the pit of my stomach.
It increased when Aidan said, "There's a nice little Italian on West Eighty-fifth."
There was more than a nice little Italian on West Eighty-fifth. Aidan lived on West Eighty-Fifth.
"Eight o'clock?" he suggested.
"Okay."
W      e got through our food superspeedily; an hour and a half after we'd arrived, we were at
the coffee and kicking-out stage. How had that happened?
Because our minds weren't on our food, that's how. I was very, very nervous--although I
shouldn't have been. Shortly after we'd come to New York, me and Jacqui had done a class in
seduction techniques. "We're out of our depth in this city," Jacqui had said. "New York women
are very experienced. If you and me can't pole-dance we'll never get blokes."
I had only gone along for the laugh. My feeling was that if a man refused to sleep with me
because I wouldn't be his private dancer, he could so forget it. However, the class had been more
interesting than I'd expected and I'd picked up a couple of handy hints on how to undress.
(When you take your bra off, you should wave it above your head like you're trying to lasso a
runaway steer, and after you slide out of your knickers, you must touch your toes and waggle
your bum right in meladdo's face.)

So, in theory, I could pull one or two sexual tricks out of the box. And yet when Aidan twirled
my hair around one of his fingers and said, "Come back to my place. See who won The
Apprentice before you embark on your long journey downtown," all the little hairs on the back of
my neck stood to attention and I thought that I might varmint.
W        hen he let us into his apartment, I stood in the hall, listening. "Where's Marty tonight?"
"Out."
"Out? How out?"
A hesitation. "Very out."
"Hmm." I pushed open a door and walked into a bedroom. I took in the neat crisp bed linen, the
candles dotted about, the meadow-fresh smell. "This yours?"
"Um, yes." He followed me in.
"And it always looks this good?"
Pause. "No."
I flicked my eyes at him and we laughed nervously. Then his expression changed to something
far more intense and my stomach plunged. I moved around his room, picking things up and
putting them down.
The candles on his nightstand were Candy Grrrl ones. "Oh, Aidan, I could have got you these for
free."
"Anna?" he said softly. He was right beside me, I hadn't heard him approach. I looked up.
"Fuck the candles," he said.
He slid his hand along my neck, under my hairline, sending electric shivers down my back,
brought his face to mine, and kissed me. Tentatively at first, then suddenly we really went for it
and I was overwhelmed by his nearness, the roughness of his hair, the heat of his body through
the thin cotton of his shirt. I moved my thumb along the leanness of his jawline, my fingers down
the line of his spine, my palm against the jut of his hip bone.
His shirt buttons had opened and there was his stomach, flat, muscled, a line of dark hair, leading
downward...I watched my hand pop the button on his jeans. It was a reflex action, anyone would
have done it.

Then we froze; now what?
My hand was shaking slightly. I looked up at him. He was watching me, his expression
beseeching, and slowly I found myself lowering the zip, the details of his erection visible against
the straining denim.
Lean flank, tiny bottom, a line of muscles along the back of his thighs, he was even more
delicious than I'd imagined. Leaning over me, his shoulders flexing, he unwrapped me like I was
a present. "Anna, you're so beautiful," he said over and over. "You're so beautiful."
His erection felt like silk, soft and hard between my thighs, and he kissed me everywhere from
my eyelids to the backs of my knees.
All my training went by the board. I'd really meant to twirl my bra above my head but in the heat
of the moment I forgot. I'd other stuff on my mind: I rarely come with men the first time I'm
with them, but the things he was doing to me, the slow manipulation of his penis against me,
inside me, the heat and the need and the pleasure building, swelling me...
We picked up speed and I wanted more.
"Faster," I begged. "Aidan, I think I'm going to..." He was moving faster and faster into me, and
I was still building, building, moving toward the top, then after a second of pure nothingness, I
exploded, exquisite pleasure radiating outward and inward, afterwaves throbbing through me.
Then he was coming, his fingers tangled in my hair, his eyes closed, his face a picture of
anguish, saying my name. "Anna, Anna, Anna."
For a long time afterward, neither of us spoke. Slick with sweat and knocked out by pleasure, we
were flattened against the sheets. I was having little conversations with myself in my head: That
was amazing. That was incredible. But I said nothing; anything would sound like a clich�.
"Anna?"
"Mmm?"
He rolled over on top of me and said, "That was one of the best things that has ever happened to
me."
But it wasn't just good sex. I felt like I knew him. I felt like he loved me. We went to sleep
spooned together, his arm tight around my stomach, my hand resting on his hip.
I   awoke to the sound of a cup clattering beside my ear. "Coffee," he said. "Time to get up."

I pulled myself out of my blissful slumber and tried to sit up.
"You're already dressed," I said, surprised.
"Yeah." He wouldn't meet my eye. He sat on the foot of the bed, pulling on his socks, his face
bent downward, his back to me, and suddenly I was wide-awake.
I'd been here before and I knew the rules: keep it light, don't push him, let him do his elastic-
band thing.
Well, fuck that. I deserved better.
I sipped my coffee and said, "You haven't forgotten tomorrow night? Shake's air-guitar stuff?
You still coming?"
Without turning to look at me, he mumbled into his knees, "I won't be around this weekend."
I forgot to breathe. I felt like I'd been slapped. Looked like I should have done the toe-touching,
bum-waggling thing after all.
"Gotta go to Boston," he went on. "Stuff to sort out."
"Whatever."
"Whatever?" He turned around. He looked surprised.
"Yes, Aidan, whatever. You sleep with me, you go weird on me, and now, all of a sudden, you're
not around this weekend. Whatever."
His face drained of color. "Anna, yeah, look. I guess there's no right time for this." Something
bad was coming. The end of me and Aidan. Just when I'd really started to like him. Bums.
"What?" I asked sharply.
"But how would you feel about, you know, you and me, being exclusive?"
"Being exclusive?"
Being exclusive was nearly like getting engaged.
"Yeah, just you and me. I don't know if you're still seeing other guys..."
I shrugged. Neither did I. And there was a much more important question: "You still seeing other
girls?"
A pause. "That's why I need to go to Boston."

16
O     n the flight from Dublin to New York, my injuries caused a few nudges, but nothing like
the stir they'd caused on the outward journey. Especially as Rachel, my fierce protector,
challenged and psychoanalyzed any other passenger who stared too hard at me.
"Why are you so fascinated with mutilation?" she asked angrily of one person who kept turning
around in his seat to look at me. "What are you afraid of?"
"Stop it," I said to her. "He's only seven."
Once we'd landed and got our luggage and gone outside, I had a bit of a freaker about getting
into a taxi. I was literally trembling with fear, but Rachel said, "This is New York City, you'll
need to use cabs all the time. You're going to have to get back on the horse at some stage. Why
not do it now while I'm here to take care of you?"
I had no choice: I either got in the cab or got the plane back to Ireland. With knees that felt
watery with dread, I got in.
On the drive Rachel talked about things--stuff that had nothing to do with anything, but was
diverting all the same. Celebrities who'd lost weight. Gained weight. Hit their hairdresser. It kept
me calm.
Then we crossed the bridge into Manhattan. I was almost surprised to find that it was still there,
still going on with its business, still being Manhattan, regardless of what had happened to me.
Then we were in my neighborhood, the so-called Mid-Village. (Between the charm of the West
Village and the edginess of the East Village, Mid-Village was a realtor's term to try to give
character to a place that didn't really have much. But with Manhattan rents being what they
were, me and Aidan were unimaginably grateful to live there.)
And then we were outside our apartment building and the shock of seeing it still standing there
made my stomach lurch so much I was afraid I'd puke.
Even with Rachel carrying my luggage, climbing up the three flights of stairs on my bad knee
was a bit of a challenge, but as soon as I put my key in the lock--and Rachel insisted that it was
I who opened the door and not her--I sensed someone else in the apartment and I almost
jackknifed with relief: he was still here. Oh, thank God. Only to discover that the person was
Jacqui. Thoughtfully, she'd come along so I wouldn't be upset by arriving at an empty place, but
my disappointment was so acute that I had to check every room, just in case.
Not that there were many rooms to check. There was the living room with a cramped kitchen
annex carved out of it, a half bath (i.e., a shower and no bath), and at the back our gloomy
bedroom with its sliver of glass looking into the stairwell (funds hadn't stretched to a proper

window). But we'd made it cozy: a lovely big bed with a carved headboard, a couch wide
enough for us to lie on side by side, and vital accessories like scented candles and a wide-screen
TV.
I hobbled from room to room, I even looked behind the shower curtain, but he wasn't there. At
least the photos of him were still on the walls; some "thoughtful" soul hadn't taken it upon
themselves to get rid of them.
Rachel and Jacqui pretended nothing strange was happening, then Jacqui smiled and I stared at
her in shock. "What happened to your...teeth?"
"Present from Lionel 9." Some rap star. "He decided at four in the morning to get his teeth gold-
plated. I found a dentist willing to do it. Lionel was so grateful he gave me the gift of two gold
incisors. I hate them," she said. "I look like a bling Dracula. But I can't get them removed until
he's left town."
Rachel clapped her hands together in a parody of good humor and declared, "Food! It's
important to eat. What'll we have?"
"Pizza?" Jacqui asked me.
"I don't mind. I'm not the one with gold-plated teeth." I gave her the Andretti's leaflet. "Will you
order?"
"Better if you do," Rachel said.
I looked at her bleakly.
"Sorry," she said awkwardly. "But it is."
"When I order they never bring the salad."
"If that's how it has to be..."
So I rang Andretti's, and as I predicted, they forgot the salad.
"I told you," I said with weary triumph.
But neither of them rose to the challenge, and as soon as we'd finished eating, Jacqui produced a
twelve-inch-high heap of envelopes. "Your mail."
I took the bundle, put it in the closet, and closed the door tight. I'd look at it sometime.
"Er...don't you want to open it?"
"Not right now."