Jalan Jalan by Mike Stoner Page B

cigarettes and taxi drivers yell, ‘Hey mister, hey mister.’ She leads me to a taxi and we climb in and she asks where I live and I tell her and she tells the driver and she puts a hand on my leg and a silent twenty minutes later we are outside my house and I’m paying the driver too much but so what. We enter the house and then my bedroom and we lie on the bed and she rolls away and says, ‘I am very tired,’ and falls asleep with her back to me, long black hair falling across the pillow. Her shirt rises two inches up her back revealing smooth, perfect skin the colour of light chocolate. I run my tongue over my lips. We stay like this, her asleep, me watching. As time dances around, fast then slow then fast, I come close to touching her flesh, but I don’t; it’s enough just to look, to savour the beauty.
    â€˜Look at the arse on that.’
    â€˜I’d rather not,’ I say.
    We’re following some bloke along the high street. He’s all broad shoulders, thick neck and biceps pushing out of a T-shirt that he probably bought too small deliberately. His rear is hugging the inside of a pair of Levis. Laura’s eyes are fixed on it.
    â€˜He’s fresh from the gym. No one’s ever that toned all the time.’ I try to keep the whinging tone of jealousy out of my voice.
    â€˜Jealous,’ she tells me. ‘Don’t be. It might be a nice rear but the rest is just far too hard. It’d be like holding a lump of concrete.’ With this she yanks my hand and pulls me into her favourite ‘olde worlde’ tea room. ‘Time for a cup of tea and slice of cake.’
    â€˜I’m not jealous. Looking is fine. Coffee and walnut?’ I point through the display cabinet at one of the homemade cakes coated in thick buttercream.
    â€˜Looking is fine. You do it enough. No, carrot cake. You?’ She swings her bag around and fumbles around the clutter for her purse.
    â€˜I do not. Carrot for me too.’
    â€˜No, you’ll have the Pavlova, so I can have a bit too.’ She smiles her overwhelming smile at the girl behind the counter. ‘And a pot of tea for two please.’
    The girl smiles back, then looks at me and does the same. It’s natural and charming and her light-blue eyes sparkle.
    â€˜You’re doing it now,’ Laura says as the girl turns her back to make the tea.
    â€˜Doing what?’
    â€˜Looking.’
    â€˜I’m being polite. That’s all.’
    â€˜I’ll bring it over to your table,’ says the waitress over her shoulder. I notice she also has a nice arse and my eyes stay fixed on it as my body turns.
    â€˜Saw that.’ Laura squeezes behind a wooden chair at a wooden table with real flowers in a glass vase in the middle.
    â€˜OK, so I look. We both look. As long as that’s as far as it goes, we’re alright.’
    Laura adjusts her top and pulls it down a bit, exposing a little cleavage.
    â€˜And as long as I always see that look in your eyes when I show you a bit of flesh, we’re definitely alright.’
    A pot of tea, two china cups and saucers and two large slices of homemade cake are put on the table.
    â€˜There you go,’ says the girl with twinkling eyes. ‘Enjoy.’
    â€˜Let’s set some ground rules,’ Laura says as she forces her fork into my meringue, sending splinters of white onto the table. Her eyes look at it as though they are still looking at Muscle Man’s butt. ‘I fancy your cake, and I’m going to have some of it. I admired that man’s butt, but I don’t want it and would never have it. I know this cake looks good and will taste good because I’ve eaten here so many times before.’
    She slides the fork into her mouth and her tongue licks slowly around her lips afterwards. Her lips and mouth are the only things in the room. I lick mine.
    â€˜And it’s the same with you. I know you’re a nice bit of