"When are you going to get a real job?"
     "Look, when society completes its collapse and the Government is on the verge of bankruptcy, I tell you, the public service will take one look at his CV and put him on fifty thousand plus. They'll see the magic words, Charity Collector!"
     "I have nothing to say." Which was true, how do you compete with an accountant and a, umm... "What exactly do you do again, Paul?"
     "Quality Improvement Officer. As I've explained to you many times before, for an organisation-"
     "-Evil burger empire, you mean," I interrupted.
     "Organisation to function in-"
     "-Want another pint?" It's worth buying a round just to get away from the bullshit I know would soon be spouting from Paul's mouth.
     "-in-sure, I'll have a McEwan's-the most time efficient and-"
     "Sure, make mine a snakebite."
     "Lisa, that's the crappy syrupy sweet pink cider thing, isn't it?"
     "Uh huh."
     "Ever heard of Guinness, McEwan's, Tetley's or even Newcastle Brown?"
     "Yes, but I'd like an snakebite."
     "I hope you get rabies." I headed to the bar. 

Lisa and Paul are pretty much my best friends, despite their occupations. Paul isn't that bad really, he pretty much fell into the Quality Improvement gig after he graduated with some Health Science Management degree or something. I've known him for eleven years, when we were both sixteen and stupid together. He doesn't really believe all that stuff about QI, either, he just says his spiel to piss me off. But he does work for McDonald's, which makes him an accessory to crimes against humanity.
     I've known Lisa Wickham since Uni. She drank plain cider in those days. We met at the Uni tavern, one day when Paul and I were playing pool and being twenty, drunk and stupid together. I wasn't enrolled at the time, having failed enough classes to earn a year off. Paul and Lisa were in the same bean counting class or whatever, and she plays a mean game of pool. A great night of drinking, pool playing and pizza, and we all ended up crashed out on her bedroom floor among empty boxes and bottles. I woke up the next day a bit worse for wear, and while Lisa and Paul snored I stumbled downstairs to the kitchen where I met Lisa's parents. 
     "Uh, hi, I'm Scott." I hesitantly put my hand forward. 
     Mr Wickham shook my hand firmly. "The DJ, I believe. Tell me, do you really emphatically believe that Steve Winwood will return and save the world from the ravages of teen hip hop?"
     "Uh, did we keep you awake. Sorry. I wasn't yelling, was I?"
     "Don't worry about it, sound carries far too easily down the hall."
     "Uh, but I think we started talking about Steve Winwood at around three..."
     "It was just after you played "Stainsby Girls" from Chris Rea's Shamrock Diaries, I believe."
     "Oh, you heard everything."
     "Don't worry about it, Denise and I were young once, and we aren't really that old now."
     Mrs Wickham had sat quietly, looking amused. "Would you like breakfast? We're out of cold pizza but there's bacon, eggs, toast and beer if you like."
     By the time Lisa dragged herself down the stairs Denise, Mr Wickham ("Call me Kevin") and I were discussing the finer points of music in the 1980s, empty plates before us and beers in hand.
     Lisa has cool parents. I don't know how she ever turned out to be a snakebite-drinking accountant.

"Pint of McEwan's, pint of Guinness and a pint of snakebite, yeah I know," I added as the guy behind the bar gave me a sad look. The Cloak & Dagger, or "C'n'D", is one of our usual haunts, no pool tables but a good range of imported beers by the pint. It's dark, smoky and the wood panelled walls are lined with crests from towns in the British Isles and Guinness posters. The music is mainly English, and they have a lively Irish folk band playing Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights. 
     I grimaced watching the barman take a perfectly good pint of cider and pour Grenadine into it, turning everything pink and making a shamrock pattern in the froth. Snakebites taste as sickly as they look.
     With three pints in my hands and barely change from a twenty-dollar note in my pocket I threaded my way back to out table, half expecting to see Paul still talking garbage. Instead I saw a stunning blonde sitting in my chair talking with Lisa. 
     I put down the pints and looked around. It was a busy Friday night so we only had three chairs at our table, and I couldn't see a spare. Lisa said something to me.
     "Sorry I missed that," I practically yelled, leaning over.
     Lisa reached for her purse, "How much?"
     "Nah, don't worry about it, I had a good week."
     "Oh, okay. This is Rachel, she works with me. Rachel, this is Scotty, he's a... a financial consultant."
     I smiled and shook hands with Rachel. "Hi Rachel, pleased to meet you." 
     "Hi, am I in your seat?"
     "No, go ahead, I'm okay to stand." While my feet complained after having carried me around all day, my eyes enjoyed the better angle to glance at Rachel's cleavage.
     "So, Scotty, who do you work for?"
     Oh oh, time to enter bullshit mode. I'm not ashamed of what I do, but I gathered from Lisa that it was important to her that I have a "real" job. Ignoring my old, faded jeans, Doc Martin boots, black jacket looking a little dusty (under ultra violet light the words Space Lord Mutha Fukr can be read on the back), R.E.M. Murmur t-shirt, I started my carefully coached sentence:
     "I freelance, mainly around the Health Department. It's not that exciting, really. I've been assessing areas that can be outsourced, facilitating tenders. So how long have you been at Johnson, Johnston & Son?"
     "About six months," She glanced over at Lisa, who was deep in conversation with Paul, "I don't think I'll be there for much longer, though. Opportunities for females are limited. But I've heard of a few opportunities on the grapevine, and I keep my ears open, so who knows?"
     Lisa and Rachel went to buy the next round.
     "So?" Paul asked. He passed me his empty glass and I placed it in my trusty canvas bag.
     "So what?"
     "So what? I mean you've just met her, have barely kept your eyes off her, and she's buying you a pint, that so what?"
     "She's probably buying you pint, too. She's interesting, for a bean counter, what's the fuss?"
     "Shall we leave you two alone, then?"
     "That's subtle. Anyway, she's probably only talking to me because Lisa told her I was a real person. Hardly my type at all."
     "Still hung up over Justine?"
     "You know me."
     Which meant a big yes. Justine and I lasted six months in a rather confusing relationship. Or at least I was confused. We were both free to see others, which we didn't, weren't supposed to fall in love, which we did, weren't going to move in together, which we did, and in the end Justine said she needed some space, threw me out of the flat I'd been living in before we met, and refused to return my phonecalls. I moved onto the couch at an old house with no lease that had anywhere between four and twelve people living there, mainly students. It had the nickname "The Swamp" from M*A*S*H. I knew Marty, who lived there, and I was only going to stay a week.
     Four years later, I'm still not over Justine. And as the longest serving occupant I now have the largest room in The Swamp.
     "My friend, you have to move on. After all, what was Justine doing the last time you saw her?"
     "She was with a couple of U.S. sailors."
     "And?"
     "She was tongue-kissing one and groping the other through his pants."
     "And?"
     "It was at that tasteless night club that I only went to because I was already drunk and you and Lisa had to drag me and bribe me. It was some summer party and they served low alcohol cocktails and charged exorbitant prices. I remember you buying me a beer and it had a little umbrella in it. I got so shit-faced drunk that we got thrown out of the taxi when I threw up and Lisa's parents had to come and rescue us. That was the second worst night of my life."
     "Glad to have facilitated such a prestigious occasion. So, are you going to sleep with Rachel?"
     "My friend, the night is young, the Fates are spinning madly, and the air is thick with the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune."
     "Meaning yes?"
     "I don't know."
     "Well, don't decide just yet because it looks like she has a monkey boy."
     I turned around and, sure enough, Lisa and Rachel were on their way over with our drinks. And, sure enough, trailing along beside Rachel was a half drunk, half-evolved member of corporate society. His tie had characters from The Simpsons, his hair was short and waxed, giving him a sort of wave design at the front, and he just about dragged his knuckles. Expert in everything, can talk incessantly about things that only accountants can understand, only reads the sports pages and the business section. Votes conservative. Catches busses only when he has to go three stops, because it's free and saves him the walk. Carries a huge golf umbrella on rainy days. I wouldn't wish one of these upon anyone but my worst enemy (who would have to be another corporate monkey boy), so I was appalled to see this one chatting enthusiastically with Rachel.
     As Rachel handed me my pint I yawned loudly.
     "Are you tired?" Rachel asked.
     Monkey boy spoke, "Past your bedtime is it?"
     "Sorry, I occasionally suffer from potential tedium disorder," I said. I saw Rachel choke back a laugh, and monkey boy adopted a look of complete incomprehension 
     "Scotty, Paul, this is Troy. He's a CPA who used to work at Johnson, Johnston & Son and now he's with Boyce & Associates."
     "Chartered Accountant, actually." He reached across me to shake Paul's hand, then stuck his hand at me. I just waved.
     "Nice to meet you Troy."
     He slowly withdrew his hand and took a big gulp of his beer.
     I turned to Paul, "What sort of tosser comes to the C'n'D to drink a local yuppie brew?"
     "That sort of tosser."
     "Oh." I turned back and saw Lisa and Rachel having a private conversation, and Troy seemed to be talking accountancy in their general direction.
     "A pint says he's outta here in five minutes," I said to Paul.
     "You think so? So you don't think there's any connection between him and Rachel?"
     "Not the sort he's after."
     "You sure? He is standing close to her."
     "Start your watch, five minutes maximum and I'll make sure he's gone, and you'll owe me a pint."
     "Corollary, he leaves with her and you owe me two."
     "Done."
     Troy still appeared to be talking to himself, quite loudly. "So, Troy, what brings you to this fine establishment on the Friday night in question?"
     "Celebrating. I've just closed a multi-million dollar deal."
     "A big deal?"
     "Mining, I secured the rights for a company to explore for uranium in the North West?"
     "The National Park?"
     "Exactly. And the uranium is there, don't you worry. This deal is worth millions."
     "A top accountant like you must drive a good car."
     "New model Volvo. Black and sleek. I even have the license plate that says 'Charter'."
     I looked at my watch. Less than three minutes to get rid of this bore. I glanced over at Lisa and Rachel, they were still huddled together, talking. Rachel looked over at me and smiled, possibly out of sympathy.
     I was starting to sweat. Time was tight and I was running out of options. I could tell Troy to fuck off, I could throw a punch at him, or...
     I looked over at Rachel again and managed to catch her eye. I leaned forward over the table and beckoned to her with my finger. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Troy about to put his hand on Rachel's shoulder. I leaned forward further and whispered in her ear, "Trust me."
     I had time to see a confused look cross Rachel's face and as Troy reached her shoulder I kissed Rachel on the lips, open-mouthed. I'm not sure who was more surprised, Rachel, Troy, Lisa, Paul or me when Rachel kissed back. After what felt like five minutes I felt a hand on my shoulder. We broke off and I saw it was Paul.
     "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt but your hair was in your pint."
     I could feel my wavy tangled hair resting damply on my shoulder. Lisa and Rachel laughed. I looked around and couldn't see Troy anywhere. 
     Paul must have been reading my thoughts as he said, "Four minutes and thirty-eight seconds, good call, my man."
     I looked to see if Rachel had heard, but she was talking with Lisa again. She looked my way and said, "Thanks."

After the next pint we decided to go out for some food.
     "Any suggestions?" Asked Paul.
     "There's the Asian food hall, their food's fresh, tasty and there's lots of choice," I suggested.
     "It'll be crowded at this time of night," Lisa said. "How about the Half Moon Café?"
     As the Half Moon was another of our regular places, Paul and I quickly agreed.
     "Rachel, care to join us?" Asked Lisa.
     "Sure."
     As we started walking I found myself beside Rachel, with the other two in front.
     "So, Scotty, did you mean that kiss or was it just to get rid of Troy?"
     "Hmm, that depends."
     "Yes?"
     "Did you mean to kiss back or was it just to get rid of Troy?"
     "Did I kiss back?"
     "Did you?"
     Lisa yelled, "Come along you two!"
     I noticed we'd fallen well behind. "Shall we?" I asked, offering my arm.
     "Certainly," Rachel said. We linked arms and simultaneously decided to skip along the footpath until we caught up Lisa and Paul. While we skipped I turned to Rachel, "I really must have a serious talk with you."
     "Oh, must you? Why must you?"
     "Because you're weird."
     "Oh?"
     "Oh."
     "Oh."
     "Glad the pair of you could join us."
     "And your little dog too," Paul added.
     Rachel looked confused. Paul clarified, "It's a Wizard of Oz thing, you know. The pair of you came skipping along just like you were on the Yellow Brick Road."
     "I understand now."
     "Paul and Scotty have known each other for way too long. Some days they don't need to talk to each other, just point and laugh. You'll probably get used to it."
     "Trust me," I said, "It's bad. There are times where I'll start a sentence and Paul and I will both finish it. We have our own language and abbreviations-we're the result of a ten year social experiment on the effects of splitting a single sense of humour across two people."
     "The results are looking inconclusive," added Paul.
     Rachel looked at me, "Who is weird?"

The first time I went to the Half Moon I was pissed off my dial. I was sort of seeing an actor at the time, and after a performance she dragged me and half the cast there after the theatre bar closed. All I remember was being served by an American waitress, looking at the coffee menu and asking what an eight ball was. In my intoxicated state I was fascinated by the way she pronounced eight ball. I had to have one, and since then I've had the wonderful combination of espresso and icecream just about every time I've been there. With certain staff I don't even need to order, they see me and start making it.
     I feel at home at the Half Moon. There's a pinball machine as you enter, and past that is a row of booths, comfortably upholstered in soft vinyl. There's an outdoor area at the back with normal tables, and above you as you walk in is a motorcycle mounted to the wall. I go there all the time and I'm damned if I can remember what sort of bike it is.
     The music is loud and varies depending on who is working. Some nights it's Massive Attack, Cocteau Twins and the Trainspotting Soundtrack, other nights it's Ministry, Public Enemy and the Beastie Boys. Either way they turn the volume up.
     It was a Cocteau Twins night. We found a free booth at the Half Moon, Lisa and Paul bundled into one side and Rachel and myself into the other. I'd no sooner sat than Rachel proclaimed she had to go to the toilet so I was standing again. My poor feet protested.
     When Rachel was out of earshot Lisa asked, "So, what's happening?"
     "Umm, this is me remember, I have no idea."
     "Still hooked on Justine, huh?"
     "Thanks for that, Lisa. If it wasn't for the pair of you I'd probably forget."
     "Get over her, Scotty. Four years is long enough to be screwed up. Anyway, what's happening?"
     "Is this a broken record? I really don't know, I'll probably be the last to know. All I can say is that Rachel is cute, and doesn't wear shoes that make her four inches taller and a candidate for a back problem. However she is an accountant and you know my thoughts about them. And she drinks Riesling. Not my favourite drink."
     "To have gathered such a thorough dossier you must be interested."
     I shrugged, "Lisa, you know me."
     "Too well, it seems. You do know she's a-"
     "-Scorpio, I guessed that. Trouble is written all over her. That damn sign was put on this planet to come and cause me trouble."
     "Saved you the work of going out to find it."
     My eight ball arrived with the menus at the same time Rachel returned. Louis the waiter placed the fragrant steaming glass in front of me.
     "Hey, how come he got served first?"
     Lisa and Paul smiled. Paul replied, "It's because they know Scotty too well, and figure if they serve him quickly he won't hang around being a business liability."
     Louis laughed, "We know Scotty too well, alright. He usually doesn't wake up unless we get some caffeine into him. Anyone else for drinks?"
     "What do you call that?" Rachel asked, pointing at my eight ball.
     "Madam, that is an eight-ball," Louis explained. "In this case, it is a double espresso with a ball of vanilla icecream, a truly amazing culinary experience combining the flavours of coffee and vanilla with extremes of temperature. However, if you are a little less dependent on caffeine, which the majority of our patrons are, I would suggest the single espresso eight-ball."
     "I'm game, make it a double."
     "And will that be a cappuccino for Lisa and a pot of English Breakfast for Paul?"
     "Louis, we come here too often, don't we?" I asked,
     "Au contraire, I do not see enough of you. However, let me just say that your tastes could use some imaginative input from time to time."
     "It's because you make our favourites so well."
     "Why thank you Lisa. I'll be back shortly with your drinks." Louis walked back to the bar.
     "Friendly waiter," said Rachel.
     "Louis is amazing, his family tree have some real characters. War heroes, scientists, somewhere along the line was a casual acquaintance of Voltaire. Louis himself graduated with first class honours in chemistry, but would much rather spend his time waiting tables. Any thoughts on what you'd like to eat?"
     "Amazing, first class honours. Umm, everything looks pretty yummy. What are you having, Lisa?"
     "I think I'll have the Cajun Chicken Salad, it's quite filling, lots of flavour and not too spicy-hot."
     "And of course you'll have the Goundry Unwooded Chardonnay with that," I said.
     "That sounds good. And Paul, what do you recommend?" Asked Rachel.
     "I'll probably have the nachos with chicken and jalepenos."
     "And a Corona," I added.
     "Somehow I get the feeling that you three have known each other for years."
     "It's worse than that, we've eaten together, got drunk together, celebrated together, cried together..." I said.
     "Slept together?"
     "The first night I met Lisa, Paul and I crashed on her bedroom floor."
     "Sex?"
     "Ah, well Lisa and I did sort-of go out together for about a week-"
     "-Ten days, six hours and forty-one minutes-" Lisa said.
     "-about a week, but that was in two installments. The first time was seven years ago, we lasted four days and gave up on the grounds of incompatible music tastes."
     "I have too much Chris Rea, Fleetwood Mac, Eagles and not enough Devo and Scooby Doo-"
     "Hüsker Dü. The only redeemable records you had at the time were Shamrock Diaries, Winwood's Back in the High Life, the first My Friend the Chocolate Cake album, which I gave you, The Best of Blondie and Deborah Conway's String of Pearls."
     "And the second installment, six days?"
     I looked over at Lisa, who shrugged her shoulders. Rachel saw and asked, "Is this a raw nerve?"

The second time was a couple of weeks after Justine threw me out. I was a mess and Lisa moved in and slept on a beanbag next to the couch in case I did anyone any harm, myself included. Things happened one night after too much red wine. After six days sanity kicked in on Lisa's side.
     "Scott, this isn't going to work."
     "But-"
     "No, let me finish. I love you dearly, as a friend, and a close friend. You've been there for me, seen my best times and my worst. The times you've slept in a chair when I've been depressed or ill... We're very close, which is why what I'm about to say will hurt, but I have to say it, for you.
     "You're a mess. A real mess... you haven't left this house for a fortnight, you have barely eaten and only changed clothes when I told you. You are completely dependent, and having me around is making things worse. I know it's hard for you, but it's hard for me to see you like this, knowing I'm not doing anything really to help you. Having me here isn't helping you, it's making you more dependent. I can't do everything for you, I can't.
     "You need to find yourself again, to remember how you were. Call me when you can."
     Lisa was crying when she left. I'd like to be able to say that I ran after her with tears streaming, begging her to stay, promising that I'd change, that I'd find myself again if only she didn't leave.
     I didn't. I spent the next two weeks on the couch, not speaking, thinking about what Lisa said. Then one day I walked to the front door, but I didn't open it. The next day I stood outside on the porch.
     Thirty-five days after Justine threw me out I walked to the edge of the path, turned left and re-entered the real world. I crossed roads, crossed a park and walked to the river. I stood on the sandy bank, squinting from the glare of the sun on the water. I heard the breeze rustling in the trees.
     I hadn't changed clothes for two weeks, nor bathed. I stepped forward into the water, feeling it seep into my sandshoes and socks. I went deeper, past my socks. When it was up to my knees I stretched out my arms and fell forward. I closed my eyes just before I hit the water and submerged myself in the cool freshness. I felt myself being cleansed, invigorated, being reborn.
     As I emerged from my baptismal river I heard the sound of applause. I turned and saw Marty, five of the other seven housemates at the time, plus a couple of other Swamp regulars. They clapped and cheered.
     "We had to make sure you weren't off to run in front of a bus, or something," Marty explained.
     I had to have a long shower when I got back to the Swamp to wash off all the oil, fertilizer and chemical waste that gets dumped into the river on a regular basis. Then I called Paul and Lisa and we all went down the pub.

"That was four years ago," I finished explaining to Rachel. "So, any ideas on food?"
     "Not really, what are you having?"
     "I'm on the wrong side of financial at the moment, so I thought, if you have no objections, that we could go halves in the squid rings, that's if you like seafood."
     "I hope it's not from the river! I love seafood. I'm happy to shout you for dinner and then I could get some squid for myself."
     "The serves here are enormous, one between us will be plenty."
     "Mmmm, sounds good, I'll go with that plan. Are you going to tell me what to drink?"
     "I'd recommend the Unwooded, if you want wine, or the Coors if you want beer."
     "I'll have beer, I think."
     Louis arrived with our drinks and took our orders. "Are you sure you don't want the special? It's a fillet of red schnapper grilled with Cajun spices and served with vegetables and a light creamy sauce."
     "I don't think my imagination could handle it at the moment, Louis," I replied. "Anyone?"
     We stuck to our original orders, despite noises of disapproval from Louis. After he'd gone, Rachel turned to me.
     "So, is there any gossip between Paul and Lisa?"
     I looked to see if Paul or Lisa was going to answer. "You tell the story Scotty, you've rehearsed it so well," replied Paul.
     "Okay, but I don't want you to feel like you're getting a form response. To date there have been no officially documented encounters between this pair. However, there are rumours. Both disappeared for a significant period at my 21st and are yet to provide any explanation. An eyewitness reports they went for a walk arm-in-arm, but can provide no further evidence."
     "Maybe if you hadn't made the punch so strong more people would remember the events clearer," Paul said.
     "So, you admit that something may well have happened but you can't remember," Rachel asked.
     "Not at all. however, at the time in question I believe that Scotty here was otherwise indisposed and I submit that the eyewitness was too drunk to see straight. Chris was, after all, pissing in the garden, wasn't he?" Paul replied.
     "See what I'm up against? The defense have their story and refuse to budge. So that was Exhibit A. Exhibit B involves another party, this time at the house of one of my oldest and dearest friends, Theresa. Paul gave Lisa and myself a lift to this party. At some point both suspects announced to me that they were drunk, tired and were going to sleep in the car. I replied that I would probably stay awake all night so I'd wake them up early so we could go home.
     "At 5:30 am I stumble out into the street and find, to my amazement, the car has gone. I searched the street and looked inside the house for either of the suspects. They had gone. When I eventually got home I called Paul, he wasn't home yet. I called Lisa, she wasn't home yet, either.
     "When Lisa called me back, she told me her side of the story. She had woken up and found Paul driving near the beach and talking to himself. She figured out he was still drunk so she made him stop the car at the beach. It was getting light so they decided to strip down to a modest level and go for a swim. Remember this as I will refer back to these events. After a swim they went back to the car, slept for a while and then Paul dropped Lisa home before going home himself.
     "Paul claims that while he was sitting in the car, he heard voices telling him to, "drive, drive." So he did, to nowhere in particular until Lisa woke up. From that point both of their stories match."
     "It doesn't sound too unreasonable."
     "However, a week later we were all in Paul's car, and in the back seat I found a bra. Lisa identified the item as hers, she changed out of it after swimming because it was wet, and put her shirt back on. The item in question, though, bore no signs of the beach. You know how after you go to the beach you're finding that fine sand in your ears and nose and clothes for weeks after? This bra showed no sign of that."
     "It sounds as if anything has happened between Paul and Lisa they want to keep it private."
     "It's a violation of the freedom of gossip clause under the friendship act."
     "Scotty, do you tell Lisa and Paul everything you do?"
     "It's more complex than that. If Paul or Lisa ask me about anything then I generally tell them. It's a reciprocal agreement."
     "Do you ever withhold information."
     "Ah, why would I do that?"
 

Where should I start? There was the time I almost ended up in bed with Paul's sister, one of those things that happens at parties. She was drunk and I was drunk and our lips and hands started doing things they shouldn't have. We laugh about it now, when Paul isn't around. He'd probably kill me if he knew.
     And I wasn't entirely honest with them about Justine, either. I think Lisa has guessed part of it. She knows something big happened for Justine to flip out, and I once evaded a question about an abortion. The truth is that yes, Justine did get pregnant. I found her crying in the shower in a pool of blood. It didn't take long for the ambulance to arrive. Spontaneous abortion, otherwise known as miscarriage, was the diagnosis. We'd argued about the pregnancy. I was willing to be a dad, get married, whatever it took-I'd join the corporate workforce if I had to. Justine came from a very Catholic family, she'd lied to them about where she was living (I was her "flatmate"). She wanted the baby but didn't know how to conceal it from her parents (I was stumped on that one too). We yelled at each other, some crockery got thrown, all because we were still in love but over our heads. After the miscarriage I tried to be supportive, but Justine withdrew from me and I withdrew from the world, I was becoming a couch vegetable even before she threw me out. I called Paul, I called Lisa, but they weren't home, so I called Marty who came over in a borrowed van, grabbed my CDs, records, books and clothes and got me the hell out of there.
     We all have secrets, I guess.
"Just say the other person involved in the gossip didn't want Paul or Lisa to know, would you tell them?"
     "I guess not, at least, not when it was relevant."
     "What does that mean?"
     "It's 1995, four years ago. I go to a party and end up tucked away in a corner with someone I used to go to school with. It doesn't mean that I'll be on the phone to these two the next day telling them what I did. However, four years is a long time, and the other week Paul and I sat down and had a chat about some of our old school friends. The 'I wonder what so-and-so is up to now' chat over a few beers. I happened to mention to Paul that the last time I'd seen a certain person was up close and intimate at a party in 1995."
     "And I called him a bastard for not telling me sooner."
     "I understand."
     "Louis comes!" I called. "Make way for the man with the drinks. Thank you my friend."
     "Don't thank me just tip me." Louis put our drinks on the table and left.
     "Then there's always the 'never-ever' game," Lisa said.
     "Oh?"
     "It's a drinking game. A person starts of by saying, 'I've never-ever blah-blah-blah.' Anyone playing who has blah-blah-blahed has to have a drink. If no one has, then the person who asked the question has to drink. If it turns out that the person who asked the question is lying, then they have to drink. It can be general or specific. You look confused, so here's an example. Paul, are you ready to have a drink?"
     "This is me we're talking about, right?"
     "Uh huh. Okay, here goes. I've never-ever worked for McDonalds."
     Paul drank a mouthful of Corona. "See, it can be that innocent and that easy."
     "I've worked at McDonalds. I grilled burgers as a 15 year-old."
     "Well, Rachel, if we were playing you'd have to drink."
     "Oh, okay." She drank. "Now whose turn is it?"
     "We'll go clockwise, so it's Paul's."
     "Time to get you back, Scotty. I've never-ever had sex with a New Zealander."
     I drank, so did Lisa. Paul and I stared at her in amazement.
     "It was a while ago, okay. We went on a couple of dates but he was boring, he listened to techno and talked about his car a lot."
     "Oh you superficial harlot," I said. "Why didn't we find out sooner?"
     "You didn't ask."
     "See, that's the joy of never-ever," Paul said. "We all know each other but every so often something surprising comes up."
     "My turn. I've never-ever... oops, yes I have. Umm... I've never-ever taken morphine."
     "Lisa, that's not really fair, you know I have," I said.
     "Well then drink, buddy."
     I saw Rachel's look so I explained, "I was having really bad migraines about four years ago, so a friend who had chronic pain problems gave me this thing and told me to take it."
     "Up your butt."
     "Thanks Paul, yes, it was a suppository. I didn't know it was morphine until much later. It was weird, I floated above the migraines for a while, then it wore off and I was in pain again."
     "So now it's my turn? Okay, I've never-ever stuck any medication up my butt."
     I drank. "You don't play fair."
     "Sorry, just a competitive streak."
     "Okay, here's a gratuitous one for the ladies. I've never-ever worked in an accounting firm."
     Rachel and Lisa drank. "This is a great way to get to know someone," Rachel said.
     "A great way to find out too much about someone," I replied.

Food was served, as were more drinks, and the game continued. I found out that Rachel isn't a virgin, though she has never had sex in a spa or shower; has never voted conservative; has never been to a Dire Straits concert (though I was appalled that Lisa had); has never been pregnant; has had marijuana (we all had, Louis asked that one as he cleared the plates and brought more drinks), but not heroine, cocaine, speed or pethidine; has passionately kissed another woman; and has never been in a police car.
     Lisa's turn. "I've never-ever wanted to have sex with Rachel."
     "Lisa, what sort of question is that?"
     "A simple yes or no question. If yes, you have wanted to have sex with Rachel, then you drink. If no, you have never wanted to have sex with Rachel, then you don't. See, simple."
     Paul didn't touch his beer, and I could see three pairs of eyes on me.
     "Bitch," I said, and I drank.
     Rachel smiled. "I've never-ever wanted to have sex with me tonight."
     "Oh this is just plain victimisation. Is this question allowed?"
     "Scotty, the more you complain the more obvious the answer is."
     "Lisa, you're a real bitch."
     "Thanks."
     I stared at her as I drank. I looked around, the other three couldn't stop laughing.
     "Right, no prisoners. I've never-ever had sex with Paul." I stared at Lisa, who looked first at me, then Rachel, finally at Paul. Her hand trembled as she raised her glass to her lips. She muttered, "Bastard" and drank.
     "Lisa, you're beautiful," I smiled.
     Paul was next. He winked at me. "I've never ever had sex with me six times."
     No one moved. I asked, "Paul, hang on, does masturbation count as sex?"
     "Hmm, I think we should modify the Marty ruling to exclude autoeroticism," Paul replied.
     "I agree," I said. I turned to Rachel, "The Marty ruling came from an early game when we were after a definition of sex. Marty suggested that sex required as a minimum genital fondling, we've used as a definition ever since."
     "Lisa, are you going to drink?" Paul asked.
     "Nope. But you can." She smiled.
     "Why?"
     "Because you missed one!" Lisa exploded into laughter, which spread around the table. Except Paul, he sat there looking embarrassed and drank.

"I guess I'll have to give you a lift home Scotty," Paul said.
     It was outside the Half Moon, a couple of beers later. I looked at my watch. Four pints, that's about eight standard drinks, plus four more beers makes twelve, total drinking time is seven hours, which puts me a couple of beers over the limit but still sober enough to perform the above calculation.
     "Are you sure you're okay to drive?" I asked.
     "I drive better in this state."
     "No voices?" asked Rachel.
     "Seriously, I've parked miles away, I only have a short drive home-"
     "-And you're body processes alcohol twice as fast as a normal human," Lisa said.
     "Exactly. I can give you a lift home if you like."
     I looked at Rachel, who raised an eyebrow and shook her head. Not knowing what the hell she meant, I guessed. "Thanks, but we should be fine getting home from here."
     "Take care guys, have fun," Lisa said, hugging me.
     "You take care, and I'll see you soon."
     "So Rachel, it's just the two of us. What happens now?"
     "Well, that depends."
     "Oh?"
     "Oh."
     "It depends on what?"
     "On whether you are willing to catch a taxi back to my place."
     "Sure, sounds swell."
     "Anything after that is open to discussion, I'm sure."

Scorpio women always cause me trouble. The messiest crushes I had in high school can all be attributed to birthdays between 23 October and 22 November. Numerous times since have I cursed those dates. I try not to believe in Astrology, but it's always that same sign causing trouble. There's just something seductive in Scorpio's, something beguiling about their games. I've learnt how to toy with them, but that doesn't ever mean I know where I stand.

After a taxi ride in silence we stood at Rachel's front door.
     "I take it the discussion starts here?"
     "It might. After all, every door has a key, even this one."
     I leant forward and kissed her. I could feel the warmth of her body close to mine. I gently lowered my bag to the ground, hoping Rachel didn't hear the faint tinkling of stolen glassware. I slid my arms around her waist and she out her arms around my neck. Rachel began kissing my neck, and then ran her tongue up to my left ear.
     "Scotty, I have to ask you something," She whispered.
     "Sure." Condoms? Can we just be friends? Will you speak to me tomorrow?
     "Can you break in my bedroom window?"
     "Uhh, I guess so." This has to be the kinkiest thing I've done.
     "It's just that I've locked my keys inside."
     "Oh."
     She took my hand and led me around the back of her ground floor unit. She pointed to an old fashioned window, the sort that you slide downwards to open. 
     "Just lift the fly screen off and crawl through, and I'll meet you at the front door."
     "Before you go, three questions. Do I need keys to open the front door?"
     "No."
     "Do you have a dog ?"
     "No."
     "What is directly under the window?"
     "Umm, a bedside vanity unit. Please don't break anything."
     "I'll try. see you soon." She kissed me for good luck.
     I forced the flyscreen out of the runner easily, and then looked around for something to stand on. I spotted the silhouette of an outdoor table and dragged it over to the wall. It was almost stable, wobbling a little from side to side. I climbed up, got my balance and put a leg over the sill. I gently felt around with my foot but couldn't feel anything. Kneeling on the sill with one leg and supporting myself with my hands I quickly brought my other leg onto the sill. I lowered myself onto my stomach and gently felt around with my feet. I still couldn't feel anything. Supporting my weight with my arms I lowered myself further. My left foot brushed on something that felt solid. I lowered myself a little more. I tested to the right and could feel nothing. I guessed I was not far from the ground and dropped.
     I didn't hear anything break. I extricated myself from the curtain and felt around the vanity for a lamp. I found a switch and the room began to faintly glow orange, as the lava lamp began to warm up.
     I found the front door and opened it. Rachel was standing on the doorstep, holding my bag.
     "Every door has a key, even this one."
     "Indeed. Did you know that something in here rattles, I think it's fragile."
     "It is, so don't drop it. Won't you come in?"
     "Thank you."
     I closed the door and followed her through the house. She went straight to her bedroom and placed my bag in a corner. I stood in the doorway.
     "Won't you please come in, I don't think we have anything further to discuss for a while."
     She stood beside the bed with her arms by her side. I walked over to her and placed my hands on her waist. 
     "Tell me Scotty, are you scared?"
     "Yes. You scare me, the world scares me, and this situation scares me."
     "Me too. I have a motto I got from a book somewhere, Do what you fear."
     " 'We hang side by side.'"
     "Sorry?"
     "A line from a song." We kissed.
     Rachel began removing my jacket. "I have condoms in the top pocket," I whispered.
     "Good. Hold that thought," she said, pulling away and walking over to her stereo. She put a tape in and returned. "It's a special tape for times like this."
     I placed my jacket on the bed and held her again. "Before we go any further, I have a confession to make. I'm not a financial consultant, I collect money for charities."
     She placed one of my hands around her neck, at the top of her zip. "I know, and I don't care."
     The first song on the tape was Massive Attack's "Unfinished Sympathy", a favourite of mine.
     "I love this song, Rachel, it's beautiful."
     "It's not a happy song. When she sings, 'How can you have a day without a night,' she's saying that there's a dark side to every relationship, and despite the hurt she's felt she still has to persevere."
     "I've been on both sides of that."
     "Me too."
     "Are we going to make love or lie on the bed and talk about music all night in our underwear?"
     "Does it really matter?"
     "Not in the slightest, I'm perfectly happy lying here."
     "You are a singular individual. I thought sex was the number one priority of every man."
     "I guess sometimes I'm more comfortable with music. And my musical tastes are quite singular too, so I am usually taken aback when I find favourite songs in common with others."
     "So, if you could choose a soundtrack to make love to, what would it be?"
     " 'Unfinished Sympathy', 'Almost With You' by The Church, 'Sexual Healing' by Marvin Gaye, 'Disarm' by The Smashing Pumpkins, 'Uncertain Smile' by The The, 'Perfect Place' by Voice of the Beehive, 'One' by U2, 'You Are The Everything' by R.E.M., 'Achin' To Be' by The Replacements, 'The Great Gig In The Sky' by Pink Floyd, 'Stay' by Lisa Loeb and the Nine Stories, 'Into Temptation' by Crowded House, 'Talk About Love' by My Friend the Chocolate Cake, and 'Tear In Your Hand' by Tori Amos."
     "That's quite a long soundtrack, do you think you could last the distance?"
     "Uh, no. I just chose fourteen songs because I had to stop somewhere. The soundtrack would probably turn out to be a double album, just because there are so many songs I really like. I guess the best way is to pick and choose at the time, depending on the mood and stuff like that."
     "Sex is different every time."
     "Exactly. So how does my soundtrack rate?" Massive Attack faded into Crowded House's 'Don't Dream It's Over.' 
     "You'll just have to listen. So imagine we had come back here and started making love, what would the soundtrack be?"
     "You really know how to ask difficult questions. I think I'd start with 'Into Temptation', that song sets the mood, sets the initial boundaries for seduction. Then 'Almost With You', it's soft, good for undressing. Now I'm going to guess that we would have pretty much skipped foreplay, so I'd pick 'Great Gig In The Sky'."
     "Only five minutes of sex?"
     "To start with. After 'Great Gig' we could lie in each other's arms listening to 'Talk About Love', 'You Are The Everything' and 'Stay'. By the time 'Sexual Healing' starts there is no need for urgency and we could begin our lovemaking in earnest, to songs like 'Don't Dream It's Over,' 'Throw Your Arms Around Me' by Hunters & Collectors, 'Take My Breath Away' by Berlin, 'Your Ghost' by Kristin Hersch, 'Jezebel' by 10,000 Maniacs..."
     "I like the sound of that. So, have you tried this soundtrack?"
     "You're not supposed to ask questions like that. However, for your information, no I haven't. The only way to do this would be to plan in advance and hope that when the time came the mood was right."
     "I think I'd like to try that sometime."
     "I think I'd like that too."
     'Don't Dream It's Over' faded into 'Sexual Healing', then 'One', by which stage I was starting to think my ears were playing tricks. Then came 'Shipbuilding' by Elvis Costello & the Attractions, "Nightswimming' by R.E.M. and 'Linger' by The Cranberries. By the time 'Stay' by Lisa Loeb began playing we were curled up under the covers, as it was too cold lying on top of the bed in our underwear.
     "I think I did okay with my original soundtrack."
     "You did. I wonder, will you?"
     "Will I do what?"
     "Stay. At least while it's still fun."
     "I'd like to."
     "Make love to me."
     The next songs were 'Almost With You', 'Throw Your Arms Around Me', 'Silent All These Years' by Tori Amos, 'Great Gig In The Sky' and 'You Are The Everything'.