Black's Alley

My father taught his girls many rules for living long and strong. Never let your fear rule you. Step on as much foreign soil as possible. Don’t underestimate the delight of mixing a bottle of Bailey’s Irish Cream into a litre of ice cream (don’t tell your Mum).

But the one I really should have remembered was: never let a strange man into your house.

The tall one flicked through my CDs with a familiarity I found intrusive. The young one just sat there, staring. Tendrils of discomfort began to uncurl themselves in my belly.

My first night in my own flat had been planned for weeks with delicious anticipation. I had champagne and pralines, and a funky version of Ike and Tina Turner’s “ Black’s Alley” that would necessitate quite a lot of strutting around in my underwear. I’d never lived alone before, and the freedom this entailed was intoxicating to me; I didn’t even notice their footsteps.

A neighbourly welcome, the tall one smiled, holding aloft a bottle of whiskey. And the young one stared. I caught the sour smell of beer waft inside the door, and I heard my father’s admonition; I did, I did. And I thought, well, mustn’t be rude. I let them in.

Mustn’t be rude. Mustn’t cause a scene. Mustn’t run when you hear their footsteps behind you in case you’re mistaken, and you hurt their feelings.

I made polite conversation. I sipped their whiskey. I watched the tall one run a finger over the spines in my bookshelf and hoped it would skip over “The Ethical Slut” and “The Story of O” without comment, acutely aware of the messages such titles would convey about me. I made plans to buy “Kickboxing 101” and slide it into line.

And the young one spoke.

“Are you wearing lipstick?”

My glass hovered near my mouth. I saw the ice cubes sway, heard them crack against the sides of the glass, and wondered if my hands were shaking slightly. “No…..no, I’m not.” My voice sounded tiny, and I hated the hesitation it conveyed.

“Cos you’ve got a real pretty mouth.”

Slowly, gently, the hair on the back of my neck stood on end.

“I like watching it when you speak.” His eyes never left mine, and I waited for them to blink. “I like watching you.”

On the list of comments you really don’t want to hear from your new neighbour, “I like watching you” would have to be right up there with “I breed spiders” or “I listen to quite a lot of Dylan.” I slid my glass onto the coffee table and looked to the tall one for assistance. He was absorbed in my dictionary of etymology, the menace in his friend’s voice unremarkable to him. Why would it be? He wasn’t a woman alone in a new flat, two strange men between her and the door, one of them staring with predatory focus.

Never let them between you and the door.

“The friends who helped you move in are hot.” His eyelids hung heavy, and I couldn’t find his pupils. “Are you all lesbians?”

I felt the burn of the whiskey in my chest, and wondered how much champagne I’d had before they arrived. The knowledge they’d been watching my friends help me move in, gazing through their upstairs window with those heavy lidded eyes, kicked a swell of indignation loose in me, circling the alarm and contributing to the jumping pulse at my throat.

Mustn’t be rude. Mustn’t cause a scene. Mustn’t stand on the furniture and scream I DO NOT WANT THIS. GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME OR I WILL DO YOU DAMAGE.

The tall one spoke without looking up, his voice quiet. “Pour her more whiskey.”

I wondered who else lived in this block. I wondered if anyone would hear me.

The young one let his gaze slide down my body. He lingered at my arms, tracing his eyes over my tattoos, and I wished my Medusa could uncoil herself from my flesh and unleash her venomous stare. I pictured her blue black snakes rearing, poised to strike.

“You’ve got beautiful skin too. Why would you pollute it like that?”

He stood up. Never let them between you and the door. “I need to get a closer look at your beautiful skin.” And he started towards me.

I heard the hiss leave my mouth. My work as a dominatrix had prepared me for the ramrod spine and icy glare, but my tone made even the tall one look up in surprise. “YOU!” Two pairs of startled eyes, one predatory neighbour hovering uncertainly between my chair and the door, turning to his friend for support. “You’re going to have to leave…..you’re making me feel distinctly uncomfortable, and I want you to go.”

Fuck you for making me feel vulnerable. Fuck you for coming into my home. Fuck you for polluting my first night in my own flat. Fuck you for your masculine strength in numbers.

They hesitated, and I saw the look that passed between them. When the growl unwound itself from deep in my throat, it surprised even myself. “NOW.”

They took their dark pupils and menacing cadence, and left with lingering glances. I deadbolted the door, and poured their whiskey down the sink; for the first time, its fiery burn didn’t appeal to me.

On a sultry summer night, I slammed the windows closed and sat on my couch, the metallic taste of fear souring my mouth. Then I pulled “The Ethical Slut” and “The Story of O” from my bookshelf, and slid them under the couch.

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Tags:

bellmusker, dance, faith, growl, heart, heat, hiss, home, medusa, neighbours, predators, snakes, solitude, threat, venom and whiskey