/ - 9 - /

we girls say goodnight to each other and part ways and i have a think about what emily said. ratfree wants to make love with me? i bet he doesn't. and anyway - do i want to make love with him? get out of town. so typical of emmy to use such a old-fashioned phrase. do i want to fuck ratfree? of fucking course not.

i'm just about to snuggle under the covers and give serious consideration to whether i should interrogate ratfree about his music before or after i kill him when my contemplation is disturbed by claire who yells, 'are you decent?' and barges in without waiting for a reply.

'crap, you've got jammies on,' she grumbles. 'whatever happened to sleeping in the nude?'

'the textiles industry happened,' i say.

'yeah, well. to get straight to the point, emmy and i want you to get the hell over your negative attitude towards edward and hit that fine piece of man already.'

i splutter. 'jesus - where do i start with all that's wrong with you saying that?'

'there's nothing wrong with it. just do the grind with him already. you should have done it weeks ago. months, even.'

there doesn't seem to be anything to hand i can stab her with so i just glare. 'what's behind this distasteful suggestion?'

'the four of us like sharing this house - fact - so if you and edward couple up, he moves in with you, and then we get the front room back as the executive office,' she explains, as if it's obvious.

'you'd sell me out for a room?'

'it's a great room! and how is it selling you out? he's got all his own teeth and he's a good cook. plus, he'll play you love songs on the piano with his boner.'

'i think the time has come for you to be in psychiatric lockdown. and anyone who plays a piano with his boner does not belong on this planet.'

'okay, no piano. he's gonna fuck you with it like a speeding train.'

'i don't want to be fucked like a speeding train and if you leave right now we can pretend this conversation never happened.'

'you prefer things gentle, huh? i'll let him know.'

'like hell you will.'

claire gives a little sigh. 'oh, bella. don't worry, emily and i will do everything we can to facilitate a smooth transition for the two of you. you're in our hearts.' she ducks out as i grope for the first thing within reach, which is a sock, and hurl it at her.

so. my negative attitude towards edward? christ, who can blame me? he can be fucking annoying and he's a dick, it's as simple as that. and anyway, that stuff alec was talking about, about me finding a guy blah blah - he meant way in the far off, fuzzy future, not in the next five minutes. and not just the nearest person with a penis, for fuck's sake. someone i get introduced to, or meet at a party or something! not some ratfree, teeth intact, cooking weirdo.

a week later emily and the weirdo are plotting something in the kitchen while i'm reading in the living room trying to block out the number of times they're saying squid ink and black garlic.

food-wise, it has to be said emily's a true pioneer who's rather more concerned with how colorful a meal is than whether it's nutritious or tasty. on her own, she has served up some real stomach-churners but lately she and edward combined have developed a cuisine that's usually palatable while still passing emily's whimsical visual criteria.

when there's a knock at the front door i'm thankful to escape as far as the porch and i plan to engage whoever is there in conversation for at least half an hour.

it's the chancellor. i frown and blink a few times.

'is edward home?'

'uh.'

'bella, isn't it? i met you at the premier. i'm samuel.'

'uh.'

'i've come by to speak to edward.'

'right. edward. i'll go get him.'

i stand there.

'if you don't mind, perhaps i could come in? i could do with a glass of water.'

'oh. um, sure.'

i lead the way to the kitchen, hoping there are no dead squids flailing around in sight anywhere, and discover that there's quite a nice aroma coming from the oven, and the kitchen looks perfectly okay. i can't say the same for edward who's sitting at the table while emily combs his hair into a mohawk style.

'hi,' she smiles, catching sight of samuel. 'have you come for dinner?'

samuel's clearly surprised and also clearly pleased and i wish claire was home to be witness to this. she's home soon enough though, slamming the door and yelling curses down the hall as usual. she stops in the doorway and exclaims, 'chancellor you-know-who!'

god, are we all batshit crazy in this household? edward's the only remotely sane one, although he's only sane if your definition is fairly flexible.

dinner, when it's served, looks terrifying and disgusting - squid ink pasta bake with black olives, black garlic and black bell peppers. god save us all, it's topped with grated black cheese, which emmy glowingly informs us is made with bamboo charcoal. no-one wants to take the first bite, but then brave samuel eats a forkful and doesn't drop dead. i'm amazed to discover it's actually really nice, but still, thank christ it didn't occur to emily to go in search of black wine. samuel stays until ten thirty and emily invites him to the next club night. punk, it says on our blackboard.

'see you there,' nods samuel, exiting.

emily walks him to the door and i've got edward pinned to the wall immediately, holding him there with the evil eye while claire's looking for instruments of torture as she and i demand to know what's going on.

'your chancellor friend has got to be, like sixty!' she hisses. 'why is he sniffing around emily?'

'i think he's in his late thirties, and emily's lovely, as you're well aware.'

'where are his wife and kids while he's off chasing girls young enough to be his daughter?'

'he's not married. emily's, what, twenty-three? twenty-four? that's about a fourteen year difference. but anyway claire, samuel came here to see me. i don't know if he's interested in emily, but if he is i'm sure she can make up her own mind.'

emily's mind is a flower garden but he has a point.

friday our punk army are in full regalia, which consists of plaid, safety pins and neon hairspray. claire spots her latino dangerboy straight away and goes to pogo with him. emily spots samuel looking pretty punky for such a smooth dude, in a t-shirt that says new york dolls, and off she goes. edward and i do what's now become our ritual. we hit the balcony and share a joint.

i reckon it's as good a time as any for an inquisition, although i decide i'm going to broach the subject in a roundabout way.

'what does boyjack mean?' i ask.

he shrugs. 'i don't know. what's a lesbian bikini?'

'can't say. i'm sworn to keep it from you, because you're boyjack.'

'what does boyjack mean?'

'i don't know. what's a lesbian bikini?'

'you tell me.'

'so what's the story with that movie soundtrack?'

he looks blank. 'what movie soundtrack?'

'you know what i mean.'

'no i don't. you mean that french movie?'

'what french movie?'

'isn't that what you're talking about?'

'no.'

'romeo and juliet?'

'no, ratfree. i mean your movie.'

he frowns while he thinks about it but i see the second he's on to me.

'i have no idea what you mean,' he says.

what a colossal lie. he knows i know because he's trying not to smirk. he's also trying not to look busted. he's embarrassed and proud of himself about the same thing. his expression is priceless.

'you're lying,' i state.

'misleading's just as bad as lying.'

'what's that got to do with anything? it's a stupid and irrelevant statement.'

'so you think misleading's okay?'

'nobody's doing any misleading, but somebody's lying.'

'why are you talking about misleading? do you have a confession to make?'

'you brought up misleading! why are you being such an idiot?'

'you're insulting me now? such a pleasant girl.'

'aren't i?'

'oh yeah.'

absolutely everything's pleasant right now, not just me. i grin at edward, who's pleasant too, and he grins back.

'can i ask you something?' he says.

'sure. i may or may not answer.'

'hmph. i'd like an answer, thank you very much. are you gay?'

well, i wasn't expecting that. i laugh so hard i'm doubled over.

'not at all. not even remotely. i mean, you saw alec and me that time, right? you have a basic understanding of what was going on? it's not really something i'd do if i was gay.'

'then why did you let me think you were?'

oh. misfuckingleading. he's being serious. we're too stoned for that.

'i can't remember. i think i thought it was amusing. hey, look, there's a star. i wonder how far away it is? i wonder if anyone lives there?'

'i don't think it was amusing.'

'claire did. you should be more like claire.'

my brain's twitching. something, something, i need to figure out - what? is it about the sky? is it about claire? is it about edward?

oh yeah. he didn't answer about the music.

'are you a composer?'

'yeah. well, that's probably a bit of a grand title, but i spend all day and night writing emo shit, so yeah, i guess so.'

'i think you write music that has girls' names and then you evade questions about it.'

'maybe you and i both evade questions. and people don't live on stars, they live on planets.'

he's kind of fucking handsome, evasive or not. and i like it when he laughs.

'your butt is a planet,' i say.

'your face is a planet,' he shoots back.

from up here the city lights are so pretty spread beneath us like a twinkling patchwork quilt. i want to give edward the gift of my poetic thoughts but instead i tip sideways and fall right into him.

'sorry. i'm a bit vertigoed and discombobulized,' i say as his arms come up to steady us both.

'it's all right. have i ever told you how much i admire your vocabulary?'

'your mother admires my vocabulary,' i say.

'she does. nearly as much as i do, because it's awesome.'

'your face is awesome.' oh. that just slipped out. it's pretty funny.

'your butt is awesome,' he says and that's funny, too. we snicker at each other before going back inside.

when we all leave, i'm still out of it enough that i miss my footing on the steps outside the club, stumbling for the second time tonight into edward and narrowly avoiding crashing to the pavement.

'you saved my ass,' i tell him.

his eyebrows go up.

'are you sure? there could be some damage. maybe i should check.'

huh? is he flirting? 'keep your hands to yourself.'

'make me.'

oh yeah, he's flirting. if i wasn't stoned he'd get a slap but with my head full of mind-altering chemicals he just makes me crack up. i grab his hand to stop him reaching for my backside.

'it's weird how your palm is smooth and the back of your hand is rough and hairy,' i comment.

'are you for real?' he snorts.

'yeah, i'm for real, but what are you?'

'human. you have hair on the back of your hand too, freakella, unless you get all-over brazilian waxes and then pencil in your eyebrows. are your eyebrows pencilled in?'

i dodge and duck, he pretends to chase me, and emily and claire are going 'what's with you two?'

nothing, we're just high, that's all.