Date: Sat, 2 May 2015 11:06:29 +0100
From: Joe Ferns <alohareaders@gmail.com>
Subject: Blind Faith 9

C9 Aft Agley

"It's me."
"Aye, and this is me.  So snap."  The Mink was feeling irritable.  Again.
"Me.  Matt."
Ah.  The Mink paused.  She had completely forgotten about her little
accomplice.
After a moment's hesitation she pressed the entry release to allow Matt in
through the communal entrance.  The last thing she needed was some pimply
kid lurking around the doorway whining about her not letting him up.  Get
rid of him soon enough, she reckoned.  Glancing at her watch however, she
saw that it was late.
"Past eight o'clock, fuck's sake!  Weans should be in their beds," she
muttered as she went to let him in the main door.
"Matt!"  She greeted him.  "My wee sweet, you came."
She leaned down and pecked at his cheek much as a maiden aunt might greet a
pubescent nephew.
"Really, I am sorry.   I've got to ..."
Quickly, the Mink reined herself in.  She had been about to claim that she
needed to wash her hair but realised that even Matt would be able to see
that it had just been washed and elaborately coiffeured.
" ...got a headache.  Bad.  Ah!"  She sighed deeply and raised her hand to
her brow.
"You want me to get you something?"  But as Matt spoke the buzzer went
again.
The Mink's eyes widened with alarm.  Her glance flashed towards to door,
flashed back at Matt.  It did not really matter who it was at the door this
time, she did not want to be found with some snotty, lovesick kid.
"Aspirin!  Yes.  Aspirin!  In there!   Quick!  In there!"  And so saying
Matt was hustled through the doorway into the kitchen.  "Can't remember.
One of the drawers ...." The door was closed firmly behind him and quickly
the Mink turned back to the buzzer.  She pressed.
"Come on up."  Unfortunately the Mink had assumed that it was Joey who had
come round to make up with her.  In fact it was Peter who had followed Matt
to the flat having figured out that their little plan hadn't really been
thought through.  So when she opened the door of her flat and found Peter
there, she froze.
"Ah ..."
"Look.  We really need to talk."  Having decided it was time he took
control and sorted things out Peter was in no mood to negotiate.  He strode
past her into the flat.  He looked round the living room and was surprised
to note that of Matt there was no sign.  He raised an eyebrow and smiled to
himself thinking that Matt was indeed a quick worker if he had already made
it into the bedroom.
Somewhat perplexed the Mink had followed Peter into the living room.  Peter
turned and smiled at her.
"Bedroom?" he asked, pointing to the room on the left.  She nodded.  Peter
strode off towards it, shouting as he did so, "Matt?"
He opened the bedroom door, was surprised to find the room seemingly empty
and he stepped inside.
On the right hand side of the living room the kitchen door opened and Matt
popped his head out in response to hearing someone call out his name.
"Yeah?"
The Mink, standing in the middle of the room and caught in the middle of a
situation rapidly spiralling out of control, hastily slammed closed the
bedroom door before turning to the kitchen.
"You got the aspirin?  No?  Well keep looking!"  And that said, the kitchen
door was firmly shut.
Peter, meanwhile, had opened the bedroom door.  "What's up?  Where's Matt?"
"Matt?  Oh. He's ... in the loo.  Look.  I got a headache.  There's some
ibuprofen in a drawer somewhere ....  in there ... will you?"
Obligingly Peter started to look.
The buzzer interrupted them.   Closing the bedroom door the Mink hastened
to check who it was this time.
"It's me!"
"That you, Joey baby?" she purred.
"Yeah.  We need to get this sorted."  She buzzed to let him in.
Then the Mink hesitated.  She had buzzed him in so that he could come up to
her apartment before she remembered she already had two `guests'.  But she
badly wanted to see Joey.  No time to think!  She grabbed her bag and
rushed out, hoping to head him off on the stairs.  There was no way she
wanted him conversing with Matt, not at this point, too much to lose.  Or
with Peter, that would be worse.  Sorting things out in her book meant
sorting out that brat.
"Joey!  Baby!  Let's go out," she cried as she hurtled down the stairs
towards him.
He looked startled.
"Please, baby?" she simpered.  "Buy me a drink?"  She threw her arms around
his neck which had the effect of halting his upward progress.  It was then
that the buzzer sounded yet again.

********

Meanwhile Matt methodically was going through the kitchen drawers but
without success.  He was pretty sure that aspirin came in little packets;
his mother kept a stack of things like that on a high shelf – vitamin
pills, ointments, cough lozenges and so on.  On that basis Matt was pretty
confident he knew what he was looking for.  So far all he had encountered
were tins, cereal packets jars and stuff that he presumed were `girls'
things'.  It was in the third bottom drawer in a cupboard low-down near the
sink that he found it.  Not aspirin.  Oh no, not aspirin.   Matt reached in
and fetched it out.
Meanwhile, across the way, Peter was engaged in a similar exercise with
similar results and similar lack of success.  Underwear.  More underwear.
Girls seemed to keep a lot of underwear.  Make-up; now no problem there;
plenty of lipsticks, moisturisers, creams.    Ibuprofen?   He began to
wonder how that was spelt.  Into the wardrobe – it was a fitted affair.
Shoes.  More shoes.  For every possible occasion and then some.  But still
nothing that looked remotely like medicine.  It was in the bottom drawer of
the bedside cabinet, the one on the left hand side of the bed, that he
found it.  Not ibuprofen.  Oh no, not ibu at all.  Peter reached in and
fetched it out.
It was then that the buzzer went; the one that meant there was someone
wanted up, into the apartment.
Twice.  I went twice – a sign of impatience.
Peter went out to answer it.  At the same time Matt appeared from the
kitchen, also summoned by the buzzer.  They each braked sharply.  Each
stared.  Each looked around.  Each looked back at the other and shrugged,
as if to say `where she gone?' Each then remembered they had come here with
a plan.  They exchanged a `hi'.  And then they went over to the door as the
buzzer sounded for the third time and the Mink had not appeared to answer
it.
"Hello?" said Matt, tentatively.
""Hello?  Who's that?"
"Me.  Who are you?"
"Who?  And what you doing at the Mink's anyway?"
"Nothing ..." said Matt, rather aggrieved.  "Just going through her drawers
..."
"What?"  Vern turned to the others.  "Shit, guys, there's some loon up
there going through Mink's knickers."  "What?"  "You heard!"  "Fuck!  Is
she there?"  "Oh, shit!  Maybe she is!"  " You think we should call the
cops?" "Break the door down?"  "What if he's armed?"
It was at this point that the door swung open to admit them; Peter, having
decided that he recognised the voices, stepped forward to press the
release.  At the bottom of the stairs the trio stood stock still, none of
them anxious to lead the way up.  At the top of the stairs the two boys now
had time to compare notes ... in a manner of speaking.  And finally, being
neither up nor down but, like the Duke of York, halfway, the Mink stood
with her arms around Joey in a state of indecision.
No mistaking that voice.  It was Vern.  So now she was trapped - Joey in
her arms, two pesky schoolboys up the way and Joey's tiresome friends down
the way.  Huh!  And there she was, piggy in the middle.
The lads from below were coming up the stairs very gingerly. The two boys
from above had retreated back into their occupation of the flat, quite
mesmerised by their finds.
Nothing for it.  (She's nothing if not quick-witted.)
"Surprise! Surprise!" shouted the Mink throwing her arms in the air.  "It's
party time!"

*******

Arms akimbo, she shimmied her hips and looked around invitingly.
"Conga!"  Her eyes sparkled, her teeth shone, her body moved voluptuously
and she stepped off up the stairs.
"Hi!  You don't win friends with salad!"
First Vern, then Ally too, joined the line.  Rony (who was not too familiar
with the Simpsons ... indeed, who was not too familiar with the
eccentricities of life in the `civilised' west ...) observed carefully
before joining the kicking line-up.  The quintet proceeded upstairs.
Joey, open mouthed, found himself swept along in the dance.  The conga-line
passed Peter and Matt whose mouths also fell open in disbelief.  Surprise
followed surprise in quick succession.
Into the apartment the conga-line kicked, shouting merrily all the while as
it went.
"You don't win friends with orange juice! Hah!"
Rony, bringing up the rear, was despatched fridge-wards to collect what
cans resided there and the party kicked into gear.  Peter and Matt had by
this time retreated into the bedroom so that they could compare notes.
Joey saw them go and was at a loss to explain their presence.  For the
present, however, he found himself entangled in an unruly melee.

***********

"What the fuck is THAT?" Peter stared at the object in Matt's hands.
"I think it's a cock whip.  And these.  Cuffs.  Leather."
The two boys stared with .... interest is hardly the word.  There was an
odd mixture of fascination, horror and disbelief jumbling away in their
heads.
"You mean people ....????"
Peter stared at Matt as he spoke.
"Well ... it was in this drawer .... in the kitchen ... in a box.   With
... other stuff ..."
"Other stuff?"  Fascination alone could now be heard in Peter's voice.
"Aye.  Restraints.  Leather things.  You know?"
"No, I do not know!" snapped Peter.  "What do you think I am?"
"Interested?" retorted Matt, cheekily.  "See, I think it all ties in. I
mean, we both thought she was a bit of a bossy bitch and this ... well ..."
"Dominatrix," said Peter with a sage nod of his head.  "That's the word
they use.  I think it's latin.  Dominatrix.  It all begins to make sense
..."
He continued to nod his head sagely as things fell into place.
"You see ... well ... this is what I found ... in her knicker drawer ..."
"You were in her knicker drawer?"  Matt raised an eyebrow and drew Peter a
look.
"I was looking for ibuprofen," protested Peter.
"Aye, right," smirked Matt.  "And I'm King Kong."
"Stop bragging."
"Kong, I said Kong.  Shit, you got a one track mind!"
"Aye right!  And you're Stephen Hawking, I suppose."
"Ha-fucking-ho!  So, what did you find ... apart from knickers?"
And Peter held up a large folder, loose-leaf.  It held a series of plastic
envelopes each of which contained some photos, a storage disc and a paper
listing dates.
The boys examined the volume with interest.  They glanced at one another.
They turned from one photo to another.
"It's in here ...."
"Shit!  So it is.  That cupboard!  See?  Even that poster over there ...
you can just make out the corner ...  Which means ...."
Both boys turned to look around.  There was no mistaking it.  High above,
on the topmost shelf of a storage unit for CDs and DVDs, there was camera.
You would only really see it if you knew to look for it.
"You think it's ... like ... taking pics right now?"
"No, not likely.  But you see what it means?  She offers special services,
takes sneaky photographs and then ...."
"And there!  Up there!  See them hooks in the ceiling ..."
 It was at that point that the bedroom door flew open and the conga line
danced in.   By this time all had acquired a drink which was held
precariously in one hand while the other firmly gripped the dancer in front.
"Hey!  You don't win friends with orange juice!" they sang in unison, the
Mink most vocal in the lead.
"Gonna join the ...?" she began.  But the words froze as she realised what
the boys had discovered.
"Give us that!"  She snatched the folder from Peter's grasp.  The conga
line came to a halt suddenly and the music quickly died.
"And where did you filch them, you little rat?" she roared as she hurled
herself towards Matt, reaching for him.  The others stood, stunned and
silent, as yet unable to fathom what had got her so exercised.  If the Mink
had had the sense to let it go at that the whole incident might have meant
little.  But she was alarmed; she was upset; she felt threatened. As a
result she launched into a tirade, a torrent of abuse.  All the anger, all
the jealousies, all the resentments poured out in a flood of vile abuse.
Then, just as suddenly as she had started, the Mink fell silent.  She went
bright red.  Her lip curled in disdain as her eyes swept from one to
another around the room.
"Oh!  Get out.  Just get out.  All of you!   Party over!"  She stamped her
foot.

************

Back on the stairway, Joey had taken Peter by the arm.  The others had
hurried on before.
"What's going on ....?"
Peter shrugged.  "Party time over?" he suggested lamely.
"No.  I'm serious, Peter.  I came over to get things sorted out.  What the
fuck is going on?  Och, not here.  Not with this shit.  Who the fuck cares
what went on up there!  What's going on ...  "  Joey suddenly stopped,
unsure of what it was he actually wanted to ask.
"That's it, isn't it?"  Peter sighed.  "I came here determined to get
answers, Joey.  But, know something?  I was going to ask all the wrong
questions."
"And I suppose you know all the right questions?" snapped Joey.
"No.  But I know the important one.  What's going on between us?"
Joey said nothing but stared at Peter.  All his assurance, his
self-confidence seemed finally to drain away as he did so.  The doubt that
had been creeping over him, the puzzlement, the uncertainty – now it
swamped his being.  Oddly it was Peter who now was the more assured.
"Well?  What is going on between us?  You know, I came here tonight blaming
the Mink for everything.  But that wasn't fair, was it?  We're the problem,
you and me.  If we don't know what is going on between us, how is anybody
else meant to?  So no point blaming them."
Joey just stood there, staring at Peter and saying nothing.  For his part
Peter believed he had said enough.  In exasperation Peter threw his arms
wide and sighed.
"I guess I love you."
Not that he had any real idea what he meant when he said it.  But for
several weeks he had been learning that thinking too much about things
wasn't always helpful.  Sometimes you had to trust your instincts.
Sometimes you had to put your trust in others.  Sometimes you had to listen
to what your heart was telling you and trust it, act on it ... Have faith,
Peter supposed.
"Yeah.  That's it.  I love you."
Joey, who had become a wreck of confusion over the past few days, felt
something happen then.  It wasn't anything he could understand, nothing he
could explain either to himself or others.  But it was as if a tidal wave
of certainty had surged through his body.  It was telling him something and
in seconds he knew exactly what that was.  Believe.  Believe what your body
tells you.  And he did, willingly.  Gladly.
"And I love you."
He pulled Peter to him, crushed the boy to him, held him tight. His hand
caressed the boy's head.  Both were breathing hard, as they might if they
had been running.  Their bodies were attuned however and they breathed as
one.  And then each felt the other stiffen as love gave way to desire; they
pushed, one against the other, eager to feel the body repeat what the lips
had recently spoken.  They drew apart sufficiently that they could exchange
a smile and then their mouths moved slowly back, one towards the other that
they might kiss.
At the bottom of the stairs Rony stood looking up.  He smiled too and
slowly closed the door.
 Behind him, at the top of the stairs, the Mink too had caught sight of
what was being enacted below.  She sighed.  At least she now knew exactly
where things stood.  No point arguing with that.
The door of the apartment closed as the lips of lovers met.

Remember, guys, it's not NIFTY to blame for this story - so donate.  If you
did like it, all the more reason to give if you can.  But that's it for
this one and truly, I apologise for getting a bit confused!