Chapter 16
‘Didn’t know you could sing like that.’ Alec burped and raised his glass in a toast. Straker sidled back into his seat and reached for his own drink, gulping it down with a sigh of relief. Alec leaned over wrapping a heavy arm round Straker’s shoulder, beery breath in his friend’s ear. ‘Should’ve told me. Could have done a duet.’
Straker reached across for the bowl of pistachio nuts and took a couple, splitting the shells open with his thumbnail to get at the kernels. The actual singing had not caused him a problem, once he found the tune after a few opening bars, but it was an illogical thing to do really, none of the volunteers trained singers or musicians, in fact some of them appearing to be tone deaf. And yet the audience had cheered and clapped, whistling along with the melodies or even joining in the words when the singer struggled. It was the choice of song that seemed most irrational though. ‘My Way’ and ‘Love Shack’. Not even current popular songs, not that he listened to those, but it was only sensible to keep abreast of current trends. After all, he needed to fit into this world. His world now.
Alec’s own performance of had been the cause of much hilarity among the crowd for some reason. Straker decided not to ask why he chose that specific song; After all, ‘Like A Virgin’ was not within Alec’s vocal range, and in fact the whole evening was still somewhat of a mystery to him, this desire to drink as much as possible in as many places as possible instead of sharing the evening in quiet discussion about marriage and preparing for the binding the following day. Some shared meditation, playing harps and singing the traditional songs. But the words of his own song still resonated in his head, blotting out the well-known ancient lyrics of traditional betrothal songs. When I fall in love, it will be forever, or I’ll never fall in love. He wondered why Alec selected that particular one for him. Perhaps it was the sentiment – love and devotion and a future forever. The words might not be as poetic as the traditional Vulcan avowal of commitment, but it was good enough for him, for tonight. He passed his glass down to be refilled and then sat back and listened as Jackson, after considerable persuasion, allowed himself to be dragged onto the stage, scowling. A quiet cough, a glare from narrowed eyes, a deep breath and the music began.
‘Moon River, wider than a mile..’ The accent was interesting to say the least, but Jackson’s light tenor was pitch perfect, each word enunciated with precision, and the noise in the room died away. There was an aching note of regret in the words and in Jackson’s eyes as he stared out of the window, ignoring the cue board, and everyone else in the room, a frightening look of raw hunger on his face as if he was searching for someone.
It was almost painful to watch and Straker closed his eyes and listened, aware of an unexpected ache in his own chest, a sharp pain of homesickness and regret. He wondered what Jackson had endured in the past to make him sing with such intensity. Perhaps love songs were not appropriate on a night such as this; they could only bring sorrow to those who had loved and lost. Jackson was quiet for a while afterwards, ordering a vodka, sipping it while a couple of others got up to take their turns before Alec gathered them altogether and began shepherding everyone outside.
Another change of venue, another walk in the cold. He watched ice crystals floating in the air, his own breath a cloud of vapour, the chill seeping through his jacket. He wished he had worn a sweater instead of the somewhat inadequate shirt. The sash snagged on something, tugging him off balance and he twisted round in an effort to remove the garish embellishment.
‘Hey. Leave that on.’ Alec stopped him and pulled it back in place. ‘You okay? Enjoying yourself?’ He grinned and wrapped an arm around Straker and leaned on him. ‘Good night isn’t it.’
There was no answer, so he didn’t even try. Just eased himself out from the arm and looked around for Jackson, just a little concerned. The doctor was standing off to one side head tilted as if listening to something. Their eyes met. Jackson nodded, once, a slow blink of understanding. No explanation. No words. They moved on, round the corner, heading for one of the busier clubs on the other side of the water.
He followed, a little unsteadily, but that was tiredness no doubt. He still had very little idea how his genetic changes might have affected his physiology, other than altering his blood chemistry. Perhaps they had affected his ability to metabolise alcohol; he had never thought to test the theory. And he’d never drunk so much either, at least not since arriving on Earth. Straker leaned against one of the pillars outside, taking deep breaths to clear his head, aware of amused looks from others. The last bar had been warm and stuffy and noisy and it was only tiredness making his legs a little….. wobbly. The word made him laugh. Wobbly.
‘Wobbblee.’ He said it aloud and looked around for somewhere to sit as the others headed off. ‘More beer?’ He heard himself giggle, a most unseemly thing, and he leaned against a convenient pillar and hiccupped. It hurt and he rubbed his chest with a quick return of sobriety as he remembered pain in his ribs, red blood on his fingers, Jackson tugging the tube out. He winced. That was in the past. He had moved on. He straightened up, tugging his jacket into place and then shifting the sash so that it hung across his chest. He looked up. Alec was watching him, eyes slightly anxious.
‘You okay? Want to stop?’
There was a hand on his shoulder, Alec’s hand. Close and comforting. It was so easy to relax, to welcome that presence into his own mind once more and let the emotions flow through him. Alec’s emotions: concern tinged with guilt, alcohol induced giddiness and yet, underneath these, there was an undercurrent of contentment, a sense of belonging.
‘Ed?’ The hand gripped a little tighter.
Straker pulled himself back with a sense of guilt; the alcohol in his system to blame for his inability to remain detached, that had to be the reason. ‘I’m fine, just a bit tired.’
The hand twisted him round so that he was staring into Alec’s eyes. ‘I mean it. We can stop now – go home. Jackson can look after the others. He’s good at that.’ There was an amused grin on Alec’s face and Straker shook his head.
‘No. It’s fine. I just needed some fresh air.’ He straightened up, stepping away from the security of Alec’s hand. ‘So, Colonel Freeman. You’re in charge. What’s next?’
‘Specially for you Ed. There’s a new lapdancing club round the corner.’
There was a pause. ‘That sounds…. uncomfortable and…‘ Another pause. ‘Alec?’ Straker looked down, embarrassed. ‘I can’t dance.’
Freeman’s guffaw of laughter was loud enough to startle him. ‘Trust me Ed, you won’t need lessons. Come on, the others are waiting.’
…………………….
Straker undressed with meticulous care despite the shirt buttons that refused to obey his fingers and the laces on his shoes knotting themselves in a deliberate effort to trip him up. Even his socks were recalcitrant tonight, requiring an extra firm tug to remove them. He ended up tumbling backwards on the bed and once there it was too much of an effort to sit up again and finish getting ready for bed. He sighed and gave up. He would sleep like this for once. A long evening and he was bone tired. He opened his eyes to see Alec standing there, a mug in each hand, the smell of coffee wafting towards him as he lay sprawled across the bed. ‘Alc?’ Damn, even his voice was refusing to obey him tonight, his tongue stumbling over the syllables. He tried again. Slower, each movement carefully planned. ‘Al-ec.’ That was better. His brain was gyrating in his skull and it was difficult to get his eyelids to stay open, or his eyes to remain still. Perhaps someone had poisoned him, or he was sick. He felt sick, that was clear enough, his stomach churning, his mouth tingling. He lay still, hoping the sensation would pass.
‘Come on. You can’t sleep like that. I’ll give you a hand.’ Alec’s voice. A nice voice. He liked Alec. He told him as much. He felt fingers unfasten his trousers, pulling them down, tugging them off legs which refused to co-operate. His feet were cold. And he told Alec that as well.
‘Well get into bed then. Here.’ The duvet was pulled away from underneath him, and strong arms hauled him up the bed until his head was on a cool pillow. The duvet was tucked over him and he sighed.
‘S’nice. Th’nky’ Alec.’ He closed his eyes, and hoped his brain would stop turning inside his skull. At least it didn’t hurt. Vague memories surfaced: women leaning over him, loud music and laughter, Alec handing him some notes, a woman bending over him and ……. he winced and burrowed deeper into the bedding, trying to forget the images. It didn’t help that the whole event had been greeted with delight by the others members of the party. It seemed to have no purpose whatsoever, apart from the dancers’ inexplicable behaviour and the requirement to donate money to each woman.
He had sat there, perplexed, drinking more than he intended in an effort to stop the women from sitting on his knee. His lap. Lapdancing. The women seemed to desire him, and yet he knew that they felt nothing for him as he felt nothing for them. It was all so illogical. A waste of effort really. He had not even thought they were attractive. Not like Mary. ‘Mary,’ he muttered.
‘Shut up and go to sleep Ed. You’ll be fine. I’ll let myself out and see you at lunch time.’
‘G’night Alec.’ He snuggled down, letting his body relax, the effects of the alcohol slowly dissipating as he drifted on waves of dizziness. Lap dancing. Such an immature activity, and he sighed, wondering if he would ever understand these humans. But it had been a good evening and two weeks from now he would be married.
Sleep washed over him and he drifted into dreams of Mary and their future, together.
to be concluded……..