Part XIV
Ronan did not disappoint. He was the very soul of courtesy when I called, and even more so when I arrived with Emily an hour later. “Welcome!” he said, opening the door with a flourish. “I apologize for the mess, but I thought it was better to put my energy into dinner. The housework will keep.”
Emily cast a critical eye over the living room. “What mess?” she asked. “This place is neater now than Sarah’s ever kept it. Right, Sarah?”
“Oh, cut it out, Em,” I grumbled. “I’m not as much of a slob as you make me out to be.”
Ronan, at his most appealing in black denim, burgundy turtleneck, and Aran pullover, with a dish towel slung over his shoulder, smiled and shook his head. “Ladies, please. Don’t spoil the evening with bickering over silly things like that. Come have a glass of wine and relax. Dinner’s almost ready.”
“What did you make?” I asked him.
He put his arm around my waist and planted a smacking kiss on my cheek. “Your favorite,” he said. “Beef stew.”
Emily raised an eyebrow, and Ronan saw that.
“What, do you not like beef stew, then?”
“No, I do. I just expected guy food, I guess.”
“What d’you mean?"
“Oh, come on, you know! Guy food. Grilled steak tough as shoe leather, baked potatoes, and some unidentifiable, overcooked, khaki-colored vegetable on the side. That’s all most guys I’ve met know how to cook.”
“Well, that’s awfully dull, isn’t it? I know I’d get sick of a diet like that pretty quickly, if that was all I knew how to make. Or I’d live on take-away and be half the size of an elephant.” Ronan indicated the set table. “Sit down,” he invited. “I’ll get the wine.”
***
Dinner was delicious, and it wasn’t long before Ronan had Emily completely at her ease, laughing and joking with him. Watching them, though, I knew Ronan was on tenterhooks the entire time. As usual, he didn’t share the wine and kept a level head while Emily and I got quite silly. In the back of my mind, I was afraid Emily might slip and call him Ronan. She didn’t, but after a few glasses of wine, she did call him Logan by mistake, and we all laughed. Emily didn’t notice that Ronan’s laugher and mine had a nervous edge to it, and as the conversation continued, he and I relaxed once we realized that her mistake would not be repeated.
I thought perhaps Emily wasn’t anywhere near as tipsy as she seemed to be. Something about the sharp clarity in her eyes gave her away as she studied Ronan every time he wasn’t paying attention.
I was playing up the tipsy angle, too. Then if either of us said the wrong thing, it might be chalked up to the drink. But dinner went off beautifully, without a hitch, and Ronan continued to impress Emily by clearing the table. We were leaning back in our chairs, feeling uttterly content, when Ronan came out of the kitchen bearing a round platter and singing, comically, “If I knew you were coming I’d have baked a cake…”
“Ooh!” Emily exclaimed. “Liam! A cheesecake?”
He nodded, then proclaimed, “And I bought it myself!”
Emily roared with laughter, but I’d heard it before. It was an old joke with us now, whenever Ronan ran short of time or just didn’t feel like cooking. He’d plunk take-out containers on the table and proudly make a similar announcement: “Here’s dinner, and I bought it myself!”
“Looks good, hon. What kind?”
“Irish Cream. I had a hunch you ladies might like that.”
It was a good choice, and an unfortunate one at the same time. Sure enough, Emily remembered that old comedy routine we’d always gotten such a kick out of on “Kids in the Hall.” The fact that she was tipsy didn’t help.
“Oh, my God, it’s better than sex!” she squealed.
Ronan blushed to the roots of his hair. “I’ll just g-go and make c-coffee,” he sputtered. “Won’t b-be a-a minute.”
I’d never seen anyone retreat so fast.
“Em, I don’t think Liam’s ever seen that program.”
“No, I guess not! D’you still have the video?”
“Somewhere.”
“Dig it up and show it to him, so he gets the joke. I suppose I should go and apologize.”
“No, you stay here. I’ll just run in and make sure he’s all right.”
I pushed through the swinging door. “Liam?” There was a funny wheezing noise coming from the pantry, so I headed in.
Ronan was leaning against one of the shelves, so convulsed with laughter he couldn’t make a sound, just an occasional wheeze.
“And here I thought you were embarrassed! Get hold of yourself, will you?”
He shook his head and looked up at me, tears streaming. “Wh-what would she have s-said if I’d put ch-ch-chocolate on it?” he gasped.
I chuckled. “I don’t think you want to go there. Em’s one of most notorious chocoholics I’ve ever met.”
“Oh, my J-Jaysus!” Ronan was settling down now, catching his breath.
“Is there really coffee?” I asked.
“Yeah, over there. F-french press.” He snorted one last time. “Carry it out, will you? I don’t trust myself.”
“All right.”
I picked up the pot and the silverware, while Ronan got the plates and the mugs.
Emily rose from the table the minute we came back into the room. “Liam, I’m so sorry,” she apologized. “I hope Sarah explained that it was just a joke.”
A tremor rippled through him, visibly, and he snorted again. “Yes, but really, that was one the funniest damn things I’ve heard in a long time!”
“A healthy sense of humor,” Emily remarked approvingly, “but if you thought it was so funny, why’d you run off and hide?”
“Er, how shall I put it?” he asked rhetorically. “Well, I didn’t want to embarrass you, in case it was the wine talking.”
“It was, and it wasn’t,” Emily confessed. “Sarah has a video of the comedy routine I borrowed the line from, and it’s way funnier than I am. Make her show it to you sometime.”
Ronan smiled, touching a finger to his temple. “I’ll make a mental note of it.”
“Aren’t you having any of this?” I asked him, lifting my fork to my mouth. “It’s heavenly!”
“Later. I’m rather full at the moment, and even if I wasn’t, I’ll probably be singing tonight. Cheesecake would give me a whopping case of throat glop.”
“Eeeuuww,” Emily remarked. “I think that was TMI.”
Ronan’s brow furrowed. “TMI?”
“Too much information,” I translated.
“Ohhhh. Sorry, I wasn’t trying to be disgusting.” He glanced at his watch. “I don’t mean to rush you along, but we have to leave soon. I want to be sure I have enough time to get tuned up and settled.”
He was already suffering from pre-performance jitters, drumming his fingertips on the table without even realizing he was doing it, until I put my hand over his.
“That isn’t going to make us go any faster, Liam, and besides, we have plenty of time. Why don’t you go get your things together?”
“They’re already together.”
“Then go make sure you haven’t forgotten anything.”
“Good idea.” He left the table and walked down the hall to the bedroom.
Emily watched to make sure he was out of earshot, then leaned towards me. “He’s delightful, Sarah. Honestly, you have all the luck!”
“Not all the luck, Em. Most of mine’s been pretty bad up to now, but I think maybe the tide is turning.”
“What a way for it to turn!” she sighed. “You go, girl!”
***
At the seisiún, Emily and I sat enjoying decaf cappucino while the band rattled the windows and shook the walls. Friday night gatherings tended to be more raucous, with a wider variety of musical styles. Sean persuaded his long-suffering concertina man to switch to the full-size accordion he’d brought, and pretty soon the group was off on a rollicking romp through a bunch of old Pogues numbers, and some other rocked-up versions of traditional songs that were downright lewd. Ronan played guitar, mostly, but to be funny at one point, he picked up the metal beer tray someone had brought and provided impromptu percussion by bashing it against his head: a trick one of the Pogues had been famous for back in the day.
“Sean, you’ve too many teeth to sing properly!” someone shouted. “Lemme knock a few out for you!”
“Póg mo thóin!” he retorted, laughing, as several voices whooped with delight.
“What did he say?” Emily asked.
“It’s Irish,” I explained. “Pogue mahone. Kiss my arse.”
Emily chuckled, but her eyes were roving. “The accordion guy is hot,” she observed. “Does he have a girlfriend?”
“I don’t know. He always seems to be alone when he comes to the seisiúns, so my guess is, his significant other isn’t into the music, or he’s unattached, or gay.”
“Oh, I don’t think he’s gay, Sarah. He’s way too much of a mensch for that. Look at the way he throws that thing around, like it weighs nothing!”
Jon was definitely out of his shell tonight. He’d discarded his tie long ago, unfastened several buttons on his shirt and rolled up his sleeves, and was very sexily sweating bullets while skillfully manipulating a kitschy red and white pearlescent accordion.
There were some new musicians, too: a young man with a stand-up bass, a whistle player, and a banjo player. They’d been assimilated easily, and the band made a glorious, exciting racket. Ronan seemed to really enjoy playing percussion for a change. He had everyone laughing when he did his comedy routine with the beer tray, but armed with a bodhran, he was a force to be reckoned with. Every heart was beating in rhythm with its pulse.
I couldn’t help myself. I threw back my head and howled, perfectly mimicking the sound he sometimes made at the high point of a good bang.
He laughed, but didn’t lose the beat, and answered me back with an even louder, more intense yowl.
Then someone else joined in with a scream.
Ronan gradually accelerated the tempo to a feverish pace, and Jon struck up a riff on the accordion, and before long everyone in the place was screeching and howling and stomping along with it. This went on for some five minutes, with the other instruments joining in one by one, until finally Ronan’s hand got so tired he lost his grip on the beater and dropped it on the floor. Without the steady pulse of the bodhran, the music fell apart rather quickly, and Sean and Jon improvised a quick ending with a loud flourish. Sean beat on the guitar so hard with his pick, the top string snapped and lashed back, narrowly missing the end of his nose.
“Right!” he shouted into the din. “Once the strings start breaking, that’s it. Time to call it a night.”
The room erupted with hearty cheers as the musicians left the stage and started packing up instruments.
“Wow, that was something else!” Emily said, when Ronan returned to our table.
“It certainly was,” he agreed, as he took the chair beside mine. He put his arm around me and kissed my cheek.
“God, Liam, you’re drenched!”
“Yeah, I know. Sorry. I forgot to bring a towel.” He shook his head, making the sweat really fly.
“Yuck!” I complained, as a fair shower of it christened me.
“Quiet, bean!” he commanded, winking at me. “Give a hard-working man a drink of your tay!”
“It’s cappucino, but if you want some—”
“Decaf?”
“Yes, decaf, though tonight I could pull an all-nighter if you’d rather have hi-test.”
“What I would rather have is a cup of tay, but it looks like it’ll be awhile before I can get it.”
I handed him the cappucino, and he drained it.
“Hey, Liam,” Emily said, poking his arm.
“Eh?”
“D’you happen to know if the accordion guy is—available?”
Ronan smiled, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “Available, is it? Just a minute, and I’ll ask him.”
“Ooh, Liam, don’t you dare!”
He burst out laughing. “Och, I’d not be doing that to you, Emily! But if you’d like an introduction so you might be finding out such things for yourself, I’d be happy to oblige.” And before Emily could respond, Ronan pulled a spare chair up to our table and called out, “Jon! Over here, man!”
Emily gave him a discreet kick under the table and he bent to rub his leg.
“Now, is that any way to treat a friend who’s doing his damnedest to assist your endeavor?” He smiled a welcome at Jon. “Have a seat, a cara. If they see more than one parched musician here, maybe they’ll serve us faster.”
“Thanks, Liam.” He flopped into the chair and pushed his wavy black hair back from his brow. “Phew! That was really a workout!”
“But good craic, aye?”
He nodded. “Hello, Sarah, and—” He smiled at Emily. “I don’t believe we’ve met.” He held out his hand. “Jonathan Grainger.”
Emily grasped the proffered hand and shook it firmly. “Emily Carlson. I’m an old friend of Sarah’s.”
“And I’m an old customer of Sean’s who became a friend after I confessed to having a concertina habit. All pumped up and no place to play.” He grinned. “Do you play an instrument, Emily?”
“I’m sorry to say I don’t, Jonathan.”
“Jon,” he corrected her. “Please. I’m only called Jonathan at work.”
“All right. Jon. Anyway, I can’t play, and I can’t sing, either, but I love music and a good time. This was wonderful!”
“Glad you enjoyed it. Say, rather than hanging around for coffee, would any of you like to join me around the corner for a brew?”
Ronan shook his head. “Thanks for the invite, Jon, but I don’t drink.”
“I’ll pass, too,” I agreed, winking at Emily. “But maybe you’d like to go, Emily.”
Jon was looking hopeful, and Emily didn’t disappoint him.
“Someone ought to keep you company,” she said. “It’s a shame to drink alone. You two don’t mind, do you?”
“Not at all,” I replied. “Have a nice time. See you at work on Monday, Em?”
“First thing,” she promised.
“Liam, could you tell Sean I’ll come by and pick up my stuff tomorrow afternoon?”
“Sure, and I’ll see it’s locked up safely, too.”
“’Preciate it,” he said, smiling as he rose from his chair. “Well, g’night, and thanks for another great seisiún.”
They beat a hasty retreat, and as soon as the door had closed behind them, Ronan chuckled and shook his head. “Not a bit subtle, are they?”
“No. Do you really think they’ll stop off for a beer?”
“Not a chance, unless one of them happens to have a cold six-pack in the fridge at home. My hunch is, you’ll be hearing an interesting story the next time you and Emily have lunch together.”
***
Ronan stirred the contents of my travel mug and pressed the lid into place. “There! You’re all set to go now. Hope you like it.”
The aroma was more than appealing. “Well, I know it’s coffee, but what have you done to it this time?”
He slung the dish towel over his shoulder and grinned. “That’s for me to know and you to find out. Have you had enough to eat?”
Ronan was a firm believer in the value of a full Irish breakfast, and fed us accordingly. At first I was afraid it would make me fat in short order, but instead it fueled me for my day, no matter what challenges it might hold, and satisfied me so well that any meals I ate as the day progressed were smaller than they ever were in the past. I often found myself with enough energy to walk the full distance back and forth between home and work when the weather was fine, instead of just walking to the nearest T station and taking the train. With the added exercise, I was actually slimming down a bit, rather than gaining as I had feared I might. Ronan, too, was growing tighter and trimmer from all the exercise he was getting in his rambles around town.
“I’ve had more than enough, as usual, Ro. If not for you, I’d be making do with yogurt and a granola bar, and instant coffee.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Ugh! Dunno how a person can live on that. At the very least, a body needs a good bowl of porridge in the morning. You Yanks have it all wrong, y’know, eating like sparrows in the morning, and stuffing yourselves to the gills at night. No wonder every third person I see is overweight!”
“Poor things don’t have such a good mother hen clucking at them,” I said, smiling as I moved in close to him.
“Mother hen, my arse!” He put his hands on my waist and pressed against me. “Does that feel like any mother you’ve ever known?”
“A mother who’s had a gender reassignment, perhaps?”
He smiled sweetly and poked his index fingers just below my ribs, making me squeal. “Cheeky wench, aren’t you?”
I wrapped my arms around him, and he rocked me from side to side. “Ro, I really have to leave now.”
“Come, now, can’t I be persuading you to stay home today? You know I’d be making it worth your while.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty obvious, unless maybe you have a banana in your pocket?”
He laughed. “Nay, ’tis no banana. More like a—a banger.”
“Oh, you are so bad! Anyway, if I don’t go to work, I won’t be able to tell you what happened with Em and Jon.”
“Well, now, I don’t need a degree in rocket science to figure that out, but it would be nice to know if they got on well enough to continue seeing each other.”
“Oh, I hope so! Em’s been so lonely the last few years. An occasional date here and there, and maybe a fling now and then, but nothing that ever went on more than a few weeks.”
“I think Jon’s in the same boat,” Ronan said, nodding. “I hope something good comes of their meeting.”
“I expect she’ll tell me a thing or two over lunch, and I’ll give you the scoop when I get home.”
“Right.” His hands slid down the curve of my backside and squeezed gently as he pressed his mouth to mine.
“Mmmmm. God, Ro! Don’t do that to me!”
He let go and slapped my behind lightly. “Get on with you, then! And remember I’ll be here waiting for you when you’ve done with your rat race.”
As if I could forget such a thing after he’d set my whole insides a-tremble! I took a deep breath and broke away from him, smoothing the lines of my suit. “See, you’ve gone and got me all wrinkled,” I complained.
“Och, you could give a tinker’s damn about that, and you know it! The real issue is I’ve gone and got you all hot and bothered, and you’d rather a roll in the hay than a day in the office. Right?”
“Yes. Damn you! If I wasn’t in such a hurry, I’d—”
“You’d what?” he asked, striking a seductive pose against the door frame. “Boff me here? Now?”
“You’ll have to take a raincheck,” I retorted, as I turned and ran down the stairs, his laughter floating behind me.
***
C.P. Warner
© 27 July 2007
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