-1-

Birdy Baldwin was the sort of girl you could spot in a crowd, even looking through a pinhole. Nearly six feet tall, with hard-angles at every limb and a crown of curly orange hair. She had that quality, which her flatmate had always envied; however lovely she was, she managed to be distinct. She wasn’t even a model, though there was still time to break in if she tried. A girl like Birdy wouldn’t be fighting for bookings, not the way her flatmate waged war against every other blonde in South London who fancied themselves Twiggy’s understudy.

That’s what her flatmate told herself, anyway, partially to explain the way half of her face had lit up when she’d seen Birdy, flying into the bar. Surely no one could have failed to notice one of her entrances, even on the occasion that she didn’t do so with that look of ecstatic intoxication on her face.

Her friend grinned. “You’re knackered, red.”

“No- Something wonderful happened at the Hulanicki party.” Birdy’s fingers flex evilly on the back of the chaise she’d found her on. “But- you’ve got to call Simon, now.”

“Why -?” She barely thought to grab her purse before Birdy had a grip on her arm and was dragging her behind to the bar, presumably on the hunt then for a phone.

“Remember you were sulking about Larissa Whitewood getting that product shoot for Biba?”

“I’m still bloody sulking...”

Birdy grinned and pushed her into the front of the bar, explaining in an excited whisper. “Well, Larissa twanged the wrong girl's thong at the party and got a bottle of Fernet smashed on her face!” The two of them exchanged silent nods of understanding before Birdy hopped over the bar to grab for the phone, “I ran here as soon as I heard- Call him!”

As she twisted the phone dial, she kept glancing up in giddy shock as the line rang out. “You weren't there? Where’d you hear it?”

"From Jack!” Birdy insisted.

“Who’s Jack?”

“Jack Rabbit. Y’know, Springheel.” Birdy smiled secretively.

She was sure to cover the receiver and lower her voice. “Your fucking ponce?” But by then, the two of them had run out of time to clarify further. Simon’s voice in her ear became the pressing issue.

-2-

The two girls walked home, sharing smoke, lightheaded from their own success.

“But you never told me what your pimp was doing at an industry party. My industry, mind.”

“He does some modelling.” Birdy cackled.

“Piss-taker, I’m really asking.”

“Truly! He’s a really good looking guy!”

“Truly? I’d like to meet him.”

Birdy’s smile softened at that. “If you don’t believe me, I can show you one of his spreads-” The two of them broke apart into giggles again, “Serious! He did a centrefold for Playboy!”

“Honest, B-” She elbowed her flatmate in the arm, and took a few steps to collect herself before mooning at her flirtatiously. “Well, I just think maybe I should thank him.”

Birdy gave her a sour look, twirled the cigarette in her fingers and rolled her eyes. “You're such a slag when you’re on the pull.”

She deflated slightly, sorry to have broken up their happy mood. “No- I meant…” She latched onto her flatmate’s arm, staring up ‘til she caught a hold of her sparkling green eyes. “Maybe we can thank him together?”

Birdy squinted at her, worsening. “Ugh.” If this reaction weren’t enough to send its recipient trying madly to wake herself from this bad dream, it proceeded, with Birdy lifting the arm out of her grasp. “He’s not what you’re imagining, y’know, he’s a-” She seemed to gather her thoughts for a second, “Well, he’s a girl, he’s a dyke.” Birdy scoffs, chuckling to herself and checking how her friend would counter.

She realised she had nothing to say, but knew, nonetheless, that she had to say something. “Well.. I’d still like to thank him. For the opportunity. It's only right.”

-3-

She'd found the name in the phone book. She liked it. Nicola sounded to her like a girl who hung around poets. Nicola sounded like a model, who spoke on the phone in a breathy voice and said things like “Oh, sorry, dear but I’m booked solid til June, but you’ll talk to my agent, won’t you?” Next was the choice between “Nicky” or “Coco”, but she’d made the mistake of wondering aloud what was so wrong with her real name.

“Nothing’s wrong with your name- You realise this is a crime we’re talking about, right? Only an idiot uses their real name. ”

She silently decided to go with Nic. It was cute, maybe a little masculine, in a chic way that Jack might appreciate. She slid closer to him against the brick of the alley, unable to take his condescension seriously. “That mean Jack’s not your real name?” She prods.

He didn’t dignify that with an answer, just stared guardedly at the mouth of the alley as a raucous group of teenagers passed by without seeing them. “You know doing this sort of thing could ruin your life.”

“Yeah, but it won’t.”

“It could if you’re not careful. You wouldn’t be able to get a normal job, or an apartment. Your parents might disown you if they find out.”

“Any of your girls got nicked?”

He took out a cigarette, “Don’t call them ‘my girls’, you make me sound like a fucking pimp or something.”

“Well.” Nic said, the quiet part coming loud and clear.

“And no, because I only work with people who know better than to get caught. And I don’t yet know if that includes you. You’re a model, right? You’d like to find some success with that?” He lit his cigarette.

“It’s not like I haven’t charged to the gash card before’n all that.” This was starting to depress her. The more she talked, the more she realised Nicola sounded too much like her in every way that mattered. But Nicola wasn’t a model, Jack had been trying to get her to realise that, in his own shitty way; Nicola was an aspiring hooker, with no friends. “Aren’t you a pimp? Or am I here beseeching you under false pretences?”

“If I put you in touch with someone, I don’t expect any money for it. Whatever you do.”

Incredulity. “What do you expect?”

“Discretion. Common fucking sense.”

“Well fuckin’ safe, Jack.” She laughed. When he looked at her in a way she could only describe as a pout, she stiffened her lips, looked him in the eyes, and asked politely. “What’s your angle in all this?”

He kept frowning. “I make my own money.” He puffed the words out while flicking ash onto his boot. “I just have a reputation, of being someone who can connect people. Someone will ask me to find someone else for them - or for a friend of theirs, someone who looks like so-and-so or will do such-and-such…” He'd glanced at Nic to be sure she's following. “Maybe they’ll pay me to put them in touch with someone, maybe I’m doing them a favour. If I have your number, and I have need of a Twinkle lookalike, I’ll let you know. That’s all it is.”

She let his words sink in. There was little to do for it if he was lying, not that she suspected he was. She wondered about Birdy, if this was the same deal she got. “Not really like a job, then.”

“Is modelling?” He shrugged.

She laughed at him. “You think you can book me?”

He looked at her, in an appraising way, leaned back against the cold brick. “I don’t want to make you a lot of promises.” “Right, but you think you can book me?” She's bet on her hunch that they wouldn't be talking otherwise, making a show of pinching her fingers at him until he handed her the lit cigarette.

“You said you need money. There’s other ways to make money, I don’t like being the one to get someone into this...” He glanced up and down the alley. She noticed then that he had a funny, surreptitious charm. His last look to her had a question in it; Are you sure this is what you want? Do you know what you're getting into?

Nicola smiled.

The question dropped. “I could introduce you to someone. We’ll see how it goes.”

She nearly leapt at him in her enthusiasm. When they both settled down and headed inside to meet the others, she'd made a decision. “And you can call me Nicola from now on."

Jack didn't say anything.

She caught his arm. "Nic for short?”

He only shrugged. "It's your life."

She never found out his real name.

-4-

It isn't the first, nor the second introduction he’d made for her, but all the same she’d begged him to stay "in case something happens". He called her a baby, but promised not to leave. And true to his word, he's exactly where he said he’d be, blending into the second floor lounge, almost invisible.

Nic drops her purse cheerily next to him, “Thanks for waiting, dear.”

"Oh, come on." Without so much as a look, he rises and starts walking away, bidding her to quickly collect herself and speed after him. “Next time, just ask if I’m ready to go- Do not make it sound like I was waiting for you.” He trails off, muttering something about how surprised she’d be at the things people overhear.

“Aha.” Nic rolls her eyes, “Listen, I should’ve told you sooner, but-”

His tracks stop and he looks at her, ready to take what she's about to say so seriously that he looks positively grim. Nic has to pause and laugh, “It’s just that I’m not really a morning person...?” She watches his face to be sure he gets her meaning.

Jack exhales, gives her an annoyed, sidelong glance for just a second before linking arms with her and veering ahead to the elevator. He speaks softly enough that only she can hear him, measuring his words. “I like morning dates. Besides, I trust the sort of men who make morning dates better, they’re usually on their way into their good, well-paying jobs, or taking an early lunch... You won’t get nearly as many freaks.” He sees that she’s not convinced. His eyes flutter in resignation. “Whatever you want. I won’t be able to faff about for an hour in the evening, though.”

“That’s alright…” She remembers the question she’d shelved earlier, “That why you wanted to meet at the Fontaine? Early call?”

“Late call... Punter went home, so I slept there.” They blow past the elevator attendant and keep going ‘til they reach the stairway. Having eased slightly, he goes on. “I mean, it's a little hard to get out of with the morning crowd- For me. You won’t have that issue. Speaking of-'' They hit the ground floor landing and he beckons her attention, pointing her down the only hallway that didn’t lead towards the front doors of the hotel.

The part of her that still trusts in manners and convention twists with uncertainty, but she trusts Jack, too, and so she follows. They walk in silence down a narrowing corridor until reaching what she realises is a staff exit. “What issue?"

They pass a pair of maids. Jack says something to them in a language Nic doesn’t recognise, and the two laugh and point in the direction they’d been walking. Once they’re out of earshot, Jack replies, “I just mean that a girl who looks like you can walk in and out of a nice hotel whenever she wants. People will assume you're staying there." He seems lighter the more they talk. "Really. If I weren't with you now, you could’ve walked out the front door, but here we are.” His hand lands on the door handle, “Even if I am staying at the Fontaine- Wherever I'm staying, people tend to remember me. They see me and they wonder what I’m doing there.”

Nic hums. Doesn't always pay to be distinctive, Another question occurs to her. “Don't you have your own flat?”

His eye twitches. The change of topic momentarily having broken his composure, he pulls a pair of black circular sunglasses out of a pocket and resumes his airs, though the tinge of superiority in his tone has dissolved. “If I get a place, it’ll just get torn apart by the police. Besides, I don’t need that much. I don’t carry heavy things with me.”

Nic gets the sense for the first time that he's speaking freely with her, after all, why on earth would he lie about that? The dark lenses lift to his eyes as they escape the hotel through the unassuming side door, greeting the grey morning. She takes a little moment to think about it, then speaks. “Well, if you get tired of sneaking out of the Fontaine, I’ve got a couch. No deposit required.”

Jack’s head turns toward her. She can plainly see his confusion in the visible sliver of his eye through the side of his glasses. “I... mean-..."

"You're a friend. All my friends are welcome."

"Don’t you live with, um-...” Jack is either embarrassed that he doesn’t remember, or unsure if the two of them know her by the same name. “Birdy? Right? Shouldn’t you ask her, first?”

“It’s not her apartment, if she doesn’t like you there.. Well, I don’t know why she wouldn’t. Aren't you two friends?”

"Her and I... We worked in the same house in Amsterdam for a while. Get along fine." He says, gracefully stepping around his real answer.

She forces a laugh, “Look, different people are always staying with me, you’d be part of the crowd.” Nic shrugs, looking down at her shoes and listening for Jack’s answer. She doesn’t hear it, because he hasn’t said anything. When she looks back up at him he’s just staring at her, scrutinizing her behind his shades. "I mean, it's just a couch. Take it or leave it."

Instead of prolonging this any further, he voices the source of his confusion. “You let Birdy live there for free?”

Nic rolls her eyes, “Everyone lives there for free, my parents pay for the flat. Mostly.”

“But you s-...” He takes his glasses off, stepping closer to her and taking her by the arm, starting the pair of them walking again. It's such a warm gesture that Nic beams at him. “You could be charging her rent. She makes plenty of money. You wouldn’t have to be doing this, too.”

She pulls her arm out of his and grabs his hand instead, swinging their arms joyfully. “I’m being nice, Jack. You’d know about that.”

Jack gives her a faceful of his astonishment. “You’re a lot nicer than I’d be, in your situation.”

Nic squeezes his hand. “I'm not sure that’s true. Have you been in my situation?” She asks.

He swaps faces, and regards her with a kind of playful apprehension. “You can charge me.”

“I won’t.” Nic giggles.

Jack bites the inside of his lip. “Let me do something else for you, then.”

She shakes her head, “Like what? You already help me with jobs. What else are you good for?”

Jack flicks his head back toward her. He keeps looking at her with intent, until the girl’s face turns pink, then he looks ahead at the street. He's just barely smiling at her, and that floors her more than the rubbernecking.

Nic holds her breath, finally blurting it out. “You have any women you trick for?”

“...Why do you ask.” He's teasing her.

She glances up at him and wrinkles her nose, knowing her face is still flushed. “Well, if you wanna do something nice for me, just keep me in mind. If you ever need a girl.”

He doesn’t bat an eye. “You any good at it?”

Nic scoffs, keeping her mouth in a tight, nervous smile as the two of them keep walking.

-5-

Jack stops her outside the apartment door with two twenty-pound notes in his fingers, extended to her with a look of deep discomfort on his face.

Nic stares at the money, dumbfounded. He's never done anything like this, not to her, at least. “What’s that for?”

Jack exhales through his nose, his eyes locked on hers, insistent. “This is a bribe. It’s me asking you not to fucking embarass me in there.”

Nic sticks her tongue out at him and takes the money, “I’m not a kid, Jack.”

“You’re a baby. C’mon.”

The flat positively stinks of marajuana. It’s enough to make Nic wonder if Jack had paid her upfront just to keep her from backing out after smelling the place. She won’t, she’s been waiting for him to set her up with a woman for weeks, and she knows he only took her along this time because no one else was available. What’s more, he's made it clear that this girl is a friend of his. If she walked out, he’d never trust her with this again. She isn’t encouraged when she sees the girl, though. She wasn’t expecting her to be black.

Jack has to pull her out from behind him, “Em, Nic. Nic, this is Em.” From his tone, this is already going terribly.

Nic smiles, holding nervously onto his hand.

Jack shakes her off and grins as he steps away, “And she needs a drink.” He excuses himself to the separate kitchenette, leaving the two girls staring at each other. Nic does her best to not make the staring match an awkward one, but some quality of this girl’s eyes is steamrolling her. It feels like Em is looking straight through, and reading letters on the wall behind her.

Em doesn’t budge from her big comfy chair. She’s petite enough to trick the eye into disregarding how strong she looked, with a cute rhomboid face that distracted from the visible network of tiny scars that freckled her skin. Her hair is almost as short as Jack’s, but hers is a punkier cut, puffed asymmetrically with a day-glo dye job like the final warning of a poisonous animal. Fluffy bangs cover her eyebrows, make her expression that much more inscrutable. But the longer she regards Nic, the less she reads her expression as lordly disinterest. The longer she stares, the poor girl just looks sleepy.

Nic glances around and lies. “I like your place.”

Em exhales, “Where’s the hot one?” She’s American. “I’m kidding, you’re adorable- but really, Jack-” Em gives Nic what is probably meant to be an apologetic, sappy look before rolling out of her chair and following Jack into the kitchen.

From the second she confronts him, the two of them are whispering urgently about something, the nature of which Nic fails to eavesdrop. All she gets is the sound of the fridge rattling open and shut. She can see Jack opening a beer and handing it to the other woman. Whatever it is, they’ve got too much to say to be talking about her. They’re talking about money, she realises. Nic watches them and quickly picks it up; they must be business partners, but not in the same business she does with Jack. Something else. The conversation halts once Jack notices her idling.

He shuts the fridge and offers Nic the beer in his hand. Stepping closer, mouthing the words 'It's fine' to her.

“Bunny.” Em wraps her arm around his waist from behind and sticks her hand in his front pocket. “Maybe you should stay and help me fuck this girl." She uses two of her fingers to pull a slip of paper out of his pocket. He tries to close his hand around the paper and swipe it back, but she switches hands and shoves it in her bra, still holding him in place by the waist.

“What do you expect me to do with her? I brought her here for you.” Jack's eyes are locked onto Nic's, giving her the feeling that he's sending radio signals that she's failing to decode.

Em curls around him like a cat in a tree, and bats her eyes at Nic. “You want him to stay?”

Nic glances between them before putting the beer down and pushing herself against Jack.

Em’s arm slides out from between them, rises until her fingers land on the nape of Nic’s neck, pushing her face closer to Jack’s until the two of them are kissing. Then she chuckles and slinks out of the kitchen.

There’s a look, there, that Nic first catches when Jack watches Em disappear into her bedroom. It's the glow in the eyes of a loyal dog. That's a devotion so wicked it sees betrayal around every corner. Sometimes you care about a person so much that the only thing they can do is let you down. Or maybe that's just what she sees, when she sees a dog chained to a fence. Maybe she just wishes Birdy would come back from Amsterdam. The look is there for a second, then he turns to her having wiped it away.

Jack touches her arm, “She's just stoned. I'll stay for a bit and sort her out, twenty minutes, then it's all you.” “I don't mind.”

“I'll stay for twenty minutes.” He taps his watch, which had recently become much nicer than his old one, and takes her hand.

As they enter the bedroom, Em lays on her side and stares at them, her eyes smiling darkly. “You should strip her for me. Wait- W-” She stops herself, giggling, “N- First- I wanna see her take your clothes off.”

“Fuck off, you know I didn't come over here for this.” Jack unzips the back of Nic's dress.

“Just the shirt?” Em gives Nic a wink.

Jack rolls his eyes but when she steps out of the circle made by her dress hitting the floor, Nic turns and untucks his buttoned up shirt from his trousers. She glances at Em for approval before undoing his top button. Jack's eyes stick to her as she unfastens the rest of them. She’s seen him naked before, but she’s never touched him.

In the same movement that she peels the shirt away from his shoulders, he reaches around and unclips her bra, then turns her by the shoulder so that she’s facing towards him, and away from the bed.

He leans in, and for a second she thinks he’s about to kiss her, but he pushes his face to the side of hers, staring at Em while he slides her panties down to her knees at a really painstaking pace. Then he backs her onto the bed, watches her fall into it, and stares down for a second before looking towards Em with his now-customary mask of gentle impatience.

“He’s just nervous. His old man’s back in New York and he’s got separation anxiety. He’s like a puppy.” Em’s eyes flick back at Nic, registering her confusion. “He lives with you, right?”

“What, your dad?” Nic asks, curious but glad she's not the only one to make the comparison between Jack and a little lost dog.

“Do we have to talk about this right now?” Jack climbs onto the bed and picks Nic up with one arm like a rolled up carpet. He pushes her onto her side between himself and Em.

“He’s fucking old enough to be your dad.” Em laughs. “Jack’s engaged, he didn’t tell you?”

“You’re engaged?” Nic asks over her shoulder.

Jack leans on his elbow. “He hasn’t officially asked me. There’s no ring.”

“You signed a prenup, you dumb tart.”

“I haven't signed shit.”

“You’re getting married? To a man?” Nic nearly rolls backwards trying to see his face, but Jack puts his hand in her hair and holds her head down before kissing her neck. When his lips reach her ear, he whispers, “She's just trying to get a rise out of me. She thinks it's cute.”

“It is cute." Em’s voice softens and she leans in to kiss Nic’s mouth. "Have you seen this idiot when he’s mad?”

“Isn't he always mad?” Nic teases before shutting her eyes and focusing on being a good, steady kisser. She can feel both sets of their hands on her but quickly loses track of who is touching her and where.

She hears Jack's voice in her ear, almost inaudible. “Good.”

When she opens her eyes, and the world becomes clear again, she can see the slope of Jack's neck as he leans over her to kiss the other girl in the bed, and the way they're kissing, she might as well not exist.

He breaks it, suddenly holding the slip of paper that had just been in Em's bra in his fingers, peering down at her. “I have to go make a call.” He whispers, and with a quick rise of his eyebrows, climbs away from them.

Em sighs through a grin as he tumbles with grace out of the bed, grabs his shirt, and leaves the room without another word. She waits for the door to slam shut, laughing softly before looking over at Nic. “Uh- Sorry about him, he's a fucking mess lately. I only give him shit ‘cus I love him so much.”

Nic glances at her watch, sure enough, twenty minutes had passed. “He’s told me a bit about you.”

Em runs a fingernail down Nic’s throat to her collarbone, “Yeah? Like what?”

Nic purses her lips and shrugs, “Just that you used to be together.”

“That’s what he thinks?” Em seems to be intentionally flattening her expression.

Nic’s lips part slightly, unsure if she’s said something wrong.

“I think we’re still together.” Em tilts her head at her in a playful challenge, “In a different way, sure. We were in love-love a long time ago, but we’re cool. We’ll be cool as soon as he comes to his senses.”

“The wedding?”

Em sits up abruptly and turns to reach for the tray on her bedside table, "Do you wanna smoke this joint with me?” “No, sorry- I don’t... smoke marijuana.”

Em looks back at her, drops the tray with a clatter and laughs, crestfallen. “Why’d he bring you? I’m kidding. You’re cute.”

“It’s alright. I was starting to wonder about that, myself.” Nic answers with an embarrassed, crooked smile. She stares down at her. “No, I got a little too used to the other girl he brings by. She’s your roommate, right? The redhead?” Em rolls onto her knees and rearranges the pillows.

Nic’s eyes fly open, she swallows the spit in her mouth, gulping down her instant, chest-tightening jealousy, and throws her eyes down to undercut her reaction. But, Em notices the change.

“Oh, fuck. Right. He mentioned.” She sits back.

Nic sits up a little, confused.

Em watches her. “I remember now, he said you’re hopeless, ‘cus your parents pay for everything and you’re just turning tricks for... I don't know, shopping money? It's really about her, right? That's his theory.” She tilts her head, “Have I got you confused with somebody else?”

Nic blinks, lips open. She shakes her head.

“Mmyeah. He thinks you’re a lesbian, thinks you probably won’t sort it out til you get over your crush on ginger, though. And he’s pretty sure that’s why you let him crash on your couch, ‘cus he’s the only other dyke you know.”

Nic bites her lip, “Is it this wedding thing? Is that why you’re trying to hurt him?”

Em scoffs with a vicious little smile, silent for five brutal seconds. “I just think friends should be honest with each other, y’know?” She looks around the room, then gestures with a twirl of her finger. “Hey, lay on your back. I wanna show you something.”

-6-

It was funny timing. The same day Birdy moved out, Jack reappeared in London. Neither had been planned, nor expected. Nic came in from loading Birdy’s father’s car with the last of her boxes and was confronted by Jack, thoroughly unconscious, having reclaimed his place on the sofa.

She was glad when she couldn’t rouse him, it gave her the time she needed to have her planned cry in the shower. She sat in her room for what felt like a long time, climbed into the shirt she’d stolen out of Birdy’s dresser, crept into the parlor and curled up beside him, hair still damp in a towel.

“I can find somewhere else to stay.” He murmurs, having woken up at some point.

“No, you can stay here."

“I can kip on the floor again, if Reg needs the sofa.”

Reg was the standoffish teenage girlfriend of one of the rotating crowd related to Nic’s flat. No one could remember who she’d come in with but she’d latched onto Jack, in a sort of big brother-ly way. Around the same time Jack had been leaving for New York, Reg had run away from her parents house. He’d gladly relinquished the sofa to her, even left her the quilt he’d bought. Too heavy for him.

“No." She sighs. "Reg went back home last week.”

Jack looks at Nic, then at the ceiling.

Nic wraps her arm under his. “She needs to find a job.”

“No good.” Jack answers, sitting up harshly.

Nic doesn’t push it, setting up beside him. He’s glued himself to her shoulder, positively despondent, so she ruffles his hair. “Hi there, this is my friend Jack. He's fantastic once he gets going, but first he needs a drink.”

“He needs a two metre rail.”

Nic squeezes his hand. “Drink, first.”

-7-

“All he is is a rich man. It's not like I was in love with the punter.” Jack speaks with his face buried in his hands, voice muffled by his wrists.

“No one said you were.” Nic puts a commiseratory hand on his back, and for a second he crumples, only to catch himself and re-inflate with his next breath. She turns on her bar stool. “Aw, Jack.”

“I'm not stupid.” His voice is low, like if he puts any more power behind it, it'll crack. “I knew what he was to me when it started. I wouldn't have fallen for this shit- if he weren't- He-” At that pause, he turns and looks at Nic.

She's only surprised because she never imagined she'd see him crying.

“He is different. Only I forgot that when you're rich it doesn't matter how queer you are. You're rich first and you’re queer second.” He scrubs his eyes with a bar napkin. “And I don't know what I'm going to do now. Every man I fall in love with- Every man who says he loves me turns around and vanishes within a month. Finding a rich man was my only plan for the rest of my life- And it won't work, will it…? If this one didn't…”

Nic, nervous that someone will overhear them, puts her money down on the bar and puts an arm around him. “Let me take you home.”

He feels like as fragile as a shell when she pulls him into the cab. “He wanted to call it off. After everything… after I came to New York for him, dusted affairs with plenty of other people- Wore the stupid dresses, like I can't see the way people look at me... His people are awful. It wasn't for the money- this is shit I wouldn't have done for any amount of money. And I fucked his brains out every goddamn day. Fucked his friends too ‘cus I'm a cool swinging girl. But I would've done it. And fucking happily because I wanted to be with him.” His voice is just a squeak, now, “And then he changed his mind.”

Nic tries to lay his head in her lap for the ride, but he won't go down, stays pinned to her shoulder. “I'm so sorry.” She presses her forehead to his. Her tears drip onto the back of his hand and she wipes them off with her sleeve. He looks at her, confused. “Why are you crying?”

She is crying, and not daintily. “I'm angry. It's fucking humiliating, what he did to you.”

Jack breathes, unsure, he wipes his face on his sleeve. He doesn't have anything else to say before the cab stops in front of Nic's flat, forcing the two of them to emerge, snot-nosed and flushed.

“After all that... Of course it didn’t mean anything to him...” She fumbles her keys out of her coat pocket, sniffling. "I missed you, but I knew if I didn't see you again it was 'cus you were happy. I wanted that for you. Someone has to be happy, somewhere-"

It's November, it's cold, and he stops her from heading right in. He pulls a wadded bar napkin from his pocket and dabs at her cheeks until she's dried off, taking a long breath to stare into her eyes before he asks, voice raw. “You actually give a shit?”

Nic looks at him. He probably won't even find out Birdy’s gone til he calls to connect her with a client. “Yeah. I'm the only one who bothers.”

He kisses her. Something tells her that he doesn't know what else to do.

She lets them into the apartment, brings him into her bed, looking at him. His skin looks grey in the mottled-yellow winter streetlight that shines through the window. “You know, you could get into modelling, if you wanted to.”

“I tried it. I’m no good at sitting still.” He jokes. “How many men told you that, before you started taking it seriously?”

“It was a woman.” Nic lifts his shirt.

Jack sits up and removes it entirely, reclining and allowing her to lean in and kiss him hard.

He lets her do everything, he probably knows she’s thinking about Birdy, but she doesn't care. She cares, but doesn’t know what he’s thinking.

At one point he interrupts her.

"What?"

“Can we switch?”

Nic gives him a pleading look and shakes her head, “I’m not done.”

“I am.” He says, and pulls her fingers away from him. “It’s alright. Could I do you instead?”

She sighs. He knows they’re both done. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He kisses her. "Let me hold you, lay down." He asks, pulling her close as she nods in the affirmative. He buries his face in the curve of her neck and lets out a deep sigh. "You can kick me to the sofa if you want."

Nic just hums. “This is alright…" She strokes his arm lightly, pale and narrow. "You've been needing a woman, huh?"

"My steady girlfriend's out of town." Jack mumbles into her shoulder.

"Who, Em?" Nic doesn't hide her incredulity.

"Mm. What, you don't like Em?"

Nic turns over in his arms. “... Just there's a lot of words I'd use for her, before 'steady'."

"She had a continental job to take care of, dunno when she'll be back."

"What does Em do?"

Jack doesn't answer, and Nic starts to worry she'd crossed a line. But then he says, with soft resignation, "What she likes."

Nic thinks about Birdy, and the key to the flat she hadn’t returned. “Yeah, I got that.” She brushes her hand over his back, carefully tracing her fingertip over the lines of the tattoo on the base of his neck. She’d never seen it up close before. In the darkness the lines are a blurry dark blue under his pale skin. It looks too old for his body, not old-fashioned, just weathered. Her fingers brush higher into the sharp, freshly cropped hair where his skull meets his neck. “You’re younger than I thought you’d be.”

When he does speak, he sounds more delicate than he ever has. “Nic?”

“Hm?”

“Do you carry a knife?”

“No?”

“Start.” Jack whispers, “I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you.”

Nic rubs his back and tries not to laugh at him. She really tries, but she can’t take him seriously when he talks that way.