Weather or Not

Shay hummed along to the radio as she drove home from her late-night shift, happy to be heading into a three-day weekend. It had been a long week, exhausting and energy sapping, but TGIF! She had a hot date tonight with a bottle of Pinot Grigno and a hot, steamy Netflix series that she was planning on bingeing. It was the sum total of her dating life at the moment, and although her mother bemoaned her daughter’s single status, Shay had no energy left for the male of the species.

The Weather Girls wailed from the speakers and Shay cranked the volume, humming along to the opening melody. Once the chorus kicked in, she sang the words at the top of her lungs, thumping her hands against the steering wheel as she drove.

“It’s raining men, Hallelujah!…”

THUNK!

Her scream pierced the air as she slammed on the brakes, swerving wildly to avoid a large object that, in the split-second glimpse she caught, appeared to have arms and legs. The mysterious figure rolled off the hood of her car, and she came to a standstill, now sideways across the road.

“Oh my god, oh my god!” she gasped, her heart hammering as she fumbled with her seatbelt and hastily wrenched the door open. She’d hit something, possibly a someone. Racing back along the road, she desperately scanned for any sign of a body.

THUD!

She leapt in surprise and spun around as a large body plummeted to the ground. To her astonishment, it was a man in a tuxedo. Notably tall and blond, she observed as he picked himself up, brushing off the dirt from his suit.

“If I were you, I’d find some cover,” he advised upon noticing her presence.

Puzzled and slightly bewildered, Shay responded with a distinct lack of eloquence, “Huh?”

“It’s not safe to be outside,” he explained slowly, as if she were a simpleton.

Shay looked around. It was only 10.30, not early, but by no means too late on a Friday night to be on the road.

“For the first time in history, it’s going to be raining men,” the man said as nonchalantly as if he was predicting a sun shower in June.

THUD!

Shay startled once again as another body landed nearby. This time, it was a larger man wearing denim with dark, shaggy hair. After picking himself up from the ground, he shot an angry glare at both Shay and the blond man.

“Do you have a death wish?” he growled. “Find some cover. It’s about to bucket down any minute now.”

From the ditch at the side of the road, another man staggered toward them. His forehead was bleeding, the blood dripping down his face.

“Hey, you bitch! You hit me!”

“Watch your language!” the blond man in the tux snapped.

“The ‘woman’ hit me!” the man screamed, blood and spittle flying. “Ran me down with her car!”

“I didn’t… well, I did, and I didn’t. You fell on my car!” Shay tried to explain, retreating nervously from the advance of the furious man.

“Yeah, buddy,” the dark-haired man in denim jeans stepped between her and the other man, holding his hands out, palms up to diffuse the situation. “You rained on her. You’ve gotta be careful where you rain.”

“And speaking of rain, we need to get under cover. It’s getting worse,” the man in the tux urged them as two more thuds hit the ground in quick succession. A tall, dark-skinned man with a neatly trimmed beard and silky dark hair brushed himself off and glared at them while further away a slightly built figure rolled to a sitting position.

“You got a death wish? I nearly landed on you!” the bearded man growled, his low voice, like honey or smooth malt whiskey, sending frissons of pleasure rippling up Shay’s spine. She was always partial to a posh British accent.

“Look, let’s get out of this weather,” the tux man said, his voice the voice of reason that everyone listened to as more thuds landed, becoming increasingly rapid. “Get into the car. We’ll be safe from the rain there.”

“Unless the madwoman mows you down!” muttered the man with the bleeding face and angry glare. Everyone ignored him as they dashed urgently through ever-increasing thuds back to the car and piled in, four strange men and Shay.

“Ah, here’s the problem!” The tux wearing guy declared from the front passenger seat as the chorus of ‘It’s Raining Men’ wailed out from the speakers. He hit the off button. Silence filled the car, and the thuds outside immediately ceased.

“Is it over?” Shay whispered into the sudden silence. “Are we safe?”

“It’s stopped raining,” the tux guy answered. “But there are a lot of men out there right now. I think the safest thing to do is get out of here. Who knows what those guys are going to do?”

“Some of them seem quite feral and possibly angry,” the British guy with the beard added, his eyes sliding to the man next to him who scowled back, as the blood dripped down his face.

“And I need a plaster, an ice pack and a stiff drink!”

“Shall I take you to emergency?” Shay offered.

“Nah, at this time of night, it will be packed.”

“Well, can I drop you home, then? It’s the least I can do after I… well, actually… after you fell on my car. Which has a man sized dent in the hood, by the way. My insurance will never accept that a man dropped out of the sky on my car.”

“I don’t have a home. I just fell out of the sky, remember.”

“Just take us to your home,” the dark-haired denim one said from the other side of the back seat.

“What? No! How about you all just get out of my car now, and I will go home by myself?”

“What about my head?” The angry man sounded much less angry and rather pathetic, but still bleeding, Shay noticed in the rear-view mirror. She sighed as she bit her lip with indecision. She owed the bleeding man some kind of first aid. It was her car that caused the injury after all, even if it was because he landed on it. But she wasn’t going to take one angry, bloody man back to her house. There was safety in numbers, so perhaps she should take all of them. The blond tux guy seemed fair, and the denim one had protected her from the bleeding man’s temper already. And, well, she wouldn’t think about the bearded one, but he did seem to be genuinely concerned for their safety.

Decision made, she started the car, rammed it into gear, and drove home.

****

Her apartment was small, but with four men crowding in, it seemed the size of a shoe-box.

“Hold still!” The man flinched and hissed as she dabbed disinfectant onto the gash above his eye.

“I’m sure you’re not supposed to put that directly on an open wound.”

“Don’t be a baby.”

“Do you have any snacks?” The denim clad man asked as he rummaged through her pantry.

“Please stay out of my kitchen.”

“I’ve ordered Uber eats. Do you have your credit card details?” The British guy called from the living room.

“What? No, I’m not paying for delivery!”

“But you have nothing to eat in the house,” the denim man complained. “We’re staving. After all, we’ve had nothing to eat since we fell from the sky.”

Shay grunted in frustrated resignation and gave her account details for the Uber Delivery.

“Game of Thrones! I’ve always wanted to watch it.” The tuxedo guy called out as he scrolled through Shay’s TV settings. “It’s not on Netflix. Can I have your card details to sign you up for a Binge account?”

“No! For goodness’ sake!” Shay slapped a sticking plaster over the now disinfected cut, handed the man a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a tea towel to slap on the bruise, and stormed into the living room.

“You! Beard guy, put the phone down. You are not ordering another thing! Denim man, get out of my kitchen, and tux guy.” She snatched the remote from his hand. “This is my remote, my TV. I get to choose what I watch.” She glared at them, her hands on her hips. “None of you have told me your name. You’ve all invaded my home, which was small enough just for me, just the way I like it. And now I’m forced to listen to your demands and cater to your needs. I don’t want this, and I sure as hell never asked for this.”

“We didn’t ask to rain from the sky either,” the British guy said.

“And it was your song that caused us to rain,” the blond tux guy added, his tone placatingly reasonable. “So really, it’s kind of your fault.”

Shay’s mouth opened and closed like a fish as she gasped, inarticulate sounds of astonishment escaping her lips as words failed her.

“As for names, we’ve only just fallen from the sky,” the denim clad one crossed his arms and leaned his hip against the kitchen bench. “We’ve not been given names.”

“Nor a house, or food, or social security number,” the bleeding one grumbled as he held the pack of peas to his forehead. “So really, all this is your fault and you owe us.”

“Now that’s unkind,” the British one admonished.

“But it’s the truth.” There was a general clamour of agreement.

“Shut up, all of you!” Shay sank onto the sofa, her hands clasped to her head as it began to pound. “Are you saying I’m stuck with you?” They nodded. “All of you?” Once again, they nodded. “Four men? In my apartment! No way! I don’t have time for one man in my life, let alone four. You’re going to have to find your own way.”

An idea sprang to her mind, and she jumped up from the sofa, grabbed her keys and raced out the door, to the surprise of all four men. Once she arrived in the garage, she hooked her phone to the Bluetooth radio in her car and searched up Fleetwood Mac. The smooth vocals of Lindsey Buckingham and Stevie Nicks filled the car. Shay belted out the chorus, “…‘You can go your own way’…” at the top of her lungs. It wasn’t a very good rendition, her karaoke would never win competitions, but she sang with feeling and passion, figuring that if one song brought the men into her life, another could take them away.

TAP TAP

A concerned dark-skinned, bearded face peered through the window. Behind him there was a man in a tux, one clad in denim and one clutching an ice pack to his head. She sighed. They were still there.

Blushing, she rolled her window down and sheepishly mumbled, “Um… it was worth a try.”

“The Uber delivery is here. Would you like some pizza? Or shall we save you some?”

She wound the window up, admitting defeat. Sometimes, if you can’t beat them, you joined them. It was how she found herself squished between two hulking men on her small sofa, eating pizza from the box and watching Netflix.

“The only rule is, I control the remote!” she told them firmly as she flicked through the offerings, settling on a hot and steamy romantic series, much to the dismay of her uninvited guests who voted for fast-paced action.

“Hey British guy, can you fetch the wine, please?”