by T L Swan
Cameron hands it over without looking up from the paper and Joshua goes and lies on the lounge and starts to log into Cameron’s Facebook page.
“So what happened last night? Get any action?” Cameron asks as he turns the page.
I shake my head. “No, not into him. Bit of a toss actually, he told the waitress off. Rude bastard.”
“Who is this prick?” Joshua snaps.
My eyes meet Cameron’s as he rolls them. “What prick?” I reply monotone.
“The same guy was in a photo with them two weeks ago.”
“Are you kidding?” I snap. “You just banged Charlie’s Angels in the hot pussy trifecta and you are worried about some loser sitting next to Natasha in a photo on Bridget’s Facebook page.” I shake my head at him as I drink my coffee.
“Here, look at this photo. He has his hand on her leg. See, under the table.” He points to the screen.
I walk over to him and take the phone from his hand and study the photo.
“Who cares? It’s been six months,” Cameron snaps. “Natasha’s a bitch … he can have her.”
Joshua’s eyes shoot up. “Watch your fucking mouth,” he snaps.
I smirk at Cameron and throw a cushion at him which hits him hard in the head as I walk back toward the island bench. “Blasphemy, Cameron. Never try to dethrone the queen.”
“Go home, both of you,” Joshua says flatly.
“Bullshit,” Cameron snaps. “You’re a soft cock. You have the hottest chicks on the planet lining up for you and you’re stalking your ex-girlfriend from my Facebook page.”
Joshua smirks as he keeps scrolling through the screen.
“So anyway,” Cameron continues, “you know that hot nurse I’ve been banging from the hospital.”
Joshua’s eyes stay planted on the screen. “Which one?”
“The blonde one.”
“Elaborate. I think you’re banging about ten blondes at the moment,” I mutter flatly as I drink my coffee.
“Anyway, word on the street is she’s married and she just left her husband for me.” He scratches his head in frustration.
Joshua laughs, his eyes not leaving the screen. “Ha, sucked in.”
“How do you not know she’s married?” I ask in horror.
“Murph, I hardly know her name. How would I know she’s married?”
“You’re a cock. I hope someone screws your wife when you get married,” I stammer.
“No one will be screwing my wife because I will be marrying a virgin … like Nat.” He realises what he is saying and stops immediately. Joshua’s eyes lift from the screen and he glares at Cameron.
“Sorry mate … I didn’t mean,” Cameron whispers uncomfortably.
“I know what you fucking meant,” Joshua snaps. He stands and throws the phone onto the lounge and walks upstairs. We hear the shower turn on.
I put my fingers in the shape of a gun and pretend to shoot Cameron as he slumps back into his chair.
“You know you really are stupid,” I mutter.
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
Natasha
The morning sun warms me through the windscreen as I sit in my car. I watch Max slowly walk across the pedestrian crossing with the two little girls, one in each hand. We are dropping them off at school for his girlfriend Hallie who had an early shift this morning. I watch attentively as the girls point and talk in over-animation as they show him things around the playground. One of them bounces on the spot, full of excited energy. He looks and smiles as he comments, then he laughs out loud. I smile broadly. Max is happy when he’s with his girls, carefree even. I myself have a huge soft spot for the two of them, their beautiful little personalities ooze honesty. Their father died when they were just one and three. Cancer. I cannot imagine the horror of not having my dad alive and around as I grew up, and yet they can’t even remember what he looks like, or the sound of his voice. Tragic.
Speaking of tragedy. It has been nine long months since I lost my beautiful dad. I miss him. Christmas was the hardest. I don’t know whether the dread of the impending day was worse than Christmas Day itself. Brock was still in Afghanistan so it was just Mum, Bridge, Grandma and me. The Stantons graciously invited us to their house in Melbourne but Mum declined, because Josh and Cam were not going to be there and it was too far to travel with Gran—not to mention the small matter of us all not being able to stand Margaret. I have kept her sordid secret … regrettably.
Joshua and Cameron had Christmas in LA with Adrian. I know if Joshua had been in Australia Mum would have been in match-making heaven—she hasn’t given up, nor have the girls. I’m not so sure though, maybe I have. On Christmas night after an afternoon of silently crying in my bed, I did the unthinkable. I rang him. He didn’t pick up. And yet he knew how desperately sad I would have been about my dad—he still didn’t pick up. I’ve blown it. I have no doubt he has moved on, with who though I’m unsure. The girls speak to Cameron and Adrian on Facebook every couple of days and they told me Joshua hasn’t seen Amelie since the Armageddon day at the hospital. I find that hard to believe. Cameron asks about me every time he speaks to Bridget. I know this because unbeknown to him, half the time he is speaking to me.
On New Year’s Eve with a few margaritas under my belt I texted Cam, Josh and Adrian.
Happy New Year
Thinking of you
X
I remember smiling and tearing up when Cameron’s message bounced straight back. He must have been really drunk.
Happy New Year, baby.
I love you.
X
I waited again and when my phone beeped a message I excitedly grabbed it … Adrian, who must also be inebriated, as his text didn’t even make sense.
Happy New Year Cinderella.
We miss you.
Read the message!
Read the fucking message. I wanted a message from Joshua… not you, not Cameron. I wanted him, only him, to miss me. After realising that Joshua was probably on a secluded island like he has been for the last five years with bitchvet, I had no choice. I did what any self-respecting girl with a broken heart would do in this situation. You know the situation … staying home to watch the fireworks on television with my mother and grandmother on New Year’s Eve. I threw my back into those margaritas, put on Beyonce and danced for two hours while Gran and Mum sat on the lounge and watched me, and of course pretended I was a good dancer. I think the term was Bootylicious to be exact. Jeez if that’s not love, I don’t know what is. What a way to bring in the New Year. I frown as the memory crosses my mind. I’m such a loser.
Max pulls me out of my daydream as he jumps back into the car.
“Ready for your first day?” He widens his eyes at me as he smiles.
“Not really.” I frown. I’m starting a new job today and I’m nervous as hell. I’m going to be working in the public hospital system as a psychologist. A regular straight psychologist and it’s only for thirty hours a week. After Joshua’s divorce settlement, thankfully money is no longer a problem for me. I haven’t touched the money but the interest isn’t bad. The girls and my psychologist have been on my case about the fact that my job as a sex therapist was perhaps affecting my personal life and in the end I had to agree with them. I still suffer from the nightmares but I’m so nervous about starting this job that I haven’t had one in five days, a record. Maybe the change is working already.
“Are you still going out tonight?” Max asks.
“Yeah, is Steven coming?” I murmur, as I check my makeup in the sun-visor mirror for the tenth time since we left home.
“Yes, he starts at nine. What time will you be leaving?”
I shrug. “Not sure, we will wait till he starts if you want.”
“Ok. Good.”
Max has become over-protective and I have to say it’s rather comforting. The whole Coby Allender episode and the knowledge that the authorities still don’t know if he has an accomplice on the outside totally freaks me
out. Twelve young women raped and murdered in cold blood … disturbing. In the end I had to tell Max about the whole embarrassing vibrator theft and threatened him with death if he told Joshua, Ben or Adrian. He has thankfully stayed silent but has hired two more bodyguards.
Steven is young and good-looking. He comes out with us at night … and Abbie is conspiring to sleep with him. Surprise, surprise. Mark is older and he works Saturdays and Sundays through the day and Max hangs with me through the week. It works out well because Max gets to spend time with his girlfriend and her girls and Joshua is still footing the bill. Not sure about why … but who cares … It’s not like he can’t afford it.
He pulls into the hospital car park. “Good luck boss lady.” He smirks
I screw up my face. “Thanks. I’m freaking out. What if I break into sex talk? I’m so desensitised to sexual therapy I fear I don’t know what’s normal psychologist talk anymore.”
He laughs. “Just try to not say the words vibrator, semen or prostitute.” He bites his lip to stifle his smile.
I nod and smile broadly. “I kind of like those words. What about Viagra … can I say Viagra?” I tease.
“Yeah, if you get me a script.” He giggles.
“Eeww, gross.” I frown. “Too much information.”
“See, it’s working already. You never say Eeww gross.”
I laugh and hunch my shoulders. “Hey … you’re right. See you tonight. Wish me luck.”
1 am Cargo Bar
We sit at the huge wooden benches on our cane high-back stools. The cream Chinese lanterns glow a warm light throughout the space and the sound of loud laughter and voices echo throughout the room. David Guetta plays in the background. We are celebrating the completion of my first week in my new job. It seems we have found a new hangout for Friday nights. Bridget was asked here a couple of weeks ago to meet this guy she fancied and we sort of became instantly hooked. This place definitely deserves the title, Drycleaners. Never have you seen so many beautiful men in suits under one roof—Friday night work drinks of course. It’s like shooting fish in a barrel, they don’t stand a chance. I have to say, I myself stand a very good chance of being picked for the Australian Olympic team … in Prick Teasing. I seem to have mastered the art of, as Abbie says, not giving a shit. I give them fake names, fake jobs and fake phone numbers, not to mention my fake intentions. Just last week my name was Gertrude and I was a taxidermist. Tonight my name is Cheetah and I am a contortionist. I have never laughed so much in my life. Bridget broke up with Jeremy and for the first time in history the three of us are actually on the same page when it comes to men. Who cares … whatever. While Didge and I spend our nights lying and club kissing, Abbie spends hers running away from army guy, aka Tristan. It seems he thinks he is love with her and she is running for her life, scared. We can only go to the Ivy now when we have had enough fun and Abbie turns into a pumpkin and is ready to go home with Tristan, otherwise she has to behave and act all girlfriendy. Hilarious. It’s so fun teasing her for a change. We are talking to four guys we met here a couple of weeks ago. They are all gorgeous and slightly younger than us, stockbrokers … or so they say.
“So, Felicity,” one of the guys says. My eyes look around as I wave to another man we met earlier tonight.
“Felicity,” he repeats. I keep looking around.
“Fuck off. Your name is not Felicity, is it?” He pokes me.
“Oh, you’re talking to me?” I giggle.
Bridget laughs. “Ah der Felicity, who else would he be talking to?” She rolls her eyes around in her head like a freak.
I giggle into my drink. “And what’s your name again?” he asks Bridget.
“What do you want it to be?” She laughs.
“Threesome.” He laughs as his friend chokes on his drink in shock.
We all giggle, we really are very pissy.
“What’s your name?” the tall guy asks Abbie.
“Lemon, Lime and Soda.” She coos. God … such floozies, men are so stupid.
“I’ll get you one.” He runs to the bar and she winks at us.
“Right, free drinks for the girl who can get these guys to kiss.” Abbie smirks into her glass.
I burst out laughing. “Margaritas, can I get margaritas?”
“Of course,” Bridget snaps. “I want Martinis.”
The tall nob returns with her drink. “Thank you,” Abbie whispers as she shrugs shyly. Oh boy … get off it! This guy is as dumb as dog shit if he falls for that crap. Abbie doesn’t have a shy bone in her body.
“So,” Bridget smiles at the four men, “we thought we might go to another bar.”
“Can we come with you?” the cute curly-haired brunette with brown eyes asks innocently as he leans forward on the table.
“Yes, I suppose, but you have to do an initiation test if you want to party with us.”
Abbie and I hide our laughter behind our glasses.
“Yeah, ok.” The tall guy smiles. “What is this initiation?” The boys all laugh and start flexing their biceps like freaks as we giggle.
“I want you.” She points at the guy who just brought Abbie a drink. “And you.” She points to the tall guy with dark hair. “To kiss.”
Their eyes widen in shock.
We all hide our giggles and Abbie’s eyes light up with mischief. “Tongue kiss,” she whispers as she widens her eyes.
“No way.” They start to shake their heads nervously as their friends start to nod.
“It’s just, we are team players … if you know what I mean.” She licks her lips for effect. Bridget and I are nearly wetting ourselves as we try to act serious.
“And we want to know that the boys we party with like to … team play too.”
Their eyes widen as they realise that she is perhaps talking about a gang bang. They exchange looks and the two men that don’t have to kiss start to tell their friends.
“Just do it. We want to party. Fucking do it.”
The whole group of seven of us are in fits of laughter as they try to decide if they are going to do it.
“Seriously, fucking kiss now. Actually give him a head job if that’s what it takes,” blond guy snaps to his two friends. The poor two men under pressure don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
“What do we do if they actually go through with this challenge?” Bridget whispers.
Abbie takes a scull of her drink. “Run.”
I spit my drink out as I laugh out loud. Where do we come up with this shit?
The two un-kissing men start to chant to their friends to kiss and we are all in fits of laughter when I feel an arm come around me from behind. I turn as I feel lips on my temple.
“Hey Doc,” Jesten smiles.
I turn and smile broadly at him. “Hi Jes.”
“Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss,” the group chant from behind us.
Jesten frowns. “What’s going on?”
The curly-haired guy sits forward. “These girls are going to stack us on … if we kiss.”
Jesten burst out laughing and shakes his head at us.
“You girls are bitches.” Jesten laughs as he shakes his head.
“I knew it,” the guys yell collectively as they point at us.
Bridget, Abbie and I clink glasses as we laugh. “You guys were totally going to kiss,” Abbie laughs as she points at them.
“Were not,” they start to scream. “Were not.”
Jesten tucks my hair behind my ear. “I’m going to another bar. Do you want me to swing back and pick you up on the way home?”
I shake my head and frown. “No, what for?”
He smiles mischievously. “Hot sex Doc, what else?”
Abbie chokes on her drink. “Yes, she’s coming. You’re going!” She points at me.
I shake my head, smiling. “No Jes, for the ten-thousandth time, I’m saying no.”
“You know all this resistance is just making you hotter.” He bends and kisses me quickly on the lips. “See you later.”
“He’s so hot,” Bridget snaps.
“If you don’t tap that you’re an idiot,” Abbie slurs.
“Change the subject. Jesten is off limits,”I snap.
“Good, I might go home with him then,” Abbie smiles.
“Don’t you dare?” I narrow my eyes. “He’s on the bench.”
“Ha, I knew you liked him.” She laughs.
I roll my eyes. “Shut the hell up and buy me a drink, bitch.”
The day after is always hell—why do I do it to myself? I have to wash clothes and grocery shop …hungover. Again. It would be such a great society if we just popped a pill to eat and threw our clothes out after we wore them once, or better yet went naked. No grocery shopping, no cooking, no washing, no folding or ironing … the very bane of my existence. I hate housework with a passion. I wish I was one of those Martha Stewart types who gets off on it. I just don’t like it. I like my house clean but, boy, it shits me doing it every damn spare minute I have. Imagine having messy kids living with me. I shiver at the thought. I’m in my local grocery store, trudging up the aisles with my trolley and my guard is at the front drinking his coffee. The aroma of the deli is rolling my nauseated stomach. Who in the hell eats that vomit- smelling cheese? I rub my face and try to stop myself from dry-retching—this is totally shit. I’m not drinking again. I start to perspire as I fight the wave of nausea. Kill me now. I pull out my phone and text Abbie.