Kick Back

by K J

  Sophia studied her young team mate who was staring intently at the teaspoon on the saucer.

  “Talk to me.” It took three decent-sized inhalations until Naomi looked up, clearly having gathered her thoughts.

  “Okay. Well, I have…this friend in another team who’s been given tickets to some major events in the city, like A-list events, and she’s getting awesome free gear like boots, clothing, all sorts of stuff.” Her dark eyes pleaded with Sophia to believe her story. “It’s like Christmas and to keep all this cool stuff happening all she has to do is try out this new—” her eyes darted about, “sports drink that’s supposed to make her fitter, recover more quickly, and reduce pain dramatically if she’s injured. The thing is that she’s not allowed to tell anyone about this new drink because it hasn’t been released yet and the company don’t want other companies finding out about it and stealing the formula.” Her fingers tapped on the table, then she grimaced. “God, this is stupid. It sounds like a cheesy spy film.”

  Sophia reached over and held Naomi’s forearm, stilling her hand in the process. “No. It doesn’t. Keep going.”

  Naomi pulled her hand away, and dropped both in her lap, presumably to continue working nervously on the hem of her jacket. “Well, my friend was told that next year, to recognise our—their—her,” she grit her teeth, “loyalty to the product and for giving her feedback on the drink’s taste, the whole league will be sponsored by this company, and the players will be paid, and it’ll be the competition that we’ve been dreaming of."

  Sophia’s eyebrows lifted. “Okay?”

  “Well, I’m starting to get a little concerned.”

  “About which part?” Sophia asked carefully. Because there are so many parts.

  “Well, the company representative said that she’s only going to sponsor the league if it’s made up of rookies and players who are not…” Naomi glanced up at Sophia.

  “What?”

  “Not on their last legs.”

  Sophia raised her eyebrows, sat back and slowly pointed to her chest. “Like me?”

  Naomi’s eyes were round, and she whipped her hands back to the table. “When I heard that, I was so upset, because you’re, like, Soph the super-player. I knew it couldn’t be about you, so I…had my friend check and yes, it was the players older than thirty. The rep said she wanted young people.”

  Wow.

  They contemplated that for a moment.

  “Let’s rewind a bit. Where does your friend get these drinks from?”

  “From parties.”

  And there it was. One jigsaw piece falling into place. Sophia breathed carefully.

  “Okay. And who goes to these parties? Do you know?”

  Naomi’s shoulders were attached to her ears, with stress the glue. “Just the rookies.” She exhaled shakily. “Just the rookies of my friend’s team.”

  Sophia spoke softly. “Anyone else, hon?”

  Naomi tipped her head to ease the tension. “The executive. The reps from the company. And…and my friend’s team manager.”

  The roaring in Sophia’s brain was so loud that it should have driven customers away. It was like the tumblers in a lock had all started to click into place. She pinned Naomi with a level stare. “This thing that your friend is going through? Is that the reason you don’t want to play anymore?”

  Naomi nodded sadly.

  “Why didn’t your friend say something before now?” Sophia knew, even as she said them, how inappropriate the words were. Naomi made sure of it.

  “Jesus, Soph. Way to blame the victims. Maybe they couldn’t say anything. Maybe they’re too scared. Maybe they didn’t want to because they’re getting freaking expensive free shit for trying out a…sports drink. Maybe they’re just so hopeful that the promises will come true next year. Who knows.” Naomi’s dark eyes flashed. “It’s never the victim’s fault, and you know that.” Sophia dropped her gaze.

  “I know. That’s…I’m sorry. That was shit.” She lifted her head. “I’m just really concerned for your friend. That she’s involved in something that sounds dodgy. I don’t know if it’s dangerous, because it’s just a sports drink and all she has to do is taste it, but it sounds…wrong.” She reached over and held Naomi’s arm again. “I just want your friend to be safe.”

  Naomi nodded slowly. “You won’t say anything to anyone about this?” She looked up through her lashes and fringe.

  Sophia regarded her for a moment. “I won’t, no. I couldn’t really, could I? I don’t know anything exactly and it’s happening in another team.” She picked up her coffee, sipping the lukewarm liquid. “I’m glad you talked to me, though. Because I’m always here, you know that.”

  Naomi breathed deeply, and Sophia recognised the breath as one of someone who’d realised the shared responsibility of a problem. Here is a problem. I share it with you. Now we both have the problem. And it’s less to deal with. She’d had many chats with young women where they’d tentatively and gratefully rested their problems on Sophia’s shoulders for a while. And that was okay. Sophia felt that it was a privilege.

  What was not a privilege was bribing rookies to taste-test vitamins.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cam’s spine gave the most satisfying clunk as she pulled away from her laptop and stretched, squashing her ears against her head with her arms. She dropped her fingers back onto the keyboard, tapping lightly in the manner that irritated J’aann if she was out in the lounge room. Which she wasn’t, because she’d been banished to her bedroom for the afternoon to work on her story while Francine and J’aann set up the flat for her birthday party that night. Cam grinned at the thought, wriggled with anticipation, then adjusted her body on the bed as she sat over her crossed legs, and stared at the text on the screen. The story was coming together, but frustratingly it didn’t want to stay glued. So much of it seemed illogical. If she didn’t know any better, she’d swear that the combination of all the events resembled a conspiracy to destroy the entire women’s league. Again, illogical. And Naomi’s revelation, which a stumbling Sophia had attempted to share with Cam, trying hard not to mention names and therefore protect Naomi, until Cam had glared at her and demanded that she “just spit it out, for God’s sake”, had been breathtaking in its audacity. Testing vitamins on players for taste and efficacy? That had to be—

  “Illegal?” she questioned the empty room. “I guess?”

  Sophia’s description of ‘dodgy’ was spot on, but Cam wasn’t sure about the legalities of it all since the players were adults and it was just vitamins. Maybe it was simply dodgy. She shrugged, traced the frame of her laptop screen with her finger, and stared at the bedroom door. She’d written stories for each of the five rookies months ago and had moved onto the more senior players, but perhaps it was time to use her questioning skills to have a follow-up chat with one of them.

  With a decisive hum, Cam bent her head to the keyboard when heated voices from the lounge snapped it back up. She cocked her head, but couldn’t make out the content of the argument, so she folded her laptop, and wandered out to the lounge. She found J’aann and Francine toe to toe, hands on hips, and frustration scrunched into their faces.

  “Uh. What?” Cam sidled up tentatively, and peered at her flatmates. J’aann spun around, her cropped hair clearly spiked by aggravated fingers, and tossed her hand dramatically.

  “Apparently, it needs to be in a perfect line on the wall.” She pointed to the jumble of glittery cardboard letters on the coffee table. Cam could make out the ‘H’ and the ‘A’ on top of the heap. She wrinkled her brow.

  “Guys, it doesn’t matter. Really. It’s lovely that you’re putting up a banner at all.”

  The other participant in the discussion sighed loudly. “But it needs to be just right, Cam.” Francine, her lush body encased in what looked like an artist’s version of a scrub shirt from a hospital, and black leggings that reached to her ankles, tossed her brown ponytail. “From an aesthetic point of view, the juxtaposition of t
he horizontal with the cornice where the vertical of the wall meets the flow of the ceiling needs to calm the eye.”

  Cam and J’aann, accustomed to regular statements like this from Francine, didn’t bat an eyelid. Cam pressed her palms together and brought both index fingers to her lips.

  “Okay. How about we run a string line and see if we can make it straight?”

  J’aann and Francine grinned cheekily, and Cam glared in mock frustration. “Okay. Come on. We’re not twelve. Do we have string?” Francine disappeared into the kitchen to check the bottom drawer under the bench, which was where all the unclaimed, unidentified, unclassified items seemed to go. Her head popped up.

  “Nope.”

  J’aann twisted up her lip. “What sort of house doesn’t have string?”

  “Ours, apparently,” said Francine, joining them again. There was a moment, then J’aann waved her hands about, stirring the air.

  “Christmas lights!”

  “What? No. That’s mental. We’re not using Christmas lights.”

  Cam eased back a step, thoroughly entertained as her two friends resumed their argument.

  “Well, what about wool? You’re an arts student.”

  “Yes. In ceramics.”

  “Oh! I’ve got it.” J’aann gave a little hop, then galloped off to her bedroom, returning immediately with a roll of lurid purple tape. She thrust it at Francine’s chest, and she promptly recoiled.

  “That’s…”

  “I know. So expensive. Well, this stuff is. But I’m willing to sacrifice.” Cam snuck a look, and rolled her lips together to stop herself from bursting out laughing.

  “J’aann, you’re not using bloody bondage tape to run a horizontal line!” Francine pulled her head back into her neck in irritation, and J’aann’s hand dropped.

  “Well, I don’t know, for fuck’s—” She punched the bondage tape into the air, like an explorer unearthing a lost treasure. “I’ve got it.” Francine deposited her hands on her wide hips and shook her head at J’aann’s retreating form, then watched her return from her bedroom clutching an armful of straps.

  “Look, they’re only new. I got them yesterday, but they shouldn’t move about as much as the tape would on the wall.” She beamed, and Cam finally lost it, planting one hand on the wall to hold herself up while she dissolved into hysterical laughter.

  “Oh God. That’s so awesome,” she wheezed, wiping tears from her eyes. The giggles kept bubbling back into her chest. “You two are hilarious.” With another shaky breath, she grinned at both of them. “Okay. J’aann sweetie, I’m not sure bondage straps are the thing to use. Francine hon, I get the need to have the letters uniform. So, despite wanting to have this conversation continue forever, I will go down to the shops and buy some string. Pins as well.” With the giggles still threatening, she disappeared out the front door.

  ***

  Sophia guided Flo up onto the footpath and parked as close as possible to Cam’s block of flats. Making Flo as small a target for theft was always the objective whenever she took the moped somewhere new. Cam had delivered the verbal invitation to her party as more of an instruction, rather than a request, so here she was on a Saturday night, a week before the first game of the finals, attending a twenty-ninth birthday. Sophia paused outside the door of the little foyer with its mailboxes and worn staircase, and studied her reflection in the glass. She’d faffed about with her clothing choices after she’d got home from the game that afternoon, eventually deciding on black boots, dark denim jeans, black button-up shirt and her leather jacket. Serviceable. Smart.

  What had caused her the most anxiety was choosing Cam’s birthday present. She’d stood in the entrance of the department store in the city and blinked vacantly, hoping for a divine shopping angel, resplendent in glitter and a tutu, to descend from the ceiling, and gently bestow on her the perfect gift. Two hours of agonising browsing later, having dismissed everything as unsuitable, she’d eventually wandered out of the store, down one of the quirky laneways of Melbourne and stumbled upon a tiny stationery shop tucked between an Italian bistro and a dry cleaners. And inside she’d found Cam’s gift. The Caran d’Ache Ecridor pen was currently wrapped and tucked into the inside pocket of her jacket.

  Retelling her shopping adventures to Ben and Lin last night had brought on a further wave of the jitters. They’d stood around the small kitchen bench, where Lin, one week shy of five months pregnant and finally showing, was drying cutlery and tossing it aggressively into the drawer. Ben had raised an eyebrow, and Sophia fidgeted with the laminate on the edge of the bench.

  “I’m not sure about Cam’s birthday party tomorrow. All her friends will be there. It just seems like a big step. I mean, taking that step is great and—”

  “Christ on a mother-fucking clydesdale! Let the pregnant woman take the stand.” Lin slammed the handful of spoons onto the bench, and waved the tea towel about like an excited supporter at the grand final. “You are going to Cam’s party and you will take her the present because that woman is the best thing to happen to you since football and I like the way you two look at each other.” She glared ferociously up at Sophia, then at Ben who leaned back, looking thoroughly confused as to why he was being included in the tirade. Lin banged the drawer closed. “And another thing. Get me one of those mother-fucking vitamin pills you keep talking about and I’ll test it in the lab and don’t be telling me that I’ll get into trouble because I won’t.” Flick went the tea towel. “I’m the fucking tiny pregnant Chinese woman and they’re too damn scared to fire me.” Ben and Sophia’s eyes were round as plates. Then, in a frightening one-hundred and eighty degree mood swing, Lin beamed up at both of them. “Could one of you pop down to the shops and grab pretzels and apple sauce, please?”

  Ben and Sophia had raced each other to the door.

  Sophia knocked on the door of Cam’s flat, and it was flung open by a large woman, who looked to be in her mid-twenties, brown hair flowing about her beautiful face, and dressed in what seemed to be a black scoop-neck leotard which shimmied down her body to her calves, and was overlaid with an orange macrame dress.

  “Hi!” she exclaimed exuberantly. “You have got to be Sophia. I’m Francine, one of Cam’s flatmates.” She flipped her hand, which was obviously Sophia’s cue to enter.

  “Hey Francine. Nice to meet you.” She followed Francine into the lounge, where approximately twenty people were clumped about in small groups. “I’m not late, am I?”

  Francine grinned. “Oh, absolutely not. You’re right on time. I bet you find time a great comfort. That must be so awesome.” She leaned into Sophia’s space. “I find time to be a fluid concept, greatly defined by our understanding of societal constructs, which is why the elemental forces in art defy delineation.” Sophia slowly lifted her chin, then her nod synchronised with Francine’s.

  “Yes…totally.”

  Francine beamed and wandered off. A soft murmur drifted into Sophia’s ear.

  “Is that the best philosophical argument you’ve got?” Sophia turned to find Cam biting her bottom lip, holding back the smile that threatened. Sophia blinked, and Cam released her lips into a grin. “Hi, by the way,” she said quietly, catching hold of Sophia’s hand.

  Sophia had opened her mouth to respond, but her attention was captured by what Cam was wearing. Her gaze travelled down to the pair of fire-engine red Converse Chucks, up the length of the sinful white jeans which seemed to have been painted onto Cam’s legs, and settled on the shimmery ombre grey-blue top that slipped off Cam’s left shoulder and hung asymmetrically across her hips. Her hair was misbehaving like normal, but something shiny had been brushed through the curls, making them dance in the light.

  “Um,” Sophia finally blurted, then blinked, catching Cam’s brown eyes sparkling with mischief. “Ah. Hi. You look amazing. And,” she let go of Cam’s hand, fished inside her jacket for the present, and delivered the rectangular box into Cam’s hands like she was replacing the wire on a live bomb. “Happy
birthday.” Cam tipped her head, holding Sophia’s gaze.

  Sophia continued. “I hope it’s okay. I mean, I wasn’t sure…” her words faded as Cam curled her hand around the back of Sophia’s neck, then kissed her, holding Sophia still as she reduced Sophia’s mind to a canvas with no other colour except that of arousal. Cam pulled away, sliding her thumb along Sophia’s cheekbone.

  “Thank you for the present. Can I open it later?”

  “Uh huh.” The whirl of music and conversation restarted in Sophia’s ears, and she ran her tongue softly over her lips to relive the kiss.

  Cam held up a finger to indicate her absence for a moment, dashed into what Sophia assumed was her bedroom to hide the gift away, then reappeared and reclaimed ownership of Sophia’s hand.

  “Okay. A thumbnail sketch of everyone, because I know you’re anxious and knowing a little about people before you meet them will help.” Sophia cut her gaze from the room to Cam’s eyes, and smiled gently. Cam squeezed her hand. “So, I’m Cam.” Sophia glared, and Cam laughed. “And you’ve met Francine, who is delightful. My other flatmate is J’aann, who’s currently in the kitchen sorting out food because there’s not enough yellow.” Sophia raised an eyebrow, and Cam smiled. “Just run with it.” A tall woman in tight jeans and a tight top danced into Sophia’s line of sight. Her short black hair was as disobedient as Cam’s, and she hugged Sophia without preamble, then released her, smiling into her face.

  “You’re Sophia. Of course you are. Cam’s gorgeous super intense Swede with hidden depths of fun. I’m J’aann.”

  A smile of disbelief crept onto Sophia’s face, then she laughed. “Hi J’aann. How’s the issue with the yellow?”

  J’aann gaped. “Oh my God, you totally get it. I managed to fix everything, thank goodness, because I found lemon slices for the Coronas.” Cam giggled. “Oh, speaking of...” J’aann peered at Sophia. “What alcoholic beverage can I get you?”