by JD Nixon
“Okay. I’ve allocated Farrell to the assignment with you.”
“Are you deliberately sending me on every job with Farrell?”
“He seems more capable than anyone else of keeping you out of trouble.” Here we go – this was more like the Clive I knew. “Plus he’s more mature than most of the men, and this is a job likely to result in sniggers and lots of bad jokes in the others.”
“It better not be any swingers’ parties. I’m not doing any of those again.”
“Relax, it’s not. It’s providing security at a conference, not a job that should be particularly dangerous or onerous.”
“What’s the conference about?” I asked suspiciously. I’d learned my lesson the hard way here about jobs that weren’t supposed to be ‘particularly dangerous’.
He looked uncomfortable again. “It’s the Second International Conference for Virgins.”
I goggled at him. “Sorry?” I was positive I’d misunderstood what he said. Virgins?
“You heard me. Virgins. You know, people who’ve maintained their virginity,” he said, irritated at being forced to explain. For someone who collected pornography for a hobby, he was sure squeamish talking about virgins.
“Okay,” I said, my mind whirling. “Why do they need a conference? What do they talk about?”
“How would I know? Go online and look at the conference program.” He moved to the door. “Oh, and it starts tomorrow. Be down in the section at eight.”
“What? How about a bit of warning next time?”
“Don’t be late,” he ordered, closing the door behind him.
I took his advice and looked up the conference online. The program advised that experienced facilitators would guide discussions on issues such as Resisting Temptation, Ten Proven Tips on Holding Off Before Marriage, and the ever-popular How You Can Convince Others to Cherish Their Virginity.
I couldn’t believe when I read the organisers were expecting about one thousand attendees, up on the first conference’s six hundred attendees. Wow! Who’d have thought there would be that many people interested in talking about their virginity? I might even learn something, though it was a bit late for me to cherish my virginity or to resist temptation. And when temptation came in such delicious packaging as Heller did, I wasn’t sure I’d ever want to resist it.
What was he doing now? Was he thinking of me? Did he ever think of me or did he forget all about me the minute he set foot outside of the Warehouse?
I abandoned my virgin research to take the necklace he’d given me from its case. I sat on my bed, pensively running my fingers over that symbol that said so much, but at the same time, too little. Eternal love. Did he think that’s what I felt for him? Was he telling me that’s what he felt for me? Why couldn’t he ever just say things outright?
I could handle hearing I was just a pleasant regular source of sexual release for him and nothing more. At least I’d know where I stood and he’d know why I kicked him out of my life after he told me that. But all his enigmatic references to love, declarations of ‘caring’ for me, and long absences from my life were doing my head in. I mean, I ‘cared’ deeply for chocolate, but it didn’t mean I wanted to pledge eternal love for it.
Instead of placing the necklace around my neck, I put it back in its case and shut it away in the drawer again. An impulse made me pick up the phone and ring Clive.
He sighed audibly when he noticed my number. “I told you. Be down here at eight sharp tomorrow morning.”
“Where’s Heller? How can I reach him?”
He didn’t even miss a beat. “You can’t reach him. He’s out of contact range.”
“You didn’t answer my question, Clive. Where is he?”
“How am I supposed to know? Nobody does.”
“Bullshit. I don’t believe you for one second. You know exactly where he is and what he’s doing. Why won’t you tell me? I need to speak to him.”
“I don’t know where he is,” he repeated in a slow, patronising voice.
“I don’t believe you. You’re his right-hand man. He tells you everything. Just let me know where he is,” I reiterated, my anger building up a nice head of steam.
“I don’t know why you’re so convinced I know where he is, because I – don’t –know. Is it possible for that to sink into your brain this time? I’m tired of this conversation.”
“Don’t be so condescending to me. If I find out you’ve been lying, I’m going to go nuclear on your arse, and that’s just for starters.”
“Ooh, I’m trembling in my jocks at the thought.”
“Shove it, Clive.” I slammed down the phone, a pointless gesture as I had to pick it up again to press the end-call button.
Determined to push thoughts of Heller and him from my mind, I returned to my computer. It had been a day since I’d checked my email and I had a few straggling sympathy emails to answer.
I also had five emails from Dixie, each sharing equally lovey-dove pictures of her and “Mr Perfect”. Perhaps she was too blinded with love to notice that Mr Perfect didn’t quite have his full attention on her.
I didn’t want to talk to her at the moment. I’d rung and emailed her to let her know about Dad’s funeral. I’d thought she’d want to pay her respects because she’d known him since high school, and he’d done his fair share of chauffeuring us around everywhere when we were younger. I hadn’t reached her by phone, so had left a voicemail that she’d never returned. I’d never had a response to my emails either.
Not interested in her love life right now, I deleted all the emails she’d sent me. Maybe Brian was right and a good, hard dose of reality was what she needed to break through her self-centred crust.
I had an email from Will as well, with attached photos of his baby and one of his now very pregnant wife, Penny. I took a quick squizz at the baby pics, unsuccessfully scouring my memory for her name, before deleting the email without answering. I really wasn’t in the mood to write positive emails to anybody about anything, not to mention I wasn’t interested in anything Will did anymore. I now felt my life was divided into BDD (before Dad died) and ADD (after Dad died), and Will was a distant part of my life BDD that I no longer cared about.
I fell asleep with tears on my cheeks and my pillowcase, not sure if they were for Dad or Heller or for both of them.
Chapter 24
Farrell waited patiently for me in the security section. The men muted a bit when I stepped in the room, so I guessed news about Dad had travelled around. What a surprise. I followed Farrell silently down to the basement where he managed to snare one of the newer fleet 4WDs, a smooth, high-performance, deluxe ride much coveted by the men. Competition was strong to not be the last team out on a job, because then you’d be stuck with the old bone-rattler, the granddaddy and most primitive and least desirable vehicle in the Heller’s fleet. After a day driving in that beast you had to book your physiotherapist for an extra long session of remedial massage. I’d thought to myself a million times that surely it was due for retirement, but I sometimes wondered if Heller spent good money keeping it operational as an incentive to the men to not be late leaving for a job.
“What did you think about this assignment when Clive told you about it?” I asked Farrell.
“I’ve done weirder jobs. This one should be tame.”
“That’s what you said about the jewellery job,” I noted drily.
“No job ends up being tame when you’re involved.”
I half-smiled. “Somehow I don’t think that’s a compliment coming from you.”
“I like tame. It keeps me alive.”
“I like tame too. It just never seems to work out that way.”
“Heard that you and Clive have had a few barneys lately.”
“We don’t see eye-to-eye on things.”
“He’s trying to look out for you.”
I shot him A Look. “Sure he is. More like he’s trying to control me.”
“That’s an impossible, thankless tas
k.”
“Ha, ha, ha. You’re hilarious, Hugh.”
We waited for a red light to change, watching the office workers crossing the road, hot cups of takeaway coffee in one hand, mobile phone clamped to their ear with the other.
“Look at them, the poor buggers,” Farrell opined. “Spending all day stuck behind a desk, dying of boredom and killing themselves with inactivity.”
“Not your kind of job?”
“Nope. I like to be moving, using my body and testing myself.” He eyed me speculatively. “And not your kind of job either, unless I’m reading you wrong.”
“You aren’t. The only time I worked in an office, I almost threw myself out of the window, I was so bored. Staring at the computer all day drove me insane. And the gossip! Unbelievable. People were telling me about who was sleeping with who about five minutes after I started. Yuck!” I pondered for a second. “Mind you, the gossip wasn’t as bad there as it is in the security section. You guys are shocking. Especially when it comes to gossip about me.”
“We’re a bunch of guys and we find you interesting.”
“Interesting in what way?”
“You have boobs and the boss is hot for you. What’s more interesting than that?”
“I refuse to even dignify that with a response.” That raised the hint of a smile from him, which in Farrell terms was almost a choking laughing fit.
When the light finally changed, he said, “I’m really sorry about your father, Tilly. My sympathies to you and your family.”
I looked down at my lap, willing away the tears that sprang into my eyes. Was this how it would be from now on whenever someone mentioned Dad to me? “Thank you, Farrell.”
“It’s all very raw for you now, but it does get better in time, believe me. I lost my father about three years ago from bowel cancer. It took him very quickly, so we didn’t have much time to prepare for it. He was a fine man and a great loss to my family and his community. I thought I’d never heal from that because it happened around the same time my wife left me. A terrible low point in my life. I started to believe I’d never be able to scrabble out of that darkness.”
His eyes were hard to read behind his sunglasses. “Farrell, I’m really sorry. That’s a tough double whammy for anyone to face.”
He gave a dismissive gesture with his shoulder. “That’s life. Kicks you harder in the nuts when you’re down and out.”
“Yep,” I said. “I haven’t had much in my life to smile about these last couple of months.”
“I’m sure things will be better for you when Heller returns.”
I stared out the window. “Whenever that is.”
“One thing that’s a hot topic for discussion in the security section –”
“For gossip, you mean.”
“– is whether or not you know where Heller is and if you’re in contact with him. I reckon you don’t and you’re not.”
“You’re spot on then, because I haven’t got a clue where he is. He doesn’t tell me anything. But I have strong suspicions about Clive. I think he knows.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Heller and Clive are a tight team. Clive’s with Heller for every dodgy thing he’s involved in. He’s like Heller’s right hand man. Or his henchman.”
“I wouldn’t say that in Clive’s hearing.”
“Do you really think I’m that stupid?”
“No, but you do have a temper on you, woman.”
“I might have a temper, but I don’t have a death wish.”
Our conversation, such that it was, ended as we turned into the familiar carpark of the convention centre. The last time I’d been here really hadn’t been too much fun.
“Ready to meet the virgins?” I asked.
“I only hope they’re gentle with me,” he replied, deadpan.
I snorted with laughter so loudly I drew the startled attention of an unloading minibus of what I assumed were conference attendees.
The organisers had booked one of the centre’s cavernous halls for the conference. When we opened the doors, a trio of officials, a man and two women, warmly welcomed us, smiling broadly. It didn’t take long to realise the trio were permanently upbeat.
Hmm, maybe I should have cherished my virginity for much longer if it made you so chirpy with life. The man and one of the women, Tom and Miriam, introduced themselves as a married couple, “blissfully wedded for twelve glorious years” according to Tom.
“You’re married?” I asked.
Miriam laughed. “That’s right. We’re not virgins, but we’re born agains.”
“Born agains?” I asked. “Religious people?”
“No, born again virgins,” Tom explained. “People like us decide to relinquish sexual activity in their lives. We’ve been abstinent for the last three years and we’re loving it.”
“But you’re still married?”
“Absolutely. We’re more in love than ever.”
Farrell and I exchanged a discreet sceptical glance. I’d never been married, or even had a relationship that lasted twelve years, but perhaps couples became disinterested in sex after all that time together. Sounded like a grim prospect. To me, it was like stripping away one of the fun parts from a marriage, leaving you with nothing behind but bills and housework.
Tom and Miriam instructed us in our duties. It was the usual routine for an assignment like this – checking tickets, keeping out unwanted people, and generally maintaining order. Tom clarified that while they didn’t expect any trouble with the attendees, hecklers had interrupted the last conference.
“Can you believe people just turned up to ‘make fun of the virgins’?” Miriam asked heatedly.
Tom nodded. “There are a lot of people who take this lifestyle choice seriously. It shouldn’t be the brunt of crude jokes from layabouts.”
The second woman, Harriet, nodded her agreement vigorously. She’d been born with a large head and long, thin neck and I watched in fascination, worried her neck would snap with the force of that movement.
“Anyone without a ticket will be turned away at the door,” said Farrell. “If they disagree with us, we’ll courteously escort them to the conference centre exit. If they continue to make a fuss, we’ll call the police. That’s our standard practice and we make every effort to be as unobtrusive as possible when dealing with difficult people.”
“Excellent, excellent,” said Tom. “I knew we’d made the right choice going with Heller’s, even though it’s smaller and more expensive than other security businesses.” Harriet nodded in agreement again.
“Heller only employs the best staff,” I threw in helpfully. Except for me, I added in my mind, but they didn’t need to know that. Farrell was worth two Heller’s men, so he was a good cover for me on any job.
Miriam decided to give me a tour of the centre’s facilities, even though I tried to tell her I’d worked here a number of times before and knew where the bathrooms and emergency exits were located. Harriet trailed in her forceful wake, nodding at everything she said, as if Miriam was some type of sage guru dispensing sacred truths instead of someone telling me about the leaking toilet in the third cubicle.
“Is the virgin movement a faith-based one?” I asked.
“Oh, no, not necessarily,” Miriam assured, Harriet shaking her head so hard her ponytail went flying all over the place. “Naturally we do have a lot of religious members, but they’re from many faiths, not just Christianity. And then, of course, we have members who believe in the virgin movement for other reasons. We welcome everybody to our movement.” Harriet made a vague gesture with her arms that I think was meant to signify their encompassing of all the virgins in the world.
“I noticed on your website that your attendance numbers at this second conference are decidedly higher than the first one.”
“Yes, isn’t that wonderful? We’re so thrilled. And of course, the benefit of that is we’ve been able to attract some very prominent champions of the virgin movement to spo
nsor our conference and even to speak to members. These are very, very exciting times for us.” Harriet bobbed her head enthusiastically in complete accord.
Miriam proudly brought me back to the foyer outside the entrance of their hall to show me the ‘refreshment station’. In reality, it was a couple of rickety collapsible tables, covered with paper tablecloths and crowded with urns of hot water, bowls of tea bags, sachets of weak coffee and sugar and three jugs of milk helpfully labelled full-cream, lite and skim. A carton of soymilk stood next to them. Foam cups and napkins were stacked in neat towers next to the spoons. Plastic cups surrounded a couple of pitchers of chilled water.
Attendees began to swarm into the foyer, hesitant to be the first to approach the refreshment station until someone else broke the ice. Miriam heartily told them to help themselves. Harriet nodded, mimicking Miriam in extending her hand out towards the tables in invitation. Miriam ushered Harriet to another couple of folding tables where nametags for all attendees were neatly set out in alphabetical order. I gave them a mental tick for being organised.
Farrell joined me at the doors to the hall, ready to check tickets. Attendees followed a predictable path, drifting from the refreshment table over to Miriam and Harriet to find their nametag, then over to us. When asked, most had to fumble around to pull their conference ticket from their handbag, pocket or wallet.
It wasn’t long before Farrell and I were besieged with people wanting to enter the hall. Energetic music pumped from loud speakers inside and I found myself moving in time with it. Then I caught the lyrics of a couple of the songs. Each seemed to be extolling the virtues and agonies of maintaining your virginity in an era where you couldn’t turn around without a celebrity virtually thrusting their crotch or shaking their butt in your face.
Closer to the end of the rush, I recognised a familiar face hauling his creaky body in my direction.
“Fancy seeing you here again. Remember me?”
“Oh, I remember you all right,” I said to the wizened man I’d dubbed ‘Ancient Elvis’ after his potentially hip-cracking performance during an Elvis talent competition. He’d got me into a lot of trouble.