by Zoe Foster
‘Han, Han, I’m sorry. I’m being unfair; I shouldn’t dump it all on you like this. I’m sorry, Han. Please don’t go, we’ll chat, sort it out, please don’t leave like this…’
His eyes screamed what his words couldn’t. He looked scared, desperate, like a lost little boy. It gave me strength.
My hand paused on the door handle. I turned to face him, front on. ‘Try, just for a minute, to think of this from my perspective. You cheat on me’ – he began to defend himself but I increased my volume to quieten him – ‘YOU DUMP ME, you date thousands of other girls, you don’t contact me for months, and then within the space of a week you move from saying you’ve been thinking of me to asking for another chance at a relationship that, to be honest, I’ve cleaned my hands of.’
He recoiled.
‘You have no idea what it’s been like for me. So don’t waltz in here, with your fancy flowers and your empty promises, and think you can just change everything that’s happened. Because that shit doesn’t fly with me. Not now, not ever.’
I pulled on the door handle for my Daytime Emmy award-winning exit and nothing happened. I tugged at it again; still nothing. Again and again, and then, ‘Would you open the fucking door?’ I screamed, facing away from Jesse.
A click from him, and suddenly the door gave, and I was out, lunging into darkness and wondering who had taken over my body, and what she had just done.
I dumped my bag on the breakfast bar, kicked off my shoes, and then, after delicately lifting off my dress and placing it on the bed, grabbed my feral pyjama tee and yanked it on aggressively. I pulled out my bedside drawer and got my cigarettes and lighter. I stomped back to the kitchen, poured a glass of red wine I was pretty sure was off, and sat on the floor under my lounge-room window. I heard my phone beep but ignored it.
With my cigarettes, my lighter and my sobbing, I sat alone on the floor. I wondered if I’d meant what I’d said in the car.
Would Jesse accept that as the final word and drop the whole issue? I hoped so – it would make life a whole lot easier. But did I really want that? I wasn’t sure. Because, on some foul karmic strata within, I knew that maybe that shit did fly with me. Why else would I still be crying two hours later?
Men don’t buy flowers then give up
You’ve got home hair colour so bright it’s hurting your eyes? Shampoo a few times using a medicated type of shampoo, such as an anti-dandruff solution, as these can help lighten the hair a shade or two. And maybe enlist the help of a friend/paid professional next time.
I told Iz all about the date the next morning, after a night of restless, shitty sleep.
‘So, what happens next, Han? Do you think he’ll keep trying?’
‘Uh, I don’t know. If I were him, I probably wouldn’t. I said some pretty nasty things.’
She paused. ‘And he gave you two bunches of flowers, you say?’
‘Yep. I reckon three-hundred dollars a pop, too. Pity I left the second bunch in his car.’
‘He’s not gonna give up. Men don’t buy flowers then give up.’
‘Oh, you think so?’
‘Totally. Mark my words: he’ll call by Tuesday.’
‘We’ll see. I’ll deal with him then. Right now, he knows where I stand. I feel like I’m in the power position, and I’m cool, y’know? Like, I can deal with it as it is. I went on the date – like everyone said I should – and now I know how I feel about him.’
‘Which is?’
‘Not going back there.’
‘Definitely?’
‘I’ve come so far, why would I?’
‘’Kay, well, let’s just see what he does. Now, are you coming over so I can offload my shittiest clothes on to you?’
‘Absolutely. Be there in half-a. Ciaooooo.’
Two hours later, and the novelty of watching Iz pack had worn off. I was feeling tired and lazy, and was finding it very hard to pretend Iz wasn’t leaving when she was packing right in front of me.
‘She’s not quite au fait with the idea of packing light, you see.’
‘Mm-hmm, I can see that.’
Dec and I were sprawled across the living-room floor, half-watching Iz do a terrible job of packing her cooking gear into a series of large suitcases. I was wearing a very low-cut, tight-fitting T-shirt and had to keep pulling it up so Dec wouldn’t catch an eyeful of boob. At the same time, I secretly hoped he would, not that he was the type to be turned on by something so tacky and explicit. There was no weirdness between us at all; we were back to having fun like the old days, although I couldn’t help but dissect everything he said, combing each sentence for possible double-entendres or sneaky references to stolen bathroom kisses. There were none, as far as my beady little mind could ascertain. Which, admittedly, disappointed me a little, even though I knew it was better this way, and he clearly did too, otherwise he would’ve been a lot flirtier.
Iz was currently struggling with her expensive French pots and pans, which, not being designed to travel across the world in trunks, were proving to be quite the nightmare.
‘Fit, fuck it!’ She threw her strainer across the kitchen floor in frustration.
‘Iz, don’t forget your strainer! I think you’ll really need your strainer. Every dish requires something to be strained, wouldn’t you agree, Hannah?’
‘Oh, definitely. Strained is the new black.’
‘Right-o, you two. You know, if you were any kind of brother – nay, man, Declan – you would be helping me instead of lounging around like a big fat walrus.’
‘Hey, I resent that. I’ve been working out.’ Dec flexed his arm muscles and kissed them by way of proof.
‘Gosh, Dec, you don’t get those from peeling potatoes,’ I said, in faux admiration.
Iz rolled her eyes. ‘I’m so far over this. Is it wine time yet?’ She put one arm on her hip and the other on the bench.
‘Not quite, but it is…STRAINER APPRECIATION TIME!’
Dec ducked the missile Iz threw at his head by hiding behind me, tugging my T-shirt down as he did so, creating the perfect target for Iz’s projectile. It hit my collarbone.
‘Ouch! Iz, you little gnat!’ Whatever she had thrown hurt, and produced blood. Dec moved around to see and Iz put her hand to her mouth and ran over.
‘Oh, that was meant for Dec. Oh honey…let me get you a Band-Aid.’ She kicked Dec on her way upstairs to the bathroom. ‘Walrus boy! Look what you did!’
Dec was trying so hard not to laugh as he apologised that I started laughing, clutching my neck as I did.
‘Guess it’s a good thing she’s looking after this bloody incident; I’m clearly not to be trusted in those sorts of situations…’
I flushed bright red. Was this the part where he said it never should’ve happened and it was just a silly mistake?
He looked at me with a cheeky grin and then burst into laughter. ‘Han, I’m so sorry…’ (giggle) ‘…what kind of walrus am I that I let a woman get hit by something…’ (giggle) ‘…instead of taking the blow? I’m…’ (repressed laughter) ‘…so sorry. Honestly. Awful. Bad man.’ He cleared his throat and clamped his lips together so as not to allow any more laughter to escape.
I was grateful for a potentially awkward moment being diffused, but a little disappointed nothing more was said about The Kiss. Somewhere deep down I wanted him to say something – anything – about it, flirty or dismissive, if to do nothing but act as confirmation that he had been thinking about it too, and I wasn’t still caught up in schoolgirl-fantasy land.
‘Here, let me see.’ As he pulled down my T-shirt’s collar past my shoulder and inspected my wound, I could feel his breath on my skin and smell his aftershave – Jean-Paul Gaultier, I’d know it anywhere – and it sent the tiniest of tingles down my back. The last time we were this close…
‘They live up to their stereotypes, chefs do,’ Dec said quickly, nervously. ‘Always throwing things and…’ As I looked up to smile at Dec’s comment, he moved his head to look at me and our fac
es smushed. I pulled away instantly, as if bitten. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. My heart thumped. Quick, normalise, normalise!
‘You always try to take advantage of me when I’m injured, you creature.’ I laughed a high-pitched, self-conscious laugh and brushed off my legs, which were covered in the fluff from Iz’s shagpile rug.
‘Hey, I’m only human.’ Dec stood up and put out his hand to help me up.
I blushed, quickly turning my head so Dec wouldn’t see. Just at that second, Iz came galloping down the stairs with a bandage fit for a lost limb. ‘Sorry, Han, it’s all I’ve got. We’ll just cut some off and tape it over… Oh, it’s already kind of stopped bleeding. Hmm. Well, there you go. Maybe ice would be good.’
‘I’ll get it.’ Dec walked over to the freezer.
‘Now, Han, what time do I need to be there tonight?’
I had planned Iz’s farewell drinks tonight at our local bar, The Royal. It had a little cocktail room off to the side of the main bar that could fit twenty people comfortably. I had invited forty.
‘Um, maybe seven-thirty? What are you wearing again?’
‘That vintage dress I bought on eBay, remember?’
‘Ah, yes. Very good, Iz. You will raise the temperature very much, young lady with the pots and pans. I’d rather you didn’t leave, though, if it’s all the same.’
She hugged me gingerly on the opposite side to my cut. ‘I love you, Han-ban. I miss you in advance, you know that.’ She held me at arm’s length and looked me in the eyes.
‘Yes, Izzi-wah, and me you.’
‘Your ice, ma’am?’ Dec held out a packet of peas.
‘Dec, can’t you see this is a special moment?’ Iz shook her head and released me with a kiss on both cheeks.
‘Thanks, Dec, but you can keep your frozen vegetables, I’ve got prettifying to do.’
I grabbed my bag off the sofa and checked my phone. One new message. From Dan. Dan?!
You’d better wear that little dress you can’t wear panties with, Blondie.
I beg your pardon?
That was weird. Wear it where? And I wasn’t blonde. Was he texting another girl and had accidentally sent it to me?
Was that meant for me?
Nothing. Until…
Han, baby! You got a mis-fired textoid, but it wasn’t from me, it was from a friend using my phone. How are you, sugar? Miss me?
A friend. Using his phone. How stupid did he think I was?
Urgh! I felt like such a schmuck! He probably had fifty girls on the go at the same time, and here I was thinking all his smooth moves had been pulled out just for me. I felt so incredibly stupid. He’d played me like a goddamn banjo. I felt rage circulate wildly throughout my body as I thought of how much time I’d invested in thinking about him. He was an A-class sleazebag and now I had proof. I felt dirty rereading his text, knowing some girl out there had been expecting it, and had sent him an equally filthy one to solicit it. Fuck you, Dan.
Save it for Blondie
I impulsively hit send before I realised it was such a dull response to have even bothered sending. It was definitely a ‘Save as Draft’ situation. Oh well. Whatever. It wasn’t like I was going to be seeing him again anytime soon. Beep, beep.
Don’t be sore, sugar. It was just a mistake! Hope you’re well, anyway. Take care x
Take care? He was Take Caring me?!
Everyone knew Take Care was the weak way out of a relationship, no matter how faint it might be! What could you write back to that? And that was the whole point – you weren’t supposed to write back. He was playing relationship executioner. Finality and brutality disguised with the thin mask of a pleasant sign-off.
I hoped he’d drown teaching Blondie to surf. As I walked home, I fought thoughts of Dan. We had basically had a fricken honeymoon in Hawaii, and then, just like the first time round, nothing. It was like if I wasn’t directly in his line of sight, I didn’t exist. Sure, I wasn’t exactly chasing him, but why should I? It was the man’s job to chase, dammit. I was the one who had flown to meet him, after all. And now he was already cavorting with another girl…
I shook my head and took a deep breath in, exhaling slowly with my eyes closed. I resolved to push him from my mind for tonight. Tonight was all about Iz, not some pig on the other side of the world.
I began planning hair, make-up and shoes to distract myself.
Hair would be out and hot rollers would definitely be used for big sexy volume. Except that I was really bad at using them. I found it easier to just hold my big tourmaline barrel brush on my scalp with the hair twisted around it for a few seconds. Tourmaline, I’d recently learnt, made blow-drying your hair much faster.
Make-up would be the new smoky eye and gel-liner combo I had learnt from Natalie Portman’s make-up artist last week, as long as I could remember how to do that clever shading thing on the centre of the eyelid. His technique was to apply a white pearly shade in a panel on the middle of the eyelid, and then do all the dark stuff on the outer V, which created a 3D-type effect. It looked sensational and I needed to master it. Tonight.
I figured I would definitely be dancing at some stage, and so my new, extraordinarily high, ‘homage to Christian Louboutin’ shoes would not be worn. It would be my dearly loved black peep-toes. They had seen me through many a 4 a.m. finish, and not once had they demanded to be taken off and held in one hand as I walked upstairs from the taxi. They were good friends of mine.
As I walked up my stairs, I checked my phone. Nothing from Dan. No surprises there. Nothing from Jesse, either. What was I playing at here? Was I trying to sever all ties with every man who was vaguely interested in me? I turned my phone on and off. Maybe it was playing up. Nokia welcomed me brightly, then nothing. I waited ten more seconds… Nope. Humpf. I was going to look like a fox tonight and drink myself stupid and dance like a drunken aunty at a wedding, and try to forget Dan’s awful text and Jesse’s stupid words last night and that the reason I was there was that my best friend was abandoning me.
A w-e-t p-u-s-s-y
Make your legs look longer by NEVER wearing ankle-strap heels, applying oil instead of lotion so they reflect light, and running a subtle strip of sheen/illuminator/shimmer down the front of them from your thighs to your feet. You Amazon, you!
When I arrived at The Royal, I was delighted to see Dec and Iz already at the bar, drinks firmly planted in their hands. Iz saw me and waved me over. Iz looked amazing; she’d had a spray tan and a blow-dry and her make-up was very fresh and pretty. Dec looked all Aqcua Di Gio-esque, as always, and I was quietly delighted when I saw him do a double-take on my entrance. The night was off to a good start for the girl who desperately needed a big fat ego-caress. ‘Han! Look who’s got their puppies out tonight!’ Iz looked at my chest and nodded approvingly. Not only had I worn two strapless bras, but I had made the most of every trick I had ever learnt about using shimmering bronzer and illuminator on your bust-line.
I struck a pose and winked. I felt good.
‘Hannah! You look…stunning.’ Dec poked his head over Iz’s shoulder.
‘Thanks, Dec.’ I smiled at him and thought non-blush-inducing thoughts.
‘Declan, are you going to introduce me?’
The most genetically flawless creature I had ever seen was standing next to Dec. She had to have been South American, or Spanish, or Italian, or something. She was tall, her eyes were almond-shaped, her skin the colour of dark wood, and I was pretty sure she wasn’t wearing make-up. Her long brown hair had that shimmering-with-flecks-of-gold look that women pay hundreds of dollars to emulate, and it sat in a perfect, wispy centre parting, framing her perfect face and perfect lips. I hated her instantly.
‘Oh, sorry. Elle, this is Hannah. Hannah, Elle.’
It wasn’t likely to be Geraldine, was it? She smiled triumphantly and held out a limp hand. I shook it. ‘Nice to meet you, Elle.’ She nodded and smiled. Who was she? And why was she here? I didn’t know Dec was seeing someone.
I subtly pulled Iz to one side. ‘Who’s the supermodel?’
‘Who? Oh, Ellie. She’s an old uni friend of Dec’s.’ Iz went back to chatting with one of her workmates, and I went back to surreptitiously watching how Elle and Dec interacted. She was stupidly beautiful. I tried to check out her whole outfit, but could only make out that she was wearing a muted-gold slip dress under which her breasts – sans bra – sat perfectly. Bitch.
She sounded like she was whining to Dec about something. A moment later he got up, and they both walked out to the balcony.
Meh. He’d get bored of her looks eventually.
Iz handed me my drink, and we got down to the serious business of drinking and talking. Neither of us could believe she would be leaving on Friday. We had decided to put a ban on thinking about it for tonight.
Two full glasses of wine later, and the food finally came around. Only by now I was already too drunk to want any. What I really wanted was a cigarette. Only I didn’t have any. And buying some meant bowing down to my ‘non-existent’ addiction, so I refused to do it. I sauntered out to the balcony in the hope of scavenging one, and took in the warm evening air. But just as I got outside, ‘our’ song – Groove Armada’s ‘Superstylin’ came on. I ungraciously bolted inside to find Iz. She was in deep conversation with Gina, a fellow chef. ‘Sorry, Gina – how are you, love your dress! – Iz, we gotta dance to this one.’
I dragged her onto the dance floor where we shook it wildly for a good half hour, posing and being silly and faux breakdancing in that way only drunk girls can carry off. Or at least they think they can.
‘Drink?’ Iz was out of breath as she asked.
‘Yes, yes, a drink, a DRINK! Marvellous!’ I grabbed her hand and we squeezed our way through the masses of bodies at the bar to a tiny no-service area.
Iz felt her bag vibrate and pulled her phone out. Her face lit up.
‘Ohmigod, it’s Kyle! Han, do you mind if I…?’