Call Waiting

by Dianne Blacklock

“Okay, I’ll meet you in the carpark.”

  “No,” she insisted. She didn’t want anyone to know a thing this time. They had to meet away from the office. Somewhere inconspicuous, where they wouldn’t draw attention. “Can you get to Hyde Park?”

  “Sure.”

  Chris worked down in George Street, past Martin Place. He would never come up that far, nor would any of his colleagues, she was fairly certain.

  “I’ll meet you behind the Anzac memorial,” she said.

  “In an hour?”

  Meg checked her watch again. She didn’t want to wait that long. “Let’s say twelve-thirty.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  She hung up the phone, breathing heavily. What was she doing? This was madness. But why did it feel so good? It was like she’d just had a surge of electricity through her body. She felt charged. She felt alive.

  At ten past twelve Meg told Donna she had to go into the city so she’d be back from lunch a little late. It was one of those unseasonably warm August days that hinted spring was coming. Meg walked to Crown Street, and then caught a bus to Taylor Square. She felt like running the rest of the way, but she contained herself, barely.

  When she caught sight of the memorial, her heart sank that Jamie wasn’t there. She checked her watch, it was just twelve-thirty now. Don’t panic. Meg crossed the road with the lights and walked briskly up to the monument. She shifted restlessly from one foot to the other, pretending to read the inscription.

  “Didn’t you say behind the memorial?”

  Meg glanced around to see Jamie’s hand jutting out from behind the wall. She smiled. As soon as she placed her hand in his, he drew her around and in one movement had her pressed up against the smooth stone, his body against hers. Meg felt a delicious jolt. She looked at his face, his beautiful, pale eyes.

  “Hello,” he said, smiling at her.

  “Hi.”

  Then his lips were on hers, and they kissed, ravenous for each other. Meg was not going to play coy anymore. She had dreamed about this, she had lain in bed at night with a yearning that was almost painful. And now he was here for the taking.

  “Did you miss me?” Jamie asked eventually, his mouth close to her ear, teasing the lobe with his teeth.

  “What do you think?” she breathed.

  His lips started moving down her neck. She had to stop him, or else her knees were going to give way. “I’m flattered, Jamie, but I don’t understand something.”

  “What?” he said, lifting his head to look into her eyes.

  “Why you’re interested in an old married woman like me?”

  He stepped back a little, an expression of amazement on his face. “Look at yourself, Meg. You’re beautiful.” He stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. “Your skin. And those brown eyes.” Then he leaned in close again. He ran his hands up the outside of her thighs. “And these long legs that go on forever…”

  Meg fastened her arms around his neck and drew his mouth back onto hers. She could feel him hard against her, and she was conscious of a throbbing sensation rising up the center of her body.

  “Is there somewhere we can go?” he said hoarsely, his lips barely leaving hers.

  “I have to get back to work.”

  “Call in, make an excuse.”

  “No, really I can’t.” Meg roused herself, pulling back from him.

  “Why not? You’ve done it before.”

  “It gets too … difficult. You remember last time.”

  He breathed out heavily, leaning his forehead against hers. “This is cruel.”

  She couldn’t believe what she was about to say. “Maybe I could get away for a weekend.”

  He stared at her. “Are you serious?”

  Meg nodded. She’d thought about this, fantasized about it, planned exactly how she would do it. “I have a friend who lives in the Southern Highlands. I could say I was going to visit her. I’ve done it before.”

  “Say when.”

  She smiled at him, and they kissed, sealing the deal. “When does it suit you?”

  “As soon as possible,” he grinned.

  “It will probably take a couple of weeks to organize. I’ll let you know.”

  “That’ll be a long couple of weeks.”

  Meg couldn’t concentrate the rest of the afternoon at work, and she ended up leaving early, stopping by the bottle shop on the way to collect Harrison.

  At home she put on a Wiggles video and stuck Harrison in front of the television. She opened the bottle of champagne she had bought and drank one glass straight down, then poured herself another. You were never supposed to drink champagne on your own. According to the Cleo quiz, that was a real nono. Who made up these rules anyway? Meg needed the bubbles. They made the alcohol hit faster, and she needed that hit tonight. A couple of mouthfuls of the second glass and she felt the familiar warm rush calming her. She topped up her glass again and plonked down on the sofa. She couldn’t get Jamie’s face out of her mind. Every time she closed her eyes, she could feel his lips on hers, and her heart would start to beat faster, sending pulsations through her entire body. She was inconsolably horny. It was going to be a long couple of weeks alright.

  Meg tried to work out if she felt guilty, but she didn’t. This feeling was so exhilarating, why shouldn’t she experience it? She wasn’t going to hurt anyone. Jamie said he was never intending to steal her away from her husband. They could just have some fun, some passion. And no one need ever know.

  * * *

  At six o’clock, with the bottle more than half empty, Meg realized she didn’t have a hope of cooking dinner. She called Chris and asked him to bring something home. She drank a couple of glasses of water to dilute the champagne, and put all her concentration into feeding Harry and getting him ready for bed.

  When Chris arrived home, she swapped him Harrison for the takeaway. After he had put him off to bed, he joined her out in the kitchen. Meg had opened one of the containers and was intermittently fishing chilli prawns out with her fingers, while trying to open the wine that Chris had brought home.

  “Do you want me to do that?” he asked, watching her struggle with the corkscrew.

  She grinned at him. “Maybe you’d better!”

  He took the bottle from her. “Had a few already?”

  “Is there anything wrong with that?”

  “No,” he smiled. “Hard day at work?”

  She shook her head. “Boring more like it.”

  Chris sat back on a stool at the kitchen bench and poured the wine. Meg sidled up to him and circled her arms around his neck.

  “How was your day?”

  She didn’t wait for an answer before pulling him closer and kissing him long and hard, and obviously totally unexpectedly, given the look on his face when she drew back. She started to unravel his tie.

  “What are you doing, Meg?”

  “Well, Harrison’s in bed…”

  “But we haven’t eaten yet.”

  “Here,” she said reaching for a prawn and popping it seductively into his mouth.

  She undid the first couple of buttons on his shirt and kissed him in the hollow under his Adam’s apple, her tongue making circles on his skin. She started to push his jacket over his shoulders.

  “Meg…”

  “Mm?”

  “I thought you were hungry?”

  She stopped to look at him. “I am,” she smiled suggestively, undoing more buttons lower down on his shirt.

  “Maybe we should go into the bedroom?”

  “Why? Harrison’s asleep.”

  “You want to do it out here?” he whispered, almost anxiously.

  Meg’s eyes were gleaming. “Why not, it might be fun.”

  “It’s a bit cold.”

  “So, we’ll turn the heater on. If we need it,” she added, before kissing him again.

  She could feel Chris warming to the idea. It took him long enough. He was acting like a schoolgirl about to be deflowered.

  “Wh
ere?” he said after a while.

  Meg looked around the room. “I don’t know, on the floor, on the table…”

  He sighed wearily. “We’ve got a nice soft bed in there.”

  “But that’s where we always do it!”

  “There’s a reason for that!”

  She looked at him, unimpressed.

  “It’s warm and comfortable,” he said, getting to his feet. “And private.” He turned her around and started to propel her toward the hall.

  “Okay,” said Meg, pulling her top up over her head. At least they were going to do it. “Race you.”

  Meg knew it was Jamie she was thinking about the whole time they made love. She needed to relieve the craving that had not abated since she saw him. But Chris was a gentle, considerate lover, and Meg couldn’t see Jamie being quite so patient. She imagined he’d be a little rough, and urgent, and it excited her. Meg found herself playing the aggressor. Chris didn’t seem to mind, in fact, he seemed pleasantly surprised.

  But when he cuddled into her afterward as usual, murmuring that he loved her, Meg suddenly felt despair. And guilt, for the first time today. For some reason she felt like she had betrayed him, even though she’d just made love to him. Hadn’t she?

  Thursday

  “Nic!” Ally yelled from the front door of the restaurant.

  “In here,” she returned.

  Ally stormed down the hall. “I’ve got a bone to pick with you!”

  “What about?” Nic was sitting at a table in the main room, her feet up on another chair and a pile of napkins in front of her.

  “Just what do you think you’ve been doing?”

  “Folding napkins,” said Nic, absently.

  “I just got a call from Frances Callen.”

  Nic looked at her, waiting.

  “Did you hear me? I said Frances Callen.”

  “I heard you.” She picked up a napkin and started smoothing it out on the table.

  “And why do you think she was calling me?”

  “Because I gave her your number.”

  “Exactly!” Ally fumed, pacing back and forward in front of her.

  “What’s the problem?”

  “What’s the problem?” Ally almost shrieked.

  Nic waited expectantly.

  “The problem is that she thinks I’m some kind of frigging painted effects specialist! Where did she get that idea, eh?”

  “Oh. Okay, I’ll have a stab,” said Nic, swinging her legs off the chair and turning around to look squarely at Ally. “Maybe she noticed the painted effects in the restaurant. And then she got some wild idea that the person who did them could possibly have some real talent. Maybe she thought that same person could do similar things on other walls.” She paused. “God, you’re right, there’s something really weird about this. I wouldn’t answer her calls if I was you.”

  Ally pulled a face. “Well it’s too late for that, I’ve got an appointment to meet with her next week.”

  “That’s terrible! You might get some work out of this, and worse, she might be really happy with what you do. How will you cope?”

  “Smart arse,” she grumbled, plonking herself down on a chair opposite Nic.

  Matt wandered out from one of the front rooms. He had been refitting the skirtings and architraves so that Ally would be able to finish up next week.

  “You two at it again?”

  Ally just scowled.

  “What have you done?” he asked Nic.

  “I gave her number to Frances Callen, who rang especially to ask for it because she was so impressed on opening night and hasn’t been able to get the place out of her mind. She wants some work done on her house and hoped that Ally was available.”

  “That’s great!”

  “Of course you’d say that,” Ally dismissed crossly.

  “What’s the problem?” asked Matt.

  “That’s what I said,” Nic muttered.

  “The problem is,” Ally faltered, “I don’t know how to do this.”

  “What, paint?”

  “No, I can do that. But it’s just a hobby, it’s not a business. I don’t know how to start a business!”

  “Looks like it’s starting itself.”

  Ally groaned, dropping her head onto the table. “I don’t know the first thing about doing this for real.”

  “You’ve got a mobile phone, you’ve got a business.”

  “Oh right,” she said, lifting her head to look at Matt. “Typical male, it will all take care of itself, eh? No wonder you can never get a tradesman when you need one!”

  “Well, I’ve had enough abuse,” he said, turning back toward the hall.

  “I don’t know how much to charge, how long to say it will take…” Ally moaned.

  “Not long at the rate you work, I’d say,” said Nic.

  “I don’t even know what to wear,” she continued.

  Matt let out a loud guffaw from the other end of the hallway.

  “You needn’t laugh, Matthew Serrano.”

  He appeared back in the entrance to the hall. “Am I allowed to say ‘typical female?’ Or is it only okay to bag men?”

  “It’s important.”

  “What to wear while you’re working? It doesn’t seem to have bothered you much to date.”

  “Not work clothes! I mean when I go to meet her.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “The difference is that I have to impress her, show her I’m professional.”

  “And in this profession you wear work clothes.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Matt.”

  He turned back up the hall. “Of course not, I’ve only run a business for ten years. But what would I know? I’m just a bloke after all.”

  A week later

  “This suit doesn’t look right,” Ally grumbled, surveying her appearance in the mirror. “I think Meg was right, I might have lost some weight. It’s hanging funny.”

  Nic observed her from her favorite vantage point on the bed. “Yeah, you’re right.”

  Ally groaned, “Well you’re no help.”

  “I’m with Matt. You should wear overalls. And put a pencil behind one ear, tradesmen always have a pencil behind one ear.”

  “I don’t have any decent overalls. All my work gear is old, daggy stuff.”

  “So I’ve noticed,” she muttered. “Then what about a nice pair of jeans, or trousers and a shirt? You look a bit naff, like you’re going for a job interview or something.”

  “Well I am, in a way.”

  “No you’re not. She’s the one in awe of you, you should have heard the way she spoke about you on the phone. And she was that thrilled to find out you’re a woman.”

  Ally took off the jacket and placed it carefully on a hanger. “If you’re trying to make me feel better, it won’t work. I don’t know what on earth she expects from me.”

  “She expects you to paint her house for her.”

  “But she also expects me to know what I’m talking about, to be businesslike.”

  “So sound businesslike.”

  “How?”

  “Ally, you know your stuff. Don’t you remember how we hired you on the spot?”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “I think, technically, I hired myself.”

  Nic ignored her. “You’re very impressive when you get inspired. Just go with it. And throw in some of that power tool lingo too. I could hardly believe my ears the other day, you and Matt discussing variable chucks or something or other.”

  Ally looked at her dubiously.

  “I know! I’ll call you on the mobile a few times while you’re with her!”

  “Why?”

  “So you sound like you’re important, that you’ve got a lot of work on. You can say, ‘Sorry, I really have to take this,’” Nic affected a deep, pompous voice.

  “You are seriously skewed.”

  “Well, just have a little faith in yourself.”

  “But anyone can paint a room
.”

  “Not the way you do it.”

  “They could if they tried.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I taught kids all those years. The ones who applied themselves always did better.”

  “But maybe they had more potential in the first place. You know, they actually liked what they were doing, that’s why they were good at it?”

  Ally frowned at her. “But it’s just a hobby. I might spoil it if I do it for real.”

  “But you did the restaurant for real. Didn’t you enjoy that?”

  She nodded weakly.

  “Ally, most people dream of making a living doing something they love. You have to give it a go.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m wearing this suit and you are about to do my hair.”

  “Okay, let’s get to it.”

  She jumped off the bed and followed her into the bathroom. Ally squeezed out a dollop of creamy goo from a tube and started to massage it into her damp hair.

  “What’s that?” asked Nic.

  “Gel wax, I think it’s called.”

  Nic picked up the tube and read the label. “‘The hold of a gel with the styling and definition of a wax.’ What the bollocks does that mean?”

  “It better mean, ‘keeps wild hair in place so that owner of said hair can look elegant yet professional at the same time.’”

  “Well why don’t they just say that?” Nic winked. “Where are you going to sit?”

  Ally perched on a small stool, leaving Nic just enough room to maneuver around her as she blow-dried her hair.

  “Remember,” Ally said after a while, “don’t let it frizz, the idea is to blow dry it straighter.”

  “Oh it’s not frizzing,” Nic said in a strange voice. “Not at all.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Hand me that stuff you put through your hair.”

  Ally passed it to her. “What’s the matter?” She touched the top of her head. “Oh no!”

  “I think this might have been too heavy, Ally.”

  “But I only used a little bit.” Ally stood up off the stool to inspect the damage in the mirror. She picked up a strand of hair, it was lank and greasy. “Oh no! What am I going to do?”

  “Don’t panic—”

  “That’s alright for you to say! Look at my hair!” She checked her watch. “Bugger! There’s no time to wash it again either.”