by Foster, Zoe
‘When were you there?’
‘Ummmm, Jay? What’s with the fifty questions? If I was seeing a new guy, don’t you think I’d tell you?’
‘Okay, okay.’
She exhaled dramatically.
‘See you tonight, loser.’
‘Peace out, boy scout.’
I frowned, wondering why the conversation had spiked so violently at the end there. She was so highly strung sometimes. Why would she need to get so defensive about a hoodie? I didn’t care if she was seeing someone. Maybe she thought I would tell Josh and that was slack to Frank. Yeah, that must be it.
Then I realised something. Holly didn’t have a boyfriend.
ROUND 19
East Germany vs Colombia
‘If I park here, is that too far for you in those shoes? I know – I’ll drop you off and go park then come ba—’
Like hizzell. There was no way I was going to stand out the front like No-mates Nigel, watching everyone go in, while I waited anxiously for Josh. Uh-uh.
‘No, no, I’m fine to walk.’ (Lie.) ‘Really.’ (Double lie.) ‘But thank you for offering.’
‘Okay. Sorry, Jeanie, they should really get some valet going.’
‘Or offer limousines …’
He smiled. ‘I think you’ll agree a Hummerzine would be the classier option.’
We grinned at each other. He looked incredible: a sharp, fitted black suit, a shirt of a fairyfloss-pink so subtle it might have been white before being washed with some red socks, and a lilac tie. I wondered if anyone styled him, or if he was intrinsically stylish. Either way: bravo. He’d give any gay man a run for his Prada trainers.
I clambered out of the low passenger seat and stood, smoothing The Dress as I did, and jamming Colette’s small Jimmy Choo clutch under my arm. I took a deep breath and walked to the rear of the car, where Josh was waiting. He took me in appreciatively.
‘You look incredible, Perfect Jean. I’m gonna have to keep my eye on the boys tonight. Especially Bones. He’ll try it on, you watch.’
I smiled, thrilled he thought I looked good enough to tempt his friends. That was a kind of jealousy, right? You couldn’t ask for more from an outfit: fear of being hit on by other males was the best possible compliment.
‘Fancy a five-block pre-dinner stroll?’ he asked, offering his arm.
‘Love to,’ I said, taking it. As we walked, I tried to squish down the mammoth knots of fear accumulating in my stomach. I would filch a drink right out of someone’s hands if there wasn’t one awaiting me the second I got in the door.
Finally arriving at a grand gargoyle-guarded hall, Josh subtly, gently, placed his arm behind my back and we walked into a foyer where what looked like several thousand people were milling and talking animatedly, schooners and champagne flutes in their hands.
I saw flashes of gold, aqua, pink, red and peacock blue in the crowd, all accompanied by masses of long, glossy hair and tanned (very) skin. I looked at my black dress and pale skin, and took a monstrously deep breath.
‘Nice tie, Foxman. Where’s your boyfriend?’
A rugged, good-looking blue-eyed guy with blond hair poked Josh in the chest.
‘Thanks, Bones.’ Josh opened Bones’s suit jacket to reveal a white shirt and black waistcoat.
‘You helping out the wait staff tonight?’
‘Mate, get with the times; everyone’s moved on from ties. You’re livin’ in the past.’
‘Righto. Bones, this is Jean. Jean, Bones; real name Luke.’
Bones looked at me for the briefest moment, smiled and nodded a non-verbal hello. He was the one Josh had told me to watch out for? He seemed like he’d be more interested in jazzercise than hitting on me. Suddenly something over my shoulder caught Bones’s eye.
‘Wahaaaay, lookat Sharon!’
I turned to look for Sharon, seeing only a huge blond guy with brown eyes and tanned skin. He could’ve passed for a surfer if he were a quarter the size.
‘G’day, boys.’ He gave a big, goofy grin before settling his eyes on me.
‘G’day there, I’m Pete.’ He stuck out one of his giant paws.
‘Pete, this is Jean. Jean, Pete; otherwise referred to as Sharon.’
‘Should I ask why?’ I queried, grinning.
Bones chimed in. ‘’Cos he’s got tits like a lady, and he likes to dress up as one, too.’
Pete shrugged good-naturedly.
‘We had a team bowls day a few months back,’ explained Josh, ‘and we all had to dress as something starting with S. Of course, Pete’s logical interpretation was to come as a woman named Sharon.’
‘And it’s stuck,’ said Pete/Sharon.
‘Where’s Kate?’ Bones asked.
‘She’s coming, just having a ciggie.’
At that moment, a tiny blonde girl who could have passed for one of Pete’s offspring appeared. She was seemingly bare-faced, save for some mascara, and her small frilly black dress made her look even smaller, if that were possible. The mechanics of the two of them doing, well, stuff, was brain-bending. He looked as though he could fold her up and pop her in his pocket.
‘Hey, Bones, hi, Josh,’ she said.
‘Hi, Kate, you look lovely tonight … This is Jean.’
Kate smiled shyly at me and said hello, pressing into Pete’s side. I knew immediately that we wouldn’t be best friends, even though I was grateful that Pete had so generously offered his fiancée for me to play with, and that she was so small and non-scary-looking and un-Tess-like. After a few attempts at polite conversation it dawned on me that Kate either had a mouth full of peanut butter and couldn’t speak, or simply preferred to remain mute. She was enormously agreeable in that frustrating ‘What would you like to drink?’/‘Whatever you’re having’ kind of way. I gave up when her answer to ‘How long have you and Pete been together?’ was ‘Since school’ and then another nuzzle into Pete’s enormous chest.
‘Do you know what this beer tastes like, boys?’ Bones said as he drained his glass. ‘More!’ And he walked off to find a waiter. He was very fidgety, I thought, eyes always darting around the room, looking for something or someone more interesting. I couldn’t help noticing how he openly checked out every girl who walked past. Every single one.
‘Bones is single,’ Josh explained. ‘Actually, that’s not entirely true. He has several hundred girls hanging around, but none that he’d ever bring to something like this, if that makes sense. Anyway, he hates these things, ’cos everyone’s always partnered up.’
‘Aha,’ I said, smiling. Bones was very good-looking, I thought, watching him from afar. He looked a little bit like Matthew McConaughey. Without the Botox.
‘Why do you call him Bones?’
‘Oh, that. He has an obsession with girls’ collarbones. A fetish, almost. First thing he notices about a chick.’
‘I see.’ I looked down to try to see mine. I had no idea whether it was nice or not. What constituted a nice collarbone, anyway? Protruding? Enveloped in flesh? Furnished with golden skin and silver chains?
We walked a few steps and melted into the crowd, the boys scooping beers and champagne for everyone off a moving tray. We sipped our drinks as Josh and Pete discussed their previous game. From his size and number of scars, I surmised that Pete did a lot of tackling. His ears appeared to have been nibbled on by someone with very small but powerful teeth. Kate, perhaps?
‘Josh. How are you? Sorry to bother you but would you mind … um …’ A smallish man – or perhaps that was just in contrast to the guys around me – hovered behind Josh with a football and a texta in his hands. That was weird. Why would he have a football —? I watched as Josh took the texta in one hand and rested the ball on his other arm.
‘Who should I make it out to?’
‘Oh, ah, Matthew, please. Thanks so much. This’ll make his world. All the best for Saturday night.’
‘Thanks, mate. Enjoy your night.’
Josh caught my expression.
‘Does
that happen a lot? People just walking up and presenting you with balls?’
He shrugged. ‘Sometimes. Usually it’s kids. But tonight’s a members night, so it may happen a few more times, yeah.’ He smiled awkwardly, apologetically. I loved how he was taking the time to explain everything in this strange new world to me, even if it did make me feel a bit like Cousin Betty from the country.
‘They never want my autograph,’ Pete said, with mock hurt. ‘Only Josh’s, ’cos he’s pretty and scores tries.’
‘Bullshiiiit,’ said Josh, punching Pete playfully on the arm.
‘Look alive,’ Pete muttered, looking past me. ‘Here comes the East German Police.’
I turned to look just as two women walked our way. One was wearing a blue empire-line floor-length dress and a lot of blonde hair. (I was pretty sure they were extensions, as the bottom five centimetres just sat there, lank and heavy.) Her boobs were the variety that screamed for attention: high, wide and, I imagined, quite expensive. To further draw attention to themselves, in case sheer volume wasn’t enough, the boobs shimmered with some kind of glitter.
The brunette, who looked somehow familiar, had her hair in a high ponytail above a blunt fringe, and a similar empire-line dress, hers in a delicate silk fabric with an elegant brown-and-black pattern. She had a more modest boob offering, but there was still a definite focus on the general area. She was skinny but very nicely toned. Of course.
‘Josh, how aaare you?’
Blonde kissed him on the cheek before stepping back to allow Brunette to grab his hand and take her turn. Suddenly I knew where I’d seen her before. She was Tess’s friend from the after-match function! Neither looked at me as they closed in on Josh.
‘Loooove your tie, it’s just gorge,’ said Blonde, lifting the hair sitting over her left boob as though it were rope, and slowly placing it behind her shoulder.
‘Ryan was going to buy a pink tie. I should’ve made him – looks so hot,’ Brunette said.
‘Um, so, you both look, uh, nice,’ Josh said, his eyes flicking over to me. I wondered how I had been pushed out of the circle without a single touch to my skin.
‘This is Jean,’ Josh said, finally receiving my mental text message.
‘Hi,’ Brunette said: a forced statement, her smile as tight as the skin on her friend’s breasts.
‘Hi.’ My voice broke. Awesome. Josh snaked his arm over to me and pulled me in close to him. My heart must surely be visible, beating through my dress. They looked at me, then at Josh’s arm, their beady eyes stripping me bare, their faces nursing incredulity at Josh’s audacity.
‘So, how did you two meet?’ asked Brunette: the conversational equivalent of placing cheese in a steel trap.
‘We met through Frank, actually,’ Josh said confidently.
I took a long sip of my champagne, trying to swallow my nerves with the fizz. Come on, Josh, take us away from these women and their overpowering fragrance and aggressive décolletage.
‘Never were one to move slow, were you, Josh?’ said Brunette, her voice playful but tinged with venom, her eyes shooting invisible laser beams into Josh’s.
He straightened up, his body language indicating he’d had enough. Sensing the tension, Blonde piped up.
‘So, you hear about Patto and Scully?’
Josh squinted. ‘No …?’
‘What’d they do now?’ Pete said, his tone akin to that of a dad being confronted with more news on his naughty son.
‘They’ve been canning on like mongrels since lunch. Patto cracked on to Coach’s missus the minute he arrived, and Scully fell over while he was trying to piss straight at the urinal – and, of all the people who could’ve seen it happen, it was Henry Clifton.’
Josh’s mouth had already framed itself into a disbelieving smile; now it flew open and he laughed with incredulity.
‘Nooooo … you’re shitting me.’
‘Those two need their heads read, honestly.’ Pete started looking around the room, presumably for one of the two booze bandits so that he could go and give them a stern talking to. I decided I liked Pete.
‘Dickheads. When will you boys grow the hell up?’ Brunette tsk-tsked and Blonde shook her head at Josh as if he were personally responsible for his team-mates’ behaviour. ‘I’m surprised Ryan wasn’t part of this, to be honest,’ she continued with disdain. She tipped her head back and swallowed the last of her champagne. ‘I need a drink.’
The two women walked off in a haze of bronzer and attitude, all wiggling hips and hair flicks.
‘I can’t believe Patto’s form. Scully, well, yes, but Patto …’ Josh said as we walked, presumably towards the dining room. He looked back at Pete and Kate, who had been held up talking to a man who looked like he hadn’t spoken to a Real Life human being for several years, and had to get out everything he wanted to say right now.
Josh went back and gently interrupted. ‘Guys? I think they want us to be seated now.’
Pete dived on the cue. ‘Oh, better move in then. Well, it’s been nice chatting, Roger.’
I kept quiet as we walked into the function room, which was dark, and decorated with balloons and flower arrangements in the Bulls’ signature royal blue. There was a stage with a huge screen behind it, the full set-up for a band, and a podium with stand and microphone.
‘Sorry ’bout that,’ Josh whispered. ‘How twisted those two are – I can’t even begin to tell you …’ He shook his head.
‘Who are they?’
He sighed. ‘The brunette is Melinda – she dates Big Red (that’s Ryan Redin). And the blonde is Morgan Simons – she’s married to Phil Burnette. Melinda and Morgan own a spray-tan service together.’
Of course they do.
‘Everyone calls them the Tandoori Twins.’
We found our table, right near the stage, and took our seats. There was a non-player couple already seated, who smiled and introduced themselves as Caitlin and Mark. Another polite older couple arrived at the table just as we sat; the room was filling up rapidly.
‘Whasupp, Josha?’
I looked up to see a tall, latte-skinned woman with shiny black hair bending down to give Josh a big hug and kiss. Her hair was long and fell glamorously in a middle part. She was wearing a loose, muted goldy-grey shift dress and tan strappy heels. She looked gorgeous – Halle Berry meets Eva Mendes. Her words were veiled in a thick accent, which only added to the appeal.
‘Hey, Paola, how are you?’
‘So I got this crazy blister and its makin’ me fuckin’ crazy. I wanted to wear flat shoes, but choo know what Jimmy’s like: No way are you wearing sandals to a ball, you crazy bitch and rahrahrah … Ooh, and who this pretty lady?’
She looked at me approvingly, giving a ‘nice work’ face to Josh. I could have kissed her, whoever she was. Someone nice – there was someone nice here!
‘This is Jean. Jean, this is Paola. She’s mad. And Colombian.’
‘Choo don even wanna know how mad I am.’ She bent down and gave me a kiss. It didn’t seem too forward coming from her, somehow.
‘Nice to meet you, Jean. Is it Jean? I don’t wanna forget that. Maybe I’ll call you Jeanie instead, like the little man in the lamps.’
I laughed. ‘That’s entirely fine by me.’
She stopped and stood up suddenly, staring at my neck.
‘Honey, what is this necklace?’
I blushed, looking down at the piece I’d chosen to wear tonight. It featured several layers of heavy gold and black leather, entwined and twisted to make a kind of thick weave around my neck; it was one of my best pieces.
‘Jeanie, this is ‘mazing! Where you get this one?’
‘Um, I made it, actually,’ I said quietly.
‘Noooo! You didn’t! Is so beautiful. Chica, you is clever!’
I blushed again. Receiving Paola’s praise made me feel like I was sitting in direct sunlight. She was so affectionate. And pretty. And enthusiastic! At school I’d had to work for years to get a complimen
t on my jewellery from one of the popular, pretty girls, yet here was beautiful Paola lobbing one at me within seconds of meeting me.
She looked around impatiently. ‘Jesus, where’s Jimmy? I don’t even know which tables we’re on.’ (Please be on this one, I prayed. Please.) ‘He’s probably sucking up to the board of erectors …’ Paola scanned the room impatiently. ‘There he is, talkin’ to a girl, as usual. I swear, I’m gonna break his balls one of these days —’ She walked off to find Jimmy.
‘She’s cool,’ I said to Josh, smiling. She was so natural and friendly compared with the other WAGs I’d met. She seemed genuine, like she didn’t need to impress anyone, or make out as though she was some kind of terrifying alpha bitch who’d slash your tyres if you stopped to tie up your shoelaces.
‘I knew you’d like Paola,’ smiled Josh. ‘Everyone does.’
‘Is Jimmy a team-mate?’
‘Captain. Nice guy. Head like a smashed crab but always attracts incredibly beautiful women. You’ll see lots of ugly footballers, but no ugly girlfriends. Anyway, they’ve been together for years. She came over here for a holiday and met Jimmy, and never went home.’
‘To Colombia?’
‘New York, I think.’
‘I hope they’re on our table.’
Just then a quiet voice drifted in from behind.
‘Josh, hi. Sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering if I could get a photo with you …’ I looked up to see who the voice belonged to; it was a friendly-looking woman in her forties. She caught me looking up at her and shot me an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry, love, you must get this all the time …’
I smiled at her as Josh stood for the photo. How strange it must be to have people constantly asking you for something, I thought. Just as that photo session finished, two pretty teenage girls asked for a turn. Josh obliged, only to be asked by a middle-aged man if he might be able to have a picture too. I watched Josh smile politely, and make small talk, and sign some caps and jerseys and balls, and wish each fan all the best. And I fell a little bit in love.
Add me to the long list of Josh Fox fans.