by Foster, Zoe
ROUND 20
Mean Girls vs New Friends
After an hour and a half spent chatting to a man whose company held the illustrious title of Australia’s biggest exporter of shoelaces, and listening to people I had never heard of discussing a game I knew nothing about, and an entree and main involving two animals I did not eat, I needed some respite.
I excused myself with a whisper and, head down, made for the bathroom, hoping the Tandooris had already emptied their bladders. I pushed open the door and went straight into the only free cubicle of three. Two loud, tipsy voices emitted from the others.
‘So, like, they pulled you over? And you’d been drinking! Shiiiit. Did you get done? For DYI?’
‘It’s DIY, stupid.’
Silence.
‘Actually, I think it’s DUI. Whatever. Look, I was totally over the limit, but I just, you know, did my little thing, and the police officer let me go!’
‘You are terrible!’
Toilets were flushed, doors opened, taps run, clutches unzipped, compacts snapped open.
‘So, you hear about Bones?’
‘What now?’
‘He’s got some cougar who pays him thousands of dollars to text her pics of him naked.’
‘Shut uuup!’
‘True. Told Jess. Apparently he and this woman hooked up one night and she Facebooked him the next day, asking for a photo. Then she told him she’d give him a grand for each new photo he sends.’
‘No way.’
‘Then, like, a week later, he gets a cheque for a grand in the mail at the club, and a note saying there’s more where that came from.’
‘Shut up, shut uuup! Ohmygod, I would so send some slutty pics for a grand a pop!’
‘He’s sent a whole bunch now, as you can imagine. I hope she turns out to be an undercover journalist and prints them all in the papers.’
Both voices dissolved into loud laughter.
Anxiety suddenly washed over me. I flushed the toilet and nervously zipped up The Dress. Please couldn’t they go? What, were they gonna re-do their whole faces? Well, I couldn’t stay in here any longer. I took a deep breath and unlocked my cubicle.
Both girls were visibly relieved when they saw I was A Nobody. Both had blonde hair that had recently been on the receiving end of a high-powered hair-dryer. The taller one wore a slinky tube in canary yellow that only the most confident, tall and thin could hope to pull off. Her body, being devoid of all visible protrusions except for an enormous bust, filled out the dress perfectly. She had big brown eyes, gleaming tanned cheeks and masses of sultry eye makeup. She was the type of girl who makes men forget what they were talking to their wife about as they walk past her in the street; the type who might grace an FHM cover, with oiled-up skin, fake grease marks, a ripped white singlet, a wrench, denim cut-offs and a beefed-up car with its bonnet yawning for all to see its shiny metal teeth.
The other girl had a beauty that was less announced. Her hair, a tumbling mass of yellow gold, was both the thing that brought her attention and the veil that hid her from it. Her face was soft and pretty. Although it had been suitably hardened with grown-up makeup, her authentic, girl-next-door beauty shone through. She wore a short red cocktail dress that dripped with small beads and climaxed in a plunging V in the breast region.
They were mesmerising to watch, these girls. Terrifying to listen to, but mesmerising to watch.
‘Seriously, can you imagine if she was setting him up?’ Red Dress said with glee.
‘He deserves it, for the way he treats chicks. What about that time three different girls came to the Girlfriends’ Box saying they were his girlfriend. Unbelievable. Hey, gimme your concealer for a sec?’
I cleared my throat and edged towards the spare sink, which was decorated with half a M·A·C store. Yellow Dress checked me out briefly in the mirror before returning to her gloss application.
All of a sudden, I experienced a jolt of reality: these were the most popular girls at school, just all grown up. That’s who became a footballer’s girlfriend or wife. And I hadn’t been one of those girls. I was one of the drifters, melting in and out of different groups (athletics, creatives, stoners). These girls had always been light-years away, socially. And now, just because of Josh, I thought I was capable of joining their highly glossed ranks? Who did I think I was kidding? Next I’d be trying to rumble lions with circus folk.
‘Perfume?’
Yellow Dress took the bottle from Red, popping off the lid and spraying her long, tanned neck. I took a paper towel and dried my hands. Touching up my makeup would have to wait. I smiled with closed lips, put my head down and walked out, the sound of a fresh conversation erupting and bouncing off the tiled walls as the door swung shut behind me.
This wasn’t my scene, I confirmed silently to myself; I was a wombat in WAG’s clothing. And as much as I wanted to make some friends – desperately, in fact – I was pretty sure I didn’t actually want to be friends with these girls.
‘Hey, baby!’ Paola was walking across the foyer, her hips swivelling just so, her boobs bouncing in the way a model requires multiple takes to perfect in a swimwear ad campaign. ‘That’s some good timing! Cigarette? I was dying in there. Honestly, every time I forget how fucking boring these nights is!’
I looked at Paola’s happy face, and her short, pink, buffed nails holding out a slim cigarette. Since my epiphany in the ladies’ regarding my non-popular-girl status, I’d forgotten about her and how nice she was. She was probably the only one like that, though. A rose between the thorns; a suntan amongst the sprays.
I frowned, wondering whether to have one. They usually made me cough and gave me a head-spin. But in the name of friendship, I guessed I could put those things aside. Seeing my face, Paola’s brows scrunched up.
‘You don’t like?’ She indicated the cigarette.
‘No, no. It’s just that, well, I don’t really smoke. But I’ll come out with you, if you don’t mind.’
‘Good one!’ Her face changed instantly, lighting up with an enormous smile. ‘I unnerstand why you don’t smoke. I used to do it to keep me skinny, now I just do it ’cos of the habit. Jimmy hates it, but I don’t complain about his musical arse so he can suck it up.’ She whooped with laughter and started walking. I followed, smiling.
‘So, how long you been with Josh?’ Paola asked as she took a deep drag. She was the kind of woman who could persuade you to take up smoking just because she looked so glamorous doing it.
‘Um, oh, not long at all. This is kind of, well, our second date, to be honest.’
She erupted into laughter. ‘And he takes you here?’ She shook her head. ‘Baby, let me ’splain.’ She lowered her voice and looked around. ‘These nights? I’d rather set fire to my tits. They go forever, and you spend time on an outfit just to sit in the dark. Where is the dancing? The fun!’
She went on to tell me about an outrageously decadent party she went to on a boat in Croatia with Sean John and Naomi Campbell, back when she was modelling. I lapped up every detail, loving her accent, loving her stories, loving how she spoke to me as though we were already firm friends, just loving her.
Maybe I could stick this out a bit longer.
ROUND 21
The Footballer vs The DJ
I dialled Col. Again.
The shop was desperately slow, so I had spent the morning sketching some designs that I wanted to finally make this weekend. I had been inspired by some beautiful jewellery in a UK Vogue swimwear shoot, and planned to set Sunday aside to make the final pieces for Ingrid.
Finally, a pick-up.
‘Jeeeeeeez, where’ve you been? I wanted to tell you about last night!’
Colette sighed on the other end of the phone. ‘I was in a meeting, Jay, and while I’m sure they would’ve loved to have let me take your call, it just seemed somehow inappropriate to talk in the boardroom about my little sister’s new cult.’
‘Whatever. Anyway, so all the girls were wearing, like, really bright-coloured
dresses, most of them maxi. It was like the theme was fruit salad, but Josh didn’t pass on the memo.’
She laughed. ‘Gorgeous. Were there lots of asymmetrical, jagged hemlines?’
‘You bet. And lots of boobs. Boob town. Boobs everywhere. Mostly spiling over the top of strapless numbers that fell to just above the ankles.’
‘Ohhh, the floor-length that isn’t quite floor-length. Always a classy option. Perfect for showing off diamanté-encrusted silver shoes —’
‘And there’s this stunning South American girl, Paola, who I got along with really well – you’d like her, I reckon. Actually, everyone was very nice to me. Well, ’cept for these two bitches who are tight with Tess, but that’s to be expected.’
‘Oooh, do tell. Did the Wicked WAGs of the West shoot you some mad stink-eye from across the room?’
‘Once or twice. Josh was adorable about it all: charming but laced with fuck off, y’know?’
‘Impressive. So, what else? Did the cheerleaders dance? Was there a giant golden football on the stage?’
I decided not to tell her about the band dressed in Bulls jerseys, singing Meatloaf and Bruce Springsteen songs.
‘The weirdest thing, Col, was people asking for autographs and photos with Josh every few minutes. Even when he was eating dinner. And these are, like, members, so not just street fans, but people who are regularly in contact with the players after the game and stuff.’
‘He’s a Local Hero, sis. Don’t ever forget that. I mean, who cares about firemen and people who work with the homeless or save endangered wildlife? Footballers are men who matter.’
‘You’re a nong. Hey, wanna make pizzas tonight? I feel like I haven’t seen you for ages, and we live in the same house.’
‘Um, sure. Okay …’
‘Don’t sound too pumped.’
‘No, it’s just that, I was maybe going to dinner.’
‘With who?’
‘No one. Just, you know, the girls.’
‘Oh. Well, maybe I can come?’
‘Yeah, sure … Let me text you a bit later – tonight might not even happen. I gotta fly, Jay. Ciao, ciao.’
Click.
God, she was a weirdo sometimes.
I looked at the time. Barely twelve. But I was starving. I suddenly thought of Cameron; where had he been? Maybe we could get lunch. Or rather, maybe he could go get it and we could eat it here. I walked out onto the pavement and poked my head into his store. Electro-punk music was screeching at concert level, and a young, severely fashionised salesgirl dressed in an outfit that wouldn’t have looked out of place at a 1983 New Order concert was singing along as she rearranged skinny-leg jeans on the sale table.
‘Um, hi. Is Cameron in today?’ I yelled to her.
She looked over, frowning, and shrugged. ‘Might be in later, I think. Dunno.’ She went back to her singing.
Helpful.
I walked back into the shop and picked up my phone. I’d text the little monkey, see if he was coming in anytime soon. Maybe he could get some Hong Hin Vietnamese rolls on the way. Yes! I would give blood for one of those chicken rolls. Cam and I often ate them and then watched each other as we both got jittery, headachy and hyper from the MSG. It was our twisted little game.
There was a new message waiting for me.
Thank u for coming last nite Jeanie. U looked amazing. Free tomrw? Luv 2 tk u 4 lunch. And wd u want tix 4 game sunday? x
He texted! He texted! He texted. Ahhh, he texted.
Tomorrow? Of course I could see him tomorrow! Hang on, tomorrow was meant to be a tracksuit-wearing, jewellery-making day. I’d promised myself I would dedicate the entire day to finishing my line. No ifs, no buts. But … this was Josh. Maybe I could see him at the end of the day, as a kind of reward for all my designing. Yes, that would be perfect.
My pleasure and thank you for inviting me. Love to see you tomorrow. Dinner?
Sadly will b in hotel w team b/c we are not 2 b trusted in real world by orselves – we mt get drunk n start fights or start doin meth.
Shit. Dinner was out. But I knew that if I said yes to lunch I wouldn’t focus properly in the morning, and then wouldn’t get any work done in the afternoon … Shit.
‘Ange said you were searching frantically for me! God, why can’t one day go past without women hunting me? I’m so sick of being treated like a piece of meat!’
Cameron stood at the door, gesticulating dramatically and generally carrying on like a pork chop. He was wearing gold trainers, his usual black skinny jeans, a white shirt and a bright chequered jumper. He looked obscenely, farcically trendy.
I smiled. ‘Gimme one sec, just gotta send this text …’
Lunch sounds great. x
I would have to have some stern words with myself later. I was being very, very naughty giving priority to some guy over working on my designs. I turned to Cameron, a grin on my face. My phone beeped. I whipped around to check it.
Sweet! Pick u up at 1. feel free 2 wr same dress u wore last nite. x
I blushed.
Cameron, as usual, picked up on my every mood, move, thought and emotion.
‘Don’t tell me – that was your new boyfriend. Am I right? Was it him? Asking if you’ll wear his championship ring? Or his jock’s jacket? Or accompany him to the prom?’
I shrugged. ‘Maybe, what’s it to you?’
‘Don’t you feel like a bit of a groupie?’
‘How am I a groupie? I didn’t even know who he was when I met him. And actually, Cam, I find the footballer side of him a bit of a pain in the arse.’
‘Ah, silly me. Groupies want a football hero but can’t get one, whereas you have secured yourself one with incredible ease and efficiency. Sadly, that won’t stop all his groupies from preying on him when you’re not around.’
I shook my head. ‘Whatever. The reason I was looking for you was to see if you wanted to have lunch, but now I think I’d rather eat solo.’
He walked over, a sooky expression on his face.
‘Jay, it’s okay to admit you’ve missed me and have been fretting about my safety and whereabouts. I’m here now. There’s no need to be angry.’
I laughed despite myself. He was such a little shit.
‘I can’t take lunch till 1.30, so sit tight till then.’
‘I’m ready to eat a T-shirt. I gotta eat now.’
‘Have a snack.’
‘No, I’m having lunch. Who cares – we can have lunch together another day.’
I started looking at the Japanese takeaway menu; I’d just order my usual teriyaki salmon and pick it up.
‘Shit, it really is your way or the highway, isn’t it?’ Cameron shook his head.
‘You know it.’ I smiled smugly.
‘Aren’t you even going to ask where I’ve been all week?’ he said, exasperation and hurt in his voice.
I put down the menu to look at him. ‘Where?’
‘Only performing in the National DJ Championships. But, you know, no big deal or anything.’
‘Oh shit!’ My hand flew to my mouth. ‘Cam, I’m so sorry, I completely forgot to even wish you luck before you went! Ohhh, I am sorry. How did you go?’
‘Too caught up knitting the other girlfriends’ team scarves.’
I frowned.
‘Okay, okay.’ He took a deep breath, exhaling some nastiness as he did so. ‘I came runner-up. Twister won. Fuck knows how – he scratches like a drunk and probably thinks Detroit is a breed of dog. And the tracks in his set – I know all of them, and they’ve already been done to death on the UK and New York scene. It just shits me, you know? They can’t appreciate someone doing something original. I played the best set, researched for months, had it fuckin’ perfect, and the crowd loved it ’cos it was something different. I mean, he played Armand Van Helden, for fuck’s sake! Fucking loser.’
‘I’ve never heard of — What’s his name? Twister?’
‘Oh, he’s the “King of the Melbourne club scene” ’. Cameron mad
e quotation marks in the air with great sarcasm. ‘Thing is, there is no Melbourne club scene.’
‘Well, still, runner-up is very impressive. How many compete?’
‘’Bout thirty-five.’
‘Cam! And this is a national competition? Runner-up is awesome! You’ve only been DJ-ing for two years, and you’re already up there! I think you’re missing the big picture here, maybe? That you should actually be very proud of yourself? And that you will probably get a whole heap of cool new gigs or even residencies because of this?’
His face was trying to smile and bask in some of the glow, but his cool exterior wouldn’t permit it.
‘Well, actually, the promoter at The Bow asked me to play the 11 a.m. set Friday and Saturdays …’
‘The Bow? Isn’t that the new big fancy club?’
His smile broke out, his head dropped and he actually scuffed his toe on the floor. For all of his tough guy-ness, he was really such a little kid. He so rarely let his guard down that I almost didn’t want to speak, lest it shatter the spell.
He cleared his throat. ‘Yeah, well Twister, he’s the one with 25Gs worth of new DJ gear, not me. So even if he was shit before, it’ll be pretty hard to be shit with all of that stuff.’
He tipped his imaginary hat and made to leave. ‘Tomorrow: I’ll take the noon slot and we’ll get those falafel rolls from Habibi’s, yes?’
His face was so hopeful and smiling that I hated to crack it. ‘I’m not in tomorrow. Sorry, DJ Supastar.’ And besides, Josh’s already got that slot. ‘But next week, yeah?’
His face fell ever so slightly. ‘Okay, cool. Next week. Sure. Laters.’
And he was gone. Runner-up again.
ROUND 22
Wine vs WAGs
Tix in ur letterbox, c u after game Jeanie x
A giddy little shiver went down my spine. I loved knowing Josh had been at my house, popping small envelopes into my letterbox while I was upstairs, faffing about unawares. It was so romantic. Or something.