Playing the Field

by Foster, Zoe

  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Melinda staring at us, her face flushed with bitterness. What was her problem?

  ‘Just one more drink?’ Josh tried again. He was exceptionally hard to knock back, with his smiling blue eyes and floppy wet hair, all smiles and expectation, but I was tired and I needed to finish off a gothic-inspired cuff that I’d stayed up making till one o’clock this morning. I was determined to have my line ready for Ingrid by the end of the week; I had to stop making excuses, both to her and to myself, and get my stuff into the shop. Twice last week I’d sold dresses that simply cried out for one of my pieces to set them off. And twice I’d had nothing to offer the customer.

  I shook my head. Josh took a deep breath and smiled.

  ‘You’re a little piece of work, you know that?’

  ‘Excuse me, but are you two sold separately?’ Bones had appeared from nowhere. And was clearly pissed. He sidled up to me and linked his arm through mine. His overfamiliarity didn’t seem creepy, though; he was so charismatic and funny that it just worked. I could see how he wooed girl after girl.

  ‘So, you’ll probably want to buy me a drink after that awesome try I scored, won’t you, Jean?’

  I giggled, grateful he was being far friendlier than at the ball.

  ‘Boys, we going or what?’ The massive human I recognised as Melinda’s boyfriend came up and hooked Josh around the neck with his left arm.

  ‘Ryan, have you met Jean? Jean, this is Ryan. He protects me from 150-kilogram Tongans who run at me at 230 kilometres an hour.’

  ‘Hi,’ I smiled sweetly.

  ‘G’day, Jean. Nice to meet you. So boys, how we gonna get to the Windy?’

  ‘I can drive you guys, if you like,’ I said. ‘I’m parked a couple of light-years away but if you don’t mind the walk …’ As soon as the words were out of my mouth I wanted to hit ‘recall’. I couldn’t have Josh and Bones and God knows who else in Mary! Crappy little Mary with her dingy seats and tape player! Oh Jesus, and the back seat was putrid, littered with clothes and beads and fishing wire and metal and, oh, this was not good.

  ‘It’s settled, she’s driving us,’ Bones said as though we’d all agreed on this.

  ‘Who’s driving?’ Melinda suddenly appeared next to Ryan.

  ‘Jeanie in a bottle,’ Bones said.

  ‘Well, that’s silly. I should just take you, seeing as though I’m coming.’

  Ryan’s face changed. He and Bones exchanged a look. A look that said, ‘Fuck’.

  ‘It was just gonna be the boys tonight, babe …’

  ‘Oh really? Is that why Steph and Cassie are going, then? Because they’re boys?’

  Like a small truck hitting a brick wall, awkwardness crashed into the conversation. I decided I needed to get out of the way.

  ‘Um, well, guys, if you have a lift, maybe I’ll get going. Have fun!’

  I took a few steps backwards and put my lemonade onto a small table behind me. Josh said, ‘I’ll walk you to the lifts,’ and steered me gently towards the door.

  ‘What was that about?’ I asked once we were out of earshot.

  ‘Captain Killjoy. Has to do anything Ryan does. Never lets him out of her line of vision. Like a schoolteacher merged with a sniper and a private investigator.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘Insecure.’

  ‘But she’s gorgeous!’

  Josh pursed his lips and shook his head.

  ‘Footballers attract some strange girls. Some, well, they’re lacking in the self-esteem department, so they hook up with a footballer and then they get approval from their girlfriends and workmates. It gives them some kind of identity. But unfortunately this usually means they place way too much emphasis on the relationship, and get all jealous and crazy. Put simply,’ he said, kissing me on the lips, ‘they’re nowhere near as perfect as you.’

  I smiled at him – at his insight, at his kiss, at the fact I was not territorial or angry or jealous and insecure about my boyfriend, like Melinda. I wondered how she had come to be like that. I couldn’t imagine ever being like that with Josh.

  ‘You should eat more cornflakes … you’re not quite corny enough.’

  He kissed me on the lips again.

  ‘Thanks so much for inviting me to the game. I had fun. I really like Lou and Steph. I won’t be so terrified next time you throw me into the ring.’

  ‘I’ll call you when I’m done. Maybe I can swing by later?’ He pressed the lift buzzer.

  A late-night rendezvous? How romantic. Who was this boy? And how on earth could footballers possibly get such filthy reputations? I couldn’t wait to tell Cameron how completely wrong he was about Josh.

  ‘That’d be nice. I’m sure I’ll be up late, so just call or text or whatever. Have fun!’

  He leaned in and kissed me on the lips once more, before wrapping his arms around me and squeezing me tight. He let go just as the lift doors opened.

  ‘Bye, sexy little Jeanie in a bottle.’

  Bah, I thought, smiling to myself as the lift took me downstairs. Who needed wishes when you had a boy like Josh?

  ROUND 23

  The Enchantress vs The Press

  My phone buzzed. It was Col and, since Ingrid wasn’t around, I answered. She didn’t even say hello.

  ‘Have you seen the papers today?’

  ‘Why? What’s in there?’

  ‘Um, so Josh and a few other Bulls guys are on the front page walking out of, um, a gentleman’s club.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘A brothel. Anyway, they got kicked out ’cos one of them – not Josh – took photos on his mobile of some bird giving him a blowie, and she flipped out.’

  I frowned, physically and mentally. That can’t be right. Why would Josh go to a brothel?

  ‘I’m gonna go get the paper …’

  ‘Yeah, go buy it and call me back.’

  I grabbed a dollar from the till, slammed the shop door shut and pinned it across the road to the convenience store. Where I saw a security-footage snap of Josh, Bones and some guy I didn’t know walking out of a place called the Enchantress. The headline read: ‘Bulls Players Kicked Out of Brothel!’

  Subtle.

  I studied the image: Josh was wearing the same thing he’d been wearing when he’d kissed me goodbye at the lift. Without warning, the smallest amount of vomit rushed up into my mouth. It tried to push through to my front teeth and I tasted the coffee I’d had only an hour ago. I pushed it back down. Naughty vomit. Inappropriate. I paid for the paper and walked back to the shop to read all the details.

  The story was basically the headline repeated in forty-six different ways: three Bulls players had been ‘escorted’ out of the Enchantress at 4 a.m. because one of them had paid for a room and some ‘service’, but had been picked up by security cameras trying to film it on his mobile phone. Which was not permitted. Obviously. From the photo, the offender appeared to be Bones. He was being aggressively steered off the premises by a man who was wasting a potential life of spoils and stardom as Mr Universe; Josh and the other player were simply trailing behind, glassy eyed, chuckling, obviously unaware they had starring roles on the CCTV.

  I wasn’t sure how to feel. I was disappointed, definitely. But was I justified in feeling upset? I mean, I probably deserved some kind of explanation, right? Right?

  My phone chimed loudly with a new text. It was him.

  Jeanie, am sure uv seen papers, just a beat up, uv nothing 2 worry about (Bones does!), will expln asap x

  Do I write back? Am I cranky, or am I cool? Cranky or cool? What is the message I am trying to send here? I studied the photo again. Do I care that he went to a brothel? Yes, I was pretty sure I did. But if he weren’t famous, I wouldn’t even know that he’d been. Would I care then? Maybe ignorance was bliss …

  Col called.

  ‘Did you see it?’

  ‘I did. He just texted, saying I had nothing to worry about and that he would call me soon.’

 
‘Are you upset?’

  ‘Not sure … I mean, yeah, he was at this “club”. But I can’t see him being there for that. Bones, the guy who got kicked out, it makes sense that he would do something like that, but I just feel like I can trust Josh, you know?’

  ‘Honey. He was at a brothel!’

  ‘Yes I know that, but I don’t think we’re both such bad judges of character that we missed the whole addicted-to-prostitutes vibe.’

  ‘Well, okay, but he is a footballer, and we’ve all heard the stories …’

  ‘God, not you too. You and Cam should start a bloody picket.’

  I couldn’t keep the defensiveness out of my voice. Why did everyone label Josh as ‘A Footballer’ and assume that he behaved in the same way as other Footballers? And why was I the only one who didn’t understand that this was just ‘the way it was’ with them? Where had I been hiding when the email came around stating that all footballers were to be treated with extreme caution as they were likely to cheat, lie, have an orgy with fifteen groupies, and sell your firstborn to the leader of a drug cartel should you blink while making them breakfast. Josh had been nothing but a sweet, lovely, funny guy … but maybe that was all part of it. Maybe he was just A Footballer. I had no idea.

  ‘Don’t get shitty; I’m just saying don’t wear blinkers.’

  I took a deep sigh. ‘I’ll be speaking to him soon and I’m sure everything will be fine.’

  It was Col’s turn to sigh. ‘Okay. I just hate the idea of my baby sis getting hurt, is all. And, you know, I guess my reptile brain kicks in when I see this sort of circus because of what happened with Eric …’

  ‘I know you mean well, Col. I’ll call you as soon as I’ve spoken with him.’

  ‘Okay, okay. Love you, baby Jay.’ Bored and anxious with no Ingrid to chat to and far too many dull, just-looking-thanks customers, I spent hours willing Josh to call. Finally, mid-afternoon, his name lit up my mobile. I answered immediately.

  ‘Hello?’ I answered, even though he and I both knew his name was on my screen.

  ‘Jeanie, hi. How’s your day been?’ He sounded exhausted. I imagine one would be after a 4 a.m. brothel visit and what was probably several hundred litres of beer. His tone threw me off; you can’t be investigative with someone when they sound half-dead. It seems somehow unfair to probe people in that state, like trying to convince a small child to amuse themselves with an Excel spreadsheet.

  ‘Not too bad … Should I ask about yours?’

  He took a deep breath. ‘I’ve had better. I’m sorry to call you so late in the day, but we got flogged at training, then we had a team meeting about the “incident” and — Jeanie, look, I realise how bad the papers seemed, but it was a massive beat-up. It’s character assassination.’

  I was silent, unsure of the appropriate response.

  ‘We can’t do anything – I mean, admittedly, what Bones did was insanity and he’s an idiot. But that’s hardly news. Plus, he’s a grown adult paying for a legal service. But, his stupidity aside, we were just having a drink at the only place still serving at that hour, and now we all look like brothel-loving deviants. Because of that tool.’ He sighed. ‘Jeanie, could I pick you up and we could have dinner at my place? Mum and Dad are away, so you wouldn’t have to do the parents-small-talk thing.’

  ‘Does that mean they didn’t see the papers today?’

  ‘Oh no, they saw it. Dad was on the blower at seven this morning. They’re only interstate.’

  ‘Oh. They mad?’

  ‘They were, but they’ve calmed down a bit now I’ve told them what went on. Mum texted me saying I was a – quote – spectacular moron. Anyway, I want to see your pretty face, tell you the whole fetid tale, and apologise for confusing a brothel for your place last night …’

  I giggled.

  ‘I’ve got a crisis meeting with my manager now until five or so. What if I pick you up straight from work?’

  I watched my plans to go for a run and cook baked salmon with Col sail past me onto the street and under the wheels of a bus. ‘Sure.’

  Gee, way to play hardball when he’s just been snapped exiting a brothel. Hang on, no. No. That’s not how I’m going to play this. I had to stand my ground. These were early days; I didn’t want him to think this was acceptable and that I would be cool and calm and accommodating if something like this happened again. I called back.

  ‘Actually, I’ll drive over around seven. I’m going for a run first.’

  Silence. I bit my lip, waiting to see what he’d say.

  ‘Oh, okay.’

  ‘I’ll see you at seven.’

  ‘Seven it is. Thanks, Jeanie.’

  I had nothing to worry about. I knew it. Josh was a good guy.

  But as I put my phone back in my bag, a rush of terror gripped me: had I already become caught up in the WAG world, where something that might be a deal breaker in a regular relationship – evidence of visiting a brothel, say – is passed off as normal?

  I had no one to ask, and no answers. More guesswork it would be, then.

  ROUND 24

  Neutral Faces vs Red Faces

  Josh had exceptionally attractive feet: smooth and hairless with perfect little pink-and-white moons gleaming on the nails. They were far too attractive for a man, and a footballer at that. I wondered if he got pedicures. Or his toes waxed, maybe? I scrunched up my nose. Was that too feminine? Would I have a problem if he did? Or would we go off and have paraffin pedicures together one day in the future? My mind was so tired that it was diverting down very strange alleys.

  ‘Can I get you some more water? Wine? A cigar?’

  ‘No thanks.’ I smiled politely. We’d finished our takeaway Thai and both of us realised that Josh couldn’t put off his explanation any longer.

  I sighed loudly to express my tiredness, and looked over to see whether Josh had picked up on my non-verbal fatigue indicator. He was leaning back into the corner of his enormous charcoal sofa, but his knees, feet and hands were all pointing towards me, perched daintily at the other end. I noticed that he used each opportunity – a readjustment of his jeans; reaching for his glass of water – to move a bit closer, without being obvious. All this eager body language indicated what he had so far been too reticent to physically do: touch me. Normally, within a few minutes of being near each other his arms would be languidly splayed over my shoulders or, if we were driving, his hand would be resting on my thigh. But it was as though he felt it was inappropriate to do any of that until he’d explained himself.

  ‘Okay, so here we go.’ He took in a deep breath. I released one.

  ‘So you saw from my texts that I was, well, a little drunk last night. It became a bit of a big night – if by big you mean massive – and so the Black Elephant kicked us out ’cos they close at 3 a.m. But we were all still fired up and not ready to go home. You get like that after a game, especially after a win: your mind just won’t settle down. And I’d taken a couple of Sudafed before the game, too. But it was a Sunday night, so our options were fairly limited …’ Josh paused, as if waiting for me to confirm that I was listening.

  ‘Uh-huh,’ I said, smiling despite not meaning to. ‘Go on.’

  A reshuffle, and his arm now lay along the top of the sofa, stretching out towards me. My accidental smile widened.

  ‘So the only place open at that time is the Enchantress, and because Bones likes a bit of a rub-and-tug, we set off there. And, Jeanie, before you ask, that’s not my gear at all. Not for me. Ask Bones: they call me Monty Burns ’cos I’m so anal-retentive about germs, and I reckon those girls are full of them. I don’t know how the boys do it.’ He made a face of disgust.

  I breathed a quiet sigh of relief. I liked that explanation. And I had noticed how neat and clean he and his car and his home were.

  ‘So that aside, the Enchantress also has a bar. A normal bar. No strippers or lap dancing or topless beer wenches – just a bar. Of course, the friendly, football-loving journalists at the papers failed to menti
on that. We’ve been there plenty of times, but no one’s ever cared before. Fuckin’ Bones …’

  ‘Mmm,’ I said, nodding. ‘Well, I know where I’ll be heading next time I’m struggling to find a cold beer at 4 a.m.’

  He smiled, glowing at me from the other end of the sofa, taking my joke as a sign that he wasn’t in trouble.

  ‘And so we’re there, and Camel and I are at the bar drinking, and then this huge guy storms into the room where Bones is doing his thing, and there’s yelling and the girl’s screaming her head off, and then Bones is being dragged out, trying to do up his jeans, and then the clown who owns the joint starts doing his nut at us, and these security guys bloody come out of nowhere, and so we freak out and head for the door, and the big bastard pushes Bones out, like in the movies, and says, you know, something hero, like, “Don’t let me see your face ’round here again!” And they took his BlackBerry so he wouldn’t have the film. He’s quite pissed about that, actually.’

  ‘Well, I mean, he must’ve known he wasn’t supposed to film her …’

  ‘True. But that’s Bones. He’s a goose. And that, Jeanie, is what happened.’ He nodded, his eyes tired and slightly hung over, but honest.

  ‘I thought it would be far more salacious, actually.’

  ‘I know! Jesus, we’ve had far crazier nights. I mean, not at brothels, of course – you know what I mean. But because of Bones’s bloody obsession with prozzies and porn, we’ve all come off looking bad.’

  I smiled.

  ‘It’s such a bloody nightmare,’ he continued, shaking his head. ‘The club is pissed, we’re being fined for bringing the Bulls into disrepute, and my manager is worried about my Weety Snacks sponsorship.’

  ‘What? But that’s madness! Breakfast cereals and brothels are a perfect combination!’

  He grinned at me. ‘You’re a little monkey, you are. Come ’ere —’

  He reached over and grabbed my hands, pulling me into him, my lips onto his. We kissed for a few moments, then he suddenly opened his sparkling blue eyes, centimetres from mine.