Playing the Field

by Foster, Zoe

  ‘Hi. You at home?’ Mine was hard, sharp.

  ‘Mm-hmmm. I tried to call you before … I miss you, baby. When can I see you?’

  ‘Well, I could come over now. I’m just leaving work.’

  ‘Mmmm, yes please. Can we lie in bed and watch a movie?’

  Not likely. ‘See you soon.’

  ‘Jeanie? Can you bring me some Powerade? The blue one? And maybe some KFC? I haven’t eaten anything for days … so hungry, babe.’

  ‘’Kay. Bye.’ I hung up.

  I reapplied my blush and gloss while waiting for his food. Luckily, I was wearing a nice little shirtdress. In fact, I had dressed nicely every day since Monday, foolishly thinking that I might see my boyfriend at the tail end of one of those days. I’d managed, with the help of some dry shampoo and a lot of flat-ironing, to keep my blow-dry going since Sunday. And even my paltry spray-tan – Morgan had watered down the lotion so I wouldn’t look orange – had hung in there with some careful towel-drying and lots of gradual self-tanner.

  Still forced to wait, I looked carefully at the ends of my hair; they were gruesome. I missed having glossy brown hair. Now I had expensive, brittle hair with roots that grew like some form of mutant bacteria, and my length – which used to be my best asset – was now my biggest downfall. Something needed to be done. I was over being blonde. Sure, it got me more attention, but of what calibre? And Josh, who I had essentially done it for, didn’t even bloody like it. And these push-up bras could use a rest, too – I felt like my ribs were constantly being squeezed by a G-clamp. What – who – had I become? I could hardly remember the Jean who lived a simple life on the Gold Coast. Clearly my brain had erased the tape to make room for all the new information that had streamed in since moving down here: infidelity, scandal, psychotic ex-girlfriends, what a line break is …

  I knocked on Josh’s door, using the side path so I didn’t have to chat to his parents. I was struggling to balance a bag of grease, fat and salt, and two bottles of disgusting-looking blue drink. I was wondering how long I could wait before asking about Tess. It wasn’t going to be long: I was about as good at hiding my anger as I was at lifting large trucks and throwing them.

  Josh came to the door with a towel around his waist, his hair dripping wet. He’d lost weight over the last few days. Well yes, that does happen when you go on a vodka diet.

  ‘Little Jeanie, my angel …’

  He leaned down and kissed me, his breath tinged with the pungent scent of alcohol, his normally shining blue eyes scribbled with red and enclosed behind puffy lids. I kissed him with my lips closed, and started to make my way inside.

  ‘What’s up, baby? In a rush?’

  ‘Your breath is gross.’

  I could hear him breathing onto his wrist, trying to smell it.

  ‘But I brushed my teeth. Twice!’

  He grabbed me from behind as I placed ‘dinner’ onto his breakfast bar. He nuzzled into my neck, swaying from side to side.

  ‘So, what have you been doing for the past week?’

  ‘Ohhhh, baby, don’t be like that. It was only a day.’

  ‘Nudging three, actually. Anyway, whatever. Did you have fun?’ I was clanging plates and glasses and cutlery, dishing up food without care or precision. He spun me around to face him and gave me a gooey, loving smile.

  ‘Baby, don’t be mad. I’m here with you now – you’ve got me all to yourself.’

  I frowned. ‘I don’t care that you drank yourself stupid for almost three days —’

  ‘I got home last night and slept for fifteen hours …’ He was still smiling. Usually it would have melted me, but I had all kinds of wrath bubbling through my arteries; no smile could win me over.

  ‘Whatever, I don’t care. I just … it’s just that —’

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t call. I told you I probably wouldn’t. We … well, the boys, they kind of … We’re banned fro—’

  ‘Banned? Honestly.’

  ‘Ah, Mad Monday – nothing makes a girl happier … ’ He was shaking his head, trying to hold back another smile.

  ‘Yep. In fact, it makes some girls so happy they go and join in the drinking.’

  He looked at me blankly, a small frown spreading across his face.

  ‘Okay, you’ve lost me.’

  ‘Ummmmm, Tess?’

  The small frown made way for an XXL version. ‘Tess what?’

  I gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Are you for real.’

  There was no inflection at the end of my sentence because it was less a question than rhetoric swathed in sarcasm. I went back to dishing up the food.

  ‘Baby, help me out here.’

  ‘Okay. I know you hate the Girlfriends’ United Front and all the he-said-she-said, but Morgan told me your ex-girlfriend was sitting on your lap as you all drank merrily on Monday night. That help?’

  As he had exhausted his frowning capabilities, he had to settle for slightly scrunching up his cheeks and nose to signify his confusion.

  ‘I don’t remember seeing Tess …’

  ‘How convenient,’ I mumbled.

  ‘What?’

  His tone was three parts confusion, one part annoyance; the sweet, sleepy, hung-over guy was two seconds from taking his Powerade and collapsing on the sofa to watch WWF wrestling.

  ‘Why would I let that happen? Babe, that never happened.’

  ‘Only it did, Josh! Everyone saw it!’

  Morgan had told me not to say that. She had in fact told me not to bring up the subject at all, let alone scream at him over it. If this conversation was an exam, I’d just earned myself an F.

  Josh shook his head rapidly, his face still scrunched up. ‘Where? Where is this coming from?’

  I folded my arms. ‘I called Tess. I needed the truth.’

  ‘The truth?’ He spat out the words. Oh shit, I’d gone too far. I knew I’d gone too far. ‘You called her for the truth? That’s like giving a kleptomaniac a trench coat and asking them to not steal anything! That girl isn’t capable of the truth!’

  ‘Well, what am I supposed to do? Morgan told me that Melinda and Tess showed up at Scruffy O’Leary’s, and that Tess was all over you, so rather than just take it as the truth, I thought I would ask Tess about it. Actually try and figure out if it was even worth raising with you. Did you know about her little Facebook campaign, by the way?’

  He looked at me, confused, startled.

  ‘Anyway, she basically told me that I was being naive to think that you weren’t part of whatever the hell it is that you two still have going.’

  He shook his head. ‘Babe, I love you, but how silly do you have to be to take her word over mine? Especially when you stand there yourself, telling me all of the crazy shit she’s done! And yes, okay, I knew about the Facebook thing – Bones told me – but why would I offer that information to you, my new girlfriend, who I was trying to impress and not scare off with the antics of my ex?’ He looked at me as though I was the poor stupid kid who just didn’t get the message.

  ‘Well then, why … why do you still have coffees with her and let her sit on your lap?’ A tear of exasperation, confusion and anger dribbled down my face. Tess may have got under my skin, but Josh was currently branding it with hot irons. On top of that, I was so angry at myself for trying to do all the right things, and be all the right things, and look the right way, and be this perfect WAG creature for Josh, when all he does is go back to Tess anyway! I was such a fool.

  He spoke slowly and calmly. ‘Jeanie, I don’t know how I can make you see that you have nothing to worry about. I know Tess a lot better than you, and I know what she’s doing. She hates you – hates all that you represent, hates how happy we are – and she’s trying to cause irreversible damage. And now she’s winning, because we’re fighting, and you don’t trust me, and that’s just what she wants!’ He took a step back to lean against the doorframe, his face disbelieving, his eyes aimed at the floorboards.

  ‘Can you honestly tell me you don’t re
member seeing her Monday, and her sitting on your lap?’

  ‘No!’ Josh looked at me as if I was insane. Which was probably very attractive to him, since his track record indicated that to be his ‘type’. ‘No, babe, I don’t remember. I’m telling you the truth.’

  I gulped back more tears, wondering whether to believe him or to believe Tess; this dilemma was becoming the fun game that was going to decide whether we stayed together or not.

  ‘Look, let’s call her. Come on, let’s get it from the horse’s mouth. I want you to see what she’s up to. On speaker.’ Josh grabbed his phone and started pressing buttons.

  ‘What are you do— ’

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Tess, it’s Josh. I’m standing here with Jean —’

  ‘Oh please! I have nothing to say to you two fre—’

  ‘I’M STANDING here with Jean, who tells me we were seen together at Scruffy’s on Monday night. Would you care to confirm either way?’

  ‘Listen, I’ve got my own problems. I don’t need your relationship bullshi—’

  ‘Just answer the question, would you? I didn’t see you Monday. Can you tell Jean you’re lying, so we can all move on?’ His voice was stern, warning.

  Tess shrieked with laughter. ‘Oh yeah, sure thing, Josh. I wasn’t there, and neither was that little groupie in the denim shorts you seemed so fond of. No, I wasn’t there. I didn’t see Bones jump over the bar and start serving drinks, I didn’t see Melinda slap Ryan in front of everyone, and I didn’t see Camel rip off one of your sleeves.’

  ‘You’re lying.’

  ‘Am I? Well, why don’t you tell Jean how you got vodka and cranberry all over your jeans. ’Cos we all know you don’t drink that. Or why don’t you stage a speakerphone attack on Bones instead, and ask why he didn’t do anything to stop me from sitting on your lap for a goo—’

  ‘That’ll do me.’ I picked up my keys and bag and walked towards the front door.

  ‘Jean! I was drunk. I was so, so drunk. I’m sorry, I don’t remember anything! I honestly do not remember any of that …’

  I turned as I got to the door. ‘Alcohol is the cheapest and least courageous of all excuses. Spare me.’

  ‘Jean … Jean!’

  I slammed the door behind me, swearing like a pirate, stomping like a soldier and sobbing like the freshly heartbroken. Fucking cockhead fucking liar arsehole! I shuddered with anger. I didn’t want to contemplate what else I didn’t know about those two. What sordid story their in-boxes and sent items might reveal. What Bones might be able to tell me. What Melinda might know. Would I see something in the papers about Josh’s drunken antics? And who was the little tart in the denim shorts?

  I didn’t know what the next move was. I believed Josh when he said he was so drunk he didn’t know what he was doing, but since when was that an acceptable excuse? Tess and Josh still had some sick link and I was bored with trying to pretend that they didn’t.

  ROUND 47

  The Foliage vs The Fury

  With red, swollen eyes that were about as covert as a T-bone in a tofu shop, I made my way to work in Mary. I’d had an atrocious night’s sleep, kicking and crumpling and cursing Tess and Josh.

  I blamed Colette, of course – for if it weren’t for her having met Frank, I would never have met stupid Josh again in the first place. And to cap it all off, now, in my time of need, she was still carrying on and being all pissy at me because I missed the shopping trip, and was basically living at Eric’s. I’d really needed her last night, after getting home from Josh’s, but she wasn’t there and her phone was going straight to voicemail, and that only made me more gnarly. She’d even taken Dave, just to ensure I was really alone. Nice.

  Being a Thursday, the universal payday, it was going to be busy in the shop today. I didn’t mind; at least it would keep my mind off things. Ingrid was in one of her usual foul moods – Justin still hadn’t divorced his wife, surprise, surprise – and she was getting to the end of her tether. That particular tether end must be quite worn, I thought. But at least her bad-mood goggles stopped her from prying.

  We barely had time to slam down our coffees before the rush began, and I barely had time to realise it was lunchtime and I was hungry before Cam sauntered in to enquire as to the state of my food intake in recent hours.

  ‘You know what I could really go for?’ he said, casting aside platitudes and diving straight into cuisine gabble, despite the fact that there were customers around. ‘Some fish and some salad and those yam chips they do up at Something Fishy. Don’t you reckon?’

  I looked at him – his tanned, gently freckled face smattered with facial hair and framed by perfect, thick eyebrows grinning at me from across the shop floor – and realised how happy I was to see him. I heard giggling and looked over at the sale rack to see two young MySpace types with Nicole Richie-style headbands and too much foundation looking shyly at Cam and then looking away. I looked at him again. It occurred to me that they thought he was good-looking. To me – and even though I knew he was – this was strange. He was, after all, just Cam.

  Regaining my concentration, I walked him outside so that I didn’t have to belt out my lunch preferences across the store.

  ‘That sounds excellent,’ I said, trying to stop the wind from whipping my hair across my freshly lacquered lips. ‘But I want normal chips. I need full grease.’

  He peered into my eyes. ‘Whoa, you do too. How much did you put away last night, Jay? You look rough.’

  I put one hand on my hip and tilted my head. ‘Thanks. Can always rely on you to pump me up when I’m feeling like shit.’

  ‘Shouldn’t’ve got smashed on a school night, then. Should leave that stuff to the pros.’

  ‘You mean alcos? Like you?’

  ‘You got it. Now, let me guess. You can’t leave because Ingrid is here and so, yet again, I am the carrier pigeon, and, yet again, we eat like slaves in the back room, even though it’s a glorious day out here.’

  A delivery guy with a funky smell and the kind of hair that may not have seen a shower head for many weeks raced past into the shop with a colossal bunch of pink, white and red roses. Cam raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Ingrid’s non-boyfriend sucking up,’ I said knowingly. Justin was always weaselling off Ingrid’s shit-list with lush foliage.

  A few seconds later, Billygoat Gruff was back at the door, flowers still in hand.

  ‘You Jean Bennett?’

  I looked at Cam as I said, ‘Yes, that’s me.’

  ‘Sign, please.’

  I signed his little electronic notepad and took the enormous bunch of flowers. Billy vanished as quickly as he’d arrived.

  I knew who they were from. The same man who had been calling and texting all last night and this morning. Tess’s number-one guy. I flipped the card over.

  Each petal is an apology … I love you, Jean x

  ‘What’d he do this time?’ Cam’s eyes had cooled; his tone was low.

  I cleared my throat, gulping back the golf ball snaking its way up.

  ‘Long story. It’s his ex, basically. Won’t leave him alone.’

  ‘Why does that deserve kiss-arse flowers?’

  ‘I’ll tell you later. Do you need money for lunch? It’s my turn, isn’t it?’ Nursing my roses, I walked quickly back into the shop to get money. I didn’t want to discuss Josh with Cam any more. But when I came out, Cam had already left. When he finally returned, half an hour later, holding paper bags and plastic containers, I tucked twenty-five dollars into his shirt pocket before even allowing him to dump the food.

  ‘That took so fuckin’ long … The girl who serves there is on smack, I’m telling you. Slow as shit and concentration of a goldfish. Don’t have time to eat with you now, but you finish at six, right? We’re going for a drink.’

  ‘But, I think —’

  ‘Jean, shut it. You’re not seeing him tonight. What message would that send – that he dispatches flowers and everything’s okay? Man up, ladybird.’r />
  I stood there frowning, watching as he walked out. He was always such a little hurricane, blowing in and unsettling things and making me doubt myself. But I had a feeling he was right about this one. I took out my phone to text Josh one of the six drafts that I’d already scripted in my head to thank him for the flowers, but there was already a message from him.

  Jeanie can we pls talk? 2nite? I need 2 speak 2 u. This is crazy … xx

  No.

  Sorry, Josh, but I was busy tonight. Just thinking that response confirmed that it was the right thing to do. But I would write back later. I wasn’t callous by nature, and his flowers were breathtaking – they deserved a thank you … right?

  Cam’s suggestion that we have a drink was splendid. Jesus, did I need a drink. This week had been rougher than a sandpaper sandwich.

  ROUND 48

  Schemers vs Naivety

  ‘And how he’d park in the no-stopping out the front and call you to come out and see him, just so everyone could see you, and him, and the car, and put it all together that he was pretty much the world’s biggest hero, ever.’

  I drained my vanilla vodka, mint, lime and soda. It was one of Cam’s poncy DJ drinks and was frighteningly easy to knock back. I was at that point of the evening when each drink went down like water, but none was. Some actual water would be an awesome idea in terms of Hangover Management, but I knew I was as likely to follow through on that as I was on leaving ‘after the next drink’.

  ‘And then, and then, when he called you, thinking that you would put in a good word for him, when you were the one who wrote the break-up email for me …!’

  We dissolved into hysterics again. Dean the Deadshit was an endless source of amusement for us. He was the only man this side of Happy Days who still used pistol fingers as a farewell. He also thought his rule of ‘No panties in the Porsche’ was both hilarious and sexy, somehow failing to see both the potential risks: the first pertaining to hygiene, the second to face-slapping.

  Cam was facing the bar, leaning every which way on his stool like some form of deranged jungle chimp as he tried to make eye contact with the bruiser manning it. As we had only put away six drinks each in two-and-a-half hours, we were desperately in need of another, or there was a chance neither of us would get to vomit tonight.