Playing the Field

by Foster, Zoe

  ‘That man is ignoring us.’

  I swung my head around to try my luck at catching his eye, but tired of it after two seconds. ‘Jus’ go over there and buy them. Here’s some money. Catch!’

  I threw a twenty-dollar note at Cam; it floated elegantly to the carpet near the feet of my stool. He jumped off his stool and bent down to get it, resting his hand on my knee for balance. As he came up, he smacked the back of his head on our tiny bar table. It made a sickening crack.

  ‘FUCK! Are you okay?’ I covered my mouth in horror.

  He ducked back down and reversed out before rising. He was rubbing his head with the hand holding the note; his other hand was still resting on my knee. He smiled a goofy grin.

  ‘Can’t break steel, baby.’

  ‘Bet there’s a bump – one of those instant ones, like in Daffy Duck. Come ’ere, lemme feel.’ I pulled him in close by tugging his T-shirt and ran my hand over his shaved head. ‘Can’t feel anything. Dr Jean says take two Panadol and see a real doctor if pain persists.’

  Cam was standing so close to me that I could smell his aftershave. It was spicy and woody, like cloves and amber and pepper and cinnamon. I took it in, closing my eyes briefly and forgetting to pretend I wasn’t …

  I opened my eyes to see Cam watching me intently, his brown eyes just inches from mine, boring through me. I could see his breath rise and fall under his T-shirt, I could smell his skin, and I could feel something enormously unfamiliar flicker and spark in the air between us. I coughed and let go of him.

  ‘Well, there’s no blood and no bump, which means you can still go and get the drinks. Garn.’

  His eyes lingered on me for a second longer before he turned slowly and walked to the bar. My heart was doing funny things: it felt like it was going too fast, then too slow. This isn’t right. I felt my phone buzz in my back pocket, where I had kept it in case Josh called or texted, which he had not done since I’d got the guilts and sent him a text (saturated in industrial-strength icicles) to thank him for the flowers.

  I pulled the phone out of my tight-tight-tight black jeans and clumsily unlocked the screen. It was just before nine. The night was young. A zygote, in fact. Cam had suggested karaoke before he had to DJ at 11.30, and I thought that could just be the best idea ever. Nothing like tonelessly warbling through ‘Cherish’ to cheer a girl up.

  The message was from Josh.

  Am glad u liked them. I guess ur busy 2nite. Can I see u tmrw? I can pick u up 4 lunch? need 2 talk 2 u, explain … xx

  I sighed, locked the screen and put the phone back into my pocket just as Cam returned with two strange red drinks and two small shot glasses that appeared to be on fire.

  ‘What the —’

  ‘Alcohol-free. All of them. Promise.’

  ‘Cam, I know as a DJ your tolerance for alcohol exceeds even the most hardened hobo’s, but I will fall off this stool if I drink those.’

  ‘Y’sure?’

  ‘Yes! And stop trying to get me smashed. It’s soooo transparent.’ I meant this in our usual joking way, but once the words were out of my mouth, I realised it could have other connotations.

  ‘You did it yourself by ordering those margaritas first up.’

  ‘Pfft.’

  ‘You sure you don’t want one?’

  I nodded clumsily.

  He sank the two shots in a row and chased with the vodka. I took a sip of my vodka and wondered when I would be able to get my mitts on some kind of kebab.

  ‘So, Michael J. Fox text you yet?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, yes.’ I was relieved to be able to answer in the affirmative.

  ‘Whatcha gonna do?’

  I sighed. ‘I dunno. ’Smessy. I – we – love each other but, well, Tess is always going to be a big, fat, bitchy, psychopathic roadblock. And I need to be able to trust him, y’know?’

  ‘Tess is a piece of work, that’s for sure.’

  I laughed. ‘You say that like you know her.’

  Cam cleared his throat. ‘Look, Jay, I gotta be honest. From everything you’ve told me, he’s just not over Tess. I know how boys work, how they play these things so that they look like the innocent party. And, I’m sorry, Jay, but he’s not over her. Anyone can see that.’

  ‘Caaaaam, lay ooooooff.’ I closed my eyes and shook my head. He was so predictable with his anti-Josh shit.

  ‘No, I mean it. You’ve had problem after problem with him – and her. I told you footballers were hard work. It’s not like Real Life, Jay; it’s very, very different. And I’ve watched you change to try and fit into it, and look where it’s landed you.’

  ‘Where? What have I become? A junkie? A thief? A prozzi? I dyed my hair and have had some fitting-in issues but, God, you act like I got a tit job and started doing coke every night.’

  ‘Whatever. The point is, he’s fooling around with his ex.’

  ‘He not “fooling around” with her. They’re just … he was … they … urgh! What does it matter? You’ve hated him from day one.’

  He ignored me, clearly on a roll. ‘Jay, relationships should be fun. Fun and easy. You and your sister – I don’t know what’s wrong with you two, but you get yourselves into these fucked-up relationships where there’s always drama. Shouldn’t be that way. You’re amazing, gorgeous girls and you could be living this great life with great guys who worship you, you know? “Hard” isn’t code for “romantic”, Jay.’

  He took a long sip of his drink and I thought about what he’d said, twiddling my straw through the maze of ice-cubes and lime in my drink. After a few quiet minutes, I knew exactly what I had to do.

  ‘Let’s sing!’

  ROUND 49

  The Best Friend vs The Boyfriend

  We stood out on the street in the warm night air, watching full cab after full cab zoom past us unsympathetically.

  ‘Come on, Cabbie Bradshaw, hail us a ride, would you?’

  ‘You’re the local! You should know all the tricks.’

  ‘But I don’t have boobs and long legs, and we all know that, after beaded seat covers, boobs and long legs are a cab driver’s biggest weakness.’

  I bent at the knees and pushed my shoulders and upper arms in so that what little cleavage I had was pushed together in a comically OTT fashion.

  ‘’Scuse me, officer, but is this some kind of bust?’ I purred in my best Jessica Rabbit voice.

  ‘Jean?’

  I turned around to see Morgan and Phil, both licking gelato in cones.

  ‘Morgan, hi!’

  Phil’s face was crumpled in confusion; Morgan’s less so but she was still clearly wondering why I was offering up my boobs to a good-looking guy who wasn’t Josh Fox.

  ‘Hi, hun … what’re you up to? Who’s your friend? Where’s Josh?’

  The corpses of sensitivity and subtlety sat on the ground below Morgan’s staccato interrogation.

  ‘I’m Josh’s cousin.’ Cam stepped forward and put his arm around me. ‘I’m minding Jeanie tonight. I like to play sport. With my feet. And balls. Especially with balls. I love playing with balls.’

  I elbowed him hard in the ribs.

  ‘This is my friend, Cam; Cam, this is Morgan and Phil.’

  Cam curtsied, Phil squinted, Morgan frowned.

  ‘So you’re not Josh’s cousin?’

  ‘No, he’s not. He was being an idiot.’

  ‘Hey, have we met before?’ Phil asked Cam.

  Cam shook his head. ‘Not a chance.’

  ‘But you look familiar. I’m sure we’ve met somewhere …’

  ‘Cam works in that shop on —’

  ‘TAXI!’

  Cam’s two-finger whistle pierced the air and brakes screeched.

  ‘Come on, Jay; Whitney Houston waits for no man.’

  Cam tugged my arm and pulled me backwards. I giggled, crashing into him. The look on Morgan’s face was a blend of astonishment and puzzlement; Phil’s was more one of confusion and suspicion.

  ‘’Sall good, guys,
I’ll ’splain later. Bye! Enjoy your ice-cream!’

  And then we were in the cab, laughing and pulling away from the curb, the ramifications of what had just happened as far away as my fifth birthday.

  Because we’d both slid in from the footpath, and Cam had only gone as far as the middle of the seat, we were squished together: two naughty kids wreaking havoc and thrilled to be on their way to more booze. Cam’s whole left side was against me and our shoulders overlapped slightly.

  Cam, being a DJ, couldn’t go thirty seconds without music.

  ‘Driver – some music, please? Preferably something either in the death-metal or symphonic-orchestra categories. Many kind thanks.’

  The driver wordlessly jabbed on the radio and the car filled with the strains of Marvin Gaye.

  ‘Niiiiiice. This will put us in the mood perfectly,’ I said, tapping my hands to the beat, looking out the window on my left at the passing traffic.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Cam.

  ‘I said it will put us in the mood perfectly,’ I enunciated, still looking out the window and enjoying Marvin’s soulful trills and tremors.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For karaoke, of cour—’ As I said this, I swung my head round to give him the ‘You’re an idiot’ face I sent his way 200 times a day, and was met by his face, which was already positioned to meet mine. We looked at each other, our matching brown eyes perfectly level, our lips perfectly level, and when Cam moved his face towards me ever so delicately, I moved in to meet him, allowing our lips to meet.

  He kissed me softly, all lips and gentleness. I kissed him back. He kissed me again; I kissed him back. He opened his mouth ever so slightly, and I mirrored his move, allowing his lips to delicately cover mine, and feeling my breath rise sharply. He placed his right hand onto the left side of my face, caressing me tenderly, lovingly. Then, pulling away ever so slightly, he looked deep into my eyes.

  ‘You cannot know how long I have waited to do that.’ Cam exhaled, smiling, rubbing his thumb up and down my cheek, searching my eyes for something – perhaps a similar sentiment, perhaps shock, perhaps uncomfortableness.

  I closed my eyes and moved in for more of his kisses. It felt right, as though, after years of searching for a set of misplaced keys, I had finally found them. I took my right hand up behind his neck and stroked the back of his head as we kissed, pulling him into me, wanting to kiss him deeper, trying to extract more of him with each kiss. Taking his cue from me, he took his left hand and snaked it behind my back, lifting me up and over to him, his fingers tracing my —

  ‘$23.25. Machine not working, cash only.’

  The physical light came on and, with it, the metaphysical. I was drunk, in the back of a smelly cab, making out with Cam. The first two I had prior references for, but the third was entirely foreign. I pulled back as if bitten, and quickly, avoiding eye contact, reached into my handbag for my purse. I was trying to catch my breath and not look at Cam, hoping that by the time I located some money, a large pin would have materialised and pricked the bubble holding all the OMFG that was suffocating this cab.

  ‘Thanks, mate.’

  I looked up to see Cam handing over a fifty, looking at me for some kind of clue as to how he should act now, and what he was allowed to say. He looked utterly terrified. Which, for some reason, I found adorable. My face cracked into a huge smile, which I tried to hide by looking down and winding my hair up and back into a high, dishevelled bun.

  ‘Uh, Jean?’

  ‘Mm?’

  ‘You kiss good.’

  I exhaled. There he was: the same old Cam with a syringe full of comedy at the ready. I was grateful and relieved. I was confused about what had just occurred and stunned to consider what might have happened if the cab ride had been any longer.

  I wasn’t in the mood for karaoke any more. Kissing a guy who wasn’t Josh was weird enough without then being forced to sit in a small neon booth with him, drinking sake and singing Billy Joel songs as if nothing had happened. I needed to go home and get out a big magical calculator and figure out what the hell had happened tonight.

  ‘Cam, I might … I might go on home, actually.’

  ‘Why? How come? Noooo. You wanted to sing! You had your Blondie lyrics ready to go!’ He looked shattered.

  ‘Yeah, but then, well … ’ I smiled.

  ‘Please get out of taxi now,’ said the driver.

  ‘Just a second, buddy, she might keep driving. Just hang tight?’ He turned to me. ‘Shit, Jay, I don’t want to end the night like this …’ He grabbed my left hand and looked me square in the eyes. ‘Jean, I’m sorry for doing that … but I don’t regret it. Not one bit. I haven’t … fucked up things between us, have I?’

  I looked into his eyes, wondering how everything can change between two people when they simply press their lips together. I scrunched my forehead in thought; I had no idea whether he had ruined things. The thoughts running through my head about asking him to drive me home so we could kiss some more kind of inferred he hadn’t, but deep down I had no idea, full stop. Plus, I was as responsible for what had happened as he was.

  ‘To borrow a line from the antichrist, it takes two to tango. Look, I’ll see you tomorrow, ’kay? It’s cool, we’re cool. Totally cool.’

  I gave his face a meaningful last look, trying to figure out how it was that just minutes ago I was attached to it. He exhaled, picking up his change from the little plastic money tray.

  ‘You seem to have made up your mind.’ He paused, searching for something in my eyes. ‘G’night, Jeanie.’ He leaned in boldly and kissed me on the lips, gave a sad little smile, swivelled and got out of the cab, looking at me once more before closing the door.

  ‘Fifteen Arlington Avenue, please driver.’

  We sped off and I put my head in my hands. I was drunk, I was a cheat, and I was more confused than the Chief of Confusion on the confusingest day of the year.

  ROUND 50

  The Pot vs The Kettle

  I sat at the shop counter the next morning eating a toasted cheese-and-ham sandwich. The filling scalded my tongue, making each bite more painful than the last. I didn’t care. I was so, so hungry. I hadn’t eaten since lunchtime yesterday, which was likely one of the reasons I’d ended up kissing Cam in a cab, the other being that I had consumed enough alcohol to power a small boat.

  Ingrid wouldn’t be in till midday because she and Justin had ducked off to a vineyard yesterday afternoon, which was handy, because as it stood, I had been given a valuable insight into how death may feel, and being in a relatively cold state, I needed a few hours of warming up before seeing her. I planned on showing her my ‘collection’ this afternoon, in the hope that I could start selling it tomorrow. It was hiding out the back, under a big scarf. I needed a stand, I’d realised. ‘So you do,’ my brain had said in response to such a difficult puzzle. ‘But I hate you right now. Figure it out yourself.’

  I allowed my mind to coast lazily back to the feeling I’d had when I was kissing Cam: how right it felt, how perfectly compatible it seemed we were … I wondered where the hell it had all come from. And was it purely alcohol-fuelled? I quietly admitted to myself that I was excited about seeing him again today.

  I looked at my phone. I was yet to reply to Josh’s text about seeing him tonight. There was no way I could see him; I was so hung-over and confused. There was a large, deep hole inside my stomach that came from the realisation I’d cheated on him. I’d given it to him for letting Tess sit on his lap, and then I’d gone and pashed on with a guy in the back of a cab.

  Had I done it out of spite, perhaps, to get him back for dragging Tess and her golden hair and perfect skin into our relationship, and refusing to leave her in the past? If that was the reason, it was not only real twisted, it was entirely subconscious, because I don’t remember thinking about any of that at the time. I just remember feeling it was the natural thing to do.

  More coffee. Urgently. I popped the ‘Back in seven-and-a-half minu
tes’ sign on the door and walked the block to Spresso. When I entered, it was to find Cam spinning around from the counter, all shiny-eyes and joke-cracky with the blush-inducing Italian barista, holding two coffees in a tray in one hand and his wallet in the other. He was glowing like a 100-watter, and was wearing a particularly silly outfit: gold trainers, white jeans and a pink T-shirt that had the outline of a giant rat on it. The look was completed by a black beanie. Of course.

  I dropped my head, blushing, and walked towards the counter. Fuck. How, at this exact second, was Cam here? Was it A Sign? As our eyes connected, furious, nervous thoughts raced through me, and the small amount of saliva that had kindly graced my mouth this morning vanished. How would this go? Would this be weird? Would I feel like jumping into his arms and kissing him passionately? Or would he just be … Cam?

  ‘JB, good morning, good morning! I was just on my way to see you and deliver you a soy chai when I thought you might have already had a coffee, y’see, ’cos, well, I figured you might’ve needed it today, and I know you can’t have two ’cos you go loco, so I wen—’

  I smiled at him shyly. ‘You know me too well.’ Then I laughed because he was bumbling, speaking too quickly – could he be nervous?

  He sidled up beside me, facing the door, and looked me in the eyes. ‘Shall we walk together? Talk about that nice pash we had last night?’

  ‘Cam!’ I hissed, looking around, ducking out of the door before him. ‘Jesus. Shut up, would you?’

  ‘Hey, hey, little lady, calm down.’

  ‘Well, what do you expect? You can’t just say shit like that. I still have a boyfriend, you know.’

  ‘You can have a new one, if you like. He’s got great fashion sense; spins a mean turntable.’

  ‘Cam, that’s not funny.’

  We walked slowly, silently. I had my arms folded and was deep in thought.