Revue

by K. M. Golland

  Pulling the camera away from my face and checking the last sequence of shots I’d taken, I noticed a look of distaste on the face of Matt in one of them, when he’d been standing next to Josh during the gorilla-shirt-ripping fiasco. I raised a curious eyebrow, inwardly smiling. You see, that was one of the things I loved about photography—capturing moments that told a story, a story you may have missed had it not been frozen in time. And that particular moment told a story of malcontent.

  Interesting.

  Wolf whistles of encouragement sounded, prompting me to look up and see that the guys had all lowered the zips on their pants while swaying their hips in a taunting manner.

  Suddenly, in a flurry of movement and overexcited cheers from the crowd, all five pairs of pants were wrenched from between legs and removed completely, the torn material sailing through the air and landing toward the back of the stage.

  I watched them fall gracefully, but soon diverted my gaze to the five bare arses wiggling before me.

  My eyes popped, again.

  My jaw dropped, again.

  Wow! Just wow!

  Judging from my stunned reaction, I wouldn’t blame anyone for thinking this was the first time I’d seen a male revue show, because it wasn’t. I’d seen one at my cousin’s hen’s night, that one paling in comparison to these amazingly fit men and their amazingly fit rear-ends. Where is your professionalism, Cori? It flew the fuck off, that’s what my professionalism did. It said, “Ms Corinne Lee, while I stick around, your job will be boring as bat shit. So, for your sake, I’m making myself scarce.” I happily bade it bon voyage until I remembered how important this job was for the success of our business. The publicity alone was a great addition to our portfolio. Fuck! Ugh, Professionalism, get your butt back here.

  Summoning as much competence as I could, given the naked man-flesh satisfactorily raping my eyes, I sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, continuing to take pictures as the guys exited the stage before me, towels wrapped around their waists.

  “Hey you! No fucking cameras!” Josh yelled in my face, his blurred image through my viewfinder startling me due to his close proximity.

  I took a step back and removed my camera from around my neck. “It’s okay, Josh, I’m the—”

  Before I could finish, he snatched it from my hands and threw it at the wall above a bin, my six thousand dollar Nikon D4s smashing before my eyes and disappearing in among the rubbish.

  “My camera!” I cried, pushing past him and running to the bin, rummaging through it for whatever parts I could salvage.

  “What the fuck, Josh? That’s Cori, our new tour photographer.” Brad stepped up beside me. “Fuck, I’m sorry. Josh is a retard at the best of times.”

  “Oh, you’re in so much shit, man,” I heard one of the other guys say before laughing hysterically.

  It wasn’t funny. It wasn’t funny at all. In fact, it was far from fucking funny.

  Fishing out empty chip packets and God knows what else, my hand found my mangled camera, tears pooling in my eyes at the sight of the damage. “It’s ruined,” I barely voiced, afraid that if I did say it any louder I’d burst into tears.

  Brad took the lifeless camera carcass from my hands, his face twisted. “It’s … not that bad.”

  “It is!” I whispered. “It’s dead.”

  The light touch of a hand on my shoulder had me turning to find Matt. “Listen, I’m sorry, Cori, but can we all move backstage, please?” The veins in his neck bulged and the death stare he fired at Josh indicated his request wasn’t a request at all. Josh, on the other hand, wasn’t taking any notice of him, instead staring intently at me behind the hand that was cupping his nose and mouth.

  I glared back at him, snatched my camera from Brad and headed for the door. I couldn’t be around Josh, the rest of the guys, or the screaming army of feminine hormones any longer.

  ***

  That went well, in a not-so-well kind of way. Josh Adams was a fucking prick, and he could go and lick a baboon’s arse crack for all I cared. His lack of respect was unbelievable.

  Racing to my car, I pulled the keys out from within my camera bag and pressed the unlock button, tears teetering on the edge of my eyelids.

  “Cori, wait!”

  I turned toward whoever was calling my name, and spotted said prick, shirtless and jogging across the car park while trying to button up a pair of jeans.

  Oh, dear God!

  His nearing presence urged me to get in my car even sooner, so I picked up my pace, reached the door handle and unlatched it, a small sigh of relief exiting my mouth due to thinking I’d succeeded in avoiding him.

  I was wrong—very wrong—as the door was pushed shut by a strong hand from over my shoulder, holding it firmly in place.

  “Let go!” I demanded, spinning around and coming face to face with the arsehole.

  “No!”

  My teeth gritted, and my nostrils flared. “I’m not kidding. Move your hand.”

  He stood firm, resolute, his deep brown irises nearing the colour of night. “Neither am I.”

  That’s when I did what any smart woman in my position would do; I kneed him in the balls.

  He dropped … like a sack of shit.

  “You little bitch!” he groaned from his knelt down position next to my car.

  “You massive arsehole!” I retorted, successfully opening my door, climbing in and driving away, the teetering tears now streaking my cheeks as I looked into the rear-view mirror.

  You goddamn massive arsehole.

  Patsy called before I’d even made it home, apologising profusely for Josh’s behaviour and promising I’d have a replacement camera before Wednesday. She’d also dubiously asked if I wanted to remain working for the show, which I didn’t, but didn’t really have a choice. Tom was still in hospital, and there was no one else to take his place. So yeah, my options were few and far between, therefore I told her I’d still be joining the tour for the twelve-week duration. I’d then showered and put myself to bed, hoping that when I woke it would all have been a bad dream.

  ***

  Eight hours later, and it wasn’t a bad dream. My camera was still sitting on my bedside table and looking anything but fully functional when my eyes opened and a yawn escaped my mouth. The sight of it made me mad—ropeable in fact. How dare he? Just because he has an impeccable body and can apparently ‘fuck like a god’ doesn’t mean he has the right to do and say whatever he wants. What a prick!

  I reached over and picked up the mangled mess that was my smashed lens, cracked casing and shattered LCD panel. “My poor baby,” I sulked, rotating it in my hands. My D4s—also known as Nelly—was the love of my life. Next to Nancy—my Nikon S—it was my favourite camera and had never let me down.

  Sighing, the ringing of my phone forced me to put my baby down in order to answer the incoming call from Em—my roommate and best friend of eleven years. She was visiting her sister in Perth.

  “This is early for you. You okay?” I asked, after hitting accept and not bothering with a greeting.

  “Spill! I want details. Half-naked man details.”

  “It sucked,” I whined, sitting up in bed, stretching and yawning while giving my wayward blonde hair a scratch. “I honestly hated it. And my camera is broken.”

  “What? What do you mean it sucked and you hated it? How can a Wild Nights show possibly suck?”

  “Did you not hear that my six thousand-dollar camera is friggin’ BROKEN? And it easily sucked … especially when one of the performers thought I was paparazzi who’d snuck in, hence my broken camera.”

  “Ooooooh, really? That really happened?”

  I rolled my eyes and flopped back on the bed. “No, Em, I made it up because I’ve got nothing better to say to you.”

  “Shit, Cori,” she said, her tone turning sympathetic. “I’m sorry. That must’ve been horrible.”

  “It was, actually. Josh Adams is a real arsehole. In fact, before I even started snapping pics of
the performance, I caught him screwing some girl backstage.”

  “You what?” she shrieked.

  “True story.”

  “No way.”

  I was about to fill her in when a knock on my front door interrupted our conversation. “Shit! Somebody’s here,” I whispered, rolling onto my side so that I could look at my clock. “It’s nine-thirty on a Sunday morning. Who the hell could it be?”

  “Get your arse out of bed and go find out.”

  “Yeah, yeah, hang on.”

  Groaning, I wiggled myself out of bed and lightly jogged to the front door, stretching up on my tippy-toes to look through the peephole. “Holy fuck!” I exclaimed, a little too loudly, spying the distorted figure of a man.

  “What?”

  “Shh,” I whisper-scolded. “It’s Josh, the prick.”

  She whispered in response, “Josh, the camera-smasher?”

  “Yes!”

  Tippy-toeing backwards like a cat burglar, I was just about to turn around and head back to bed when he banged on the door again, louder this time, startling me. I fumbled with my phone, like the world’s clumsiest juggler, and it slid out of my hands and hit the floor, my screen cracking instantly.

  “GRRR!” I yelled, picking it up and seeing blazing red as I wrenched my front door open. “What? What do you want? First you ruined my camera, now you’ve ruined my phone. So what … what the fuck do you want?” I screamed, tossing the phone at his chest.

  He caught it, eyes wide … wide and fixated to my chest. My heart was thumping, anger and adrenaline coursing through me as I followed his stare with my own, both our gazes running down the length of my body, which was the moment I remembered I wasn’t wearing much. Oh shit! Clothes!

  “Crap!” Covering my barely concealed breasts with my hands, I spun around, swung the door closed and ran back to my bedroom, finding the pair of jeans I’d worn the night before. I quickly pulled them over my lace boy-short panties and grabbed a sweater to cover my somewhat see-through satin cami. It would have to do.

  As I was poking my head through the neck hole, Josh wandered in, as if he owned the joint.

  “What are you doing? Get out! I didn’t invite you in.”

  “The door was open,” he explained, picking up a magazine that was sat on my dresser.

  I snatched it from his hands and shoved him out of the doorway. “Technically, it was shut.”

  “Fine. It was unlocked then.”

  “That doesn’t mean you can just enter my home. You’re not welcome. Get out!”

  “Cori, wait.” He held out his arm to stop me from continuing to shove him along the hallway. “Please! I just want to say sorry for last night, for breaking your camera. Look,” he said, presenting a Ted’s Cameras bag to me with a smile. “I bought you a new one.”

  I angrily grabbed the bag and walked to my kitchen bench.

  “I thought you were paparazzi, or some stalker chick. I hate paparazzi and stalker chicks.”

  “That doesn’t give you the right to just break someone’s property, Josh.”

  “It bloody does when that property contains pictures of me.”

  Taking in his adamant expression, I realised I wasn’t going to win this argument, so I huffed, placed the bag down and opened it, reaching inside and pulling out a box that read Nikon D4s.

  I gasped. “That’s the same model as my broken one.”

  “I know,” he acknowledged, unperturbed as he moved about behind me.

  I turned to face him. “But how did you kno—”

  “Your brother.” His response was nonchalant; his interest vested more in the photo frame he’d picked up from my bookshelf. “Who’s the brunette?”

  “Emily, my best friend,” I answered quickly, shaking my head with annoyance. I wanted to get to the bottom of how he’d managed to contact Tom. “You contacted my brother?”

  “Yeah. I rang him last night and asked what equipment you worked with.” Josh scrunched his nose and gave my camera a dirty look. “That thing is fucking expensive.”

  “Uh … yeah, I know. Why did you think I was so upset when you threw it in the bin?”

  “I don’t know, because I embarrassed you?”

  A laugh burst from my mouth, but the sincere expression on his face told me it wasn’t a joke. “Because you embarrassed me? Oh, Josh, let’s get one thing straight,” I explained, stepping up to him and taking the picture of Em and I out of his hands so I could place it back on my bookshelf. “I don’t get upset because I’m embarrassed. And anyway, I wasn’t. I think you embarrassed yourself more than me.”

  He let out a deep chuckle. “Me, embarrassed? I don’t think so, sweetheart.”

  “Don’t call me sweetheart,” I retorted through gritted teeth. “And how did you get Tom’s number?”

  A snide grin crept in at the corner of his mouth as he walked toward me. “Patsy.” Josh then handed me my phone. “You should get that screen fixed.”

  I took it from him and glared. “You finished? If you don’t mind, I have things to do.”

  His shoulders slumped. “Cori, I’m sorry. I fucked up, okay?”

  My eyes widened and nodded with over-enthusiastic sarcasm.

  “Look, we have to work together for the next few months, so can we please put this shit behind us?”

  I sighed and let out a long-winded breath. “Sure.”

  “Good.” He smiled happily, his teeth near blinding me with perfect white enamel.

  “You have nice teeth,” I blurted out like a dickhead.

  “I know. I look after them.” Josh pointed to my mouth. “You should look after yours a bit better though.”

  “Hey!” My hand shot up to cover my mouth. “I haven’t had a chance to brush them this morning. Plus, I like coffee.”

  His eyebrow lifted sarcastically. “Yeah, I can tell.”

  “Get out, Josh,” I ordered, my patience all but gone.

  He raised his hands in defence and walked backward in the direction of my front door. “Okay, I’m leaving. Glad we sorted things out.”

  Turning around, he disappeared around the corner. I poked my head out from behind the alcove and watched as he opened my front door.

  He paused and turned back with a shit-eating grin on his face. “See you Wednesday, Cori.”

  Ugh!

  ***

  Shortly after Josh left, I received a text.

  Josh: You have a fucking smokin’ arse, sweetheart.

  What the Hell? Blinking, I stared at my phone, which was when it beeped again, startling me.

  Josh: And your tits are great too.

  My offer still stands if you want to fuck.

  Shaking my head in disbelief, I couldn’t believe his audacity. And when the hell did he program his number into my phone? I hit reply and I gave him a piece of my mind.

  Cori: I wouldn’t fuck you if you were the last cock on this planet.

  Instantly, I received his response.

  Josh: Lucky I’m not the last cock then.

  Grrr … God, he infuriated me. I’d known him less than twenty-four hours and already I wanted to stab him with pins.

  Choosing to ignore him, I walked back into my kitchen, turned the kettle on and prepared a cup for my coffee, pausing when I remembered what he’d said about my teeth. Are they really that bad? I leaned forward, now self-conscious, and grinned at my stainless steel kettle, scrutinising my reflection when my phone beeped again.

  Josh: Cat got your tongue?

  My eyes rolled in annoyance.

  Cori: No, Josh, the cat’s asleep.

  And so is my tongue. You actually bore them.

  Josh: I can tell you right now that the last thing I do is bore a pussy.

  Cori: That’s nice to know. Thanks, but I really don’t care.

  Josh: You a lesbian?

  How fucking rude. For a split second, I toyed with telling him that I was just so he’d leave me alone. But something told me I’d be wasting my time. Something told me that tell
ing him I was a lady-lover would only encourage him more.

  Cori: No, but you’re kinda turning me.

  Josh: I could lick your sweet cunt better than any rug-muncher.

  My jaw dropped … again. What. The. F— My phone beeped … again.

  Josh: Shit! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.

  That was out of line. Please don’t tell Patsy.

  Cori: Stop messaging me and I won’t.

  Josh: Okay, sweetheart. See you on Wednesday.

  Wear something tight.

  I wasn’t even going to entertain that last message with a response. Never in my life had I come across someone so brazen, in your face, and bloody rude. The man was crazy, incorrigible … and aggravatingly hot. Not a good combination. And those teeth! I swear to God, they were painted white. Ugh! How am I going to avoid him? He’s going to drive me nuts.

  Groaning, I was just about to pour coffee into my cup when my phone rang. I picked it up and squinted at the cracked screen, making out Em’s name. “Hey.”

  “Is that all you have to say?” she replied, her tone pretentious.

  “Yup.”

  “Fine! I won’t tell you about Sarah’s best friend’s brother.”

  Sarah was Em’s older sister.

  “Yes, you will.” I wore a raised eyebrow and crooked smile while walking to the fridge to take out the milk.

  “No, I won’t. Not until you tell me about camera-smasher and why you cut me off when he was at the door. AND why it has taken exactly thirty-seven minutes since that phone call ended for you to speak to me again.”

  “Because I dropped my phone and it smashed, that’s why.” I placed said phone on the bench top and pressed speaker. “And there’s nothing to tell, Em. He dropped by to give me a new camera.”

  Em swallowed, indicating she was drinking, then mumbled into the phone. “So he should’ve. You break it, you buy it.”