Give Me Love

by Kate McCarthy

  “Earth to JimmyJam,” Mac sing-songed, waving a glass of bubbles under my nose.

  I snatched the glass out of her hand with a thanks and took a sip, followed it with a loud delighted sigh, and finished with a lip smack.

  “Big crowd expected tonight, Macface?” I asked.

  Henry looked up expectantly from his text fest.

  We’d played quite a few large crowds at venues and festivals throughout Melbourne, but The White Demon Warehouse was our biggest break yet and was well known as the launchpad for two bands now headed into the stratosphere of Planet Success. We had high hopes.

  “Packed house, bitches.”

  I grinned at Henry. Henry grinned at me. Mac grinned at both of us.

  “Just add a scout to that mix and I’ll give you a big pash,” I said to Mac, pouting my lips in a come hither if you dare expression.

  “Christ, don’t say that. You’ll ruin my lippie. I spent like ten minutes on it.”

  I looked at Mac lips. They looked like she’d spent ten minutes on them.

  “Do mine,” I ordered.

  I guzzled the rest of my bubbles while she scrabbled around in the vanity drawer, producing a lip liner, a tube of lip plumper, base lipstick, top lipstick, and a sparkly pink gloss.

  Henry, absorbing the seriousness of what we were about to embark on, rolled his eyes. “Aren’t we like in a hurry?”

  The front door slammed and the Rice Bubbles could be heard banging around in the kitchen, pillaging our fridge and pantry.

  “Christ, Henry!” Mac waved the lip liner around in a panic. I moved my head back, fearing another furry eyebrow fiasco, this time in Perverted Pink. “Go hide my chocolate stash will you? If those troublemakers so much as breath on it, I’ll have them eating through straws.”

  Henry left with an eye roll, drinking his bubbles and texting madly as he went.

  Mac turned to me with an evil grin that evoked feelings of great fear.

  “Now, back to Jared,” she began.

  “Mac,” I warned sternly with a finger point. “Don’t even go there.”

  Mac, having heard my warnings before, rolled her eyes.

  What was this? The Eye Rolling Convention?

  She grabbed my finger and shoved it away. “Bet your sweet ass I am going there. I’m tired of your silly geek parade, Sandwich. You might have no trouble lying to yourself, but I’m not lying to you when I tell you that you’re being a giant, fat, retarded idiot.”

  Mac had obviously decided the indirect route was for the weak.

  “Just give it to me straight, Mac, okay? Because I’d hate for you to waste time taking tact pills in the morning.”

  “Better than the stupid pills you seem to have been overdosing on the last God knows how many years. Come on, Evie, I know you think the dorks you’ve been dating are safe, and I won’t deny that they are because I’ve seen you more involved in watching paint peel from the walls, but it’s no way to live. I don’t care about Hairy Parry’s time space continuum theory or Beetle Bob’s thesis on the evolution of insects and its problems for Darwinism.”

  Frankly, I didn’t care either, but it was hardly the heady stuff that would lead your heart down the garden path either, was it?

  “Hairy Parry was cute.”

  “Was he? How were you able to tell under all that hair?”

  I chuckled, disrupting Mac’s efforts at layering liner along the edges of my lips.

  Hairy Parry had a calm, quiet demeanour and also a beard and a long wavy mane that rivalled my own. I think dating a man with so much hair was more a novelty than anything else, but we did enjoy each others company. I was loud and he was quiet, and we somehow managed to find a middle ground that worked for the both of us.

  Mac smoothed on the base lipstick.

  “Rub your lips together, Sandwich,” she ordered.

  I rubbed my lips and offered a pout as she inspected and then continued with the top coat.

  “Beetle Bob was really sweet.”

  “Beetle Bob lavished more attention on Draco than on you!”

  This was true. Draco was one of Beetle Bob’s pet bearded dragons, a very social little Australian lizard that would bob his head and swish his tail whenever I visited. Surprisingly, Beetle Bob’s little creatures were entertaining and somehow soothing, but they did require constant care, so many nights would find us cozied up on the couch watching television while they overran the house.

  “I miss Draco,” I muttered. “Maybe I should get my own little lizard friend.”

  Mac snorted. “You don’t have the time involved in caring for one of those freaky little critters and don’t change the subject.”

  With a “Voila,” Mac finished slicking gloss on my lips and shoved me out the door and towards my walk-in wardrobe before I could even pout in the mirror to inspect the results.

  Hands on her hips, she stared at the contents. “What are you wearing?”

  “Well I thought I would—”

  “No, you thought wrong.”

  Of course I did, considering her control issues filtered down into telling me what I should and shouldn’t wear.

  I pursed my glossy Perverted Pink lips, and let her have her way, flopping down on the bed as she made her way into the wardrobe.

  Henry wandered in, phone at the ready. “Top up?” he asked, indicating towards the empty champagne glass I still clutched in my hands.

  “No,” Mac shouted from somewhere within the dark confines. “She’ll ruin her lips.”

  True. Perverted Pink Perfection was not created in mere moments.

  Henry shrugged and walked back out.

  “I think that you should ask Jared out,” Mac shouted.

  “Are you high? Because I’m pretty sure I heard you telling me I should ask Jared out.”

  “Here!” A pair of Sass and Bide croc-print skinny jeans slapped me in the face.

  I winced. Those were going to be hot, as in sweaty. I stood up and began the struggle of wedging my legs into the tight material.

  “No, I am not high. Okay, don’t. He’ll ask you. I’m sure of it. Now that we’re living in Sydney, there’ll be no more avoiding him.”

  That was what I was worried about, especially after the incident at the Zen bar two weeks ago in Melbourne that simply confirmed my lack of control around the man.

  I lay on the bed, sucked in my stomach with everything I had, and zipped up the jeans. As I rolled off the bed and onto my knees, a manoeuvre performed because simply sitting up in said jeans was unachievable, a silver and Lucite studded baby doll top slapped me up the side of my head.

  Mac emerged from the wardrobe as I struggled to my feet.

  “What are you doing?” she asked in disbelief, as though flopping around on the floor like a trout was something I was doing for fun. “We need to get going.”

  I glared. “I’m trying to get dressed, asshead.”

  I smoothed the long curls of hair that ran down my back, an attempt at fixing the mess created from clothing whiplash, and flung the babydoll top over my new lacy creation. As I moved to examine my appearance in the full length mirror behind the wardrobe door, Mac came to stand behind me.

  “Just say yes.”

  I heard a quaver in her voice and had no doubt she believed with all her heart that Jared and I were meant to be. I couldn’t help but feel partial responsibility for that particular belief.

  I met her eyes. “No.”

  “Sandwich,” she growled. “I want you happy. I want Jared happy. The two of you together would equal giant rainbows of happiness.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh at her earnest, yet idiotic expression which changed to hopeful when I didn’t reply.

  Mac nodded her head approvingly and pointed at me. “Shoes.”

  At that, she spun on her heel and vacated the room.

  I clambered for a pair of black stilettos from the chaos that was now my wardrobe and gave up breathing as I bent over to slip them on. These shoes were the David Copperfi
eld of the stiletto world. They might have looked like skyscraping gems of leather strappage, but in reality it would likely take threats of scissors and at least half an hour to get them off later tonight.

  I stood up with a gasp, my face red from the exertion of performing magical deeds.

  “Hurry up, asshead!” Mac shouted up the stairs.

  I rolled my eyes, because this was the Eyerolling Convention after all, grabbed my bag, and headed down the stairs to the car where everyone was waiting.

  Chapter Two

  “Up and in the shower, Sandwich!”

  Mac’s voice sounded far away because I was happily burrowed deep beneath the fluffy white mounds of my bed, busy reflecting on last night’s success.

  The White Demon Warehouse had been filled to capacity just like Mac assured us it would be. The venue was more than worthy of launching our band, Jamieson, into success. Only a repeat booking would provide the concrete evidence, so we'd remain on tenterhooks until Mac had spoken to their manager Marcus and received some feedback.

  The White Demon was located in the heart of the city, just a drunken stumble to Central Station, and displayed a retro red brick façade, white panelled windows, and high lofty ceilings for acoustical brilliance. Several bars dotted the interior, allowing enough alcoholic lubrication to launch a rocket, and burly bouncers swarmed the four entry points, ensuring drunken degenerates were given the boot.

  I felt hands make contact and give a tickle to the body protected by the thick white covers. I chuckled and burrowed in further.

  “She’s awake.” I heard Henry’s muffled voice.

  The covers were whipped off, and I shrieked at the sudden bright rays of light, squinting at Mac and Henry as they piled on my bed.

  I squeezed out a squeal as I yawned and stretched aching muscles, exhausted after last night’s efforts. It felt far too early to be doing something as energetic as getting in the shower like Mac suggested.

  “What’s going on?” I muttered tiredly.

  “Mum and Dad are having a barbecue lunch today. Spur of the moment. They were disappointed they missed seeing you last night, so they want us there.”

  I was disappointed I’d missed seeing Steve and Jenna too. Mac’s parents were like my surrogate mum and dad since my own were no longer around. My dad—a very loose term—Ray, was big on sailing, and when I was five, he’d gotten on his boat one day and never returned. It would be nice to believe that the choice of leaving us was out of his hands, even if that meant he’d died, but there’d been a couple of random sightings of him by family friends, so the truth was that he just didn’t want us anymore. Sometimes, I think it must have broken my mum’s heart more knowing that rather than if he’d died. For me it doesn’t hurt, not in a devastating break your heart kind of way, because I didn’t know him. There was just an empty space where a dad was supposed to be. Random snippets sometimes flitted through my mind of him on the boat as the harsh sun beat down, laughing, directing my older brother Coby on hoisting sails, urging me out of the way, but they were blurry, and sometimes I wondered if they really happened.

  My mum, Nance, wasn’t around much. She worked long hours in an investment banking firm. That had never been an issue for me because when she was home and with you, she was with you. Her focus didn’t waver, and Coby and I knew, without her needing to say, that we were the most important part of her life. The hard work was done for us, a single mother trying to do it all for her kids.

  She died the day of my sixteenth birthday. She’d left at four in the morning just so she could get through her work to leave early and help set up for my party. I was bitterly disappointed when she hadn’t arrived and set about doing it all myself. I left school early that Friday to be there and angrily strung up balloons, thinking that I’d never asked for much, just Mum’s time, and on the day of my sixteenth birthday party of all days, work had come first. Only an hour after the party was under way, Coby found me in the kitchen chatting to my friend Cam. His pale, anxious face and the fact that he’d snatched my wrist, dragging me upstairs to my room without a word, was cause for alarm. When he delivered the news that Mum had died in a car accident, I didn’t cry or turn hysterical. Adrenaline kicked in and I nodded quietly and returned to the party, realising Coby had told Henry first because guests were already disappearing en masse towards the door. I calmly accepted hugs and tears from closer friends, and when the door closed behind the last guest, Coby and Henry looked on, their eyebrows drawn together in similar expressions of worry as I set about pulling down balloons, binning rubbish that littered the house, and packing food away in the fridge. I still looked back on my response that day and marvelled at how I managed to just pack it away and pull myself together. Apparently, I was good in a crisis.

  Later that night, Coby and Henry urged me into the shower, thinking that maybe the shock of the water might alleviate some of the adrenaline and let the emotion through. The fact that I sat on the floor of the shower for over an hour as the water beat down on my curled sobbing form told me their idea had been a good one. Unfortunately, I’d packed it away again the next day, and that was when my life had started to spiral out of control. Turning to both men and alcohol wasn’t the ideal way to heal the horrible sensation of abandonment, but it certainly helped me forget, and for brief moments I felt wanted. Thankfully, Coby forgave me for those years even though I’d put him through hell. At seven years my senior, and in the middle of finals, I figured being saddled with a sixteen year old female was probably already hell in itself.

  “Earth to space cadet,” Mac sing-songed, snapping her fingers in my face and I blinked away the memories.

  “They’re putting on a barbecue just for us?”

  Mac’s parents lived in the Sydney suburb of Balmain, still in the same house Mac grew up in until she moved to Melbourne on scholarship and found us. They’d been excited about coming to our first Sydney show last night, but we hadn’t finished playing until well after midnight. Being in their early fifties, they weren’t the die-hard mosh pit types, well not anymore, and they left at a sensible hour.

  “Yep,” she replied.

  “That’s really nice, but um, why does that mean we need to be up at the hour of...whatever hour it is?”

  Henry and Mac shared a meaningful smirk.

  “Because Mac wants to head over there early to help Jenna set up,” Henry offered as he stole the pillow out from under my head and propped it behind his back.

  “Hey!” I made a grab for the pillow. “Does she want me there to help too or do you need a lift?”

  Mac didn’t own a car and neither did Henry. They hadn’t needed one in Melbourne. Most places had been within walking distance, and I had my Toyota Hilux and the Rice Bubbles had their van, so they borrowed either when needed.

  “No...no, but maybe you can make your slice?” Henry suggested, pressing his back hard into the pillow as I tried to pry it away from him.

  My lemon coconut slice was popular on the Melbourne uni circuit because it had the perfect ratio of biscuit base to lemon icing and had a tart chewy crunch that almost made your toes curl.

  “Sure,” I said on a yawn, stretching again, and when Henry shifted, I snatched my pillow back in triumph. Fluffing it and then tucking it back under my head I asked Mac, “But how are you getting there then?”

  Henry and Mac once again looked at each other with raised eyebrows, and before I could make threats of violence to find out what they were up to, a voice called out from the stairway and my question was answered.

  I jabbed an angry finger at both Mac and Henry as they crowded my bed. “You sneaky interfering fuckers,” I hissed. “You both need to worry about your own damn love lives and stop interfering in my own.”

  Shit.

  “In here, Jared,” Mac shouted.

  Double shit.

  I’d successfully managed to evade Jared last night, but it wasn’t through any magical tricks from my bag of, well, magical tricks. After the show, my band mates h
ad left the dressing room for the bar, the roar of the DJ thumping through the air as they’d made their exit. I’d stayed behind, mostly because I was still in the throes of avoiding Jared and somewhat because my makeup had sweated off under the blinding bright lights of the stage and needed a serious overhaul. Then Mac had busted through the door, in the way only Mac could, and delivered the news that Jared and Coby had been called out for work and exited the warehouse half an hour ago. I squashed the feelings of disappointment like a pesky bug and summoned up a smile of delight to put Mac off the scent. Jared was likely off to shoot at a few criminals before blowing up a small building or two.

  Jared earned his living dealing in mayhem and chaotic violence, just like my brother Coby. They both co-owned Jamieson and Valentine Consulting here in Sydney, along with Mac’s other brother Travis. Coby fitted in well with the Valentine brothers, having met Jared when he’d visited Mac in Melbourne one weekend a few months after she’d moved. Happy I was settled and doing well at uni, and seemingly done with my years of spiralling out of control, Coby moved to Sydney and their consulting business was born. To be honest, none of us were sure what the consulting part meant; the term was conveniently vague in my opinion, but I knew they had contracts from various government agencies and mostly dealt in hostage negotiations, kidnapping, and ransom.

  After being in business for five years, their operation expanded and they now had a huge team in place as well as gaining another co-owner, Casey. I knew they’d been shot at on more than one occasion. Travis was actually hit once in the shoulder. Jared was knifed two different times, and Casey rolled his car during a full-on, hair raising, police flashing, siren screaming car chase down Motorway 5 in Sydney’s south-west. It seemed they had their fingers in every dangerous pie across the city of Sydney and would soon be running out of hands. Once, while I was busy trying to recuperate from a hangover on the couch of my Melbourne apartment, I saw Coby on the news running full pelt down a back alley, shouting and gun in hand, before it cut to the news reporter on the street. My heart almost closed up shop and moved to another city. I told Coby he had to remove consulting from their sign and change their name to Jamieson & Valentine: Badass Brigade.