by Lisa Heidke
‘Rum and Coke, bourbon and Coke… this is going to be messy, so messy.’
‘I forgot to mention, I’ve hired male strippers.’
‘So much for women’s empowerment.’ It was beyond disturbing. ‘I think I might jump overboard. Why didn’t you tell me this before?’
‘Because you had such a nice time at the last one.’ Rosie turned and speedily walked away. She couldn’t get far on a boat.
I watched as women streamed onto the deck. At least the weather was good. It was calm, clear and there was no wind, so hopefully I’d avoid sea sickness. Women of different shapes and sizes, but all wearing very short skirts and low-cut tops, giggled as they drank champagne and enjoyed the view. Bree, the belle of the cruise, definitely had potential to be the life of the party. Full-figured, she wore a very short and busty pseudo-wedding frock, and her shoulder-length blonde hair was dip-dyed red at the ends. Bree’s tiara was inscribed with the word Freedom.
Then two men arrived—good-looking, early twenties, tanned, noticeably buff. They spoke to Rosie and headed below deck.
A few minutes later, the boat sailed out into the spectacular Sydney Harbour. There was no escaping now. I leant back against the railings, watched the women, observed the city lights and sipped my champagne.
Rosie sidled up beside me. ‘Show starts at eight-thirty.’
Just over an hour. ‘Great! Looking forward to it. Meanwhile, what could possibly go wrong?’
We watched as Bree downed rums and danced to Wham! with forty-nine of her closest friends.
I smiled and Rosie nudged me. ‘That’s the spirit. C’mon, admit it. You love it.’
‘Love is a strong word. At the moment I’m amused, but that could change.’
I inspected a couple of leftover canvas gift bags emblazoned with the phrase Marriage should be illegal! that we’d handed out at the start of the night. Penis necklaces were only the beginning. ‘Who’d wear these?’
Rosie thrust out an arm. ‘Look around.’
True. There were quite a few dangling from naked and jewelled necks. Bree wore several. I glanced at the drink coasters, Who needs a man when you can have a drink? Seemed pretty true for this crowd. Then there were the badges, All men are idiots and I married their king.
‘Where do you find this stuff, Rosie?’
‘I have my ways… internet mainly.’
‘The mind boggles.’
‘Now then, any updates on the farmer since last night?’
I glared at her.
‘What? As much as you protest, I know you’re vulnerable. I just want to make sure you don’t give in to his demands.’
I sighed. ‘Well, to be honest, Blake—that’s his name—he did text a couple of times,’ I said, thinking back to his, Missing you, Irish. You make me laugh. I’d deleted it, determined not to contact him again. And just this afternoon, I’d received another: I understand you don’t want to see me again. Am devo, but probably best. He’d followed it up with, Unless you didn’t mean it.
Yes, I did. Enough was enough.
‘Men!’
‘Is that all you’ve got to say?’ I wanted something more, some kind of outrage from her on my behalf.
‘What more do you want? Though I now know why you insisted on calling him the farmer. What kind of name is Blake?’
I almost laughed. ‘I’m so stupid.’
‘No you’re not. He’s a man… men are ruled by their dicks and they’re also insecure, pathetic and cowardly and go for the easiest option all the time.’
‘Easiest option? Thanks a lot.’
‘You know what I mean. You were, shall we say, susceptible.’
I wanted to scream at her, NO! I really didn’t think so, not consciously. I’d sincerely thought I was past lust, yearning and sexual oblivion. Until Blake paid me attention, which I truly believe was reciprocal, I’d assumed I was over desiring another man’s body, let alone any man desiring me. It was intoxicating, consuming.
‘Whatever,’ I said. Easiest option. ‘Anyway, I’m done.’
‘Pull yourself together, woman. You’re not done.’
‘I am. I feel like such an idiot. From now on my focus is on the girls and my work. End of story.’
‘And Liam?’
‘He seems perfectly happy with his new life. I don’t know, maybe I’ve done the wrong thing in telling him to leave again.’
‘Maybe,’ said Rosie, sipping her water. ‘And maybe before going back to your old life you should get out a little and have some fun.’
‘Isn’t that what I’ve been doing?’
‘I mean a bit of fun without the angst and drama, just some good, wholesome naked frolicking.’
‘I’m not you, Rosie.’
Rosie blinked. ‘No, you most certainly are not. Now then, one of my gentleman friends, a potential fuck, if you will—’
I went to speak but she put up her hand to hush me.
‘—wants me to organise a divorce party for him.’
Silence.
‘Can I talk now?’ I said, frowning at her.
‘Sure.’
‘Firstly, how many do you have?’
Rosie twirled her mineral water bottle. ‘Three, four at a push… they’re on a rotation, some more frequently than others.’
‘Jesus, I hope you use protection!’
Rosie glared at me. ‘Don’t be crass. It doesn’t become you.’
I rolled my eyes.
‘He wants to be my number four, but three’s the limit because any more and I get confused. I’ve had up to five. Crazy city! Three is manageable. Anyway, would-be number four says he wants a party.’
‘Refresh my memory. Number four is…’
‘I haven’t told you about him.’
That was hardly a surprise. I hadn’t met any of Rosie’s men. She only ever mentioned them in vague terms.
‘Works for Microsoft, computer geek, wears glasses but also works out. Has that whole Clark Kent/Superman vibe about him.’
‘Sounds interesting. So what did you tell him?’
‘I said I’d never thought about doing one for a man.’
‘Don’t men normally go to strip clubs or girlie bars to celebrate their divorce?’
‘Exactly. But he says he doesn’t want that. So I asked if he wanted a cake and novelty items. And he said, “Is that what the party’s about?” He had no idea. I told him the party could be about anything he wanted it to be, but I still don’t think he got it. I think he just wants to get laid.’
‘You should’ve told him he doesn’t need to work so hard.’
‘I did!’
I grinned. ‘You kill me. Anyway, I can’t see a bunch of guys standing around a cake, clapping and wishing another guy good luck for the future.’
‘Unless a stripper pops out.’
‘True. So who’s your favourite?’
‘Friday, I don’t have one, you know that. They’re just men… play things… they’re all my favourites.’
‘Do you ever think about Simon?’
Rosie shifted uncomfortably. ‘Do I ever think about Simon?’ she repeated.
‘Yeah.’
She nodded.
‘How much?’
‘Enough.’
‘Do you still love him?’
‘What is this? Twenty questions?’
‘I’m curious.’
She sipped her water. ‘I love him. I think about him.’
‘Do you see him?’
‘Occasionally.’
‘And?’
‘And he’s a really good guy. Let’s leave it at that.’
I did, but I got to thinking, why wasn’t there a pill you could take to erase memories? Of course they’d have to be selective memories, but I’d take it, just so I could forget about the hard times with Liam and about Blake altogether. I wondered if Rosie would, too.
‘Don’t you sometimes wish we could get over this physical craving thing? Our sexual urges? Life would be so much simpler.’
‘If we were sexless?’
‘Yep.’
Rosie looked horrified. ‘No way! You’ve obviously been doing it wrong.’
A waiter tapped Rosie on the shoulder. ‘We have a situation downstairs.’
Rosie turned. ‘Have the kitchen staff burnt the canapés?’
The waiter shook his head. ‘No, a couple of women have trapped the entertainment.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Some women have broken into the bedroom downstairs and are trying to undress the strippers.’
‘You’d think they’d love the attention,’ said Rosie as we bounded downstairs.
‘Come on, ladies,’ she said, when she saw four women pawing the guys. ‘Let’s at least wait until the show starts.’
Surprisingly, they were compliant, giggly and happy to head back to the deck for ‘more booze’.
‘Sorry,’ Rosie said to the gentlemen, Romeo and Valentino—assumedly not their real names.
‘It happens,’ Romeo mumbled.
I have to say they both looked fit. Maybe the show wouldn’t be too bad after all.
Half an hour later, two buff policemen burst onto the dance floor and I momentarily thought they were the real deal, until they started twirling their batons and bodies. Then I clocked their faces.
Disco lights, thumping dance music and a show… a really big show. Bree and her friends couldn’t get enough of the boys as they gyrated while unbuttoning their uniforms, one press stud and button at a time before disrobing. The handcuffs, which sadly reminded me of the farmer’s cuffs at Utopia (good times), were a huge hit, as were the police hats and the boys’ G-strings. I got a rush of desire for Blake, watching as the strippers worked the room. Even though I’d ended it, I couldn’t forget how thrilling the sex had been with him.
At the end of the performance, Valentino stuck around and drank with the revellers, while Bree disappeared downstairs with Romeo.
‘Will she be okay?’ I said to Rosie as we cleared away the debris… streamers, several pairs of black knickers, and an Elle Macpherson lace bra.
‘She’s a big girl. As long as she’s happy, gets laid and we get paid, no harm done.’
The night ended without further incident. When the boat docked at eleven-thirty, fifty pissed women lurched off the deck, but there was no crying… or fighting. That was probably bound to happen later but, thankfully, not on our watch. They were belting out ABBA songs as they staggered down the ramp and made their way to one of the bars along the wharf. I’d give them till one am before any real trouble started.
‘Thank you, thank you, thank you,’ slurred Bree. Her right wrist was still handcuffed when she hugged Rosie. ‘Best. Night. Ever.’
Romeo and Valentino weren’t far behind.
Rosie turned to them. ‘Thanks, Valentino, Romeo. You were both massive hits.’
‘Cheers,’ said Romeo, dropping the sexy Spanish accent for an Aussie drawl, ‘and call me Pete.’
I smiled to myself. Imagine the stories those two told their mates over a few beers.
‘That wasn’t too bad,’ I told Rosie as we walked to the car park.
‘Not too bad? It was huge. I spoke to at least five separated women who want parties just like Bree’s.’
Maybe Rosie was onto a winner.
I arrived home late and tired but restless. What a night. Absent-mindedly, I mooched about, wandering in and out of every room, a little lost and weary. Then I got teary. I missed the girls. I’d read stories and heard about mothers who, when their children left them on access visits—even if it was only a few hours—wept in their kids’ rooms, lying on their beds and sobbing, immobile with grief. I wasn’t at that stage. I was happy to have the peace and quiet, to potter around uninterrupted, to read my books and go to sleep when I wanted. But tonight I couldn’t settle.
Had I been too hasty sending Liam back to Brad’s? It wasn’t like the four of us hadn’t had good times. We had. I picked up a frame holding a recent photo snapped the night we took the girls to see Jesus Christ Superstar, the musical.
Initially, Evie hadn’t wanted to go. ‘I’d rather stay in my bedroom on the computer.’
‘Talking to your pretend cyber friends,’ Liv had sniggered.
‘Shut up. Mum, I’m an atheist,’ Evie had insisted. ‘You can’t turn me.’
I’d sighed. ‘That’s okay, honey. We saw Wicked, we all know witches don’t exist.’
‘That’s debatable,’ said Liv.
Evie was pouting. ‘Musicals are your thing, Mum. Yours and Dad’s. Not mine. The truth is I don’t like musicals and I hate live theatre.’
I’d shrugged. ‘You’ll love it. We all will.’
At the theatre, we had a souvenir photo taken, the one I was now staring at. In the end, Evie had loved the show.
‘I really did,’ she’d said.
Liam had grinned. ‘You’ll be begging to see Grease soon enough.’
I put the picture back down on the sideboard. Maybe I had been too hasty. I wondered if we’d ever be together again in the same way or whether I’d be hosting my own divorce party one day.
17
On Monday morning, I was in bright and early at the clinic, determined to be organised for the meeting with Penny, Maria’s friend. It seemed she had the same idea.
‘Maria’s told me so much about you,’ Penny said after we were seated in my office.
I grinned. ‘She’s a character. Now, tell me a bit about yourself.’
Her story was familiar: early forties, a couple of teenagers, one doing the HSC, a difficult marriage. ‘I think my husband might even be having an affair.’
I looked down at my hands, feeling guilty about having slept with a married man myself and relieved that it was over.
‘Maybe it’s just my imagination,’ Penny continued. ‘But the stress and anxiety is stopping me from sleeping and I’m losing weight.’ She frowned. ‘Listen to me, Ms Misery! My life isn’t that bad, honestly.’
‘I’m sure it’s not,’ I reassured her. ‘However, we can give you some supplements to help you sleep and better manage your stress. I’m dreading when my eldest starts her final year of high school.’
Penny swallowed. ‘Coupled with driving lessons. Eek.’
‘Don’t,’ I said, only half joking. ‘Even thinking about teaching my daughters to drive sends me into a spin.’
Penny brightened. ‘You get used to it.’
‘After one hundred and twenty hours of learner driver lessons, you’d want to.’ I shuffled some pages on my desk. ‘Okay, Penny, let’s get down to business. Tell me if you get any of the following symptoms, never, once or twice a week, several times a week or daily. Ready?’
‘Go for it.’
‘Insomnia?’
‘Several times a week.’
‘Abdominal bloating?’
Penny folded her arms across her chest. ‘Several times a week.’
‘Heart palpitations?’
She uncrossed her arms and leant forward. ‘All the time.’
‘Do you get depressed, irritable, nervous?’
Penny nodded. ‘Basket case, aren’t I?’
‘Not at all.’ I felt for her. Penny’s reactions were more common than she realised. ‘Easily overwhelmed?’
‘As above.’
Driving home that afternoon, I was thinking about Penny and several other female clients I’d seen that day. Ninety percent of them had similar lifestyles and associated issues—all juggling work and home life, recalcitrant children, and either demanding or inattentive partners, every one trying her best to get through the days and weeks. Really, we were all spinning on our heels. It’s just that some managed it better than others.
Stephanie was raking her perfectly manicured green lawn as I entered my driveway. I waved, hoping that would suffice. I’d been talking all day and wasn’t up for a Stephanie interrogation.
But by the time I’d parked and was opening the door, she was standing beside my car.
> ‘Hey,’ I said as I hauled my bag, computer and several manila folders out of the boot.
‘Working late again, Friday?’
I clenched and un-clenched my cheeks. ‘Gotta pay the bills and feed the kids, as inconvenient as that is.’
She stared at me, clearly not seeing the funny side. ‘How are the girls?’
‘Good. Fine.’ I was juggling everything in my hands and in the process dropped my keys. ‘Speaking of which, I’d better get inside to see what they’re up to.’ Awkwardly, I bent down to retrieve my keys.
‘Yes.’ She paused. ‘It’s just that I saw Olivia a little while ago down on the beach.’
I gritted my teeth, waiting for the and.
‘And I don’t want to interfere, but she was down there with her boyfriend and they were—’
My thoughts immediately went to what Blake and I had been doing on the beach. It seemed like a lifetime ago.
‘—kissing, Friday. I thought you should know.’
I sucked in some air. Okay, they were kissing. ‘Anything else?’
Stephanie looked suitably horrified. ‘Not that I could see.’
‘Thanks for the tip. I’ll have a word to her.’
‘Friday, you need to be less of a friend to your girls, especially now. They need a mother’s firm hand, otherwise…’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘Well, you know.’
I could hear my phone buzzing. ‘I’d better get that.’ I fumbled in my bag and pulled it out.
‘It’s just that—’
I waved her away and started walking towards the front door. ‘Hello?’
‘Hey.’ It was Rosie.
‘Just a tick.’ I looked back over my shoulder. Stephanie was still standing close by. ‘I have to take this call. We’ll talk more later, okay?’
She wasn’t happy, but she started walking back to her house.
‘Yes?’ I said to Rosie as I let myself into the front door, relieved to be inside.
‘Busy day at the office?’
‘Something like that, and then I saw Stephanie as soon as I drove in. I should’ve parked in the garage.’
‘That’s what you get for being lazy. Anyhoo, I have news that’ll cheer you up, a brilliant surprise for you. You’ll love it.’
‘I don’t really like your surprises, Rosie.’
‘Of course you do. See you at your place. Half an hour. Sharon and I will bring wine.’