It Started with a Kiss

by Lisa Heidke

  ‘How about a compromise? Just one more date from KissMeCupid? I’ll set you up.’

  ‘Rosie, didn’t you hear what I just said? I don’t think—’

  ‘I agree. You definitely shouldn’t be thinking. Leave it to me. We’ll double date! Tomorrow night, eight o’clock.’ Her tone was eagerness personified.

  ‘Tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes! It’s a Saturday. What’s not to love? I’ll arrange everything.’

  ‘You’ve already set me up, haven’t you?’ I asked, although I already knew the answer.

  ‘Fri, you know me so well. But didn’t you hear what I also said? My number-one guy and I’ll come, too.’

  ‘Rosie!’ But I was wavering. The opportunity to meet one of Rosie’s beaus was too good to refuse.

  ‘What do you say? I’ve done all the leg work for you and he’s young and, best of all, he’s a drummer.’

  I was shocked into silence.

  Finally, I forced myself to speak. ‘A drummer? I’m not going.’

  ‘You are so. What have you got to lose? Besides, I’ll be with you the whole time. I won’t leave your side.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘Cross my heart.’

  ‘Okay, but that’s it, Rosie. The last one. And I’m only going because you are, so don’t bail on me.’

  ‘Yes, yes, relax. I’ll even order a cab to pick you up.’

  21

  I checked my lipstick as the cab pulled up at Woolloomooloo Wharf. This would be the third new man I’d met in five days. It was like I’d attached myself to a really bad sitcom, but this wasn’t funny, just tragic. Even sadder, this afternoon with the girls staying at Brad’s for the night, I’d had a mini-makeover. I was now sporting bright-red lips and nails. I’d also gone to the hairdressers in an attempt to get my flyaway hair under control.

  I told myself this was a unique opportunity to meet one of Rosie’s men. She rarely went out in public with her lovers and, rarer still, invited me to tag along. In fact, never. I used to think it was because she had so many and didn’t want the awkward possibility of running into one when she was out with another. But that wasn’t it.

  ‘I couldn’t care less,’ she’d said. ‘I’m always up front from the get-go that they’re not exclusive. They’re free to see others as I am. They have a purpose and that purpose is to service me.’ She’d laughed. ‘And I very much enjoy servicing them.’

  Her words made her sound like a motor mechanic, but whatever.

  ‘Once the servicing’s done,’ she’d continued, ‘they’re free to drive away. I get agitated when they don’t. I don’t want to discuss politics, make them cups of tea, or God forbid, breakfast! I like my own company, and yours, of course. But lovers? Lovers are there for one reason, Friday: mutual orgasms. After that, I either want to sleep, exercise, eat or read, not necessarily in that order and definitely not with them.’

  So Rosie was breaking her rule by going out tonight in public with Dave. Maybe because it was a double date, it didn’t count.

  Date? It was sure to be another non-event. Still, I was as nervous as hell. But all too quickly, I was paying my fare and walking along the footpath to the restaurant… and, yep, there was Rosie seated between two handsome young men. I didn’t know whether to cry or applaud.

  ‘Friday!’ Rosie stood in greeting. ‘About time you showed. We were getting worried, weren’t we, boys?’

  Boys being the operative word.

  She introduced me to Dave—super cute, blond, possibly thirty. At a push. And then Tommy, who was even cuter: tall, golden hair, dark tan, gym-honed physique. He was possibly twelve. Okay, so perhaps he wasn’t under-age but, like Dave, he couldn’t have been much older than thirty.

  ‘What did I tell you?’ Rosie whispered. ‘Dynamite, isn’t he?’

  My first instinct was to run away. Of course Rosie would do this to me—why wouldn’t she? I couldn’t speak. Too stunned. My shoulders were tied in double knots. My head was pounding. I was sweating. Nervous didn’t begin to describe how I felt. Awkward? Yes. So many words were popping into my head. The loudest? Quickly. As in run away quickly. NOW!

  I eyeballed Rosie and her companions. I could make a run for it. Sure I could. I didn’t know these guys. What difference would it make to them if I excused myself? Nothing. Nada.

  Rosie gripped me by my shoulders and eased me into my seat. ‘Lighten up,’ she hissed. ‘It’s dinner, not a funeral.’

  I was trapped, well and truly.

  So I did lighten up, with plenty of help from Ms Petaluma and Madame Croser. Actually, I was feeling so buzzy an hour into the dinner I forgot to eat. Rosie was pushing the restaurant’s signature crab cakes in front of me.

  ‘Friday’s an amazing naturopath,’ Rosie burbled as she forcefed me an oyster.

  ‘What am I? Three?’ Reluctantly, I ate it.

  Then she over-filled my glass with mineral water and placed more sourdough on my side plate.

  ‘No more bread,’ I said.

  She shot me a look. ‘Maybe you should.’

  ‘Is it because you’ve got no kids that you feel the need to mother me? I’m fine,’ I said, conscious I was slurring my words slightly.

  ‘No,’ replied Rosie, no humour in her tone. ‘Just trying to help you eat so you don’t fall over.’

  I was mortified. But toy-boy Tommy seemed amused. At least I think he was amused. He had a weird look on his face—kind of like a startled gazelle in front of headlights.

  ‘So, you’re a drummer,’ I said with exaggerated enthusiasm.

  He nodded and played a bit of rhythm on the table with his hands. He had mighty fine arms and long, line-free fingers.

  I was intrigued. Cool. Very cool.

  Ten minutes later, Rosie dragged me to the bathroom and again told me to lighten up.

  ‘I can’t get much lighter.’

  She sighed. ‘You know what I mean. You’ll never get laid tonight if you keep drinking so fast.’

  ‘Whoa. Who said anything about getting laid?’

  ‘I did and you are. Trust me, it’ll do you the world of good. So,’ she said, holding my shoulders straight, ‘brush your hair, put on some lipstick and stop acting like a fifteen-year-old.’

  I giggled. ‘He’d probably like that.’

  She glared at me with such force I really did feel like she was my mother. ‘Come on. They’re out there alone. Too much time and they’ll start talking about us or KissMeCupid. Comparing notes.’

  ‘The mind boggles.’

  I managed to pull myself together so that the night was not a disaster. The four of us—with Rosie at the helm—managed to steer clear of political and religious chat, and stuck to foods and music we liked.

  Toy-boy Tommy was completely wrong for me, any fool could see that, but he was sweet and attentive and, foolishly, because the word ‘no’ seemed to have deserted my vocabulary, I went back to his place at Bondi, ostensibly to admire his new drum kit.

  22

  Tommy’s apartment reminded me of my brother’s share flat when he’d been at uni in third year: nondescript, sixties, red-brick apartment block, front door a dirty brown colour, inside, a narrowish corridor with several closed doors off to both sides, a smallish galley kitchen (beige laminex benches, hand-me-down stainless steel appliances), comfortable living area with two Freedom navy lounges (remarkably stain free), several wooden Buddha statues littering the floor, along with takeaway containers, newspapers, clothes and towels.

  It didn’t smell though, unlike Auguste’s, but that may have been because I was inebriated.

  ‘You’re near the ocean,’ I said, peering out the window, before tripping on a happy plant and falling, laughing, onto the lounge.

  When I stood up (shakily), Tommy handed me a humungous glass of tequila.

  ‘Really?’ I said the word but didn’t listen to myself. I didn’t care. Those four nips were down my throat within thirty seconds.

  Tommy looked impressed. ‘Smooth!’


  I wrapped my arms around his neck. ‘And your bedroom would be…’

  And that was that.

  Within minutes, Tommy and I had our clothes off and were horizontal on his startlingly sturdy double bed.

  If I’d thought Blake was a well-equipped and experienced lover, which I did, no question, then Tommy was his master. He flipped and twirled me, kissed and clasped me, wound me up and made sure I stayed up there until he was ready to release me. I doubt I’d ever made most of those sounds until being with Tommy. The whole night was sublime. Sublime because it was fun, sweet, dirty, raunchy and rough. All of the above, thank you very much… and more.

  The way his tongue caressed my neck, explored my breasts, his full attention focused on me. And the more he kissed me, the more I wanted him. All of him. Tommy had amazing stamina and was keen to please. At two am I was definitely visualising him as a semi-regular playmate, but in the cold, unforgiving morning light (6.45 am), I realised I could never overcome the age thing. Five years younger I could handle, maybe six. But ten? I didn’t think so. What the hell was I doing? I was a mother responsible for two teenage daughters for God’s sake. Me hanging out with Tommy was as bad as me seeing Blake—for different reasons.

  And your bedroom would be… Please!

  Finally, at eight o’clock, I kissed his pretty, snoozing head, crawled out of bed, retrieved my bra and dress that had been dangling from his shiny brass cymbals, and got dressed.

  ‘Where’re you going, babe?’ he said, sleepily slurring his words.

  ‘Home,’ I whispered. ‘Go back to sleep.’

  He smiled, his head sinking further into his pillow. ‘Call me.’

  I gave him another quick kiss. ‘Sure.’

  I had no intention of calling or ever seeing him again, but what an ego boost it had been. I could almost fall in love with him for that. If only you could bottle it.

  I was in a cab driving far away from Bondi when I got a text from Rosie asking me to call her.

  In cab, heading home to bed, I replied.

  Come here immediately was her response.

  The cabbie didn’t mind the detour and, twenty minutes later, I was sitting on Rosie’s alfresco deck at Avalon, overlooking a sprawling level garden, which Sharon delighted in digging up.

  ‘What do you mean you can’t see him again?’ said Rosie when I shared my thoughts re Tommy. ‘Why ever not? After your almost breakdown in the early part of the night, you two really hit it off and, by the time we left the restaurant, you guys couldn’t stop talking. Or groping.’

  ‘He’s got a lot of energy, I’ll say that for him. He’s like an Energiser Bunny bounding with childlike enthusiasm. It was quite refreshing…’ I trailed off.

  ‘But? I hear a but in there.’

  ‘But he’s not—’

  ‘If you bleat that he’s not the farmer or Liam, I’ll scream.’

  I put up my hands in front of me. ‘Okay, I won’t.’

  ‘One, that guy is married.’ She started counting off on her fingers. ‘Two, he’ll never leave his wife and, three, will keep stringing you along. As for Liam,’ she snorted, pulling down on her ring finger symbolising her fourth point, ‘he’s a middle-aged Peter Pan.’

  ‘So you’ve told me on both accounts, several times.’

  ‘You deserve more.’

  I felt sick. Didn’t want to talk about them anymore. ‘The truth is, Rosie, I need to concentrate on my kids and my work,’ I said, thinking back to what the Zumba psychic had told me. ‘They’re my priorities, this other business is just a diversion.’

  ‘Other business meaning fucking hot young guys?’

  I could feel myself blushing. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Tommy looks like a great catch.’

  ‘Speaking of catches, where’s Dave?’

  Rosie yawned. ‘Fri, you’re familiar with my no sleep-overs policy. Dave went home hours ago. I’m not into making men coffee and pancakes in the morning.’

  I stared down at my cappuccino. ‘I feel honoured.’

  ‘As you should.’ Rosie took a moment. ‘So you’re really not open to seeing Tommy again?’

  ‘I guess the sex was pretty hot.’ I breathed in deeply and exhaled. ‘I could be persuaded as long as we kept it light.’

  Rosie blinked hard. ‘Is there any other way?’

  ‘He has a hot drum kit. You know,’ I said, thinking out loud, ‘I thought I’d be uncomfortable taking off my clothes but it was thrilling. Disrobing wasn’t nearly as torturous as I thought it would be. I was pissed though.’

  ‘Tell me something I don’t know.’

  I poked out my tongue. ‘Anyway, once you’ve taken off your clothes the first time, it’s not a difficult procedure to repeat.’

  ‘No, it’s not.’ Rosie smiled. ‘And do you know what I think?’

  ‘You’re going to tell me anyway.’

  ‘Blah, whom you have now well and truly ditched, tapped into your dirty, dangerous side, which you’ve been suppressing for years. You’re done with that now.’

  ‘Okay,’ I said, thinking about several recent texts from Blake I had ignored.

  ‘And Tommy’s all about recapturing your youth, back before you settled down with Liam. Remember when you were young, happy and carefree, Fri?’

  ‘Vaguely.’

  ‘Stick with youth, honey. It’s great for the complexion. Now then,’ she said, standing up. ‘Come inside and have a look at the new supplies I’ve been cataloguing.’

  I followed Rosie into her office where bundles of cards and trinkets covered the floor and desk. ‘What is all of this?’

  Rosie held up a couple of cards. ‘First up, two new invitation card designs, Divorce, I pronounce you OVER and DONE with, and Just divorced and LOVING it.’

  I snatched the cards from her hand. ‘They’re great, Rosie.’

  ‘I know. Look at these.’ She reached down to a plastic bag on the floor and pulled out two T-shirts, Kiss me, I’m single and Ready to date.

  ‘Woo hoo.’

  ‘Yep, so many fun bits and pieces. Look, I’ve got red broken-heart necklaces,’ she said, throwing me one. ‘I’ve got divorce-party whirls and, ooh, these.’ She picked up a drink coaster. ‘Marriage is the leading cause of divorce—don’t you love them?’

  I couldn’t help but admire all this. ‘You’ve struck gold, Rosie. Really.’

  ‘It’s so much fun. And I’ve put in an order for ten inflatable husbands, whatever the hell they are. My life just keeps getting better.’

  Rosie and I surveyed the items, now strewn all over the place. Rosie was creative. By adding her personal touch, she’d turn these generic and tame offerings into something women would remember with a giggle and gleefully tell their friends about.

  ‘You’re well on your way to building an empire.’

  Rosie glanced at her business card, ‘Rosie’s World’. ‘Yeah, I’m still not thrilled with the title—’

  ‘Maybe if you hadn’t come up with the concept at midnight?’

  ‘Hey! Four hours later, I had a website, email address and had ordered one thousand business cards. Okay, so perhaps if I’d worked out my business strategy sober, I might have come up with a different, more exciting name, but I’ve always been impatient.’

  ‘Well, I think you’re incredible. You’ve backed a winner, Rosie.’ And I meant it.

  Back at home late that morning, Liam rang. ‘I’m sorry about the other day.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ I said, not up for another argument. ‘When are you bringing the girls home?’

  ‘Later tonight. We’re having a lazy morning, then yum cha and a movie, then maybe an early dinner.’

  I sighed. Great. A day by myself. I should have been happy but I wasn’t.

  ‘Fri, what’s up? You have the house to yourself. You did the right thing, kicking me out.’

  Here we go. I hung my head, tired and a little irritated. ‘Liam, I didn’t kick you out.’

  ‘You did the second time, and that’s
okay,’ he insisted. ‘I’m glad.’

  ‘Wait. So you want this to be permanent?’

  ‘I’m just saying I feel like I have the chance to be myself for the first time in years.’

  ‘So I’ve been holding you back?’

  ‘We’ve been holding each other back.’

  ‘It never crosses your mind that we’ve made a mistake?’ It crossed mine, often. That despite his (our) feelings of boredom, Liam (we) should have—to quote Rosie—sucked it up, and made the best of the situation, of our lives together. I didn’t think it was that bad. Certainly not terminal. And yet, here we were.

  ‘Fri, I don’t want to have this conversation while the girls are here.’

  ‘But if not now, then when?’

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he said, ‘I’ll have the girls back to you tonight by eight,’ and hung up.

  I was furious. I needed to go back to Utopia and concentrate on my health and wellbeing. But now, forever more, that place would be connected to Blake… Argh! No!

  I glanced at my computer on the kitchen bench and my fingers twitched. I could log on to KissMeCupid. Argh! No!

  I could sit quietly and read a book.

  Perhaps I could text Tommy. If he wasn’t busy…

  I thought for a moment, mulling over several options.

  I picked up my phone and texted, What are you doing this afternoon?

  Fucking you.

  A cold shiver ran through my body. There was my answer. I’d tap back into my youthful side and play with Tommy a bit longer.

  In half an hour flat, I’d tidied the house, showered, dressed and was heading back out the door.

  I didn’t want to go out for lunch, watch a movie or dissect the latest political situation in Syria. I just wanted to shag.

  As soon as he opened the door, the fluffy, white towel wrapped around his taut hips gave me hope. It was bliss to be with someone so uncomplicated and, well, simple. I wanted to jump into bed straightaway, but he insisted we walk around the corner to the local Italian where his flatmate, Jake, and Jake’s stunning red-haired girlfriend, Ebony, who was probably only twenty years younger than me, were waiting for us.

  No hint of a lie, Jake and Ebony could have climbed out of the latest Abercrombie and Fitch catalogue. I wanted to cry, they were so good-looking. Then I gazed at Tommy—the three of them were poster kids for flawless complexions, dazzling smiles and effortlessly tanned skin. How? They were necking beer and eating pizza and yet they were picture perfect. Pretty. And nice. Something was definitely wrong… no one could be that nice and pretty, three times over.