by Robin Storey
‘Okey-dokey, Simon, will do.’ She put the receiver down. ‘Simon’s in LA talking to Guy Pearce,’ she said breathlessly.
‘Really?’ Reuben said. ‘What about?’
She put her finger to her lips. ‘Top secret,’ she whispered.
She straightened up and put on a business-like demeanour. ‘Did you like the photos?’
‘They’re okay.’
She pointed a disapproving fingernail at him. ‘You’re too modest. This job I have for you is the chance of a lifetime.’
‘What is it?’
‘Modelling. Verity McLaughlin, one of Brisbane’s top young fashion designers, has put out a new range of swimwear and she’s doing a photo shoot tomorrow at Southbank. The guy she originally booked is down with the flu and she needs someone urgently.’
‘What sort of swimwear?’
Please don’t say Speedos.
‘Mini board shorts.’
‘What the hell are mini board shorts?’
‘Exactly what they sound like. They’re a shorter version of the traditional board shorts, for men who like to show off a bit of thigh.’
She arched her eyebrows. ‘For those men who have the thighs to show off.’
‘I don’t think I’m the mini board shorts type.’
‘You don’t have to be the type; you just have to model them. They’re going to be the next big thing in men’s fashion – wouldn’t it be fabulous to be on the first wave of a fashion revolution?’ She clasped her hands together excitedly. ‘It’ll be great for your career – think of the exposure!’
‘Literally,’ Reuben said.
She gave a peal of laughter. ‘Of course, very funny!’
She leaned forward on the desk, eyes sparkling. ‘Do you realise what an opportunity this is for you, Reuben? It’s not often I’d recommend someone who’s had no modelling experience. But you’ve got the right look and I think you can carry it off.’
Questions jostled in Reuben’s mind. How ‘mini’ were the board shorts? And how revealing? Wouldn’t it be embarrassing doing a photo shoot in a public place? What if he got an erection? And what about work? He’d have to take a day off, ring in sick. As if he needed anything else to lower his worth in Joe’s eyes.
Posie was standing beside his chair. ‘Take off your shirt, please.’
‘Again?’
‘I want to see how you’re going with your weight-loss program.’
Reuben got up and unbuttoned his shirt. He sucked his stomach in.
‘Don’t suck it in,’ Posie commanded.
He let it go. She stood back and considered his stomach, head on one side.
‘On the other hand, I think you’d better suck it in. Just for tomorrow.’
Was she now going to ask him to remove his jeans so she could test his thigh muscles?
She went back to her desk and started rummaging through her bottom drawer. Whew! Reuben buttoned up his shirt.
‘I can lend you this if you like.’ She held up a large paperback. On the cover was a young couple, toned and airbrushed, in gym gear. The title was Dr Yang’s Thirty-One Day Guide to a Slimmer, Fitter You. ‘It’s got some great stomach exercises.’
‘I’m doing sit-ups,’ Reuben said. ‘Or I was, but I stopped because they’re so damn boring. All you do is sit up. At least with jogging you get to see a bit of scenery. Takes my mind off the pain.’ Sort of.
She sighed and shook her head. ‘Typical man, won’t take advice. Now, let’s get this paperwork signed.’
She picked up some papers and flipped through them. Had he accepted the job? He couldn’t remember saying yes, but apparently that wasn’t a prerequisite to getting it.
***
Carlene paused mid-stab of her steak.
‘You mean you accepted the job and you don’t know how much you’re getting paid?’
‘I’m sure it was on the contract somewhere.’
‘But you didn’t read the fine print?’
‘Well ... no, but there must be a standard rate for modelling, and it’s got to be better than a kitchen hand’s wages.’
Carlene pursed her lips. ‘But it’s only one day, it’s not exactly a new career. And for God’s sake, what are mini board shorts?’
He gave her Posie’s explanation. ‘Apparently they’re the next big thing in men’s swimwear, so you never know, I could get some more work out of it.’
‘But modelling, Rubie, I don’t know, it’s not very...’
‘Not very what? Secure? Masculine? Not something you can boast to your friends about?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said sharply. ‘Although...’ she hesitated, ‘I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything to the rest of the family. They’re not as understanding as I am.’
***
He arrived at Southbank Parklands at ten to eight. A pale sun had broken through the cloud, but it wasn’t enough to take the chill off the biting wind that whipped around him, bending the tops of the palm trees fringing the small man-made beach. It was two weeks into September, supposedly spring, but winter was hanging on, determined not to go without a fight. Far from the ideal day to be walking around half-naked.
He’d phoned Joe just before seven. ‘Sorry I can’t come in, I’ve got a gastro bug.’ All he had to do was think of Frank beating him to a pulp when he discovered that Operation Luce End had failed, to conjure up a suitably unwell tone of voice.
As expected, Joe was not pleased. ‘You’d better not let me down tomorrow, boy,’ he commanded before hanging up on him. The undertone was clear – Reuben had deliberately got sick to inconvenience him.
In summer, the Southbank beach was packed and even had its own lifesavers, though there was no surf. But on a winter’s day, in the middle of the week, it was almost deserted except for a group of people at the far end. A man in track pants, pullover and beanie was setting up a camera on a tripod. Two young women – one tall and slender and the other shorter and sturdier – were standing nearby. The tall woman wore a long sleeveless dress and the other was sensibly dressed in jeans and a woolly jumper.
She came forward as Reuben approached and held out her hand. She had ginger hair, freckles and an open, friendly face. ‘Hi, I’m Verity. Sorry to drag you down on such a revolting day.’
Reuben shook her hand. ‘No problem, I guess it comes with the territory.’ His hearty tone didn’t even convince himself.
‘Unfortunately, we couldn’t put it off till another day – it’s for a fashion spread in the City News and the deadline’s tomorrow. Come and meet the others. This is Celia, the other model, and Jed.’
Celia had straw-straight blonde hair and was attractive in a Nordic, ice queen way. Her handshake was limp, her eyes not quite meeting his, as if she were on the lookout for someone more interesting to turn up. She obviously didn’t feel the cold, or maybe she was in training. Jed nodded, said ‘Hi’ and went back to his camera. He was unshaven and his clothes looked as if he’d slept in them. The luxury of being in a creative industry was that you were able, even expected, to show a complete disregard for dress standards – particularly for a fashion shoot.
Verity handed Reuben a plastic bag. ‘They’re all in here,’ she said. ‘Just go into the Gents and put the top pair on.’ She indicated a block of public toilets behind the beach. ‘And you don’t need to keep your jocks on.’
‘I don’t?’
‘They have jocks sown into them.’
‘Oh ... right.’
She laughed. ‘Don’t look like that. You’ll see what I mean. It’s just a little insert sown into the board shorts; like men used to have in their trunks in the old days, only these are more snug, to hold you all together.’
‘Sounds ideal,’ Reuben said.
‘It is. I did a lot of research in this area, and all the guys I asked said they always wear jocks under their board shorts because they chafe. So I thought, why not invent board shorts that already have them in-built? And of course, with the mini shorts, you have to
make doubly sure that everything is firmly in place. I know you men are very sensitive about that.’
From her matter-of-fact tone of voice she could have been a salesperson from Bunnings discussing the latest in corking guns rather than a man’s most prized body part.
‘Yes, I suppose we are.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ve had them road tested. Or should I say surf tested. The guys love them – they’re going to be all the rage this summer. Oh, and the material is non-chafe, specially imported from Peru.’
‘You’ve got me convinced,’ Reuben said. Who would have guessed the Peruvians were experts in non-chafe material? Something to remember for his next conversation with Wayne.
He took the top pair of board shorts from the pile in the bag and made his way to the Gents. After diving into the nearest cubicle, he closed the door and held up the shorts. They were bright purple with hot pink swirls and did look rather mini. He undressed and slipped them on. After adjusting himself into the inner jocks, he had to admit they were quite comfortable, though he would have preferred a little more length, as they stopped just short of halfway down his thigh. The payoff for the material being non-chafe was that it was clingy – if you could call it a payoff.
He gathered up his clothes, bracing himself for the cold. The minute he set foot outside, the wind attacked him with gusto and within a couple of minutes he was shivering uncontrollably. A man heading towards the toilets holding a little boy’s hand gave him a strange look.
When he returned, Verity gave him the once-over. ‘Not bad – although I was expecting someone with a bit more muscle. But that’s okay, we’ll work with what we’ve got.’ She patted her waist. ‘Just hold your stomach in a bit; that’ll accentuate your abs.’
Jed’s head popped up from the camera. ‘Ready when you are.’
‘Excellent,’ Verity said. ‘First up, I want you two in the water, about knee-deep.’
‘You mean in the water?’ Reuben said. ‘As in really in?’
‘I believe that’s what knee-deep means. Come on, don’t be a wimp. You don’t want Celia showing you up, do you?’
Celia had appeared from nowhere in a tiny iridescent blue bikini adorned with frills. She glided into the water, golden and lithe, and turned to face them with a pout, like a girl from a Bond movie. Reuben took a deep breath and gingerly put one toe in the water. He was already numb. It couldn’t get any worse, could it?
It could. By the time he’d waded out to Celia, his body had been taken to a new level of numbness. He was using all his concentration to stop himself from shrieking like a girl. Who needed inner support? His balls had shrivelled up to nothing.
He and Celia had to stand arm in arm, as if they’d been swimming and were coming out of the water. Even the pleasure of having his arm around the waist of an attractive woman did little to mitigate his pain. The fact that this woman treated him with the disdain of a professional for a rank amateur played a large part. There were a few more poses in the water, with both looking ahead and then at each other – Celia gazing at a spot over Reuben’s shoulder and Reuben trying not to let her breasts in his peripheral vision distract him.
Finally Verity gave them the nod and they were allowed to come out of the water. The wind turned his wet legs into poles of ice as he padded into the Gents to change into his next pair of board shorts. For the next eternity, he and Celia pretended to be entranced with each other in between costume changes; standing, sitting and lounging under the palm trees; on the hard, cold sand; and even on the nearby children’s playground. Jed darted around them, changing cameras, clicking furiously and grunting encouragement.
As Reuben posed behind Celia on the slippery slide, he hoped that Verity wasn’t going to demand he do the monkey bars – they were never his strong point at school and it would be just his luck for Celia to be a monkey bar expert.
It was looking as if it might finally be a wrap, when Verity said, ‘Okay, guys, just one more water shot and we’ll call it a day.’
Reuben couldn’t help a small sigh. ‘I’ve just got dry.’
‘For God’s sake, stop whingeing,’ Celia snapped, as she headed back towards the water.
That was unfair – apart from his initial shock at getting into the water, the only whingeing he’d done was to himself. He waded back in after Celia – the water was only bone-chilling this time instead of brain-freezing.
‘Reuben, I want you to pick Celia up in your arms, as if you’re about to carry her out of the water.’
He looked askance at Verity.
‘And don’t forget to smile. You’re lovers, remember?’
This was testing his acting prowess to the limit.
‘Come in, let’s get this over with,’ Celia said.
Right you are. Reuben bent down and scooped her up in his arms. She was quite heavy considering her slender build; her skin surprisingly soft and warm. They both smiled at the camera until Reuben’s arms and face ached, and Verity called out, ‘Okay, wrap it up.’
Reuben dropped his arms and Celia plummeted into the water.
***
The photos appeared three days afterwards in the City News, Brisbane’s weekly lifestyle magazine. It was a double-page spread called ‘What’s Hot This Summer’, featuring Reuben and Celia under the palm trees, on the playground and wading out of the water as if they’d just had an invigorating dip. Jed had obviously photoshopped off Reuben’s blue-tinged goosebumps. The photos of him carrying Celia in the water were conspicuously absent.
Despite herself, Carlene was impressed. ‘You look pretty sexy in those mini board shorts, babe. All the girls at Women for World Peace thought so too.’ She squeezed his thigh. ‘But I don’t like the way she’s draped herself all over you.’
‘It’s only for the photos, honey. I can assure you, in real life she’s not a nice person.’
Celia had lodged a formal complaint with Pizzazz Promotions about Reuben for his ‘unprofessional behaviour,’ after first informing him that he’d be lucky if he got any more modelling work in Brisbane, or anywhere else, for that matter. Posie had to go into damage control to make sure the agency didn’t lose any business as a result and called Reuben in to admonish him.
‘Celia is really going places,’ she told him. ‘She’s just been signed by a New York agency, and she’ll be a big name one day. So to get on her bad side like that was not a good idea, was it?’
‘I’m sorry for the trouble it caused you,’ Reuben said. ‘But if I never model again, I won’t lose any sleep over it. As for Celia, she doesn’t have a good side and I’m not in the least bit sorry I dropped her.’
Not wanting to spoil his few moments of glory, he didn’t tell Carlene about the incident with Celia. And she certainly had no complaints when he received his payment of five hundred dollars a few days later. It was worth it just to remember the look on Celia’s face as she rose to the surface of the water, spluttering and gasping.
CHAPTER 17
Wednesday night loomed ahead of him like a shadow of doom – the closer it got, the larger the shadow. On Tuesday night he phoned Frank, as instructed.
‘All systems go,’ Frank said. ‘Meet Bomber in the car park at six forty-five. Park a couple of streets away and walk there. Afterwards, don’t contact me, wait for me to call you. Understood?’
‘Right.’
On Wednesday morning as he dressed he decided on his plan of action. He’d come home after work, shower and change, leave Carlene a note and go before she arrived home. He racked his brains for a reason to be home late. If only he had some friends he could rely on to provide him with an alibi. But there was only Derek, who, apart from the fact that he was still in jail, was too crazy and unpredictable to be a friend. He’d have to fall back on good old Finn again. It was pathetic – he had one friend in the whole world, and he was imaginary.
At the cafe, he cut himself twice; blood leaking on to the chopping board. He didn’t hear the deep fryer alarm go off and a basket of chips burnt to a p
ile of charred remains. For once, Joe seemed to run out of insults. He made a gesture of tearing out his hair and strode out of the kitchen.
‘What’s the matter with you today?’ Nina said. ‘You seem a bit jumpy.’
Reuben shrugged. ‘I didn’t get much sleep last night.’
She raised an eyebrow. Implicit in the gesture were all the erotic possibilities behind his lack of sleep. Reuben said nothing – let her think he didn’t sleep well because he was shagging himself senseless.
At five-thirty, he was at Hungry Jack’s having an early dinner to kill time. After two bites of a double beef ‘n’ bacon burger on top of an already churning stomach, he was close to throwing up. He threw the rest in the bin and forced down half a cup of weak coffee. At six-fifteen, he left the restaurant and arrived at the Commonwealth Bank building in Chermside at six-thirty. It was an easy ride as most of the peak hour traffic had abated. He parked the Barbiemobile a block away in a side street and strolled back to the car park.
He pulled the collar of his jacket up against the crisp night air. Not wanting to be seen loitering in the area, he crossed the side road to a small block of shops and pretended to be browsing in the window of a second-hand bookshop. He arrived back at the car park at six forty-five, just as a ute rumbled in. Under the entrance light, the words ‘Breakdown Bob’ painted on the side – in large red letters – were visible.
The car park was half full. Reuben approached the ute as it nosed into a space on the far side. Underneath ‘Breakdown Bob’ were inscribed in smaller letters ‘24 hour service’, and a mobile number after it.
A figure in dark overalls and a peaked cap got out.
‘G’day,’ Bomber said. ‘Where’s the car?’
‘It doesn’t appear to be here.’
A horrible thought struck Reuben. What if, by the wildest of coincidences, she actually did do pole dancing and her car was there after all?