“I’m okay. Thanks, Zac.” I jumped up and did a final stretch with my arms over my head. “I’m ready.”
“Let’s do this.”
For the next hour, Zac pushed my body to the absolute limit, and then he pushed some more. By the end, I was dripping with sweat and high on endorphins. For the first half hour, we worked on technique and endurance. The second half we sparred. I’d never come close to beating Zac, but he was an ex amateur boxing champion, so it wasn’t likely that would ever happen. He could’ve gone pro, but he sustained a terrible head injury trying to spar with the much bigger heavyweights without a head guard at a training session. He would often tell me his arrogance nearly cost him his life. He was very fortunate, but doctors advised him any further heavy impacts could give him permanent brain damage.
“You’re a star, Jules,” Zac praised, looking down to me collapsed on the mat. “You’ll get me next time.”
It was the same thing he said at the end of every session, and it made me smile every time. He was a really good guy. I’d introduced him to Sia’s sister, Juniper, a year ago. They got engaged soon after and were getting married in June.
“Hey, Jules. I got a call from the promoter of a gym out in Lilydale last night.”
I looked up at him and wiped my arm across my forehead. “Oh yeah? What did he have to say?”
“He’s looking for female boxers for an amateur night he’s got planned in a couple of months’ time.” A goofy grin spread across his face. “I might’ve mentioned you.”
I bit my bottom lip, unsure what to think. I’d always said no when this had come up before, but Lilydale was well outside Melbourne, so I was unlikely run into anyone I knew.
A shiver ran down my spine and excitement bloomed in my belly. “Okay. Sign me up.”
“Really? That’s awesome, Jules. You won’t regret it. I promise.”
***
Despite insisting I was more than capable of getting home by myself and he should meet me there, Richard met me outside the gym every Thursday evening. He really was chivalrous, and I tried to appreciate that about him. He thought I did aerobics classes at the gym, so I wasn’t going to point out what I actually did with Zac. He and my mother got along famously and it would no doubt come up in conversation. ‘Fighting is not an appropriate activity for a lady,’ she would say with disdain. If they knew I was training for a boxing match, they’d have a conniption.
Halfway across the Yarra Footbridge, Richard stopped.
“Hey. Look at these, babe.” He was pointing to a large quantity of padlocks clipped to the bridge railings.
“They’re love locks,” I informed him.
He lifted a couple of them and read out the names.
“I noticed them a few months ago and did some research.” I remembered how romantic I’d thought it was, even if I couldn’t personally relate to the concept of unbreakable love. “Apparently, it began in Rome around the turn of the century, inspired by characters in a cult Italian novel. I can’t remember the name of it. Anyway, couples in love would inscribe their names on the padlock, clip it to the Ponte Milvio, then throw the keys in the Tiber.”
“Well, it can’t be good for the bridge. They’ll rust and damage it,” Richard said, dropping the padlocks and letting them swing. “I’m surprised the authorities don’t remove them.”
I knew that would be Richard’s reaction, but it still made me feel desperately disappointed for reasons I tried to push away.
Peering over the railings, I watched the dark water flow freely beneath me. The pale silt swirled around, hypnotising me with its chaotic patterns. I closed my eyes and imagined myself leaping over the edge and plummeting into the water below. I was fully submerged, and instead of swimming back to the top, I would allow my body to sink slowly towards the muddy riverbed, my lungs screaming for the air they craved. The rush made me smile—a secret smile just for me.
“I’m starving,” Richard mumbled. “Let’s go.”
“I Want You,” I declared suddenly.
“Really? Didn’t we already do that this week?”
“No, I didn’t mean that.” I rolled my eyes. “I just remembered the name of the book that inspired the love locks in Rome. It’s I Want you by the Italian author Federico Moccia.”
“Oh. Right.” He started walking away, leaving me standing there.
When I caught up, Richard didn’t reach for my hand. When my mother had been trying to set us up, he had been quite romantic, charming, handsome and persistent. According to her, he had all the right breeding and social etiquette, not to mention the fact that he kissed her butt at any available opportunity. I wanted to feel something more for him.
When I’d told my mother I would go on a date with him, she looked happier than she had in a really long time. I liked seeing her happy, and it didn’t seem like a giant sacrifice to stay with him for her sake. I did my very best to be the perfect girlfriend, but my happy façade was cracking over time, and one of these days, I was sure they were going to notice.
“I’m really looking forward to your mum’s cocktail party on Saturday night.”
“I know you are.” It was all I could muster.
Chapter Four
Juliette
“Wake up, Dick.” I pulled the covers back and gave him a not-so-gentle shove. “You have to go.”
“Don’t call me Dick.” He sat up and rubbed his eyes, yawning. “You know I hate it when you call me that.”
“Oh right, sorry.” I’d stayed up too late reading a fascinating book about street fighting techniques and hadn’t had any coffee yet. I really wasn’t sorry.
Richard rolled his eyes, yawned again and then dragged himself off towards the ensuite.
“No time for a shower.” I threw his clothes at him. “Heath messaged me overnight and wants me in early to set up for a meeting.”
“Are you serious, Juliette? This is crazy. It would be far more convenient if—”
“I’m deadly serious,” I replied, cutting him off. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Can you pick me up on the way to Mum’s thingy?”
“Not sure Isabel would appreciate you calling her event a thingy, but yes, I’ll pick you up around four. It’ll take over an hour to get there and she wants us to arrive early to help welcome guests.”
Even though he’d just woken up and was being booted out the door, it was obvious how excited he was about another Isabel Fontaine affair. I wasn’t dreading it—my mother’s charity work was admirable—but I didn’t look forward to society engagements the way Richard and my mother did.
When I’d ushered Richard out the door and watched the lift doors close on him looking unimpressed and holding his shoes, I pulled my oversized t-shirt off and over my head and padded to the bathroom for a quick shower. As the hot water slowly woke me up, I mentally chastised myself for not telling Richard I was nowhere near ready to move into his townhouse a few streets away from my parents. Whilst he was dropping hints about co-habiting, I was busy formulating my next excuse to put it off. We hadn’t had sex the night before. He was tired and I was happy to read. I knew our relationship was lacking, but my mother was fragile, and it made her happy.
I wasn’t a complete martyr. I had two guilty pleasures I managed to keep a secret from everyone I knew: fight training with Zac and car racing. Tonight, thanks to Jim and Shorty’s invitation after the race last Sunday, I was hoping to add a third.
I rarely saw Richard on Friday nights as he socialised with his own colleagues, and I was ashamed about how happy that made me. We only really saw each other on weekends when we were attending a social function together. Any shameful feelings, however, were going to be forgotten when I planned to leave my colleagues at the bar sometime before midnight under the guise of heading home.
Instead, I’d get in a cab with adrenaline surging and go underground for what I hoped would be a blissful few hours. During those hours I wasn’t going to be twenty-five-year-old Juliette Salinger, daughter of social elite
Isabel Fontaine and legal royalty John Salinger. I wasn’t going to be anyone’s puppet, hanging from strings I couldn’t seem to untie. I was just going to be Jules, and I thirsted for the blood spilling in front of me. Not like a vampire or anything paranormal. I’d studied plenty of fights on TV, and I simply craved the energy I gleaned from watching the pummelling impacts, the uppercuts, the right hooks and the sublime confrontation of man against man. In my mind, I preempted every move the fighters made and cringed when they deviated. It would invariably end in them knocked out, unconscious or comatose. Illegal fight nights were a whole new level, and I had a feeling I was going to be counting the hours, the minutes and the seconds between each one.
Work passed quickly. Most brokers and assistants left soon after market close on a Friday, so Heath and I were alone in a quiet office when I stood up from my desk and decided to do something I’d never done before.
“Heath.”
He looked up and raised his eyebrows, giving me the signal it was okay to interrupt him. “Is it okay if I head out now?”
“Of course. Have a good weekend.” He smiled and then went back to his work, looking back up a few moments later, obviously confused that I was still there.
“I was wondering if you have any interest in a drink with us after work,” I asked hesitantly.
“Oh.” He sat back in his large black leather chair and swivelled gently as if that would help him contemplate an answer.
“We meet each Friday night at the Z bar. Sometimes we grab some dinner too.”
“Hardware Lane. I know it.”
“No pressure. Just thought I’d ask.” I paused before risking my next statement without eye contact. “I know Sia would love you to be there.” Cringing, I looked up and saw a slight redness to his cheeks and the hint of a smile. “Well, that’s where we’ll be if you decide to join us.” I turned and walked towards my desk.
“Thanks, Juliette.”
I turned back and smiled.
“I’ll try to make it.”
***
The Z bar was buzzing with the collective release of city workers letting off some steam at the end of the working week. It was the same each Friday. From five to around seven, it was civilised. Seven to nine would see the older and possibly wiser leave to go out for dinner or home to their families. From nine onwards, it started getting a bit loose. I often wondered how many one-night stands, couplings and potential marriages could be attributed to alcohol.
“He might not come, Sia.” She had been glancing at the door since we arrived two hours ago. “He’s got a lot on his plate at work with this new listing.” I kicked myself for telling her I’d asked him to come.
“He’s coming.” Her confidence was admirable, and I couldn’t help feeling excited for her. “He’s all powerful and sexy at work, but underneath all that, I think he’s just a bit shy and needed a push.”
“Well, why didn’t you say that months ago?”
“Months ago I wasn’t planning on being out of the country for six weeks.”
“You’re a little crazy. You know that, right?”
“You say crazy. I say awesome.”
I was still shaking my head when I felt a tap on my shoulder.
“Can I get you ladies a drink?” Heath asked. He had removed his tie and jacket, and I was surprised at the transformation.
I was genuinely shocked to see him there and annoyed at myself for not asking him sooner.
“Corona with lime, thank you,” Sia requested.
I glanced from her to Heath and back to Sia. They were mesmerised by each other, and I felt very much like the third wheel.
I interrupted their silent gazing. “I’ll have the same.”
Heath disappeared to the bar.
“Told you so,” Sia said with a smug grin.
“You did. You’re very smart.”
We were both laughing when Heath returned with our drinks. I spent the next few hours being social. As the time ticked on, I checked my phone more regularly, waiting for the message which would apparently be sent from a different number and at a different time every month. It finally arrived at ten fifteen, and I immediately commenced my exit strategy.
Chapter Five
Juliette
“Are you sure that address is correct, miss?”
The question was probably fair enough, but I wasn’t paying him to question my destination. I was paying him to take me there.
“It’s correct.” I sat back and looked out the window of the cab as we moved away from the curb.
As we drove further and further from the city centre, I started to breathe. When we arrived at the parking lot of a closed shopping mall, I paid the driver and got out. It was dark and fairly cold, but I was soon warmed by the bodies of around five hundred other people who’d obviously received the rendezvous message. I retrieved the black loose-knit beanie from my bag and pulled it down over my head.
Within minutes, the organisers took our ticket money and then motioned to one of the buses waiting to take us to another secret location. There, I anticipated spending the next few hours being me, being happy and being free.
I took a quick look around the bus. It was mostly men with plenty of ink and piercings—pretty much my polar opposite in every way, barring their desire to be there. I wasn’t an extrovert by nature, and to blend in as much as I could, I’d worn my fitted black suit with a black sleeveless silk shirt to work. I had changed from heels to flat shoes in the cab, removed my jewellery and switched my suit jacket for a hoodie. Men noticed me and I wasn’t arrogant enough to pretend otherwise. I certainly didn’t want to dress in a way that would get me any extra attention.
Jim called out, gesturing to an empty seat across the aisle from him and Shorty. “Hey, Jules. Over here.”
“Thanks,” I replied, gratefully slipping into the seat near my racing buddies.
Despite being one of very few women, I felt no physical threat from the men.
The bus reached its destination in around fifteen minutes—a deserted warehouse in an industrial estate. I was completely disoriented. We all assembled in front of the buses, awaiting further instruction. I noticed far more women in the crowd than I’d been expecting. From what I could tell, most were wearing very skimpy outfits and were draping themselves all over the men.
Within five minutes, we were told by the organisers to enter the warehouse through the side door. The chivalrous ‘ladies first’ rule definitely didn’t apply to this situation, and I took no prisoners getting in as quickly as possible. I wanted to be front and centre. The excitement was palpable as I left my usual persona behind and entered the outlandishly exciting world of illegal cage fighting.
I’d done some research during the week in anticipation. From what I understood from the few articles available on the net, the main reason for cage fighting to be illegal here was the perception of it as a blood sport. Despite the fact that the Professional Boxing and Combat Sports Board is made up of ex fighters and industry members, they are bound by the current legislation and how the media represents the sport. New South Wales recently took over from Victoria as having the strictest rules due to a recent death in the sport. Knee-jerk reactions were unsurprisingly common, so promoters had no alternative but to say ‘up yours’ to the government and go underground.
A functional moral compass knew the fighters’ safety should be paramount, but I also knew it would drastically change the scene. Every fibre of my being rebelled against it. According to my search results, the fights were brutal and atavistic. The mere idea of it sent raw energy pulsing through me.
Jim and I took our places against the cage. I could barely stand still I was so excited.
“I’m gonna go say g’day to Bob,” Shorty squeaked over his shoulder as he disappeared into the crowd.
“Right, Jules,” Jim said. “This is a Cage Muay Thai Elimination series. It’s one of the most brutal and exciting sports in the world.”
“Okay. So, what should I expect?�
��
“There’ll be eight fighters who will pair off in the first four fights, halving the number who continue. The next two fights will be the winners of the first four, giving us our final two. The ultimate winner has to win three fights. There’s strategy and a lot of psychology involved. The fighters want to do enough to win, but not too much. If they get too many injuries, they might not be able to participate in the next round.”
“Are there any rules for what they can and can’t do to each other?”
“Cage Muay Thai has almost everything—the kicks, the punches, grappling. They can smash their opponents with their elbows, and even head butts are permitted. The wrestling and Jujitsu elements you’ll see in the more famous Mixed Martial Arts comps have been removed.”
“I can see why they’d do that. It must be harder to see what the fighters are doing when they’re on the ground.”
“That’s it. Exactly. Cage Muay Thai is a much better spectator sport, in my opinion, but I’m sure wrestlers and Jujitsu enthusiasts would disagree.”
“What about dirty tactics? We’re at an illegal fight. Surely it’s all pretty loose.”
Jim laughed. “Bloody hell, Jules. Are you for real?”
“What?” I gave him my most innocent puppy dog eyes.
He shook his head. “Yes, we’re at illegal fights, but there are still rules. Cage Muay Thai doesn't have many, and of course they might not always be strictly followed, but you don't hit the groin, you don't punch in the back of the head, no contact after the bell or when a man's down. Usual stuff—and oh, kidney shots are out.” Jim winced as if he were in pain. “Bloody hell. You can be pissing blood for a week after one of them."
“Have you seen much of this kind of thing?”
“Let’s just say, the last fighter seen punching his opponent in the back of the head after the bell has disappeared off the scene. The repercussions here can be far greater than getting disqualified.”
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