by Linda Jaivin
For what seemed like aeons, they searched each other’s eyes, during which time Monkey scarcely dared to breathe. He drew her to him. They were both shaking as they clung to one another. Later, she couldn’t remember who’d started it exactly. But it was the most passionate, beautiful and transporting kiss of her entire life. Nor could she remember any of the details, what went on with tongues and teeth and lips, or even if it had in fact taken place in the little corridor or the restaurant or right before the gate. Maybe the Tony Bennett song wasn’t playing after all; maybe she only attached it to the memory: The shadow of your smile, when you are gone, will colour all my dreams and light the dawn. She couldn’t even recall how she left the airport, only that she arrived back at her place as though in a trance, the memory of his mouth imprinted on her lips, the press of his body engraved on hers. It was only a kiss. But she knew, with great certainty, that this was what love tasted like, and that there was no need to be greedy.
Ruthless
Daniel Ducrou
Isaac turned on the shower as hot as he could bear it and stood with the heat scorching his skin and steam rising around him. He started to cry, shook his head and drew jagged breaths through his teeth. Idiot! He smacked a balled fist against his cheek. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Steph could never find out. Never. He had to make sure. He scrubbed himself with a soapy loofah until the coconut scent disappeared, then started again.
Once dry, he wrapped the towel around his waist and killed the light.
‘Isaac?’ Stephanie murmured.
He stalled as she rolled over slowly in the bed. The alarm clock beside her said SUNDAY, 3:04 AM, in dim green lettering.
‘Go back to sleep,’ he said.
She yawned. ‘You sound drunk.’
‘I’m fine.’ He pulled on some boxer shorts, stumbled slightly and fell into the bed.
He woke a few hours later, groggy and confused. Stephanie was crying at the foot of the bed and two policemen were standing beside her.
* * *
Saturday night, a month earlier, Charlie applied eyeliner with a practised hand, trying to ignore the music thumping next door. ABC News Radio played on the sound dock beside her. With three minutes until she was due on stage, she was glad to have the dressing room to herself, even for a short while. Her skin was still youthful, so it wasn’t to conceal blemishes or wrinkles that she wore the make-up. It was to transform herself into someone else. And it just so happened that she was very good at being someone else and it earned her more money than she knew what to do with. Her thoughts drifted to the year she turned thirteen, summer in Portland and the first time she earned.
She saw him standing in the shade of the school sports shed alone, as arranged, and fidgeting with his phone. It was a hot day and when she got close she could smell his body odour, like cream beginning to turn.
‘You can’t tell anyone,’ she said. ‘You have to promise.’
He nodded but kept his head down, his gaze occasionally lifting as far as her knees, but no higher. Hands digging into his shorts, he withdrew two crumpled ten dollar notes and held them out. She scanned the patchy oval as she took the cash and pushed it into her skirt pocket.
The air behind the sports shed was hot and still. There were besser bricks stacked up one end and Charlie noticed a torn condom wrapper and flattened Coke can among the tall weeds and hard packed earth. A slow bead of sweat slid down her back between her shoulder blades and there was a tingling sensation in her groin that confused her – she hadn’t wanted to feel anything. When she turned to face him, her stomach twisted as she realised she’d put herself into a corner.
He was close to her then, his fingers trembling and his brow tensed as he unfastened the buttons on her white school blouse. The last one got stuck and he started to flush red when he couldn’t do it. His fingers kept slipping and eventually he just ripped it. The button hit the corrugated iron fence with a bright click and fell to the dirt beside a thick sprout of weeds, and she found herself staring at it, not wanting to leave it behind. Now she could feel him looking. Really looking. His chest heaved and his tongue edged out of his mouth and slid across his lips. She was wearing the black lacy bra her mother had bought for her, and although it was a C-cup, a size too small, she thought it was prettier than any other clothes she owned.
‘Touch yourself,’ he said, short of breath.
She dragged her fingertips across her belly, sticky with sweat, and touched the bottom edge of the lacy cup. His lips moved subtly like there was something he wanted to say, like there were words caught in his throat and she wondered what they might be. That she was beautiful? Sexy? Naughty? That she was too fat? Dirty? Ugly? That he was in love with her?
‘Close your eyes,’ he said. ‘Pull down your bra.’
Frightened, she closed her eyes and imagined herself sitting on the end of her bed, sewing the button back onto her blouse. Her fingers traced the lacy edge of the bra cup, then she pulled it down to show him the soft, pink areole and the edge of her nipple. His breathing caught and he gasped as though being suffocated. When she looked up, his mouth had yawned into a tight oval and his eyes rolled back. He was filming on his phone with one hand and jerking his cock through his shorts with the other. She panicked and yanked closed her blouse just as a stain darkened on his shorts. He looked confused, muttered something under his breath, then turned and ran.
The house was quiet when she arrived home, and she edged down the corridor, fingering the loose button in her pocket.
‘Charlie?’ her mum called.
She swore under her breath and pivoted into the living room. All the blinds were closed, Paul Simon’s ‘Graceland’ played softly on the stereo, and the air was stale with skunk and tobacco.
‘How much?’ her mum said.
Charlie fidgeted. ‘Ten dollars.’
‘Gee, you’re cheap, aren’t you?’ She lifted the cold pack from her eyes. ‘Tits like yours, you should be charging a fortune.’
Charlie didn’t answer.
Her mum held out her hand. ‘Here.’
Charlie stalled.
‘Here!’ said her mum. ‘I do a lot more than that to keep this house running. You contribute or get out.’
Charlie handed her the money. ‘Any food?’
Her mum replaced the cold pack. ‘Weet-Bix in the pantry.’
She nodded and made her way down the corridor, glad she’d saved half for herself.
Charlie put down the eyeliner and checked her reflection in the mirror. She was being called up to stage. Always save something for yourself, she thought. Always.
* * *
Isaac scanned the café from his favourite table. The sizzle of car tyres on the wet road was punctuated by the sound of crockery being cleaned and stacked. He enjoyed this time of day, everything slowing down after the lunch rush and his staff working steadily. He dialled Lloyd’s number and waited.
‘Hey,’ Lloyd’s voice broke through the tone. ‘Just heading into a meeting.’
‘I’ll cut to the chase,’ Isaac said. ‘You only get one bucks night in your life, one final hurrah before a life of relentless monogamy, and so I’ve got one question for you.’
‘I know what you’re going to say.’
‘How dirty do you want the strippers to be?’
There was the sound of Lloyd closing a door behind him, and he lowered his voice. ‘I don’t want any.’
‘What?’ Isaac paused, genuinely surprised.
‘Not after Benny’s last weekend.’
Isaac frowned. ‘Why? What happened?’
‘I can’t explain right now. Let’s just say it was terrible.’
‘For who? Benny? Or the stripper?’
‘I can’t talk right now. Look, all I want is to get drunk with the boys and have a laugh. Maybe go tenpin bowling or something.’
‘Jesus, mate! It’s your bucks night not your tenth birthday.’ Isaac sighed. ‘How about a lingerie waitress to serve us drinks while we play hold'em poker.’
‘Nah.’
‘C’mon.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I know you like to look. I’ve seen you looking when you come into the café.’ He glanced at one of his regular customers flirting with Gemma at the counter. ‘I mean, half my customers wouldn’t come here if it wasn’t for the waitresses. Our coffee is good, but it’s not that good.’
‘Nothing wrong with looking.’
‘But paying to look isn’t okay? I mean, surely that’s more ethically sound – if that’s what this is about.’
‘Sorry, mate. I’ve gotta go. Call you later?’
‘Just one more thing.’
‘What?’
‘The buck usually doesn’t get any say in what happens to him on his bucks night. You know that, don’t you?’
Isaac ended the call before Lloyd could reply. What had happened at Benny’s bucks? It can’t have been that bad. He placed his phone on the table and groped the thick knot of muscle between his spine and right shoulder blade. One of his new employees, a Swedish girl called Maya, brought over his long black, and he smiled in gratitude for the coffee, but mostly for her prettiness, her curly blonde hair and the clear blue flash of her eyes. She’d look amazing naked, he thought – then caught himself. He really needed to curb these thoughts. Sipping his coffee, he studied the long list of waitresses he employed, then shook his head. Young women were beautiful and men couldn’t help looking. Damned if he knew when that would ever change.
His ring tone sounded and he snatched his phone from the table.
‘Meeting cancelled?’ he said, expecting Lloyd.
But no one spoke. There was just quiet breathing.
‘Hello?’
Still nothing. He felt the blood beating at his temples.
‘Look!’ he said, his voice thick. ‘For fuck’s sake! Whoever this is. Just stop calling. It’s beyond a joke.’
The breathing became quicker, but still no one spoke.
‘Jesus!’
He ended the call and glanced around the café, grinding his teeth.
‘What?’ he said, when he caught Maya staring at him.
She forced a smile, looked away, and continued working.
* * *
The city’s lights shimmered on the Yarra River, its surface shattered by a cold westerly. Isaac put his arm around Stephanie as they passed a pack of boys with skateboards.
‘What’s wrong with tenpin bowling?’ she asked, pulling her shawl around her shoulders.
‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘It’s just kind of lame.’
‘In the context of what normally happens?’
‘Technically, it’s secret men’s business, but–’
‘You’re going to tell me anyway?’
‘Yeah.’ He grinned. ‘So, I was chatting to Lloyd and the subject of,’ he cleared his throat, ‘adult entertainment came up. And guess what? He was dead against it.’
‘And why is that a problem?’
‘It’s a problem for me because I’m the best man. It’s my job to make sure the bucks night is a little bit, you know, wild and memorable. Traditionally that includes an element of sexual titillation. The last time I checked, bowling wasn’t exactly sexy.’
She shrugged. ‘Why don’t you give him a strip tease?’
He laughed and slid his hand around the small of her back. ‘Why don’t I give you a strip tease?’
‘Ooh, lucky me,’ she said, and rolled her eyes. ‘Anyway, why is Lloyd against the idea?’
The plane trees rustled in a gust of wind, and leaves tumbled along the footpath.
‘Apparently something happened at Benny’s bucks last weekend. He wouldn’t give me details, but he said it was bad.’
She frowned. ‘Strippers at bucks nights are a bad tradition.’
‘C’mon,’ he said, wanting to lighten her mood. ‘It’s not as though it’s sati or something.’
‘It’s not far off, either. Both treat women as property.’
Isaac kept his voice even. ‘I think they’re pretty different.’
‘You don’t think it’s psychologically damaging? Some of these women are still teenagers.’
‘C’mon,’ he said. ‘They’re consenting adults. Old enough to drink, vote, fuck, and go to war. Old enough to take off their clothes, if they want. They make good money. And spare a thought for the men they’re looking after. The core clientele. Lonely men, cripples, the socially inept. Strippers are basically high-end social workers.’
She didn’t laugh. ‘Yeah, sure. Also looking after balding, middle-aged men on bucks nights.’
Isaac gingerly touched the thinning hair at his crown, but didn’t reply.
‘And tell me, darling,’ she said. ‘What do you think of these women?’
He didn’t answer, wished he’d never brought it up.
She nodded slowly. ‘You hold them in contempt, don’t you.’
‘Of course not.’ Isaac laughed. ‘But they’re not exactly the kind of women you want to marry.’
‘Is that so?’
‘You know,’ he pulled her close and gently bit her neck. ‘If you quit the law firm, you could work as an erotic dancer.’
She gave him a wry look. ‘What? Do you think men will be lining up to see the pregnant woman with udder-like breasts?’
‘I would. I’d be your best customer.’
A bell dinged and two guys shot past on racers, their tail-lights flashing.
Isaac pulled her close and felt his temper flare. ‘Idiots!’
She studied him. ‘What would you say if I told you I worked in a strip club during university?’
‘I wouldn’t believe you.’ He shook his head. ‘No, I wouldn’t believe you. You’re joking, right?’
They walked in silence for a few steps, close to the restaurant.
‘Yes, I am joking, but I was curious to see your reaction,’ she said finally. ‘These women are just normal people – I doubt many of them take great pleasure in what they do.’
His phone began ringing and he glanced at the screen. Private number.
‘Ahh!’ he said, his heart pumping. ‘You can’t be serious.’
‘The prank caller?’
He stared at the flashing screen and nodded slowly.
She squeezed his shoulder, imploring him. ‘So, don’t answer it.’
‘But–’
‘Don’t answer.’
He raised the phone to his ear. ‘Yeah-allo?’
Barely audible breathing.
‘Let me guess? Nothing to say?’ He waited. ‘What a fucking surprise.’
The breathing continued and there was a gulp, then nothing.
‘I’m gonna fuck you up. You know that, don’t you? When I find you, you’re fucking dead, you’re fucked!’
He walked on, wanting to smash the phone into the concrete. When he looked back, Stephanie had turned away from him and was looking over the river.
‘What?’ He sighed, skulked back to her and placed his hand on her back. ‘I’m sorry.’
Eyes closed, she exhaled through her nose. ‘Your temper frightens me, Isaac,’ she said, blinking back tears. ‘You get this look in your eyes like you’re not there anymore. And it takes me straight back–’
‘No, darling. Never again.’ He put his arms around her, but couldn’t suppress the trembling in his voice. ‘That was a one-off. I promise with all my heart, that will never, ever happen again.’
‘How do I know?’ She paused. ‘And what if you ever did that to our child? What then?’
‘Look, I’m sorry. I get frustrated and I swear, but it’s just words. Letting off steam, you know. I’m past physical violence. I promise. It will never happen again.’
She turned to him now, her gaze steady. ‘I will not bring a child into a house with a violent man. God help me, I will leave you if there’s even the slightest hint of physical violence again. I need you to understand that.’
‘Yes, I understand,’ he said. ‘I understand. And I promise it will never happen again.’
/> He took her hand and she nodded, then they walked towards the constellation of fairy lights surrounding the restaurant’s entrance.
* * *
Charlie looked at her jagged fingernail, blood under one corner and the taste of iron in her mouth. She’d thrown the phone when Isaac swore at her and now it lay on the carpet halfway across her apartment. It was Monday night, and her only company now was the radio playing quietly in the background, a gentle monologue of natural disasters, political conflict, and global financial markets.
In the faded photo in front of her, Isaac stood on a beach with his arms around two mates, a beer in his hand and his eyes closed, his face turned away from the camera. Her mum, cigarette between her fingers, leaned against his chest, smiling up at him.
Getting that photo had cost her a lot, but with the photo had also come contact details and the realisation that she would one day meet her father. Isaac’s phone number had seemed magic to her then and she had repeated it to herself each night as she fell asleep. It had held so much hope and promise; it was a second chance, a passport to another life. What she hadn’t anticipated was the paralysing silence that swallowed her when she tried to speak to him. How many times had she called now? Twenty? Thirty times? She’d walked past his South Melbourne café three times now too, but each time she’d just about fainted with nervousness. What if he hated her and didn’t want to know her? Was it possible for a man to hate his own daughter? Always the same thoughts, over and over, like waves lapping on the shore. The one thing she did know was that she couldn’t afford to keep stuffing up. She had no other family now. Tomorrow she’d go to the café and talk to him in person.
* * *
Isaac was reading The Age at his favourite table the following morning and between the trill of the coffee grinder and the chatter of a nearby table, he didn’t at first hear the voice of the girl standing nearby.
