Paper Dolls

by Hanna Peach

  Oops. “Sorry, I’ll fix it up now.”

  She grabbed my arm to stop me from running off. “I’ve already fixed it up. What I need you to do now is to spill it. Now.”

  I glanced around. For the moment there were no customers in the store. Where did I even start with what was bothering me? I wasn’t ready to talk to Flick about Salem yet so... “It’s Clay.”

  Flick frowned. She grabbed a huge rubber dildo from the nearest shelf and slapped it against her open palm like she was holding a bat. “Do you need me to break his legs?”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “Firstly, I doubt that would be enough to break anyone’s legs.”

  “You don’t know how deadly I can be with a dick.”

  “Flick…I don’t wanna know. Besides, no leg breaking required.” Not yet, a cynical voice inside me said. It sounded too much like Salem.

  Flick placed the rubber appendage back on the shelf. “So, what’s the man doing?”

  “It’s more what we’re doing…or not doing…yet. But that I want to…and he wants to…I think.”

  “Could you possibly repeat that, in English?”

  I took a deep breath and recapped the last few times that Clay and I spent together. Every time things got hot and heavy, he pulled away. And he refused to take me back to his place. “I don’t think…” God, this was embarrassing.

  Flick just waited patiently for me to garner the courage to spit it out.

  “I don’t think he wants to have sex with me.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” she said, flinging her arms into the air. “How could he not want to have sex with you? You’re hot. Like super-hot. I want to have sex with you and I’m not even gay.”

  I smiled, despite my worry. “Thanks, Flick.”

  She frowned. “Talk to me, babe.”

  “I think he’s worried because I’m a virgin. Like he might break me if he…”

  “Fucks you.”

  I made a face. “I hate that word.”

  “And your disdain for cursing might not be helping.”

  “What’s wrong with not liking to curse?”

  “Honey, you can’t even say the word, how are you expected to ask him to do it to you?”

  I gulped. The woman had a point. “What do I do?”

  “You need to make him look at you that way. You need to make it so he forgets all his hesitation.”

  “How?”

  “I have a plan. But you have to trust me. When I’m done with you, you’ll be so freaking seducible, Lord help me, I’ll sell this store if he isn’t eating out of your lap by the end of the night. Literally.”

  At the image of Clay kissing me down between my legs, my body burst into flames.

  Flick pointed a finger at me. “But first, you have homework.”

  “Homework?”

  “Don’t look so terrified. I want you to practice saying ‘fuck me’ until you can say it without blushing.”

  I had to what?

  She raised an eyebrow at me. “Don’t argue with me. You can’t even think the f-word without your cheeks going red.”

  “Okay, fine,” I muttered.

  “There’ll be a test next week.”

  Dear God, I was almost afraid to ask. “And the other part of your great plan?”

  “With that one…I’m going to need a little help from my friend, Victoria.”

  “Victoria?”

  “Oh yes, honey.” She grinned. “Victoria’s Secret.”

  * * *

  “Fuck,” I muttered. Hmmm…it didn’t seem that bad this time. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

  I had managed to get to a point where my cheeks didn’t feel like I’d swallowed too much hot coffee when I said the f-word.

  Okay, step one of homework done. Now for the hard bit.

  I cleared my throat. “Fuck mmmm.”

  Dammit.

  I tried again. “Fuck mmmm.” I couldn’t do it. How could I get Clay to do it to me if I couldn’t even say it?

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  I jumped.

  Salem was standing at the doorway to my…our bedroom. I hadn’t heard her come home.

  “Nothing.” I hid my face as I turned back to my bed and continued folding a few clothes into a bag.

  “Sounded like you were practicing how to say ‘fuck me’.” Her voice sounded amused.

  I gritted my teeth. I would never hear the end of this. “So what if I was?”

  “Aww, my little girl is finally growing up.”

  I grabbed a pillow from the bed and threw it at her. She ducked to the side and it went flying into the corridor. “Some things change but you still throw like a girl.”

  I stuck my tongue out at her.

  She laughed. “Real mature, Rosey. So tonight I thought you and me could stay in and watch cartoons, you know, like old times.”

  Crap. I forgot to tell her about my plans tonight. “Oh, um. I’m actually going out.”

  There was a flash of disappointment in her eyes but she hid it with a bright, forced smile. “Where you going?” She spotted my bag. “You’re going over to Clay’s?”

  “No. To Flick’s place.”

  She slumped against the frame. “For a sleepover or something? I didn’t realise you and your boss were that close.”

  “I’m just going over there to get ready. Flick and I are heading out to a Latino social at a club in Noosa with Clay and Jed, a guy Flick is seeing.”

  I saw her eyes darken. “You, loverboy and another couple, having fun out in a club. Well, don’t let me stop you.”

  “You can come if you like,” I said without thinking, then chastised myself. I didn’t want it to sound like a last minute concession invitation. But that’s exactly what it sounded like.

  Salem snorted and crossed her arms over her chest. “And be the fifth wheel. No thanks, I’d rather poke my eyes out with bamboo sticks. I’ll just sit here, home alone on a Saturday night.”

  Guilt stabbed me in the gut. “Come out with us. Come on, Salem. It’ll be fun.” I tried to inject some cheer into my voice, but even to me it sounded flat. Truth was, I wasn’t a fan of nightclubs and if it weren’t for Flick’s ambushing Clay that day when he came to pick me up and Clay saying yes, I wouldn’t have gone anyway.

  “You don’t really want me there.”

  “I do.”

  “No, you’re just asking because you feel sorry for poor little Salem. No man who loves her and no one to keep her company at night. Boo hoo.” Her voice rose. She was taking this harder than I expected.

  I cringed as I zipped up my bag. “Salem, you know that’s not true. I can spend the whole of Sunday afternoon with you. We can watch as many Disney movies as we possibly can and I’ll make popcorn. Or we can even have cereal buffet for dinner, remember how you used to love doing those?”

  “I’m not twelve anymore,” she snapped, causing me to turn towards her. “And you can’t just throw a pathetic cereal buffet at me as a consolation prize.” Her eyes flared with a bitterness that I couldn’t fix. Not without crumbling my world down to fit with hers.

  This was the problem. We used to be the same, Salem and I. We used to share everything. Now, I had everything. And she…she still had nothing except for me. And now she had to share me.

  “It’s not a consolation−”

  “Sorry I don’t fit into your perfect little world anymore.” She turned and fled, her footsteps heavy across my carpet, leaving me stunned. How did this happen? One second we were just talking, the next, she was going ballistic. I heard the front door open and slam, the wood shuddering in its frame.

  “Salem!” I yelled out after her. Shit. “Stop.” I chased after her, leaving my front door wide open as I tumbled through.

  But by the time I had reached the sidewalk, Salem had gone.

  Salem hadn’t come back by the time I was due to leave for Flick’s. I cursed the fact that she didn’t have a mobile. Seriously, who doesn’t have a mobile these days? I left a note for h
er asking her to call me on my cell when she got home.

  Flick lived a ten-minute walk from my apartment so I didn’t bother driving. I was still musing over where I went wrong with Salem when I arrived at her place.

  “Welcome to the party!” Flick swung open the door, a welcome glass of champagne already in her hand.

  She was wearing a very short, very tight, black bandage dress that hugged her ample curves like she was a screen goddess, her shapely legs like a fitness magazine model in those towering fuchsia and gold satin pumps. Her thick, wavy hair had been curled into luscious waves that framed her face, highlighting her lightly bronzed cheekbones, not that she needed it. A plum-red lipstick and dark Cleopatra eyes perfected the look.

  “Wow,” I breathed, my problems momentarily forgotten, “you look like a movie star.”

  “Really?”

  “So hot I’d jump you right now if I were gay and you were gay.”

  “Puh-lease, you wouldn’t jump a puddle if it were in front of you.”

  I could barely muster a laugh.

  Her face dropped. “Girl, you better do something with that frown. That’s not something makeup can fix.”

  “Sorry, Flick.” I forced a smile so wide it hurt. “Better?”

  She pursed her lips before moving aside to let me in.

  Flick lived in a two-story townhouse. It was modern and clean, two bedrooms upstairs. One for her, one for her clothes, she liked to joke. Downstairs were the kitchen, dining and living rooms, which now looked like a bombsite, clothes and shoes littering the floor like shrapnel.

  “Flick!” I exclaimed. “I think someone broke into your house and ransacked the place.”

  “Very funny, wise guy.” She shoved a glass of champagne in my hand. “Drink that. Then tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Nothing.”

  She gave me the look. The I’m going to hound you until you tell me so you better just tell me look.

  I sighed. You couldn’t win with Flick when she pulled out the look. I’ve seen silly men try to and it never ended prettily for them.

  I pretended to take a tiny sip of champagne just so I didn’t look rude and winced as the bubbles tickled my lip. “I had a fight with Salem.”

  “What about?”

  “You. Tonight. Clay.”

  She nodded, a knowing look coming over her face. I had told her bits and pieces about Salem after the day Clay had accidentally met her. I felt I had to let Flick know my sister was staying at my place, just in case Flick dropped by the apartment − it was her apartment − and Salem happened to be there. I didn’t want what happened with Clay and Salem to happen with Flick.

  “So Salem’s feeling a bit left out. Why didn’t you invite her? I’m sure I could have gotten Jed to rustle up a friend for her.”

  I shook my head. “I did invite her. She went ballistic, calling it a consolation prize, saying that she didn’t fit into my life anymore. Then she stormed out and I haven’t seen her since.”

  “She’ll get over it.”

  “I hope so.” But something told me that this crack in our relationship was only just starting to widen.

  “Well, you can’t do anything about it right this minute so just let it go. Time to get you sexified!”

  I slid my untouched champagne on the counter before handing over my bag.

  Apparently nothing I had brought was sexy enough, so Flick led me upstairs.

  “Wow,” I breathed as I stared at her spare room, clothes bursting from clothing racks crammed all around the space.

  “Yeah,” she said, “I ran out of space in my closet so I turned this room into a walk-in.”

  “What will you do when you get a live-in boyfriend?”

  “Easy. He won’t need clothes.” She winked at me. “Alright, start with this one. And this one. Ooo, and definitely this one.” She began to shove a pile of material into my hands. And so the night began.

  An hour and a half later, I had been waxed, plucked, moisturised, cleansed, toned, rouged, blushed, filled in, and had been made to try on a hundred different dresses.

  Just in time, too, because as I was slipping into a pair of Flick’s silver strappy heels (thank God we were the same size) and testing out my first steps in them, a car horn beeped from outside. Flick and I grabbed our purses and headed out to meet Jed.

  Jed was an Italian-Australian whose parents had migrated to Melbourne first then went north in search of warmer weather. He was hot, as I would expect from Flick. With his thickly gelled black hair and a dimple in his chin, he had a John Travolta circa Grease vibe going on about him.

  He leaned out the window of his dark blue Mercedes. Apparently he was a real estate realtor along the coast selling holiday homes to wealthy folk, hence, the flashy car. “Ladies, you both look beautiful. Every man in that club is going to die of envy when I walk in with the two of you on my arms.”

  I managed a weak smile.

  Flick snorted. “Can I get a pizza to go with all that cheese?”

  I introduced myself to him and he eyed me over the rim of his sunglasses, although why he needed sunglasses at night I didn’t know.

  “Jed, honey, stop checking out my friend.”

  “You’re feisty tonight, babe. I was just saying hello.”

  I hopped in the backseat as Flick and Jed made out in the front seat and I looked everywhere except at them. I was beginning to understand a little more now why Salem didn’t want to come.

  Flick and Jed finally broke apart. “And we’re off,” Flick exclaimed.

  * * *

  Apparently this club, called Malibu, had valet parking, and apparently our friend Jed knew the bouncer so we strode right up to the front, past the grumbling guys with polished shoes and girls balancing on skyscraper heels. Clay said he’d meet us there.

  My phone buzzed just as I was tripping past the burly guards at the front into the small alcove reception area where Jed was paying our entry fee, a red velvet curtain separating us from the club. I wasn’t used to this damn tiny clutch purse thing. I dropped my lipstick and keys before I managed to get out my phone. I missed the call. It had been Clay.

  Crap. And there were already three previous messages and three missed calls I somehow missed.

  Already inside. This was sent at 7:55 p.m.

  You did say 8 p.m. at Malibu’s, right? Sent at 8:17 p.m.

  Then his latest one, his worry clear. Aria? Where are you? Are you okay?

  We were almost twenty-five minutes late. Before I could call him back, Flick grabbed my shoulder. Over the rhythmic drumming of the music coming from just past a set of velvet red curtains, I heard her yell, “You ready to rock his world?”

  I nodded as I put my phone away. He’d know very soon I was there and I was okay.

  Jed and Flick went through the curtains first, leaving me to make my entry all by myself. To one side of the reception there was a thin full-length mirror, which I stopped in front of.

  I smoothed down my dress, a pure white body-hugging designer piece to mid-thigh with a sash that went across the front of my breasts, draped over one shoulder and hung down the back to about mid-calf. I fluffed the roots of my hair, which Flick had teased and curled into a wavy flame that swooped across one eye and hung down to the small of my back. The ensemble was topped off by a pair of crystal drop earrings, a matching necklace and a silver clutch and silver strappy heels.

  I flushed at the thought of the underwear I was wearing, one of Victoria’s, wink wink. Flick had made me try on a bazillion sets before sending me home with these ‘on the house’. I had tried to pay her but she refused. She had probably already found the cash I had folded and slipped into her purse without her seeing. I already knew I would probably get ‘accidentally’ overpaid in my next pay.

  The set I chose was white Brazilian-cut knickers in a delicate lace with a matching balcony bra, a line of five diamantes dripping elegantly from between the breasts and from the top centre of the panties. I had never owned a pair like it, al
l of my previous undergarment purchases were designed for comfort and not to be seen.

  I had never in my life ever been dressed up like this before. I had never had any reason to. My mother wasn’t around to teach me how to do makeup or to do my hair. Apart from a little mascara, I never wore any makeup. Tonight, Flick had painted my eyes dark and sultry and I looked almost sinister with silver highlighting my brow bones and the inner corners of my eyes, making the grey of my eyes pop like gun metal. We didn’t have the same complexion, Flick and I, so she didn’t have foundation for me. But in all honesty my skin didn’t need it. She had dusted my cheeks lightly with pale blush to give me a glow and along my cheekbones ‘to make them pop’.

  I took a deep breath. My heart began to beat like a small drumroll as if waiting to announce me to the man who was waiting for me on the other side. I felt my phone buzz again. I had to hurry. Clay was already worried.

  I slipped my hands in the slit of the velvet curtains, pushed them aside, and stepped through.

  The warm air hit me first. I almost choked on the clash of expensive perfumes, musky spice and soft sweet vanillas, and dancing bodies exuding sweat. The music blared a catchy salsa melody of guitars and drums.

  I didn’t really know what to expect for this Latino social. I had never been to one before but Flick said she went to them all the time. Nightclubs hosting the social would open earlier, at 7 p.m., and play solely Latino music, the focus more on dancing rather than drinking. It was the only reason that Clay agreed to come.

  The inside of Malibu was overwhelming. I didn’t know where to look. It was an irregularly shaped nightclub dressed in silver and dark fabrics, large flat aquariums were installed as partitions, the shimmering dancing figures moving between the jewel-like fish and swaying coral.

  I eyed the crowd, searching, seeking, not really seeing anyone, until my gaze slid onto his familiar figure. Clay Jagger stood some metres away at the bar, running his hands through his hair, messing it up and glaring at his phone. My breath shook in and out between my teeth. My God, he was beautiful. Would there ever be a time when I wouldn’t be struck by seeing him? He was clean shaven, his dark hair curling against the collar of the black button-up shirt hugging his thick torso, dark, fitted denim showcasing his powerful thighs. Aggression rolled off him, making him seem almost dangerous.