by Kim Lock
After a while Jenna turned from Ark to see Fairlie teetering on her stool, giggling as she stuffed handfuls of straws into her empty glass. Black tubes littered the bar and Fairlie leaned awkwardly to grab the last of the straws from the holder, bosom flattening out over the timber. From the other end of the bar, the barman suddenly noticed her and swore, his hands busy with the beer tap. Jenna raised a hand, signalling an apology. ‘Come to the bathroom,’ Jenna yelled at Fairlie over the din, carefully extracting straws from her hands.
‘Hey matey.’ Fairlie whistled at the barman, who looked at her and shook his head. ‘Watch my sculpture, would ya buddy?’ She gestured to the straw-filled glass. ‘It’s art. Will be worth a fortune when I’m dead. Like a van Gogh.’ Rolling from her bar stool, her neckline slipped aside to reveal a wide beige bra strap digging into soft brown flesh. She gave Ark an enormous grin. ‘It’s spelt kind of like cough, but it’s pronounced like go. What’s that about? Anyway, back in a sec, homie.’ She grazed her outstretched knuckles across Ark’s shoulder.
Jenna wove their way through the bodies, obscenely patterned carpet sticky under foot, air fusty with cigarette smoke, beer and perfume. Inside the bathroom, light glared artificially white and the din from the bar was muffled, bass beating dully through the walls. Jenna hurried to a stall and shimmied down her jeans, not bothering to close the cubicle door.
‘Is that dude’s name seriously “Ark”?’ Fairlie asked, leaning against the door frame.
Jenna shrugged, ripping off sheets of toilet paper. ‘I suppose so, why?’ She grinned. ‘Does it even matter?’
Fairlie looked sceptical. ‘You’re going to pick him up? You?’
Jenna shrugged again, said nothing. But a brief smile played over her face.
‘It’s about bloody time,’ Fairlie said. ‘I’m working on Tatts behind the bar, but he’s playing hard to catch. But you – really? You never . . .’
‘You’re making me sound like a nun.’ Jenna stood and wriggled her jeans up, the pale blue denim tugging smoothly over her narrow hips like a second skin.
‘Close enough,’ Fairlie said, turning to the mirror. Her black t-shirt stretched tight over her breasts; her shirt had ridden up on one side and a thick roll of skin slunk over the top of her jeans. She smacked it with a palm then yanked her top down. ‘You’ve had two steady boyfriends, both of whom you met at work, neither of whom rocked your socks.’
‘My socks are fine, thank you.’
‘And remember that guy at The Tavern last year? You kneed him in the nuts.’
‘I didn’t knee him in the nuts, I slipped.’
‘Upwards? Against gravity?’
‘He grabbed my boob.’
‘It was the most sex you’d had in a year.’
‘It was unwanted.’
‘You’ve given this guy more than three seconds of your time. So do it. Better yet, go do it in the alley, al fresco, then bid him adieu and come back and help me out with Tatts.’ Fairlie was inspecting her face in the cloudy mirror, avoiding a suspicious greasy substance smeared across one corner of the glass. ‘Ark Rudolph,’ she said, enunciating its syllables. ‘Sounds made up.’ She squinted at the reflection of her short brown curls sticking out at strange angles. ‘My skin looks weird,’ she declared. ‘It’s the colour of cold coffee, don’t you think?’
Jenna rinsed her hands without replying.
‘All those night shifts this week – I look tired,’ Fairlie went on, peering into the mirror. She pushed her eyelids up with her fingertips. ‘Better.’ Turning back to Jenna, her fingers still prying her eyes open, Fairlie repeated, ‘Ark Rudolph. What – is he in the nativity scene?’
Jenna wiped her hands on her jeans. ‘Actually, he lives up the road from us. He owns a winery.’
‘What’s it called – Glowing Noah’s?’
Jenna laughed. ‘ArkAcres. Remember that place?’ She extracted a lip balm from her purse and slid it across her lips. ‘It used to be Stone Block Estate. They sold it a couple of years ago.’
Recognition dawned on Fairlie’s features and she gave a low whistle. ‘Yeah, ArkAcres. Shit, really? Remember the rumours of how much that place sold for?’ Gazing into the mirror again, Fairlie pinched at her cheeks. ‘Hope that enormous limestone gateway he installed isn’t compensating for a lack in the pants area.’
Jenna caught a glimpse of her own reflection in the mirror: blondish skin over jutting cheekbones, pointed nose and narrow nostrils, straight black fringe brushing into round blue eyes. Bony shoulders, more nipple than breast, shadows pooling in the dip of her collarbones. Against the red of her sleeveless shirt her complexion was stark. She looked away, quickly.
Fairlie clasped Jenna’s shoulders tightly with wet hands and fixed her with a stern expression.
‘I’ve gotta say it. You wouldn’t normally be interested in him if . . . you know.’
Jenna stiffened under her grasp, but said nothing.
Carefully, Fairlie released her grip. ‘You’re probably feeling a bit vulnerable since this morning with your mum –’
‘Don’t, Fro.’ Jenna silenced her with the palm of her hand, turning her face away.
‘But Jen, she’s your mum. She’s all you’ve got.’
Jenna felt a flare of irritation. ‘Just because my dad moved out when I was a toddler doesn’t mean I need her for anything.’ She straightened, tossed long hair behind her shoulders. ‘Besides, you should know better than anyone.’
‘Know what?’
‘That blood doesn’t matter. It can still fuck you over.’
Fairlie’s jaw clenched. ‘At least you know where yours comes from.’
In the dirty light they stared at each other, the bass pumping through the walls and a sweaty disinfectant stink rising from the floor.
‘I’m sorry,’ Jenna said eventually. She pinched the top of her nose and shook her head, hard. ‘I don’t know where that came from.’
‘I’m sorry, too,’ Fairlie said. ‘You’re right. You can be as mad as you want at your mum. Who am I to judge?’ With a sigh, Fairlie turned to open the door but instead she clutched uselessly at the air. ‘Bloody thing,’ she cursed. ‘Why’d they put a fake handle on the door?’
The bleat of Jenna’s laugh echoed around the bathroom as she wrapped her arm around Fairlie’s shoulders and took hold of the door handle. With Fairlie slumped against her, they made their way back to the bar. Jenna’s heart juddered as she spotted Ark seeking her out in the crowd.
Raising her voice above the din, Jenna told him, ‘We need to go.’ Fairlie seemed to be falling asleep against her. She smiled and pressed her cheek to Fairlie’s curls. ‘I have to work with this one tomorrow.’
‘Darn,’ he said, slowly. ‘Too soon. Hey, are you going to be right with her?’
Fairlie murmured something, and leaned more of her weight into Jenna’s chest. Jenna struggled to stay upright.
‘Can I help?’ Ark held out his hand and after a hesitation, where Jenna’s muscles quivered, Fairlie groggily lifted her elbow into it. Between them, they navigated Fairlie through the crowd and out into the street.
Outside, the air was dampening and cool. Halos of mist rimmed the streetlights and the abandoned street thrummed with the bass from the pub. A filmy midnight breeze coaxed a shiver from Jenna’s skin as they shuffled around the building to the darkened car park behind the pub. Only a few cars were still parked in the spaces; scruffy callistemons growing between the rows cast long fingers of shadow across the grubby asphalt. At Fairlie’s car, the night air finally seemed to rouse Fairlie and she lifted her head to drag her gaze from Ark’s feet to his head.
‘I’ll be damned,’ she said, slumping against the car. ‘You coming home with us?’ As Jenna slipped Fairlie’s bag from her shoulders to search for her keys, Fairlie closed her eyes, her head falling again, and mumbled, ‘Nun.’
Something in the throwaway comment rankled Jenna. She watched Ark carefully tuck Fairlie into the passenger seat. Lean, strong arms, long legs, shirt stretching across his back as he apologised to Fairlie and reached around her body to clip in the seatbelt. Once Fairlie was safely dozing on the seat, her head drooping, Ark shut the door and turned to Jenna. He opened his mouth to say something and that was when Jenna kissed him. Firmly.
Stretched up on her toes, she pressed him back against the car with her body, hips on hips, chest to chest. Her fingertips sought his warm throat. There was a pause as he was caught off guard, before he kissed her back with equal strength.
Lust rose in her, a swift and fierce thing. She ran her hands down his stomach and hooked a finger into the buckle of his belt. She pulled the strap free.
Ark broke away, surprised, laughing softly. ‘Easy,’ he said. But his hand slid beneath her shirt to cup her breast, and his tongue pressed against hers, so she lowered his zipper. Her fingers found him hard, his pubic hair brushing her knuckles. The night air carried the sounds of laughter, the staccato thuds of car doors, and Jenna thought of her and Ark cloaked in shadows nearby, furtive and breathless. She drew away from his mouth as his breath quickened. Her teeth grazed the soft pulse beneath his jaw until he finally shuddered and coated her fingers with hot wetness.
Jenna leaned sideways against the car as the strength left Ark’s body. He pressed his face into her neck, laughing breathlessly. Flicking her fingers at the ground, she wiped her hand on his jeans, and he reached down to circle her wrist with his thumb and forefinger. With his other hand, he dug his phone from his pocket.
‘Please. I’ve gotta have your number,’ he said.
Jenna looked at his face. Pupils so dilated his eyes were a soulful black, lips flushed and parted. She took his phone and her thumb hovered over the screen. Then she quickly keyed in her number.
The car door flung open. Fairlie leaned out and said, ‘Jen, I think I’m gonna –’
Then she vomited on Ark’s shiny black RM Williams.
*
Jenna struggled awake, roused by the buzz of her phone on the bedside. Fumbling in the dark, she flipped the screen up and squinted at the painful stab of the bright display. An unfamiliar mobile number. She considered letting it go to voicemail, but it was possibly someone from work, so she answered reluctantly.
‘Hey.’ The man’s voice was soft. ‘Did I wake you?’
Something duck-dived beneath her ribs. ‘Um . . . yes.’
‘Sorry.’ He didn’t sound it. His voice lowered even further. ‘You know only ninety minutes ago, we were at the pub?’
Jenna lay back on her pillow, the hawk and rumble of Fairlie’s snoring coming through the adjoining wall. A pang of mortification came to her with flashes of writhing bodies and thumping bass, the muscular press of the man’s body firm against hers, his semen cooling stickily on her fingers.
‘After driving home, and hauling Fro into bed, I’ve been asleep for all of –’ she brought the phone briefly from her ear and glanced at the screen ‘– about thirty minutes.’
‘I couldn’t wait,’ he said.
‘Until?’
‘Another eight hours.’
Jenna paused. ‘What happens in eight hours?’
‘We’re meeting at the Valley Lake for a picnic.’
‘We are?’
‘Invite your friends.’
Jenna’s grin felt reckless, her pulse beat thick in her throat.
ii
Somnolent afternoon sunlight raked fat golden fingers through the oak leaves. Children’s voices rang out from the playground and a humid, grass-scented heat rose from the lawn as Jenna crossed her legs beneath her, the faded tartan blanket bunching beneath her bare ankles.
Ark was laughing. ‘More water, Fairlie?’
From beneath an enormous floppy hat and oversized sunglasses, Fairlie winced as a toddler’s shriek carried across from the swings.
‘I’m fine,’ Fairlie answered, lowering herself to her side, voluminous maxi dress billowing about her. ‘Don’t you worry about me, sunshine.’
‘Fairlie Winter, eternal optimist,’ said Abbey Manfried, a friend of Jenna’s and Fairlie’s since they’d all studied their diplomas together at TAFE. Gazing through black-rimmed glasses balanced upon a stubby nose, Abbey said this as she reached across the remains of the food in the centre of the rug for the last softening wedge of brie.
‘Just don’t expect her to remember to pay the rent on time,’ Jenna said. ‘Or at all.’
‘Meh.’ Fairlie was attempting to tug her hat lower, but her curls kept pushing it back up. ‘Life’s too short to remember things like rent,’ she declared, giving up on the hat and tossing it aside.
‘I’m not sure your landlord would agree,’ Abbey said, sliding the slice of brie between the moustache-trimmed lips of her boyfriend, Damon, and following it with a liberal kiss.
Fairlie wrinkled her nose at the display. ‘That’s what I have Jenna for,’ she said. ‘She remembers stuff.’
Watching ants crawl into the leftover smears of tzatziki, Jenna felt the striking weight of Ark’s gaze on her, his fingers casually stroking her knee, the brush of his body as he reached for food or leaned back to laugh. His presence numbed the mental strobe of her mother’s face, dulled the sharp rap of yesterday’s revelations. Closing her eyes, she remembered the surprised jolt of his body as she took his pleasure for herself. Heat welled inside her, an internal cringe.
She stood. ‘I’m going for a walk. My legs are going to sleep.’
‘I’ll come with you.’ Ark jumped to his feet.
‘Well, I’m going to sleep.’ Fairlie rolled onto her back, flopped an arm over her face.
From beneath the shade of the oaks, the lawn sloped down to the edge of the crater lake. Jenna and Ark made their way lazily across the lawn, Jenna tapping her fingers on her legs in time with her pace. Sunlight sparkled off the bottle-green surface of the water, mallards drifted amongst the reeds and three black swans coasted towards the thin grey-sand crescent of beach, triangular wakes streaming behind. A narrow timber boardwalk was set out over the water, following the lake’s edge through the reeds and disappearing out of sight behind a drooping willow that dipped long, trailing limbs to comb the water.
Jenna pointed out the swans. ‘Did you know black swans are only found wild in Australia?’
‘You’re kidding,’ Ark said. ‘They’re everywhere. Aggressive bastards, I once had one chase me down and steal my sandwich.’ He gave the birds a thorough side-eye.
‘They’re protected,’ Jenna added. ‘So I guess they’re entitled to your sandwich.’
As they stepped onto the boardwalk Ark’s fingers brushed hers, setting off sparks of electricity across her skin. Their footfalls were hollow on the sun-bleached timber. Reeds clacked against the boards with the push and tug of the breeze on the water.
‘Check them out.’ Ark pointed to a water-skier on the far side of the lake, where the shadowed limestone edge of the crater rose from the water’s edge to thrust up into the sky. As Jenna looked over, the skier was tumbling over a whitewash of water; the boat’s engine lifted then fell as it circled back.
‘Graceful,’ Ark said with a laugh.
‘Ever tried water skiing? It’s impossible,’ Jenna said. ‘All I could do was scoot along on my bum.’
Ark stopped, turning to her. Having passed around the willow tree they stood out of sight over the water, amongst the reeds. Insects clicked in the hot air and the lake gave off a pungent, muddy scent.
‘Nothing’s impossible,’ he said, his hands resting lightly on the small of her back.
‘Look, about last night,’ Jenna began. ‘What happened at the car. I’m . . . a little embarrassed.’
A slow grin spread across his face. ‘Why?’
‘It was a li
ttle bit public. I’m not usually so brazen.’
Ark’s shoulder hitched and he chuckled softly. ‘And I usually last longer than fifteen seconds.’ Jenna’s cheeks flamed and he took up her hand. ‘It was nice,’ he said softly. ‘Very nice. I went to sleep smiling.’
Jenna didn’t know what to say. She licked her lips, looked out across the water.
‘Hey.’ Gently, Ark touched the strap of her dress. ‘Why an elephant?’
Jenna glanced down to the top of her breast to where her tattoo peeked out from under her straps. ‘I’ve always loved elephants,’ she replied, giving a small shrug. ‘They’re enormous, powerful beasts, and yet they’re entirely peaceful – gentle and majestic. Did you know that a herd of elephants is led by a matriarch?’
‘Really?’ A smile played at the corners of his mouth, his fingertips still lightly grazing her skin.
‘It’s true,’ she told him, rambling now. ‘Usually the matriarch is the oldest, wisest cow. Elephant herds are amazing – they maintain these beautiful bonded relationships and relate to each other with compassion and respect. The matriarchs teach this compassion and care to the younger elephants – their daughters – and, in turn, these skills of nurturance and leadership get passed on from generation to generation. I think,’ she finished, with another lift of her shoulders, ‘maybe we could stand to learn a thing or two from them. Start a few less wars.’
He was studying her intently; maddeningly, her cheeks continued to burn.
‘Anyway,’ she said, gently shoving his chest. ‘You wanted to know –’
Something smacked against her cheek: a tiny, sharp flick. She jumped and flung her hands to her face as the insect dove again, this time grazing her forehead. With a shriek, she took an involuntary step back.
‘Jenna!’
The boards disappeared from beneath her feet. Air rushed around her before she slapped against the water. Fizz rushed in her ears, reeds needled and scraped against her skin and the murky, green-algae scent of pond water filled her nose. Coughing, Jenna’s feet found the muddy bottom and she lunged to the surface.
