by C. J. Duggan
“Amy, I beg you, stop!” Adam’s muffled voice yelled through the door.
“What? Don’t you like my singing?” I shouted back.
“Sounds like you’re strangling a cat in there.”
“Pfft, whatever, I know I’m fabulous!” I snapped my finger like a diva and would have almost sounded convincing … if I hadn’t started choking on Pantene bubbles.
Oh God, gross!
I dressed and walked through the hall with my hair twisted into a turbanesque towel piled on top of my head. I smiled a small, secret smile – the strip of hallway between Chris’s and Adam’s rooms always smelled like overpowering aftershave as they got ready on any given night before they went downstairs. Had for years. It was a fascinating behind-the-scenes case study, and I was the only one privy to it. Would girls ever know the lengths they went to? Sometimes I wondered who was worse at taking forever to get ready, me or the boys. I paused at Adam’s open doorway and watched him apply a styling product to his hair.
I wolf whistled as I turned to enter my room. “You’ll break all the girls’ hearts tonight.”
He sighed. “It’s the burden I must carry in life.”
I sat on the edge of my bed, towel drying my hair, when Adam called out, “Hey, do you have a hair dryer?”
Oh God, it was official – the boys were worse than me.
“Um, yeah.”
He stood in my doorway. “Not for my hair – my shirt didn’t dry on the line and the collar’s still damp.”
“Well, wear another one.”
“I can’t, this shirt’s the one; I’m in a navy shirt mood tonight.” Rolling my eyes, I grabbed my hair dryer from my lower bedside cupboard.
“Here, but it’s a boomerang, all right? It comes straight back.”
Adam looked at the hair dryer warily.
“And hurry up before my hair dries.”
“Why don’t you let your hair dry naturally?”
“Because it goes all wavy and mental,” I said. “We inherited the Henderson kink, remember?”
“Ah, yes,” Adam said gravely. “The generational curse of the Henderson kink.”
“Exactly, so hurry up.”
Adam went to leave but paused, as if thinking carefully about what he wanted to say next.
“This is completely out of my forte …” He shrugged. “But why not try not straightening your hair to within an inch of its life?”
“What?”
“Well, I know that’s what chicks do, but I don’t know, I think it looks too …”
“Sleek? Shiny? Silky?”
“Severe.”
“Oh.”
I looked in the mirror, chewing thoughtfully on my lip, watching my long hair beginning to dry into the foreign waves I had always fought against.
I sighed. “Well, I’m definitely going to need some hair product.”
Before I could back out of the thought, Adam disappeared and returned with a lime green tub.
“Try this.”
I took it from him, eyeing it sceptically. “Let it dry naturally, huh?”
Adam shrugged, like he really wasn’t that emotionally invested.
A slow smile spread across my lips as my eyes flicked from the tub of hair product then back to Adam.
“What?” Adam went all broody.
“Thanks, Adam, you’re like the sister I never had.”
“Shut up!”
“No, really, it’s a beautiful thing: you borrow my hair dryer and give me hairstyle advice.”
“All right, I’m out of here.” He threw the hair dryer on my bed, making a quick exit.
“Aw, come on! Don’t be like that. What about your shirt?” I laughed.
“I’ll wear another one.”
***
Seeing as I was trying something different, I opted for a smoky eye shadow and thought about walking into Adam’s room to ask if it made my eyes pop, but then thought better of it. He’d probably kill me if I did that.
I patted my lips with a clear lip gloss and pressed them together, staring at the long waves that cascaded over my shoulders. With a bit of hair product I had aimed for the tousled look and, I had to admit, it didn’t look too bad.
I swung myself around the bannister in a whizz of motion and smacked hard into Chris as he came up the stairs.
“Ah, Jesus, Amy.” Chris rubbed at his arm. “Stop swinging on the stairs like a chimp.”
My mouth gaped as I rubbed my shoulder. “I’ll give you chimp, you chump. Get out of my way!”
Chris continued to rub his own arm and glowered at me, but there was something different in his expression.
“What?” I snapped.
“You look different.” He spoke in a way that made me think he didn’t wholly approve.
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“I’ll let you know.”
Stupid hair. I probably looked ridiculous.
“Max starts tonight,” Chris said as he walked past me towards his bedroom.
“Oh, my God, I forgot. How did his interview go today?”
A part of the working bee had been to meet with some potential staff. I had left it to Chris to take care of that while I had cooked the barbecue. The report was obviously promising if he was starting tonight.
“He worked behind the jump at the golf club, has good references, and seems pretty switched on.”
“Excellent.”
“It doesn’t mean we can slack off, though; not until he learns the ropes.”
I made a face behind Chris’s back – he was always such a killjoy.
I tried to act all casual, even attempting to lean my elbow on the bannister for effect, but I just felt ridiculous. I cleared my throat. “Many in the bar?” I called up to him.
The click of Chris’s bedroom light sounded as he came back out, wrestling a clean T-shirt over his head. He finally freed himself of the cocoon and I instinctively reached out to push his messed-up hair back into place.
“What did you say?” he asked, tilting his head away to avoid my fussing.
“Many downstairs?” I tried to keep my voice even as I followed Chris down the hall towards the stairs.
“A few. It’s only early.”
Always so full of information.
“Oh,” I said, a little deflated.
“Stan and Sean just got here, though.”
I misstepped and had to grab onto the bannister to prevent myself from ping-ponging my way down the stairs. I thanked God that Chris was in front of me so I could recover from my fumble. It was only seven o’clock – usually no one would traditionally venture out unless it was for dinner and we couldn’t even offer that yet. I almost wanted to trek back upstairs and blow-dry my hair pin straight and wipe off my make-up. The last thing I wanted was to look like Olivia Newton-John at the end of Grease. Fortunately, I wasn’t dressed in Lycra but I was feeling uneasy that maybe I was a bit done up, a bit overdressed just to be working behind the bar. Usually anyone just opted for non-assuming black and here I was in dark, fitted bootleg jeans and an electric blue, fitted V-neck that would no doubt have me marched straight back upstairs to change if my dad was here. The look from Chris was enough. Yeah, it was snug but it wasn’t that bad.
Oh God, is it?
Too late. It was time to start my shift.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
There he was.
Sean stood out amongst the crowd as he always did: tall, tanned and chiselled. His dimples were exposed with each heartfelt smile he flashed. I remembered from years ago that his careless hair was always cropped so short you couldn’t usually make out its colour. But this summer it was thick and wavy brown, lightened from days in the sun. His eyes focused earnestly and respectfully in conversation, the conversation he was having with …
“Whoa. Is that Tammy Maskala?” Chris appeared next to me.
I glowered across the room to where she stood, tall, lean, and toned. Her halter clung to her curves and her long, sculpted legs were exposed unde
r her black miniskirt. She had her handbag draped casually on one shoulder, her long brown hair swept over the other.
Her laughter rang out across the room at something Sean had said. Oh God, even her laugh was delightful.
“Yeah, that’s her,” I said, unenthusiastically. Anyone would think she was my lifelong enemy, instead of my high school best friend.
“If you want to go hang with her you can knock off if you want,” Chris said. “We’re not exactly run off our feet.”
Great, the one time I wanted to keep myself busy was the night I could knock off and socialise.
I sighed. “Thanks.”
“Gee, don’t sound so enthused,” Chris said sarcastically.
I grabbed myself a raspberry vodka Cruiser, twisted the lid off, and took a deep swig. I could retire upstairs for the night if I wanted, just disappear, but I knew I couldn’t do that. I cursed my inquisitive nature and psyched myself up to go into the poolroom bar. I couldn’t exactly sit in the main bar – there was no one else around. It would look pathetic. Funnily enough, that was exactly how I felt.
I needed a plan of attack. I would waltz in and simply ignore them. They were just like any other customers tonight. I would hone in on someone else.
Bic Runga was playing a melodious tune on the jukebox and all of a sudden I wished for some hard rock instead of this romantic mood setter. I searched for familiar faces, making a conscious effort not to look Sean and Tammy’s way. Ellie and Adam were playing to the death on the pool table. I spotted Stan at the bar, delving into his pocket and putting his spare change on the counter. I made a beeline for him and plonked myself on the stool next to him.
“Hey, Amy.” Stan’s smile was always warm and genuine; I felt kind of bad for what I was about to ask.
I looked at him intently.
“Stan,” I said.
He sat down next to me, his smile slowly fading.
“What’s up?”
“I need you to do me a favour.”
Stan nodded. “Sure, Amy, anything.”
Bless his heart.
I cleared my throat, trying to summon the words. “Stan, I need you to laugh at everything I say and find me absolutely irresistible.”
Stan’s brows rose in shock. He shifted on his seat, looking down.
Oh God, is he blushing?
He looked bewildered. “… Um, okay.”
I picked up my Cruiser to clink with his beer in unified cheers. “Do I even want to know?” he asked.
“Stan, I don’t even think I want to know.”
“Is this as good a time as any to laugh?”
“Please do,” I said.
And with that Stan started to laugh uproariously as if what I said had been delightfully entertaining and charming. I counterbalanced Stan’s routine with a hair flick.
It was official. I had hit rock bottom.
For someone as genuine as Stan, he played the part like a pro. In the moments that followed, he subtly edged his chair closer, started buying me drinks, and laughed at what seemed were ridiculous moments to us. Like when I asked him to pass a straw, and he laughed and smiled. But to any onlookers it seemed genuine, especially coming from Stan. It must have looked pretty convincing, because Chris twisted the top off my Cruiser with wary eyes that flicked between Stan and me as if he wasn’t wholly comfortable with what he was witnessing. In those moments, Stan lost form – he clammed up, paranoid about Chris thinking he was hitting on me, which would be a definite no-go zone.
“Don’t stress about Chris, you know he’s broody and threatening on his good days,” I assured Stan.
I didn’t know what was happening behind me between Sean and Tammy. I didn’t want to know. I couldn’t even bring myself to look in the direction of the pool table when a triumphant cry rang out as Ellie potted the black.
I would never have glanced around if it weren’t for the delicate, gentle tap on my shoulder. I turned with a guise of surprise, even though I had somehow known exactly who it was the moment she had touched me.
“Oh, Tammy, hi!” I said with over-the-top enthusiasm. “I didn’t know you were here.”
Liar!
“I kept thinking all day about the working bee and I just thought I would come down and have a look. It’s amazing, Amy, you’ve done a brilliant job.”
Her voice was smooth, like silk, and her smile was subtle, earnest, and beautiful. Even I was in danger of crushing on her.
Sean appeared behind Tammy, trying to catch my attention. He mouthed and pointed, “Is that her?”
Oh, hadn’t all his Christmases come at once? I ignored him and instead smiled at Tammy.
“Thanks, Tammy. I had a lot of help.”
Her eyes darted expectantly from me to Stan. “I’m sorry, how rude of me, is this your boyfriend?”
Stan choked on his beer mid-sip. I tapped him on the back as he fought for air. “Oh no, this is Stan. We’re just friends.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I just thought that … Never mind.” Tammy blushed crimson, just like she would have when we were younger.
“I just got roped into playing pool.” She cringed. “I’m afraid I’m not really good.”
Sean was racking up the billiard balls behind her. “Stan the Man, do you and your date want to play doubles?”
It was a none-too-subtle jab from Sean and the corner of my mouth twitched.
So he had noticed.
“You’re on!” Stan said.
“It’s on like Donkey Kong!” Sean called as he chalked his cue.
The way he moved to bend and line up the white billiard ball with such fierce concentration, I half expected him to paint stripes across his cheeks and let out a war cry.
“Should I be scared?” whispered Tammy with a glint of good humour in her eyes.
“Only if you don’t pocket a ball,” I replied.
Tammy’s eyes widened. “Why? What happens then?”
The sound of the white ball smashing into the billiards was always an ear-piercing crack when Sean was behind it. More often than not he pocketed one ball (if not two) on the break. That’s why he always wanted to go first. So typical.
I tore my eyes slowly from the pool table to look at Tammy’s alarmed, blue-eyed stare.
Oh right, she asked a question. “Pub tradition has it that if you don’t pocket a single ball in a game you have to …” I deliberately broke off, grimacing for effect as I witnessed Tammy turning back into the timid schoolgirl I knew. I didn’t want to take such pleasure at slowly torturing her; although the look on her face was priceless.
“Have to what?” she croaked.
“Well, you have to drop your dacks and do a lap around the pool table.”
Tammy’s mouth gaped in horror.
I shrugged. “Or, in your case, hitch up your skirt, I guess.”
“Amy, you’re up!” Stan called.
I jumped up from my stool. “Don’t worry, you’ll pocket a ball, I’m sure.”
She didn’t.
Thanks to my misspent childhood, it was really a battle between me and Sean, making it a fast game. Every time he finished a shot, he would hand me the cue with a smug, knowing look, his fingers brushing against mine. I thought it was deliberate, but knew better when Tammy awkwardly lined up for another cringe-worthy shot. Sean, being the caring partner he was, guided her through every shot, leaning next to her, pointing out the best solution.
“You see where the light hits the edge of the ball? That’s where you have to hit it. You need to slice it on that angle and it will glide into that pocket,” Sean said gently.
“Yeah, Tammy, just tap it gently, not too much force,” Stan added.
I spun around to glare at him. “Whose side are you on?”
Stan grimaced. “Oops, sorry.”
Now Sean was guiding Tammy on how to hold the pool cue correctly, his hands manoeuvring hers in the right places. I turned away, rolling my eyes and sighing impatiently at how long the shot was taking because of it. Even more
annoying, something darker spiked in me every time they spoke to each other, or touched, or laughed. It blackened my mood, but if anything, it made me play like a demon. I channelled my annoyance into fierce competitiveness and determination. Every time I pocketed a ball, I lifted my eyes to Sean, who casually leaned against the wall. It was like I only had one opponent to beat, and Stan and Tammy didn’t exist. The game was solely between Sean and me.
After all the guidance and touchy-feely in the world, Tammy still missed the shot. No, seriously; she totally missed everything. Her cue slipped in her hands and clipped the white billiard awkwardly, sending it in the opposite direction. We all cringed with apprehension – it was only a matter of time before she tore through the felt tabletop. Sean smiled in good humour, offering her patient words of reassurance, even though I could see his frustration bubbling under the surface.
Tammy blushed and became more and more flustered with each failed attempt, apologising profusely. Sean displayed nothing but the patience of a saint. Which was quite rich, I thought, knowing that if I was on his team playing as badly as Tammy he would have no doubt called me out on it. Both teams’ billiards had at last been pocketed except for the final, infamous black ball.
“Come on, Stan! You got this, home and hosed.” I called words of encouragement as my partner lined up for a tricky, but doable shot.
Sean taunted from the sidelines. “No chance, Stan, there is no way. It’s too hard,”
With immense concentration that had him frowning and comically biting on his tongue, Stan ever so gently tapped the white ball with the cue. It glided directly up the felt. It rolled almost in heart-stopping slow motion. It was going to hit the black ball, that was certain, but as the white ball ran out of momentum on its way across the table it tapped into the black and rolled both balls closer and into a direct, match-winning line. We all sighed as one; Stan and I with disappointment and Tammy and Sean with relief.
Before Stan and I could cast each other looks of despair, Sean was on the move, grabbing Stan’s cue and chalking it up frantically as he stood in front of Tammy.
“Now, Tam, you got this,” he said. “There is no way you can miss this, it’s that easy.”
Stan threw me a grin and I couldn’t help but grin back. Yep! It was Tammy’s turn. Although, worry did creep past the edges of my mind. It was an easy shot – surely, surely now was not her time to get it together. After all this, Tammy winning the game? Oh God. My grin fell from my face. This was bad; this was really bad.
