by Dale, Lindy
“And this affects me how?” I was beginning to get a little cross. If Millie was having some sort of difficulty with the dinner she could have rung me. We could have cancelled. I certainly wouldn’t have cared. There was always New Year for us to get together.
“Well, two reasons. One, she knew you’d try to blow the whole thing off—”
Clearly, I was more transparent than I realised.
“— And two, she did try to ring. About thirty times from what Sam said. He took the phone away from her at that point and told her to go lie down.”
It was about then I remembered I’d been in such a foul mood earlier I’d left the house without my phone. Probably how Johnny had come to take the call for help.
“Is she okay?”
“Fine, fine. But you know how she gets when Sam’s mother’s in town. She can’t do with having her blood pressure raised and she can’t be sedated seeing as she’s pregnant. I had no choice but to come to the rescue and offer to take over organising the dinner. She was threatening to leave Sam and go to Lombok for Christmas. She was wailing into the phone about turkey and roast potatoes.”
It was a nice gesture and one I would never have thought Johnny would have dreamed up off his own bat. His grand gestures usually relied upon whether or not he was certain he’d get laid as a result. I shook my head. I knew this would be too much for Mille. I’d tried to tell the others at coffee but they’d been so gung ho about the idea, it had been pointless.
“I still don’t get why this stuff’s here.” I indicated the huge blow-up Santa standing in the doorway to the kitchen.
“We’re going to have the dinner here tonight, so Millie and Sam can do their thing with the olds on Friday.”
“Tonight!”
That was only four hours away. I couldn’t organise a function where people had fun in four hours. And if Johnny thought I could whip a feast up in that time, he was seriously delusional. The only feast I ever whipped up came from Fresh Provisions in little plastic containers that cost more to produce than the food itself.
“You’re kidding, right?”
Johnny must have sensed the beginnings of a meltdown. He moved towards me, wrapping his big strong arm around my shoulder. He gave me that melt-your-bones smile I’d seen him use so often on other girls only this time there was a hint of something in his eyes. Was it genuineness? Affection?
“Don’t stress,” he said, calmly, “Everything’s under control. You didn’t think I’d let you do it all by yourself, did you?”
“But I haven’t even wrapped my Secret Santa gift.” I indicated the shopping bags I’d put on the floor. Having trawled the city for hours, I’d finally settled on the perfect gift for Johnny, a framed Western Force jersey, signed by all the players. It had cost well over the budget to buy but what the hell, I wasn’t buying any other gifts. And for some reason, I wanted to see his face light up when he opened it.
“Relax, sweet pea. Hop in the shower, whack on a frock and some lippy. That’s all you have to do.”
“And who will be doing the rest?”
“Me and Kirby. She’s been over already but she’ll be back in a couple of hours to do the finishing touches. She didn’t want to take the decorations from Millie’s in case Millie started crying again, so we did a quick trip to David Jones earlier on. God, that chick can spend when it’s someone else’s money. I’d hate to be married to her.”
I suspected that wouldn’t be the only thing that would drive a man mad being married to Kirby.
“You paid for all this?”
Johnny shrugged like it was nothing. “Isn’t that what friends do?”
I looked up at him. Who was this responsible, sensible, helpful man and what had he done with the real Johnny? Even though I knew I should flip my lid at the fact that he’d taken over my house without asking, I had to admit I was slightly turned on by this sensitive side of the man.
“What are we doing about food?”
“Millie is coming in an hour to check on the turkey. It’s been in the oven since you left. And Sash did the other food at her place. Luckily, she had the afternoon off. Sam’s sending some nibbles and things from the kitchen at the pub, too. They were having a private function so he got the staff to make a few extras for us.”
I guess that explained why the house smelled so good and why Johnny was still here. I’d been beginning to think he was engaging in some weird stalker-ish behaviour because we’d had sex.
I picked up my gym bag and shopping and headed for the bedroom to shower. “So how did my house get to be the designated venue?” I called, as I dumped my stuff on the bed and headed to the bathroom pulling my top over my head as I went.
Johnny put his head around the door. “Your place is the only one big enough.”
“Your house is way bigger than mine,” I countered, moving to hide behind the door. Though why I felt the need to be self-conscious was beyond me. He’d already seen me naked.
“And I would have offered it, but the carpenter put his foot through the ceiling last week. There’s a gaping hole in the living room the size of the hole in the ozone layer. I’m not totally convinced about his assurance there’s no asbestos, either. Best to steer clear for the moment.”
I turned on the taps, finished undressing and was about to get in the shower when I heard the door creak open.
“Get. Out. Johnny.”
Johnny appeared suddenly hard of hearing. “I don’t s’pose you’d want shower sex before the guests arrive. This event planning’s damn stressful. Might take the edge off.”
I glared at him. “In your dreams.”
“It has been, babe. For quite a while now.” And he chuckled and left me alone in the bathroom.
God, I hated him. He was such an arse.
Chapter 6
By seven that night the gang had assembled in my lounge room, and the only thing that crossed my mind as I looked at the gathering was to thank God I’d paid the extra money and chosen the bigger top floor apartment. Cosy was stretching the friendship in the description stakes.
Womble had made himself at home next to the tree and dressed in a Santa suit as he was, he looked entirely at home. He was stuffing his face with nibbles from the plate Sasha was passing around and eyeing off the gifts everyone had put under the tree. There was a huge green box sitting next to him that had been wheeled in on a removalist’s trolley earlier and we were all dying to see what was inside. None more than Womble though, as the tag had his name on it.
Sam and Millie were standing together, as usual. He’d become even more protective of her now that she was pregnant and I’d seen him touching her belly twice and whispering things in her ear that made her giggle. If it hadn’t been so utterly nauseating it would have been sweet. I didn’t mind that much but it was my duty to keep them in check. It was nice to see such a happy couple in our little crowd. They were something of an example when the rest of us were so screwed up we made dysfunctional families appear normal.
Simmo was in the corner with a friend from work called Tony who’d recently moved to the city. None of us knew this Tony but we’d breathed a sigh of collective relief when Simmo’s plus one hadn’t turned out to be that slut Courtney. Things went so much smoother when she wasn’t around. And Tony looked nice. Big, muscular and quite gentlemanly, he’d made my heart flutter a little as he’d shaken my hand and gazed into my eyes. I’d already made up my mind to engage him in some sort of conversation later in the evening. He seemed like the type of man I just might like.
With the Christmas music — supplied by Johnny — filling the room, the party began to get rowdy. Rambo and Simmo, wearing matching red t-shirts with green Christmas bowties printed on the front and buttons in the shape of gingerbread men, were waiting expectantly under the mistletoe. Sasha was sporting an elf hat complete with ears and Millie had a Christmas tree brooch pinned to her boobs that lit up and played Jingle Bells when she pressed a button — which Sam seemed to want to do incessantly.
Kirby put her drink on the mantle and clapped her hands to gain our attention. Her newly manicured nails —post-box red and glitter — sparkled in the fairy lights as she waved her hands in the air. “Okay everyone. You need to, like, find a spot where you can sit. ‘Santa’ is totally going to give us our presents and I don’t want to hear any whining or moaning from any of you if it’s, like, not what you want. Remember it’s, like, the thought that counts.” She looked pointedly in Rambo’s direction. He was still smarting over his lot in their separation. Kirby had divided his wine collection by half-drinking every bottle before shipping the remains to him.
Everyone sat. Womble began to give out the gifts and we laughed at the outrageous choices people had made for each other. It seemed that though we’d known each other for years, even seen each other naked on the odd occasion, we actually knew bugger all about our friends when it came to gift giving. Because no one in their right mind would give a girl a can of paint and an atlas as a gift — not even if Sasha was repainting her kitchen and planning an overseas holiday. When it came time for Johnny to unwrap his gift, I held my breath. My teeth nibbled at the corner of my lip as he pulled the ribbon away ever so slowly and tore at a corner of the wrapping, trying to guess what it was.
“It’s one of those pics of a naked chick and a rugby ball,” Womble offered. “I’ve got one in my loo.”
Of course.
“I have one already,” Johnny replied.
“Maybe it’s a print for your new lounge room?” Millie said.
By this time the wrapping was almost off. Johnny stared at the framed jersey on his lap not saying a word. The boys were silent too, in awe of the absolutely perfect gift I’d chosen.
“Oh come on!” Kirby cried. “That’s like totally over our budget. Who broke the rules?”
And everyone turned to me. How the hell had they known it was me?
“Thanks,” Johnny mouthed.
I smiled back. He hadn’t said it, but I knew he loved it.
With the gift giving almost over, Womble moved to the last and biggest of the gifts. The speculation over drinks had ranged from a washing machine to a new set of luggage — that’s how big the box was. Of course, the only person who knew what was in that box was Simmo and he was smirking like the cat who’d got the cream, obviously extremely proud of the gift he’d chosen for his mate.
“I bet it’s one of those climate controlled beer fridges,” Sam said, as we watched Womble ripping the paper from the box. “I wouldn’t mind one of those.”
Millie shook her head in resignation. “I’m not buying you a beer fridge, Sam. We’d have nowhere to put it. Besides, I already have your gift.”
“Maybe it’s an Ab Cruncher Pro?” Johnny concluded. “Womble could do with one. His gut’s doubled in size since the season finished.”
“Hey!” Womble called from his spot near the tree. “I heard that.”
Johnny held up his hands. “Only stating the facts, mate. You could give the real Santa a run for his money at the moment.”
Ignoring him, Womble ripped the last piece of tape and lifted the lid.
“SURPRISE!”
Well. That was something of an understatement.
Kirby began to gulp at her drink. Rambo coughed into his hand and looked at the floor. None of us quite knew what to say because there in front of us was none other than that slut Courtney, her arms flung to the ceiling in greeting and her boobs spilling out of her top and bouncing as she leapt from the box. Dressed in her trademark emerald green — which for once was appropriate given the season — she looked like the slutty Santa’s Helper star of a Christmas porn movie.
“Like, what the hell?” Kirby, the first to find her voice, had taken the words right out of my mouth.
“What. Is. She. Doing?” Sasha hissed, the answer being self-explanatory as that slut Courtney was now writhing on Womble’s lap while Mariah Carey warbled ‘All I Want for Christmas is You’ over the sound system. Courtney’s green satin boy shorts had crept into the crack of her bottom and we were all getting a good view of the butterfly tattoo on her left bum cheek as she attempted to put Womble’s hand on it and make him squeeze.
“Jesus,” Sam mumbled, shaking his head. “Way to ruin a guy’s appetite.”
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Millie answered, and dashed from the room.
“Who’s she?” Tony’s eyes had lit up like it was Christmas — which it was.
“That’s Courtney,” Simmo said. It was plain as day that he had no idea the effect Courtney’s performance was having. He was only proud that he’d thought of the ultimate gift for the bloke who had everything but a World Cup.
“You mean she’s the one you cheated on Sasha with? I’ve got to hand it to you, mate. You’ve got more balls than me, bringing a chick dressed like that to a party when you know your wife’s going to be here.”
“Ex. Wife.” Sasha glared at Simmo. “Please enlighten us as to why you’ve invited her and why she’s grinding against your friend like she’s recently been let go from a bad strip show.”
“She, like, always grinds,” Kirby pointed out. “It’s the only dance move she has.”
“I know that,” Sasha went on, “But does she have to do it here? What the hell were you thinking, Simmo?”
Which was what I was beginning to wonder. Courtney’s dance was becoming more sexual by the second and a rather uncomfortable vibe had descended over the room. Even the recipient of the gift seemed ill at ease with it. He’d gone quite pale.
Simmo sighed. “I couldn’t think of anything to buy Womble for his Secret Santa so I paid Courtney to give him a lap dance. I thought it’d be a laugh.”
Honestly, sometimes I wondered at the intellectual capacity of my friends.
“Maybe if we were in a strip club, but not in Mel’s lounge room,” Millie said. “It’s disgusting.”
Kirby rolled her eyes. “And they said I was dumb.”
“Make her stop,” Sasha said. “Get her out of here. She’s ruining our evening.”
“It’s not ruining mine,” Tony chimed in.
“Or mine,” said Rambo. “I think it’s quite artistic.”
“OH. MY. GOD. When she leaves, you can totally go with her!” Kirby’s withering look could have peeled the paint from my freshly painted walls.
Johnny and I sat on the window seat watching the scene play out before us. As usual, Courtney’s arrival had turned the entire group tits up. Millie had burst into tears because everyone should be happy at Christmas and Sam was trying to console her. Sasha had stuck her head out the window and was sucking back stress related nicotine and Kirby was seething at Rambo for being even more of a prick than he was when they were a couple. Still, Courtney danced on, oblivious to the entire situation. Until Womble put a stop to everything, that is. And that’s when the evening really did take an unexpected turn.
“Stop!” he yelled. “Get off me now, Court. And put some clothes on, for Christ’s bloody sake. People are starting to believe you really are the slag you keep pretending to be. And we both know it’s not true.”
I blinked in disbelief. Womble was incapable of stringing more than two sentences together unless they involved rugby. I was unsure how he coped in the workplace — he was an accountant — but I assumed he could converse when it was number related.
Courtney stopped. Her full lips were pouting and was that a glint of a tear in her eye
? “Didn’t you like my dance, Wombie?”
Had she just invented a nickname for his nickname? Was that even possible?
“No, actually. I didn’t. I thought it was degrading to you as a woman and I can’t believe you would be so desperate to be a part of this group of knobheads that you’d even consider doing it. You’re a smart girl, Courtney. You’ve got a degree and a career. You don’t need to be the ‘ho’ of the group to get us to like you.”
“A degree in man stealing with honours in acting like a skank doesn’t count,” Sasha mumbled.
“No, I think she’s like totally got some marketing degree or something. She, like, has a company with real clients and everything. She was, like, in the newspaper.” Kirby whispered back.
I wasn’t game to ask how Kirby knew this when she read nothing in the paper other than the lifestyle sections. There were things that girl knew about what went on in Perth that could probably make me cringe.
“You didn’t think it was sexy?” Courtney asked him. She seemed genuinely upset that Womble hadn’t enjoyed his gift. “I’ve been practising all week.”
“It was sexy. But not entirely my thing, if you must know.” Womble stood up and wrapped his Santa jacket around Courtney’s shoulders to cover her nakedness. Facing the group, he swallowed, his big Adam’s apple moving nervously in his throat. “Now’s as good a time as any to tell you all—”
“—You’re not, like, having an affair with Courtney or something? Oh God, that would be, like, the living end.”
“Hardly.” He turned to Courtney. “No offence, Court. You’re a gorgeous looking chick but I’m gay.”
Cue dropping of bombshell and silence great enough to fill the Simpson Desert.
“You mean, like, you don’t like girls, gay? Just, like, to clarify?” Kirby asked. Clearly, she was having trouble processing the information. She wasn’t the only one. Womble was six foot three. He had to be well over a hundred kilos. He loved cage fighting and cricket. He drank like a fish and tried to hook up with anything in a skirt — not that we’d ever seen him succeed. He was the most unlikely looking candidate for a gay man in the world.
