by M R Field
The short and sharp stomp of heeled boots echoes through the room as the blur of Trin whizzes past me, only to retrieve a garment bag from her front desk. Standing nearby, a couple who I hadn’t noticed before stand still, and by the stance of the guy, it doesn’t look good. He continues to stare down at Trin as she hands him the garment bag. Walking closer to them, the woman sniffs as her husband snatches the bag from Trinity’s grasp.
“This will be the last alteration,” Trin snips, crossing her arms across her chest. A pencil sits behind her ear, her hair tied up haphazardly in a bandana. For a boutique owner, she looks like a punk rocker with her torn jeans and ripped tank top. A bad-arse designer. I chuckle, despite the deathly vibe that radiates from the gentleman.
“You will alter again, if we demand it,” he sneers, clutching the garment bag as he continues his glare. Trinity leans forward and shifts her hands to her hip. Her eyes are heated as she grits her teeth. Oh no, buddy, you just lit a match and she’s holding the can of gasoline.
“Not a chance.” She turns her nose up at him as her eyes narrow even more. Her pale skin brightens as a heated rage fills her features. “There has been over a dozen alterations. Tell your daughter to stop losing weight and eat a cheeseburger.” The woman gasps as the gentleman scoffs.
“How dare you even speak—”
“No,” Trin interrupts. “You paid for a service; I held up my end of the bargain. What you did not do is hold up yours.”
His mouth opens, ready to attack, when she continues. “I provide a service to make young girls feel beautiful. Under no circumstances do I encourage or facilitate my designs for girls to jam their fingers down their throats so they can join Eating Disorders Anonymous.” Both the gentleman and woman stand there speechless, while Trinity goes on. “I suggest you go home and spend time with your daughter and remind her why you love her. I would also like to suggest that if you come in here again for another alteration, there will be no fabric left and I will simply tell you to jam it up your arse.” She flicks her arm in the air and points to the door. “Have a nice day.”
She turns towards me, leaving a stunned couple to stare at her with mouths agape. She tilts her head back slightly towards them. “Ignore them.” She wrinkles her nose. “They will be gone soon enough.”
She steps forward and stretches out her arms to give me a hug. I step into her embrace and give her a quick hug.
“No one deserves to feel ugly,” she mutters, shaking her head. “Okay!” She perks up suddenly. “Let’s go make some costumes that will shock the shit out of the boys! I’ve been given strict orders to not have G-strings or nipple tassels. They are trying to cramp my style.”
I laugh as she links her arm with mine. We walk to the back part of the room and the faint noise of the front door sounds, leaving us alone. Trin’s lack of filter is one of the main things I love about her. I was lucky; she had taken to me when I was younger, despite the fact that I was painfully shy, and she never makes me feel small.
She leans over the desk to her sketchpad and flicks over the black cover. The rustle of the pages continues as she flicks through her designs. Her face lights up when she reaches the page she is after.
“Aha!” she squeals. “I can’t wait to see what you think.”
She turns the pad slowly around in her hands as her tongue pokes the inside of her cheek. I look down at the design and my breath catches. I lean forward to read her scribblings alongside the sketch—peacock-cut corset, green silk, black ribbon, black lace overlay. The corset bodice has a slight sweetheart cut with a gentle black ruffle inside the cleavage poking out, with a tied black bow in the centre. Swirls line the bodice where Trin has scribbled lace, followed by the etchings of a gypsy skirt that has both sides tied up with thin black bows. Layers of ruffles and materials of different lengths line the skirt, but before I can investigate further she snatches it back.
“Good. You like.” In typical Trinity fashion, she begins bossing me before I have a chance to comment. “I need to measure you and then I’m getting started. I have the material all here and Trice is wearing the exact same outfit.” She clucks her tongue against the roof of her mouth as her eyes light up. Smirking, she tilts her head slightly and adds cheekily, “I think Robbie is going to lose his mind.”
I freeze as my mouth falls open. She reaches forward and gently pushes my jaw closed. “Flies, my dear. Wouldn’t want to catch any.”
I shake my head to compose myself, before uttering, “Um, we’re just friends, Trin. That’s all.”
She rolls her eyes and looks to the ceiling for an exaggerated moment. “Why are my friends trying to bullshit me, again?” Rolling her head forward, she pins me with a stare as her right eyebrow lifts. “Do not bullshit a bullshitter. He wants you and he wants you bad.”
Turning, she waves her finger at me to follow. “Time to measure up. In more ways than one.” I scamper after her, eager to end this subject.
“No, Trin … really, we’re just friends.”
We walk through the shop to her back studio where her sewing machines and design tables are set up. Picking up a tape measure off one of the tables, she turns and points to the centre of the mat that faces her main table. I walk over to it as she follows me. My breathing increases when she remains silent. I close my eyes momentarily. The dread of disappointment lingers across my skin. How can he want me so much when all he will do is leave me like the others?
Trin’s fingertips curve the tape around my waist, and she utters the measurements to herself. She moves to my chest, and I lift my arms for her to continue taking measurements.
“Does he know that you’ve been in love with him since you were in high school?” she asks. My heart continues to thud in my chest as my eyes fly open and clash with the sincere blue eyes of Trin.
“What?” I whimper.
She sighs and reaches behind her ear for her pencil to mark her notebook that’s under her arm. Pressing her lips together for a moment, a smile breaks through as she shakes her head. “Hazel, sweets, you have loved that boy since the second your heart knew what it was to feel love.”
My cheeks burn from her gaze, my chin lowers, and I nod slightly in defeat. Sensing my embarrassment, Trin pokes me in the chest with her finger—hard.
“Don’t you dare hide that feeling, missy moo! I’m not playing games. First Trice, now you? Uh-uh. Not a freaking chance.”
“But how …” I stammer. My tongue is heavy in my mouth.
“Haze, I recognised that look. It was the same one that Trice gave to Alex. I just knew. ”
“Ugh.” I slump, defeated. “It’s just a phase for him. He’s used to having girls throwing themselves at him. Probably likes me for the challenge.”
“Really, Haze?” She steps back slightly and measures my waist and hips. “We’re twenty-four. Not sixteen. If this were high school, sure, I’d agree. But he’s twenty-six, and he hasn’t had a girlfriend in years according to Tricky Trice.”
“I just can’t,” I grumble. I will never survive this heartache. I bite my lip and watch Trin as she jots down more measurements. I’m about to look away when I notice the base of her neck looks shimmery. Leaning forward, I smile at the tell-tale cover up.
“So, who is he?”
She jerks as her eyes fly up to mine. Pleased by her flinching, I can’t help but add, “Translucent powder? Seriously? Rookie mistake.” I peer closer to her neck, and she steps back and covers the hickey with her hand, her fingers nearly plunging the pencil into her skin in her haste.
“It’s nothing. He’s no one. We’re just screwing around.”
“A hickey? How very sixteen of you.”
“Piss off, Haze.”
“So it’s happened more than once?”
She growls and removes her hand, closing her notepad. “It’s nothing serious. We screw. That’s it. I don’t do serious.”
“Does he know that? You know, after the whole, ‘claiming your neck’ and all.”
She walk
s to her main design table and throws her notepad down. “We’re just a bit wild—that’s all. I’ll move on like I always do.” Walking past me, she utters quietly. “Now drop it. Mine isn’t love.” She composes herself and smiles at me. “Okay, I have enough here to start, so come over in a few days and we can see what the base looks like.”
The worst thing about your best friends? They know you explicitly. A good thing? You know them equally as well.
“Okay, I’ll drop it.” I stride towards her and pull her into a hug. I tower over her, so I cuddle my little minion tighter. “We’re horrible liars, aren’t we?” I mumble into her hair.
She grunts and hugs me back. Leaning down, I whisper into her ear, “Tell Theo I said hi.”
For a moment, her grip tightens in shock, then I gently step back and head towards the door. No doubt with her laser beam eyes following me the entire way.
“Hoe down.”
1200 Techniques
ROBBIE
The blaring alarm on my phone startles me awake. With a groan, I reach over to my nightstand without opening my eyes and snatch the prick, silencing it with a flick of my thumb. Stretching my arms above my head, I begin yawning, but it stops abruptly as the muscles in my shoulders tense and I groan, causing my neck to crick. Sitting up, I roll my neck from side to side and clear my throat. I stand and scratch my nuts while looking around my room. Last night, I had stayed too late at the club again. At least it was a productive night.
I begin humming a song from the playlist I had going at the club while rolling my shoulders back, freezing as a distant sound silences my hum. I stand still, squinting in the direction the noise came from, when I hear a muffled ‘thump thump’ against my bedroom wall. Blinking a few times to clear my head, my body is assaulted with an automatic response—bile rising in my throat. Fuckin’ hell.
Back in college if we ever heard our mate getting it on, we’d roar, and we’d shout out “Go you good thing!” or “Stick it in!” after a few beers, while cheering our arses off. The thin walls would hold nothing back and neither chick nor friend would be safe from us banging on their walls in arrogant praise. In fact, most guys back then liked to be the exhibitionist as well. Once they surfaced, a few high fives to the dude would be given post-coitus, and chin lifts to the partner of the day, but now things had drastically changed. There’s definitely no fucking high-fiving in my house.
Living with my best friend Alex was not as smooth these days. Both of us were neighbours growing up, and I can’t remember a time when we weren’t playing as kids. He lived the property down from us and we both used the billabong in front of ours to go swimming and catch a few yabbies, as well as shooting shit. Alex was a physio, working towards his own practise, and I was a business graduate who’d just returned from a stint in the mines to garner some cash. Thus, our pretty swish pad. Living with Alex had been simple as piss when I’d returned home for breaks between mining contracts, but now—I couldn’t listen to this shit. The muffled moans, the thumping on the walls all became too much as it was all the time. No, I wasn’t jealous. On the other side of the wall with him was my sister. Like fuck was I going to be cheering for that.
Sure, I was happy for them. I had seen it happening years ago, but I didn’t need to be part of their love-nest, complete with surround sound. What makes matters worse is that I don’t have a lot to distract myself with. All I’m armed with are headphones, my personal weights set up across the hall, and the ability to stop myself from upchucking.
Grabbing my jeans from the floor, I reach into my drawers for my boxers and a T-shirt. I don’t care which one I grab, I just want a shower to soundproof my ears. It could’ve been a New Kids On The Block shirt and I would not have given a shit. Mission to save my eardrums—in motion. Turning the water on as fast as I can, I jump in to suffer the slice of cold before it heats up. Scrubbing my face with both hands, I groan at the thought of them getting it on. Alex said they were moving out. Must. Help. Them. Find. A. New. Apartment. Soon.
Towelling myself dry, I mentally calculate what I need to do for the day. Club, text, and plan. Not necessarily in that order. Glancing in the mirror, my messy arse curls are flicking down across my forehead, and I make a note to get a haircut. They say curls get the girls but not for me. I’m saying no to the fro. Quickly dressing, I open the bathroom door and sigh in relief at the silence that follows. About time, horn dogs.
Moments like these, I don’t want to pick up some skank and go tit for tat; I only have one gal in mind. The thought of using her makes my jaw lock. I would never do that. When the day comes, if anyone interrupted us or ruined the moment of us finally getting together, I would lose my shit.
A tiny part of me is the boy from a rural town who isn’t good enough. Ex-girlfriends used to think it was cool to screw the hot wog, while I was never considered good enough to take home as my folks weren’t blue collars, just orchard owners, which challenged me to do better, be better.
I’d played up the smartarse role in school, while being a jokester, I nailed my course results. But my attitude didn’t help my sister. My arrogance and manwhoring didn’t stop the ruthless bitches from attacking her. Me, her older brother, who should have protected her and warned them away, was too caught up in my own arse. Nope, never again. Sure, I’d had my fair share of ignorant comments directed at me about being an immigrant’s son, but I was also a beefy male who could knock a prick on his arse. The day a resident dickhead decided to play racist he lost his two front teeth after insinuating my mother was a whore just for being Italian. But that was the past. What was also in the past was two weeks later, when I dated and fucked his sister.
Working my arse off in high school gave me the pathway to leave my hometown and be someone. My good grades in the end meant nothing compared to the vile comments I had that night which changed my outlook of life. They steamrolled me in a direction where I was determined to be successful. Now this success, although thrilling, was beginning to stress me out.
I have scheduled a few builders this morning and needed to get to the club in order to check that things were on track. It’s one thing to be paying by the hour—it’s another to catch workers slacking off. City builders are different than country builders. Country builders can’t afford to slack off, and at least they’re easy to work with. Plus, you are automatic mates. Here, the ones I have are slack arses who I wouldn’t even make time to have a beer with. They have entry to the entrance, but if I catch one more sitting on his arse today, I will unleash my inner Italian, and it will not be pretty.
Rolling back my shoulders, I stroll into the kitchen, fishing my phone out of my pocket. No new messages. Scrolling through my contacts, I click on Hazel’s name that I have changed to Farfalla. I grab the percolator from the top cupboard while my fingers begin to text.
Me: I need 2 find a new apartment. ASAP.
After a few moments, my phone chimes on the bench as I place the coffee bean-filled percolator on the stove.
Farfalla: What? Why? You ok?
I smile, glad to have gotten her attention. Yeah, I’m a self-indulgent arsehole.
Me: Yeah, I’m good. But my ears R begging for a rest. Can u wear out earphones?
Farfalla: What a weird question. What u doing to them?
Me: Using them all the time. My walls are thin.
Farfalla: Eww. Stop. No more.
Me: U don’t want specifics? Why should I b the only one who suffers? Have a heart.
Farfalla: Don’t u even dare. Leave me out of their sex fog.
Me: Yeah, I could think of others who deserve it more than they do.
I laugh as the coffee finally rises in the pot. Flirting with her always gives me a hard-on, but I try to keep it light. This pushing and pulling routine is going to have to stop soon.
Reaching up, I grab a cup, only for it to be playfully snatched out of my hands by the culprit herself, Trice.
“Thanks, bro.” She laughs, holding out the mug for me to pour. “I need coffe
e badly.”
I shake my head and nudge her with my elbow before filling her cup. “No, you don’t. You sounded energetic before. What you need is a muzzle.”
She gasps as she hits me in the shoulder. “You’re disgusting!” She laughs.
“No, please,” I pretend to beg. “Please consider it.” I reach out for another mug and pour, then flick my chin towards the front door. “Can you check if the paper is here? Might be a great section on real estate.”
“Subtle, you nob.” Alex strolls in, just in jeans, his blond hair sticking up. “Real subtle.”
I tilt my shoulder and jut my chin again. “Happy to have you guys here,” I begin. “But only if you never touch my sister within five hundred-metres of hearing range.”
Trice opens the front door and retrieves the paper that had been thrown on the mat. She turns just as Alex and I sit at the table with our coffee and cereal. The whole time, Alex doesn’t take his eyes off her.
“Not going to happen,” he mumbles. A smile creeps across his face as she strolls back. “But we’ll keep it down. It must suck being a Nigel-no-friends at the moment.”
“I’m busy, arsewipe, I still see people though. Not just the four walls of my bedroom.”
“You forgot the bathroom,” Alex teases.
“And the couch,” Trice adds, holding her cup to her lips to hide her smile. I snatch the paper from the table to stop me from using my fists. I do not need to hear this shit.
“Enough!” I bark. “I have a tonne of shit to do and I don’t need to know anymore.”
