Splinters

by M R Field

  My steps to becoming self-reliant were set back. Without consulting me, my father had bought me a luxurious two-bedroom apartment. Naively, after four years of being away I’d thought he had missed me, and that I would at least see one family member. Instead, he left the key with the concierge and a brief note that said, “Here is your apartment. Find a better job and don’t waste any more time.”

  Again, father snubbing me made me more determined to make this new act with Trice work. Growing up, my acting was never taken seriously, despite my scholarship to one of the most reputable schools in London. For now, selfishly, I would indulge him. But only until I could afford a place of my own without using all of my inheritance that I hadn’t touched yet from my Aunt Cynthia’s death. She wanted me to only use it when I had found a purpose. A purpose, I was only just starting to feel.

  So I continued to live in the apartment my father gave me in The Docklands that faced the waterfront. But the beauty of the water did not diminish the cold exterior of the steel-faced apartments. Just like my father. He engaged in an affair with his secretary (How cliché is that?) and spent his time flaunting her at gemmology conferences in front of my mother. For a small town, they were known as the “upper-class rich”. Which was the nice way of saying, “pretentious snobs”.

  I tap my fingers against my crossed knee while running the routines through my mind. I can’t help but break out in a smile. This feels great, and more importantly right.

  Poor Robbie. I can’t help but chuckle to myself. You are going to lose your mind tomorrow, and I will enjoy every minute of it. I giggle as my phone chimes from my jean short pocket. Swiping along my phone to unlock it, my smile falters as I click into my messages only to see a text from Jerry again.

  Petal, why are u not returning my messages? Ur mother says u have plenty of free time. I need to speak 2u. U can’t just forget the 3 years we had together, can you? I won’t let u. Do u remember our lazy mornings? I do. –Jerry.

  The photo attached to the message reveals both Jerry and I lying in bed with the sheet covering my chest. I never liked that image. I always felt like it was a cheap memento, a lie. Ugh. How many photos did he have of us? Too many.

  Yes, I can forget you.

  But my chest tightens at the thought of his mention of my mother. He’s been in contact with her, yet she has barely contacted me since moving back to Australia. Am I surprised? Not really. Infuriated? You bet. My throat dries, as I quickly tap out of the message and dial her mobile.

  “Hello Hazel.” She speaks quickly. “I am in the middle of a meeting so I can’t—”

  “Hello Mother, I need to speak to you.”

  “I cannot afford the time right now, but if you call my secretary she can organise a time for us to catch up”

  “Why are you talking to Jerry? Why is he contacting you?”

  I hear shuffling in the background as she mumbles something to her colleague. “Just wait a moment; I need to step into my office. You are inconveniencing me greatly.”

  I grab the handle of my bag and am momentarily relieved to see my tram stop has arrived. I don’t need the passengers nearby to hear me hash it out with her.

  “Well?” I prod. She sighs in frustration as the sound of a door closes behind her.

  “Honestly, Hazel.” Her voice lowers in a hiss. “Why are you so upset? He is a very nice boy. Why wouldn’t I talk to him?”

  “Are you serious?” I shriek as I march down the street towards my apartment, dodging pedestrians and rubbish bins. My anger rises as each step becomes a stomp across the cold concrete. I’d rather be stomping on Jerry’s head for contacting her. Ugh.

  “Calm down, Hazel. You are being very immature. Jerry wanted to know how you were going as you were ignoring his messages. He loves you very much.”

  I roll my eyes and continue to march, plotting several ways of pushing her and him over the nearest bridge.

  “He isn’t nice at all. He’s a manipulative, lying, cheating arsehole.”

  “HAZEL! LANGUAGE!” she bellows, her breath increasing through the phone. “After everything we have given you, you are behaving like a child. You need to give him a call, and let him explain his indiscretions. He sounded very remorseful on the phone.”

  Liar. He doesn’t care about anyone but himself. He is a jerk who can’t handle rejection.

  “What exactly did you tell him?” I bark, heading towards my apartment complex. By now, my hair is a bird’s nest mess and my cheeks are red with rage.

  “Just that you were waitressing until you found a real job.”

  “I have a job!” I shout. I punch in the security code to my apartment and march through the foyer. I’m too mad to greet the security guy Clive behind the desk as I storm towards the elevator.

  “That dancing you’re doing is repugnant, and no better than being a stripper. How do you expect to win him back if he knows what you really do?” she caustically replies. I grind my teeth, but it’s no use; I’m too angry to hold back. All my ‘good breeding’ is not enough to hold my tongue.

  “I don’t care what he thinks. I’m a cabaret performer, and it’s the best job I’ve ever had the opportunity of being part of. You don’t even know what I do, because you never call or ask. You ignore my messages.”

  “I am busy, Hazel. One day you will know what a real job means. After all the money we spent sending you to the London!”

  “You? I never received nor wanted a cent. You are delusional. I got a scholarship and used some of Aunt Cyn’s inheritance she left me for expenses. I didn’t pawn off her jewellery like Chantal and Calista did!”

  “This conversation has wasted my time. You better hope that he forgives you for lowering your standards.”

  “His standards were pretty low when he fucked my friend on our bed in our apartment”

  “Hazel,” Mum says in a warning tone. “Men make mistakes. You will never meet someone better than him. He actually loves you.” Translation: as rich as him and accept it. The doors to the elevator open and I storm towards my apartment, narrowly avoiding breaking my key as I jam it into the lock.

  “No, Mother. I will never forgive him.” I push open my door in a huff. “If you think I should forgive him, perhaps you should go and forgive Dad for screwing that woman in your office. I bet that boosted company morale.”

  I hang up before hearing her response. Slamming the door behind me, I lean against it and bang my head on the hard wood. Ouch. I lift my phone and open my messages to idiot’s message.

  Me: Stop contacting me. We are over. Get a life and stop trying to interfere with mine. I will never talk to you again.

  In a moment, he responds, and I shake in anger.

  Jerry: Petal, u will talk 2 me again. You’ll see.

  You’re still in London, idiot. Of course I won’t. I delete his messages and block his number. Not a chance. I spend the next few moments shooting texts to my father telling him to avoid any contact with Jerry. I don’t receive a response; if I had gotten one that would have been abnormal.

  Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough. I’d show them what I could do, and I would shine on that stage along with my best friend. My plan for Robbie didn’t diminish—if anything it went into overdrive.

  “So remember what I said?” Trinity asked me, shuffling one of the garment bags across her arm. “Slow and steady wins the race.” I walked behind her to the back entrance of Emerald Vixen when my steps faltered.

  “What?” I stuttered. “I thought you said it was har—”

  “Hard and fast.” She laughs, looking over her shoulder at me. “Just checking you were paying attention and not stuck in your Robbie cloud.”

  I roll my eyes and just manage to give her the finger, even though my hands are filled with bags and props. Her mouths forms an excited O as her eyes widen in excitement. “You gave me the bird! That was just magic. Made my day, Hazel-poo, made my day.”

  Whatever.

  Trinity uses her elbow to bang against the buzzer w
hile we wait. I shuffle nervously as my hair is in curlers and I’m just wearing my tank and shorts. I look like a hillbilly Stepford wife. We hear stomping on the other side, and a very red faced Trice wrenches it open, her hair in the same rollers as mine. She glares over her shoulder at an equally as pissed Alex. All she’d need is an apron and she’d make a rebellious 50s housewife.

  “I said I’d get it!” she shouts, as he storms over to her. He continues to stomp past her and chin lifts at us, outside.

  “We need to talk.”

  “Like fuck we do,” she snaps. “You can shove your talking up your arse!”

  He grabs her arm and drags her outside, leaving the door ajar. Trin and I both stare at each other dumbfounded for a moment before turning towards the back door.

  “Should we check that she’s …?” I nudge back towards the door.

  “Shit no!” Trin bellows. “Trice can hold her own. Besides, you know they’ll be fine in like five minutes. They can’t keep their hands off each other.”

  “I don’t need a reminder.”

  My skin prickles as Robbie’s smooth voice coasts by. I glance over to find him, dressed in black pants, his boots and his black work shirt with an EV logo. His hair is wild and barely contained with gel, and I can’t help but sigh. He grins as his eyes flick up to my hair. “Nice rollers.”

  “Thanks. I thought they’d draw in more of a crowd.”

  “We have sold eighty per cent of our tickets and we have a bit of interest too for door sales. Don’t stress about the crowds, they will come.”

  I nod and stare at my flip-flops, afraid that I will ruin my surprise if I keep looking at him. I bite my lip and chance a quick peek up, only to find him frowning at me before he excuses himself and walks off. Huh?

  Trice and I walk through the hallway and across the room to the back of the club where the changing rooms are. Robbie had the builders do an uplift of the previous rooms, and changed the single change room into a double. It was sweet, but Trice and I would have been happy to share.

  Trinity opens the door to my change room and flicks on the light with her elbow.

  “Oh honey,” she whispers as I follow her in. I gasp. A vase filled with yellow roses stands on my vanity. The room smells sweet and my pulse quickens with every step I take closer to the beautiful bouquet. I put my bags down on the floor and walk over.

  “There’s a card.” My voice cracks with nerves. I stare, too stunned to move.

  “Oh for fuck’s sake!” Trin snaps, stomping over and grabbing the card. “If you aren’t going to open it, I will!”

  I snap out of my daze and snatch the card from her fingertips. “Not a chance.”

  I smile as I open the crisp envelope. I half expect a typed card and am pleasantly surprised to find his scrawly, masculine writing.

  Farfalla,

  I was told by someone that yellow roses mean good luck. What I also found out is that they mean ‘new beginnings’. You don’t need luck, Farfalla. You will shine out on the stage tonight and enchant everyone, just like you have enchanted me.

  Here’s to new beginnings.

  Love, Robbie xx

  “But,” I say. “He just frowned at me before. He might have changed his mind.” I look over to Trin, who is beaming at me. “Why are you smiling like that? He looked upset.”

  “Clueless. You looked like a scared little lamb, and he probably thought you weren’t interested. You were looking at your shoes, moron.”

  “Oh. I thought I was playing coy.”

  She raises her eyebrow and bats her eyes at me. “On stage love, yes. Real life, no.” She walks over to me and grabs my shoulders. “Relax, hon, this is even better now. He won’t know what hit him. Go out there and show him tonight that you haven’t changed your mind, unless you have.”

  Clutching the card to my chest, I shake my head vigorously. “Not a chance.” My cheeks feeling hot with thoughts of what I’m about to sing and do.

  “Good, so let’s start by sorting out your stuff and then finding Trice. We have to start getting ready soon. You have a man to seduce.”

  I wiggle my eyebrows at her and blow her a kiss. She sticks her tongue out and I lean back to avoid it. “Eww gross.”

  “If it was Robbie, you’d jump it.”

  “That I would,” I giggle. “Trin, I can do this. That stage out there is going to be my home. I can just feel it.”

  We spend a little while sorting out my costume for tonight while I position my makeup on my vanity. I want to be ready, and it’s something I tend to do before a performance. Old habits die hard. While Trin locates my garter and I polish my heels, Trice comes into my room looking less agitated, and slightly red-faced. Several of her hair rollers are dangling in her hair, but her eyes zoom in on the roses.

  “Wow,” she huffs. “Those are gorgeous. Are they from your mum?”

  I scoff and show her the card. “Hardly. Oh, I forgot to tell you guys that she implied that I was whoring myself on stage today on the phone after she had told me to forgive my idiot ex.”

  The girls both shake their heads at me in disgust. “The fool has been messaging me, wanting me to talk to him. I told him to sod off then I deleted and blocked his number.”

  “Go Hazel!” Trice winks. “I like this feisty side of you.”

  My cheeks heat from her compliment, and I can’t help but grin wide. I like this side of me too. I watch her read the card and her jaw drops.

  “Wow. My brother is such a romantic. He is more like our mother than we thought.” She hands the card over to me and I reach into my bag and tuck it into my purse for safe-keeping.

  “So, what happened before? You know, before you had makeup sex?” Trin asks matter-of-factly, fishing an apple out of her bag and taking a big bite. “Just spare the details of his thrusting.”

  “Shut your pie hole, wench.” Trice laughs, but her cheeks darken. She brushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear and explains, “Robbie hired Leon to do security.”

  “No shit,” Trin munches, sending bits of apple on her top. Classy. I narrow my brow, confused at what the big deal is.

  “Who’s Leon?”

  Trice’s eyes widen in realisation. She slaps her hand on her leg and boasts. “He’s a guy I pashed before Alex and I got together. He’s also my mechanic.”

  “Oh,” I reply. “So what’s the big deal? You’re with Alex now.”

  “I know,” Trice groans rolling her eyes. “He was jealous. Leon stayed over the night, we kissed and Alex can’t seem to get that out of his thick head. Even after he brought someone home. So after a screaming match outside, with me calling him a fucking hypocrite, I reminded him of that.”

  “Reminded him, huh?” Trin wiggles her eyebrows. “Did you attack him with your vagina?”

  We laugh as Trice shakes her head. “If you must know—”

  “Yeah, we must,” I chime in.

  “He huffed and put me over his shoulder and stormed inside and said I needed to cool off in the cool room.”

  “Cool off my arse,” Trin pipes in. “Just tell me which food not to touch so I don’t get your love juices on me.”

  “Eww, gross.” I wrinkle my nose.

  “We didn’t touch the food … just against the door.” Trice turns to me. “Don’t you get all hoity-toity with me, missy! I’m sure you will be testing out the surfaces in this place soon enough. Although … eww.”

  My cheeks flush, as I remember the deep breaths that Robbie took while bench-pressing yesterday. His flexed muscles, the strength in his forearms—all have me momentarily caught up in another cloud of Robbie lust. I lick my bottom lip and look to the flowers.

  “Anywhere but a bed would be nice,” I mutter. “That’s all I know.”

  “Seriously?” Trin scoffs. “Well.” she adds with a twinkle in her eye. “If tonight goes to plan, I don’t think any surface will be left untouched.”

  “I can’t wait,” I breathe. It’s show time.

  I lean into the mirror a
nd apply the final touches to my lipstick. Smacking my lips together, I rub my finger in the corners to remove the sticky excess and stand back. I have kept to simple stage makeup, a smoky eye with thick eyeliner. My cheeks have a light blush, leaving my eyes and mouth to stick out. Normally I wouldn’t go dark eyes and mouth, but on stage, it’s perfect.

  I adjust the comb to the birdcage fascinator that Trin made while pulling down the mesh so it’s over my right eye. My hair is in large retro curls pinned around my head, and I tuck the bottom tips beneath each one. Green feathers adorn a black comb while a black flower sits on top. I stand and unzip the garment bag and pull out the beautiful costume, tottering on my black sparkly Bordello heels. My legs are encased in a black sheer fishnet, while a black and emerald lacy garter hugs my right thigh. I step into the gypsy corset ensemble and savour each second as the silky fabric teases up over my skin from my satin French-cut panties, over my stomach and to my breasts. The delicious swish of the fabric feeds my anticipation as my heart begins to race. I feel alive. I pull the corset closed, adjusting it around my chest, when the knob of the door handle moves and cool air tickles against my warm skin.

  Without turning, I know it’s Robbie standing there. I hear a muttered “fuck” as he clears his throat. That familiar wave that I’ve felt all this time returns. No matter where he is, I sense him. My body feels in tune with his, like a well-loved instrument. I want to be strummed, my pulse to rise while everything else fades away.