The Numbers Game

by Frances Vidakovic

  All this time Serena hadn’t thought once about Jasper, until Enrique put his hand on her breast. Something went off in her head then, a little gremlin which groused: hang on, that’s Jasper’s breast, it isn’t there for another man to touch.

  “I…” Serena pushed Enrique’s hand away to better explain. The alcohol sloshing around in her head was heavy now, and the heaviness made her feel woozy.

  “Too much too soon?” he guessed.

  “Yes,” Serena murmured, falling back into the mattress. There was a shoe still under there she thought and it was sticking into her spine.

  “How about you just rest then and let me do all the work.”

  Enrique reached down to graze her already exposed belly-button with his lips. For a second there his nose and cheeks simply nuzzled her skin, but then he began planting perfect rows of seedling kisses along the valley of her waist. Serena loved it; not only was it so damn relaxing but the tickly feeling went straight to her toes. She tried to savor every second of the experience; men were notorious for stopping abruptly right in the middle of a good thing. But Enrique showed no signs of giving up; he was in fact ever so slowly working his way down south.

  “Do you mind?” he said, pausing at the buckle of Serena’s hot pants.

  Serena shook her head. “Not at all,” she whispered.

  She wasn’t stupid; she knew exactly what having no bottoms on entailed. But the thought of a gentle licking tongue enticed her on. This was what women really want, Serena decided with a whooping sigh. If it came down to sex being only about this – self-indulgent taking - and nothing else women would be worse than men a hundredfold in the sleaze stakes. They would be pulling men off the streets and begging for them to do it, as long as it involved lots of one-way tongue action.

  Then came the fatal flaw in her hypothesis; not long after Enrique buried his head between Serena’s legs she started feeling those funny feelings. They rushed up through her stomach; slow at first until eventually it was like a faucet had exploded. Only it wasn’t water charging her body but pheromones, the omnipotent sex hormones which made one want to streak against a footy field in the nude or leave their full-time job to become a lap dancer.

  Serena really was now powerless. If Enrique tried to walk away without so much as putting his thing inside she would have gone running after him. Pathetic how again she was begging for it, when it should have been the other way around. But that was what happened in the heat of the moment. In the heat, just like how one contracts sunstroke after a day in the sun, a girl lost temporary full function of her brain. She wasn’t thinking about things like tomorrow or even an hour away. If she did, Serena might’ve done things differently.

  Because the last thing she was expecting, when their quick yet strangely satisfying shagging was over and Enrique mentioned that his friends might actually be waiting for him, was to go downstairs and see the sight she saw. It was nearly five in the morning by then and outside the sky was that dusty purple color that one rarely sees. Everyone was gone and not even a mouse nor Tabitha were to be seen in the shocking party aftermath. So much for Ramiro and Dominique waiting for Enrique; they’d probably run off the first chance they had with the Swedish Barbie twins. Empty bottles, crumpled up Playboys photos, and penile looking pink Frankfurt sausages were all squashed and trodden on underfoot. It would take days to clean the crap, at the very least.

  Enrique had already pulled out his cell phone to call for a cab when Serena saw the envelope. It was sitting there on the tall chocolate table by the front door, white and crispy looking with Enrique’s name scrawled across the front. In Tabitha’s handwriting.

  “What the…” Serena took it into her hands and looked at Enrique questioningly.

  He was too busy talking to the cab operator and informing them of Tabitha’s house number and street. When he put his tiny phone back into his pocket, Enrique looked up at Serena and smiled. Then he frowned when he saw the envelope in his hands.

  “Do you know what happens to be in this envelope?” Serena asked suspiciously. She felt a sickly I-need-to-vomit-right-now feeling creep up into her throat.

  “No,” he replied quietly. It was as if he was guessing between left and right door, one leading to a million dollars, the other to death.

  “Shall we open it then?”

  “I don’t think that would be a good idea.” Enrique reached forward and tried to grab the envelope from her hands but Serena had already ripped it open.

  She looked inside and felt herself plunge into an abyss of Rage and Confusion. In the sleeve, there were five fifty dollars bills and a scrap of paper staring back at her. She pulled the scrap out and tossed the rest onto the floor.

  Enrique tried to reach for the paper again but she put her hand up to stop him.

  “Don’t,” Serena said firmly. It sounded a bit like the voice of a demon.

  She opened the sheet and quietly read it. Of course, that was why he was so desperate to get his slimy fingers onto it. There in non-deceiving print was the following greeting:

  Congratulations. Here is the money as promised.

  I’m sure Serena thanks you grandly for the good time in the sack.

  Unable to control herself, Serena crumpled it up again and shoved it down the front of Enrique’s pants. Then she walked upstairs, shaking at the limbs; Enrique could escort himself out and wait for the cab on his own, as far as she cared.

  PART 2: THE SWAP

  Chapter 22

  As Serena stood outside the house, she thought about how different she was from the woman who walked out that door six weeks ago. Six weeks ago! It felt more like a lifetime. The suitcase at her feet might have weighed the same but Serena was definitely bringing home a lot more baggage.

  Thank God Markie was not going to be inside. In the end, after the fiasco with Tabitha and Enrique the night before, she had responded to Markie’s pleasant message left on Tabitha’s answering machine with a quick text to his cell phone. I will be there at ten, please be gone by then. Serena didn’t feel one bit guilty about popping that balloon of Markie’s, his idea of having a casual coffee together nestled inside. Why should she? She didn’t see any purpose of them two sitting together and pretending everything was okay when it so obviously wasn’t.

  For starters, Serena was not in the mood for niceties. She was in the mood to kick some teeth in or at the very least push a lot of Humpty Dumpty eggs off a cliff. That cow Tabitha paying boys to take her into bed! She couldn’t believe it; the very thought of it still made her blood boil to the extent a raw egg on her tummy would be fried in two seconds flat. It was worse… it was worse than if she had requested the money herself. God only knew what Tabitha was thinking in her head. Sure Serena would love to know but she would never bring herself to ask.

  At daybreak, after slamming the door behind Enrique shut, Serena had stomped upstairs, straight to her room. She made sure to create as much disturbance as possible, banging cupboard drawers, dropping heavy vanity items onto the floor, flicking on all the hallway lights. Tabitha, in her haste to get to bed probably, had left her own bedroom door wide open and Serena could spy her spread-eagled across the top like the Blair Witch Project symbol. She twitched only slightly as Serena picked up a bottle of hair gloss and threw it against the wall again.

  “Screw this,” Serena had decided, as she surveyed the mess in her room. “I can’t pack without listening to bloody music.”

  Serena then jogged downstairs, making sure to jump on all the creaky steps and rustled through the pile of daggy CDs Tabitha had left out. They included the most ridiculous of the ridiculous and Serena took her time choosing between New Kids on the Block and Bros. Which one would make a person feel super-duper chirpy this early in the morning while also doing the sunrise justice?

  Oh it would actually have to be Rick Astley! He had that beautiful deep voice, which sent shivers down the spine, especially when played at full notch.

  Tabitha eventually stumbled her way into Serena’
s room, eyes half open, before Rick even got a chance to sing “I’m Never Gonna Give You Up” chorus.

  “Serena, can you please turn that down. Not only is it still night-time but I’m actually trying to sleep.”

  “You think I give a flying hoot?” Serena had replied, glaring at Tabitha as if she were adorned in KKK gear.

  At the time more elaborate abuse was hurling through her head a hundred miles an hour. You bitch, you bloody lowlife traitor, I hope bloody maggots eat away at your empty heart, etcetera. But Serena kept them all to herself. It took much effort but really what was the point of completely losing control when it wouldn’t change a thing? Tabitha was still going to be her ex-best friend. Nothing she could do or say would make everything all right. Her latest ruse was unforgivable.

  Tabitha went over and simply lowered the volume on dreadful Rick and didn’t come back when Serena turned the knob this time all the way back. She must have pulled out her ear plugs or something, just assuming that good ole Serena was suffering from PMS or the after-effects of a bad lay; nothing serious. Well Serena would show Tabitha serious. As the walls vibrated with pulsating sounds of a man who should never have gotten a recording contract, Serena folded up every item of clothing into the tiniest square until her bag was jam-packed and her soon-to-be ex room was bare.

  People way overemphasize the need for goodbyes. Why say goodbye to someone when leaving them without a word so much better shows them how you feel? Serena didn’t plan to speak to Tabitha ever again. Never ever in this lifetime at least; she’d rather star in a porn film with lots of hairy men sporting moustaches.

  So that was how Serena came to be standing outside her old place without the slightest semblance of support. But what fat good are friends when they end up been worse than your enemies? Slowly Serena walked to the front door and inserted the key into lock. She was almost surprised when it not only fit but opened the door to inside. To her house, her own very house which she hadn’t sighted in weeks!

  For many moments Serena felt that strange disorientation one gets after returning home from a long holiday. The furnishings, the walls, the paintings all took on a surreal larger-than-life quality.

  “Oh my.”

  She brought a hand to her mouth and walked about the house in daze. It looked…it smelt…absolutely divine. It was absolutely clean as well. Serena never realized how beautiful her surroundings were before; the perfect color coordination, perfect balance between soft and sharp angles. If she was a home decorator critic (and by Lord she felt like one now) she would’ve given this house ten out of ten for marks. Talk about taking things for granted. All one needed was a bit of time away.

  Speaking of smells, Serena’s nose picked up on the faint whiff of Gucci Envy, Markie’s trademark fragrance. Had the image of him together with that long-legged girl at The C-Lounge not flicked instantly in her mind, Serena might have felt nostalgic. Oh shucks…she felt nostalgic anyway even with that awful picture still imprinted on her brain.

  To think that once upon a time she had thought she’d die without seeing Markie every single day and now his absence was as familiar as changing her underwear. She’d slept with two men since he last laid a finger on her Serena realized and the notion was as horrifying as it sounded. It was horrifying mainly because that was exactly what she’d set out to achieve – as part of this fantastic ‘game’. But rather than feeling satisfaction and proud, Serena saw that her life – as it stood right now, game over and all - was in bigger shambles than it had ever been.

  “Okay,” Markie said, bringing his papers together and tapping them upright against the conference table, “So I believe that brings us to a consensus. In the coming weeks, Guerrilla Zoo will be executing its new meticulous marketing campaign for Product X, encompassing all the best ideas brought up in today’s brainstorming session.”

  The heads around the table nodded, and rushed to pack away their Limited Edition Delta Pens and bright every-shade-of-the-rainbow laminated folders into briefcases. Markie sighed and assumed that this was how a schoolteacher must feel like when the bell rang to signal home time.

  The past two weeks had been the most horrible of Markie’s life. Not only on the work front, but there it had been especially bad. Like an obese man who weighs four hundred pounds and wants to be half that, it had taken much effort for Markie to fight through his feelings of utter dismay. Back then his sole goal – that of regaining the respect of his staff – had seemed as far away as the distant stars. But day in, day out he stuck to his daily diet of persistence and pride and now almost, just almost he could see himself slipping back into his old pants.

  Moving in with Rick had definitely not helped; mainly because his partner had dealt with the whole “accused poofter” issue by overcompensating with sad humor. Rick’s idea of winning back the confidence of the staff involved sharing stupid jokes about dumb Blondes and leaving Kit Kats on everyone’s desk. Markie called that last action ‘buying people’s love’ and the scheduled darts competition, chair-racing contest and Guerrilla Zoo Sunday Afternoon Picnic a big waste of time. But oh no, Rick didn’t see it that way.

  “It gives us a chance to really bond with our employees; find out more about the person behind the work mask. I believe that’s what’s called staff team-building and apparently it’s essential for any company’s success.”

  Right. What Rick really wanted to do was show off to the crew how un-homosexual he was. He thought that by hanging out with them and bringing nymphets to the picnics, they would all crowd around and proclaim him Mister Cool, a straight Mister Cool that is.

  At least by Rick making a fool of himself Markie got to salvage some of his credibility. He thought they called it the polar effect. By one person saying something dim-witted, you get to look smart. By one person acting like a child, you get to look an adult. And so on. Hopefully it didn’t apply to the gay/straight flip of a coin though because that would make Rick’s work all counterproductive.

  They had been sharing the house together for only a fortnight and already Markie wanted to kill Rick. Sure Rick had visited his place often in the first half of the break, for a beer or to watch the footy so he had an idea what living with him would be like. But that obviously wasn’t enough time to found out about the ‘person behind the work mask’. Markie certainly hadn’t seen any signs of chronic flatulence then nor of that disease which inhibits people to wash the dishes and flush the toilet after use.

  The only possible benefit of living with Rick was on the girl front. Rick, in his desperate crusade to prove himself sexually active with the female species, was on the hunt for conquests twenty four seven, and none of that ‘if she likes me she’ll come my way stuff anymore’; no way. As a man on a mission, Rick let nothing get in his way. Over the past fortnight alone, he had picked up and slept with (or so he said) five women, which Markie really had no reason to doubt, seeing as Rick did bring them home and there was lots of noise coming from the bedroom when they stayed the night. It was just that Markie couldn’t get his head around Rick possibly having a stud chromosome floating somewhere in his body. Rick’s taunts hadn’t made it any easier on Markie either.

  “You’ve slept with only one girl in the same period! What does that take your total up to? Five? Less than what I’ve had in a couple of days.” Rick laughed and looked at Markie incredulously.

  Markie bit his tongue and tried hard not to mention the fact that five girls in eight weeks wasn’t a bad thing for some guys. But he didn’t say it because he knew what Rick would say back. You’re down to your last month, dude (dude was his new favorite word) and only half-way there, shocking.

  The truth was Markie was slightly panicking at the numbers. The last girl he had slept with was a nameless beer-goggle find because he couldn’t stand the way Rick was acting so smug and cocky and if it weren’t for his goggles, his score would still be standing at pathetic four, those being: Biffy, Lola, Clarissa and the Venom catch. Sometimes he wished that Serena’s numbers were never
that high, that she’d only slept with three or four more than Markie, so that he could stop right here and call it quits. He didn’t really see the point in having any more meaningless interactions until he remembered that maybe they weren’t that meaningless because otherwise Serena wouldn’t have had them too.

  Speaking of Serena, Markie was feeling most panicky about her. Apart from their one chance meeting at The Lounge he hadn’t seen or heard from her in two months. He vaguely recalled that not seeing each other was one of the conditions of the game but could no longer understand why or how that could’ve been thought to be best. Surely meeting each other for weekly coffees and touching base would have been a preferable option? That way if both of them, quite coincidentally, decided the break was just a crock of crap they could jump into bed and forget anything had ever happened.

  But the dream of taking Serena to bed again seemed to be crumbling right in front of Markie’s eyes. She didn’t want to meet for their halfway swap and that was saying a lot. She must be angry or something on the account of that Clarissa girl. If only Markie could speak to Serena he’d set things straight. Tell her about how insignificant those liaisons were, how empty and hollow they left him feeling. Over the past few months his heart had become so malnourished it had shrunken to the size of a pea. The days, despite the looming coziness of deep autumn, all seemed grey and miserable. Only the thought of seeing Serena again, of holding her hot body close to his, spurred Markie to go on. And on he went, erstwhile forcing himself to squash all the other niggling fears like: