by Sean Kennedy
As if she was ten years older or something and found the others beneath her in their obvious immaturity. What a dick, Emma thought.
“So that was Trish.” Micah watched her leave, wrinkling his nose.
Emma turned to look at Jess. She almost seemed to melt under her gaze, and she hurriedly broke eye contact by reaching down for her bag.
“I have to go,” she announced and ran off before anything else could be said.
Emma yelled her name after her, but she didn’t stop.
So this was it? She had finally found “Mal,” only to discover she was an ex of her ex? This did not bode well for their wedding. The happy-go-lucky whistle of the Puffing Billy turned into a mournful dirge.
“At least you know her name now,” Micah said.
“Only her first.”
“Did you guys not read the information sheets for the shoot?” Kyle asked.
Both Micah and Emma shook their heads dumbly.
Kyle sighed and scrabbled around in his pockets. He drew out a much-folded stapled set of A4 papers. “Here.”
“What am I looking for?”
“Seriously, do I need to do everything? Get your head in the game, Goldsworthy!”
Obviously he had a future lined up as a grumpy coach once he retired from baseball.
“‘Get your head in the game’?” Micah asked him, the ghost of a smile on his lips.
“I’m just trying to snap her out of whatever funk she’s in.”
“You do know you’re also quoting High School Musical?”
“How would you know that, unless you’ve watched High School Musical?”
Micah’s mouth dropped open, and he snapped it shut just as quickly.
“Got you there, didn’t I?”
Emma was turning the pages over and scanning through them. “Will you two stop being so cute? You’re distracting me!” She glanced up to see them painfully looking at anything but each other now she had called them out on their flirting. “That’s better.”
Able to think clearly again, she read the bottom of the last page.
Production Assistants
Linden Huw
David Jason
Jessica Harpy
Emma giggled to herself.
“What’s so funny?” Kyle asked.
“She’s a harpy.” Emma handed over the paper.
“She seemed too nice to be a harpy,” Micah said, trying to look over Kyle’s shoulder. Even he had to strain himself to do so. “But then, she did go out with Trish.”
“Does that mean I’m also a harpy?” Emma demanded. Crap, her voice sounded shrill enough right there.
“You said it, not me.”
“Her name’s Harpy, dickhead,” Kyle said, folding the shoot notes back up. “Jessica Harpy.”
Micah laughed. “Harpy-Goldsworthy. Not the most rhythmic of names when you get married.”
It was Emma’s turn to flounce off.
NO MATTER how many times she tried to capture Jess’s eye, Emma was always unsuccessful. It seemed that Jess’s job that day was to hand around equipment as if she was a nurse in an operating theatre. Also, she had to fetch coffees. Lots and lots of coffee. When Emma, as part of the “cast” for the Pride Generation shoot, was asked if she wanted a coffee, she said yes without hesitation in the hopes that Jess would be the one to deliver it to her. Alas, it was Linden. Or was it David? She really didn’t care. She just wanted it to be Jess, and now she was starting to get the sinking feeling Jess had palmed that particular job off to Linden/David in order to avoid talking to her. Or being anywhere near her.
Not that Emma could blame her, really. Maybe she was embarrassed about her relationship with Trish being uncovered. Not that Emma could judge her, as it seemed it was yet another interest the two of them had in common. Had. Ugh, Emma didn’t even want to think about Trish in that way anymore.
It was Jess she wanted to think about. If only she could get Jess to look at her again.
For now Emma had to make do with makeup and hair fussing over her, attempting to make her look like she could be a cover model, even though she was in her hockey uniform and her hair would never ever be hanging free in the middle of a game. Micah was in his guernsey, and bronzing oil was being added to his pale biceps. Emma had to look away to stop herself from laughing, and goggled at the sight of Kyle’s tight baseball pants. No wonder Micah missed him, if you were into that sort of thing.
Emma felt sorry for the girl who seemed underdressed in her swimming unitard, though.
They were then grouped into a staggered layout, and of course Micah and Trish—as the most well-known of them—were front and centre. The King and Queen of the Queer Sports Kids, or as they were calling them for the cover, “The Pride Generation.” Emma thought that was a Star Trek spin-off she would like to see.
“Emma!” the photographer yelled out. “Can you just rest the hockey stick over your shoulder?”
She did as she was told.
“And try to look a little more….” He trailed off, searching for the right word.
“What?” Emma asked.
“I dunno, spunky?”
Emma knew her face was red. “Are you telling me to look sexier? I’m a hockey player, not Naomi Fucking Campbell.”
Now his face was red. “No! No! I mean, spunky as in feistier. But, um, you’ve definitely got that look now.”
Micah turned back to look at her. “I thought that was your natural expression?”
She stuck her finger up at him.
“Can you please hold your original positions?” one of the assistants yelled.
Contrite, Emma slung her stick over her shoulder and tried to look spunky. She thought it involved grimacing while brandishing the hockey stick as if she was about to charge the photographer and cave his head in with it. Gwen would have been proud. After about a thousand shots were taken, the boys were pulled aside for their individual and group shots. The girls were to be punished with the same thing later. Emma wasn’t sure why they were dividing the genders unless they were hoping for some hot pashing to be captured. She knew Micah and Kyle would be happy to oblige, as it would be the best excuse ever for reigniting their passion for each other once more.
Emma realised she was hungry. And grumpy.
She was planning to avoid Trish and was slightly miffed when Trish obviously had the same idea. Emma headed for the catering tent; she wanted pastry and wanted it now. A lot of pastry. Enough pastry to threaten her sporting career if she consumed as much as she currently craved.
Thankfully, there were danish. A whole table, practically. Emma wondered how many she could fit into her bag to take home. There were plenty of blueberry ones, her favourite.
“You look like you’re Homer Simpson at an all you can eat,” came a voice from behind her. She knew immediately who it was.
By the time Emma turned around to face her, she had three-quarters of a danish stuck in her gob, and she got the reaction she wanted as Jess burst out laughing.
Except now Emma had to remove the danish without choking to death or drooling all over herself.
“Let me help,” Jess said, and she pulled it out enough for Emma to bite a part off and swallow what was still in there. “You know how to charm a girl, that’s for sure.”
It took a few seconds for Emma to reply, as she was still getting it all down. “It’s a gift.”
“So, how awkward was all that back there?”
“I know, right? I mean, ‘look spunky’? This is for the cover of Sports Illustrated, not Tits Weekly.”
Jess smiled. “I meant the whole Trish thing.”
“Oh, that thing,” Emma said. “I mean, the whole day has been one giant ball of awkward from one hour to the next, so I wasn’t exactly sure which one you were talking about.”
As if it had just sunk in, Jess laughed. “Tits Weekly?”
“Yeah. It’s the magazine for lesbian hockey players.”
“There’s a magazine for lesbian hockey playe
rs?”
“Yeah, didn’t you hear me? Tits Weekly.”
“I’ll have to get a subscription.”
“Sorry, it’s only for lesbian hockey players. Not lesbian… what exactly is it you’re assisting at?”
Jess swivelled her hips so her bag came into full view. It was a pretty spunky move, and not in the feisty way. But Emma could now clearly see that it was a camera bag.
“You’re studying photography?”
“Among other things. Media, really. At ANU.”
“So why are you bringing your own camera to a photo shoot?”
Jess seemed to falter. “I don’t know, really. I’m now feeling a little bit stupid.”
“Why? You shouldn’t.”
“I knew I was only going to be fetching coffee. But I don’t know. I guess I feel naked without it or something. Don’t you feel that way about your hockey stick?”
“Not really.”
“Oh?” She was shocked.
“Don’t get me wrong! I love hockey more than anything or else I wouldn’t be doing this, but I’m perfectly happy to put down the stick and just be Emma Goldsworthy, professional Netflix watcher.”
“I get it,” Jess said. “Emma.”
Was that the first time she had ever called Emma by her name? Face-to-face, because it had happened on the phone when neither of them knew who the other person was. Maybe Puffing Billy was starting to build up steam again. “You know, you could always take some photos of me if you like.”
“Really?”
“I mean, only if you want to. I mean, I’m all dolled up and everything. You might as well take advantage of it.”
“If I’m going to take photos of you,” Jess said, sizing her up, “I want it to be as you, Emma Goldsworthy, hockey player, not Emma Goldsworthy, Sports Illustrated model. I want everyday Emma.”
Wow. To think she’d said Emma was the charmer.
Hurriedly checking her iPad, Jess swung back into business. “They want me to start assembling the girls.”
“Are they in a flat-pack? Do they come with incomprehensible Swedish instructions?”
“Are you always this on?” Jess asked.
“Is that a problem?”
“It’s not a problem. But it might be exhausting.”
Emma decided to put her at ease. “No, I’m not always like this. I’m nervous.”
“There’s nothing to be nervous about.”
Emma hoped that was true.
EMMA COULD tell Micah was desperate to get gossip off her about Jess as he emerged from the beach with the other boys following in his wake. She guessed he was still reigning King of the Queers. But no sooner had the boys returned, than the girls were taken off for their group and individual shots.
Trish was once again in the centre, but this time Emma was chosen to be her right-hand man. Or her handmaiden. Emma didn’t want to be either.
“So have you been trying to avoid me?” Trish asked when a monitor malfunction resulted in the girls having an unscheduled break.
“Have you seen me around that much?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Then yep, I’ve been successful at avoiding you. Until now.”
“I guess you must really want this cover, or else you wouldn’t be here.” The smile playing upon her face showed that nothing would have stopped her from taking part.
“I didn’t really much care.”
“Bullshit.”
“I didn’t.” It was true, Emma thought. When she really did think about it, the cover had been a nice surprise, and although she had been slightly green about Micah already being on the cover of his chosen sport’s major publication, Emma knew she would have survived without the opportunity. Maybe it was because she knew women’s sport was in no way lauded like men’s sport was—and women’s hockey was pretty low priority in women’s sport as well. The bottom of the second rung of hierarchy. Emma had never even dreamed of reaching Micah’s level of “fame.” That strangely comforted her right now.
But Trish still looked doubtful. “Then why are you here?”
“Micah and Kyle convinced me. And I guess I’m not going to pass up an opportunity just in case there’s never another one.”
“I never could tell whether you were a realist or a pessimist.”
“There’s a difference?”
Trish laughed. “You actually haven’t changed a bit.”
But she was wrong. “You think so?” It was a challenge, but Emma didn’t think she picked up on it.
“Anyway. Now we’ve spoken twice, so the awkwardness can end.”
Could it? It was just like Trish to decide when something ended or began. Oh hey, that was what she had done with their relationship. Now she was starting some kind of friendship without Emma’s permission.
Trish realised Emma hadn’t answered her. “Or maybe not.” She frowned.
“Whatevs,” Emma said breezily. “There’s no need for us to be off-kilter.” Anything to end the conversation. She could see Jess was staring at them while adjusting the light on a tripod. When she caught Emma’s eye she quickly dropped her gaze, flushing at her own lack of subtlety.
“Good.” Trish was suddenly all business. “Anyway, I better get back to Kelsey.”
“Sure. Don’t want her to get the wrong idea.”
Emma regretted saying it immediately, as Trish’s frown deepened. “There’s no wrong idea to get.”
“It was a joke, Trish. No awkwardness, right?”
And fuck, did Emma want to tell her to get over herself. That there was no inkling of any desire on Emma’s behalf to want to get back with her.
Trish nodded. “Cool.”
Emma withheld her sigh of relief as Trish walked away. She probably would have heard it and convinced herself that she would return home to find a bunny boiling on her stove.
Emma couldn’t believe she even thought of that. She said a silent prayer to bunnies everywhere, pleading for their forgiveness at her fucked-up mind.
Deciding to confront Jess immediately, Emma made her way over to the tent, wincing at how hot the sun was cooking the sand once you were out from under the shade.
“You should wear thongs,” Jess said, having watched her enter the tent.
“I wouldn’t be caught dead in thongs.” Emma winced.
“And that’s why you’re going to get blisters on your feet.” She leant to her left and rummaged around in something Emma couldn’t see. “Here.”
She handed over a pair of shoes that looked like ballet flats.
“No offence, but I don’t want to wear someone’s smelly shoes.”
Jess rolled her eyes. “They’re disposable.”
On closer inspection, they were made out of a relatively sturdy paper. “Oh, okay. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” But she didn’t sound very welcoming.
“Are you okay?” Emma asked, not really expecting an answer, as it wasn’t really the best time for having a deep and meaningful conversation.
“I saw you were chatting with your girlfriend.”
Oh, she guessed it was time for a deep and meaningful conversation.
“Ex-girlfriend,” Emma reminded her.
“You still look pretty chummy.”
“Unfortunately, sometimes you have to pretend to be that way, even if you don’t want to.” Emma bent down to slip the weird shoes over her feet. They were two sizes too big for her, but at least they’d stop the soles of her feet going up in flames.
“Better?” Jess asked.
Emma nodded. “Thanks. But do you usually carry around recyclable footwear on the off chance you have to save somebody from hot sand or footpaths?”
Jess rolled her eyes. “We’re on a film shoot. On sand. On a hot day. I’m a lowly assistant. We have to prepare ourselves for every stupid little thing, like if the talent doesn’t have shoes.”
“I have shoes.” Emma was getting argumentative, and they both knew it wasn’t about the shoes. “I just left them
with my other stuff.”
“Smart move.”
“Well, I knew there would be some lowly assistant to attend me if I didn’t feel bothered going back and getting them. Because I’m the talent.”
They glared at each other, but to Emma’s shock Jess started to laugh. “So she’s not your girlfriend anymore?”
“No, that’s why I called her my ex.”
“She wants you back, though.”
Emma snorted. “Really, no, she doesn’t. She has her hot American girlfriend. She was worth coming out for, not me.”
“You see, when you say things like that it makes me think you’re not over her.”
Emma had to let her guard down. “I am. But I guess there’s a little outstanding resentment. I don’t want to be with her, but I kind of want to know why I wasn’t good enough.”
“Why should it matter?”
“It shouldn’t.”
“Then don’t let it.”
“I’m only human. These are things that plague me.”
Jess leant in, so close Emma could feel the breath upon her cheek. “I really want to kiss you right now, but I don’t want to get fired for pashing the talent.”
Emma’s blood was running hot. “Well, I don’t want you getting fired. But I really want you to pash me.”
“Then we’ll have to pick this up later.”
Jess gently bit her earlobe.
Bit. Her. Earlobe.
Emma just wanted to sink onto the sand with her there and then. Forget about her getting fired. It would be worth it. Well, probably only for Emma. But maybe Jess would think it was worth it while lost in the moment.
But they did the sensible thing and went their separate ways.
For now.
EMMA WAS still generally floating along on her own cloud as she made her way to the hotel Micah was staying at. Her mobile sounded, and she felt her cloud deflate a little as she saw the message:
Jessica Harpy: Really sorry but am going to be stuck here for hours. This is not a no-show! Just a reschedule.
Of course Emma couldn’t help but be disappointed, but she couldn’t blame her for having a strong work ethic. If this thing between them ended up succeeding, Emma was sure she would be having to cause cancellations herself due to changed practices. Or gay-boy drama.
