by C. J. Duggan
‘Been many palms on your desk then?’
Dean, who was looking cocky, suddenly froze, as if shocked by my question. Hell, I was shocked it had come out of my mouth too.
He tried to hide his surprised grin by rubbing the stubble on his chin, wicked thoughts no doubt running through his mind like a sordid slideshow. He looked at me with a spark in his eyes. ‘A few,’ he said.
Oh God, don’t think about it, Lexie, don’t react.
I cleared my throat, choosing to reel this away from such murky waters. On the plus side at least it had diverted attention away from the scuff marks I had put on his ridiculously overpriced desk.
‘Well, this is a very unorthodox job interview,’ I said.
It appeared to have worked as all humour slipped away from Dean’s face, his expression darkening into his usual steely resolve. ‘This is not a job interview,’ he said, pushing up from his desk and heading for the door. He twisted the handle and pulled the door open, then stood to the side and looked at me pointedly.
Was I being dismissed? Really?
Looking up at him incredulously, I said, ‘Look, I don’t know what happened to your overpriced table but –’
‘How old are you, Lexie?’
‘W– what?’
‘How. Old. Are. You?’
‘I’ll be eighteen in five days.’
‘So you’re seventeen.’
Wow, he was a real mathematician.
‘For the next five days, yes.’
Dean sighed, shaking his head. ‘Well, that’s a shame; you can’t work behind the bar unless you’re eighteen.’
‘I will be. In five days.’
‘Ah, yes, but that’s no good to me now, is it?’ He held the door open wider.
I glanced out to the landing and then back up at him. ‘Oh right, such a staff shortage that you can’t wait a week,’ I scoffed, probably doing myself no favours.
‘Manage, own, and operate many bars do you, Miss Atkinson?’ He said my name in a way that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Forever the smart-arse.
I simply glowered up at him.
‘I didn’t think so,’ he said, spinning me around and giving me a slight nudge through the opening. He closed the door before I had a chance to turn around.
Bastard.
Chapter Nine
Of all the arrogant, self-centred, smart-arse, big-headed … I mumbled each insult as I stormed down Arcadia Lane.
Well, he could just shove his bar right where the sun don’t … I stopped dead in my tracks, overcome with an absolute dread. ‘Shit-shit-shit-shit,’ I said, as I about-faced and started to quickly make my way back in the direction from which I had come.
I’d left my bloody bag in Dean’s office. First my bra (which I’d never got back, mind you) and now my bag. Dean’s office was the Bermuda Triangle for possessions.
I stormed straight past the Irish girl out front, skirting around the edge of the room so as not to be detected by Cassie the barmaid. I climbed the stairs, knowing he would see me coming through the glass. I didn’t even bother to knock, I just turned the handle and entered. Much to my surprise, I found myself standing in the middle of Dean’s empty office.
He was gone, and so was my bag. Bloody hell, I wasn’t in the mood for this. I made my way down the stairs. Maybe he’d put my bag in a lost-and-found cupboard or something?
I moved over to the bar, waiting eagerly for Cassie to finish serving her customers, a couple who were agonising over the cocktail menu.
Come on, come on, come on.
I couldn’t wait anymore. ‘Hey, Cassie, Dean didn’t happen to drop my bag here, did he?’
Cassie shrugged, semi-distracted. ‘Sorry, haven’t seen him.’
Great.
‘Listen, I really need my bag, do you know where I can find –’
‘Look, just go up and knock on the door,’ she said curtly, tipping shots of vodka into a shaker.
‘He’s not in his office.’ I wanted to stomp my foot in frustration.
‘His office?’ Cassie’s brows pinched together as she shovelled ice into the cylinder. ‘I wasn’t talking about his office.’
Oh my God, how did he employ such people? Cassie might serve a cocktail with impressive speed but she wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. ‘So, umm, where do you suggest …’
Cassie turned her full attention to me. ‘His apartment,’ she snapped, ‘that’s where he’ll be. Jesus.’
Wait: apartment?
‘Upstairs, to the last door on the right. Make sure you knock.’
Cassie pushed a button, flinging the till open, slipping in some notes and counting out coins as change for her thirsty customers.
My eyes slowly lifted upwards.
So Dean lived here.
I thought of the balcony out front and wondered if that was part of his ‘apartment’. Guess I would find out. ‘Okay, I’m just going to head up and –’
‘Knock, make sure you knock, and I didn’t send you.’ She gave me a pointed look.
I nodded. ‘I was acting purely of my own free will.’
Sort of, kind of.
Okay, last time up these steps, I thought, then I could just get my stuff and be done with this place once and for all. I got to the top of the landing, veering to the right, seeing a long, dark hallway that had a series of doors on either side leading to who knows where. All I was interested in was making a quick, determined line to the door down the end of the hall. I don’t know what I expected, a plaque on the door saying ‘Dean’s room’ or ‘Boss man’? But there was nothing to indicate that this was any different from the rest.
I stood before the door, taking a calming breath that did little to steady the beating of my heart. Was this going too far? Maybe I should have had Cassie call up here, got him to meet me down in the bar. That would have been the smart thing to do. Was it too late to turn around and double back? I was just about to when I heard a creak of a floorboard from within and I wondered if he could see my shadow from the sliver of light under the door.
Crap!
I don’t know why I was even nervous. He had my property. Of course I would come back for it. If anything, Dean should have come chasing after me, but I doubt he’d ever chased after anyone in his whole life.
I knocked on the door with a businesslike tap-tap-tap. When there was no response I knocked again,
Was he ignoring me? Pretending not to be in? Maybe he had monitors in his apartment too and the second-guessing had my eyes skimming around for a hidden camera until I told myself to stop being stupid. I was all but ready to give up and turn back down the hall in defeat when something did very much grab my attention. And it wasn’t the sound of footsteps or the opening of the apartment door. No, this was far more significant because, muffled beyond the thick wooden door, I could hear the sound of my mobile phone ringing.
Without thinking, I opened the door in a panic, and ran towards the noise, scrabbling to answer it before it stopped ringing. At first disorientated, I turned, honing in on the sound that was coming from the table where my bag had been placed. I found my mobile in the depths of my bag and pressed the button. ‘Hello? … Hello? Shit.’ I pulled it away, glowering at the blank screen. I had missed it.
But as it turned out a missed call was actually the least of my problems. As I grabbed my bag to leave I was stopped by a voice calling out from the balcony.
‘Dean, I’m going to go, let me know if …’ The words fell away as a set of wide blue eyes locked onto me, a pair of eyes I remembered with the very same horror from the last time I had seen them. It was a look I would never forget, a look that still haunted my dreams. This certainly felt like an awful dream. There, standing in the doorway leading from the balcony was Ballantine’s mum, who was obviously Dean’s mum, too.
‘Lexie?’
‘M– Mrs Ballantine.’ I nodded, trying to keep my voice even.
My first impression of Mrs Ballantine had been under much differ
ent circumstances. I was the mysterious new girl that had brought out the better part of her son’s character; she had even gone so far as to praise me for being the very reason Ballantine had stopped skipping school. But then I had turned into the girl who had purchased the pregnancy kit from her. Ballantine had said she knew the truth, that it had been for Amanda, not me, but standing in her oldest son’s apartment, brought the feelings of guilt flooding back. Just as I opened my mouth to speak, I was saved from having to by the sound of steps that neared, and there, turning the corner into the large, expansive living space of the apartment, was Dean, his eyes almost popping out of his head when he saw me.
‘I forgot my bag,’ I blurted out, which really only sounded worse. What was my bag doing in Dean’s apartment? What must she think? As soon as Ballantine is out of town, I start hanging out in Dean’s apartment? Oh God, would she tell Ballantine? This had to be clarified immediately.
‘I had a job interview,’ I said quickly.
‘I see,’ she said.
‘Well, I better get going,’ I managed with a small smile, one that I hoped didn’t seem too false as I side-stepped away, turning to face Dean, who looked at me with guarded amusement, as if he thought this awkward exchange between me and his mum was funny. Trust him to take joy from my torture.
‘Well, I’ll wait to hear from you then,’ I said, holding out my hand to shake his, old-school style.
Dean looked at my hand and I thought he might leave me hanging there for a second, until he slowly reached out and took it, in a warm, firm embrace, squeezing to the point of being uncomfortable. I tried not to react. Instead, I dug my nails into his skin and, seeing the brief flash in his eyes, I felt vindicated, thinking I would be leaving my mark.
‘Oh, I’ll be in touch,’ he said in a way-too-sexy voice, considering his mum was right there. I could feel my cheeks burn as I took my hand back, still feeling the warmth of his skin on mine like a hot brand.
‘Bye, Mrs Ballantine,’ I said, turning before I could take in the true scepticism of her curved brow.
God, what must she think of me? I clutched my bag close and walked out the door of Dean’s apartment. This time I really wouldn’t be coming back.
Chapter Ten
I never fooled myself into thinking Dean would actually give me the job. In the final days narrowing down to D-day, my lack of prospects was clear.
No Ballantine; no job; nowhere to stay.
I had failed on so many levels and now I had one last obstacle to navigate before my parents arrived and broke out in an ‘I told you so’ dance with beaming smiles and jazz hands.
In two days Aunty Karen and Uncle Peter would take the not-so-heartbroken Amanda away.
Having been subjected to a full-scale cleanathon, it got to the point where there was nothing else Aunty Karen could possibly scrub, rub, disinfect or paint. So now, in the final days, there was nothing else to do except wait it out before it would be ‘Goodbye Paradise City’ for everyone, even me. So what was there to do? You throw a farewell party.
After a last-ditch journey to dump a bag of clothes to the Salvos, we travelled back down the freeway at warp speed.
‘Call it a combined bon voyage and happy eighteenth party, so invite any friends you like, Lexie,’ suggested Aunty Karen from the front seat of the car.
‘Pfft, what friends?’
‘Amanda.’ Aunty Karen flashed her a hard look.
‘I’m kidding,’ Amanda said with a yawn, as if completely bored by life. I wondered if I could glower at the back of her head long enough it would set her hair on fire. There was one positive thing to come out of this; I didn’t have to put up with Amanda anymore.
‘Won’t having a party kind of trash the place?’ I asked, thinking back to waking up the day after my dad’s fortieth, with cans and empty beer bottles strewn over the lawn, a few deck chairs on their side, a table filled with half-eaten food and paper plates, stale bread and flies feasting on the crusty remnants of pav.
‘Oh, don’t you worry about that. Just think about who you might like to invite. You leave the rest to us,’ Aunty Karen said as she steered into the driveway.
I really didn’t want a party because apart from Laura, who would I invite? Boon? Oh God, that would be a disaster, I don’t think I could subject poor Boon to that. Amanda was right. I had no friends.
I really was tragic.
•
‘What do you mean you can’t come? You have to.’ I slid the laundry door closed, leaning against the washing machine, trying to steal a moment of privacy in a house buzzing with caterers – that’s right, there were caterers. It was a full-fledged posh party with a tower constructed of champagne glasses, and white linen for the food tables, so not like Dad’s fortieth at all. In fact, there would be no Aunty Karen and Amanda wandering around with black garbage bags the next morning, no siree, there was a clean-up crew for that. No wonder Aunty Karen was not stressed about getting the place dirty.
‘I’m sorry, Lexie, but I just started my job and I can’t go asking for time off already.’
Wait, what?
‘Job? You have a job? You never told me that.’
Silence.
‘Sure I did.’
‘Ah, no, I am pretty certain you didn’t.’
Laura seemed to make a habit of forgetting to tell me the important things, first Ballantine leaving now this.
‘Aw, um, yeah, I started at Video Ezy.’
My heart sank: even Laura had a job. I wanted to feel happy for her and be all understanding about why she couldn’t make it to the party, but as much as I tried I could feel my frustration and jealousy bubbling their way to the surface. I was the one who needed a job right now, to prove myself to my parents. I wished more than anything that I could miss this party because I had to work – if only!
‘Sorry, Lexie, maybe we can catch up tomorrow or something. Go down to Arcadia and get matching tats for your eighteenth.’ Laura was trying for lightheartedness but I was far beyond any point of being cheered up. I had never dreaded my birthday more. At a time when I should have been living it up and counting down the hours to the milestone, I was instead going to be stuck at a pretentious party with no friends – literally.
‘Maybe,’ I said, knowing full well my parents would arrive tomorrow and that I would most likely be busy packing my bags.
I cleared my throat, trying to steady it as I said goodbye to Laura, knowing that we wouldn’t get a chance to head back to school together and hang out like we had last year.
‘Have fun at work. Talk later!’ I said all too quickly, before slamming my thumb on the end button.
•
Did I mention it was a cocktail party? And I don’t mean mini frankfurts on toothpicks, oh no-no-no. I was dressed in a midnight-blue strapless number with a layered lace, tulle-like skirt just above the knee. I looked like an evil ballerina, and I kind of felt like one, too.
Amanda had gone emerald green, silky and way too short, and her BFF Lucy wore a devil red dress – how appropriate, I thought – but one thing that helped was they were too busy fussing with themselves and their friends to notice me and my lack of friends. I was just a thing in the corner, the birthday girl slash wallflower for the evening, and that was fine by me. I saw the pity in Aunty Karen’s eyes when I told her I hadn’t invited anyone. I thought she might break down and cry uncontrollably or something. It made me feel even worse, especially when Aunty Karen tried to pacify me by buying me this dress.
Despite my sarcasm-laden musings about such an over-the-top party, I couldn’t help but appreciate how beautiful the backyard looked, adorned in fairy lights and lanterns with everyone dressed in their best, and bowtied waiters circulating delicious bite-sized snacks and, HELLO, champagne!
Aunty Karen click-clacked her black heels across the tiled floor with two champagne flutes in her hands, still managing to walk with the utmost grace even in her glittering black dress. She looked like Grace Kelly. I was glad my mum wasn’t
going to arrive until the next day. This kind of scene was not what we were accustomed to. Kenny Rogers was not singing ‘The Gambler’ in the background, and no-one was going to light a bonfire. Oh, how different two sisters could be, and as beautiful as all of this was, I would have preferred a piece of pav and some Cold Chisel any day.
‘Here.’ Aunty Karen passed me the champagne. ‘I know you’re not of age until tomorrow but I think you can have a sneak drink with your favourite aunty,’ she said with a wink.
‘Thanks,’ I said, reluctantly taking it from her. When Uncle Eddie had given me a sneaky drink of beer when I was sixteen it hadn’t been an enjoyable experience, and as I sipped on the elegant crystal glass I prepped myself for the same kind of bitterness, but it didn’t taste like that at all – it tasted worse.
I tried not to wince as I clinked Aunty Karen’s glass with mine. ‘Cheers,’ I said, hoping the aftertaste wouldn’t linger too long. Oh, what the hell: I took another sip. Maybe I’d get used to it. Ugh.
‘Try to have some fun tonight, Lexie.’ Aunty Karen patted my upper arm sympathetically.
When Aunty Karen had left me so she could attend to a kitchen emergency, I downed the last of the fizzy amber, smacking my lips together with fake appreciation. I studied my empty glass with interest, wondering why people drank this stuff; surely it was just to get drunk, it couldn’t possibly be for enjoyment.
I wasn’t sure why Uncle Eddie did. After a night’s heavy drinking he woke up the next morning with a case of amnesia, not recalling anything about the people he had offended or the things he had accidentally broken. Give me some of that, I thought. I wouldn’t mind waking up without any knowledge. Just for one night I wanted to forget, forget about all my failings, forget about Ballantine, forget about the fact my parents were going to be here tomorrow for my birthday to ‘discuss’ the reality of me staying here. A handsome waiter with a boyish smile lowered his tray. ‘Champagne, ma’am?’
