Playing the Field

by Foster, Zoe

  Arriving home, I was faced with an emptiness that further compounded my off feeling. I was so hoping Col would be home, so that we could take Dave for a walk and she could listen to my whingeing and bitching about Josh and the boys. But as she was still being gnarly, she wouldn’t be interested anyway, let alone home.

  Suddenly – triumphantly – I knew what had to be done. I would order something fatty and exquisite from a carbohydrate service provider, and I would sit at the desk and I would make jewellery, dammit! Lots of jewellery: incredible, delightful, sexy, expensive jewellery. Enough was enough. Josh did whatever he needed to or wanted to for his career, and I just fell into place around it, like foam squishing into a box to cushion an expensive vase. 1 was sick of not putting the same kind of dedication into my career.

  ROUND 45

  The Wonder WAGs vs The Sleazy Exes

  I woke with a start, feeling my eyes open abruptly like I was some kind of possessed child in a horror movie. There was no reason I should be awake this early. It wasn’t even entirely light outside, and I hadn’t gone to bed until 2.24 a.m., because I hadn’t allowed myself to sleep until I had ten finished pieces for Ingrid. (During this undertaking, I had accidentally consumed a twelve-pack of Freddo Frogs, which further inhibited sleep.) I had finally fallen into bed woozy with pride, mentally drained and lazily hissing at Josh.

  I looked at my phone. It spat back an empty screen. I added another 500 to the number of calls I wouldn’t be answering when Josh finally decided that I deserved a call. I tried to go back to sleep. I was weary and cranky and in no shape to serve those customers who insisted they were two sizes smaller than they were, even if it meant that the alluring roll of fat around their gut was pushed up to create a kind of third horizontal boob. Into the bargain, it was Wednesday, the day the uni students got their government payments. The more fashionable of them usually shuffled into the shop and blew their rent on a new top. They knew that looking good earned them astronomical tips at whichever seedy bar they worked in, and so an expensive new top was actually an economically sound investment. I had to agree, and did so enthusiastically – all the way to the till. Finally, I decided to get up and treat myself to breakfast at Cafe 78 before work. Hotcakes and espresso would get me on track.

  I sat in the back corner of the cafe, still an hour too early to open the shop, and pulled out my final pieces of jewellery – three sets of earrings and a cuff. How could I best present them to Ingrid? She was all about presentation. She checked her lips in the mirror every forty seconds or so, constantly scanned the racks for rogue coathangers jutting out, and was relentlessly telling me I should dye my hair back to brown – and cut it, too. Of course, she did so in such a subtle fashion that sometimes I struggled to catch her point: ‘Look at Victoria Beckham,’ she’d say. ‘The fashion world only started to take her seriously when she got that bob. As for the pixie – it confirmed her as a style icon. Do you think Marc Jacobs would’ve touched her with a fifty-foot pole if she’d still had that disgusting, too-long blonde mess? Not a chance.’

  Yes, I had to make sure my jewellery looked good. Better than good – amazing. It had to be the accessory equivalent of Kate Moss in a ball gown: cool, glamorous, sexy and emanating some form of enchanting wish-I-had-that aura. And a name. I still didn’t have a bloody name for my label … well, except for my name. Maybe that would do. Jean was a good name – certainly not ‘common’, which was Ingrid’s worst possible insult.

  As I sat there tinkering with my pieces, I felt someone’s eyes on me. Probably the owner of the cafe, the filthy swine. He ran the place with his wife and was constantly belittling her in front of customers, saying things like, ‘I’d trade in five of my wife for one of you!’ as he served me, apparently thinking that I would find that a turn-on, and not at all inappropriate in front of his long-suffering, schnitzel-frying wife. But when I looked up, it was Cam. He was over by the counter and his outfit was feverishly cool – but with less silly than usual. It was a nice change. He looked cute. I smiled a closed-lipped smile and dropped my eyes. For some reason, I suddenly felt shy. He didn’t come over, so I continued with my work, trying to concentrate.

  ‘Hotcakes, huh? Did I forget your birthday?’

  Cam stood over me now, his arms folded, one hand gripping a coffee cup, the other some toast in a white paper bag. It would be Vegemite and banana and it would be wrong as, but he ate the same disgusting combination every day.

  ‘Nope. Just needed a pep-up.’

  ‘Rough night?’

  ‘Bit of a late one, yeah.’

  ‘Three-thirty?’

  ‘No, two. Why, do I look that bad?’

  ‘No, just wanted to slip in to the conversation what time I finished DJ-ing at the Nursery last night.’

  I smiled, shaking my head. ‘You’re a loser.’

  ‘Shyah, if being a world-class DJ who substitutes his addiction to buying vinyl with a shitty job in a shitty shop and still manages to get his arse to work on time is loserish.’

  ‘You ain’t saving the world, Cam. “Last Night a DJ Saved My Life” wasn’t literal, you know.’

  He smiled. ‘So hard-core, so early … So, you wanna pay Mr Kobisan a visit at lunch?’

  A lunch plan? Things were back to normal! Thank God for that. That teeny speck of normality might just make my day.

  ‘Only if you snort wasabi again.’

  ‘Of course. No better intermission for your day than burning nostrils and hospital-grade headaches.’

  I laughed at the memory of last time: of the pain (Cam) and the hilarity (me).

  ‘See you ’ron, Tiffany & Co.’ He smiled and walked out. And a couple of hundred kilos fell from my shoulders.

  At 4.56 p.m. precisely, Josh called. I’d wished for this for so long that when it finally happened, I almost didn’t believe it. It had been days since I’d heard from him, and when I saw his name flash up, I felt like another couple might be in store, only this time I would hold the keys to the torture chamber.

  I let it ring out, arms folded, angrily squinting at it vibrating on the counter as though it were an old friend who had drained my bank account years ago and was now asking for forgiveness. He could wait; I was busy.

  And I was. I was serving Morgan and her sister, Heidi. I had grown quite fond of Morgan after spending the day and night with her on Sunday. Yes, she was ‘darl’ this and ‘hun’ that, and her tan was not dissimilar to the colour of a cigarette butt, and she always wore heels, and all of it was ridiculous – but that was her. And she thought it was fabulous. So who was I to argue?

  She and her sister, who surely couldn’t have been older than fifteen, had walked in a few minutes ago.

  ‘Hun! Cass told me you worked here. Looove this shop! How good is it, Heids?’

  Heidi, who was already pawing through the new stock, nodded. She sported a similar shade of white-blonde hair to Morgan’s, backcombed into loose submission; a white terry-towelling dress tracksuit; and nails that were long, square and boasting the fat strip of neon white across the top that was so popular with the Bulls girls. She was quietly drifting down the same aesthetic canal as her older sis, and the direction seemed to suit her just fine.

  ‘So, how’d Josh pull up?’ Morgan folded her arms, her huge diamanté ‘M’ keyring and BMW key still clutched in her Barbie-pink-nailed left hand. I didn’t know what to say; I didn’t want to admit that we hadn’t spoken in days, but couldn’t offer any information as to his state, as all I really knew was that he was still breathing.

  ‘Um, well, to be —’

  ‘Still drinking, huh? The younger ones, they go sooo hard, and the others try to keep up. You’ll be looking after him for days, you watch.’

  Not bloody likely, I thought. He could sleep in a lake of his own vomit for all I cared.

  ‘You heard about Melinda and Ryan, right?’

  ‘No?’

  ‘She can be such an idiot sometimes. It’s Tess, you know. Tess makes her that way.’


  ‘What? What happened?’

  Morgan picked up a section of blonde rope-like extensions and, placing it behind her shoulder, looked around to check that Heidi was out of earshot.

  ‘So Mad Monday’s dick time, right? None of us are meant to be there, ’cos it’s about the boys letting their hair down and blahdy-blahblah. I’m very serious about the fact that I don’t call Phil; I just let him get on with it – it’s better that way. I’ve had yeeeears of Phil carrying on like a pork chop for a few days at the end of the season and it look me a long time to get it, but now I know the best thing is to just pretend like he doesn’t even exist for a few days.’ A look of ice passed across her eyes. ‘That said, he knows what will happen if he plays up …’

  And then, in a split second, the iciness was gone and she was back to rambling excitedly. I didn’t know whether to be impressed at her grace and the liberty she had bestowed upon Phil the Pig, or to think of her as a fool for imagining a proven cheat wouldn’t fall prey to temptation. That said, it sounded very much like the boys were quite isolated from the general public, so maybe Morgan knew there was little chance of mischief.

  ‘So anyway, Melinda goes out drinking with Tess last night (they’re bloody alcos, I swear – I mean, it’s a Monday …) and of course – and I don’t mean any disrespect here – Tess still has it for Josh. You knew that, right?’

  I gulped. I hated that it was assumed knowledge that Josh’s ex-girlfriend still thought she had a chance with him. And I hated that Morgan delivered the information like that, as if because everyone – even me – knew about it, then it must somehow be acceptable.

  I took a breath in and out. ‘Yeah, I mean, there have been a few incidents …’

  ‘You mean like the Facebook one and the —’

  ‘What Facebook one?’

  ‘Oh. You don’t know?’

  I tried to read her tone: was she selfishly unloading things she knew would upset me, or genuinely filling me in?

  ‘Oh, it was, like, aaages ago. Tess sent a message to all of us saying that, oh … whadshesaaay? That you were a mole and a boyfriend-stealer and not to be trusted and all that sort of shit. You didn’t know about that?’

  My heartbeat was set to Formula One speed. Morgan picked up on it; her tone was disbelieving, her facial expression confused. Clearly I was the only one who didn’t know about this little political campaign of Tess’s. Why wouldn’t Josh have told me? Was he protecting Tess’s reputation? Or protecting me? I cleared my throat, attempting to get rid of some of the rage and hurt at the same time.

  ‘So, um, what did Melinda and Tess do last night? You were saying something about the —’

  ‘Oh yeah, right. So they got pissed at Mojito’s and then they knew the boys would be at Scruffy O’Leary’s, so they thought it would be funny to go and surprise them.’ Morgan saw my expression. ‘I know. Could she be more desperate?’ She tilted her head, her eyes and mouth clicking into ‘serious’ mode. ‘Hun, um, don’t know if you know, but I fell out with Tess a few months back. Mel doesn’t see it, but once Tess does her over like she did me, she will. So don’t, like, hold back. She’s a total bitch. She told everyone I was stealing money and clothes from her!’

  That sounded like a spectacular story, but it would have to wait for another time. I was focused on last night.

  ‘So what happened when they got there?’

  ‘Well, Ryan went off his nut, right, cause he was so pissed off that Mel would show up, and they had this massive barney and she started abusing him, saying he was the father of Cassie’s baby and all kinds of crazy shit, and he lost it, and kind of pushed her out of the way to get past her, so she went and called the police and asked for a restraining order – how did you not hear about any of this? – anyway, and then she got all the locks changed on their place first-thing yesterday and so he’s, like, locked out: no clothes, no nothing. She even blocked him from their joint account.’

  ‘Man. That’s heavy.’ I wondered whether Morgan knew about Cassie and Ryan but thought I didn’t, or whether she genuinely didn’t.

  ‘I know. Now, darl, Phil did say Tess was giving it a good nudge with Josh, but he was so drunk – all sloppy and gross – that he couldn’t even talk.’

  Morgan looked at me, watching the blood drain from my face, and her expression softly morphed from that of Animated Gossip to Caring Friend.

  ‘He could barely speak, hun. I don’t think he was in any state to play up … not that he would anyway, of course.’

  I wasn’t hearing her. The idea of Tess placing her serial-killer paws all over my boyfriend – my drunk mess of a boyfriend – was winding me up further by the second. What kind of woman did that? Why did she find it impossible to leave Josh alone? She was one nuclear accident off being a supervillain.

  ‘I don’t get it. Is there some kind of bond between those two? Why does Tess do this?’ I couldn’t believe I was asking Morgan – of all people – for advice.

  Morgan paused in thought, her head tipped on an angle.

  ‘They were one of those on–off couples who fought heaps and then made up and it went on for, like, two years. But honestly? He’s off her, hun. He was off her before they even split. Devastated her. Made her nuts.’ She looked into my angry, sad little eyes, searching for the right thing to say. ‘He loves you, hun. Anyone can see that. He’s heaps different now.’

  Tears sprang to my eyes.

  ‘Ohhh, hun. Come ’ere.’ Morgan stepped forward and gave me a hug, patting my back, her shimmery bronzer re-colouring my white top. I gulped back tears ferociously, catching sight of Heidi staring at us, confused, from the accessories wall. Morgan pulled back after a few seconds, holding me by the shoulders and staring me in the face.

  ‘Now, you can’t blame him for her behaviour, you know that, right? If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you can’t go off at your man every time some little tart wants a piece of him. You can’t live that way. You gotta be smart, be strong. So, you forget about Tess, and just make sure you go home and look after your man. He’s had a big season and a big drink, and he’ll need you to look after him.’

  I had to stop myself from searching for a sticky green tentacle, because Morgan was clearly from another universe. Steph and I were ready to tear strips off our boys, but Morgan was on her way home to pop on a nurse’s outfit and give Phil the Pig a sponge bath.

  ‘Do … do you know if … do you think he and Tess are still in touch? She called his house the other week —’

  She shook her head. ‘Oh, she’d do her best, that’s for sure. But Fox wouldn’t be that stupid.’

  In the next ten seconds, I thought about everything she’d said. And I knew what I had to do.

  ‘Morgan, could I ask you a favour?’

  ROUND 46

  Hazy Memories vs Lazy Eyewitnesses

  I sat in Mary, my thumb gently resting on the green call button of my phone, wondering what I was going to say when I heard ‘Hello’.

  I hit call.

  ‘Hello?’

  I cleared my throat. ‘Tess. It’s Jean.’ My voice was shaky, weak.

  Silence. Then, ‘What do you want?’

  As expected, more ice than on one of Jay-Z’s necklaces.

  ‘To know why you can’t leave Josh alone —’

  ‘Is that what you think this is? That I’m chasing him?’ She tried to laugh wildly, but it was forced and scratchy.

  ‘I don’t understand. You could have any guy you wanted —’

  ‘Well, Josh’s got you fooled, hasn’t he? Making you think I’m the crazy ex-girlfriend who can’t move on. Jean, let me tell you something. The bottom line is I’ve been at the Bulls my whole life and I’m not going anywhere. Josh waltzes in a few years ago and now I’m the one who has to go? Just because we broke up? You’re kidding yourself.’

  ‘Tess, I don’t care if you’re at the games. I care that you’re calling his house, and falling all over him on Mad Monday, and making out that you had a
coffee date with him, and —’

  She forced another laugh. ‘Ever heard that expression “It takes two to tango”? Ever wonder why we keep “bumping” into each other? Look, you can choose to think it’s all me, or you can take your blinkers off. I know what he’s like – why do you think we broke up all the time? He’s incapable of monogamy. Can’t help himself. He’s no better than Bones.’

  Momentarily stunned, I quickly gulped and regrouped. No! She was not going to hornswoggle me with her verbal sorcery.

  ‘All right, well, explain the Facebook thing. And the stealing his phone and texting me as if it were him. How is that normal behaviour? Why should I believe anything you say?’

  ‘Don’t believe me then. Just don’t come crying to me when you realise what a fool you were.’

  Because you’d be the first person I’d turn to, idiot. A rush of strength surged through me.

  ‘If you’re done with your supervillain threats, maybe you could answer my questions?’

  ‘Sweetheart, I don’t owe you anything. Don’t call again.’

  Click.

  If I was confused before, I was now the square root of confused. She had this way of speaking – this patronising tone, this all-knowing intonation – that made me doubt everything I knew and start believing her lies again.

  ‘Uuuurgh!’ I shook my head and arms, trying to shake off these feelings of paranoia and anger and uncertainty. I was calling Josh. I didn’t want to be in The Ball and the Beautiful any more.

  ‘Hello, my little Jeanie … ’ His voice was soft, sleepy, cute. He was in Baby Fox mode, my favourite.