by Jennifer Rae
‘Cash, I’d like to know what you want. How I can help you understand what it is I do.’
She felt his eyes on her and gripped the steering wheel. She remembered the way he often looked at her. Unblinking. Intent; as if he was reading her mind through her eyes. He had a way of throwing her off balance when he looked at her like that, but she was safe as long as she didn’t look at him. And at the way he cocked his eyebrow at her.
‘What I want?’
‘Yes. I want to know what I can do to change your impression that what I do has no value.’
‘No value?’ He paused and Faith felt a trickle of sweat slide from the back of her neck into her shirt. Red had no air conditioning and it was close to forty degrees outside. ‘I never said your show didn’t have value. Some of the things you report on are obviously stories that need to be told. Your problem is you get too close. You want everyone to believe what you do—that love is the answer.’
She turned to him then, her cheeks heating again and her palms slipping from the steering wheel in response to his annoyingly patronising tone.
‘That’s not true.’
‘Yes, it is. You invest too much emotionally. Journalists have to put distance between themselves and the issues they’re reporting on. That’s what creates objectivity.’
Faith bristled. She didn’t need a lecture on objectivity. If only he knew how distant she was from the topics she reported on.
‘Sometimes you have to get close. That’s the only way you can get the truth.’
‘Advertisers don’t like close. They like light and fun.’
‘But that’s not what my viewers want. They want me to get close, to get involved. They want to know more.’
He paused, then let out a sigh. Not a huge sigh but a little exasperated puff. ‘People are not interested in love and relationships and everything else you report on.’
She stole a glance at him then. Of course people were interested in that—hadn’t he heard? Love made the world go round.
‘What about my report on online dating? That show got more hits on our website than any other. I talked to dozens of people who found love online and another dozen who found nothing but perverts and deviants. The public needs to know about this stuff. And what about the report I did on body image and the way women were perceived differently depending on their body shape?’
Cash breathed in through his nose, flaring his nostrils slightly. Faith watched him, then watched the road, then turned back to him, determined to get an answer from him.
‘Was that the one where you were naked?’
‘Where I...? What?’ Faith turned just in time to veer away from a woman crossing the street with her massive Alsatian. ‘Yes. But that wasn’t the point.’
She didn’t turn back to him. She could feel him grinning at her.
‘I got naked to show women they had nothing to be ashamed of about their bodies. And I wasn’t completely naked—my intimate parts were covered in leaves.’
‘Your “intimate parts”?’
‘Yes. My intimate parts. You know—the ones you don’t show people.’
‘I enjoy showing my intimate parts to people.’
Faith pushed the mental image of Cash’s ‘intimate parts’ out of her mind. Professional. Sparkling. Insightful. That was what she was supposed to be.
‘I’m sure you do, but I like to keep my intimate parts private. I only show them to a selected few.’
‘Really?’ Faith still wasn’t watching Cash, but had her eyes intent on the twisting turns of the narrow Sydney streets. But she could feel him prop his elbow up on the console and move a little closer. He smelled of the beach and of something she somehow knew was just him. ‘How many “selected few” have been privy to a viewing of your “intimate parts”, Faith?’
‘How many?’
‘Yes. How many?’
‘As in...as in...a number?’ she stuttered. This conversation was definitely not professional.
‘Yes. A number.’
His breath was warm against her shoulder. She could feel it through the thin T-shirt she was wearing. Her skin prickled at the feel of it. His lips must be close to her skin if she could feel his breath. His tongue would only have to reach out a little to lick her skin...
Faith’s body throbbed. Her pulse hummed. Her foot slid a little further down on the accelerator. Professional.
‘I don’t think my number is relevant.’
‘I think it’s very relevant. You are the self-confessed sexpert around here. I’d like to know how much of an expert you are. I’d like to know about your personal experience with sex.’
Faith’s tongue lay dry in her mouth. Her personal experience?
‘I’ve had enough to know what I’m doing.’
‘Is that right?’
The air was now stifling. Faith lifted a hand off the steering wheel to pump the old rolling handle of the window to get it down. She needed air. Fast.
‘That’s interesting. Because I’d like to know how much is “enough”? Was it just the one partner? Or are we talking double figures?’
Faith stayed silent as the air finally rushed in the window. It was humid and sticky but it was air and the blood rushing through her head eased. A little.
‘Triple figures?’
‘No!’ Faith’s emphatic answer surprised even her. ‘No. And I’d rather not discuss that with you.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because you’re my boss and it’s not...professional.’
‘Forget about that.’ He waved a hand out of the window. ‘The sun is shining, it’s a beautiful day and right now I’m not your boss. We’re just two people going for a drive. Enjoying each other’s company. Just talking.’
The vinyl seats were sticking. Red was a big car but still Cash seemed too close to her. He took up too much space and too much air with his questions and his deep voice with its gravelly assurances. But she knew what he was doing—trying to get something out of her. Trying to get her to reveal something she didn’t want to. She had been working as a journalist long enough to know those tricks when she heard them.
‘My sex life is none of your business.’
‘I disagree. Your sex life is everyone’s business. Especially when you’ve made a career out of it. Which is what I find so interesting. Why are you so willing to talk about sex on camera but unwilling to discuss it in private? What’s happened to you in the past that makes you think sex is more than just sex? And why do you get so fired up every time I talk about getting rid of your show?’
Definitely too close. ‘I get fired up because the Australian people need my show.’
‘No. No one is that honourable. People are only motivated by one of three things, Faith—fear, greed or lust. So what are you motivated by? Why is this show so important to you?’
Faith felt as if she were snagged on a thorny bush. Cash was asking her questions she didn’t want to answer. He was saying things she didn’t want to talk about but she couldn’t sit there and say nothing.
‘If I had to choose from one of those, I’d have to say greed. I want to be successful. I want to be an award-winning journalist. I want people to know who I am.’
Cash remained silent for a moment and she felt him studying her. She flicked her hair off her shoulder and tilted her chin. She didn’t care what he thought of her.
‘All right. I’ll pretend that’s your real answer. But why sex? Why love? Why relationships? Why not choose current affairs? Politics? Sports? They’re the flashy subjects that win the awards.’
‘I don’t care about sports or politics.’
‘But you care about sex and relationships.’
‘Yes.’
‘And love.’
Finally she turned to him and held his eyes wi
th hers. ‘Yes. Love. I care about love.’ She wasn’t ashamed. She did care about love. She cared about it; she thought about it—she wondered why she could never find it. Something caught hard in her throat. She twisted her bottom lip between her teeth and turned back to the road, enjoying the glare of the sun as it bounced off the bitumen.
‘Love doesn’t exist, Faith.’
He said it so quietly Faith wondered if she’d misheard him.
‘Of course it does. Everyone falls in love at one time or another in their life.’
‘That’s lust. Love is different.’
‘You’ve just disproven your own argument, Cash. If you know lust is different from love you obviously acknowledge that love exists.’
‘Maybe.’ He shrugged. ‘For some people. But it never lasts, which is why I prefer lust.’ A heavy ball formed in Faith’s stomach. This was not going well. He was going to fire her if he only believed in lust. Her show was based around the fact that everyone at some point in their lives would fall in love. Silence settled thickly around them. Cash was looking out the window and Faith could feel her career and the only thing that mattered in her life slipping away as the seconds ticked past.
‘We’re meeting with a tantric sex consultant this morning.’ Faith forced a smile onto her face, trying to dissipate the awkward atmosphere that had settled over them. She glanced at Cash. He was silent as he hung one arm on the car window.
‘Tantric sex?’ he said absently, glancing her way with a slight grimace. ‘Sounds fascinating.’
She wanted to tell him it was. She wanted to explain how she’d been reading about how tantric sex could make sex a more intimate and intense experience. She wanted to give him the statistics on the rise of BSDM and she wanted to explain the benefits of the Jessica Rabbit vibrator over the previous year’s model, The Rampant Rocket. But she didn’t. He seemed distracted and she could feel herself losing him with every speed bump they went over in the road.
‘Is something wrong, Cash? Do you have something against tantric sex?’
She heard the smile in his voice. ‘No. Just thinking.’
‘About?’ She shifted the old car into third and it jumped a little as she rounded the corner.
‘About you and your show. And about...’ She felt it when his eyes left her face and he turned away. ‘Never mind. Not your problem.’
He sounded distracted, and a little bit sad. Which made her pay attention. Cash never sounded sad. Mad? Yes. Cross? Absolutely. Frustrated, impatient, angry? Yes, yes, yes. Sad? Never.
‘I’m sorry if I argued with you.’
He turned back to her then and she felt his intense look. ‘You don’t have to apologise for disagreeing with me. I like that you disagree with me. I like that you ask questions and don’t let anyone walk all over you.’
‘Then what’s wrong?’
‘You know why they sent me out here, don’t you?’
‘To manage the station?’
‘To save the station. Things are not going well, Faith. I’ve been sent here to make cuts, to find ways to save money and increase revenue. I’m not here to be the big bad bully who ruins everyone’s fun and squashes everyone’s dreams.’
Faith knew the station hadn’t done as well this year, but she hadn’t realised it was that bad. ‘My show is good, Cash. Moving it into prime time will attract more advertisers.’
‘Your show will never go to prime time, Faith. Last week you had someone use a vibrator on herself. That’s not prime-time TV. That would turn off our family viewers, not to mention our family advertisers.’
‘You couldn’t see anything. It was just the noise and the point was—’
‘It doesn’t matter what the point was. Sex isn’t acceptable on mainstream TV. Sport is. It’s not personal, Faith. It’s business.’
Not personal? Losing her job was personal. Calling what she did unacceptable was personal. Making everything she’d achieved in the last two years out to be worthless was personal.
‘You have no intention of keeping my show on, do you? This is a waste of time, isn’t it?’ Faith pulled the car up with a screech. ‘Because if that’s it, then you should get out now.’
His eyes met hers and she felt them. Hot. Challenging.
‘I made a promise to you, and I’m going to keep it. If you can convince me that sex is more than just sex—I’ll keep your show on. I’ll back you a hundred per cent. I’ll work with you to make this into something we can take prime time. But if I walk away at the end of the week thinking sex is just sex, then you have to admit it’s not going to work. You have to give up.’
Faith turned back to the road. She revved up the idling engine. The stakes were now higher than ever before. No more Miss Nice Guy. He wanted to know about sex? By the end of today Cash would be dripping in sex. Not literally, of course. But today was about teaching this man what it meant to want something so bad you’d kill for it.
FOUR
Patricia Fellows was the kind of woman that you expected to be inside her cosy family home baking cakes. She was round and jolly and constantly cracking dad jokes.
Cash glanced at Faith. If she thought he was going to sit in this woman’s backyard and have her bring him to orgasm with her energies—she was mad. And he was done.
He’d been willing to humour Faith. He wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was the thought of her leaving. She was the only person he knew who could sit him down, shut him up and fascinate him for longer than two minutes. And he didn’t want her to go.
But her show had to. It wasn’t right for the station and it wasn’t bringing in the advertising dollars it needed to stay feasible. But she was right—her ratings were good. The viewers did enjoy the show. His mind flickered over the options. Perhaps the production team needed some help with direction. Maybe it was the script that needed work.
Wait. No. He didn’t want to keep the show on. He needed more advertising dollars. Sport. That was what brought in the big bucks. Cash twisted his neck from one side to another. Faith was trying to sell him something he didn’t want to buy. From now on he was going to make a concerted effort to not listen to her.
‘Golly, you’re a handsome boy,’ gushed the elderly woman brandishing an incredibly long red stick with tassels each end. Cash stepped back. He didn’t know what she was planning on doing with that stick, nor did he have any intentions of finding out.
‘This is my boss. Patricia, Cash Anderson.’
‘Gosh, if I had a boss like that I’d come to work dressed in nothing but a pair of very tiny black panties every day.’
Right. This was uncomfortable. Especially as Patricia was now licking her lips as she looked at him. As if he were a particularly juicy set of BBQ ribs and she hadn’t eaten in a week.
‘I might just sit this out and watch.’
‘No! No. We don’t normally get ones who look like you here. You will be the star of the show!’ Cash now knew how Hansel and Gretel must have felt.
‘Actually, Cash is only here to observe,’ said Faith firmly. She glanced at him and smiled. A playful smile he felt deep down. ‘He’s still learning.’
‘Oh.’ The disappointment was obvious in Patricia’s tone. Her eyes turned frosty. ‘Sit over there,’ she demanded, waving her stick.
A few other people had started to arrive. Mostly middle-aged couples named Barry and Sharon who all seemed to know each other. Faith received a lot of handshakes and hugs and everyone seemed to know who she was. They were all fans of her show. She managed their gushing well, he thought. She answered their stupid questions, laughed at their awkward jokes. Then she stepped back as the session began.
‘Tantra brings harmony to all parts of our lives,’ began Patricia as she started handing out silk kaftans. The men and women in the circle seemed to know what to do and immediately start to strip off, repla
cing their clothes with the kaftans. Cash shifted his feet and tightened the grip on his folded arms. This wasn’t what he signed up for. He had no interest in watching a few horny old men shake their willies about.
Faith leaned in. ‘Don’t worry. You won’t see anything.’
He glanced at her. She moved a little closer, as if pressing her arm against his would reassure him, but he didn’t feel reassured. He felt uncomfortable and now aware of the woman next to him. A woman who was making his life difficult at the moment by not agreeing to move on to something else and allowing him to shut down her show. It was what the station needed and he’d find her something else—he liked having her around. For once he didn’t feel so numb.
Faith smiled. He noticed how bright her eyes were. Blue and a little sparkly in the sun. And her teeth; white and straight. She was gorgeous, too gorgeous. But a little bit bonkers. Just don’t listen to her, he reminded himself.
‘Tantra is about respecting and harmonising our bodies, our souls and our hearts.’
His attention was dragged back to the circle of people whom Patricia was now directing to sit next to their significant others—their arms touching—just as his was touching Faith’s. He held steady. Faith was attractive and she had a great body. Why couldn’t he touch just a little? They weren’t at the office and nothing was ever going to happen between them. He’d told her in the car they were just two people enjoying the sunshine. What was the harm in thinking that for a few minutes? A few minutes’ escape before he went back to the real world. Before he became numb again. He heard the twittering of birds in Patricia’s garden and felt the warmth of the sun on the back of his neck and allowed his shoulders to relax a little.
‘First, we start with pelvic floor muscle exercises. This strengthens the grip of your “yoni”—the part of a woman’s body that makes her a sexual being,’ explained Patricia as she wandered between the couples, her voice becoming softer. ‘Making it more pleasurable for the man’s sexual core—his “lingam”.’
