by Lisa Heidke
My heart tremored in my chest as I replied, ‘I’m fine.’
Deirdre had only my best interests at heart, I knew that. I also knew that ever since my split with Liam, she’d been itching to bring up my sorry situation and rehash it. Liam, the girls, how I was coping. How would I cope in the future if our situation became permanent?
Now, taking my hand in hers (her fingers—long, tanned, nails a perfect French polish) she whispered, ‘I’m here for you when you need to talk.’ I don’t know why she whispered. We were the only two in the room.
At last, I left work and was on the road. I had factored in the afternoon peak hour, but the roads were particularly busy. I was edgy. Even though the girls were staying with Liam and wouldn’t miss me not being at home, I still felt guilty.
The trip through Sydney and down to Cronulla was tediously slow, but once I hit the freeway to Wollongong, the journey seemed to take no time at all. I was thinking about the conversation I would have with Blake about his wife. I’d ask him straight out. Before I knew it, I was staring at the Bombo waves, just before the turn-off to Kiama. Minutes later, I found the B&B. It was a gorgeous blue-and-white old-fashioned cottage, complete with a wraparound verandah, right on the beach.
Jumpy as hell, I parked, noticing Blake’s car wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Good. I’d have time to compose myself. But then, I didn’t want to go inside alone. I pulled out my book, Love in Mid Air by Kim Wright, a story about an illicit love affair between two married people. I hoped the adulterers would end up together… and then felt bad. What about their spouses?
I hadn’t even seen him yet and the guilt was driving me nuts. I glanced at my watch. I still had time to cancel… invent a plausible excuse and hightail it back up the highway. I could easily have phoned and told him I’d been called home because Evie was sick and couldn’t stay at Liam’s tonight. But I didn’t.
I wanted to do this even though it was incredibly destructive. I wondered about the psychology of it—what drove men, women, people in relationships to have affairs? The thrill of the chase? Boredom? The excitement of being with someone new?
I was eager but tense. I couldn’t think straight. What a silly expression ‘couldn’t think straight’, but I now understood exactly what that phrase meant. I really couldn’t. All logic had deserted me. The conflict manifested itself as a tight pain in my chest—an anxious inability to breathe properly. But was that because I knew what I was doing was wrong or because I was about to see him again? About to touch him, feel his skin next to mine… and have him all to myself, even if it was only for the night.
Right now, nothing else mattered.
Ten minutes before we were due to meet, I got out of my car and walked along the boardwalk above the beach. The waves were pumping and the air was fresh, with the afternoon sun beginning to dip behind the mountains.
I turned back and saw his car pull up, my heart immediately doing flip-flops. Then I saw him. He looked at me, smiled and waved. The physical memory of us being together at Utopia kicked in and I wanted to be back in our private bubble where no one else mattered.
By the time he stepped out of his car, I was only metres away. I felt awkward and shy but was convinced that the chemistry was still there. As soon as he was close enough he pulled me into a tight hug. He smelt good, fresh, woodsy, like he’d been in the country. He’d caught a bit of sun on his face, too, and was wearing a faded black T-shirt, navy shorts that sat just above his knees, and muddy work boots. I felt overdressed in my formfitting frock and heels.
I wanted to rip off his clothes here in this perfect, sunny village but settled for a kiss. I don’t think I’ve ever kissed in public before, at least not in fifteen or more years. It was… heaven. It didn’t feel wrong, just naughty. Any thought of asking about his marriage vanished. If he was serious about leaving his wife, he’d tell me, but right now I didn’t want to hear him say he wouldn’t. I just wanted to be with him.
‘So…’ I said awkwardly.
He grinned. ‘Maybe we should check in.’
A few minutes later we were in our pretty room, overlooking the ocean.
‘Can we kiss properly now?’ I asked.
He didn’t answer, just pulled me in close and kissed me.
‘So,’ he said, when we pulled away to breathe, ‘you are gorgeous. Perfect and I really want to fuck you, but first…’
I was quivering with anticipation. He’d turned his back on me and was pulling something out of his overnight bag. Handcuffs, rope, what?
He turned back. ‘Champagne?’
I laughed. ‘Absolutely.’
He poured us both a glass but, after two mouthfuls, Blake was on the bed, reaching out his hand and pulling me down on top of him. His hard mouth was on mine, kissing me intensely as we shed our clothes, piece by piece. I shuddered as I slid down his hot, naked body, his hands stroking my hair as I kissed his chest, then stomach. The lower I went the more forcefully he grabbed at my hair. Next, he was pulling at it, gasping, as I went down on him, taking him fully in my mouth and smiling to myself, knowing how much he wanted and was enjoying the sensation. I wanted to stay buried in his groin, teasing, kissing, nibbling, stroking.
‘Irish,’ he growled as he dragged me back up his body and our lips met. ‘I need you.’ He flipped me over so I was under him, his weight bearing down on me. He had me, well and truly. I was groaning with desire and shivering as he kissed me and finally thrust inside.
The passion was intoxicating and my desire for Blake so strong that at that moment I would have given up everything to be with him forever. Married or not.
‘Come on, let’s go for a walk, get something to eat,’ he said softly after we’d been lying together a good fifteen minutes and our breathing had almost returned to normal.
I sighed. Really? I could have stayed in bed but, come to think of it, I was a bit peckish.
The wind whipped my hair back as we walked, hands clasped, along the boardwalk to one of the nearby cafes, talking and laughing, mostly about Utopia and the people we’d met there.
‘I knew you were special the first time I saw you,’ the farmer was saying. ‘Like I was meeting my long-lost soulmate.’
‘Really?’
Blake grinned. ‘Too much?’
With my free hand, I closed my thumb and forefinger together. ‘Just a little.’
‘Anyway, you were dazzling. Still are.’
‘Yes, I must’ve looked very attractive, given I’d been riding a bike for thirty minutes and then was pulling a grotesque face drinking that horrible mocktail.’
‘Awful, wasn’t it?’
I gave an exaggerated shudder.
‘But I loved looking at you all hot and sweaty. Huge turn-on.’
‘Thanks. Perhaps I shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble this afternoon to look fresh.’
He kissed me on the lips. ‘Fresh is sexy, too.’ He paused, looking directly at my cleavage. ‘But I prefer you sweaty and wet.’
At the cafe where we shared fish and chips, our hands were entwined and our knees were locked underneath the table. It was a poor effort to be discreet.
Heading back to the B&B, we decided to walk via the beach. We both took off our shoes. The sand was cold but, given that Blake’s arms were wrapped around me, I didn’t mind.
‘You know how I said I wanted to do it in a public place,’ he said, stopping to kiss me.
Beach surrounded us. ‘Are you suggesting…’
He grinned in the moonlight. ‘Why not, Irish?’
I knew we were living in a dream world, but I pushed that thought aside, choosing to live in the moment. We walked towards a nearby slope that was surrounded by longish grass and a couple of trees. We stopped and he pulled me in close. I was almost hyperventilating at the thought of what we were about to do. It was madness. Full. On. Madness.
He shrugged off his coat, placed it on the grass and pulled me down beside him. Then he was on top of me, kissing my lips, my neck, one hand pushing
up my dress so he could stroke my thighs, his other hand pulling down my dress and bra so he could take my boobs into his mouth. With my clothes bunched around my waist, my breasts and thighs were totally exposed.
Where in the process he had discarded his jeans and boxers, I’ve no idea, but after a couple of expert moves, the condom was on and he was deep inside me, thrusting in perfect time to my body’s needs. Each time he did so, my cries became louder as I moaned for him to pump me harder, faster.
‘Friday,’ he whispered, covering my mouth with his hand. ‘You’ll scare the animals.’
I pushed away his hand. ‘I thought you liked the idea of being caught.’
‘Of almost being caught. I don’t want to get arrested.’
‘Stop talking and fuck me.’
I felt like an outsider looking in. It wasn’t me on that beach screaming and begging for more, wanting, demanding he do things to me that were really quite difficult to achieve given the uneven, exposed space.
Frantic, urgent sex—that’s what we had. Anyone could have walked by and seen us, but I was delirious. It was hot and passionate and I was beyond caring about anyone else. At any moment a concerned citizen could have tapped me on the shoulder and asked us to accompany them to the local station, but of course that didn’t happen.
I was with Blake and had just had sex in a public place. A beach! I’d never done that before! Fun, spontaneous, exhilarating; I loved every minute of it. It was the most thrilling sex I’d ever had. I’d never met anyone like him before. He was mad and impetuous. Hot, sticky and sweaty, he kissed me again.
‘Well, that was fun,’ he said as we made our way back to the cottage.
I grinned. ‘Yes, but I think I’ll need a shower when we get back.’
‘Count me in.’
The rest of the night flowed perfectly. We showered, drank champagne, made love, slept a little and then made love some more.
The next morning, instead of using our limited time eating breakfast, we devoured each other, before all too soon we were outside and standing in front of my car. I was hugging Blake fiercely around his waist, almost breaking down as I felt his hard, warm body and smelt his fresh scent.
‘We’ll talk soon, okay?’ he said, kissing my lips, before stepping back and forcing me to release him.
‘When?’ I regretted the word as soon as I’d said it. I sounded needy. Cloying. I was trying to keep our bubble intact. I didn’t want the real world intruding.
He sighed. ‘Soon, Fri. I need to sort out my home life.’
Sort out? Did he mean separate from his wife? I hoped so. But still I couldn’t bring myself to ask. I didn’t want to know the answer.
‘And I need to be careful,’ he continued, his tone shifting to serious. ‘Coming here was a risk.’ He sounded cagey.
‘So you regret it?’ I almost spat out the words.
‘No, of course not.’
Still, I thought he was backpedalling.
He opened the door for me, signalling the end of our conversation.
Silently, I climbed in.
‘Drive safely. We’ll talk soon.’
I managed an ‘Okay’ before I drove off and burst into tears. What the hell was I doing? Had I completely lost the plot? My behaviour bordered on insane. It was certainly not dignified or rational. Stopping on the other side of town, I ordered a coffee and muffin and rang Auguste.
‘You’re an idiot,’ he said, not missing a beat. ‘Fri, you’re fucking with fire. Seriously, what are you doing? I thought you said it was over. You’re acting like you’re sixteen.’
‘I need your support.’
‘You need more than that. This is a dangerous game. You have a husband, two girls. Don’t mess it up because of a three-day infatuation.’
‘It wasn’t three days.’
‘Whatever it is, it’s not healthy. You’re not thinking straight.’
‘But I—’
‘It’s just sex, Fri. That’s all it is. Don’t destroy your life for the sake of a couple of screws.’
‘It’s not just that…’
‘Yeah? What is it then? You tell me because all I’m hearing is how much you like shagging the guy. Why aren’t you doing Liam? He’s who you should be screwing.’
‘We’re separated, for God’s sake,’ I started, tears threatening. ‘Anyway, I’m not the one who’s been texting me obsessively.’
‘Jesus. You and this goat guy are equally unstable. Get a grip.’
He was right and I wished I could, but it wasn’t that simple. Auguste was kinder at the end of the conversation, but that didn’t stop me from feeling awful.
I never wanted this. Most couples didn’t split when the going got tough. When it got harder, couples were supposed to stick with it, work through their problems, communicate and focus on being together, if only for the sake of the children. But my head was completely clouded. I could have stopped Liam from walking out, at least the second time, by allowing him to stay the night, perhaps working towards a reconciliation if we both agreed to counselling, to hear each other out and talk about the effect the miscarriage had had on both of us, the loss of Liam’s parents, my feelings of inadequacy and low self-esteem. But I didn’t.
I hadn’t counted on meeting someone who literally took my breath away. It had only happened once, maybe twice before and certainly not in the last nineteen years. It was an overwhelming, all-encompassing feeling. A heady mix of excitement, dread, nervousness and expectation.
Right now, I couldn’t think of anything else but my affair with Blake. I didn’t want to work things out with Liam. I just wanted him out of the way.
In my head I kept repeating the words, ‘Don’t stuff up. Don’t stuff up.’ I’m not even sure what I meant by that because I was pretty sure my life was toast. But I was finding it harder and harder to think rationally, to put self-destructive thoughts out of my mind and to think clearly. The way I was going, it was only a matter of time before I messed up in a big way.
11
Liam had taken the plunge and signed up for a five-week comedy course and now he was standing at the front of the venue, ready to attend his first class. But ready wasn’t quite the right word. Liam was petrified. What if this was a mistake, which it most certainly would be? He’d already proven himself a fool twenty years ago when he’d attempted it. Why was he setting himself up for failure by trying it again?
He stared at the Sydney Comedy Club sign. He wanted to do this, he really did. To see whether he had it in him. After all the bleating to Friday and Brad, he had to give it another go. But it would be easy to walk away. Besides, everyone else in the class had probably already done gigs. He couldn’t bear the humiliation. It was better not to even try.
‘Hey,’ a guy who had appeared beside him was saying. ‘You here for the comedy workshop?’
Liam hesitated briefly before nodding.
‘Come with me. I hear the guy who runs it is capital H Hilarious.’
Liam followed the stranger into the venue and down a corridor. When he walked into the designated room, half a dozen people were already sitting in a U shape. Liam checked his watch. He was five minutes late. He found a couple of spare chairs, expecting his new friend to sit beside him. Instead, the friend strode to the centre of the U.
‘Hey, my name is Sam and I’ll be your leader for the next five Tuesday evenings. Apologies for my tardiness. Blame this guy.’ He pointed to Liam. ‘Had to coax him inside. Sorted. How about everyone tell the class a bit about yourself, two sentences tops. Let’s start with the shy surfer-looking dude.’
Again, the group turned to Liam. He took a breath. ‘Right, well. Hi, my name’s Liam. Yes, I surf. Comedy’s always been a passion of mine and now that I’m middle-aged, I thought, “It’s now or never.” I guess it’s now.’
Liam was sweating, thankful he’d spoken first so he wouldn’t have to open his mouth again. What a nightmare. He could barely comprehend what the others were saying. One was a fireman. There wa
s also a plumber and a vet. One woman said she was an engineer. He looked around. Seven people in the course, including himself. Two women. The engineer reminded him of his mother’s sister. And the other had green streaked hair and looked like Dawn French.
‘Okay,’ said Sam, grinning manically. ‘We’re going to have some fun. Or at least I will. You guys are going to discover the art of writing and delivering good comedy. You’re going to learn to observe the outside world in a new, interesting and side-splitting light.’
No one commented.
‘Comedy is straightforward,’ continued Sam. ‘As a comedian, your job is simply to make people laugh. Easy, hey?’
Liam wasn’t the only one looking worried.
Sam clocked him immediately. ‘You! Surfer dude, what was stopping you from walking through the door tonight?’
‘Terror?’
‘Exactly. Fear! Fear was holding you back.’
‘Lack of talent could be another reason,’ the firemen chimed in.
‘Or paralysis,’ said another.
‘Sure,’ agreed Sam. ‘But the more you perform, the more you’ll harness your talent and challenge your fear. You may not be a comic genius now, but you will be.’
Sam let the words sink in before speaking again.
‘Everyone know Chris Rock?’
Most heads bobbed up and down.
‘Good. Well, according to Mr Rock, the goals of a comedian are to get good at comedy, to make money from comedy and to get laid from comedy.’
Everybody laughed.
‘You might want to do one, two, or all three of those things,’ said Sam, ‘but, regardless, be prepared to draw upon your own unique experiences. Happy, sad, humiliating, whatever, because that’s where true comedy lies. Once you discover your truth, then you have to write it, own it, work it. Comedy is all about truth.’
Around the U, heads nodded in unison.
