by Lisa Heidke
‘Liam, it’s me,’ I said when he answered.
‘Hey, what’s up?’ he replied, sounding distracted. ‘Everything okay with the girls?’
‘Yeah, good. We should talk. It’s been almost four weeks since you moved back to Brad’s.’
‘Aha.’
‘And, Liam, I really think we should meet—’
‘Can I call you later? Just about to go for a surf.’
A surf? Liam sounded like he didn’t have a care in the world. He certainly wasn’t agonising over our separation, that’s for sure. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘But can you call me after?’
‘I said I would, didn’t I?’
I was still waiting for him to return my call when Rosie arrived two hours later to confirm final preparations for tomorrow night’s boat cruise.
‘Was it really as hideous as it sounds?’ she asked after I told her about my run-in with Blake.
‘Rosie, it was bad, really bad. He tried to shag me in Maria’s bathroom.’
‘That’s a bit tacky.’
‘Tacky is an understatement. You haven’t seen her fittings.’
Rosie laughed. ‘On the bright side, it’s nice to be lusted after.’
‘It’s awful. I feel sick. And he was there with his daughter,’ I said, fighting back tears. ‘It was messy, sordid, nasty.’
‘Wish I could’ve been there.’
‘I’m not joking, Rosie.’
‘I know you’re not. It’s just so unbelievable—you getting into a mess like that. You’re normally so—what’s the word—straight. Yeah, straight.’
‘I am not straight. That is, I’m straight but I’m not a nun.’
‘Evidently.’ She forced me to clink glasses.
‘And to think I thought we’d bonded over Sweet Charity. It was only a line to get me into bed.’
‘I thought he said you were soulmates, connected by past lives?’
I shook my head. ‘It’s my own fault, rushing in blindly.’
‘Don’t be too hard on yourself. Now then, moving along, why don’t you—’
‘Don’t say it.’
‘—just have a look-see at who’s on KissMeCupid? You might be surprised.’
‘Or horrified,’ I spluttered. ‘Most of the men on there will be married, I guarantee it, so nope, not going down that murky path again.’
‘Hello! Only fifty percent. The others are ordinary guys seeking sex.’
I gulped my water. ‘Ugh! No!’
‘Relationship?’
‘Ugh! I’m not seeking a relationship!’
‘You would be if the goat farmer was single.’
‘Shut up.’
‘Friday, what could be better that scrolling through the photos and profiles of potential playmates in the privacy of your own home over a few glasses of wine?’
Rosie was adept at ‘sending kisses to break the ice’, followed by a generic but friendly ‘I’d like to get to know you, would you be interested?’ More often than not, men were.
‘There must be so many duds.’
‘Indeed! If a guy’s reached the age of thirty and still hasn’t found a woman’s clitoris, he deserves to be shot, especially if he also expects to ejaculate in your mouth. It’s all about give and take.’ Rosie shook her head.
‘Memories?’
‘Yes. Incompetent oaf.’
‘It’s not for me.’
‘Fair enough. But despite the cyber world being filled with dweebs, fools and crazies, KissMeCupid has proven an excellent stomping ground for me.’
The thought of me getting naked with another man? No thanks. Blake had blindsided me. To be blindsided a second time? Well, that would be careless. And very bad for my mental health.
Rosie grinned. ‘You excited about tomorrow night?’
My mind went blank but only for a moment. The boat cruise! A good night out was just what I needed, but I wasn’t sure a four-hour boat cruise with fifty squealing women was what I had in mind.
‘I’ll be trapped,’ I whinged.
‘Time will fly. You’ll see.’
I was in bed when a photo of Blake’s erect penis appeared on my phone with the accompanying text, I’ve shown you mine, now you show me yours.
Imagine if Liv or Evie or, God forbid, Liam had picked up my phone and seen it? I deleted it and again deleted Blake’s number from my memory bank. I was furious. The situation had got out of hand. I wanted nothing more to do with him.
I had made a mistake and rushed into a silly liaison because I’d craved physical attention and wasn’t getting it from Liam. But now I regretted it. It was too much. I would never send naked photos of myself over the phone and I didn’t want to receive any either. I might have lost my mind in recent weeks, but I wasn’t insane. Was I?
15
Heading into work at the end of the week, Liam felt confident. Why wouldn’t he? The latest radio survey had just come out and for the twenty-fourth consecutive time, Beat FM was the number-one station.
A couple of weeks ago, he’d been feeling flat. Every day a small group of creative people at work attempted to collaborate on a brand-new performance. Liam generally sat in on meetings tossing ideas around the table. Current affairs, wars, missing planes, refugees and murders… you had to time those jokes just right. Earthquake asides weren’t funny straight after the event—the public needed time to adjust.
Last year The Chaser had made a quip on a rival breakfast show about a missing passenger plane: ‘The makers of Air Crash Investigation perhaps? Maybe they’ve run out of episodes?’
The whole industry agreed that the joke had been made too soon. But wasn’t that the purpose of humour? To help people cope with their fears and the horrors of the world? Less than a week later, everyone was telling airplane jokes.
As for celebrity breakups, weight gain and pop idol babies with ridiculous names? They were all open slather anytime. The creative team had a blast ridiculing Gwyneth Paltrow’s ‘conscious uncoupling’ statement.
Buff and Birdie would perform their shtick once—triumph or bomb—and then start afresh the following day. Working in radio was intense. The Zanaprin and Zantac in Liam’s desk drawer were testament to anyone who sought to debate the point.
But now he was almost back to his old self, happy at work, enthusiastic. The ratings had certainly given him a boost, as had regular surfing and doing his comedy classes. As for Friday, they hadn’t spoken much. He didn’t have a lot to say to her.
Liam parked in his usual spot in the underground car park and caught the lift to the fourteenth floor, waving to Demetri, the security guard, as he pushed through the glass doors, and walked past reception and the meeting areas into the open-plan office. Down one side ran the executive offices, Liam’s included. Though they had doors, the walls were made of glass so there was little privacy. Liam didn’t mind. He liked being able to see everyone rushing around.
Although station staff frequently pissed him off, Liam couldn’t imagine not being one of the Beat FM team. Yes, the station pushed acceptable boundaries, but that’s because management was ambitious, creative and progressive.
The presenters and program content were consistently fresh, eclectic and controversial. How else could they manage again and again to achieve their top ranking? Though Beat FM was entertainment driven, it didn’t shy from hard-hitting matters at the heart of the community. If only the current leader of the country would agree to an interview. The previous two prime ministers had been persuaded to take to the microphone and answer listener questions. Not this one.
For the leading station in the state, Beat FM unfailingly sounded innovative and relevant. The station had heritage, diversity and an unfailingly energetic, youthful vibe which kept Liam young. Of course radio had changed significantly over the years. It was so much more immediate and cutthroat. But it kept him on his toes and, besides, it was the immediacy and that real sense of having fun that created entertaining radio—even the disasters. It was all in a day’s work.
/> Still, Liam didn’t want to be on-air. Never had. Introducing songs, bantering about nothing? That didn’t interest him. Stand-up? Bantering about nothing? Now that did.
Liam was moving forward with his comedy writing and finding some great ideas and inspiration for his act by observing what was going on in the studio as well as in production meetings: the bickering, sniping, and one upmanship. He could write a book. Life was good despite his non-relationship with Friday.
He was taking copious notes, immersed in observing the goings-on in the office, when he checked his watch and realised he was late for a meeting with Jimmy, the head of Ad Sales.
‘Jimmy, hey,’ said Liam as he rushed into a meeting room. ‘How’s it going?’
‘You tell me.’ Jimmy sounded pissed off.
‘You know the drill,’ Liam said, taking a seat. ‘Listeners have complained and are still complaining about Tinkerbell Condoms being advertised on the morning program.’
Jimmy clicked his tongue. ‘We’re not breaching any codes, Liam. Not using inappropriate language, not saying the word “penis” or—’
‘I get it, but coming on the heels of the “want longer-lasting sex” controversy—’
‘Years ago.’
‘We still lost listeners. Now, Tinkerbell’s being called demeaning, offensive, not suitable for children’s ears.’
Jimmy went to protest but Liam stopped him. ‘It’s not up to me. Industry standards, Jimmy. Tell the client we can only run the ads at night, after prime time.’
‘That’s a shitload of money we’re giving up.’
Liam shrugged. The bottom line was everything and really the advertisement wasn’t offensive. Tongue-in-cheek? Risqué maybe, but he’d heard and seen far worse. ‘Sorry, mate, my hands are tied.’
Jimmy grimaced. ‘Great, so I’m the bearer of bad news once again.’
They sat and stared at each other for a moment. ‘Anything else?’ said Liam, itching to leave and get back to his writing.
Jimmy shook his head. ‘Though, how’re you faring, given everything that’s been going on?’
Inwardly, Liam cursed himself. He still felt embarrassed every time he saw Jimmy. Liam hadn’t told anyone at work about his situation. No one knew. Except Jimmy because, stupidly, Liam had got pissed with him six weeks ago. Not intentionally. Jimmy just happened to be at the same bar Liam was frequenting and Liam just happened to be slaughtered when he’d recognised Jimmy walking out of the men’s room. He’d pulled Jimmy over for a chat and proceeded to tell him that he’d left Friday.
‘Temporary blip,’ Liam concluded when Jimmy sympathised and topped up his single malt.
‘Of course it’s temporary,’ Jimmy had agreed. ‘Couples go through this shit all the time.’
‘Do they?’ Liam had asked, not knowing whether Jimmy was attached.
Outside his immediate working circle, Liam had never paid much attention to the people who worked in other areas at the radio station. He could vaguely recall seeing Jimmy at the company Christmas parties, the ones without all the clients and competition winners—always a boat cruise, held on the last Thursday night in November and always a seafood buffet though not an open bar. Wine, beer and soft drinks, yes, but spirits? You had to pay extra for those.
During the course of their conversation, Jimmy mentioned he was single, having ‘escaped an intense six-month relationship’ three months earlier.
They’d drunk two more generous Scotches and, before Jimmy left, he’d patted Liam’s shoulder in a gesture of blokey solidarity. ‘It gets easier, mate.’
‘What would you know?’ Liam recalled thinking bitterly at the time. He knew it was unfair. Cruel almost. Jimmy was only being supportive.
Since then, Liam had met with Jimmy at least a dozen times at work, but neither had mentioned that night or the conversation. Like it had never happened. He didn’t want work colleagues to know. Thankfully, it seemed he’d chosen the right person to accidentally confide in. Jimmy hadn’t told anyone and, even if he had, they certainly hadn’t come running to Liam for further gory details. He wondered if he’d ever have to tell people. It’s not like he and Friday socialised with others from work. Okay, so the Christmas party was potentially a problem. But that was months away. They’d be through all this by then.
Liam stood up, smiling at Jimmy. ‘All good. You were right, only a temporary blip, after all.’ He strode out of the meeting room, head held high.
Several hours later, Liam walked back into Brad’s apartment, arms weighed down with grocery bags and beer.
Freedom. That’s what he had. Complete and utter freedom.
Not only that, but the girls were staying this weekend and he was looking forward to it. Evie and Liv loved kicking around the Paddington markets, so that was definitely on the agenda if they arrived early enough tomorrow. Then if Sunday was nice, he’d take them horse riding in Centennial Park, followed by a movie at Fox Studios. Liam had it all planned.
In some ways, it was easier this way. On weekends at Newport, the girls always slinked off to their rooms and played on their computers and phones, but when they were with Liam in Paddington, he made a real effort to make sure they always did something productive.
He might even sneak in a surf. Life was definitely on the up and up. Until he received a text from Evie. I miss you, Dad. Are you lonely?
Guilt swamped him. Liam texted back saying he missed her, too. He didn’t mention anything about being lonely.
Liam wondered if Friday had told Deirdre and the others at her office about their separation. Would she?
He thought about this as he wandered from room to room. Brad’s bedroom and ensuite, Brad’s office, which overflowed with books, newspapers and stuff… just stuff. Then the lounge, second bathroom and kitchen. That was it. He opened the fridge and peered in. Then closed it and opened the pantry. Closed it.
An hour later, Liam was sitting at a bar with George. The two had struck up a friendship and Liam was pleased to have someone to discuss the comedy workshop with.
At the last lesson, Sam had talked about developing a thick skin. ‘Imagine twenty, fifty, one hundred people all booing and heckling,’ he’d said.
Liam didn’t need to imagine it. He’d been there.
‘You need to read your audience,’ Sam cautioned. ‘If you’re on at eleven pm, forget about it. The punters are pissed. They don’t care what you’re talking about.’
‘What are you working on?’ George asked, breaking into Liam’s thoughts.
‘A routine about bachelor life, more specifically about middle-aged bachelor life.’ Liam had told George he was recently separated.
‘Ah, I know all about that.’ They clinked glasses.
‘I know it only needs to be three minutes, but writing one hundred and eighty seconds of laughs isn’t easy.’
‘Tell me about it. So, the New Age bachelor,’ mused George.
‘Yep, seizing bachelordom and celebrating the single life.’
The two of them stared at their drinks, then glanced around the pub.
‘Celebrate the single life,’ said George, ‘simply by creating new pastimes, like crafting a peniscopter.’
‘Trust you. Drinking in the shower to save time.’
‘Spraying Odor Eaters in your armpits when you run out of deodorant.’
‘Gross, but fair enough. Hanging a hammock in front of the television, just because.’
Liam thought some more and then wrote in bold capitals on a beer coaster, NEVER BE ASHAMED! He held it up to show George.
George read it and grinned. ‘Ain’t that the truth! Sam said we’ve got to be ourselves to get the most out of our writing. A real bachelor is proud of his accomplishments.’
‘Yeah, but he also said that funny people are sexy.’
George puffed out his less than toned chest. ‘Again, ain’t that the truth!’
16
Late Saturday afternoon, I drove the girls to Brad’s, all the while with Olivia in my ear sa
ying she didn’t approve of divorce parties.
‘Well, let’s not think of them like that,’ I said with a forced smile. ‘Let’s call them celebrations.’
‘OMG! Is that what you’re doing? Celebrating being away from Dad?’
‘No, of course not. These parties are just like the ones you have for your birthday.’ Stretching the truth somewhat.
‘With cake?’ Evie chimed in.
‘Yes,’ I said, remembering with mortification the severed-penis-shaped tiramisu I had in the boot.
When we arrived at Brad’s, Liam was standing on the kerb, waiting.
‘Girls,’ I said, stopping the car. ‘Please don’t mention this to Dad, okay?’
Liv glared at me and I knew for certain she would. ‘Why?’
‘Because, Olivia, I think it would make him sad and we don’t want that, do we?’
‘Don’t call me Olivia. You know I hate it.’
I blew kisses to them both as they jumped out.
‘You didn’t call back,’ I said to Liam when he peered through my open window.
Liam shrugged. ‘Was it urgent?’
‘I just wanted to talk.’
‘I’m free now.’
I hesitated. ‘Can’t now, sorry.’
‘Right,’ he said, taking in my appearance. ‘Heading out somewhere special?’
‘No, just drinks with Rosie. Bye, girls. Have a good night, Liam,’ I said hastily, before speeding off to Darling Harbour. I hated lying about Rosie’s divorce parties. What was the point anyway? Olivia was bound to tell him everything.
But I couldn’t think about that now. I had a tiramisu to deliver.
A boat cruise involving a cake in the shape of a severed penis could only mean one thing—disaster. ‘It’s not even funny,’ I said to Rosie as I handed it to one of the wait staff.
‘One woman’s Tina Fey is another woman’s Roseanne Barr,’ she replied.
I glared at her and then read the menu. Again, there was little food. ‘Didn’t we learn from last time that we need a substantial meal? Noodles at least.’
‘Women don’t eat carbs, especially not women on the hunt. You know that.’
