It Started with a Kiss

by Lisa Heidke

  ‘Yes well, Tommy is actually more Rosie’s friend. Here to pick up something for one of Rosie’s parties this weekend,’ I said to both of them, trying to get my breathing down to normal.

  Tommy looked at me with a What the… ? expression.

  Stephanie looked him up and down again, and then at me. ‘I see,’ she said eventually, twitching and no doubt desperate for more information.

  ‘Just go inside, Tommy, I’ll be with you in a moment. The package is in the kitchen.’

  Again, he looked at me as if I was insane. Taking forever, he walked in the house. For the love of God, get on with it, I willed him, as he wandered down the hallway, not knowing where he was going.

  ‘The kitchen’s to the right,’ I yelled out. I turned to Stephanie. ‘He hasn’t been here before, obviously.’ And then I laughed. ‘I’d better go and find him.’ What I meant was, ‘Get off my property! Please leave.’

  ‘So he’s one of Rosie’s friends,’ said Stephanie, clearly not receiving my telepathic message.

  I nodded. I couldn’t think of anything better. Sure, I was absolutely throwing Rosie under the bus, but I didn’t think she’d mind. Besides, she was the one who’d forced this situation upon me.

  Stephanie raised her eyebrows and fiddled with her pearls. ‘And now he’s your friend?’

  I smiled. ‘Something like that.’ What was the point? I was wearing a black silk robe. I was heading for hell anyway.

  Without missing a beat she continued. ‘Rosie’s influence might not always be the most sensible.’

  I laughed out loud. You reckon? We were still standing at my front door. Inside was a thirty-year-old horny guy, wine, a packet of condoms and a promise. If I didn’t laugh I was in danger of falling into a heap and crying. And I was waiting, just waiting for her to ask if she could borrow a cup of sugar or two eggs.

  ‘Well then,’ I said. ‘I have to give Tommy the package for the party and then run through the evening’s agenda. Rosie wants him to DJ as well. Can you imagine?’

  Stephanie took in my appearance. ‘Yes, I guess you’d better. God bless.’

  I closed the door on her at last.

  I found Tommy on the deck, wine in hand.

  ‘Tommy,’ I hissed. ‘Get back inside. Stephanie doesn’t need further ammunition.’

  ‘Who cares what she thinks?’

  He had a point, but still, neighbours had eyes… devious, meddling eyes. Not that my neighbours other than Stephanie had ever meddled before. And perhaps it wasn’t so much meddling as caring enough to say exactly what was on her mind.

  As for my other neighbours, one set were well into their seventies and the other pair had full-time jobs, but you couldn’t be too sure who was watching, and me having a man standing on my deck drinking wine before noon on a weekday was enough to get even the most unsuspecting passer-by musing that something might be up.

  ‘Get back in here,’ I said, dragging him inside.

  He didn’t resist, kissing me on the neck as I led him.

  ‘Tommy, maybe we shouldn’t…’ I stopped as his kisses became more forceful.

  ‘We shouldn’t what?’ he said, at last taking a breath.

  I grinned and pulled him into my bedroom and pushed him down onto my bed.

  All too soon, it was three o’clock and I needed to push him out the door. That would give me just enough time to shower, make the bed and generally tidy up before the girls arrived home.

  ‘But I don’t want to go.’

  ‘I don’t want you to go, either,’ I said, kissing him, as I handed over his shorts and encouraged him to put them on. ‘But you have to. Okay?’

  He pulled on his shorts. ‘You ashamed of me?’

  I sat back. ‘Ashamed? Tommy, of course not, but we’ve seen each other like three times. It’s not right to have the girls meet you yet.’

  Tommy pouted as he expertly performed a loud mini-drum solo with quick hands.

  ‘I care about you,’ I said, kissing his lips and grabbing his hands. My head was starting to ache. ‘When the time’s right, we will.’

  ‘Sure?’

  Mentally, I cursed myself. It was like dealing with a teenager—which I guess wasn’t far off. ‘Yes, of course.’ I kissed him again.

  ‘My shoes are out by the pool,’ he said as we walked out of the bedroom.

  ‘Okay.’

  I was inside clearing away the wine and leftover antipasto when Olivia waltzed in through the back entrance. ‘Since when did we get a pool guy?’

  I was dumbstruck. Quickly walking out onto the deck, I saw Tommy below, completely oblivious and scooping up leaves from the pool.

  Liv was still talking. ‘See, Mum! Tarzan. Where did he come from?’

  ‘Yes, well you and your sister don’t help so what choice do I have?’

  ‘He’s hot.’ She was staring at him as she said it. ‘I’m going downstairs to watch him.’

  ‘Olivia, please go and do your homework. Trevor’s just about to leave.’ Not sure why I called Tommy, Trevor. I think I was just trying to come up with the least sexy name I could think of.

  She resisted for a moment, then walked back inside and disappeared down the hallway. I raced downstairs, hissed at Tommy and hustled him around the side and out the front to his car.

  But I was back to where I’d started with him. Tommy appeared even more wounded than he had been this morning.

  ‘But, Fri, when am I going to see you again?’

  ‘Soon. Now you got everything? Keys?’

  For the love of God hurry up!

  Tommy shrugged and retrieved his keys from his pocket. Minutes seemingly turned into hours before he unlocked his car and climbed in. Then, with a sideways glance and quick wave, he drove away. Very slowly.

  ‘What are you looking so glum about?’ Rosie asked at Zumba that night.

  I shrugged.

  As usual, the blonde psychic bounded up to me after class. ‘How are you doing?’

  ‘You tell me.’

  She sighed. ‘I get the feeling you’re overwhelmed. Circumstances are coming to a head.’

  ‘Great. Excellent news.’

  ‘My advice? Stay strong. Stand your ground. Focus on what is in your control.’ She patted my shoulder and turned to walk away.

  ‘Hang on,’ I called out. ‘What circumstances?’

  ‘The ones engulfing you right now,’ she shouted back without turning around.

  Afterwards, Rosie and I went to the pub for one obligatory glass of wine, only tonight I felt like beer, a Corona, to be exact. I glanced around as we stood at the bar. ‘You wouldn’t call this a hip pub, would you?’

  ‘Guess not, but the chairs are comfortable and the music’s not so loud you can’t hear yourself speak.’

  Armed with refreshments, we arrived at our usual table, tucked away in the corner of the pub. ‘The same faces every week.’

  ‘Yep. No shortage of punters freely willing to entertain us. Look out. I’ve just made eye contact with one and he’s raising his beer to me.’

  I leant in close. ‘What they don’t get is that we really don’t want to be entertained, especially by half-pissed businessmen who live down the road from us.’

  Rosie snorted. ‘How’s Tommy?’

  I shrugged. ‘It’s not good. Stephanie and Liv caught him at the house today.’

  Rosie’s eyes widened.

  ‘Told Stephanie he was your friend. Don’t think I got away with it. And then Liv saw him when she got home from school and called him Tarzan.’

  ‘Tommy would’ve loved that!’

  ‘Not to his face.’

  Rosie giggled.

  ‘It’s not funny. Liv was lusting after him. Do you know how that makes me feel? Freakin’ old! I was furious with her. Misplaced anger, of course. It could’ve been so much worse. We could’ve been in bed… doing anything.’

  ‘Ha. So, unbeknownst to Olivia and Stephi, they’ve met Toy boy.’

  ‘Yes, and I’m damn sure it’s
not going to happen again. This sex business is bloody hard work.’

  ‘Did he leave quietly?’

  ‘He wasn’t happy about it. Anyway, it has to end. It’s silly and not going anywhere.’

  ‘She says, having known him five minutes. Come on, cheer up. You seem a bit…’

  ‘Don’t say hopeless.’

  ‘Wasn’t going to.’

  ‘I don’t know how I feel. Maybe I need help.’

  Rosie nodded. ‘You won’t get any argument from me on that score.’

  She clicked on her iPad and tapped away a while until I couldn’t stand it any longer. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Looking up self-help books for you.’

  ‘I don’t need those. Stephanie’s already given me a couple.’

  Rosie continued tapping without looking up. ‘Well, you need more.’ A moment’s silence followed by tongue clicking. ‘Here we go. Ten Stupid Things Women Do to Mess Up Their Lives? or Men Like Women Who Like Themselves?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Smart Women, Foolish Choices or If This Is Love, Why Am I Unhappy?’

  ‘That’s enough, Rosie.’

  ‘Here’s a goody. Toxic Parents: Overcoming their legacy. For Evie, perhaps?’

  ‘They all sound ridiculous.’

  ‘Agreed. So take Aunty Rosie’s advice.’

  ‘I’m going to regret this but, okay, I’m listening.’

  Rosie squeezed my arm. ‘Just keep fucking, love. It’s the only way.’

  ‘Real mature, Rosie.’

  ‘Thanks. I’m here to help.’

  It was Friday afternoon and I was at the Cake Place, picking up the showpiece for tonight’s party.

  Chef Peter greeted me with, ‘These cakes are becoming more popular by the week.’ He pointed towards the enormous box on the bench. ‘Take a look.’

  I opened it… a three-tier cake. ‘Vanilla sponge,’ Peter informed me. Seemingly innocuous. Plain white icing, simple design. Until I clocked the decoration on top: a pretty bride holding the head of her groom, beside her a headless male wearing a tuxedo, still standing. Red jam (?) trickled from the groom’s bloody neck down several layers of white icing.

  Closing the lid, I picked up the box. ‘Amazing. Can’t wait to see how you’ll top this one.’

  ‘Neither can I,’ said Peter as he held the front door open for me to walk through. ‘Some of the requests I get.’ He winked. ‘Let’s just say, customers are getting loopier.’

  I smiled. ‘Enjoy.’

  I drove home thinking about the cake. I really should take photos and put them in a scrap book, though surely Peter would be. This one, the severed penis, the wedding ring coffin. Every time I wondered how the last one could be bettered and every time, it was.

  I arrived home, cake safely in one piece. That was the worst-case scenario: braking suddenly at traffic lights and destroying Peter’s masterpiece. Thankfully, not the case today. I took the cake from the boot and sat it in the kitchen. I only had to guard it for another two hours.

  And then I was in my car heading for Kings Cross. When was the last time I’d ventured here? A friend’s thirty-fifth two years ago? Probably. I certainly couldn’t remember being here since. I parked several hundred metres from the venue and walked up Darlinghurst Road, lugging my big cake. I couldn’t stand all the strip clubs with their beefy, monosyllabic bouncers spruiking for business. I remembered Liam and I walking past on the way to our friend’s party. Every couple of steps, a bouncer or hooker had vied for Liam’s attention—with me right beside him. I wasn’t impressed. Why anyone would choose to have a party here…

  It didn’t take me long to find out. Thirty of Natalie’s friends, very loud friends, were downing bourbon and Cokes and getting stuck into throwing darts at a huge rubber board featuring Natalie’s ex-husband’s severed head.

  ‘At least she’s consistent with her theme,’ I said to Rosie, picking up a black napkin, which again featured the husband’s dismembered head. ‘Did you know about these?’

  ‘Of course! I’m the party planner.’

  ‘Thank God the motherin-law isn’t here.’

  Rosie giggled. ‘Can you imagine?’

  An hour later, the girls were downing flaming sambucas and after several (I’d lost count), Natalie decided she really did want a tattoo—and not some delicate rose on her left bum cheek, but her husband’s severed head on her shoulder.

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ I said as Rosie got me to help pin Natalie down so she wouldn’t abscond to the tattoo parlour two doors away.

  ‘You’ll regret it, Natalie,’ Rosie was telling her.

  ‘Like I regret my marriage?’

  Rosie hesitated. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good,’ Natalie screamed. ‘I want to be reminded every day for the rest of my life how royally I fucked up.’

  ‘No. You. Don’t,’ Rosie yelled back.

  ‘Tatt! Tatt! Tatt!’ several of Natalie’s rowdy friends chanted as they threw back tequila shots.

  I shooed away the women and tried giving Natalie water while Rosie patted her back.

  ‘Why don’t you stay here with your friends, let off some steam and tomorrow morning start again fresh?’

  Natalie nodded slightly.

  I glanced at Rosie, giving her a thumbs up. Good work.

  ‘Sweetie,’ said Rosie, showing her not-often-seen soft side. ‘You want to start your new life, don’t you?’

  Natalie inhaled quietly. ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Good. But, honey, how can you when you continue carrying your ex-husband around?’

  ‘Just his head.’ She sniffed. ‘His bloodied head.’ She took a sip from the water bottle I’d given her. ‘I guess it’d be dumb getting him immortalised. Bastard.’

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ agreed Rosie. ‘Who wants a bloody bastard permanently inked on their skin?’

  Natalie brightened. ‘Yeah. I’d rather have me mate, tequila!’ With that, she stood up, drank the rest of the water and went back to throwing darts at her ex-husband’s head.

  ‘All right,’ said Rosie, patting me on the back. ‘Crisis averted.’

  I sighed. ‘Just the same, I’d block all exits.’

  What a night. Thankfully, there were no further incidents, and Natalie and her friends loved the cake. They danced around it for a good fifteen minutes singing, ‘I Will Survive’ before Rosie and I could serve it. Meanwhile, Natalie gleefully attached the figurine of the bride and her headless mate to her necklace, all talk about tattoos forgotten.

  Relief was the word that sprang to mind when the women left the venue and took off down the street by themselves. Who knew if she’d end up getting inked? At least she didn’t do so on my watch and I was pretty damn happy about that.

  Exhausted, I climbed into bed at one am. Divorce parties might be good for letting off steam, but they were also emotionally charged. The night focused so much on the ex. It was always about him. Yes, it was about being liberated from the partnership, but at all the parties I’d attended so far, too much attention was being paid to the one person who the other had vowed to move on from. There was a very fine line between love and hate.

  26

  The next morning, after a good sleepin, I wandered outside to pick up the paper and noticed a box, similar to the Cake Place boxes, sitting on my front doorstep.

  When I picked it up and opened the lid, I saw that it was indeed a cake from the Cake Place—some sort of elaborate structure which I didn’t focus on because I was reading the note that said, ‘Aren’t you at least a little curious? I know how much you love health spas, so call me, maybe?’

  I read the words again. Call me, maybe? They seemed familiar. A song? Who was this person? Why weren’t they revealing themselves? I loved roses and I liked cake, a lot. To complete the trifecta, they just needed to send me a Tiffany diamond tennis bracelet and I’d be theirs, no questions asked.

  I studied the cake again: round, chocolate slab, two figures in a pool, spa maybe.
Blue icing anyway, and the brunette had her face buried beneath the blue, seemingly in the male’s crotch. Beside the figures lay champagne bottles and discarded swimmers. Someone’s idea of a joke? I was beginning to think this wasn’t funny. In fact, it was alarming.

  I threw the cake in the bin. Who would send this to me, even as a joke? It didn’t make any sense. Was it meant to represent me and Blake at the spa? That was the logical conclusion. Was this the ‘something dramatic’ Blake had in mind? But why a cake? As for Tommy, he didn’t know about me and the farmer, so it couldn’t have been him. That only left one person. Liam. Somehow he’d found out about Blake and this was his way of punishing me, of telling me he knew what was going on.

  Disturbing. I’d never known Liam to behave like this. It wasn’t his style.

  My mind gravitated towards sinister scenarios. Never before had I received flowers anonymously. Or cake, for that matter. Even growing up, I’d never received an anonymous Valentine’s card. I’d envied those who had though. It sounded so dramatic. Romantic and grown up.

  Like the roses. Although… I studied them in the vase. It’s not like I had been sent romantic red flowers. These were dark, their beauty almost menacing. Then again, I hadn’t been sent a dead rat. And I guess the cake could have been Blake’s way of having a laugh with me. But why? It wasn’t funny.

  I felt uneasy because both Blake and Tommy had been to my house. I was confused. It was too close for comfort. I couldn’t have that happen again. My house needed to be off limits to all men. It was reckless playing it any other way. The psychic’s words about circumstances coming to a head were ringing in my ears.

  I jumped in my car and headed to the Cake Place, hands shaking. Hopefully, Peter would remember making it. On second thoughts, how was I going to bring it up? ‘About that cake you delivered to my house, the one with the naked people in the spa?’ Humiliating.

  Still, humiliation hadn’t stopped me before, so just after eleven o’clock, I bowled up to his shop seeking answers.

  ‘Friday?’ Peter frowned when he saw me. ‘Wasn’t the guest of honour happy with her cake?’

  He seemed flustered as he rubbed the back of his neck.

  ‘Of course. Your cake was the hit of the night.’ I smiled, bracing myself. ‘Hey, did you deliver any cakes to my neighbourhood yesterday? I thought I saw your van in my street.’ I was fumbling, trying to sound casual and ask without asking him anything at all.