The Taming of the Bastard

by Lindy Dale

  “We’re off out now, Millie darling,” Adele said, as she glided into the kitchen early one evening—how anyone could glide in heels that high was beyond me. Adele Richards-Shaw was a quirky soul, given to flights of fancy that were dependent on what Posh Beckham and Kim Kardashian were doing. She never left the house without an oversized Gucci tote on her arm, in which she kept her most essential items—five bottles of herbal concoctions, a mobile phone, a pair of vintage Chanel sunglasses and her Palm Pilot. Without consultation to this at least three times a day, she declared herself ‘utterly stranded’.

  I looked up from my spot at the table where I was supervising the ingestion of organic vegetables and free-range chicken with the twins. “Another business dinner?”

  “Do make sure Michael does ten chews before each swallow, dear,” she answered, ignoring my question. “He simply has to learn to eat nicely; his manners are so bovine, so much like his father.”

  I nodded and flicked my foot at the glob of potato Michael had spit onto the travertine tiles, hiding it under the table to be picked up later. This was no time to upset the Adele apple cart.

  “Who’s like me?” Brian entered the room and, heading straight for the wine fridge, returned with bottle of Pinot Gris. “We’ve got time for a quick drink before the car arrives, don’t we? Do you want a glass of juice or water Millie?”

  “No thanks, Brian; the twins would only knock it over. I’ll grab something after they’re in bed. Where’re you off to?”

  “We’re popping into The Duxton to catch up with my best mate from the old rugby days, Kent. He’s in town for a day or two on business. I haven’t seen him in ages. We used to be a couple of ratbags back in the day.”

  Adele picked an invisible piece of something from the counter and put it into the rubbish bin under the sink. “Kent’s boy is our godson. He lives in Subiaco. It’s a wonder you haven’t met him. He’s magnificently handsome. Looks so much like his father did at his age, it’s uncanny.”

  Like I had the time and disposable income to be running about the clubs and bars of the posh part of Perth.

  “I don’t get out that much anymore, Adele, I’m trying to save. Drinking and healthy bank balances don’t actually go hand in hand.”

  Adele gave me a queer sort of look. The only fiscal decision she made was whether to have the Chanel tote or the Dior. Because a good handbag was a lifetime investment.

  “Ah, yes, the beach cottage,” she said. “How’s that going? Is your target any closer?”

  She wasn’t being inquisitive out of niceness. She wanted to know when she had to start hunting for new help.

  “I only need a couple of thousand or so more, I think. I’ve been doing a bit of research on the net. There’s some nice houses in my price range.”

  Adele sucked in a silent gasp. “Well, then, I shall have to cut your pay. We’ll never cope if you leave us. The twins would be distraught and Paige would miss you terribly. You know how much we adore you, Millie.”

  “Who’ll watch me do my ballet practise? And turn the pages for my cello?” Paige piped up. “It will totally suck if you go.”

  “Paige!” Adele’s botoxed brow gathered as best it could. “Honestly. Where do you learn such filth?”

  “Jennifer Brayshaw-Jones.”

  Adele huffed, flinging her arms skyward in my direction. “Heavens, Millie. Is it absolutely necessary that we have that Brayshaw child here for any more play dates? She’s a mini Paris Hilton.” Then, noting Paige’s pricked ears, she leant over, whispering, “I think we’ve repaid that mother’s invitation tenfold by now, don’t you? The child’s so common. Can’t we schedule her out of Paige’s day book?”

  “What’s ‘common’ Mummy? Is it like ‘skanky? Jennifer says Miley Cyrus is skanky but I still like her. That Wrecking Ball video was cracking.”

  I smothered a giggle and pulled Paige back into her seat, giving her a fork and changing the subject. “Do you see your godson often, Adele?”

  “We used to see him on a regular basis when he was growing up. Since he moved here, we see him more than ever. He’s the sweetest boy; I can’t believe you’ve not met him. He was here the other night. You’d love him, wouldn’t she Brian?”

  “For sure. He’s built like a brick shit house. Must introduce you next time he’s over.”

  I guessed that was a compliment coming from Brian, though if he described his godson as a brick shithouse I hated to think what he said about me.

  *****

  Having stacked the dinner plates in the dishwasher, listened to Paige read us a bedtime story from The Magic Faraway Tree—despite her seeming maturity she was a sucker for Moonface and Silky—and kissed the twins goodnight, I settled down for a night in front of the computer. My mission was to find the perfect home and make contact with the agent and my first virtual stop was Bali. I typed in the address of my favourite site, put in my ideal details and waited for the list to load. There were so many houses, some I’d seen before and some that were new. I scrolled the list, searching, until….

  There it was. Its pagoda shaped roof and infinity pool screamed to me and I answered, opening the image files with jittery, excited fingers to reveal four glorious bedrooms, three bathrooms and a state of the art kitchen. Four-poster beds swathed in gauzy fabric, huge windows that turned into doors and opened onto large decked living spaces. Lush Balinese gardens. Not to mention the views. Yes. Views.

  God, what were the exchange rates? It wasn’t exactly beachfront but could I afford a villa on the hill in Seminyak with a pool and views?

  I gazed longingly at the screen; I pulled up another tab with a currency converter and typed in the amount. Surely, a home like that, fully furnished and two minutes from town, couldn’t be so cheap. But it was. And with the money I’d saved already added to what Grandma Mac had left me in her will, I almost had enough. It was absolutely within my reach.

  I pushed the chair away from the desk, pulling my fingers across my mouth. I bit the corner of my nails, something I never did. I stared at the screen some more. My heart began to pound. I could feel the clamminess in my fingers and the smile growing wider and wider on my face. Anyone who happened to step into the room at that time would have thought I’d lost the plot. But this was my dream. There, on the screen, in all its Balinese glory. All I had to do was make it happen.

  Oh, and resign. There was no way Adele was going to take that lying down.

  Anticipation bubbling through my chest and down into my fingers, I scribbled agent’s email address onto a notepad and opened my mailbox. That was my house and I had to have it.

   4 

  The days raced on in cheerful monotony and while I waited for a reply to my email I amused myself by taking the twins to the park in their double stroller and window-shopping at the Pandora shop in Rokeby Road on the way home. It was either that or give in to the disgusting thoughts I’d begun to have about Sam and his bum of steel. Every night he invaded my dreams, his face that of an angel. He helped little old ladies across roads and kittens out of trees and he never uttered a word. The dream always ended as he walked towards me with arms outstretched. Then, as I was about to fall into them he’d laugh mischievously and run away. I’d wake up tired, confused and unsatisfied. Which only meant one thing: destruction on a large scale.

  “You’re actually dreaming about him?” Alex asked, as I relayed my tale of woe one night a week or so later.

  “I’m so exhausted I knocked Brian’s limited edition Wallabies jersey off the wall last night. When the glass shattered it pierced John Eales’ autograph. I thought Brian was going to have a coronary.”

  “Who’s John Eales?”

  “Oh, like, some legendary rugby player or something. I don’t know. Adele tried to tell me about him but it went in one ear and out the other. I don’t know squat about sport. I offered to have it replaced but Brian said it’s worth about ten thousand dollars.”

  “For a rugby jumper? Seriously?”

 
“That’s what I said, shortly before I dropped Adele’s favourite Baccarat champagne flute on the tiles. I mean, I was in shock. I don’t have that kind of money to throw around and it’ll take another decade to save it.”

  “It’s a wonder she hasn’t given you the sack.” Alex’s voice trailed off as her head turned in the direction of the double doors. I looked to see what was more important but I needn’t have bothered. In the back of my mind I already knew. Sam had completed the six minutes and thirty-two seconds it took for him to grab his dinner, eat it and return the empty plate before heading back to the main bar. He’d walked through the door and as usual, ignored me, even though I was the one who took charge of the remains. I had no idea why he detested me. I’d done nothing to deserve his disregard apart from ignoring him too.

  Raising his eyebrows, somewhat, he stopped on the other side of the counter and began to flirt with Alex. “You look ravishing in that new uniform, Alexandra.”

  “Alex. It’s Alex.”

  “Well, red suits you, Alex.”

  Alex’s chest puffed up so far she could have floated away with a slight breeze. Peeved, I slammed Sam’s plate into the sink and shoved my hands into the dish gloves. Had he no taste at all? Our uniforms were one step away from German sideshow alley. Even Miranda Kerr couldn’t make them look good.

  “What’s your problem?” Chantelle hissed.

  I concentrated on the bubbles in the sink.

  “Are you jealous ‘cause he’s talking to Alex?”

  I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t even nod. I didn’t know why I was behaving this way. It might have been disgust that Alex was being sucked in by Sam’s flirting or worse still, maybe I was annoyed that he wasn’t giving me that attention. Either way, I hated not being sure. And I hated him more.

  “That fluff round the edge sets it off, doesn’t it?” Sam continued. He fingered the frills Alex wore at her already over exposed breast and I held my breath. I was afraid he would be lost forever if he leant any closer into her cleavage. She’d been known to lose coins down there. And probably a mascara wand or two.

  “You think so?” Alex preened.

  “Definitely.”

  I glanced at them out the corner of my eye. Sam’s attention was fully on Alex.

  Oh for Pete’s sake, I thought, this is the final straw. He’s doing this purposely to get at me. He’s trying to make me react.

  And, deciding someone had to do some work I pulled of my gloves and went off to deliver an order of apple strudel. Chantelle and Alex were no use. They were behaving like strudel.

  About an hour later, I was clearing away after the shift when I felt a presence in front of me. Thinking it was Bob about to give me the ‘don’t come back tomorrow’ talk after I’d dropped another tray of glasses, I waited to the last possible moment to raise my eyes over the servery counter.

  There he was. Sam. He was looking at me and, damn it, smiling. Just like in my dream. I wanted to tell him to nick off but I was dumbstruck.

  “You must be Millie,” he said.

  I could feel my head beginning to swim. I looked from side to side. He was clearly addressing me, as I was the only one there called Millie. “Um, yes.”

  What else could I say? I hadn’t changed my name and ‘duh,’ though appropriate for a thirteen year old, didn’t quite fit the bill. I was agog. Sam didn’t converse with me, except to ask for his fish. He was the centre of my horrendous fantasies, not someone I spoke to.

  “We’ve never been properly introduced, so I thought I'd better do it.” The smile grew wider. His teeth gleamed and it was like he put a little spell on me.

  If it hadn’t been on me already.

  “I’m Sam.”

  “I know.”

  “I work in the bar.”

  “Is that the job description ‘chatting up customers’ falls under? ‘Cause that’s the only work I’ve ever seen you do.”

  “Well played. But you can never take PR lightly.”

  “Is that your job? PR?”

  Ha. I totally had him if it was. Being a PR genius and all.

  “Among other things.”

  “Please don’t list them. I have a pretty fair idea already.”

  Sam began to laugh. It was a deep, guttural and very sexy laugh and that was when it had happened. The spell was broken. In the moment that conversed like two normal individuals I was no longer Millie-Queen-of-the-Klutzes, I had returned to my usual self, the girl who could give as good as she got, the one who could see straight through people like Sam.

  At least I thought I could. His chest was sort of getting in the way.

  “Guess I’m sprung.”

  “Guess so.”

  Next to me, Alex kicked my shin. This was not Sam’s usual flirting style. It was almost, well, sincere.

  “So,” Sam continued, “It’s my mate’s birthday tomorrow and we’re having drinks. I was wondering if you’d like to come.” His sea green eyes crinkled as he said the word come and, beside me, I sensed Alex’s breath quicken. She sounded like she was going to do just that, all over the counter.

  I grinned to myself. I bet he was used to girls accepting his proposals, but I'd met men like him before and I wasn’t about to give in. Not even if he did have fantastic shoulders.

  “We kick off at seven. I can pick you up if you like.”

  “That sounds lovely, Sam, but I’m busy. It’s girls’ night and I don’t get to go out often on a Friday. We’re going to Lux Bar.” I nodded towards my colleagues. “Maybe another time.”

  Then I filled a glass with cool water and offered it to Alex. She was hovering between incomprehension and a faint.

  Sam nodded and said it was fine. We’d do it another time. Then he went back to whatever it was Bob had employed him to do.

  Alex removed the glass from her lips. She blinked in confusion. “Are we going on a girls’ night? Why wasn’t I invited?”

  “She made that up, Alex.” Chantelle replied.

  “Why?”

  “So she could turn him down.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake. Go and fold a serviette or something. She’s trying to play him at his own game.”

  I was? Wow.

  Chantelle turned back to me. “Do you realise what you’ve done?”

  I nodded, congratulating myself for seeing sense and possibly being the first woman in history to have turned Sam down.

  “That man is the sexiest thing alive. Why in God’s name did you knock him back?”

  I took a dirty plate and began to scrape it into the bin. I knew what I’d done and despite what anyone thought, I was not going to put myself in line to be the next statistic on his ‘Shag your way around Australia’ tour. “He’s smug. I don’t go for smug.”

  Chantelle shook her head. “You’re such a princess, Millie. That man is a god. Every girl here’s been after him for weeks and when he finally takes his pick, you knock him back.”

  I turned on the taps, pushing my hands into the water. It wasn’t a case of being a princess; I simply couldn’t go out with a man who was more beautiful than me. If couldn’t even speak when he was around, how would I cope if he kissed me? Besides, just because I thought he was hot didn’t mean I had to participate in his ridiculous flirting game. It wouldn’t lead to anything and I had goals.

  Chantelle picked up a dry tea towel. “Well, I wouldn’t say ‘no’ if he offered to put his shoes under my bed.”

  “Yes, but you’re a tart, Chan’. You’d probably install a shoe rack so he’d feel more at home.”

  *****

  Sam’s invitation forgotten, I arrived home two hours later to find Paige still awake. She was snuggled up in the corner of my bed with Pookie, her stuffed kitten, under one arm and my computer nestled between her knees and lap. She glanced up as I entered, her face unapologetic about the fact that she was in my room again and at a time when she was meant to be asleep.

  “Why aren’t you in bed? I know it’s
a Boarders Long Weekend but little girls should be asleep by ten o’clock,” I chastised, flipping off my shoes and flopping onto the side of the bed next to her.

  Paige straightened. She turned the computer screen to face me, deflecting my question as she had seen her mother do so skilfully, so many times. “Mummy will have a fit when she finds out about this.”

  I peered at the screen. Once again, Paige had been reading my emails. I had to remember to put a password on my laptop, though knowing her; she’d find a way to hack it.

  “You haven’t told her, have you?” Paige asked.

  I took the computer from her and began to read. The message was from the agent, the one I’d contacted about the house. He’d sent a whole folder of extra photos. Pictures designed to entice, seduce and delight. Oh dear. That was my house and until this minute it had been my secret. Of course, everyone knew I had the dream, but I hadn’t divulged the amount of recent progress I’d made with anyone. Now, I was sharing it with a precocious primary schooler.

  “Do you like it?” I asked, deciding to play her at her own ignoring game.

  “No.”

  I frowned and nestled in next to her. Her hair smelled of Johnson’s baby shampoo and her little body leant warmly into mine. Giving her a squeeze, I opened the slideshow of photos. “But look… it has a swimming pool and views,” I pointed out, trying to win her over with my enthusiasm.

  “So does the Sheraton in Phuket. It doesn’t mean we have to live there.” Sometimes I hated that she was so worldly.

  “Please don’t tell Mummy yet, Paige,” I begged.

  “Why?”

  “Because it might not happen. I need to go and see the place, go to the bank. There’s lots of things to organise.”

  Paige’s little lip went out. “Like leaving us.”