The Taming of the Bastard

by Lindy Dale

  I put the computer down and hugged her. “I can’t help that. Life goes on. Things change. And you’re getting to be a big girl. One day soon you won’t need me anymore. Then where will I be?”

  “You can be my P.A. I’m going to need one. My social calendar is chockers as it is.”

  I smiled. Only Adele’s child could invent a job at will. “But I want to do this job. Don’t you want me to be happy?”

  Her cherub lips twisted and pursed. Then she answered, “Yes, but I’d rather you be happy in Perth.”

   5 

  I was excited for my first night out in a month and Lux Bar was the favourite hangout of the girls I worked with. They raved about its joys from the beginning of every shift, causing me to wonder what could be so great about a venue where the men knew more about shoes than I did. Not that that would take a great deal of effort. If the shoe was glittery and sandal-like I was content.

  From the moment we stepped inside the door I realised what I had been missing. Lux Bar was velvet, red and dark, so much so I could fall over and nobody would ever notice. It had tonnes of seedy little corners and booths that were so plush I wanted to sink into them and never get up. There were men with no shirts languishing along benches and the dance floor was like a wall of the most beautiful chests I had ever seen. In this domain Kylie Minogue was the queen, which in a room full of queens was not to be sneezed at. Having only frequented venues for Under Fives in recent times, it was also lovely to see some people my own age and a décor that didn’t consist of Frozen posters. Pleased with what I saw thus far, I followed the girls into the throng.

  After propping ourselves up at the end of the bar, we ordered cocktails and three plates of nibbles from the kitchen.

  “I’m so glad you talked me into this.” I said, as we sat and ogled.

  “You needed it, Chica. Getting over a Sam addiction requires the support of your friends. It’s like a Greek mourning period,” Alex replied, unable to avert her eyes from the hard, oiled chests on the dance floor. “Oh, look at him. It’s a grown up Justin Beiber....”

  “And thanks to you guys, I don’t have to spend any money to get cured, either. Thanks for arranging all this, Chan’.”

  “That’s what friends are for,” Chantelle smiled, absently. “Oh, he’s niiiice.”

  Alex straightened on her stool. Her eyebrows raised just enough to show interest. “Do you think I should ask him to dance?”

  “No,” I said.

  “What about that one in the dark shirt? Think there’s any way....”

  “NO!”

  “Do you think they’re all gay?” Alex gave a sad sort of pout. It didn’t matter how many ways you told her, she seemed convinced the gay community was an untapped resource.

  “Most likely.” I handed her a cocktail and pushed the finger food in her direction. “Just enjoy the view and drink your drink.”

  “It’s such a pity, isn’t it?”

  “Not if you’re gay. And male.” Chantelle laughed. “And we’re here to look, not hook up. There’s a lot to be said for looking.”

  “But I’d like to hook up. If I have to go any longer without sex my insides will dry up. People will start mistaking me for Millie.”

  I gave a mock gasp. “Oh, haha. I’m not that bad. I’m just focussed on other things.”

  “Well, I want to focus on a boyfriend.”

  “Me too,” Chantelle admitted.

  “Let’s go to Metro City next week then.”

  “Eww, let’s not. It’s like bogan paradise in that place. I’ll think of somewhere better. You in for a boyfriend hunt, Millie?”

  “I don’t think so. I’ll have to work.” Besides, boyfriends were known to be trouble. And it took so much effort to train them. I didn’t have time for such tomfoolery.

  We’d been sitting for a few minutes when a tall—clearly, not gay—guy came striding towards us through the haze of the smoke machine. He was handsome, with sandy blonde hair that had definitely been styled by a hairdresser in the know. Even in the dark of the club his eyes twinkled with mischief, as if he knew a joke he was never going to share. Alex’s eyes flicked away from the dance floor. An audible groan escaped her lips. “Oh God.”

  “What?”

  Ignoring me, she tugged at Chantelle’s arm, jerking her head in the direction of the male in question. “Pesky bug at six o’clock, Chan’.”

  Chantelle’s face drained of colour. She snatched up her cocktail and tossed it down her throat. “Shit, it’s The Slime! What the hell’s he doing here?”

  “What? Who?” I asked again. He looked quite cute. Why on earth was he called The Slime?

  “Hurry!” Chantelle screeched at the barman. “It’s not like I’ve got all night over here.” She swivelled to face me. “No matter how much I drink tonight, do not, I repeat, do not let me dance with that man. I always regret it.”

  “But who is he?”

  “It’s John Jones,” Alex explained. “He’s the hottest divorce lawyer in town. Most of his clientele are women. I don’t think I need to explain why.” And, despite herself she gave him the once over. “He’s also every girl’s worst nightmare. He has more arms than an octopus and a mouth full of verbal diarrhoea.”

  “And I gather there was some sort of thing between you?” I asked Chantelle. It was the only explanation for why she wouldn’t want to talk to him.

  “Between him, me and the entire female population of Perth. The man is the president of the Wandering Hands Association. His personal mission in life is to feel up every woman in the western world. He’s a letch with a capital L.”

  “And you still slept with him, knowing that?”

  “I don’t know how he does it but he manages to weasel his way in every time I see him, even when I don’t want him to. It’s his eyes, I think. They hypnotise you into thinking there’s nobody else or something. And the sex is quite good from what I remember.”

  I blinked.

  “Hey no judgement, Millie. I bet he could sleaze his way into your knickers too.”

  I eyed him again. It’d take more than a nice set of abs and wink to get in my pants.

  The man stopped in front of us. “Hey Alex, Chantelle, long time, no see. You’re looking delightful, as usual.”

  Chantelle blushed. “I’m not dancing with you Johnny not even if you’ve got VIP tickets for Splendour In The Grass.”

  He must be bad, I thought. Those tickets were like hen’s teeth. The line-up over the three days of the festival had people practically selling their souls for a ticket.

  Johnny gave a heart-melting grin. “That’s a pity, but I don’t want to dance with you, anyway. Not tonight.”

  “Then why are you here? Have they run out of desperate women at Metro City? Or are you targeting the male population now? This is a gay bar, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “Very funny, Chan’, I’m cut to the quick. Actually, I’m meeting my mates. One of them suggested we meet here because it’s close to his work. It’s my birthday today.”

  “Is he gay, too?”

  I stifled a titter.

  Johnny threw a fifty onto the bar and ordered a bottle of red. “They’re running late,” he, continued. “Besides, how I could be gay with gorgeous girls like you around? It would be such a waste.” He gave Chantelle a lecherous wink.

  “Do you get that drivel out of some sort of dating self-help book?”

  “It comes from the heart. I simply can’t help myself when I’m with you. How about we take this outside and you can give me a birthday I won’t forget? You can’t keep denying you want me when it’s so painfully obvious.”

  Ewww. I was starting to see what they meant.

  Chantelle’s teeth clenched. Her grip tightened on her glass and she clasped her knees together like they’d been stuck with Superglue. “I’ll give you something you won’t forget alright, and it will involve my handbag over your head. Now go away. You’re a bad influence and you know it.”

  “And
isn’t that why you love me?” He cocked an eyebrow.

  I was positive I saw Chantelle bare her teeth.

  Johnny looked at Alex. He looked at me. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced. I’m John Jones.”

  “Millie McIntyre.” I held out my hand for him to shake and he kissed it. A little tingle of delight shot up my arm. How did he do that? He was gross and icky and yet something about him was extremely attractive.

  “Millie, given that Chantelle is behaving like a cow, would you care to dance?”

  I don’t know what possessed me when I agreed. It must have been the eyes.

   6 

  Johnny led me to a spot in the middle of the dance floor and we began to dance. He was fun to dance with and he knew how to keep time, which was always a bonus. He was also a little flirty, finding every opportunity he could to sidle his body close to mine.

  “You’re a great dancer, Millie,” he commented, taking a step closer and putting his hands on my waist. He really was quite presumptuous but I was confident I could keep him at bay. The ‘oops-sorry’ boob graze was not a new technique to me.

  “You’re not too bad yourself.”

  Johnny’s eyes twinkled in expectation. “Do you know Chantelle and Alex well?”

  “We work together at The Lederhosen.”

  “Ah, the cesspit of lust and debauchery. That Dianne’s a bit of a character.”

  That was one way of putting it.

  “You know her?” I daren’t let my mind go there as to how.

  “We’ve crossed paths. She had her sights set on my mate but he wasn’t interested.”

  Johnny grabbed my hand and swung me under his arm, then pulled me to his chest. His arms snaked around me and he gazed down into my eyes. Oh, he was good. Very good. I could see why Chantelle would give in.

  “Your perfume smells nice; reminds me of this time I had really awesome sex.” He leant closer; his lips were almost touching my neck.

  “Well, it wasn’t with me,” I pushed him away.

  He moved in again. “Perhaps we could do something about that? You could come back to mine.”

  My eyes bulged. My mouth fell open. Who did he think he was? “Perhaps I could rearrange your anatomy?”

  “You misjudge me, Millie. I’m not that type of guy.”

  “Hmm, and I’m Little Bo Peep.”

  Johnny raised his eyebrows. “You’d look hot in one of those outfits.”

  “Oh for Pete’s sake, is sex all you can talk about? Surely, you have some other topics of conversation?”

  He stared at me blankly.

  Or maybe not.

  We started to dance again, and while Johnny’s eyes were somewhere off in the distance, no doubt scouring his short back-catalogue of successful chat up lines in his head, I studied his face. He was very attractive when his mouth was closed. The squareness of his jawline added to the manliness of his appearance and the carefully tousled blonde hair exuded a hint of sophistication. He must be intelligent too, being a lawyer. Maybe it was just that he didn’t know how to approach girls? Maybe he thought the garbage that came out of his mouth was the type of thing women wanted to hear? I was pondering this idea when he spoke again.

  “Perhaps I could take you to dinner some time?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Dinner? My treat.” His mouth was almost in my ear. His aftershave made me woozy.

  “Oh. Um, I don’t go out that much in the evenings.”

  “Coffee then?”

  “I don’t really do coffee.”

  Johnny looked dejected, so I backtracked, giving him my friendliest smile. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that to sound rude. I just don’t get much time off work, that’s all. And I’m trying to save. You know how it is.”

  “Would you like to come to my place for a meal, then? On your night off? It won’t cost you a cent and I’m a good cook. Jamie Oliver’s got nothing on me.” His hands, which had somehow left his side and were back on my hips, slid around and began to knead my buttocks like they were two lumps of dough. I didn’t know whether to be excited or disgusted. Surely, this man, who’d supposedly slept with hundreds of girls could do better than that?

  “What would we be eating?” I was aware I was playing with fire but teasing him was fun. For a letch, he was quite clueless.

  “We could start with oysters, then a nice steak with a drop of red wine. And for dessert… Who knows? You’d look delicious covered in whipped cream,” he replied.

  I have no idea what signal it was I’d sent out but he lunged towards my breast.

  “What the hell!” Furious, I flung my hands to my chest and pulled at his pinkie, the ring on which had become wedged to the clasp at my cleavage. Johnny was stuck to me.

  “Hold still.” He pulled.

  “I’m trying.” I tugged.

  And the black halter top which had looked so alluring in the mirror a few hours before ripped straight to my navel, exposing both my breasts to the entire gay population of Perth, not to mention the bar staff who, judging by the approving whistles, were not gay.

  Johnny stepped back. He appeared awestruck. “Gosh, Millie, your breasts are even more spectacular in person. Are they real?”

  I pulled the remnants of fabric together. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t even look at the idiot. God, this was so mortifying.

  “He’s right, darling,” came a voice from behind me. “I'd give my right ball for breasts like those.”

  “Why don’t you go and buy yourself a pair.”

  “Hey! Attitude. I was only saying. You do have nice breasts.”

  “Yes, and until two minutes ago I also had a lovely top covering them.”

  “I’d offer you my shirt but it might set the natives off.” Johnny said, contritely.

  “You are possibly the most up-himself man I’ve ever met.” I stomped from the dance floor.

  Johnny ran along behind. “Should I take that as a compliment?”

  *****

  Back at the bar, I scrutinised the damage to my top, hoping I could salvage it. I could never afford to buy another, not if I wanted that house and a full Pandora bracelet. “Can you believe the cheek of him?” I grizzled to the girls.

  “Don’t say we didn’t warn you,” Alex said.

  “He’s ruined my top.”

  “At least it wasn’t your pants.” Chantelle delved into her massive tote. “Hang on…” she muttered, flinging various items onto the bar, some of which were not fit for men’s eyes, gay or straight. From the stick like fingers of her left hand she dangled a packet of safety pins, with which she proceeded to use to join my top back together. “Voila!”

  I gazed down at the finished result. Vivian Westwood Chantelle was not, but the top was pinned so that only a legal amount of flesh peeped through. I wasn’t entirely certain it’d stand up to movement, though. I’d have to stay sitting for the rest of the evening. “You’re a gem, Chan’.“

  “Glad to be of service. I also bought some Stingoze, Dettol and Band-Aids for later if you need them.”

  Bless her. She had an entire medical kit in her handbag. Because you never knew when.

  “Does this mean you don’t want to come over for dinner, then?”

  I turned to find Johnny standing in front of me. For some odd reason, he looked expectant. Honestly, did he never give up?

  “Not if you were the last man left on earth, and if you ever, ever, touch me again, so help me God, you’ll be wearing your balls as a necklace.” I glowered at him.

  Johnny paused. The cheeky grin disappeared. I don’t know if it was the thought of his testicles being injured or simply that something I’d said had gotten into his thick skull, but he looked quite upset all of a sudden.

  Of course, that could be part of his act.

  “I’m sorry, Millie. I didn’t mean to trash your top and I’ll pay for a new one. It’s just that, you seem like a nice girl and I guess got a bit carried away at the thought of you coming mine.” He swallowed and looked
at the floor.

  Awww. The poor guy. He actually was clueless.

  “If you kept your hands to yourself, girls would like you. They’d actually be drooling at your feet if you’d stop behaving like such a knob.” I had no idea why I was telling him that, let alone talking to him, but I guess I felt sorry for him. There was something about his complete idiocy I could identify with.

  “You think so?”

  “I know so.”

  “You’re the first chick to ever tell me that. Usually they hit me and run away.”

  I highly doubted that.

  “Maybe you just weren’t listening. Girls want to be spoken to like people Johnny, not sex objects.”

  A furrow formed on Johnny’s brow. “I thought I was being sexy—”

  Chantelle began to choke on her mini burger.

  “—Jesus, I know shit about women.” He shook his head, and muttered something to himself.

  “You could say that.”

  “Maybe you could teach me?”

  Or maybe not.

  A masculine voice chimed in from behind me. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  I turned. It was Sam. God, his shoulders were amazing in that white shirt. But I had to focus. “Why shouldn’t I help Johnny and what exactly does this have to do with you?” I was lucky to get the words out in a coherent sentence, those shoulders were affecting me so.

  “Because.”

  Always a good reason.

  “Because why?”

  “Because I wouldn’t like to think a woman I’m going out with is giving lessons to my sleazebag mate, that’s why.”

  Beneath her olive skin, Alex went a funny shade of white.

  “But I’m not going out with you.”

  “You will. One day.” He gave me a grin that almost made me quiver. Not quite, but almost. Damn him.

  “Right. Well.” Chantelle mumbled. “There’s no point in hearing any more, I’m going for a dance. Coming Johnny?” She grabbed Johnny’s hand and dragged him to the dance floor, Splendour In The Grass and hell freezing over forgotten in the light of Sam’s bombshell.

  I glared up at Sam. “Why are you here?”

  I could not believe he’d said that. If he were any further up himself he’d looking out of the Ozone layer.