The Taming of the Bastard

by Lindy Dale

  “Kirbs, use your brain, sweetie. He’s a fucking teacher, for fuck’s sake. Ninety-eight per cent of his colleagues are women. He’s probably bonking some little first year teacher in the remedial room or something.”

  Kirby began to wail into her robe. Her shoulders shook, sending vibrations along her arms and into her hands. The manicurist gripped her hand tighter making her squeal in protest but it was either that or she’d been wearing the polish up to her wrists.

  “Oh, gosh, I’m like sooo sorry,” she sniffed again, trying to control her unruly hand. “But this is, like, totally freaking me out.”

  I had to do something. I had a university degree that I’d never used, after all. I knew how life worked. People didn’t just go around having sex with other people in their lunch hours. Well, except Sam before he met me. “Don’t you think you’re jumping the gun?”

  “What do you mean?” A small glimmer of hope twinkled in Kirby’s eye and she managed a slight smile to the nail technician who was holding up her finished hand for approval.

  “Well, people don’t become Principals overnight. You have to do your time in the country. And he did apply for the job. Maybe he’s thinking about your future.” I smiled, satisfied. We each had our place in the group. Mine was clearly as the voice of reason.

  “Millie’s right. You get paid more to work in the country. Maybe he’s saving up for a ring. I’ll bet he’s going to propose.”

  “I don’t think you should assume he’ll propose, especially if there’s been no indication,” I replied. I didn’t add I thought he never would. Two years of relationship without a proposal was a bad omen in my books.

  “You’re right,” Kirby sighed, holding up her glass and indicating refills all round. “I’m, like, being a ninny. Ryan wouldn’t do, like, anything without consulting me first. We’re a team. Besides, he knows I totally want to design the ring. The man at Solid Gold is going to make it especially. Princess cut with a diamond encrusted band.”

  Sasha placed a sympathetic hand over Kirby’s. “He’ll ask you to go join him, I bet.”

  “Sure, maybe after he gets bored with ugg boots and AFL,” Melanie muttered, causing Kirby’s tears to rain anew.

  Sometimes I thought I’d gone to sleep and woken up in Wonderland.

   17 

  By Saturday evening I was so excited I could hardly contain myself when Sam arrived, pulling into the driveway in a flashy black car that guaranteed an audience up and down the street. The car, reserved yet sleek, was not his usual sporty boy-about-town vehicle and it crossed my mind that many new gadgets seemed to be appearing in Sam’s life. That tax return of his must have been bigger than he’d let on. I peeped through the blind on the upstairs landing, watching his long leg step out of the car. Casually, he tousled his hair just so and, flicking his sunglasses to the top of his head, took the stairs two at a time before caressing the doorbell with his index finger. Oblivious to my peering, he stood straightening his tie and cuffs. He was a vision of smooth sexiness in his dinner suit.

  Adele answered the door. Playing the proud mother role, she had forbidden me to do so whilst wearing my gown because it would ruin the moment, so I stood on the landing tapping my foot as impatiently as a sixteen year old, waiting for her call. I waited a good five minutes without result. Then, deciding I’d had enough and I went down. Sam and Adele were at the foot of the stairs chatting. A low whistle escaped his lips as I moved to stand in front of him. He grinned and kissed my freshly painted mouth. “Hey babe. Wow. You look fabulous.”

  “I must say, Sam,” purred Adele, who was on his other side, “You look rather dashing, too.”

  Her eyes gave him the once over and there was a distinct puckering and pursing of her lips. I frowned. It was almost as if Adele was flirting with my boyfriend.

  “Thanks,” Sam replied. “It’s good to get the penguin suit out again. Is it okay for me to take Millie now?”

  “Go.” She pecked his cheek and waved him away. “And have a lovely time. Don’t forget the spare room if you’re too unwell to make it home.”

  We headed for the front door. What had that been about? Adele did not do kisses, except of the air variety. It was against her philosophy of life to exchange body fluids. Burying the bizarre thought in the back of my mind, I stepped into the porch light and took Sam’s arm to go down the front stairs. The night was crisp but not too cold. The only thing making me shiver was the sight of Sam in his tux. He was divine.

  “You look totally fuckable tonight,” he whispered into night air, making my face redden.

  “Um, thanks? I wasn’t sure what was appropriate and Kirby was keen to truss me up like a Wayne Cooper turkey.”

  Sam’s eyes swept over my body. “That’s entirely appropriate, Babe,” he chuckled, adding, “Don’t let Kirby sway you. She wears way too much pink for any man, except Rambo. Now, how about we go for a quickie? We’ve got an hour or so on the clock and I haven’t behaved like a teenager for at least two days.”

  He gave my bottom a playful slap and directed me to the car.

  “As tempting an invitation as that is, this dress cost a small fortune. I'd like to keep it on until we’ve eaten dinner, at least.” Lifting my hem to dodge him, I bent into the car. There was no way on Earth I was having sex in any public place.

  Sam gave his watch a comic glance. “Only have to wait till ten o’clock, then. Guess I can hold out.”

  “You’re disgusting, you know that?”

  “Only when I’m getting naked with you.”

  Good god.

  He buckled himself into the driver’s side and we swung out of the driveway and set off down the street towards the city. Happily, I snuggled into the warmed leather of the seat, listening to him chatter on about the game that day and the new bits and bobs he’d bought for his flat. He seemed content and I didn’t mind, that for once, I couldn’t get a word in. As soon as we reached the venue, he’d be off doing heavens knows what. Sam was a social butterfly, and while attentive most of the time, he liked to mingle, leaving me to my own devices now that I was comfortable with his friends. I gazed out the window, letting him ramble. What was I going to do about Indonesia? A few months ago, I was looking forward to booking my flights. Now I couldn’t bring myself to even imagine how my new life would be. The thought of leaving Sam got more painful every day I was with him. I was torn.

  “Wanna go to the rowing club sheds? There’s a nice view over the river.” Sam’s voice brought me back from my reverie and seeing the moonlight, spraying her silver beams across the water, I realised we were already half way down the deserted lane that led to the water. Honestly, he was so presumptuous.

  “Is sex the only thing you ever think about?”

  “Pretty much. That and rugby.”

  I glared at him.

  “And you, of course. You’re my number one.”

  “Well, you can turn the car around right now, ‘cause you’re not getting any of those things in the next hour or so. We’ve a Ball to get to. And I’m starving. I haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast.”

  Sam laughed and reversed the car, turning at the corner and heading back in the right direction. His eyes were sparkling with mischief. He obviously thought it had been worth a shot but knew I’d never agree.

  We drove in silence for a couple more minutes until we rounded Mounts Bay Road and turned towards Riverside Drive. “That reminds me, we’re going to Macca’s place after,” he said.

  “A post Ball party?” That might be fun.

  “The Wallabies are playing Wales. Should be a good game.”

  I sighed. Oh yes. Right. Another late night session watching the Wallabies. I gazed back out the window. Talk about crush the fairytale.

  *****

  I'd never been in the Grand Ballroom at the Sheraton before and I could count the number of times I'd been to black tie events on one hand, so I was jittery with expectation as Sam and I got out of the car at the foyer and he tossed his keys to
the valet. We walked through the marble lined lobby and into the ballroom. Decorated in the Hornets’ brown and gold colours, the room swelled around me, packed to the brim with rugby lads who had undergone miraculous transformations. In the three hours since the game had finished they’d turned from mud and blood splattered brutes to reasonably passable, in fact, rather hot, tuxedoed gentlemen. It was a sight to behold. Standing proud, Sam linked my arm through his and we entered the room, heading towards our group.

  “You look ravishingly glamorous tonight, Millie.” Johnny took a cocktail from the waiter’s tray and handed to me, giving me a peck on the cheek. Looking handsome in his tux, I could almost have mistaken him for a man with manners until his eyes flew to my cleavage. “Nice to see you brought the girls along.”

  “You keep your hands off, Johnny.” I waved my tiny gold clutch in his direction. “I didn’t have room to pack any safety pins in this purse.”

  “Okay. But only ‘cause I love you.” With a wink he draped an arm around my shoulder. His blue eyes softened.

  “I love you, too, but you know I’m with Sam.” I laughed his advance off and took a step closer to my date who was at that moment engaged in some type of banter with Womble that involved elbowing and a couple of playful blows to the midsection. Though Johnny had turned out to be the nicest of men and had become a good friend, I had no romantic interest in anything other than the man beside me. Johnny was like the brother I’d never had. The rude, disgusting brother you wanted to punch but still loved to death.

  “Oh well,” Johnny shrugged. “There’s always Mel. She looks like she could do with one.”

  Oh God.

  “I wouldn’t approach her in that way if you plan to stay conscious for the evening.”

  “Not the right wording?”

  Definitely not the right wording.”

  “But she likes me. I know she does. She just yells because she doesn’t know what to do with those tantalising feelings of wanting to shag my brains out. And I figure, if she’s going to be blunt with me, I may as well reciprocate.”

  “You’ll never change, will you?”

  “Probably not.”

  Draining his beer, Johnny took another from a passing tray. He glanced sidelong at Melanie, who was draped silkily across the bar, her shoulders bared to the assembled boys.

  He took a tentative step toward her. “Hi Mel. You’re looking hot tonight.”

  Melanie shot him a chilly stare. “Go away, Johnny, I’m busy.”

  “I’d like to get busy—with you.”

  Mel hesitated. Then she turned back, her icy gaze shifting to Johnny’s fingers, curled around his glass. “Have you figured out how many women you can offend tonight with those wandering hands?”

  Johnny caressed the rim of the glass. His eyebrow rose invitingly. “That depends.”

  “On?”

  “On how long you can keep up this charade of not being interested. Come on, Mel. You know you want fuck me, as much as I do you. We were meant to be together, even if it’s only for a night. ”

  Mel bit on the rim of her glass so hard I was convinced it would break. She lifted her eyes to Johnny’s and when she spoke the words were elongated and emphasised to make her point clear. “Frankly, I'd rather have sex with Womble.”

  Womble began to choke. “Hey!” Then deciding he might have some remote sort of chance he’d never dreamt of he added, “Did you actually mean that?”

  “Of course I didn’t mean it you dimwit. I was making a point.”

  “Oh. Just checking. I thought that’s what you were doing.” He put his beer behind him on the bar, shielding it from harm. He folded his arms across his expansive stomach and settled in to watch the impending argument. “I love it when they go for it.” He chuckled to me. “I don’t have a clue what they say half the time but it’s more entertaining than watching the black scum getting pummelled at the breakdown.” Clearly, a sparring match between Mel and Johnny was entertainment at its best but one had to be on their guard. Anything could become a weapon.

  Leaning closer to Mel, Johnny produced his most charming grin. His lips, millimetres from Mel’s lobes murmured what I daren’t imagine, and his index finger crept towards her opened palm, right on the bar for all to see. He tickled it lightly, drawing tiny circles in the centre. “You can do that if you like, Mel,” he purred, “But it’d be more fun with me. You know it and I know it.” His smile grew confident as he continued to whisper. Melanie’s head bent close to his. A lock of perfectly coiffed hair drifted down her cheek. A faint smile creased her lips. Then.....

  “Oh my God.” I gasped, as she reached over the bar and picked up a jug of iced water, depositing the entire contents over Johnny’s head and down the front of his dinner suit.

  Jumping away, Johnny snatched up the bar towel and pressed it, against his shirt. “What the fuck was that for?”

  “For being a fucking, arsehole, bastard fucktard.” The empty jug was still in her hand as a look of murder swept over her face. Carefully, deliberately she placed it on the bar and, with a deep intake of calming breath, she slipped her clutch under her arm and turned on her heels. “Wanker.”

  Johnny looked as if he might cry but I’m fairly positive it wasn’t from Mel’s words. Sam, Womble and Macca were giving her a standing ovation. Poor Johnny.

  Taking his hand, I pulled him through the crowd. “Honestly, Johnny, if you were any stupider—” I couldn’t finish the sentence. I didn’t know how. I had no idea what he’d said to illicit such response and frankly I was a little worried to find out.

  “Where’re we going?”

  “To dry you off. You look like you got off the Turbo Slide at Wet ‘n’ Wild.”

  “Pity it wasn’t Girls Gone Wild.”

  “Oh Johnny.”

  I stopped, glancing up and down the hall to ensure the coast was clear. Then I pushed the door to the ladies loo with my foot and lead him inside. The harsh lighting made him seem all the more damp. A smattering of chest hairs was clearly visible through his shirt. I checked the stalls. Empty. I faced him. “Take off your shirt.”

  Johnny frowned. He stuck a finger into his bowtie, releasing it from his collar. “You sure?”

  “Positive. Get naked.” It was all I could do to keep a straight face. He looked pathetic, the poor darling. Sexy, but pathetic.

  Unbuttoning his shirt, Johnny revealed a broad expanse of chest leading to a six-pack that rivalled Sam’s. His skin was golden and firm with thin line of hair that trailed along his torso to the top of his trousers. It wasn’t anything that I’d been expecting but I shouldn’t have been surprised. Johnny worked out. He was a bit of a peacock. I took the shirt and flicked the hand dryer on, drying it as best I could while he ducked his head into the adjacent drier and proceeded to groom his hair back to its metrosexual finest.

  “What did you say to her?” I asked, concentrating on the shirt.

  Having completed his work under the drier, he was gazing at himself in the mirror. Absently, he fiddled with a few strands and stood back to survey the result. His voice was melancholy, wistful even. “Doesn’t matter, Mill’, I wasn’t that interested, anyway. It was only something to pass the time.”

  The hand dryer flicked off. The damp shirt was limp in my hand. “But Mel’s a nice girl. Sure, she swears like a man but she’s beautiful and smart and funny. I don’t understand why you’d bait her like that.”

  “I told you, it didn’t mean anything. It’d only be for sex and I’m tired of that. I need more.” He stared at me, as if he wanted to say something further. I handed him the shirt and he pulled an arm into the sleeve. It wasn’t completely dry but it was the best I could do with limited resources.

  “Thanks for trying to help. You’re a treasure.”

  “You’re my friend. Comes with the territory.”

  Johnny began to button and tuck himself in. He was quiet, his eyes never leaving my face as I retied the bow tie for him. “You know…”

  “What?�
��

  “Don’t worry.” He picked up his jacket and headed for the toilet door. “Come on, my little dove, let’s get you back to that boyfriend of yours. I’ve got some drinking to do.”

   18 

  “Millie! Aaaah!” A piercing squeal bounced towards me, its shrill tones threatening to bring down the chandelier as Kirby, recovered from her meltdown at the salon, sheathed in hot pink, floor length satin and looking utterly enchanting descended upon us. Her bosoms were hiked to the heavens and her hair was piled carelessly, yet artfully, on top of her head.

  “Oh. My. God,” she declared, “You, so, look like Kate Hudson in How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days. That dress is, like uh, totally divine.”

  “Thanks.” I gave her an air kiss. “I love your dress too. It’s very chic.”

  Hands on hips, she swivelled in a circle and posed in front of me. “Rambo chose it,” she giggled. “He says it makes me look thinner but I have been on the Lemon Detox for the last ten days so I don’t, like totally, think it’s the dress. I hope these spaghetti straps hold up. I s’pose they’ll be fine, Rambo promised to keep his hands to himself and I got the dressmaker to, like, put extra reinforcing in the seams and the straps.” She gave me a knowing wink and I couldn’t help but wonder. Why did she do it? She was so sweet. She could have it all. She didn’t need to be a doormat to get a man.

  “Ok, let’s hit the dance floor. Ryan’s deserted me and I want to dance. Do you know he, like, totally didn’t notice the highlights Paolo put in my hair. I could be standing here, like, totally naked and he wouldn’t notice.”

  “I think he would. Shall I get the boys?”

  She looked over to where Sam, Rambo and Johnny stood propping up the bar. “Don’t bother. They never dance this early in the night. And by ten thirty, you’ll be begging Sam to get off the dance floor. He’s quite the dirty dancer you know.” She sniggered and dragged me to the centre of the room to demonstrate a one footed pivot she’d seen on her Dancing with the Stars DVD.

  “Gosh, that was fancy,” I said, throwing a glare at Sam, who had raised his glass and was laughing his head off at us. Again.