Ridge Creek (10 page)

Emma

I’m standing at the mirror in the bathroom dabbing concealer
over the yellowing bruises on the right side of my face.  My first round of
online shopping purchases started arriving two days ago and with healing
wounds, new clothes and new make-up, I’m finally starting to feel like I’m
alive again.

Alive as one can feel after being nearly dead.

Alive as one can feel when life as you know it ceases to
exist and you have to start again.  Start again with no family, no home, no
car, no personal effects, nothing.

Zip, zero, zilch.

Nix, nada.

Not that I can say the loss of my dismal excuse for a family
is something that is going to affect me.  Not in the least.

With no clues on the identity of my father, I was the only
child to a woman who shouldn’t have been allowed to bring a child into the
world in the first place.  She has to be one of the number one reasons society
should bring in breeding licenses for women. 

A mean, self-centred egotistical
bitch
, Patricia was
so self-centred that she drank and smoked her way through her unwanted
pregnancy.  She did this focused on how pregnancy was an inconvenience.  An
inconvenience that made her fat and unattractive to the constantly revolving
door of men in her life.  An inconvenience that was endured with the support of
vodka and cigarettes. 

I haven’t spoken to my mother for over ten years.  Having
moved out of home on my eighteenth birthday, she made a few weak attempts to
contact me over the next few years before her efforts stopped.

And I let them.

Happily.

And now I have a fresh slate, with a new look and a new
life.  I’m thirty years old and starting off with a whole new me.

As I dab the concealer on, I marvel at the sight of the new
me.  I now have shoulder length, chocolate brown hair.  I also have shiny
bright green eyes.  A far cry from my normal natural look of golden blonde hair
with cornflower blue eyes.  It feels like I’m under a strange spell looking
into the mirror to see a whole new version of me.

Spells aside, I do love my new eye color and I dig the new
hair, thanks to Dingo’s wife, Eva.

Eva had arrived at the front of the shop two days ago. 
Bustling through the piles of stock carrying her bags, she had not hesitated to
barge straight past the dazed biker at the front counter and through the door
to the communal room.

On entering the large, open room, she had scanned the half
dozen or so pissed off looking bikers standing and sitting around the room
before pinning her eyes on her husband.  Not caring the room was
wired
at the presence of yet another unwanted female in their inner sanctum, she had
ordered Dingo to, “Go get me my girl.” 

She had then thumped various shopping and beauty bags on a
table, wandered to the bar fridge, grabbed herself a beer and plonked herself
down on a barstool to wait.  Which is where I found her after Dingo timidly
sought me out in my room to let me know that his wife had arrived.

My first thoughts on Eva when I entered the room were that
she was a
Pink
lookalike.  Small and dainty, she had short, spiked,
white-blonde hair with slashes of pink coloring through it.  Dressed in black
leggings, shiny black high heels and a killer silver tunic with belt, she oozed
fashion.  Something that didn’t gel with the look her husband had going on. 

His was the look of a grubby biker.

Some of his look was to do with Dingo’s role as the shop’s
resident mechanic.  Some of it was just Dingo.  As a mechanic, he was always
wearing dirty black, grease covered jeans, loose fitting Harley t-shirts and
oily black biker boots.  As Dingo, he wore similar outfits, minus the grease.

Taking a second look at him after meeting his wife, I soon
realized that underneath all that grub was an average looking brown haired man
with perfect teeth and kind brown eyes.  A man who may have looked average on
the outside, but once he smiled and his eyes crinkled at you in their soft, friendly
way, you could see was far from average on the inside. 

Filing this information in my new mental register of people
I trust, I listened through Dingo’s brief introduction to Eva.  He then left me
sitting at the bar with his wife and vanished with the rest of the men out to
the garage. 

Spending the afternoon with Eva had been refreshing.  A
qualified hairdresser and beautician, she kept the beers coming as we sifted
through magazines to find my new hairstyle and hair color.  As she gabbed to me
about her salon, her children and her friends, I found myself relaxing fully
for the first time in over a week.  Even shuffling my way between the small
bathroom and the communal room to rinse out hair and eyebrow color, I felt like
I was having what I could call a normal day.

Leaving late in the afternoon, she pecked me on the cheek
and promised that she would be back Friday night.  She did this vowing that now
she’d breached the inner sanctum, there was no way the men would be keeping her
out.  It was obvious that Eva was
not
one of the women who had been
happy
about her inability to set foot in the Harley shop.  Having now broken the seal
on the inner vault, there would now be no holding her back.

I remember smirking at her words because I hadn’t yet told
her about my friend Emma.  She had no idea how big the breach of the inner
sanctum was about to become.

Swiping one last brush full of mascara onto my eyelashes, I
sense movement to my left and swing to see Jake leaning in the doorway. 

Jake.

I haven’t seen Jake for nearly three full days.  After
leaving me lying in bed thinking he was a cheeky bastard, I only saw him for
five more minutes later that day.  He’d turned up in my room, announced he had
‘business’ to take care of and he had to head out for a few days.  A short time
later I heard a truck pull up in the laneway beside the shop.  The truck then
left again, followed shortly after by the familiar deep sound of Harley pipes. 
I hadn’t seen or heard from Jake since.

Zane had however appeared in my room a short while later to
tell me he was around if I needed him. 

And that was that. 

Not that the past three days had dragged.  Not at all.

This was because I had plenty of amusement receiving and
opening the constant flow of parcels that were delivered to my room by various
annoyed looking bikers.  I think it was the sheer volume of parcels delivered
direct to me that had caused the annoyance.  What could I say, I’m an excellent
online shopper and I can make my dollars
stretch.

I’d also spent an entire afternoon with Eva on one day and
then spent another full afternoon cleaning out and setting up Emma’s room. 
Aided by Zane and another biker called ‘Bitch’ (who had yet to reveal his real
name to me), the room was cleared, the wooden floor swept and the bed set-up. 
There is no other furniture in the room at this point, but I’m sure Emma and I
will remedy that after she arrives.

Another break to the monotony had been the arrival of Simon
the doctor to remove the stitches on my back and… other places.  I was healing
fast and all was well.  There was going to be a fair bit of scarring over my
back and ass but compared to being dead, scarring was a small issue.

I’d also spent a few hours each day hanging at the bar in
the communal room meeting what felt like a constant merry-go-round of new
bikers who came and went regularly.  I soon learned the roar of Harley pipes
was a constant at Jake and Zanes.

Stopping midstroke at my eyelash, my mouth drops open as I
register that he’s back.  A small thrill of excitement courses through my blood
as I take in the view that is Jake leaning in the doorway.

He looks good. 

As usual.

With waves of badass coolness rolling off his hulk of a
body, I find myself first staring at his enormous chest and then sliding my
eyes up to his mouth.  Lingering there a bit too long, I hear myself sigh as I
flick my eyes up and let out a breathy, “Hi.”

Way to go Ari
–
you probably sound like a bitch on
heat.

Lifting an eyebrow, I watch as a fleeting look of amusement
crosses his face and one side of his mouth curls slightly.  As a few beats
pass, I realize I am still holding my mascara brush up to my face so I swing
back to the mirror to finish my make-up.

Get a grip.

It is as I start swiping at my eyelashes again that his
deep, gravelly voice rumbles , “Is you’re girl arriving today?”

Hi to you to.

Clearly bikers don’t greet people after long absences.

Duly noted.

I mentally count my days backwards and decide it’s been four
days since my brief conversation with Emma.  Today is Friday and it’s likely
she could arrive today.

Nodding, I ask, “Probably, why?”

“Because I just got a call from the bloke out the front and
he’s telling me there’s a crazy woman with a fucking parrot in the shop front. 
Both she and the parrot are screeching your name.”

Letting out a small scream of excitement, I jam the mascara
brush back in its cover and throw it down on the bathroom sink.  Without a
second’s hesitation, I launch for the door.  Jake steps back to let me through
and I don’t give him a second thought as I charge down the hallway and start
negotiating the maze of rooms to the communal room and then through to the shop
front.

I hear Emma as I am crossing the communal room.

“These are farking cool man!” 

Ripping the door open and flying through it, I find myself
standing behind the front counter staring straight into Emma’s eyes as she
stands on the other side of the counter staring back.

We both freeze for a few beats.  I freeze because she looks
different.
 
She freezes because
I
look different too.

Holy shit.

She has obviously taken the whole living out the back of a
biker shop seriously.  Used to seeing Emma dressed in stylish three-quarter
pants, expensive open toed shoes and button down shirts, she’s decided to break
the mould.

Standing before me is a woman who has ‘biker bitch’ written
all over her. 

Dressed in tight black jeans, knee-high lace up biker boots
and a black double-breasted biker jacket, I barely recognize her.  It’s only
because her signature long, straight, shiny black hair is hanging around her
face and it’s framing her stormy gray eyes that I know it’s
my
Emma.

Blinking rapidly, my eyes slide to her shoulder where a
bright green parrot with a huge yellow beak sits staring at me.  My eyes then
slide to her right hand, which she has held out in front her.  This is because
she is wielding an enormous Bowie knife with a wooden handle and a Harley
Davidson logo, complete with the winged eagle running along its blade.

I find my face splitting into the biggest smile I’ve felt in
ages.

Emma is
here.

In the same instant, Emma’s face screws up and her eyes
flash angrily.  “What the fuck?  Arianna?”  She screeches loudly at the same
time as a second, “Arianna!” Echoes from the parrot on her shoulder.

Ignoring her angry look I round the counter to shorten the
distance between us.  I figure she’s angry because she can see the leftover
yellow bruising through my make-up.  Grabbing her around the shoulders while
trying to avoid the humungous knife and the parrot, I start hugging her.  As I
hug, tears start springing to my eyes.

Happy tears.  Relieved tears.  Thank God you’re here tears.

Only allowing me to hug her for about two heart beats, she
pushes me away with her free hand.  With the angry look still on her face, she
announces, “Fuck it woman, that
thing
,” she throws a suspicious glance
towards the biker behind the counter, “with a photo I made for you is so
not
going to work anymore.  You’ve got a great look going on but you can’t have
blue eyes on your
thing
and then green ones in the flesh.  Fuck, Fuck,
Faaark.  Why didn’t I think of that earlier?  God damn it, I should have asked
you for a current photo.”

Rubbing my eyes I try to blink away the tears. These colored
contacts are still giving me trouble and it’s been two whole days.  Crying and
squinting causes them to slide across my eyeball slightly.  When they do this,
they throw small blurry shadows across my eyes as the colored rings cover my
pupils momentarily.  It’s an irritation, but one I am happy to endure compared
to say,
being dead.

Looking perplexed, Emma continues her rant.  “What the fuck
are you crying for?  It’s not that big of an issue.  I’ve done all the hard
yards and set up the electronic signature shit.  I’ve only gotta change the
photo and print a fresh one.  I’ve bought all my gear with me. I can do it
right now if it that’s much of an issue.” 

She pauses briefly again to give the biker behind the
counter another suspicious look then swings her eyes back to me.  “Fark. 
Please
stop crying.  You never cry.  Holy shit, what the
fuck
is wrong with
you?  And should we be talking about this shit in front of him?” 

She tips her chin to the biker who I now look to see is
sitting stock-still with a blank expression on his face.  Jake has appeared
behind him.  He too has a blank expression on his face.  An emotionless look
that I can’t read.

I instantly decide bikers are good at not showing emotion.

Wiping the last of my tears away, I grin and chuckle.  “He’s
cool, they’re all cool here.  And I’m not crying about the ID you stupid woman,
I’m crying because I’m happy to see you.”

“Oh,” she pauses for a few beats.  “Well I’m happy to see
you too.  Meet Jambo,” she announces as she jerks her chin to the parrot on her
shoulder and then her eyes slide back to Jake.  “I bought him off an old
Swahili guy in a service station on the outskirts of Melbourne.  The guy told
me his name but I couldn’t pronounce it
and
it sounded stupid.  The bird
kept saying Jambo to me in the car so I’ve renamed him to that.  It’s easier to
remember.”