The Bad Girls' Club (6 page)

‘
Sorry the place is such a mess,’ Beth said. She walked over to the coffee table and scooped up a leaf that had fallen from the vase of lilies.

‘
You live here?’

‘
No, it’s just a place I rent for special occasions.’ Beth laughed. ‘Of course I live here. Relax, make yourselves at home.’ She spread some newspaper on the kitchen floor. ‘Well, not you, Juliette. Don’t relax. Get here so we can get started.’

Imogen hunkered on the balcony outside, sucking on a cigarette. She thought that smoking was a habit all bad girls should have. Beth had told her there was nothing sexy about lung cancer or emphysema. No way were we going to start, no matter what anyone dared us.

Beth wrapped a towel around my shoulders. I was worried that she would wreck one of her good towels but she said it was old. She pushed up her sleeves, ready for business then snapped on a pair of rubber gloves and mixed the hair dye with one of those brushes like real hairdressers use.

The dye felt cold and globby as she dabbed it on my hair. The fumes stung my eyes and the dye burnt my scalp. I flinched as she started on the next section.

‘Hey, try to stay steady.’

‘
Is it supposed to burn?’ I asked.

‘
Yes, of course it is.’

‘
It’s not going to be permanent is it?’

‘
It’s just highlights. How permanent can it be?’

I picked up the dye box.
‘But it says here –’

Beth grabbed the box out of my hands.
‘Never mind about that. Anyway, it’s only hair. It’ll grow back.’ That was easy for Beth to say. She already had the perfect hair, the perfect teeth, and the perfect body. All I had was a burning scalp and stinging eyes. That dye was really strong.

Imogen walked back inside.
‘Couldn’t we have just gone to the hairdressers for this bit?’

‘
I guess so,’ said Beth. ‘But I like doing it. It’s more relaxing than hanging around the hairdressers. Oh, Imogen, can you grab a bottle of bubbly out of the fridge? I always wanted to be a hairdresser when I was kid. For my eighth birthday, I got one of those Barbie fashion heads so I could do the hair and makeup.’

‘
Wow. I had one of those too,’ I said. ‘I never played with it much though. I thought Barbie was kind of boring.’

Imogen poured the champagne and sat up at the kitchen bench.

‘What did you get for your eighth birthday?’ Beth asked her.

‘
I can’t remember. When we were kids, Mum either forgot our birthdays completely or she did this whole overblown production number. Either way, it sucked.’

‘
I dunno. A big party could be fun.’ Beth kept dabbing away at my hair.

‘
You think? They were damn awful. She’d serve paté and canapés. Or more likely have the caterers serve them.’ Imogen frowned. She hated talking about her mum, you could tell by the way her voice went all tight. Didn’t Beth notice that?

‘
Sounds good to me.’

‘
Not when you’re five years old. The only decent party I ever had was one time when Mum was away. Nan looked after us and she threw a party with fairy bread and sausage rolls and raspberry cordial.’

‘
Standard kid stuff,’ said Beth, nodding.

‘
Yeah. Mum chucked a mental when she found out. I must admit we did get a bit hyper. She’d have never known we’d been jumping on the couch if Suzie Kingston hadn’t left her muddy footprint behind. Damn her.’

‘
Still, you must have had some good times growing up with your mum.’

‘
Yeah, fantastic.’ Imogen picked up her cigarettes and went back outside.

Being made over isn
’t a quick process, that’s for sure, or a painless one either. Especially when Beth decided to wax my legs. I don’t know how anyone can voluntarily do that. Imogen came back inside and we all put on honey and oatmeal masques and sat around talking in ‘mmphs’ as the masques hardened. With my head wrapped in Glad Wrap, my scalp itched like crazy. I tried to scratch it but didn’t quite work through the layers of plastic and dye.

I hoped this wouldn
’t make my hair fall out. I could just see it. I’d wash the dye off, my hair would go down the sink with it, and I’d have to spend the next three months wearing a hat. My hair might be a boring mousy no-colour and kinda frizzy but that was better than no hair at all.

Beth covered the mirrors in the bathroom so I couldn
’t see myself while she rinsed my hair. When she finished, she gave me some lovely Chanel toiletries to use and left me to shower. I felt a lot better after that, calm and relaxed. I smothered myself with the body lotion, covering my newly smoothed legs with long strokes. Maybe Beth and Imogen were right, maybe they weren’t bad. Although they could do with a bit of a tan.

Beth was being so nice today. I wanted to give her a big hug. I had never really liked Beth before. She had seemed so stuck up and would carry on and on about her boyfriend, Jeremy, when anyone could see he was a lying snake in the grass. As if that made her someone special. I mean, I had a boyfriend too. Even if he was more interested in his X-Box than my box.

I snuggled into a big, fluffy robe while Beth did my hair. She and Imogen had changed into their going out clothes so I thought this bit wouldn’t take long. Boy, was I mistaken. It felt like Beth was drying each strand of hair individually.

‘
You look great,’ I said to Imogen. She was wearing a black top with swoopy gothic sleeves.

‘
She’d have looked better in the halter top,’ said Beth. Whoa, that was a sore point. Beth didn’t like her fashion advice going unheeded.

Imogen handed me another glass of bubbly, while it felt like Beth was going to pull my hair right out of my head.

Finally, she turned off the hair dryer. ‘I think I’m done.’

‘
Can I see it?’

‘
Not yet,’ she said. But Imogen mouthed ‘wow’ behind her back, so I knew it looked OK.

Beth grabbed the bags of cosmetics. She laid a towel on the kitchen bench then unpacked the boxes and jars onto it.
‘Now, it’s time for your face. And pay attention to what I do so you know what to do yourself.’

‘
Yes, Mum.’

I would never remember how to do all the stuff Beth had done. She seemed to fuss around for hours.

‘OK,’ she said with a final flourish of the huge makeup brush. ‘Now, you can get dressed. But no peeking. Go in to the lounge and get dressed in there. And I’ll sort out Imogen while we’re waiting.’

I unwrapped the black tissue paper from my new underwear – I sure hadn
’t bought underwear that was wrapped in tissue paper before. Usually it was in packs of five from K-Mart. I pulled out the bra – black lace with red ribbon threaded through it, ending in little red bows. It was so delicate; I was scared I’d snag it or tear it.

The matching g-string cost a fortune for such a teeny bit of fabric but it sure was cute. Imagine – me in a g-string. I slipped it on but it didn
’t feel right. I ran my finger under the elastic, trying to adjust it but still it felt wrong.

‘
Beth,’ I called. ‘Is this g-string supposed to feel like it’s… you know?’

‘
Yeah, you’ll get used to it.’ Beth and Imogen laughed. I hoped it wasn’t about how I looked in my g-string. It felt like I was flossing my teeth from the wrong end.

I searched through the bags for my new skirt. I wasn
’t going to think about how much it cost or anything like that. I’d just wear it and enjoy it.

‘
You done in there?’ asked Imogen.

‘
Almost,’ I said, rolling a stocking onto my leg. I was trying to get dressed as fast as I could but I didn’t want to ladder my stockings. And I didn’t want to destroy the picture I was building in my head. A picture of someone who looked a bit like me but who was sparkling and glowing, with sexy legs and
glamour
eyes. Someone who looked a little like me, but a whole lot like Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

I squirmed my feet into the boots and zipped them up. Then I pulled the tight black t-shirt over my head, taking care not to muss my hair.

I took a deep breath and walked into the kitchen. If I looked stupid, I could always take the stuff back to the shops, although I didn’t think the g-string would be returnable.

I stood in the doorway.
‘Do I look OK?’ I asked.

Beth and Imogen stopped talking and both stared at me.

‘I think she’ll do, don’t you Beth?’ said Imogen.

Beth laughed.
‘You’re a babe, Juliette.’

‘
I want to see. Can I look now?’

‘
OK,’ said Beth. ‘Close your eyes though.’ She led into the bedroom, to the full-length mirror.

‘
Now you can look,’ she said.

When I opened my eyes, I couldn
’t breathe for a moment. That girl in the mirror, she was sexy. She was raunchy. The girl in the mirror wasn’t me. Well, wasn’t the old Juliette Mackenzie that’s for sure.

I squealed with delight. I tried to thank Beth but only a gargling, choking noise came out.

‘Don’t you like it?’ she asked.

Like it?
Like
didn’t even begin to describe it. Where had Beth found this new
me
?

Beth patted my hair.
‘I did bleach it, just a little. You don’t mind, do you?’

I shook my head. My hair was perfect. I had to touch it. I combed a lock between my fingers and ran it down over my eyes just to prove to myself that it really was me. Like I couldn
’t trust that reflection in the mirror. It was so blonde. Bleaching had always made me think of some strawy bottle-blonde biker’s moll. But this was shiny, golden blondey-blonde.

My hair hung down in a sleek straight curtain, curling under slightly at the ends that finished just below my neck. I never imagined I could look so cool.

Beth stood behind me and grabbed a layer from the top of my head. ‘When I dried it, I wrapped the brush around the roots like this –’ She demonstrated with her hand. ‘That gives you volume here at the top where you need it. Then you need to pull down tightly with the brush to get the straightness.’ She pulled some hair between her fingers. ‘Then just roll the brush under a little at the ends. Then just mess it up a little at the roots for more volume.’

I nodded. She made it sound so easy.

‘Of course, you have to do it in very small sections. That’s the key. Never try to do too much at once.’

I swirled my head like a girl in a shampoo commercial. It smelt expensive and lush. Suddenly, I loved the feeling of my hair brushing against my neck and shoulders.

‘Hey, careful you don’t want to mess up your new “do”,’ said Beth. ‘It looks good parted in the middle like that, don’t you think? Now what do you think of the rest of the look.’

I hadn
’t noticed much else but my hair to be honest. Stepping closer to the mirror, I checked out my eyes. They were
glamour
eyes – smoky and seductive. I batted my eyelashes. It was worth sitting though all those coats of mascara to have such long eyelashes.

I stepped back again so I could see all of me. The outfit looked fantastic. I was still a bit worried about how short the skirt was, but my legs looked great in those stockings. If I hadn
’t known it was me, if I saw someone else that looked like I did, I would curse her out from jealousy.

The t-shirt fitted perfectly – it had seemed so plain in the shop, just an ordinary black t-shirt – but it hugged against my body and pulled tightly over my boobs. I turned around and checked out my profile. Wow, that new bra made a difference. It was amazing the difference it made and…

‘What are you doing, Juliette?’ asked Beth.

‘
I’ve never had boobies before,’ I confessed. ‘Look at me. I’m perky.’

‘
Just don’t play with them like that in public. Now, come on. It’s time to take you out. Now, where to for dinner? There’s a new Thai place just opened down the street that’s really funky,’ said Beth.

‘
What about Chinese?’ I replied.

‘
Maccas?’ asked Imogen. She walked back out to the lounge room.

Beth walked behind her, muttering in disgust.
‘Maccas! What are you thinking? Who goes to Maccas? We’re going on a girl’s night out not a five-year-old’s birthday party.’

‘
Forget it,’ said Imogen. ‘Let’s just get going. I’m starving. We can decide on the way. Come on, Jules. What are you doing anyway?’

‘
Just a minute.’

I needed to take one last look in the mirror before we left.

We finally found somewhere to eat then Imogen dragged us up Hyde Street. Not the nice end with the designer stores and hip cafes either but the really grungy end.

A busker, with his dog curled up at his feet, sang a country song in a doorway. His friend danced out in front of us, holding out his cap for money. I shrugged him off. It wasn’t as if we could stop, even if we wanted to, with Imogen marching on ahead like some kind of Contiki tour leader.

A group of guys at an outdoor café yelled as we passed.
‘Yo, sexy. Come sit with us.’

I couldn
’t believe it. Juliette turned and winked at them, like she was Paris frigging Hilton. They all hooted and whistled until I dragged her away. The makeover was going to her head. Although, I must say I’d even amazed myself with my makeover magic. Who’d have thought that Juliette would blossom into such a sex kitten? I was so right about the blonde highlights and, in that short skirt, she looked all legs. I must be a natural at this.

‘
What now?’ Juliette asked, when Imogen stopped to light a cigarette.

I didn
’t care. I’d have been happy to go to a nice bar but all the nice bars were way down the other end of the street.

‘
Maybe a club?’ Juliette added.

‘
Clubs are boring,’ said Imogen. ‘How about that?’ She pointed to the sleazy pub across the street advertising male dancers.

I shrugged.

‘Well, why not? Isn’t that what bad girls do on a night out?’ asked Imogen.

We crossed the road and huddled outside the doorway, looking up the rickety stairs leading into blackness. I did not want to go in there.

‘This place looks dodgy,’ I whispered.

‘
Yeah. Let’s go somewhere else,’ said Juliette.

‘
No frigging way,’ said Imogen. ‘And do what? Sit around some boring club? This is a girl’s night out and that means strippers.’

She dropped her cigarette and ground it with her heel then disappeared up the stairs.

‘Doesn’t look like we have a choice,’ said Juliette and followed her.

At the top of the stairs, a group of girls milled around the front desk. One of them turned to us, snapping her gum.

‘Is this your first time?’ she asked. ‘This place rocks. Wait until you see Tony. He’s a real hottie.’

A short girl with white belly rolling over the top of her jeans grabbed her arm.
‘Sandra, stop it. You’re an old married woman now, remember? You shouldn’t be such a perv.’ She slapped Sandra on the arm.

Sandra spun on the heel of her white boots and popped a bubble in her friend
’s face. ‘You’re just jealous.’ She gave us a wink. ‘It’s Deb’s hen’s night tonight. She’s pissed off ‘cos I beat her down the aisle.’

Before we could reply, a woman appeared through the doorway. She grabbed a blue clipboard folder off the desk and checked off the hen
’s party. Then she turned to me.

‘
You girls got a booking?’ she asked.

I shook my head. We needed a booking? That was the best thing I
’d heard all night. We could get out of this dive. I swear, the fumes from cheap perfume and over-zealous oestrogen inside were giving me hives.

‘
That’s OK,’ said Sandra. ‘You can join us. We’ve got plenty of room.’

Oh goodie.

We paid and the woman led us into the bar with a twitch of her head. Inside was dank and steamy – like hell. Not even real hell but an antechamber of hell that they reserve for the poorly dressed. It had all the charm of a bus depot – moulded plastic chairs and fake wood tables, green nylon carpet, turning black from cigarette burns, a faint vanilla scent covering up something far less pleasant. A long stage jutted catwalk-style into the room, disappearing into a curtain of silver tinsel.

Our hostess led us around the stage, past tables full of cackling women in all manner of sequined atrocities. It was like walking through the birdhouse at the zoo.

Our table was at the side of the stage. Juliette grabbed the end seat and Imogen sat beside her, her back to the stage. I sat opposite Imogen and Sandra plonked herself down next to me.

‘
Bet your glad you’re with us,’ she said. ‘This is the best spot in the club.’

I smiled. Yeah, I was
really
glad. Must have been my lucky night.

‘
You’d better grab some drinks. The show’ll be starting soon.’

As I leant over to Imogen and Juliette, my arm stuck to the melamine table.

‘We need drinks,’ I told them, then handed Imogen some cash. ‘Can you get a bottle of champs?’

I watched her walk to the bar then grabbed Juliette
’s arm.

‘
We have to get out of here.’

Juliette nodded but looked at Imogen.
‘I know but no way is Imogen going to leave. She
wants
to be here.’

‘
Think of something. Can you fake some kind of fit?’

Juliette twirled a strand of hair around her finger until I brushed her hand away. Then I had a brainwave.

‘Can you go to the toilet and ring me? I’ll pretend it’s an emergency and we can leave.’

Juliette rolled her eyes.
‘That’s going to be so obvious and anyway I left my phone at home.’

‘
Damn.’

Before I could think of anything better, Imogen sat a jug of beer on the table.

‘It was either this or Spumante,’ she said. ‘But I can go back for the Spumante if you like.’

Sandra followed behind with a jug in each hand.
‘Jugs are the best value anyway.’

Just then, the music stopped and the lights went down. The show was about to start.

There was silence, then a buzz of whispers. Why didn’t they hurry up? Someone down the end of our table began thumping. ‘Tony, Tony, Tony…’ Soon women around the room joined in. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I noticed Imogen was thumping and chanting along with them. She shrugged back at me.

The entire room gave out a blood-curling shriek as a spotlight swept the stage. It stopped centre stage, lighting up the silhouette of a man. The light travelled up his body – highlighting his perfect thighs, his perfect abs, his perfect arms. And his long greasy hair.

As a tinny version of ‘Male Stripper’ blasted out of the speakers, he minced down the stage, swinging his hips. I looked at Imogen and she grinned back. This guy might strip for women but that was as close to women as he got.

Green and blue stage lights hit his oiled skin, reflecting a reptilian sheen. He swung his hips into figure eights as the bass beat pounded. Around us, women panted to that beat.

Imogen rolled her eyes.

‘
This was your stupid idea.’

‘
It isn’t
that
stupid,’ she said and turned her chair to face the stage. She folded her arms and tilted her head so we weren’t in her line of vision, then realised she had to turn back to grab her beer.

On stage, Tony stroked the silky fabric stretched across his chest, inching the top up to reveal a rippling six-pack of belly. It was like watching a steroid-enhanced snake shed its polyester skin.

As he eased the top over his head, Deb and Sandra and the rest of their gang screamed for him to throw it their way. He winked at them, pumping the shrieks up to glass-shattering levels, and then placed the top on the ground.

Slinking back down the stage to hoots and wolf-whistles, he paused at various vantage points to flaunt his shirtless physique. He stopped at the end of the stage. Thrusting his hips, he unsnapped the sides of his pants and dropped them to the ground to reveal a green, sparkling g-string.

He rubbed the pants between his legs, gyrating his hips along the fabric as though he was riding a bucking pants-bronco. With a final thrust, he shot the pants into the crowd.

The hen
’s night crowd went crazy. They were on their feet before those pants left the stage. Deb flew over Sandra in a move most AFL footballers would envy, but an apple-faced grandmother with a gappy smile beat them both. She looked like she should have been at home knitting, not procuring the sweat-drenched outerwear of a strip-tease artiste.

The grandmother raised the pants above her head and did a lap of honour around her table while Tony watched. When she sat down, he shook a warning finger at her.

Sandra winked at me. ‘What a spunk, eh?’

I looked up at that mane of blonde hair and the string-divided buttocks wriggling their way across the stage. Spunk? I think not.

Juliette nudged me and pointed at Imogen, who was still turned toward the stage although she was staring at an empty corner, with a fixed grin on her face.

‘
Can you believe this git?’ Juliette asked me.

I shook my head.

‘What do you think?’ she asked Imogen.

‘
It’s fun,’ Imogen replied through gritted teeth. Maybe if she said that a few more times she would convince herself.

The music changed to some kind of techno grind and Tony jumped off the stage. Oh God, he was shimmying toward us. Please, let him go anywhere but our table. He wriggled his bum in a woman
’s face then sat on someone else’s knee. Good, he could stay there. But no. As he got up, the hens called him over. He grinned at them. He was coming this way, towards us. Imogen moved her chair back around to face us, closing in ranks.

‘
Is he getting closer?’ Juliette hissed.

Luckily, Tony passed us, pausing by Deb instead. That was close enough.

There was so much heavy breathing coming on, it felt like the oxygen was being sucked out of the room. He grabbed Deb’s shoulders, swaying his hips in her face. I’d have died on the spot, but she loved it, laughing and flicking her tongue towards him. He let her go and sashayed around the table.

Thinking we were safe, I winked at Juliette.
‘Maybe you’ll be next.’

‘
No way,’ she said and shrunk back in her chair.

As if on cue, Tony turned back running his fingers over his oil-slicked chest. He stopped in front of Juliette, raising his arms above his head and slowly flexing his pecs in alternating patterns with a hypnotic increase in rhythm.

Juliette tried not to look, turning to me in alarm, but Tony just moved in closer. There was nothing I could do to help. Juliette sidled along her chair, trying to put some distance between them until she was almost on my lap but he hovered without a break in pec-flexing rhythm.

Then he moved around, leaning in between us, his tongue flicking over his lips. I could see why Juliette had backed away. It wasn
’t just embarrassment. A mixture of garlic breath, sweat and cheap aftershave smothered me. I thought I was going to gag. I closed my eyes and prayed he’d move away.

‘
Hey, Fabio, back off.’ I opened my eyes to see Imogen yanking him off us. I’ve never been so grateful to anyone in my life. Tony turned away, losing control of his pecs in the process, the muscles seeming to wilt. Not so much crestfallen as chest fallen.

I giggled. Then Juliette started. Imogen tried to look serious but the laughter snorted out of her. The three of us collapsed onto the table.

I buried my head in my arms trying to get control of myself but, when I looked up, I saw Juliette shaking with hysterical tremors and my giggles started again. Tony had moved onto a more appreciative section of the crowd and I’d finally pulled myself together when Imogen put her hands behind her head and started flexing.

I had to stop. My stomach hurt and I had to squeeze my legs together.

‘What’s so funny?’ asked Sandra. She no longer looked jovial; in fact, her whole face crumpled into a frown.

‘
Nothing,’ said Juliette.

A bird-like woman at the back of the table stood up, waving a beer jug in the air.
‘You fucking snotty bitches. Think ya good, don’t ya? Tony woulda danced with me next if you hadn’t scared him off.’

I tried to avoid eye contact. She had this over-baked look about her, like the last barbecued chicken left on the supermarket rotisserie. And she was angry; so angry you
’d have thought that beer jug was a legal weapon.

‘
Watch the beer, Lexi,’ Sandra called out.

If I
’d got Imogen’s attention then, I could’ve gestured for us to leave. I wanted to leave. We should have left. But Imogen wasn’t looking at me.

With her hands on her hips and her chest pushed out, she swaggered over to the bird woman.

‘Tony? He’s camper than a whole frigging Mardi Gras parade,’ said Imogen. ‘Why don’t you go find a real man to perv on?’

‘
Just ‘cos he’s not interested in you, don’t mean he’s gay.’

‘
Ha. He’s probably sucked more cocks than you have, and that’s saying something.’