The Bad Girls' Club (7 page)

My heart sunk. Imogen had done it now. She and Lexi stood eye-to-eye; the line of tension between them almost tangible. Deb and Sandra crouched, like feral cats, ready to spring into action. Juliette
’s mouth hung open, and a whispering hush went around the rest of the room, as the tinny opening bars of ‘You Can Leave Your Hat On’ came over the speakers.

I should
’ve grabbed Imogen and ran. Should’ve.

Before Imogen could react, Lexi dumped the remains of the beer jug over her head.
‘Fuckin’ lot you’d know, you fat heifer.’

Imogen spluttered in a beer-soaked daze.

How dare that bitch? No one was going to do that shit to my friends. Things went blurry and a torrent of words flew from of my mouth. I might have called her a dried up old hag with a face like a busted arsehole or words to that effect. My temples pulsated and my vision blurred – the whole room turned black and red. The hordes of women stared at me but I ignored them and kept on yelling.

‘
Watch out,’ yelled Imogen.

I looked around as Deb charged at me. I picked up a chair to protect myself but, before she could get to me, Juliette grabbed her in a headlock. Poor Juliette, she looked dazed, not sure what to do next. Deb struggled in the hold, her stocky legs flailing.

Sandra grabbed Juliette’s elbow, trying to wrench Deb free, but Imogen dragged her off.

‘
Let me go, you bitch,’ yelled Deb, her legs scrambling faster. ‘Let me go.’

Then it was all on.

Sandra broke free from Imogen and wrestled Juliette. But Juliette still had hold of Deb so the three of them tumbled onto the floor. Juliette’s skirt rode up around her waist. Maybe wearing that g-string hadn’t been such a good idea.

Imogen tried to help Juliette, but Lexi rushed in and toppled her. Next thing, Lexi was on top of Imogen, slapping and screaming and swearing.

What a mess. There was going to be trouble, that’s for sure. And I wanted to get my arse out of there. No one’d blame me if I left. It didn’t look like anyone was getting hurt much anyway; mostly it was a thrashing mess of arms and legs. I could be down those stairs and in a taxi before anyone noticed.

As I grabbed my bag from under the table, I heard Imogen cry out in pain. What was I doing? Ditching my friends? Shit. I had to rescue them from this God-forsaken hellhole.

I rushed into the brawl and grabbed Lexi by the shoulder, dragging her off Imogen. I almost had her too. She squirmed in mid-air, giving Imogen a chance to get loose when Sandra crashed down on me with a sly punch. Fu-u-uck. It felt like the whole side of my face had caved in.

I rolled into a ball, hands over my head, and peered around for Imogen and Juliette.

Juliette staggered to her feet. She’d seen Sandra’s attack and rushed in, packing quite a punch of her own. She winked at me and dusted off her knuckles. I think Juliette was enjoying this. Imogen was still battling Lexi. If we could get to her then we could escape.

Next thing I knew, Juliette was on the ground beside me.

‘Try to get to Imogen,’ I said to her, just as a mountain of woman-flesh crashed down on us. For a moment, I was winded; choking on clammy skin, prodded by elbows and fingers, suffocated by sweaty armpits.

Fingers entwined in my hair, twisting and pulling. My eyes watered and head stung. I tried to break away – this was not part of my rescue plan. Someone
’s knee ground into my stomach and the more I squirmed, the more my hair pulled.

If only I could prise those fingers off.

‘Fuck!’ That was Imogen. She sounded scared. We were going to be creamed by these crazy bitches.

Suddenly I didn
’t just want to protect myself; I wanted to slaughter. I struck out blindly – bashing and slapping and kicking – thrashing like a drowning swimmer in a turbulent sea of bodies. Beside me, Juliette punched out in staccato bursts.

I reached out and latched onto a soft mass of flesh, sinking my fingers in hard. But, when I felt the hard point of a nipple against my palm, I yanked my hand away in horror. Hurling myself over, losing half my scalp in the process, I broke free of the mob.

Now, where was Juliette?

I rolled to safety under a table and took a couple of deep breaths. Crawling around the outside of the pack, I found Imogen. Deb had her pinned down while Lexi was about to throw a punch, so I jumped up and kicked Lexi square in the ankles. She spun around in shock, about to go for me. Well, she could bring it on. I had my fists up; I was ready. I
’d learnt a few things in Body Combat class.

Before I could trounce her, a pair of meaty bouncers moved in.

‘You girls should get out of here,’ one of them said to me.

No need to tell me twice. I helped Imogen up and grabbed our bags.

Tony ran out from behind the other side of the room to help. What a hero! Deb and Lexi rushed over to him, tugging on his arms with cries of ‘they started it’. The three of them looked at us in disgust. I guess we wouldn’t be welcome back here in a hurry.

As I walked out, the apple-faced grandmother smiled at me and gave me a thumbs up.

‘Nice going, love. Didn’t think you had it in ya.’

No, I didn
’t either.

We got back to my place and flaked. I flicked through the CDs and put on some relaxing post-punch-up music. Juliette unzipped her boots, and took them off with a sigh of relief. She rubbed the souls of her feet.

‘I think these heels did more damage than that whole bunch of chicks. They were insane, weren’t they?’

Imogen didn
’t answer. Come to think of it, she’d been awfully quiet on the walk home; Juliette and I had been mucking around so much, re-enacting the fight, that I hadn’t noticed. But she looked really morose. She was curled up on the edge of the couch; arms wrapped her knees. Maybe she was tired. God knows, I was exhausted myself. It’d been a huge day.

‘
Are you OK?’ I asked her.

‘
Yeah I’m fine,’ she replied, but her voice had no life in it. I looked at her more closely.

‘
My God, Imogen, you’re bleeding. I’ll get something to fix that.’ She had a deep scratch below her ear. She should have said something.

I ran into the bathroom to get my first aid kit.

‘I’ll be right,’ she called. ‘I can fix it.’

But I was back with the kit and a warm flannel. Juliette sat beside her on the couch, patting her arm. I perched on the side of the couch and turned her head to the light so I see what I was doing. Lifting her hair, I washed the cut then poured some Dettol on a cotton wool ball and dabbed it on.

Imogen jumped. ‘Fuck, Beth. What the hell are you doing?’

‘
I’m disinfecting this scratch. You don’t want to get Deb and Sandra cooties, do you? Weren’t they awful?’

‘
Yeah, not as bad as that Lexi chick though. She looked like a pox doctor’s secretary.’ At least she managed a smile, even if it was feeble.

‘
A pox doctor’s secretary.’ Juliette giggled and rolled back on the couch. ‘That’s a good one. I can’t believe I got into a girl fight. A makeover, a stripper and a fight! What a day.’

‘
For us all, I think,’ I added. ‘Where’d you learn to punch like that?’

Juliette blushed.
‘I dunno. Playing
Street Fighter
? And you did all right yourself. I nearly cracked up when you got stuck into Lexi.’

I rifled through the first aid kit, wondering if there was anything else I could use on Imogen. I found a tube of ointment but she snatched it out of my hand before I even got a chance to open it.

‘How bad was the B.O. on some of those girls? I nearly died from excess body odour.’ I looked Juliette up and down. ‘Do you have any injuries?’

‘
Just a graze on my leg but it’s –’

‘
Here, put your foot up.’ I grabbed a footstool for her. ‘I think I need to bandage it.

‘
I bet you had fun playing doctor as a kid,’ said Imogen. She seemed a bit perkier since I administered my first aid but she was still hugging herself.

‘
I’m more worried about my head than my leg,’ said Juliette. ‘I think I lost a decent handful of hair.’

‘
Tell me about it. I swear, I have a bald spot on the side of my head. Check it out.’ I sat the end of the bandage on Juliette’s thigh so I could show them my bald spot. They looked and reassured me that you couldn’t notice it, but I wasn’t convinced.

‘
Are you sure? Not even a little bit?’

Juliette looked again.
‘Well, maybe a little,’ she said. ‘But I think the rest of your hair will cover it.’

‘
I knew it. I think my cheek is swollen too, when Sandra punched me.’ I poked both sides of my face. One side was definitely bigger than the other.

Juliette examined my cheekbone.
‘Maybe, but didn’t she punch you on the other side?’

‘
No, no. I’m sure it was this side.’

I picked up the end of the bandage from the floor and continued wrapping it around Juliette
’s leg.

Imogen clutched at the edges of her top. I think she
’d torn it, plus it was all rancid from the stale beer.

‘
Why don’t you take your top off so I can rinse it out for you,’ I said to her.

She jumped up, brushing off the couch.
‘Shit, sorry. I didn’t think. I hope I haven’t stained anything.’

‘
Oh, don’t worry about that. I meant that you might feel better if you got cleaned up and changed. How about you take a shower while I make us all some coffee? And Imogen, don’t worry, beer makes a great conditioner.’

She smiled wanly.
‘I guess a shower would help.’ And she went into the bathroom.

I clipped Juliette
’s bandage in place.

‘
Maybe I should have a shower too,’ she said. She sighed. ‘Back to boring old Juliette for me.’

‘
Never. You still have the clothes and the makeup and the hair – what’s left of it. Your skirt didn’t get damaged in the fight, did it?’

She checked her skirt to be sure but it looked fine. At least we hadn
’t been too badly hurt. I shuddered to think of what wardrobe damage could have been caused by that dodgy carpet. Imogen came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, and handed me her top.

‘
Imogen, your boob!’ said Juliette. ‘Maybe you should get Beth to put something on that.’

I looked at Imogen. She had a bruise developing on her left breast. Already the white skin had turned green and blue.

‘Fuck,’ she said. ‘No wonder though. One of those dirty bitches grabbed my tit during the fight. It frigging hurt.’

I turned away and packed up the stuff back into my first aid kit. Imogen balanced on the back of the couch, playing with the end of her towel. I hope the boob thing wasn
’t upsetting her. Surely it wasn’t.

‘
Umm… I’m sorry the girl’s night out was such a mess. I kinda ruined things, didn’t I?’

‘
Ruined it? That was the most fun I’ve had in years,’ said Juliette.

‘
Really? You don’t think I was awful. I know I can be a bit obnoxious when I get started. I should have just shut up and…’

‘
No way. We can’t shut up. We’re bad girls now, right Beth?’ Juliette got up, the bandage falling off her leg, and wrapped her arms around Imogen.

I looked at them both and realised we were more than just a club. I hugged them both.

‘We sure are. We’re arse-kicking, don’t-mess-with-us bad girls. And no one’s going to stop us.’

You
’d think at my age, I’d have developed a bit of poise and sagacity and maybe some maturity but when Janet, the big boss, asked me to pop up to see her, I freaked like I was fourteen years old and being called to the principal’s office.

I
’d screwed up – why else would she want to see me? But I couldn’t think of a single thing I’d done wrong. Without Poppy butting her nose in, the press releases went out on time, the venues were booked for the next three months and the invitations mailed ahead of schedule. This was shaping up to be our most stress-free quarter ever.

I bet it was because I
’d spent yesterday afternoon on the internet – they knew it; they’d been tracking me – but I’d had nothing else to do and it was work-related. I’d function so much better in my job with the self awareness I’d gained through the ‘Which Dead ‘90s Rock Star Are You?’ Quiz.

How
’d I end up in this job anyway? I’d never wanted to work in an office or wear a suit or sit at a desk all day. I’d been all about the rock. We were set to be the Next Big Thing until it fell apart. With no band, no money and no idea of what to do with my life, I landed here as a temp – stuffing things in envelopes. They offered me a job as Poppy’s personal assistant and I couldn’t think of a reason to say no.

OK, I
’d have a cigarette then go up to Janet’s office. No, that wouldn’t work. I’d walk in smelling of cigarette smoke. Bad, bad idea. I’d go up first and face the music. Get it over with then go to lunch.

I
’d almost got out the door when the phone rang. Maybe it was Janet telling me she’d made a mistake. She meant that other Imogen. The one working in the mail room.

I picked it up. It was Beth, wanting to have lunch with me.

‘Sorry, can’t… gotta meet Mum… why the hell would you want to come? It’s going to be hell. Hell, I tell you. See ya, I’ve got to rush... yeah, the Continental… but seriously, it’ll be arse. Bye.’

I hung up and flew up the stairs, no time to wait for the lift, couldn
’t keep Janet waiting, and got waved into Janet’s office. As I sat down, I smoothed my skirt over my knees. If I’d known about this meeting, I’d have ironed it.

‘
I’ve been hearing good things about the Pinnacle lunches, Imogen.’ She sat very still, hands folded on the desk. I couldn’t read a thing from her expression – the bland smile, the calm eyes, not a grey hair out of place.

I nodded slowly.

‘You did a fantastic job sorting out that mix-up at the printers. Very innovative.’

I nodded again, waiting for the
‘but…’ There had to be a but. I tried to make eye contact – eye contact is important, it makes you look confident and not guilty – but the sun streamed in through the blinds behind her, straight into my eyes. Like being in a Nazi interrogation room.

‘
You’ve done an amazing job in Poppy’s absence and I’ve been wondering where you see yourself going.’

Going? I had no plans to go anywhere. I might not have the greatest job in the world but it paid the bills. I stared at her in-tray, hoping I
’d find the right answer there.

‘
Have you thought about moving into an event management role?’

I looked at her for a moment, not comprehending.

‘You’d be perfect. You’re a great organiser and you work well with people.’

I nearly snorted. Me, doing event management? Schmoozing around all slick and fancy like Poppy. Never. I
’d say the wrong thing within five minutes. It had to be a joke.

‘
You manage Poppy and that can’t be easy.’ She gave me a conspiratorial smile. Maybe I wasn’t in trouble.

‘
I haven’t been to uni and I have no experience. I don’t really have the background and –’

‘
Funny you should say that. You might not have the conventional background but that could be an advantage for a new project we have coming up.’

I sat forward, wondering what she was thinking.

‘Have you heard of Zing? No? They’re a soft drink company, launching a new range of juices and energy drinks aimed at the youth market. They’ve approached us to put on a series of concerts, rock concerts, to promote their new range. I thought you’d be perfect for it.’

I would. I would be perfect. I
’d done stuff like that hundreds of times and imagine what I could do with a real budget – with a proper PA system and money to spend on advertising and…

I perked up. I had to do this. No one else around here could. They
’d stuff it up and get the wrong bands. Imagine Poppy – she thought INXS were cool. Not just the old INXS but the new one with the fake Michael Hutchence.

‘
I’d love it,’ I said and grinned. ‘I’d work my guts out. I mean, I’d work really hard to make it a success.’

I left her office with the biggest shit-eating grin on my face. Imagine what it would be like to actually
want
to get up for work in the morning, to have a job that was fun. This was going to rock.

But, blerk, lunch with Mum. I grabbed my bag and raced across town because Mum always wanted to go somewhere close to her office. I bet she had
‘lunch with daughter’ plugged into her planner on a six-monthly basis along with her dental check up and getting the car serviced. I should just tell her to stuff it but, every time she rang, I went along like a well-trained dog. And every single time it was pure hell.

I threw my cigarette on the ground and, as I stomped it out, I spotted her sitting at the table. Every single moment of my mother
’s life looked like it should be captured for the social page of a magazine, ‘Samantha Wilson, wearing a duck egg blue Armani suit, waits for her daughter’.

As I walked in, she glanced at her watch. So, I was five minutes late. Stiff.

She clucked her tongue as I sat down.

‘
What?’

‘
Didn’t I give you an iron for Christmas last year? You aren’t going to impress anyone turning up to work looking crumpled.’ Yeah, all said with that smarmy smile.

‘
You think?’ No ‘hello’. No ‘nice to see you, Imogen’. No ‘how the hell are things going in your life’.

‘
Maybe some people don’t care about that stuff.’

‘
Don’t be silly, Imogen.’ She handed me a menu.

I slid down in my seat, looking through the menu for something to eat that wouldn
’t cause a fight. I wasn’t in the mood for a lecture on eating well. Maybe a salad would be OK or some soup but I was damn starving.

I hate these places with massively oversized menus and white tablecloths and waiters who grind pepper on your foods. The whole place was blue and white, like it had been chosen to coordinate with my mother
’s suit. And filled with people like Beth… Hell, it was Beth. She waved at me.

‘
Hi, Imogen,’ she said and pulled up a chair. I screwed up my nose at her. She ignored me and held out her hand to Mum.

‘
I’m Beth,’ Beth said.

Mum shook her hand and beamed.

I stood up.

‘
I’m going to the loo.’

Mum
’s face crumpled like I’d just twisted a knife between her vertebrae but she didn’t say anything. At least I didn’t call it the ‘dunny’.

I expected Beth to follow me into the toilets so I could find out why she was here but she stayed behind with Mum. As I walked back to the table, I looked at the two of them, chatting like old friends – similar
haircuts, similar clothes – you’d think they were mother and daughter and I was some bag person who’d wandered in from the streets.

‘
I hope you don’t mind me saying this,’ Beth was saying, ‘but I saw the article in Vogue Living. You have a fabulous home.’

Mum smiled, of course. She loved that stuff. Beth hadn
’t mentioned to me she’d seen that article.

‘
That painting you have over the mantle? It’s fantastic. Must be a real investment piece. Who was the artist?’

I looked up.
‘Nan’s painting? Hardly an investment.’

Mum coughed.
‘Oh, that painting. I had to put your Nan’s painting away for the shoot. I borrowed something more appropriate from a friend.’

I glared at her and Beth looked away for a moment but soon she was smiling again.

‘And your puppies. They are so cute.’

‘
Puppies?’ I asked. ‘Since when did you get dogs? You never told me.’ I’d never been allowed to have a dog. Horrid things, she used to say. They shed all over the furniture.

‘
They weren’t mine. The stylist thought it would soften my image.’

I screwed up my face, trying to work this out.

‘So, was there anything at all of yours in this magazine article?’

Mum shook her head.
‘I don’t think you understand, dear. It’s a photo shoot. It’s about the image. People don’t want boring old reality.’

The waiter came back to get our order. Mum and Beth both asked for a seared kingfish salad with dressing on the side.

I grabbed the menu again and ordered the gnocchi in three cheese sauce. Screw eating healthy.

Mum smiled at the waiter.
‘She’ll have the chicken. With the sauce on the side. And steamed vegetables.’

I folded my arms.
‘I’ll have the pasta.’

‘
Really, Imogen, there’s no need to be petulant.’ She looked me up and down. ‘I think the chicken is a wiser choice.’

Beth looked from Mum to me while the waiter tapped his pencil on the order pad. I smiled at him.

‘I’ve given you my order,’ I said. ‘Now, run in the kitchen and get my food.’

Mum glared at me. I glared back.
‘I’m having the fucking gnocchi.’

For a moment, I thought she
’d go mental but she smiled, all sunny-like.

‘
Well, if you must.’

I slunk down in my chair and worked out how long I
’d have to stick around. Thank God Beth entertained her. I had my iPod in my bag and wondered if she’d notice me slip the headphones in.

‘
Imogen?’

I looked up.

‘How’s your job going?’

‘
Fine.’

‘
I think Imogen’s brilliant, doing what she does,’ Beth said. ‘I couldn’t handle working with Poppy.’

Mum smiled at her.
‘Well I can’t imagine you as someone’s secretary, Beth.’

‘
I’m not a bloody secretary. I’m a personal assistant.’

Mum raised her eyebrow.

‘Yeah. A personal assistant. And I’m getting a promotion, if you must know.’

‘
A promotion? I’d have thought you’d be bursting to tell me.’

The waiter tonged bread rolls onto our side plates.

‘Well, I haven’t really had a chance, have I?’ I pulled a hunk off my roll and slathered it with butter. Mum moved the butter dish away.

‘
So? Tell me more.’

I started explaining the role to her but she stopped me as soon as I mentioned the word
‘rock’.

‘
Aha.’ And she nodded in that annoying way.

‘
What?’

‘
Nothing. You’re awfully touchy today.’

‘
It’s a great job, Imogen. You must be so pleased.’

I smiled at Beth but was beginning to doubt that it was such a great job.

‘Tell me, Mum, what’s wrong with it?’

‘
Nothing at all… if you think it’s appropriate… but it’s really just being a glorified groupie, isn’t it?’

‘
And if it wasn’t for a rock event, that would be okay? If it was some boring old string quartet playing to a bunch of suits?’

‘
I’m just saying that if you lost a bit of weight and smartened yourself up, then you’d be able to get a real job. I give up. There is no point me trying to help. You never listen to my advice.’

I stared at her as the waiter sat my gnocchi in front of me. Suddenly I wasn
’t hungry any more.

‘
I think I’ll go back to work,’ I said, standing up.

‘
Don’t be ridiculous. Eat your pasta. You made such a fuss about it.’

As I marched out the door, I felt a tug on my arm. It was Beth.

‘Wait up, Imogen.’ She smiled at me. ‘I’ll walk you back to your office and you can tell me all about the new job.’