Authors: Cate Kendall
The women walked through to the lounge room. Mallory's
house was like an homage to a Big Brother set. Sera loved
the teenage feel, which suited Mallory's family perfectly.
Low macro suede modular suites extended into day beds,
flanked by plastic moulded Space furniture pedestal tables.
A pinball machine hulked in one corner and a large arcade
ski game balanced the room in the other corner.
Dolly
magazine,
Grazia
and
Cosmo
were strewn across the coffee
table and the walls boasted signed rock concert posters. A
platter of nachos was awaiting the start of tonight's Stitch
'n' Bitch.
Sera's attention was drawn to a new artwork hanging
over the Jetmaster. The metal square framed a series of
varying-sized stainless steel circles, all jostling for position.
They'd been delicately placed to give the illusion of
bubbles floating to the sky.
'Mallory, I just love your new sculpture,' she said.
'Who's the artist? I haven't seen anything quite like it.'
'Oh, no artist,' Mallory laughed. 'I just whipped it up
one rainy afternoon.'
'You're kidding. But how?' Sera had always been very
impressed with Mallory's artistic flair, but this was a professional
looking piece.
'I just went to the plumbing supplies section at Bunnings,
bought some bits and pieces and glued them all together.'
'But it's so precise and delicate. You've really got an eye
for form and placement.'
'Oh, thanks, just a bit of fun,' Mallory replied, then
glanced towards the front door as its chime announced
a new arrival. 'Oooh, goody,' she said. 'Our guests are
here.'
Drinks were poured in record time as the group was desperate
to hear about Sam's latest efforts on the dating scene.
Mallory's thumb was a blur over the keypad of his phone.
'Oh my God, Sam, she wants to have sex with you!'
Mallory squealed.
'What?' Sam almost choked on his beer. 'How do you
get that?' he demanded, leaning over Mallory's shoulder as
she deciphered the text he had received from Phoebe after
their one-and-only date.
The Stitch 'n' Bitchers were gathered at Mallory's house
for their monthly get-together, but so far all they had
managed to achieve was a detailed dissection of Sam's date
with the bikini model.
Rubbing his head self-consciously and blushing bright
red, Sam looked to Jacqueline and Chantrea for support and
got nothing more than wide-eyed nods of encouragement.
'Mallory?' said Chantrea. 'What does it say?'
'Well, the first line here, that's "I loved tonight."'
Mallory explained as she pointed at
I <3d 2nite
. 'See, the
less-than sign with the three? That's a love heart on the
side, then the "d" that follows puts it in the past tense.
Then she writes "
4U A3
" which everybody knows means
"For you anytime, anywhere, anyplace." Obviously she
means sex.'
'Oh, obviously,' Sam said sarcastically, then buried his
face in his hand. 'Man, I'm so old, so out of touch.'
Mallory went on with the cryptic code-cracking. 'Then
she says
@teotd ur2gtbt
, which is "At the end of the day you
are too good to be true". Then
TMB
means –'
'Yeah, "text me back", I'm not that old, I got that one.'
'So you're in, buddy.' Mallory grinned at Sam. 'Are you
going to follow it up?'
'I sent back a message saying that I'd had a lovely
evening,' he admitted.
The girls exploded with laughter. Even Jacqueline
couldn't hold back a rather unladylike chuckle.
'Oh jeez, Sam, the horny bikini model says she wants to
bonk your brains out and you reply like you've just been
out with Gidget,' Chantrea said.
'I thought I was being gentlemanly and polite!' Sam
tried to defend himself.
'So, did she respond?' Sera asked.
'Yes. Though I've no idea what she said. Just scroll
down, Mallory.'
Mallory read quickly, then smiled sympathetically at
Sam. 'Well, your gentlemanly charm killed the chance of
sex. She's put "AYSOS", which means; "are you stupid
or something".'
'Oh shit.' Sam couldn't help it, he threw his head
back and laughed as the girls joined in, until they were all
gasping and wiping tears from their faces.
'Dating is so awful,' Sam groaned. 'You have to laugh or
you'd cry. And,' he admitted self-consciously, 'there's more.'
'What?' they all cried.
'You can't hold back now, Sam,' Mallory said, laughing.
'No, okay. Well, I did go on another date last week. It
was with a woman I was friends with at uni and I ran into
her in Oxford Street with the girls on the weekend. She'd
heard about Grace and when she said she was also single I
asked her out for a curry.'
'Good work, Sam-the-Man,' Mallory gave him a high-five.
'So?'
'Well, it all went pear-shaped, so I called it a night and
went home.'
'What?' Chantrea leapt to her feet in indignation. 'Back
up, proper details please.'
'Okay,' Sam relented. 'Well, when she got to the restaurant,
I remember thinking she was really overdone. You
know, make-up trowelled on, very fussy clothing, and her
top was really low and revealing.'
'Hmmm,' Chantrea said, 'it sounds like she was pretty
desperate.'
'And then she went on and on about her marriage breakup,
her failing architectural career . . . even her eczema!'
'Gross! The rule is no skin disease stories on a first date,'
Chantrea said. 'So what was the goodbye like?' she asked.
'Well,' Sam answered, blushing again, 'that was the
worst bit, I went to peck her on the cheek but she turned
her face and went the tongue pash!'
'Ewwwwww!' the women groaned as one.
'I know, it was dreadful. I think I'll stay home and
watch
PlaySchool
re-runs with the girls in future.'
*
Sera basked in the warmth of her friends' conversation and
laughter, and for the first time that day felt relaxed and calm.
What with the renovation, and taking on extra shifts at Dior
to help pay for it, she hadn't had time to catch up with many
of her friends since the last Stitch 'n' Bitch and had really
been looking forward to the night. And she was so relieved
to be getting on better with Bella again. It had shaken her to
the core to be scolded like that at the park.
And it was such a relief to get away from the chaos of
her half-renovated house for the evening.
The group talked long into the night and barely a stitch
was dropped, let alone purled. Chantrea briefly touched
on her difference of opinion with her mother, opening up
a barrage of mother and mother-in-law stories. Mallory
regaled the group with the latest gossip on the Jamaican
salesman at Vince's Luxury Yacht dealership, dropping hints
about the latest socialites seen disappearing with him into
the cabin of the luxury cruiser. And Jacqueline informed
them of a new technique for tomato stain removal.
Eventually it was time to head home. As they exchanged
air kisses Jacqueline casually remarked, 'Sam, you know
your second date? The old friend?'
'Yes,' Sam said, buttoning his jacket.
'I'm sure if she'd been less needy she would have held
on to her man in the first place. It sounds as if she pushed
him away.'
The other women gaped at Jacqueline, but Sam simply
pecked her on the cheek, smiled and said, 'Good night,
Jacqueline.'
They were shopping for funeral clothes – well, at
least Mavis was – and Joan was happy to go along for
the trip and get away from the mess and noise of the
renovation.
Mavis wanted a smart burgundy wool blazer for her
brother-in-law's wake and Joan was keen to explore Westfield's
new orthotic shoe shop, so they parked the car, had
a cup of terrible tea in the food court and headed off on
their own errands.
After giving the harried young shop assistant a workout
racing to the store-room and back again so she could try on
several pairs of shoes, Joan selected a navy blue loafer and a
cream mesh lace-up and returned to the mall, satisfied with
her purchases.
Suddenly she recognised the familiar figure of Jacqueline,
entering L'Occitane, just up ahead of her. Joan hid
behind a large sign hanging in the shop window, but still
had a clear view of her neighbour browsing inside the
shop.
A handsome young sales assistant hovered nearby,
encouraging Jacqueline to try a new hand cream. Jacqueline
gave him a beguiling smile and pointed to a product
on the other side of the store. As he turned away, Joan
watched as Jacqueline swiftly slid a small bottle of something
into her coat pocket.
The assistant returned with the product she'd requested,
but Jacqueline simply glanced at it, shook her head and left
the store with a triumphant toss of her hair. Joan noticed
the flush of color in Jacqueline's cheeks and the bright smile
on her face: she was clearly on a high.
*
Jacqueline's heart was pumping as she fingered the perfume
bottle in her pocket. She wanted to laugh out loud at her
audacity and daring. The thrill buzzed through her body,
heat glowed on her face and the back of her neck. She
strode quickly away from the shop, wanting to separate
herself from the scene as soon as possible. Within a few
paces logic kicked in again and she realised she was heading
the wrong way. She needed to go back towards David
Jones to pick up the boys' school shirts.
She turned and suddenly her heart banged against her
chest. Her breathing shortened. Joan was standing right
outside L'Occitane. Had she seen her? Had she been
caught? No, surely not. Not like this, not by the interfering
old bat from next door. Jacqueline sat heavily on a bench
in the centre of the mall's wide thoroughfare, her delight
evaporating into anxiety.
Surely Joan wasn't that observant. And as if the
old woman would be loitering around spying on her,
anyway. No, it was impossible, impossible that anyone
would ever find out. They couldn't. She was the
perfect one; the Supermum. The One Who Did No
Wrong. Shoplifting was such a feral petty crime. So
embarrassing.
But what if she had been seen? What could Joan do?
Then it hit her. The ultimate punishment! Her hand went
to her feverish cheek as the thought seeped in. Not that.
Anything but that. She'd rather go to jail. If Joan had seen
her, then Jacqueline Bouvier – the perfect, the saintly, the
untarnished Jacqueline Bouvier – could become the subject
of neighbourhood gossip!
Mallory had the top down and the music up as she whizzed
over the bridge, happily singing along to the Veronicas and
revelling in the unseasonably warm, spring evening air.
Her lovely Vince had been so distracted lately. Working
back late every night, important phone calls that took him
out to the backyard for lengthy conversations – he even
worked on Sundays now, the poor love.
And their sex life had suffered recently, Mallory thought
with regret. He'd just been too tired or stressed to indulge
in their usual level of feisty, regular and adventurous sex.
Mallory couldn't understand why other women whinged
about having sex with their husbands – even Sera saw sex
as a chore. Mallory shook her head incredulously.
But tonight's the night, she thought with an excited
grin. Vince was working late at the dealership again and she
knew he would be alone. She had a basket full of oysters,
chocolate, champagne, and UDLs of Jack Daniels and Coke
for Vince. She was planning to seduce him at work.
She pulled her Golf into the parking lot of the pet
supplies warehouse next door to the dealership so she
could sneak up on him. Under her trench coat she wore
red crotchless knickers, a push-up lacy bra and suspender
belt.
Mallory sneaked through the back door that led directly
into the staff room, placed the basket on the kitchen table
and opened the door into the office area. He wasn't at his
desk and the office lights were off, so Mallory pushed open
the heavy glass showroom door.
From the huge spa, pergola and faux patio in the corner
of the massive space came the roar of the Jacuzzi jets.
Vince had installed it to create an air of luxury, he'd once
told her.
Giggling with excitement, Mallory tiptoed closer to the
softly lit spa. She rounded the enormous bow of a boat
to be slapped hard in the face by a sight that took several
seconds to sink in.
What the fuck? Sex? In the spa? Mallory registered
Sharee's bleached, bedraggled mane, and her tattooed
anaemic back hunching mid-thrust.
'Oh, yeah baby, you're my little fuck-puppy, aren't you,
baby?' came Vince's growl.
Mallory paled; the floor tilted. She grabbed the boat
to steady herself. That was Vince's nickname for her. She
shuddered, suddenly cold in her lace and satin. It wasn't
only her nickname that was being shared. That was her
husband, pumping away in the surging water.
At the door of her car, Mallory vomited. She ripped
off her bra and suspenders in disgust, her hands shaking
violently, and left them where they fell on the cracked
bitumen. She pulled a cotton dress from the backseat over
her shivering body and slumped into the front seat, only to
lean out the window and vomit once more.
She had to get away – she didn't know where to, she
just had to fly, as fast as she could, get to safety, away from
the danger, away from what she'd seen.
As the car skidded into the street, tears cascaded down
Mallory's cheeks, dissolving the glue on her false eyelashes.
She tried furiously to brush them away but the left one reapplied
itself to her upper cheekbone, blocking her vision.
She stomped on the accelerator as she turned onto
the highway and slammed straight into the garbage truck
reversing out of a driveway on her left. There was no time
to brake. Her little Golf made hardly a dent in the massive
truck as it buckled and folded into the metal.
*
The sickening sound of shattering glass, the shriek of the
truck's brakes and the squeal of twisting metal penetrated
the rhythm of the hydro love-making.
'What in the hell was that?' Vince said, pulling away
from Sheree's probing tongue.
Sheree looked up momentarily in the direction of the
noise, and listened.
'Who gives a shit?' she said, and leaned over to pick up
the facemask and snorkel.