The Making of Desk Jockey Jam – A Fab Freebie

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derby dollI saw my first roller derby bout under protest.  I got dragged there.  Hordern Pavilion – Sydney Roller Derby League:  Beauty School Knockouts v Screaming Assault Sirens v D’viants v Team Unicorn.

What a blast.

I loved the speed, the music, the fans.  And I loved the girls.  Derby girls rock.  They come in all sizes, ages and outrage with at least two things in common:  guts and skill.

And because it’s a chick’s sport they are unremarked, unaccounted for and unrewarded.  So what else is new.

For a while now I’ve wanted to write a story with a derby doll heroine.  It was something about the fabulous fantasy of the sport and a desire to address the whole gender in sport imbalance in some way – plus kissing.

The fit came about when it was pointed out (firmly!) by readers of Grease Monkey Jive that I’d left out a HEA for Ant.

Rhian Cahill, fellow Escape Publishing author said, “Well fix it’, or some such instructional words.  And the thought was born.

Who best to pull down the arrogance in a suit that was Ant Gambese than a roller derby doll.  He’d never see her coming, especially if I made her as clever on the flat track as she was in the brokerage office.

So I did.  And it was fun to see my last man standing dumped on his butt when he least expected it.

It was also fun to revisit the Jive crew, put the band back together.

Desk Jockey Jam is a novella of 40,000 words that picks up after Jive and gives Ant his day of reckoning.  It’s got 80′s music, dress-ups, boys discussing equal opportunity and a twist on gender politics on and off wheels.

It can be read on it’s own (I think it stands up!) or as a spin-off (it’s the wheels) to Jive.

It’s live on Amazon and will be free for five days from June 7-11.  After that it will retail for a mere .99 cents.  Cheap for all the thrills and spills!

Here’s the blurb:

Whip it meets Wall Street

Anthony Gambese thought he had life sussed.  Happy family, good mates, the freedom of surfing, a new career, and enough action in the bedroom to keep him well satisfied.  He had no idea.  But two chicks were about to show him the error of his ways, trashing his love life, stealing his promotion and challenging his honour.  And that was before he discovered what a roller derby doll could do by skating over his heart.

Like a roller derby jam, this novella is tight packed, fast and furious.

It can be read alone or as a follow up to Grease Monkey Jive.  It tells the story of Ant Gambese, the last of Dan’s mates not felled by a girl who was exactly what he needed, and didn’t see coming.

And a little excerpt:

Bree eyed the penalty box.  It was only a bench seat positioned at the side of the track, but it was where roller girls who’d pulled something illegal got sent for a minute.  Perhaps if she looked at it hard enough she could avoid going there during the bout, because her mood could best be described as savage.  She felt like pushing, punching, elbowing, head-butting.  She felt like ignoring safe contact zones and doing some damage.

Last night with Ant had been out of bounds, off the track, and she only had herself to blame.  She’d acted like fresh meat who didn’t know her arse from her elbow in a jam.  She knew better.  She’d known players like Ant all her adult life.  They were heart crushers.  They were sanity wreckers.  They were a plague of bad skin and hideous weight swings.  They were the stain of regret that never quite washed off.  They were a good reason to skate alone, because they’d whip you into a brick wall soon as a better option showed up, or you challenged their notion of the world.

She did not need a man like Ant in her life.  A colleague.  A competitor.  A stickyfoot.  He made Tom, with his demands and his assumptions, look like a safe option, a reasonable person.

But she’d wanted him.  She’d wanted his big sticky paws all over her.  And now she wanted some violence with a capital Vee.

The fab cover was done by the equally fab Rebekah Turner, mother of Lora Blackgoat from Chaos Born and boy did we have trouble with those skates – yeah we know they’re not quite right – more fresh meat than true doll.  Ah well, it’s fiction.

Anyway, don’t be a stickyfoot, get yourselves some free Jam.

Desk Jockey Jam Cover_final

Work Life Bites

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is-your-env-toxic_Feb_2013_V2

The career that pays the bills jumped up and bit me hard in the last week, crashing me into 20 hour days with no weekend, endless skipped meals or junk food, constant vigilance and tongue holding, with a very large ‘fries with that’ serve of think quick and no regrets.

It’s been awhile since I’ve run a media crisis issue, though I was once known as the ‘harbinger of doom’ to one company who only ever saw me when something bad was happening.  So there’s a bunch of experience to draw down on.

Oddly getting back on the bike wasn’t the problem, all the practices and processes clicked into the right brain space.  What I’d forgotten since spending considerably more time in the  solitary pursuit of putting good words on a page is what it takes from me personally to deliver a good result.

I can’t talk specifics – and as close to the issue as I am, I’m still only sitting on a version of the truth.  Oh yes, the truth has versions.

What started out as a grassroots community issue exploded into prominence because of convenient political imperatives.  A similarity – but only if you look at it sideways with one eye shut – to another national scandal and an opportunity for the current, but likely exiting government to be beaten and bloodied by the possibly soon to be incumbent government.

There are tears, fears, blame, shame, finger pointing, the overhanging threat of death, and babies.  An irresistible combo for the media focus before we added: unions, men in protective gear looking like they are readying for the zombie apocalypse, politicians local, state and national, and the whole circus wend its weary way as far as the prime minister’s office.

So that – that I’ve done before.  Gun Control anyone?  Legionnaire’s Disease outbreak, Toxic Shock Syndrome and coronial enquiries, tamperings and industrial sabotage – yep – the workings of all that were instantly accessible.

And I’ve got the scars to prove it.

I ended up travelling city to city for three days on the Gun Control campaign.  No luggage, unloved cat.  I burst an ear-drum flying when I shouldn’t have on the Toxic Shock issue.  I missed my brother’s engagement dinner because a phone network fell over, and the birth of my niece because of a take-over defence.

This time around my neighbour has been checking in on and feeding my sick boy cat.

All that, it’s part of the game.

What I’d forgotten was how extravert working in that environment forced you to be to have any chance of controlling the issue, having your advice heard and managing towards an end point.

You don’t know the people, the location, the content of the issue or where it will go next.  You have to attach quick, learn fast, act boldly.

And that is more exhausting than the fast food, no sleep, limited control, on edge nature of the actual work.

That’s what I’d forgotten from sitting in my story writing garret where I can go hours without opening my mouth.  I have no voice today from all the manic negotiating I had to do in my Erin Brockovich styled role.  And even then we reached an impasse.

It all starts up again tonight.  I’ve had a morning to be quiet, to clear my desk and catch my breath, hug my headache and sit on an IT help line because my email decided to go bung.  Helpful not.

I haven’t written a word that didn’t have to be signed off by two teams of lawyers or scrutinised for bias in ten days.  There was no dialogue, no speech tags, no interior monologue.  And the characters in my current drama are fully formed, foibles up front and not interested in being heroic in the true sense – though heroism by front page and TV bulletin or how it looks to my boss, is being thoroughly embraced.

It’s been a head rush to be back on the front line, even if that does come with the standard bloke’s world behaviour of – yeah you’re a chick, so we’ll disregard your advice even though you are closer to the actual detail of the issue.

More than anything it’s reminded me I’m a switch.  An introvert by nature who has learned the extrovert skills of being heard and grabbing leadership.

But for this morning at least I get to re-cloak myself in my true introvert nature and let the world shout without me.

I miss my manuscript.

Beta Bewdy & Bandit’s Back

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The jaunty Ms J, BTA member extraordinaire –  did another read of Spark, at about the 70K mark.

Cue nerves.  It’s been a little torrid.

I’ve found writing and nursing sick cat (my poor Bandit boy!) are not easily paired.  Every few paragraphs I had to change the wet towel he was wrapped up in and I kept looking at him to see if he was still breathing  - plus there was feeding him by hand, and the twice daily vet visits because he still has his monkey element and was spitting up his meds.

Background to this is – he got skinny and stopped grooming, and the vet did an ultrasound and found a bizarre mass in his intestine. Spending the tax refund I’ve not yet received, Bandit had the mass removed and made a great recovery, only to crash the very day I brought him home.  For a while we didn’t know why he wasn’t recovering but when he started to leak pink fluid everywhere it became clear he had a seroma – an infection from the inner stitches.

This would be because post surgery he was narced off his head and tried to shimmy out of his recovery cage.  He ripped out three drips and rubbed all the fur off his nose.  All that moving around probably caused the interior wound to become infected – so much so – it defeated the antibiotics and the steroid injections he was given.

He’s doing better now, but so, so skinny.  Lost about three kilos, he is truly a bag of bones, all spine, ribs and hips – and shaved bits.  I no longer have to feed him by hand and his temp is back to normal, and he’s being a very good patient, but he is still a very sick boy.

We don’t know what caused the original mass – there may be some horrible underlying cause. Until we know – it’s day by day.

He’s so sick Glam doesn’t recognise him.  She thinks he’s some impostor I’ve brought home in place of her brother.  She terrified and hisses at him!  This is he boy who’s face she cleaned every day and curled up with every night.

So I’m trying to work while being cat nurse.  Before we discovered the seroma, Bandit had a temp of 40 plus, dangerously high and bloody distracting.

It’s quite possible cat nursing has lead to very dull scenes and turgid sentences.  I’ve not written anything fun since the Birthday Party scene.

So, around we go – we’re at the nerves cue again.  And now you know the reason.

But whew – Ms J enjoyed it.  She wants to read the rest.

So I bloody better get on with it.  120K here we come.

Here’s Bandit in his George Clooney cat days.  Now he’s more Bruce Willis in Die Hard with a side of Keith Richard  (Skinny, battered looking, bad hair, but can still pull the chicks).

SAMSUNG

Hollywood Snippet

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Hiding Hollywood is Free For your Kindle til May 22nd

Here’s a little snippet:

12:   Dial Tone

“Whohooo!  Sweet as!” yelled Shane when he finally released me.  He gave me a wicked grin, leaving me to wobble on unsteady legs, catch my breath and wonder how badly I’d just damaged my professional reputation.

He grabbed Arch and Rush in a hug and then in a deep, gravelly voice, he sang the first word of the Banana Boat Song.  He was Harry Belafonte by way of Jason Derulo.  Arch joined him on the second ‘day-oh’ and then the three of them sang the line about daylight coming and not wanting to go home.

By the time they got to the next line the crowd was singing with them.  It was karaoke harbour side.  And I was worried they draw attention to themselves.  Silly me.  They could hardly have been more obvious if they’d stripped naked, but they managed to blend in so well and keep their faces covered, so no one suspected a thing.  The sheer unexpected nature of it and the amount of alcohol being consumed around us probably helped.

Song finished with rowdy cheering, Shane threw his arms around the shoulders of his two buddies and said the ominous words, “Now, we party.”

“But not you Andi,” said Arch.  “You need to get home before your leg turns into a pumpkin.  Being out in this crowd is not good for you.”

“And yes we can look after ourselves, and no we won’t make tomorrow’s news, I promise,” said Shane, with such a rakish grin it was impossible to trust him.

I couldn’t simply go home and leave them.  “Now why would I believe that?”

“Because we’ve been careful, haven’t we?” said Rush.  Joke!  Surely that was a joke, though Rush had certainly been more careful than the other two apart from the yelled phone call.  “We really don’t want all the hassles of being recognised.”

“We don’t,” added Arch.

I sighed.  This didn’t feel right, but they were big boys.  This was a private trip.  If I was being sent home against my better judgement there wasn’t much I could do about it.

So there I was, relieved of duty and deposited on the end of a long taxi rank queue.  It was going to be a lengthy wait, more than enough time to respond to a number of New Year text messages and voicemails and send one to Mum and Dad.

There was a sweet text from Brick and another from Matt and a missed call from Bert who could never get comfortable with leaving a message.  I was about to hit send on a response to Matt when my phone rang.  It was noisy on the street and I had trouble hearing at first but then I made out a woman’s voice laughing and saying “Don’t!  Don’t, that tickles, stop it, you’ve made me drop everything.  Don’t!” and laughing again before the call disconnected.  I knew that laugh, that was Lainey, she must have pocket dialled my number while being ‘tickled’ to death.

Well, well, Lainey was having an interesting start to the New Year.  Good for her.  Hopefully whatever she was up to was more meaningful than my shameful public teenage pash with a Hollywood hunk.  Couldn’t wait to see her after the break and share the full story and all the tantalising details.  Hers not mine.  Mine were in lock up.  With the key tossed in Sydney harbour.

I was smiling to myself until I looked down at my phone and saw the last number received wasn’t Lainey’s number at all.  It was Michael’s.  How could that be?  Had I looked at that right?  I studied the call log again.  The last call received on my phone was from Michael.  But I was sure that was Lainey’s laughing voice I’d heard.

Lainey with Michael?  No, couldn’t be.  I must be wrong.  It must be someone who just sounds like Lainey.  That had to be it.  Made sense.  Michael had found a new friend to ring in the New Year with, well good luck to him, more than I could say for myself despite my hunky house guests, I was still very much on my own this New Year.

I was pondering the unfairness of the situation as the taxi queue slowly inched forward and out of nowhere Rush appeared beside me.

‘Oi, no queue jumpin’, mate,” said the bloke behind me.

“It’s okay, he’s with me,” I responded, and Rush playing along, snaked his arm around my waist, pulled me close and said in a perfect strine, “Thanks love.”  Then he ran the tip of his nose against my cheek and I’m ashamed to admit I leaned in to him for a second before I remembered he was acting and I was an extra.

But the kiss and now a dead sexy hug, even if it was just for show, I think my New Year, oh seriously, my whole year was made.  “What happened?”  I asked when he released me and point to me my voice sounded normal, not lust drugged.

“I’ve had enough, I’m happy to call it quits.  Those two will go on till dawn.  This is the sort of thing they train for.”

“Should I be worried?”

“It’s nothing worry will help, Andi,” he said, helping me into the back seat of the taxi.  He slipped in beside me and was quiet all the way home, thumbing through messages on his phone.

In the house, Simon had left yummy snacks and a coffee pot all ready to be brewed.  I could get used to having Simon around, but coffee might keep me awake and it was sleep I needed now and since Rush had disappeared to his room I was free to have a quick shower and get to bed.

I was almost in the land of nod when I heard a raised voice.  Was that Shane or Arch, it would be nice to know they were safely home?  I hobbled over to the bedroom door and opened it a crack.  It was Rush and he was angry with someone.  I could only hear the occasional word, but his forceful tone told me he was in a temper.  I felt momentarily sorry for the person on the other end of his call.

Now I was well and truly awake again and I lay in bed and looked at the freshly painted, patterned plaster ceiling.  If you discounted the fact I couldn’t be sure the morning’s media wouldn’t display photos of Shane or Arch dancing on tables or throwing up in gutters we’d done all right so far.  Good Lord, we’d done incredibly well.

We’d survived the airport pickup, the introduction to Bert, Harvey and even Chook, and the completely oddball idea of staying at the house had turned out to genuinely enchant Hollywood.  We’d been from one end of George Street, to the other, taken to the stage at Jack’s and called more attention to ourselves at Circular Quay, but so far we’d managed to escape obvious recognition.

This had been a long, stressful day with a lot packed in, but with the advantage of having had the chance to see Shane, Arch and Rush as real people instead of manufactured cut-outs from the gossip mags and media headline machine.  If they remained this easy to get along with, and I didn’t think too much about not having a solution for Shane’s desire to get out of the city, I might actually be able to pull this whole thing off.  I lay there and smiled at the ceiling.  Happy New Year.

Going in to this part of me had braced for the type of star who believed deeply in his own hype, had particular odd ways, likes and dislikes and would be near impossible to please.  I’d met that type before.  They lived in another dimension.  They were impossible to please, the best you could do was survive them.

Thank goodness the other part of me had been in charge.  The part that chose to trust Tobias when he said I wouldn’t be dealing with C-grade try-hards, but genuine Hollywood royalty, who knew how to behave themselves, despite what I might read in the press.

So what did I think of them so far, away from their media manufactured images?  Shane was a complete character, a rake, a scoundrel, brimming with confidence and self-assurance with an eye for a lark.  He was a ‘what you see is what you get’ guy and I did like him for that and, no escaping it, for that kiss.  I felt more relaxed about the kiss now.  I figured it was so ‘of the moment’ that it almost had nothing to do with me and everything to do with his natural exuberance.  But heck it was fun, a story to tell the grandkids.

And Arch.  He’d been watching out for me since the airport when he’d helped me into the front seat of the bus, he’d cleared a space for me at the pub and he’d protected me in the crowd at the foreshore.  He looked like an action hero and he acted like one too.  He was sweet, considerate and a true gentleman.

The one I was wary of was Rush.  In the flesh, outside the fantasy state, he had a strange effect on me.  I felt completely star stuck stupid when he was close, like I was sixteen years old again with a crush on the most handsome boy in class.  How embarrassing, let alone unprofessional.  And not like me at all.  I was usually sensible Sally, but Rush had me rattled.

There was also the matter of his temper: sudden, sharp and very black.  He’d been fine earlier in the day, joining in the jokes, smoothing the rough patches, making a fuss over Bert, and being nice to me, but there was obviously another side to him.  He’d had a rumbling storm cloud raging above his head tonight and I hoped I wouldn’t be the one hit by lightning.

My last thought for the night was about Michael.  I wondered who he was with and how serious it might be.  He’d not been in a relationship for a long time and was determined to stay unattached while we were in business start-up mode.  He’d sent me a cute text message with a photo of the massive hotel pool and a single towel on a deckchair.  The message said simply, ‘Mine’.  I knew he meant the deckchair, the one he’d aspired to when I’d first raised taking a holiday, but if I was truthful, I wished he’d been talking about me.

For a very long time now I’d wanted Michael to be more than business, to be mine in as many ways as possible.  I knew he felt a kind of love for me, but was I just his mate, his buddy, his business partner?  What did we really mean to each other?  I was long overdue to find out and it was just the right time of year to make it a resolution.

Hiding Hollywood Goes On Sale

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It was always a cheapie – but now it’s free for five days:  May 18-22nd.

It’s my only first person.  It’s the only sweet thing I’ve written.  It’s the only story designed more to be comic than anything else.

It’s my first full novel, my first experimental baby.  It was destined for the inside of a drawer, except people liked it.  It was destined to languish on Amazon, unheralded, unheard of and I was AOK about that, except people bought it and borrowed it.

And they kept buying it, so every time I thought about taking it down and relegating it to that dim, dusty drawer, I hesitated.  There’s just no accounting for people’s taste.

I still might disappear it one day, but for the next five days Hollywood is free, free, free.

Here’s the blurb:

A sweet, romantic comedy about betrayal, gossip and being star struck

Andi Carrington has a problem.  And everyone’s reading about it.

She has a torn Achilles tendon, her business is under financial stress and she’s suddenly being blamed by the world’s media for breaking up the marriage of one of Hollywood’s leading men. 

It’d be different if it was true, because ironically, Rush Dawson is the heartthrob she’d most like to run away to a deserted island with, but Rush has stolen her image, blackened her name and violated her privacy. 

And then he tells her a story, and Andi has a new problem—falling in love with him.

And there’s a trailer

Get in now and store it up for a rainy day when you need a laugh.

Red Carpet Cover

Red Carpet Cover for Hiding Hollywood

Ew – Home Ear Piercing

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Here’s a chapter from Spark.

There be needles and blood and passing out, and romance.

Still a draft, forgive the errors.

medium_5948572145

 

11       Pierced

If she was going to do this, it had to be done now while her parents were out.  There’d be hell about it later, but later was too late.  She’d have holes in her ears later and there’d be nothing Mum could do about it.

Well, she could make Sally take the sleepers out, but not even Mum would be that cruel.  Anyway it was a risk worth taking.  But it had to be done now.

She got the ice tray out of the fridge and looked at Narelle.  “You’re sure you know how to do this?”  On the radio Sherbert’s Summer Love was playing.  It was one of her favourite songs.

“Yeah, how hard can it be?”

“Why don’t you have them done then?” said Bec.

“Mum would kill me.  But my cousin did my other cousin so I know what to do.”

“She only think she’s knows that to do,” said Bec.  “Don’t do it, Sal.”

Narelle squinted at Bec.  “Rack off.  I was right there when she stuck the needle in.  I know what I’m doing.”  She looked at Sal.  “Show me the needles you have.”

Sally went to get Mum’s sewing box.  What if Bec was right and Narelle was just being a big mouth?  But how hard could it be really.  Lots of people had done it.  She touched her earlobe, between her thumb and the knuckle of her first finger and pressed.  The skin was thick.  There was no way this wasn’t going to hurt.  But that’s what the ice was for.

She found the sewing box and brought it back to the kitchen.  Narelle had cracked the ice cubs into a bowl.  “We need alcohol and a lighter,” she said.

“Alcohol, like what, beer?”

“No.”

“That’s all we’ve got.”  They had a whole second fridge referred to as the beer fridge and this plan was going to fall apart because they only had beer, and there was no way she’d be able to buy alcohol.  Besides it was Saturday afternoon all the shops were closed.

“Metho.  You can use metho,” said Bec.

Sally looked from Bec to Narelle.

“Yeah, that’s like alcohol.  Dero’s drink metho.  That’ll do.”

“That’ll do, or is it all right?  Do you know what you’re doing, Narelle?”

“Look my cousin used this clear alcohol.  I dunno what it was, maybe it was metho.  It’s to sterilise your skin and you use it to clean the hole afterwards.”

God, clean the hole.  That sounded revolting and rude.  But it would be momentarily vomitous and then so groovy.  Sally knew she could handle it.  She went to get the metho.  When she got back Narelle had chosen a needle.  It looked thin, like it wouldn’t hurt much.

“Do you thread it?” she asked.  She had a vision of herself with blue cotton trailing out of her earlobes instead of the sleepers she’d bought at the chemist.

“Nah.”

Narelle took the lighter they used for the gas stove and held it over the tip of the needle.  They watched while the needle went black where the flame hit it.

“Ah.”  Narelle dropped the needle and shook her fingers then put them in the bowl with the ice.  Bec snickered and Sally’s stomach folded over like a pair of clean socks rolled together.  Maybe this was a stupid idea, but she was babysitting for Ray tonight and she wanted this done in time.  She imaged he’d notice straight away and want to know when she got them done and if it hurt.  She could lie a little bit and tell him she did it herself and he’d think she was brave and clever.  So, sick feeling in her tummy or not, this was happening.

She flapped her arms.  “Where do you want me?”

Narelle pointed to the kitchen stool and Bec moved to give them room.  Sally sat and Narelle approached with the alcohol and a cotton ball.  She soaked the cotton ball and wiped Sally’s left ear.  If sterile and safe had a smell it would be metho.  This was going to be okay.

“You should mark the spot,” said Bec.

“What do you mean?” said Narelle.

Bec shrugged.  “You know, like with a texta, so they’re even.”

“You don’t have to.  My cousin didn’t do that.  I can just tell.”

Bec shrugged again.  “Okay.”  But the way she said, ‘okay’ made Sally get off the stool.

They all went to the bathroom with a red texta and Bec put a dot on each of her earlobes where the hole would be made.  Sally checked in the mirror a couple of times, turning her head side to side to see from different angles.  She did not want them to be crocked.  That would be dreadful.

Back in the kitchen, Narelle sterilised the needle again.  The ice had melted a bit but there was still enough.  She put a piece either side of Sally’s earlobe and held it there.  It dripped on her shoulder.  “Tell me when it goes numb.”

They all giggled.  “I’m scared,” Sally said, but she was still laughing.  “This is gonna hurt.”

But first they discovered they should’ve used a biro not a texta, the red dot was now a pink smudge.  They had to start again.  And then Narelle dropped the needle and they couldn’t find it so they had to choose another one.

Finally Sally was ready.  Blue pen dots on both her earlobes.  Both of them sterilised, one of them numb.  Narelle was poised, standing over her so close Sally could smell her spearmint gum.  “Ready?”

“Ready.”

“I can’t watch,” said Bec and hid her face in her arms folded on the table while the Carpenters sang Please Mr Postman.

“You’re such a dag,” said Narelle.  “Ready?”

Sally nodded.  In another few minutes she’d have her ears pierced.  It’d look so cool.  She felt like chucking.

Narelle rested the needle on the skin of Sally’s earlobe.  “Ready.”

“Oh for God’s sake,” said Bec.

Sally felt the needle prick; it was a hot point of pain.  She gasped.

“Don’t move,” said Narelle.  She pressed the needle again.  “Oh God, its bleeding.”

“Is it through?”

“Bec, get me tissues, quick,” said Narelle.

“Is it through?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t know.”

“I don’t think so,” Narelle repeated, and Bec came back with tissues.

“Oh fudge you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I do so.”

“No you don’t.”

Narelle thrust the tissues at her and stepped away.  She threw the needle on the bench.  “Do you it yourself then if you don’t like the way I’m doing it.”  She was white faced.  She drank a glass of water while Bec held a clump of tissues to Sally’s ear.

“What are we going to do?  I’ve got half a hole.”

“We can just stop now,” said Narelle.

“We’re not stopping now.  Bec you do it.”

Bec dabbed her ear.  “I’m not doing it.”

“Narelle, you have to do it.”

Narelle came back over.  She found the needle and heated it again.  “Is it still numb?”

It wasn’t but Sally didn’t care.  “Just jab it through, hurry up.”

Bec held her hand and Narelle lined the needle up.

Sally looked at Bec who was looking at Narelle.  “On three.  One, two—”

Narelle jabbed and Sally yelped as the needle hit the side of her neck behind her ear.

“Oh shit,” said Narelle.

Sally put her hand up to her neck.  “Oh God, now I’m really bleeding.”

“Oh shit.  I feel sick,” said Narelle.

“Where’s the needle?”

Bec said, “It’s still in your ear.”

Narelle was leaning over the sink, she vomited and Sally’s stomach flipped at the sound of Narelle’s puke splattering the sink.

Bec took her back to the bathroom.  The needle was right through her earlobe and out the other side, and she had a bloody scrach spot on her neck where it had struck.  They still had to get the needle out and the earring in, and this was only one ear.

Bec took the needle out and that didn’t hurt but the hole wasn’t big enough to slide the sleeper though.  In the end Sally pushed it through and that hurt more than the needle and the stab in the neck did.  But she had one earring in and once the side of her face and neck stopping looking so red it would be so cool.

Narelle was lying on Sally’s bed with her hand over her face.  “I feel sick.  I can’t do that again.”

“I told you,” said Bec.

“Shut up,” Narelle shouted.  “I never said I’d done it before.  Only that I knew what to do.”

“You’re always—”

“Shut up both of you.  We have to do the other one.”

“I can’t,” said Narelle.  She was almost crying.

“Well I’m not doing it.  I said this was a bad idea,” said Bec.

“You can’t leave me like this.”  These were her two best friends.  They wouldn’t.  They couldn’t.

Narelle sat up.  She was very pale.  “Just take the earring out, the hole will close up.”

“No.  We came this far.”  And it hadn’t hurt that much.  They all went back to the kitchen.  The ice was totally melted now and ABBA was on the radio singing Mama Mia.  Normally the three of them would’ve danced around to that song, but they barely noticed it.

“I’ll do it myself,” Sally said.  If it was the only way, well, it was the only way.

They got more ice and moved everything into the bathroom.  It was a squash, so Bec stood in the doorway.  But Sally’s hand shook too much and she was almost crying from frustration.

“Okay, I’ll do it,” said Narelle.  She took the needle and lined it up.  “Ready?”

Sally said, “Ready,” but relief turned to horror when she watched Narelle’s eyes roll back till all that showed was white and she dropped like a lump of rock, the back of her head hitting the vanity as she fainted.

And then there was more blood from the split in the back of Narelle’s head and she was unconscious but kind of moaning.  They managed to get her up and sat her on the toilet seat and she came around, but she was crying and bleeding, and in no fit condition to pierce anyone’s ear.

“Wait her with her,” she said to Bec.

“Where are you going?”

“To get help.”

She left the house praying.  Hazel had to be at her old place, she had to be.  She was Sally’s only hope.  She said four rushed Hail Mary’s before she got two doors down.  The Stone’s front door was open and as usual Greg was out the front with his head under the hood of his old Monaro.  She didn’t want to risk running into Joyce or Barry, that meant she had to speak to Greg.

“Is Hazel here?”  She spoke to the curve of his back and his thick neat ponytail.

He looked up, squinting at her.  He wiped his hands on a filthy old rag.  “No, Sal.  She might visit tomorrow.”  His eyes narrowed and he stepped forward.  “Shit, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”  Everything, all her plans ruined.  “I just wanted to talk to her.”

Greg closed the hood of the Monaro with a dull thud.  “You look upset, what’s wrong.  Mum’s not home either.”

“I don’t want your mum.”

“Can I help?”

“I so don’t want you.”

She turned away and started home.  She was so frustrated her eyes were burning.  She knew Greg would be watching her go.  She turned back.  “How did you get your ear pierced?”

His hand came up to twist the hoop in his ear.  “I did it myself.”

“Can you do mine?”  She turned her head so he could see she only had the one earring.

He stepped onto the grass and came closer.  “What happened?”

“My friend fainted.  She hit her head.  I want to get this finished.  Can you do it or not?”

“I can do it.”

“Okay then.  Come on.”  Sally turned to go back to her place.

“Now, you want me to do it right now?”

She stopped walking, but didn’t bother to turn around.  “Yes, now.  What did you think?”

He came up beside her.  “I wasn’t thinking.  You won’t even look at me and now you want me to piece your ear.”

She sighed.  “Are you going to make a big deal out of this?”

“No.  No big deal.”  He put his hands up.  “I’m just surprised that’s all, but hey I’m cool, I can roll with it.”

He came with her back to the house.  At the front door he said, “Do you have rubbing alcohol?”

“We have metho.”

“That’ll do.  Cork?”

“Cork?  What do we need cork for?”

He put his hand up to her neck and touched lightly where the needle had jabbed her.  “So this doesn’t happen.  You use it as a backing behind the ear.”

His touch made her feel shivery, she moved so he could go through the door before her.  “We don’t have any cork.”

“Okay, how about a potato.”

“Greg, this is serious.”

They were both in the hall now.  He said, “I’m being serious.  Even a piece of carrot would do.”

She shook her head.  Why did she think this would work?  That’s how desperate she was, so desperate she’d even let Greg touch her.  “You’re making fun of me.”  She pointed back at the door.  “Forget it.  Just go home.”

“I’m not making fun of you, Sal.  I never was making fun of you ever.  You got that wrong.  I was trying to help you.  I can do this for you.  Do you really want me to go?”

He hadn’t been trying to help her at all that day three years ago in Ray’s pool.  He was a grubby boy who got his jollies from embarrassing her.  But he seemed to know what he was doing with the potato idea and there really was no other option.

“Go through to the kitchen.”

They only got as far as the bathroom doorway.  Bec was on her knees cleaning up Narelle’s blood.

“Shit, was that from your ear,” said Greg.

“No from Narelle when she fainted.  This is Bec.”

“Hi Bec.”

“Hi boy who Sal didn’t introduce,” said Bec.

Sally gave Greg a shove towards the kitchen.  “You don’t need to know him.  Where’s Narelle?”

He called out.  “I’m Greg.”

Bec called out.  “Hi Greg.  She’s on your bed.”

In the kitchen, Sally got more ice, but this was the last of it.  The needle was missing again so she opened the sewing kit.  Greg chose a really big needle.

“That’s too thick.”

He picked up the earring from the counter.  “No, it’s just a little thicker than the shaft of the earring.  What did you use?”

Sally pointed at a similar needle to the one Narelle used and Greg winced.  “How did you get the earring in?”

“I forced it.”

“Shit, Sal.”

She shrugged.  At least that told Greg she was no weakling.

He tore a piece of cardboard off the flap of the Corn Flakes box and folded it into a little square.  Bec came out and watched.  Then he positioned Sally on the stool.  He had her ice her ear while he sterilised the needle.  Narelle wobbled out when he was ready and when she saw what he was doing she went back to the bedroom.

Greg towered over her.  She’d never really noticed how tall he was.  Now she noticed how tall, how brown and how muscley he was.  He was really muscely.  He had a singlet on with boardies, he was barefoot and he had fine blonde hair all over his arms.  Arms that he’d washed thoroughly before he started on this that ended in fingers he’d rubbed in metho.

Now he looked down at her.  “Ready?”

She nodded.  He brushed some loose hair away from her ear, bent lower to see what he was doing.  She felt his fingers position the cardboard behind her ear and next minute he straightened and held out his hand for Bec to give him the earring.

“That’s it?”  That couldn’t be it, it hardly hurt at all.

“That’s it.  But I reckon we should do your other one again.  Just to make sure it’s okay.”  He bent down so he could look her in the face.  His eyes were the colour of moss.  “Can I do that for you?”

She let him.  And it hurt a little more oddly.  He said it was traumatised and she needed to make sure she kept turning the earring and bathing it in the metho or it might get infected.  He sang along to My Little Angel with William Shakespeare and he had an okay voice.

And then he did Bec’s ears but he used a piece of thread, tied off in the hole, because she didn’t have sleepers, she was going to steal some from her mum when she got home.  Narelle came out again during that to get some Disprin for a headache, and then Sally walked Greg to the front door.

“Thank you.  You were really cool.”

He grinned.  “I want payment?”

“What?  I never said, this was—”

He cut her off.  “I don’t want money.  I just want you to look at me from time to time.”

“You’re always looking at me.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re a spunk.”

Sally opened her mouth but no words made it from her brain to her tongue.  He was so cruel to be making fun of her again when he’d been so nice and so good about helping her out.

“You don’t believe me?”

She shook her head.  Her ears felt three times bigger than they really were.  They were like Dumbo ears. She was leaning against one side of the door jamb and he was on the other.  They weren’t very far apart.  He was making her nervous, more nervous than when he was about to stick her with a hot needle.

“It’s true.  You’re a spunk and I hate that you think I deliberately made fun of you that day.”

“You did.”

“I didn’t mean it.”  He pulled the band out of his ponytail and his hair fell around his neck and shoulders.  It was very shiny.  “I was trying to stop you being embarrassed.”

She looked at his feet.  He had blonde hair on top of his arches.  That couldn’t be possible could it?  That was the opposite to what she’d always believed.

“I was trying to tell you your top slipped.  I didn’t think anyone was looking at me except you.”

“Well they were.”  Half the street had been watching.  It was bad enough Greg had seen her nipple slip from her bikini top, but everyone else had seen it too when they saw him signal her.  She’d gone home in tears and thought she’d never be able to face anyone again.  The only good thing was Ray was inside and Steve was asleep on a deckchair so they hadn’t seen, and Hazel said she didn’t see either, but still Sally had been half topless in Ray’s pool and Greg had pointed it out to everyone with his stupid hand gesture.

He nodded sadly.  “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.  And you’d never let me talk to you again to apologise.”

That’s because looking at Greg reminded her of the singularly most humiliating moment of her life.  But now he was looking at her and it wasn’t so bad.  She tossed her head.  “I’m not exactly pretty.”  She wasn’t a total dog, she was okay looking, but her hair was too blah and her freckles were awful.  They made her look about ten years old.  She couldn’t wait til she was allowed to use makeup.

“You are to me.”

“My freckles are…”

“Dead-set cute.”  He lifted a hand, his index finger outstretched and pretended to count.  “Every single one of them.”

Sally got hot suddenly.  Like the sun had risen right on top of her head.  From down the hallway they heard Hush’s Bony Moroni.  She felt like dancing.  “You better go.”

“Okay.”

“Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

She giggled.  “I’ve only got two ears.”

“Maybe we could pierce something else?”

“As if!”

He laughed and stepped off the doorstep.  He was still taller than her.

“I won’t ignore you.”

“Okay.”

“Bye Greg.”

“Bye Sal.”

She watched him go down the path.  He jumped the gate in one swift movement.  “Show-off!” she called and when he laughed she didn’t think he was making fun of her, and remembering he’d seen her nipple made her tummy squirm in a completely different way, and it wasn’t embarrassing anymore.