him,” I say.
“Lucky you,” says Karen. “Now we’ve started this I may as well tell you. The other day he felt my bum.”
Bloody hell.
“That’s a step too far even for him. You should go to HR,” I say.
“And lose this job? Trainee roles are so hard to find – especially as I’m thirty-two not twenty-two like most grads. There’s no way I’m losing this job.”
“He loves a bum feel,” says Lucy. “Once he felt my bum so far up, he was fingering my front bits.”
We are all ewwinng majorly at this. Now, please note, I do not think sexual harassment is funny. It’s vile. And yet, cheers to the resilience of us girls. A few glasses of wine in and we’re howling with the hilarity of it. Lucy continues between snorts of laughter, “I’m so short and he’s so tall he had to really bend down. I think he dislocated his wrist!”
“Let’s get Charlie’s Action Man and make him into a Buxy voodoo doll!” says Ella.
“I didn’t know they still made Action Men!” I say.
“They don’t. This one was Ben’s.” Ella has extracted him from Charlie’s toy box.
“How odd,” says Lucy. “He’s got no feet.”
“Even odder,” says Karen. “He has no penis!”
“Maybe he has a very small one hiding somewhere,” I say. “You know, the way some men do.”
“I bet Frank has a small one,” says Ella. “He looks just the type.”
“Who’s Frank?” asks Karen.
“Our friend Josie’s boyfriend,” answers Ella. “He’s a tool. With a small one, I reckon.”
“Oh, good. Not the Frank I’ve met online then!” says Karen “It’s quite an unusual name and you know what a small world this city can be...”
“You met someone!” says Lucy. She is clearly trying to look happy for Karen for meeting someone not sad for herself for not meeting someone.
“Well, I haven’t quite yet. We’ve just gone from exchanging messages on the website to, you know, sexy texting. He lives in Bankstown which isn’t ideal. He’s Lebanese – very good-looking! He’s very busy in his job. Guess where he works. He’s a senior director at Maccas!”
Oh, God.
Ella looks at me and I look at Ella. “Didn’t we have some Lindt balls for pudding, El?’
“Ooh, yes. Let’s fetch them,” says Ella.
We scurry into the kitchen and close the door behind us. We go as far from the door as possible. She can only be talking about Josie’s Frank. Who else can it be? Ella and I look at each other. Ella grips the sink.
“The bastard!” she whispers.
“I know.”
We can hear Lucy in the other room. She’s loud with enthusiasm.
“Sexy texting sounds very positive. How fantastic, Karen. You’ve met someone! I’m jealous now. When am I going to meet someone? I’ve never had any luck on the ‘net. I just get married guys and old guys and...”
Josie
Day One
Our Balinese villa is simply to die for. Believe it or not, we have our very own infinity pool. We don’t have to share it with anyone which is good as Frank doesn’t like it if he thinks I’m looking at another man, and I don’t like it if there is a woman slimmer and younger than me. I like it when there are women who are older and fatter, but no one at all is just fine.
There are sliding doors from the main bedroom to the outside area. Not those crappy doors you usually get in holiday accommodation that always stick; these glide effortlessly, out to the cool inviting blueness of the pool. And the furniture outside is not your typical falling apart rusty loungers, but big, deep, dark rattan daybeds with fat white cushions the maid takes in if it looks like there might be a tropical shower. Then she puts them out again. And she sweeps up leaves and stuff all the time, so it always looks pristine.
The furniture inside the villa is the sort of thing you lust after in Coco Republic, but can’t afford. The bed linen is crisp, white and changed daily by the maid, who brings drinks and nibbles at our every whim. She never stops but it doesn’t feel like your privacy has been invaded. After a while you forget she’s there and everything just gets done as if by magic. This place is truly heaven.
Bit of a shaky start to our holiday in paradise – we’re okay now though, so don’t worry. Frank and I got on the plane in Sydney on Friday evening. Both a bit frazzled from work; you know how it is, getting everything ready for your time off. As we were both a bit stressed, we had a glass of champagne. Then we had another. Frank is so good, he never goes for another after that, and I know I shouldn’t either. He tells me often how it’s the trigger third and I should stop at two. Well, I don’t have his discipline, and I was also so cold on the plane – I thought a third one might help me feel a bit warmer.
Everyone was complaining about the cold, but they couldn’t seem to do anything to turn the air con down. Well, post the third drink, the nice boy with the cart asked if I wanted anything else and I said, “Can you get into the hold and get some clothes out of my case? This temperature is unbearable!”
He laughed and said, “No, I can’t do that.”
So I said, “What about a duvet we can go under then?”
He said, “I’ll see what I can do, but in the meantime here’s another glass of champagne.” Frank, of course, said no - machine gun trigger, the fourth drink. A definite no no.
So, I was pretty happy, what with the bubbles and the holiday, and I smiled to myself when Frank said sharply, “What are you grinning at?”
“I’m happy! We’re on holidays. Finally!”
I stroked his arm as I said this. He has such nice arms.
“Enjoyed flirting with your new friend, did you?”
Needless to say my stroking was brushed away.
“I wasn’t flirting. In any case, I’m pretty sure he’s gay.”
“Really? So you want to ‘go under a duvet’ with a gay guy, then?”
“I meant the duvet for us – you and me, not me and him! Don’t make fun of my accent, you know I don’t...”
“Whatever. It’s a fucking doona anyway, not a duvet. I really wish you wouldn’t embarrass yourself.”
What with the wine and the tiredness and the harsh words, I felt my eyes prickling. Frank told me not to start that and it’s true – it always makes it worse. He said he was going to try and sleep for a bit and I did the same. Anything to hold back the tears and escape the nosy looks of the bloody woman next to us.
We landed into Bali and Frank was still huffy. All the things I imagined being such fun – you know when you first step into that tropical heat and smell, collecting the cases, haggling the taxi price... all tainted by the row. I was so cross with myself. Too often we’re having a nice time, and I do or say something stupid to spoil it.
In the cab we finally got some privacy. Thankfully, the cab driver didn’t seem to speak a word of English. At last I had a proper chance to say how sorry I was. He said he was okay. But can I try not to show him up for the rest of the holiday. I promised I was done with any showing up and it wouldn’t happen again. So by the time we got to the villa it was a bit better, especially as it was so lovely and we were oohing and aahing at how gorgeous everything is.