Oh, yeah. ‘I don’t think you answered though.’
‘I did, just facetiously. I actually have no connection to this at all. I work in advertising sales, and we don’t even advertise with the AFL. But I scored a ticket, and I’m not one to turn down free catering.’
‘That’s very thrifty.’
‘Well, when you’re a millennial on your third cozzie livs crisis…’
I laugh, and that seems to be that, so I wait for him to leave. Then his head tilts to one side, eyes dancing with childlike enjoyment.
‘Maybe I could get you a drink?’ he asks, and that’s a bit of a mind-fuck because it should definitely be the other way around. Is it romantic that he wants to get the waitress (sorry, food-and-bev attendant) a drink? Can I get fired for saying yes? Bee might make an exception under a horniness clause.
‘Sure.’ We turn towards the bar.
‘Is that your friend over there?’ He is pointing over to where Bee is standing, now talking to a suited man of her own. The bubble of something (not hope, never hope) in my chest pops, deflating with a small squeal. He wants to ask about Bee. Of course he does. He must have seen us together earlier. I’ve played this game before; I know how it goes. He acts coy for a moment, pretends he is interested in talking to me, then subtly turns the conversation to Bee and whether she is available and whether I can introduce them. Or pass on her number. Orgive her this drink he offered me (like I’d hand over a drink of unknown provenance, buddy).
I remember one time Bee and I were at this club we went to every Thursday night because a guy we’d gone to school with was a promoter and gave us drink cards for the five-dollar Jaeger bombs. We were on the dancefloor and a guy came up behind Bee and started doing that thing men do where they dance closely behind you, then if you don’t object, they put a hand or two on your waist, then they’ll wrap around to pull you into them so you can grind your ass against their dick, and then they flip you around for a pash…
And then a hand reached around my own waist and started doing the same thing, and I could not have consented more enthusiastically. Then, a bit later, Bee went to the toilet and I saw the two men we had pulled. They were by the bar, and Bee’s was buying mine a drink to say thanks for ‘jumping on the grenade’.
Bee went home with that guy that night. I went home and exploded into tears.
So maybe for a moment in my fatigue I forgot what this is and thought that he might want to talk tome. I’m tired and don’t feel like playing tonight.
I hate myself slightly for sounding bitter, but I don’t owe him Bee’s time. ‘The one talking to the finance wanker? Yep, that’s my friend, Bee.’
He frowns. Judgy. ‘Do you know him?’
‘No.’
I can hear the judgment too. ‘So why do you think he’s a finance wanker?’
I wave a hand in his general direction. ‘Look at him! The perfect blond hair, the pocket square, the tie clip that matches the cufflinks.’ I know I am absolutely nitpicking supposed flaws in a complete stranger, but I can’t stop myself. ‘He’s giving off big-wanker energy in waves.’
He’s looking at me differently now, the smile in his eyes long vanished. I hear the cogs turn in his brain; he’s deciding just how far to lose it. I am reminded once more that I am not, in fact, a guest at this event but an easily replaced waitress, so I hope he isn’t a talk-to-the-manager type…even if it might be fun to point to Bee when he asks.
‘I’ll make sure to let William know how he comes off to others,’ he says drily. Oh, shit. This is way worse.
‘William?’ I ask. I definitely do not want an answer.
‘Yeah, William, my best mate. He met her earlier tonight and I thought I’d help him out by asking you about her. But on reflection I don’t really care what you think.’
Distaste drips from every word. He watches as Bee and William smile at one another; William holds out a hand, and she lets him lead her back to the dancefloor. ‘Thankfully, your friend seems to have better taste than you.’
Well, I was interested inyoufor a hot second, buddy, so congrats on the self-burn.
I wish I was gutsy enough to actually say that.
Nicole, blessed Nicole, best of people, then walks past with a dangerously full tray of glasses. ‘Hey, Gertie, give me a hand?’
A precarious tray being one of the best known ways to move past a mortifying moment with a disgusted hot man, I help Nicole get back to the bar with the tray. He has followed me,leaning over the bar to get closer. I start to rip off the stupid gloves. My hands feel itchy, like they’re swelling and I will be trapped in the gloves forever if I don’t get rid of them quickly.
‘Youworkhere?’
I’m done with him now. I need to remove him and his stupid eyes and hands and suit from my brain.
‘No,’ I say sarcastically, gesturing around the bar. ‘I just decided to wear the same hideous outfit as half a dozen other guests, and then we all banded together to help out because it seemed like a nice thing to do.’
I turn to go into the glass room, but at the door I turn back to spit at him, ‘And by the way, my friend works here too, so if not-wanky Billy over there is going to have as much of a problem with that as you obviously do, you should probably go rescue him.’
