Donna Joy Usher - Chanel 02 - Goons 'n' Roses (2 page)

I had recovered by the time I entered Florence, the Italian restaurant where my birthday dinner was being held. I felt pretty fab with my new Gucci bag and a navy-blue Nine West dress, which accentuated my best features – caramel-blonde hair and boobs big enough to satisfy a man with large hands.

I guess if we’re discussing my best features I should also mention that I have great teeth; compliments of the orthodontist who tortured me in my teens and modern teeth-whitening procedures. My friends tell me that my green eyes are pretty. My skin, which tans easily to an olive complexion, isn’t too shabby either. I’m only 5 foot 4 tall, but tonight, with the help of my new Fendi skyscrapers, I had managed to push that to over 5 foot 8.

‘Happy Birthday.’

There’s nothing better than the sound of your friends screaming out those words. I took a seat between Bruce and Martine, directly across from Mum. She was looking hot in a baby-blue dress, and I could tell by the way Trent had his arm protectively wrapped around her shoulders that he thought so too. Bianca sat to Mum’s left.

Bruce is gay, Martine is a drag queen and Bianca is a reformed prostitute. I don’t think it says anything that my best friends in Sydney are a gay man, a drag queen and an ex-prostitute, but I’m not sure Dr Shooten would agree.

Bruce is a pocket-rocket of muscle and cry-your-eyes-out-that-he’s-gay cute. He owns and runs Dazzle, a club that has a drag queen show. Everybody at the table, except Trent and me, worked at Dazzle.

Bianca became the head barmaid/stock manager at Dazzle when she’d decided it was too dangerous on the streets. Her bubbly personality, chocolate skin and bootaliscious body made her very popular with the clientele. Her take-no-nonsense attitude made her the perfect person for the job.

Martine is 6 foot 3 in heels, has a deep voice, olive skin and hazel eyes. Her hair colour depends on which wig she puts on; tonight she was strawberry blonde. An extrovert drag queen by night, by day she was Martyn, a dull and boring accountant with a monotone voice and a serious lack of will to live. I never knew what to say to Martyn.

Mum’s in charge of the stage production, choreography and wardrobe at Dazzle, and although the club was doing well before she came along, it has increased in popularity in direct proportion to the extra professionalism she’s injected into the show. They now charge an entry fee and take bookings.

I touched my glass to everybody else’s before taking a sip, relaxing as the alcohol uncurled in my belly. Martine handed me a present and waited eagerly for me to unwrap it.

‘It’s from all of us,’ she said as I admired the silver bangle on my arm.

‘Do you love it?’ Bruce asked, jumping up and down in his seat.

‘What’s not to love?’ I said. ‘It’s Tiffany’s.’

‘What else did you get for your birthday,’ Martine asked, after I had finished thanking them.

‘Gucci bag and a speed dating voucher.’ I saw Trent grin at the mention of the speed dating voucher and I stuck my tongue out at him.

‘Come again,’ Bruce said.

‘I bet you say that to all the boys.’

He burst out laughing before saying, ‘No seriously, a speed dating voucher?’

‘It was her idea.’ I pointed an accusing finger at Mum.

‘It wasn’t so much an idea,’ she countered, ‘as a throw away comment.’

Trent started chuckling. ‘The boys have been complaining how boring it’s been since…’ He looked at me apologetically as I took a swig of my wine. ‘So Lorraine suggested,’ he continued, smiling puke-inducingly at Mum, ‘that we send Chanel on a speed dating night.’

‘I wasn’t serious,’ Mum defended herself. ‘But the boys seem to have really cottoned onto the fact that Chanel’s a shit magnet.’

‘In my defence,’ I said, taking a deep breath to get the next bit out, ‘
everybody
thought he was nice.’

Sweet progress. I’d mentioned him without crying. Maybe the therapy was working. It was either that or the alcohol.

‘Are you going to do it?’ Martine asked.

‘I wasn’t,’ I said, ‘but something came up this afternoon that makes me think it might be a good idea.’ I didn’t feel like talking about it so I didn’t bother mentioning that my job was on the line. ‘I have to get back out there some time.’

Martine stared at me for a few moments with her huge, heavily-made-up eyes, reading the unsaid things behind my words, and then she nodded. That’s one of the really good things about Martine. Although you can’t normally shut her up, when it really matters, she doesn’t say a thing.

‘So birthday girl,’ Bianca said, ‘you packed yet?’

‘I’m making a list.’

‘Hope you’re checking it twice.’

Last year the girls at Dazzle had entered a drag queen competition. We had found out a few weeks ago that they had won, and as the first prize winners they were off to Las Vegas to perform. While Bruce and Bianca were staying behind to hold the fort, Martine, Mum and the rest of the girls were heading for the bright lights. There had been a couple of spare spots so Trent was going under the guise of security and I was an ‘executive stage producer’.

Suzie, my best friend from the Police Academy, was coming to dog-sit Cocoa while I was away. This was a bonus as I was looking forward to the couple of nights I would get to spend with her. The only blackness on my horizon at that moment was the stupid psychology report, but I could worry about
that
when I got back.

‘What are we going to do about that?’ Martine asked, pointing at my right arm.

‘What about it?’ I was quite protective of my feeble, sickly-looking appendage.

‘It looks a little silly.’ She grimaced apologetically as she said it.

I looked down at my arms. They appeared to belong to two different people. ‘What do you suggest I do?’

‘We could fake tan it.’

‘What if it goes a different colour?’

‘Than liquid-paper-white?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I think that’s the point.’

I’d never fake tanned before. Having inherited Mum’s olive skin, and her penchant for the sun, I’d never had to.

‘What do you think Bianca?’

‘Anything’s got to be better than that.’ She pointed her bread stick at my arm.

I moved to the side a little to allow the waiter to place my lasagne on the table.

‘How long before we leave should we do it?’

‘The night before,’ Martine said. ‘That way it will last the whole trip.’

I placed some cheesy, pasta goodness into my mouth as I nodded my head at her.

 ***

Mum and the girls were training hard that week to get their performance for Las Vegas perfected, so it wasn’t too late when I got home. I took Cocoa out for his evening toilet break before settling onto the couch with him. The little book Dr Shooten had given me to write my thoughts in was sitting on the side table. I picked it up and examined its floral cover, its unbroken spine. He had obviously picked a pretty book, hoping it would inspire me. That was thoughtful.

My mind skirted cautiously around the day’s session. Even though I could be stupidly stubborn, I wasn’t so silly to see that Dr Shooten had been telling me the truth. I could fight it if they tried to get rid of me. The media would love such a scandal. The Force removing a Probationary Constable for psychological damage received in the line of duty? The Force removing the Probationary Constable who had taken down the Kings Cross killer? That was just
too
good a story.

But as much as I hated to admit it, the truth of the matter was that he was right. If I had a trigger in my mind that could cause me to freeze at an important moment, then I was dangerous.

I
wouldn’t want to work with me.

Sighing, I opened the little book and picked up the pen that had been sitting beside it. The physiotherapist had said I needed to exercise my hand; I may as well combine the two therapies.

How did I start this? I guessed the best thing was to go with the tried and tested method.

Dear Diary,

Some funny things have happened over the last 6 months. Firstly, my Mum moved from Hickery and morphed from a permed-haired, fluffy-slipper-wearing, middle-aged woman to a facebooking, fashion-leading, sexual predator with the twitter handle @hotbloodedlady.

Where does that leave me? Aren’t I meant to be the sexual predator with the hip twitter handle while she lectures me on the error of my ways?

Then she started dating Trent. He’s tall and muscularly lean and reminds me of a dangerous feline predator. Just the sort of guy I would go for myself.

It’s probably for the best though as I’ve decided after
you know who, that inter-office relationships are probably not a good thing.

Anyway Mum’s apartment is directly above mine and I’m pretty sure the other night I heard her bed making thumping noises. I put my pillow over my head and said, ‘lalalalalala,’ but you can only do that for so long before it becomes tiring. Now if that’s not disturbing for my psychological state of mind, I don’t know what is.

***

Everybody was at Dazzle that Saturday night so I decided to use my speed dating voucher. I was feeling pretty anxious when I turned up to the restaurant hosting the event. The only thing worse than a blind date, is 20 blind dates in an hour.

Most of the men were mingling around the bar, checking out the women as they entered and making notes. Nice.

I registered my name with Rita-the-Greeter (that was on her name tag), clipped my tag onto my blouse and then made my way to the bar. For tonight, alcohol wasn’t an option – it was a necessity.

One of the other women, a petite, brassy-blonde, turned to me. ‘You’re new,’ she said.

‘Umm, you come here often?’

‘Every week.’ She held out her hand. ‘I’m Bettina.’

I shook it and said, ‘Chanel. So are most of the people here regulars.’

‘A lot of them. He’s new,’ she said, pointing towards a man standing near the entrance door. He pushed his glasses further up onto his nose and looked around nervously. ‘Dibs,’ she said.

‘You can have him.’ I shook my head and wondered what the hell Daniel was doing there. ‘He’s a little well-groomed for my taste.’

Bettina let out a tinkling laugh. ‘Oh, I remember when I was like you.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘After a
good
time, not a
long
time. These days I spend my whole time trying to find a decent man, with a steady income. When I’m not speed dating, I’m internet dating.’

‘But surely you wouldn’t have trouble finding a boyfriend.’ She was a tidy little package with a beautiful wide smile and perfect teeth.

‘It’s not the boyfriend part that’s the problem. It’s the father-to-my-unborn-children part that is.’

I made a mental note to warn Daniel.

‘When you get to my age you’ll be wishing you’d snagged a sensible home-maker
before
they were all taken.’ She sauntered off in Daniel’s direction; probably not willing to risk her chances with him on the 180 seconds allotted us.

‘I’m not sure why they make the women progress around the room.’

I turned to face a woman with hair long enough to make Rapunzel cry herself to sleep at night. It was pulled into a thick, dark braid which hung over her shoulder and down past her waist.

‘I mean, we’re the ones wearing the high heels. It makes sense to make the men move.’

‘Yes, but then they wouldn’t be able to check us out properly.’

‘That’s true.’ She placed a fingertip delicately onto the end of her chin. ‘Heaven forbid if they can’t see how big our bums are
before
they make a decision on our personalities.’

‘It could lead to total disaster,’ I agreed.

‘Oops, time to start,’ she said, moving off.

I had wanted to start with Daniel, but Bettina had already taken her seat across from him, and was engaging him in a one-sided conversation involving a lot of eyelash fluttering and tinkly laughter. Daniel resembled a rabbit caught in the oncoming headlights of a semi-trailer.

There weren’t many spare seats left so I hurriedly took one opposite a cleanly-shaven man, wearing a short-sleeved, white button-up shirt.

‘Go,’ Rita-the-Greeter, said in her chirpy voice.

‘Hi urhhh,’ I stared at my date’s name card, ‘Ben. How are you?’

‘Great. How are you?’ He got a gold star for enthusiasm.

‘Little overwhelmed. You come here often?’

‘Does it make me look like a loser if I say yes?’

‘Not at all,’ I lied. ‘I’d call it optimistic.’

‘I try to be optimistic, but it can be hard you know.’ His expression changed dramatically, from super-duper excited to sad.

I hoped I wasn’t going to regret this question. ‘What can be hard?’

‘Rejection.’

Phew.
At least he wasn’t a dirty perve.

‘I come here every week, and yet none of the women ever want to see me again.’ He wiped at a tear that was quivering in the corner of his left eye.

Whoa, where did enthusiastic Ben go?

‘All I want is to love someone and be loved in return.’ He pulled a hanky out of his jeans pocket and dashed at the tears free flowing down his face.

‘Perhaps you should try internet dating,’ I suggested, edging out of my chair, ‘I hear it’s very good.’

‘And change,’ Rita called.

The next guy was a little more to my liking: Black t-shirt; faded denim jeans; motorbike jacket slung over the back of his seat. His name badge was lying on the table facing me – Daren Todd.

‘Well, hello there,’ he rumbled.

‘Hi yourself.’ I took a sip of my drink and leaned a little further across the table. I only had about 110 seconds left to make an impression and I was going to let my boobs earn their keep.

‘So what do you do for a living?’ he asked.

I stared him in the eyes and said, ‘I’m a cop.’

‘Are you a good cop or a bad cop?’

‘It depends,’ I said.

‘On what?’

‘On whom I’m arresting.’

He leaned towards me, a slow, lazy smile stretching his mouth. ‘What about if you were arresting
me
?’

I took another sip of wine while I stared into his dark eyes. ‘Oh, if I were arresting you, I’d definitely be a bad cop.’