Chapter 4 #3
“More. I sincerely doubt there was an authentic Native American sweat lodge in the Waikato.”
“Probably not. But circling back to our former conversation, ‘Ex-Nurse and current owner of a struggling bar’ isn’t giving the bad bitch-reunion vibe I’m looking for.”
“I see.” Ada springs out of bed and starts rummaging through a side drawer. “You’re headed downstairs to prep, right?”
“Yeah, why?”
She produces a notebook with a flourish. “I’ll come with you, and we’ll brainstorm this thing.”
I hesitate. “Wouldn’t you rather stay here in your underwear and play shooty-gun games on the PS5 and destroy the self-esteem of gamer bros the world over?”
“Yes,” Ada says, hunting for a pen. “But that’s ultimately a lost cause. Helping you tear a new asshole in the reunion, on the other hand…”
“There’s hope?”
“Oh yeah,” she says, her dark eyes gleaming. “Let’s ride.”
We head downstairs, Ada talking a mile a minute about backless dresses and potential bar photoshoots.
There’s nobody in the pub besides Aggie, leaning on the kitchen counter as she goes over next week’s specials.
The old-timers will be in at three for the Saturday roast, but for now, the place is dead.
“Please don’t get too obsessed with this?” I beg Ada as I push open the door to the kitchen.
“Too late,” she says gleefully, pulling up a chair and opening her notepad. “I’m in special interest city. Population: me and your life.”
“What are you on about, Adalasia?” Aggie grumbles, looking up from her own notebook.
“Cece. I’m in charge of overhauling her image so she can fuck the dickhead of her dreams.”
Aggie harrumphs. “Start by getting her to show her tits for once.”
“Never fear, Agnes. Tits are number one on my list.”
“I show my tits plenty,” I protest.
“Do not,” Aggie shoots back. “Even if you did, that bra you’re wearing’s crap.”
“All my bras are crap! I bulk-buy them from the same place I get cocktail napkins from.”
“And you wonder why blokes don’t ask you ‘round for a bit of ‘how’s your father.’” Aggie points at my chest. “All men love a gal in classy undies.”
“Rich coming from a woman whose lingerie appears to be entirely cheetah print,” I tease.
Aggie cackles. “Classy is as classy does, Cecelia.”
“Okay, first step: new underwear,” Ada says, scribbling frantically.
“What? Why would we start there?”
“Thirst traps, my na?ve friend. You’re getting the girls out, and you can’t be doing that in bras with holes.”
“Ada, I can’t afford new underwear. A guy tried to rip my knickers off last year, and I almost thumped him. That’s why I don’t have lingerie. What possesses men to think destroying thirty-dollar panties is a solid way to prove their passion?”
Ada’s expression is pitiful. “Babe… We both know you weren’t wearing thirty-dollar panties.”
“I could have been! I might still have nice stuff left from when I had a real job!”
She shoots me a look that clearly says, ‘Don’t lie to me.’ To be fair, Ada does most of our laundry. She has firsthand knowledge of my underwear situation.
“Tomorrow morning we’re getting up early and going straight to David Jones for some Agent Provocateur,” she says, still scribbling, “Then we take photos and start posting for the pleasure of all, but especially Will Sharpe.”
I imagine Will stumbling across a post of me looking beautiful and grown up behind my own bar. Butterflies flick through my stomach, but they’re accompanied by a familiar tightening in my chest. “Sounds good.”
It doesn’t sound good at all. But maybe it’ll be worth it if I can go to this reunion and finally fulfil my high school dream.
“Who’s this Will, then?” Aggie asks.
“Total pin-dick from Pukekohe,” Ada says absently.
“He is not!” I protest.
“What’s wrong with him?” Aggie turns to Ada. “Not good enough for Cece?”
She rolls her eyes. “Not good enough to plunge a toilet with his head, more like.”
“Ada!” I snap. “That’s not true, Aggie. Will is handsome and successful and runs his own business, and he goes hiking and golfing all the time. I don't know how he does it…”
“I do.” Ada puts a thumb to one nostril and snorts loudly.
“Ada! Will does not…” I lower my voice to a whisper, “… use cocaine.”
“Yeah. Because no one’s ever successfully used cocaine in New Zealand. Ya boy’s snorting baby laxatives and meth. Bet the results are quite similar, though.”
The kitchen door swings open and Davis comes in, his dark hair all ruffled from the wind. “Who’s doing meth?”
“Everyone in this bar,” Ada says, scribbling away on her notepad. “Freebasing and glass pipes and everything. Turns out you’re shit at your job.”
“Demon,” Davis mutters before smiling at Aggie. “Heya.”
“Hello, darl.” Aggie holds out her arms, and he lets her pull him into a hug.
“Looking forward to the roast?”
“Hell yeah.”
“Good boy.” She pats his cheek. “I made you some Anzac biscuits, too.”
“You’re a legend, Agg.” Davis clears his throat and glances a foot above my head. “Hey, boss. How are ya?”
Mortification licks at me as I remember the horrified look on his face when he thought I was masturbating to pictures of Will.
“Good,” I mutter, picking up a tea towel and scrubbing an already clean glass. No water spots on this one, no siree.
Ada lets out a sudden scream.
I almost drop the glass. “Are you hurt?”
“Jake followed me!” She brandishes her phone at me like it’s a live snake.
“Ada…” I exhale like a deflating balloon. “I thought something real happened.”
“Something real did happen. Way too real.” Ada frowns at her phone. “Do you think it’s a scam? I hope it’s a scam. It’s too sad otherwise. Did he add you, as well?”
I pull my phone out and check it. “Yeah. Me and the bar. It must be real.”
“Who’s this Jake?” Aggie demands.
“Some drunk tool,” Ada says, tossing her phone aside.
“He is not!” I say. “He’s an All Black, and we went to school with him, and he’s really nice!”
“Whatever,” Ada says, returning to her notepad. “He’s blocked now.”
Aggie cackles. “Atta girl. Wait, did you say All Black?”
“Yeah, Jake Graves-Holland,” I say, beyond exasperated. “Only Ada would act like he’s some kind of bum.”
Aggie looks starstruck. No, she looks like she’s about to genuflect in front of Ada. “You bagged Jake Graves-Holland?”
Ada gives a slow blink.
“How… How was it?” Aggie asks, unknowingly echoing me.
“I’ve had better.”
Aggie cackles even harder, but Davis picks up the sceptic mantle.
“You went home with the All Black?” he asks as though Ada just declared she’s a unicorn.
“Apparently.”
“Fuck off, you did.”
Ada flashes him a big smile. “I heard you almost punched him in the face, so it was a big night for all of us.”
“Jesus,” Davis says with a trace of admiration.
Ada rolls her eyes. “I keep telling you people, I almost hooked up with Viggo Mortensen. I slipped the surly bonds of Earth and saw the face of God, and I now hold all mortal men to a lesser standard.”
Davis shakes his head. “Absolute demon.”
“In the sack? Sure am. Just ask Jake Graves-Holland.”
Aggie chortles so hard she coughs. “You’re the right girl to take Cece under your wing, aren’t ya, darl?”
“I am. Speaking of which.” Ada gestures at Davis. “Can I ask you a very important question?”
Her accusing tone is enough to make me put my ultra-shiny glass down. Ada does not inquire things of Davis. Ada mocks Davis, and he tolerates it with an air of long-suffering martyrdom.
“What question?” Davis asks, eyeing her suspiciously.
“I want to ask what you think would make Cece more attractive to men?”
“Ada!” I exclaim. “What the hell?”
Davis’s suspicion morphs into irritation. “Why are you asking me that?”
“I just figured we could use some male perspective,” Ada says, like she can’t see me trying to explode her head with the force of my gaze.
“Cece’s obviously gorgeous. You are,” she says when I try to object. “We all know it. And she’s kind, funny and smart. But Cece wants to make a splash at our dog-show of a high school reunion, and I thought you might have some advice?”
Davis’s hands ball into fists. “I don’t.”
“Nothing? No opinions on Cece at all?”
“Yes. No. I mean… She’s great the way she is.”
“True,” Ada says brightly. “But she wants to sparkle for the undeserving men of Pukekohe, and I’m determined to help her do so.”
Davis turns to stare at me, and my skin crawls.
Partly from this conversation and partly from the way he’s looking at me, like my being hot is incomprehensible to him.
He’s always been so sweet, but maybe he’s one of those guys who thinks women shrivel into unfuckability after twenty-five?
Either way, I really don’t need this to be happening.
“Stop it, Addy,” I say, my cheeks burning. “I’m sure this counts as workplace harassment.”
“All the more reason to fire Davis.”
“Can it, Demon,” Davis snarls. “I already said there’s nothing wrong with Cece. She doesn’t need your help to get guys.”
“Oooooohh. Is that a note of jealousy I detect?”
“Enough,” Davis says sharply. “Stop trying to make everyone uncomfortable just because you’re bored, as per fucking usual.”
I brace myself for Ada to explode, but she eyes Davis with something bordering respect. “Well observed, rent-a-cop. There may be hope for you yet.”
“Davis is lovely,” Aggie agrees, handing him a Tupperware container of biscuits. “But you do need better bras, Cecelia.”
I pray to disintegrate where I stand, but I’m forced to witness Davis glance at my chest then look away, flushing.
“Are we done here?” he asks.
“Pretty much,” Ada says, tapping her pen against her pad. “I’ll further strategise solo.”
“In your playpen with a pint of tequila?” Davis asks.
“Precisely, Pretend Pig. Stage one kicks off tomorrow morning, Cee. Shopping then a social media overhaul.”
“Cool,” I whisper. Despite the three-way dissection that just happened, the thought of making an actual move toward landing Will has nerves flickering through my body.
“Well, I’m baking a cake,” Aggie says. “Black forest’s your favourite, isn’t it, Ada?”
“How come?” she asks, adorably aghast, the way she always is when someone’s unexpectedly nice to her. “I get a cake?”
“Of course you do, darl,” Aggie claps her butternut orange hands together. “It’s not every day one of my girls bags an All Black.”