The legal aid attorney, Gina King, wrote to Tom and informed him that she was representing me, and that he could contact me through their offices.
Gina went on to inform him that I was happy to meet to arrange visitation with him and the children. She informed him that I was open to him seeing the children as often as possible, but for formality’s sake, we wanted to stipulate visitation days.
How would Tom reply? I wondered. Tell me to go to hell? Demand to see his kids every day? Fight me for custody? I held my breath and waited for his response.
We got none.
Gina wrote to him a few weeks later and again, we got no response. He was eerily quiet, and that made me really nervous.
Six weeks later, Gina served him with a summons for separation and divorce. Shortly thereafter, Gina received a letter from one of the largest attorneys in Sydney – Gerr, West and Mart – who notified us that they would be representing Tom in the divorce. Oddly, Tom made no demands.
My biggest fear was that he would fight for custody. He didn’t, so I, in turn, asked for nothing, even though we had three residential properties, a commercial building, and a thriving business. I was happy to walk away with my freedom, and child support to feed my kids.
****
“I can’t go, Soong,” I said. “I’d rather save the twenty dollars for food and diapers and…stuff.”
“But Honey needs to go out and have fun. Otherwise Honey get dull and then…”
“But then, Soong, there’s also the issue of a babysitter. I’d have to pay her and…”
Being the problem solver that she was, and being the good friend she was, Soong bought me a ticket to the local dance. Not only that, but she engaged in some old fashioned bartering – she arranged for a mother of some Thai girl she knew called Julie to watch over both my two kids and little Charlie. In exchange for babysitting, Soong would give the mother a massage, and I would help Julie with a TAFE English assignment. How could I argue with that?
The dance was just six minutes away from my apartment, so I could be home in no time if there was a problem.
I was really excited after that. My first solo outing since I had left high school. I had enough pretty clothes and stilettos already, so that problem was solved.
With Rihanna’s “I Just Wanna Dance” playing in the background, I exfoliated, painted my nails, shaved my legs, plucked my eyebrows, and finally, I was ready. I looked in the mirror and smiled. I looked nice. Different. Pretty.
“Ready, honey?”
When I saw what Soong was wearing, I groaned inwardly. She was dressed in a tiny cerise sequined skirt, a cerise boob-tube, magenta glitter lipstick, and big clear heels. She had colored her hair blonde, and it was a really bad, patchy job. She looked like, dare I say it – a hooker.
“What you think so of my clothes?” she asked, turning around slowly, an expectant look on her face. “What you think so?”
What could I say? She was feeling great and she was comfortable in her skin of magenta and glitter.
“You look great,” I lied.
She frowned at me. “Why you no ready, Arena?”
I looked down at my strappy black top and my stilettos and shrugged. “What’s wrong with –”
“Nah, nah, nah!” she said. “You look fifty years old. Honey must get sexified.” She circled her boobs, then stuck out her butt. “You look old!”
I sighed and fished into my cupboards for a top that showed cleavage so that I wouldn’t look fifty. I found a silver-and-black top that bunched under the breasts.
She gave a thumbs-up to the top, but she shook her head at my jeans.
“Okay, fine,” I muttered and went in search of a black skirt.
She looked at the black Tokito bandage skirt and frowned. “Give it to me.”
I handed it to her. To my absolute horror, she ripped a part of the skirt off. “Now wear it.”
“Soooong!” I cried. “That skirt was so –”
“Put it on, put it on!”
Still stunned, I put on the skirt.
She clapped her hands. “Hundred percent.”
As I looked in the mirror, I had to admit, it wasn’t bad, even though it was ripped. In fact, I looked sexy.
“Honey get husband tonight.”
“Oh, no,” I said, as I grabbed my purse and followed her out. “I do not want a husband.”
“Or a fuck then,” she said. “Casual fuck.”
“Oh, no!” I chuckled. “Not that either, thank you.”
“What? You no lika fuck?”
I shook my head and stuck out my bottom lip. “I actually hate it.”
She blinked rapidly at me. “Because of your husband?”
I nodded.
“No worries, Honey,” she said, patting my back in a reassuring manner. “Right man and Honey will love to fuck.”
I doubted it. “Yeah…”
****
The dance was a blast. I was not going to spend my money on drinks, but Soong solicited drinks for us with absolute ease. Before I knew it, I had had three shots of tequila and a vodka Red Bull. Tipsy and happy, I celebrated my newfound freedom by dancing for the first time since I had met Tom the way I wanted to – with my hands in the air and without inhibition. Tom didn’t approve of “wild” dancing, only ballroom-style dancing. He and I even had lessons, which to me were so boring. I wanted to salsa and Zumba, but Tom would have been absolutely aghast had I done that.
With Soong and her friends, we unleashed ourselves on the dance floor. We danced all the time and only took breaks to catch our breath. Exhibited ourselves.
I was not short of male attention and had to turn down quite a few offers from guys who wanted to buy me drinks. Soong had warned me about being roofied, so I wouldn’t have accepted drinks from anyone other than her, anyway.
But, I was secretly pleased that I could command attention from men. I had thought that I had lost my mojo somewhere between motherhood and Tom’s smothering, but evidently, I still had it. My ego was stroked big time.
At around midnight, mindful of my babysitter, I made plans to leave.
“Okay, Honey,” Soong said, sounding disappointed at having to leave her squeeze called Mike, an Aussie guy with shiny green eyes and a naughty smile.
“You don’t have to come, Soong. I will take care of Charlie.”
Her eyes lit up. “You sure, Honey?”
“Yeah, of course, have fun. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said with a wink.
“Hundred percent, Honey!” She ran off to dance with Mike.
As I stepped out of the dance hall, I removed my heels and started my six minute limp home. Served me right for dancing non-stop on stilettos.
It was a safe area and there were quite a few people around, so I wasn’t afraid of walking home. The night was balmy and had a holiday feel to it. For a while, I enjoyed the solitude of being on my own. No kids. A rare thing.
But as I walked home, I couldn’t help feeling like I was being watched. Tom! My heart quickened.
When I turned around, I saw a big, tall guy behind me. Fear snaked through me. I had seen him at the dance, watching me. He wore an open checked shirt over a white t-shirt, cargo pants, a beanie, and brown boots. He had a beard and a thick mustache – hairy, scary.
I quickened my pace, kept to the lit-up sections of the road, and hurried home. But I could hear his footsteps behind me. When I quickened my steps, so did he. I broke into a trot and cleared my throat, ready to scream if I needed to.
Finally, I reached my building, but he was still behind me. Quickly and with shaking hands, I swiped my card and darted into the building. When I glanced behind me, he was entering my building. How the hell did he get inside? I wondered. Had I left the door open in my haste to get away from him? He didn’t look like he lived here – to me, he looked like a homeless person.
With my heart thumping, I raced into an open elevator and hit the “‘Door Close” button. He began to advance towards me, his eyes focusing intently on me.
Close! Close! Close! I prayed to the elevator as my heart slammed inside my chest. Luckily, the doors shut. In his face too.
Shaking, I ran to my apartment, opened the door, ran inside, and locked it. It took a while for my heart to return to its normal state.
I made a mental note not to walk alone at night. This homeless guy, or whoever he was, had freaked me out something terrible. I also made a mental note to get some mace.
Soong probably spent the night with Mike, because at 11 a.m. the next morning, she was still not home. I decided to take the three kids to the park. “C’mon, kids!” I said as I tried to bundle them into the elevator. Just as the elevator doors were closing, a huge hand slipped through it and held it open.
To my horror, it was the homeless man. He got into the elevator and glared at me. My mouth, already dry from the alcohol I had consumed the night before, went drier. My legs became wobbly and my throat constricted with terror. Was he going to rob me? Steal my wallet? Drag me away from my kids and rape me somewhere in a dark corner of the building?
“Hello,” Charlie said.
“Hello,” the man muttered.
No, don’t! I wanted to scream at Charlie.
Warren smiled at him.
No don’t Warren! Don’t look at him, don’t smile at him, just be ready to run.
Luckily, the moment I got out of the elevator, there were people all around. I grabbed the children and guided them away from the homeless man as quickly as I could.
It was the scariest elevator ride I had ever endured in my life.
Hours later, on my way back, I bumped into Soong in the foyer, and to my absolute horror, she was laughing with the homeless man.
I waved at her and quickly scurried away. What is wrong with Soong? Why isn’t that guy scaring the hell out of her?
Later, when she and I got to my apartment, I tackled her about it. “Why were you talking to the homeless man? He’s so –”
“He not homeless, Honey. He cop.”
I stared at her for a moment. “What? That guy with the checked shirt and that horrible beard? He’s a cop?”
She nods. “Underwear cop, I think.”
“Underwear?” I squinted at her. “You mean, undercover cop?”
She gave me the thumbs-up. “Hundred percent, Honey.”
“No way. He can’t be that. No friggin’ way, Soong.”
“Is,” she insisted.
“Really? Wow! I thought he was a homeless man, Soong.”
She laughed.
“I thought he was going to snatch my purse or kill me with a knife, take me behind the building and rape me. Gosh, I was shit scared.”
She laughed. “Really? Honey was so scared?”
“Oh yes,” I said. “I wanted to run out of the elevator when he entered.”
She laughed her head off and slapped me on the back. “You are so paranormal, Honey.”
“Paranoid,” I corrected.