Chapter Nine
The fire break above Hall Street was a smoking black trench. Beyond that and up the hill was nothing but ravaged land and collapsed corrugated iron.
“Look at Bondi!” Exclaimed Bill. There were no houses, no trees, no apartment blocks. Nothing. Just dark smash lifting from the blackened earth and dispersing out over the sea. From every vantage point on the hill there was a perfect view of a highly polluted ocean. Every single property, having just burnt to the ground, had increased its market value by a million dollars.
Two small federation cottages were still burning on Curlewis Street and a few exhausted fire fighters sat on their stationary exercise bikes, treading the pedals. Running back from the bikes were enormous black tubes that brought sea water all the way up from Bondi Beach and gagged it out onto the fire like a cat throwing up.
“Funny,” said Tuesday, “how the fire-fighting efforts took place just streets in front of the house belonging to the Minister for the Environment.”
“Bet he’s kicking himself now,” said Bill. “I doubt he can see the sea standing on his toilet. Boy has he missed out on the big bucks.”
Audrey groaned. “How far do we have to go?”
After leaving Scottie and Maggie and Errol to their precious tea time, the foursome had agreed that their only option was to kip at Tom’s house. But it was slow going and the early evening sky was darkening around them.
Audrey had eventually been revived by Maggie MacLaren who threw Errol’s glass of milk in her face. Audrey was woozy and disorientated and dripping with milk but otherwise okay. Bill rubbed his jaw and wondered why it felt so sore, Tom nursed his frustrated penis and concentrated on walking stiffly along the road, and Tuesday was thinking.
How were they going to cope without any clothes? Without any things? There were lots of things that she needed. Like Vaseline for her lips for instance. And cotton tips for her ears. And something to wear. She glanced down at her clothes. One ripped chador in pieces that fluttered over her bare shoulders. A torn 1950’s dress covered in bat shit and shredded plastic shoes that made a rhythmic slapping sound along the melted tarmac.
Worst of all, she couldn’t read Tom anymore. Did he like her or did he find her despicable? Was he attracted to her or was he put off by the idea of Bill’s hands all over her? Was he disappointed in her? Angry? Sad? Had Tuesday blown it?
Thank God, thought Tom, that he hadn’t blown it. It had been touch and go there for a while. Even now, his penis was moving inside his pants. It was unsated. It was confused, like a blind worm picked up from the earth by a child. Even more frighteningly, it was out of his control. If Tuesday so much as said the words ‘Look at me, I’m so dirty’, he was going to have to duck behind a bush and let it all out.
Thank God Swan was waiting for him at home. He was going to take her against the wall of their bedroom as soon as he saw her. He was going to pummel her. It was going to be the best sex they’d ever had. And as suddenly as the thought popped into Tom’s head, his penis dropped like a cold stone, its head curling up tightly inside his pants, and was still.
No, that was wrong, thought Tom. He couldn’t simply use Swan’s body just because he was really attracted to…to who? Was he going to say Tuesday? He shook his head. No. He definitely wasn’t. This was a woman who had slept with Bill. With Bill!
Tom looked sideways at Bill as he staggered along the road. He was a thin and aging Tasmanian hippy in tie-dyed Bilby pants. A drop-out. A working class man in a white-collar wet dream. And Tuesday had fallen for him! Why? What could Bill possibly offer her? $155,000 in cold hard cash, thought Tom bitterly. That’s what. Tuesday was just a Swan look-alike. A black tar baby dunked in white feathers. Tom’s penis stirred at the image. Tuesday’s naked breasts poking through the sticky white feathers, her fingers… Tom stopped his train of thought from proceeding any further.
Tuesday tilted her head and laughed at something Bill said. God, thought Tom, what on earth did Tuesday see in him? But he had to grudgingly admit, there was something about Bill that Tom kind of liked himself. It was his child-like naivety. It was so goddamn rare in Sydney. It was a delight. Tuesday was not in love with Bill! Tom doubted that Tuesday was even in lust with him. She was simply delighted by him. He was a rare Tasmanian jewel in a bitter, greedy city. He was nothing other than what he said he was; a man from the burbs who had fallen into money, who satisfied his creaking sexuality as often as he could before it disappeared altogether, a man who never noticed unkind words, or narrowed eyes, or disapproving smirks. A man bathed in a halo of ignorance.
And maybe Tuesday wanted a little part of that innocence. The kind of innocence they’d had as kids. The sort of innocence that Tom himself was looking for in Swan and would never find.
Tom scuffed his feet along the road, his hands in his pockets, thinking deeply.
“Thinking deeply?” Asked Audrey, limping next to him in her sling backs and who still looked elegant in her torn black skirt and ripped silk blouse.
Tom nodded.
“Attractive, isn’t she,” Audrey nodded at Tuesday.
Tom looked back at Audrey, curiously. “Doesn’t it upset you? To see her and Bill together?”
Audrey laughed and a little bit of encrusted blood flew from her nostril. “They’re not together.”
“Come off it, they’re fucking each other.” Tom said morosely. “Tuesday virtually said so herself.”
Audrey snorted. “Bill couldn’t hump a wheelbarrow. They’re just friends. They’re the sort of people who would have hung out at school together. They like each other. It’s just that Bill can’t give Tuesday what she wants. And Tuesday made the mistake of assuming Bill could provide it.”
Tom kept his eye on Tuesday as she walked ahead into the smust with Bill. “And just what does Tuesday want?”
“What do you think, you idiot? What we all want. Love. All Tuesday wanted was someone to love her. That, and a jolly good shagging. So it looks like she’s found him.”
“But you just said Bill…”
“I mean, you, you idiot. You’re hanging for her. And I’m guessing you don’t just want her. You want her. The whole package. The whole poverty-stricken, cane-toad wearing, porridge-smelling package.”
Tom shook his head. “I have a girlfriend.” He said with a touch of regret. “Swan.”
There was a whoop from up ahead of them. They had at last reached Tom and Swan’s house. Bill and Tuesday disappeared into the cool hallway to find Ginny.
Audrey leant against the wall in the shadow of the balcony roof and sighed with relief. She looked up at Tom as Swan came running.
“Then you’re going to have to make a decision, aren’t you? Either Tuesday or the ugly duckling.”
It had been a poor choice of words.
Audrey and Ginny and Tuesday stood in the kitchen with their arms folded and tried not to look at Swan. They were all thinking the same thing; that Tuesday didn’t have a hope in hell.
“Tuesday,” Audrey whispered, “you don’t have a hope in hell.”
Swan was dressed so to speak, in stiletto slippers with fluffy white fur toes. She was wearing a tan and a see-through mini nightie that showed by no stretch of the imagination, her pale Brazilian vagina, pert breasts in the shape of question marks (do you want to fuck me seeming to be the question) and nipples so small and erect she must have iced them for a month. Her hands were small and delicate with clear gloss nails and her hair fell in light blond waves below her shoulders. Her smiling face was just gently made up with the barest touch of red lip gloss.
She was not the ugly duckling at all, she was the aggressive chick, pecking to death the runt of the litter.
Swan leant over the kitchen counter, her hands clasped together, with her firm buttocks pointing up into the air, her legs spread, and her waist swaying back and forth.
“I’m so glad we have so many people staying! It will be just like a slumber party! Won’t it be so much fun, Tuesday!” Swan licked her lips.
Bill almost fainted. Tom swallowed and didn’t know where to look. He kept his eyes firmly off Swan and determinedly out the window at the blackening smash outside.
Tuesday’s shoulders sagged. She gave up. She couldn’t compete with this. She almost felt relieved. If she had to fight for someone, if she had to pursue them, then they weren’t for her anyway. She shrugged. “I suppose so.”
The phone rang and Tom grabbed it desperately. The group listened to the conversation in silence except for Swan, who was humming.
“Oh, hi! Yes, we’re all safe. No, no. Of course there’s room. Do you want to speak to… oh I see. Of course. See you soon.” Tom hung up.
“That was your Dad, Tuesday. He would have talked to you but your Mum was throttling him from behind and he was running out of breath. He said everyone got out okay and the nine of them will arrive tomorrow.”
There was a rousing cheer from the little group except for Swan. She wound her hair around her finger and glared at them. “Of course they’re welcome. Naturally. But the bathroom is off limits!” She tossed her head to the side, her hair falling coquettishly over her face. “I simply can’t have this many people invading my maintenance time.” She pouted. “Tom, honey, are you coming to bed with me?”
Everyone’s eyes swivelled to Tom’s.
“I…uh…yeah.” Tom mumbled.
“I’m sorry, was that a yes?” Swan purred for everyone’s benefit.
Tom nodded reluctantly. “Yeah, it will be good to get some sleep. I’m absolutely buggered. We all are.” Tom looked around at the little group. “We’re lucky to be alive today and I just wanted to thank Bill and well, everyone really, for their smart thinking.”
Bill looked surprised and pleased and everyone looked around at each other, nodding and smiling - except for Swan, who, feeling excluded by all the secret smiles, ran her fingernail down Tom’s chest. “Oh, poor baby.” She pouted. “Come to bed,” she pulled him by the hand towards her, rubbing her buttocks against his groin. “I’ll make it all feel better.”
Bill looked on with envy. “He’s going to last about three seconds,” he observed to Audrey.
“Longer than you then,” she replied.
Tom glanced anxiously over his shoulder. “Um, there’s two beds in Esther’s bedroom and doonas on the floor in the study.” Tom’s voice trailed away as Swan pulled him towards their bedroom.
“We bags Esther’s room. Audrey and I will sleep together,” said Ginny.
“That leaves us then, Tuesday,” Bill looked at her and grinned. He winked at Tom. “Under the doonas, together.”
Tom glared at him. He wanted to tell him to keep his hands off Tuesday, the lecherous old bugger, but there was nothing he could do about it. He was being pulled to bed by the harlot from hell, he could hardly tell Tuesday and Bill what to do. Instead, Tom narrowed his eyes and gave Bill a look that he hoped said ‘If you try anything, I’ll beat your face to a pulp’.
Bill licked his lips in reply and casually placed his arm over Tuesday’s shoulder.
Tom’s agitated face was the last they saw of him before Swan slammed the bedroom door shut with a furry stiletto toe.
It was about this time that Tuesday noticed that Audrey and Ginny were holding hands. She shook Bill’s arm off her shoulder.
“Ginny. Are you and Audrey…well, special friends?”
“I’m not talking to you,” huffed Ginny. “It’s all your fault.”
“What is?” Tuesday spluttered.
“You and your good intentions. I’ve been fired thanks to you.”
“Thanks to me?”
“I was on the golden road to success before you started making noises about how wrong it was to sleep my way to the top.”
“Me? But I’ve never said a word, Ginny! I’ve always accepted you just as you are! As you did me. That’s why we’re friends, remember?”
“Your silence was disapproval enough, Tuesday. If you hadn’t started putting ridiculous morals in my head that niggled away at me, if you hadn’t given me a guilty conscience, I would right now be grinding my groin into Percy Crabble’s flabby stomach and pulling on his nipple with my teeth which I had just discovered was the quickest way of bringing him to orgasm. I was making tracks!” Ginny yelled. “Footsteps to a better life!” She whirled on Tuesday and her voice rang out shrilly. “But you had to ruin it!”
“I…I…”
“I started to think you may be right, Tuesday.” Ginny continued. “So when Martin called me into the photocopying room to do some ‘binding’, I said no. I said surely my promotion can now be based on my work ethic. And when Percy slipped behind me in the elevator and pushed the stop button, I said no. I said I realised now how morally wrong it was to use my body as the root to money and riches. And so they fired me! They said that Nancy Godwolski from Mail Room Letter Licking wanted promotion to Parcel Sorting and she was willing to service them all and to swallow in the bargain! Rumour has it she’ll be made Vice President within a month!” Ginny stopped to take a breath.
“I hate you! You’ve ruined everything!”
Audrey patted Ginny’s arm. “There, there. Tuesday was only saying what she thought best in her own misguided way.”
Tuesday held her hands up to her head and closed her eyes. God, everything she did was wrong! Everything! Even when she did nothing at all! She should just keep to herself! Stay out of everyone’s business. Tom’s love life, Bill’s sex life, Audrey’s drug habit, Ginny’s dreams for success, everyone’s!
There was an odd gurgling sound from the corner. It was Bill. He was having difficulty breathing. He stared wide-eyed at Audrey and Ginny. His hands shook. His face was bleached white.
“Bill, are you alright?” Asked Tuesday, sighing.
Bill trembled. “Perhaps I have this wrong. It almost seemed as if you were suggesting that my wife, Audrey Spencer, left me for a woman.” He giggled shrilly. “Ha ha ha ha.”
“Nope.” Said Audrey. “No suggestion. I did.”
Bill fell to the floor in a dead faint, his forehead hitting the tiles with a clear thunk. The women gave Bill a cursory glance.
“How long has this been going on?” Asked Tuesday, removing her foot from beneath Bill’s head.
“Since the wildlife party,” said Audrey. “I kissed Ginny and she freaked out.”
Audrey and Ginny smiled girlishly at each other.
“So it was you two,” Tuesday said, “when the lights flashed on.”
“And I freaked out,” said Ginny, “because I knew that after meeting Audrey, I would never want sex for pleasure with a man again. So I rushed off and bonked Jamie for eight hours straight for good times’ sake.”
“So that’s why you were so exhausted when you came home.”
Ginny nodded and picked up both of Audrey’s hands in hers. “What you’re looking at Tuesday, not that I’m talking to you,” she glared at her, “are two genuine todger dodgers.” Audrey and Ginny smiled blissfully at each other, rubbing each other’s weeping plasma away from their scab encrusted nostrils, and leaning forward for a slurpy kiss.
Bill‘s eyes opened and Tuesday’s feet came slowly into focus. He groaned and stood up groggily. “What happened?” He asked, feeling the bump on his forehead and grasping hold of the kitchen counter unsteadily.
“You fainted.”
“Why?” He asked, bewildered.
“Because you found out that I left you for Ginny,” said Audrey. She smiled. “I’m in love with a woman! Isn’t it great!”
This time, when Bill fainted, Tuesday grabbed him back by his tie-dyed pants until she had him in a wedgie. Bill slumped forward oblivious and the women dragged him by his arms to the pile of doonas on the floor of the study.
Audrey and Ginny left Tuesday to the sobbing, bawling mess they knew Bill would become and retreated giggling to Esther’s bedroom.
“Sleep tight, Tuesday.” Audrey called over her shoulder.
Tuesday lay back and stared at the ceiling. One by one the tears slipped out of her eyes and slid down her cheeks. In the bedroom next door Tom was having sex with Swan. She cocked her head to listen for the inevitable thumps, and squeaks, and moans, and groans but apart from Bill whimpering in the foetal position beside her, the house was silent.
Tom was having sex with Swan. Tom was having sex with Swan. Tom was having sex with Swan. She closed her eyes.
And like counting sheep, the hurtful mantra sent her to sleep.
“I said I’m not having sex with you!” Hissed Tom, standing above the bed, his penis arcing like a warhead from his groins.
“That’s not what Mr Snakey Wakey’s saying, baby.” Purred Swan, spread-legged in front of him, with her finger pulling at her bottom lip and her other finger…Tom swallowed and looked away. His face felt very hot and his penis was waving in the air, looking for its target.
Swan had managed to pull down Tom’s pants in a single military executed motion before leaping onto the bed and posing like Playmate of the Month.
Tom drew up his pants with some difficulty and tried to think of the Sydney Swans statistics rather than Swan’s. Bottom of the ladder for three years running, breasts, Round 12 against Carlton was a shocker at 104 to 38, buttocks, then just when nobody was looking anymore they swapped all their players in the draft for Aboriginal seventeen-year-olds from Darwin and scored 145 to 12 against the Kangaroos in 45 degree heat. Vaginas.
Tom’s penis rose and fell like a yo-yo then crawled up his belly one last time, looked him squarely in the eyes with its one eye, and made it clear that it was not going to be abused anymore like some common sex toy. It fell back with a huff from complete exhaustion into his pubic hair.
“Oh, what a shame,” said Tom. “I’m all out. It was a tough match but the best man won on the day. It’s only a game, son, it’s only a game.”
“What are you talking about?” Said Swan crossly. “Come to bed this instant!” She crawled forward on the bed. “There are other people in the house.” She reminded him, reaching out to touch his knee cap, which although not the most sensual part of his body, was the only part she could reach without falling off the bed. “What could be more exciting? Someone could be listening!”
Tom fell back into his old brown bean bag in the corner. There was a shhhhhh as the few remaining beans shot away from his bottom and deposited him firmly onto the floor. He looked up at her dispassionately.
“Do you ever think Swan, that we might not be right for each other?”
Swan narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?” She let out her stomach and stopped tweaking her nipples so that they returned to their usual saucer size, her breasts trained on him like a pair of binoculars.
“Well, why do you like me?”
“What an odd question.” Swan almost seemed embarrassed. They weren’t supposed to have in-depth conversations like this one. They were supposed to get married and have high-end careers, and buy their way up the property ladder, but Swan didn’t ever recall heart-to-hearts being part of the deal. That’s what girlfriends were for.
“Really, Tom. What’s got into you? You’re going to university and we’ll get married and buy a terrace somewhere.”
“Why?”
“Why?” Swan looked at Tom as if he were perhaps not quite all there. “Well, because you’re good-looking, and…” Swan chewed her thumbnail. She hadn’t been prepared for this self-analysis. Was this something new that Young Urban Professionals like herself were supposed to read up on? She looked up triumphantly. ”A-hah! Because you love me!” She nodded enthusiastically, desperate to pass this strange and unusual test. But it couldn’t have been the right answer because Tom was shaking his head and sighing.
“But why did you fall for me in the first place?” Asked Tom. “You know, what qualities did you like about me?”
Swan stared at him. She rolled her eyes around in her head, thinking. “I fell for you because…. I loved you?” She asked him, trying to gauge his reaction.
“Well, I hope so.”
Swan smiled broadly. She was beginning to like this game. How many answers could she get right? She wondered. She sat up and concentrated.
“And why did you love me?” Asked Tom, noting that Swan had used the past tense.
“Hmmm.” Swan slouched and thought as hard as she could. She looked up at Tom but he wasn’t giving her any clues.
“Well…because we have the same goals,” Swan said brightly. “Like buying a new plasma TV and a fridge and stuff.” She beamed at him.
“Okay, let’s put this another way,” said Tom carefully, “what if…what if I don’t love you anymore?”
Swan looked stunned. Then angry. Then amused. “Don’t love me? Don’t love this?” She snapped the shoestring straps of her nightie. “You’re a man,” Swan scoffed. “I think I know what men love, Tom. And they love me.” She looked back at him sharply. “This isn’t some ridiculous idea Tuesday’s put into your head is it?”
Tom looked down at his feet.
“Look Tom,” said Swan sweetly, her voice hissing like sugar running through her fingertips. “Tuesday has a crush on you and I don’t blame her. And I may not be perfect or anything,” she said, in the tone of voice that implied that she was, “but we can work on your, I mean, our imperfections together. Tuesday’s a black woman from the bush!”
“That’s the point, Swan, she’s funny and quirky and interesting.”
“And she’s uneducated and lazy and has family in jail!” Swan pointed out.
Tom shook his head. “You mean she went to a Rudolph Steiner school, doesn’t relish working nine-to-five, and her mother was arrested for streaking at the cricket.”
“Whatever. Now I’m not suggesting that you’re in any way attracted to her,” Swan screwed up her face as if someone had suggested she use sanitary pads instead of tampons, “but if such a…a…” such a scenario was totally out of Swan’s comprehension and she struggled to find the right word, “such a travesty were to occur, you may like to focus on the unconquerable differences between you. I mean, well, she’s different! Too different. She doesn’t belong here, Tom. She doesn’t belong with you. And I don’t think you’ve really thought that through.”
Swan took a deep breath and leant back superiorly on her haunches. “You know what makes long-term relationships work, Tom?” She asked him gently.
Tom slouched his chin into the palm of his hand. “What?” He grumbled, sick and tired of the whole conversation.
Swan had no idea and hurriedly made something up. “Goals,” she blurted. She nodded. “That’s right, common goals. I mean you don’t, ah,” she tried to think of a sporting analogy. She didn’t know any sports or any analogies but she wasn’t going to let that stop her. “I mean you don’t take marks at an Aussie rules game do you! You don’t get yellow cards at soccer!”
She clenched her fists for the coup d’état. “For God’s sake, Tom! There aren’t even any Aboriginal tennis players!”
Swan sunk back onto the bed smiling. For once in her life, she thought, she’d let her brain do all the work.
Tuesday wriggled in her sleep. Something long and pink and wet was licking her face. “Bill!” She complained, pushing him away with her hand. “Bill?” She felt around a bit. Bill had suddenly grown a muzzle, and fur, and long girly eyelashes. She opened her eyes. There was a donkey breathing wetly in her face.
Tuesday sat up. Could it possibly be the same one? Ginny’s stolen mule? As if understanding her confusion, the donkey flicked his tail around and presented it in front of her. Clinging grimly upside down to the soot-covered hair was a baby bat. It mewed and Tuesday picked it up gently. It scrabbled onto her breast and swung from her nipple.
But how had the donkey followed them? He sniffed her armpits and snorted. So that was it – she stank. Well, it was true they were all a bit ripe. No one had bathed for days. The donkey brushed against her again, his teeth reaching out and pulling at her clothes. He was hungry, poor thing.
“What am I going to call you?” She asked, stroking his head.
“Hee-haw!” He hee-hawed.
“Hee-haw it is.”
In the hallway, the back-yard screen door was hanging off its hinges and the handle looked well munched. A donkey that could open doors. “Hmmm. Maybe you’re not as stupid as you look, Hee-Haw.” She led Hee-haw past the fridge, grabbed a bag of expensive apples, and trotted him outside.
The halogen beam from the Gap lighthouse swept over the backyard and revolved away, guiding its ships through the coastal smash. Tuesday realised how much she missed the moon, that starkly pockmarked beacon that emphasised the Yin and Yang of black night and white day. Instead, the lighthouse beam bathed the black smash in an eerie green light and seemed to scream with every revolution – Danger! Danger! Danger! Tuesday offered Hee-Haw an apple in her palm and Hee-Haw reached out delicately with his lips and ravaged it to pieces.
Tuesday hugged her knees on the back stoop and smiled to herself. She felt like she was ten years old again. There was something about sitting by yourself in the dead of night, alone in the garden, that was so very special. It was a beautiful, still, smoky night and the only sounds were Hee-Haw’s munching and the hiss of steam from his manure at an apple to pooh ratio of 3:1.
As Tuesday leant back on her elbows, reflecting on the day in the heat of the night, a fire alarm rose in the distance from the south. It ebbed back and forth towards them. From the murky bass, Tuesday recognised it as ‘Police and Thieves’ by The Clash, the alarm for Surry Hills. Was there no corner of Sydney safe from this tinder dry drought? When would the rain come? Even her mother had given up dancing naked in Hyde Park with her coven of witches in their midnightly rain dances. Mooning at the moon doesn’t work, Tuesday, her mother had finally admitted, pulling up her knickers as the crowd of appreciative men whistled and clapped.
The alarm washed over Tuesday and there were stirrings from inside the house; mumbles and grumbles and Ginny’s voice yelling “Fuck off!”- voicing the dissatisfaction of a sleep-deprived neighbourhood.
Footsteps padded behind Tuesday. Tom rubbed his eyes and appeared bleary and tousle-haired in the lit doorway. Tuesday looked up at him. He had changed clothes. His chest was naked and he was wearing thin, cotton drawstring pants.
“Hi.” He rubbed his unshaven chin.
“Hi.”
“Is that a donkey?”
“No. It’s a hallucination.”
Tom looked down at her. “Gee. Belligerent. Is this what you’re always like at three a.m.?”
“No. This is what I’m like, like, all the time.”
“Hmmm. Feisty. Can I sit down?”
Tuesday shrugged. “It’s your house.”
“And I’m asking, can I sit down next to you?” Tom asked gently.
Tuesday shrugged. “If you must.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes listening to the Clash’s lyrics.
“That’s Hee-Haw,” said Tuesday, finally. The donkey had moved off into the dark bushes and was pulling them apart. “Same donkey I think. I think he followed the smell of my armpits.”
“It’s possible.” Tom leant back on his elbows beside her. “You do smell.”
Tuesday elbowed him in his side with a wry smile.
“Ow!” Tom complained, rubbing his ribs and laughing. He drummed his fingers close to hers. “Listen, Tuesday –“
“I don’t want to. Listen that is,” Tuesday said, hurriedly. “You don’t have to say - whatever you were going to say. Whatever it is.”
“Then I’ll just have a wee talk to myself then.”
Tuesday shrugged.
“I didn’t have sex with Swan tonight.”
“What do I care?” Tuesday rushed through quickly.
Tom ignored her. “I slept on the bean bag, sort of. Well, more on the floor. Swan put in her best efforts though, as you saw.”
Tuesday resisted jumping up and down and clapping her hands gleefully. She shrugged stoically instead. “What- ever.”
“I just want you to know that,” Tom pushed on. “For some reason. Don’t want you to think I’m…shallow. Like her.”
“Your sex life is none of my business, Tom. You’re not my business. I don’t care if you bonk her senseless at the dining room table while I’m eating my cornflakes