Chapter 1- It’s a Party (and I’ll go if I have to)

ISOBEL

“Isobel!”

I shook my head slightly at the tortured shriek, knowing it was completely uncalled for, but took a deep, calming breath and set my book aside for what felt like the hundredth time in an hour.

“Yes, Bridget?” I asked, keeping my voice polite and low even though my cousin’s squeals were beginning to hurt my brain.

Bridget bounded out of her tiny bedroom and into the lounge room, tossing her long mane of fire engine red (or so the packet had said) hair over her shoulder as she came.

“This outfit!” She posed flamboyantly, showing off her itsy bitsy denim miniskirt and black top that looked like it had been shrink-wrapped onto her. “Do you think it says ‘I’m totally up for sleeping with you tonight,’ or ‘I’m totally up for sleeping with you not only tonight but for all the nights to come for the rest of our lives as we smother each other with our undying love’?”

I bit back a smile at her theatrics and tilted my head to one side as I considered her clothes, trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t make me sound prudish.

“Um, you might want to wear a jacket, if you were after the second option,” I said diplomatically. Bridget snorted and looked at me fondly.

“No jacket it is then!” She laughed her deep, gravely laugh. “God look at your disapproving face, you’re so cute!”

“What?” I protested. “I’m not a completely inexperienced snob. I know sex is fun and everything, I just don’t understand why you won’t let some guy sweep you off your feet.”

“You can talk!” Bridget exclaimed, beginning to dig around in her little sparkly handbag for something.

“Robert wasn’t trying to sweep me off my feet,” I agreed wryly, “more like sweep me under the carpet.”

“As all men try to do eventually.” Bridget brandished the lipgloss she’d found in her bag at me. “I’m just cutting out the middle man. We can’t all be romantics like you, Bella. The world would collapse into gooey mushiness. There need to be cold bitches like me to hold everything up.”

She flounced over to the ornate gold mirror hanging on the wall and proceeded to apply a thick sheen of cherry red lipgloss to her pout. I considered whether I should be offended that she’d basically just called me a wet blanket. As always, I decided against it. It was pointless trying to be offended at anything Bridget said. She’d just shoot you one of her cheeky grins and you couldn’t help forgiving her straight away.

“Mwah!” She blew herself a kiss in the mirror and then looked back at me in the reflection. “What do you think?”

I appreciated that she at least made it sound like she partly cared about my response.

“It looks like you’ve just dipped your lips into a big vat of red goo,” I informed her truthfully and she winked outrageously.

“Thank you darling,” she said sarcastically. “That was, in fact, exactly the look I was going for.”

As she swept back off to her bedroom muttering something about matching earrings, I picked my book up once more, although I didn’t hold out much hope for getting very far before being interrupted again.

It wasn’t as if I could begrudge Bridget the way she flung herself around her small flat, seemingly everywhere at once and with her voice permanently set on high volume. It was, after all, her flat and she’d been so unbelievably kind to let me stay here after my boyfriend of five years informed me that my presence in his life was suffocating him.

I stared unseeingly at the words on the page as I unwillingly felt my mind stray back to that afternoon two weeks ago when my beautifully created, structured world kind of just went ‘bleh’ and fell apart.

‘You’re holding me back.’ Robert had said, admiring his reflection in the restaurant windows for moment before focusing back on me. ‘You must realise that. My sport is so important, Isobel, I can’t let anything get in the way.’

By ‘anything’ he’d meant me. Apparently, unnoticeable, adoring, obedient little me had been standing between him and the thousands of scouts who were desperately on the hunt for the hidden genius that was his fancy footwork on the field. I didn’t point out to him that, at the age of 22, he was getting a bit old for draft selection, and that if no one had found his football skills indispensable to their team yet, it was unlikely they ever would. But I’m not catty like that and, anyway, maybe he was right. Maybe nobody in our small town really could appreciate his talent, and one day someone from the city would fall to their knees and beg him to sign up with their club.

“You don’t have to go,” he continued smoothly. “You can keep on living with me if you like, pottering about and doing all those things you like to do.” By which he meant cleaning up after him and doing his laundry which, for the record, I didn’t particularly like doing, I just didn’t like living in a pigsty either. ‘But I don’t think we should be together as much as we are, people are starting to think we're in love or whatever.’

It was the way he’d said love, like it was some kind of disease, that had seen me nod, stand up, and quietly make my exit from the restaurant.

Robert came running after me. He obviously saw a lot of the time he spent at the local footy club’s bar and oval suddenly being spent doing ‘girly’ things like washing up, and panicked.

“I said you didn’t have to move out.” He reiterated as he reached me. “You’d just have to make yourself scarce or whatever when I invited girls around.’

I felt my teeth clench together as I continued across the restaurant’s car park, the clacking of my heels echoing loudly in the quiet evening.

Rob followed along after me.

“Are you mad?” He asked after I kept my silence. For a moment I’d considered screaming at him that of course I was mad! I was furious that my boyfriend of five years, my first and only boyfriend in fact, had so unceremoniously dumped me. Like I had done so many times before, however, I had swallowed the hurt and shook my head.

“No, of course not!” I said brightly, glad that the street lights weren’t bright enough to illuminate the glossy look of unshed tears in my eyes. “I understand how important footy is to you, but I’ll move out tomorrow. Thanks anyway.”

“Do you want help moving back into your parents’ place?” He asked, overly graciously. In that moment, a sudden mad impulse took over me.

I didn’t want to go back to my parents’ house. I didn’t want to live in that staid, boring environment ever again. Getting out of that house had been one of the major reasons I had moved in with Robert in the first place, and there was no way I was going back. My childhood home was the sort of place where the only sounds you heard through the day were the clocks ticking or the gentle scrape of a teaspoon in a teacup.

So no, I hadn’t wanted help moving back into their place. I wanted something new, something a bit daring, something nobody would ever expect Isobel Saunders to do.

“Actually I think I’ll go and stay with Bridget,” I’d declared rashly, secretly enjoying the look of complete astonishment Robert shot me.

Bridget was something of a legend in our town. She was the daughter of my father’s brother but she was about as far removed from the rest of my family as it was possible to be. While the rest of the Saunders were quiet and content with their lot in life, Bridget was loud, brash and determined to seek out bigger and better things beyond our small town’s limits. At seventeen she had announced that she was quitting high school and going to the city to see what she could find. What she’d found, as far as anyone could tell, was numerous sexual partners and a party every night.

I’d always adored Bridget, even though we were so different, and had been heartbroken when the wonderful butterfly (as I’d always regarded her) flitted off to another flower, leaving my sixteen-year-old self to seek some excitement and comradeship in Robert’s arms.

We’d stayed in touch with emails and phone calls but I was long overdue for a visit. Now, I wanted to see for myself the wonders of the big city, see what they done for Bridget, and, maybe, see what they could do for me.

When I had turned up on her doorstep, homeless and heartbroken, she had been absolutely brilliant and invited me to stay as long as I liked.

A shrill ringing jerked me out of my reverie. I looked up from my book in time to see Bridget fly out of her bedroom once more and snatch up her snazzy little phone.

“Bridget Saunders, a guaranteed good time,” she purred seductively. I shook my head, hoping fervently that she knew the other person on the line. “What?!”

The purr was gone from her voice and I eavesdropped shamelessly, wanting to know what had ruined her pre party buzz.

“No, no, no.” She waved her free hand back and forth, adding emphasis to her words. “You can’t back out now. I’m dressed up like a scrumptious piece of football candy, I can’t not go to this party.” There was a short pause and then she yelled: “Did you not hear me a second ago? Scrumptious pieces of football candy do not go out alone after dark. They get…” She stopped and looked at me before adding slowly “…disrespected.”

I smiled slightly at her attempt to protect me from the reality of her life. It was a fairly futile gesture, since I knew she’d been through some pretty heavy stuff since coming to the city, but one I appreciated nonetheless.

There was another pause and then she rolled her heavily made up eyes. “And who exactly am I going to find to go out with me at this late stage? What kind of loser would just be sitting at home on a Friday night without anything planned?”

Bridget momentarily paused, and then slowly turned to face me. She gave my pink polka dotted pyjamas, messy hair and unmade face a once over. A smile spread across her lips that made me highly nervous.

“Actually, never mind,” she said, her voice becoming quite chipper. “I think I’ve just found myself another escort.” She clicked her phone shut and smiled again in her wide, toothy, predatory way. I shrank back against the couch in fear.

“Isobel, you know how you’re my favourite cousin?” Her sing-song tone did nothing to fool me, there was an edge behind her words.

“I’m your only cousin.” I said in a pathetic attempt to find myself a loophole for what I knew she was going to ask me.

“Yes, and therefore, obviously, my favourite. How would you feel about doing your beautiful cousin a massive favour and introducing yourself to the exciting ways of the city all in one go?”

“Slightly sick to the stomach,” I replied honestly.

“Oh, come on.” She flopped down beside me and took my hands in hers. “It’s a pre-season party for all the young, super-hot footballers and it’s going to be fantastic. It’s in the swanky new part of town that is so swanky that it is still derelict. There will be models and TV stars and all sorts of really cool people there and apparently the champagne is going to be free for the women so that we’ll lose our inhibitions faster.” She considered this for a moment and then added, “Not that the girls who are going to be there are going to have much trouble losing their inhibitions anyway, but I guess it doesn’t hurt to make extra sure.”

Bridget’s smile fell slightly as she saw my dubious expression and realised she’d been selling the wrong version of the night to me.

“Okay fine!” She huffed. “I’ll stick by your side to make sure that no guy fondles you or girl claws your eyes out because you’re prettier than she is. I’ll be on my best behaviour and if you’re not having fun by the time the late bus swings by that area then we’ll go home together, safe and sound. Now will you please come with me?”

I didn’t want to go, I really, truly didn’t. But Bridget had been so kind letting me stay with her rent-free and on no notice, and I knew that she really wanted to go.

I found myself swallowing my insecurities and nodding. “Okay, I’ll go with you.”

As she squealed loudly and threw her arms around my neck I added:

“But only if you promise that if I want to leave you’ll let me without making a huge scene.”

“As you wish Cinders.” She jumped to her feet and, grabbing my hands again, hauled me to mine.

“Now,” she said, suddenly back on task, “What are you going to wear?”

I felt my nerves multiply tenfold at the slightly crazed look in her eyes.

“Nothing that says ‘I’ll sleep with you tonight’!” I begged, as she dragged me into her bedroom. As always, everything in her room was covered in a mountain of clothes as if a cyclone had hit her wardrobe.

“But darling!” She objected, holding what looked like a handkerchief up to my chest, “I don’t own anything that says ‘nice to meet you, I’ll be catching the bus home in a couple of hours,’ and I’m fresh out of nun habits as well.”

I sank down onto her bed and bit my lip anxiously wondering what on earth I had let myself in for.

LUCAS

“This is a disaster! This is the bloody meltdown situation! This is where someone presses the big, red button which says: SELF DESTRUCT and all the little scientists in their white coats run for cover! Don’t just sit there with that smug little look on your face! That evil cow set you up and now you’re public enemy number one! You’re hated! Children will start to cry when they see you on the streets! Housewives will chase after you with brooms! Teenage girls across the country will rip down their posters of you and cast them into the fire!”

As my manager continued to rant and rave, I amused myself by imagining lots of little exclamation points popping up in the air around his head like they would if he was in a cartoon. He would make a fantastic cartoon character, I thought. All red and puffed up like an angry tomato. Yes, Gary was definitely a tomato. One of those tomatoes that has just passed its prime so that, unless you have a really sharp knife it is almost impossible to slice because it just bends and slides away from your blade.

“Are you even listening to me? GOODSPEED?!”

His voice was so loud that even my high threshold for shouting was broken.

I looked up at him, one eyebrow raised. “To be honest with you, no because you’re not telling me anything that I don’t already know.”

Gary deflated slightly, but I knew better than to know that he was backing down.

“Now take a deep breath, for God’s sake. Your wife’ll kill me if you have a heart attack before you buy her that bigger house she’s been after.”

Gary wiped away the sweat beads which had formed across his brow. He then threw the huge wad of tabloid newspapers and magazines he’d been holding down onto his desk.

Gary’s desk was huge, one of those enormous, gleaming, mahogany numbers that have to be assembled on site because no way would it fit through the door. You know how people say that men buy cars as a kind of indication of their penis size? Well for business men, I think the same applies for their desks and, judging by the size of his office furniture, Gary sure seemed to think he was phallic-ly blessed.

“This gets any worse,” Gary was continuing, thankfully unaware of my musings, “and Miriam won’t be getting those useless ten extra rooms any time soon because I’ll quit. It might take me a while to find myself a new useless pretty boy footballer to represent but I'll be sure to pick one who isn’t so much Goddamn trouble.”

I laughed and popped a grape from Gary’s fruit bowl into my mouth.

“Did you just call me pretty, Gary?”

“Stop making everything a joke!” Gary pushed the bowl out of my reach and folded his arms across his barrel chest. “What the hell did you do to our darling Miss Jones to make her say all of this shit?”

Unwillingly I flicked my eyes down to the stack of papers on his desk and read the top headline as it blared out at me.

Goodspeed Goodbye: Our beloved Zarah Jones tells all in this exclusive interview. The lying, the cheating, the emotional abuse – how Zarah suffered at the hands of top footballer, Lucas Goodspeed.

It couldn’t have been that exclusive, I thought objectively, if all these tabloids were running the same story. I could just catch a couple of words from the other headlines and they were pretty much the same. Scumbag featured a couple of times, along with Love Rat which made me smile slightly. It seemed that Zarah had done her work well; there wasn’t a trashy publication in the country which hadn’t vilified me. Just call me ‘Mr Popular’.

“I didn’t do anything,” I sighed. “She obviously just decided that the benefits of our relationship didn’t outweigh the benefits she could get if she sold a story like this to the press.”

“Well Jesus, Goodspeed!” Gary exploded. “I have a copy of the Karma Sutra you could have borrowed if you needed to give Zarah some greater benefits.”

I was glad that his office door flew open at that moment to distract me from following the line of thought that questioned why my hideous manager would ever have need to have a copy of the Karma Sutra at his disposal. Julia, Gary’s normally mild-mannered secretary, stomped in through the open door and banged down a tea and biscuit tray before shooting me a filthy look and storming out again. I raised my eyebrows questioningly at Gary as the door slammed behind her so violently the mugs rattled on the tray, and he shrugged.

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Looks like Julia’s a Zarah Jones fan.”

I rolled my eyes. What did I care if women like Julia had turned against me? Maybe, this way, I would finally get some peace.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Gary said, collecting the plate of biscuits and one of the mugs and seating himself in his big, plush leather chair. “And you should care. The whole point of dating Zarah was to draw media attention away from you and your family and onto you and her as a couple. You think these vultures-” he gestured to the papers on the desk “-are going to back off now? You think they’re going to say, ‘oh he just broke up with his girlfriend, maybe we should give him some space’?” He snorted, spraying some of his milky tea onto his shirt. “Come on, one thing you’ve never been is naïve. They are going to go to any lengths, pay any price, pry into the lives of anyone close to you to get a better story. You know what happened the last time the media whipped themselves up into this kind of frenzy.”

“I’m hardly likely to forget,” I said coldly, feeling the familiar swell of guilt and anger as I thought back to the last time I had unwittingly created a media furore. To cover the awkward moment, I reached for the other tea, but thought better of it when I remembered Julia’s furious expression.

“Well, then.” Gary took a deep slurp of his tea and regarded me through his bushy eyebrows. “I guess you’d better get rid of that attitude and pay attention to me, as I’m the only one who can get you through this without another full-scale PR disaster.”

“Point taken.” And how I hated admitting that he was right. “What exactly do you want me to do?”

Gary seemed to relax minutely and a small smile played around his lips. Yeah, he knew he’d won our little battle of the wits, something I like to think rarely happens, and he wanted to savour my retreat.

“First things first,” he said when he’d apparently got over his little power trip. “The pre-season party tonight, you should go.”

When I opened my mouth to protest that there was no way in hell I was attending that hotbed of angst, drama and sex Gary held up one hand to forestall me.

“You have to show that you’re not hiding away from this. Go out with your team mates, have fun, drink, laugh. But for God’s sake, don’t sleep with anyone.”

I raised my eyebrows at the last condition, but nodded to show that I understood. This obvious acceptance of his terms, however, did not seem enough, as he fixed me with a hard stare.

“I mean no-one, Goodspeed. Don’t even touch any women, just stay the hell away from them. I’m thinking we’ll go for the whole ‘focusing on your sport’ angle and portray you as a reformed man, but that won’t work if the papers tomorrow are full of photos with you draped across two half naked girls. Do you understand me?”

Honestly, the draped across two half naked women thing had only happened once and the photo had been taken out of context anyway as I’d been too drunk that night to do anything with those women even if I’d wanted to. Still, as much as it pains me to admit it, Gary really did know his stuff and so, as I got to my feet, I leaned down and looked him squarely in the eyes.

“You have my word. No women.”

He held my gaze for a couple of seconds more and then nodded, apparently satisfied.

“Good.” He stood up as well and shook my hand firmly. “Come back tomorrow sometime and we’ll discuss phase two.”

As I left his office, sending a winning smile in reply to Julia’s glare, I pulled out my mobile and pressed the quick call button for Xavier, my team mate and partner in crime.

“Well if it isn’t the cheating, scumbag!” He answered cheerfully. “Taking a break from sending inappropriate text messages to teenage girls?”

I ground my teeth at the mention of that particular accusation. I think Zarah had gotten me confused with a cricket player when she’d made that outrageous claim.

“Yeah well, you know how it is,” I said flatly to Xavier. “Even perverts have to take a break sometimes. Hey, are you on your way to that party?”

“The pre-season thing?” Xavier asked as I entered the lift.

“That’s the one.” I confirmed.

“Yeah, I thought I might show my face briefly. Why? You thinking of going?”

“Apparently I have to,” I growled, pressing the button for the car park and feeling that brief weightless sensation as the carriage began to descend.

“Gary riding you to start a new public image campaign?” Xavier knew all about my previous run-ins with the press and was occasionally sympathetic when he wasn’t laughing himself stupid over my media persona.

“Isn’t he always? Look I’ll see you there mate.”

“Righto.”

I hung up and, as the lift doors opened, I stupidly let myself think for a couple of seconds that things weren’t going to be so bad this time.

As with my other story this one is set in Australia and the football referred to is Aussie Rules.

Also, I know some Australians out there are thinking that the press surrounding AFL players' personal lives isn't that intense. That's kind of true so I'm using a bit of creative licence and likening the media intensity to the kind that exists in the U.K.

Cheers,

Jess/star123