Heller's Punishment (29 page)

“Shut up,
everyone,” Clive said with his usual sympathy.

I perched on a
desk, crammed between two of the men, one who liked to continuously
whistle soft tuneless melodies and the other whose breath smelt
like anchovies at ten in the morning. Leftover pizza for breakfast?
Must be a bachelor.

The title of
the DVD appeared on the screen:
Safe Sex
,
a Department of
Community Services promotion
. The men started laughing again
and glancing over at me. My two bookends nudged me so hard with
their elbows that I had bruises afterwards. And with the greatest
dignity, I sat there and endured every second of that DVD, not even
flinching when the men erupted again as the rat-faced narrator
recited the statistics for injuries from sexual encounters in the
bathroom. I was proud of my serenity, but what precisely safe sex
had to do with the security business was beyond me. Unless the
government felt that any industry staffed by loads of huge, young,
lusty men needed to be reminded about condoms and STDs, not to
mention risky sexual situations. Like shower cubicles.

When the lights
came on, knowing I was the butt of their jokes yet again, I had my
usual choice – take offence or take it on the chin. I felt as
though I’d taken a lot on the chin since I’d started working for
Heller, but I really had no freedom in my choice. If I wanted to
keep working here, I had to grin and bear it again and sass them
back. It was what they expected.

So I looked
around at them, and with an airy wave as I moved to the door said,
“Well, it’s fortunate for me there’s at least one man in this
business who realises that sex involves two people and not just a
man and his favourite hand.” And with that parting comment I left,
closing the door on their catcalls, whistles and rebuttals with a
sweet smile.

And ran smack
bang into Heller. He saved me from bouncing backwards against the
door with his hands on my shoulder.

“Are you
feeling better, my sweet?” He leaned down to kiss me, but I dodged
his lips.

“Heller, how
does everyone know about the . . . shower incident?”

“I told a few
people.”

“What the hell?
You
told
people?”

He shrugged a
shoulder, a little perplexed by my reaction. “They asked me why the
doctor had been called, so I told them.”

“I can’t
believe you did that!”

“What did I do
wrong now?”

“I’ve just been
embarrassed in front of all my colleagues over this and you strut
around like some kind of stud, boasting about it. It’s not fair!
You shouldn’t discuss our personal life with other people!”

“But they asked
me, Matilda. What was I supposed to say?”

“Tell them to
mind their own fucking business!” I shouted and stomped up the
stairs away from him. How could he be so smart, but at the same
time be so stupid?

I avoided
everyone for the next few days, not wanting to tolerate any more
teasing, quite fragile over the whole matter. What should have been
my special first time with a man I thought I loved had now become
nothing but a farce and a joke for everyone else. On a romantic
scale, the whole incident rated minus three billion and falling. I
found it difficult to maintain my composure about it. I can take a
joke and I’m used to being teased, but this stepped over a boundary
I hadn’t even realised I’d decided on. It was too personal and it
was too emotional. I didn’t want to speak to anyone about it and
most of all, I really didn’t want to set eyes on Heller’s beautiful
face at the moment.

On Sunday
afternoon, I sprawled on my lounge, a wine bottle already open and
within handy reach, the TV on a random channel. With great
disinterest, I watched a musical movie from the 1950s, so
relentlessly cheerful and at odds with my mood that I fought a
strong urge to smash the wine bottle across the plasma screen to
shut all the happy chirping up.

A soft knock
sounded on my door.

“Go away!” I
shouted, not in the mood for company.

The knock
persisted, but as it wasn’t immediately followed by Heller bursting
in, I gathered it was someone else. Lazily I answered and when I
saw it was Daniel, I realised that he was exactly what I needed to
recover my equilibrium. He could tease with the best of them, but
he always seemed to know when sympathy was a better option.

He took one
look at my face, at the open wine bottle and at the TV and held his
arms apart. “Oh, Tilly darling. A musical?”

I let out a
watery snort of laughter and stepped into his arms, allowing myself
be hugged, listened to, cuddled, patted and comforted back to an
even mood.

After a couple
of hours we were bunched together, both slouching on my lounge,
drinking wine and the afternoon had turned into evening. We’d made
a slapdash dinner from cheese, crackers, olives and watermelon. And
more wine.

Daniel
hesitantly reminded me that he’d had his first ‘date’ with Anton
the previous evening. I felt like a worm for not bringing it up
first. It was the most important thing that had happened in his
life for ages and I’d been too busy moping over myself to pay
attention.

“Oh, Danny
darling. I’m so sorry! I’ve been too self-absorbed lately and I
completely forgot. Tell me everything. And I mean
everything
.”

He didn’t
answer, but a shy expression crossed his face. I moved closer to
him to examine his features more carefully, his lovely chocolate
eyes meeting mine, a hint of pride in his chin line.

“Daniel, it
went wonderfully well last night, didn’t it?”

He nodded,
barely controlling the smile that was threatening to burst from
him. “We had a great time together. He had a couple of friends with
him and they were nice, fun guys. It was all very relaxed and
casual so I wasn’t tense at all. I don’t think anything is going to
happen between us because he seemed to be very close to one of the
other guys, but I don’t care because I had such a good time.
They’ve invited me to a party next weekend. I think I’ll go.”

“Who’s going to
be there?”

He smiled
happily. “Loads of people. I’m making friends, Tilly.”

“That’s
wonderful, Danny darling.” If he was happy, I was happy. Although I
wondered if a party might be a little ambitious for him.

“I feel . . .”
He hesitated.

“Feel what,
sweetie?”

“Kind of normal
for once.”

I hugged him
fiercely, not able to speak. I desperately wanted to assure him
that he
was
normal, regardless. But we both knew that was a
lie and I didn’t want to patronise him. Nothing had been ‘normal’
about Daniel’s life so far.

After Daniel
left I had another visitor, but one who didn’t bother to wait until
I opened the door to his knock before he came in. He stood at the
door, his eyes boring into me.

“You’ve been
avoiding me for days.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

I rolled my
eyes. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? I didn’t want to talk to you.”

“Is what I did
so bad?”

“Yes, it
is.”

“I don’t
understand.”

“You never
understand anything.”

He sat next to
me on the lounge, his hand gently clasping the back of my neck. “Is
it so wrong for people to know that we had sex, my sweet?”

“But we haven’t
had sex. We’ve
almost
had sex. And yes, it’s wrong.”

“Why? I want
everyone to know. I’m happy that you finally gave in to me.”

“
Of
course
you want everyone to know. It enhances your reputation
as a stud. It doesn’t enhance mine for my work colleagues to know
that I slept with the boss. It makes them suspicious of me. Nobody
will want to work with me because they think I’ll be running to you
telling you everything all the time. Nobody will trust me. Nobody
will want to be friends with me.”

“I don’t want
the men to be friends with you.”

I sighed in
exasperation. “I
need
to be friends with my workmates. It
makes the job more enjoyable.”

“I don’t pay
you to enjoy yourself. I pay you to work for me.”

It was
hopeless. It was like talking to someone from another planet.

“Anyway,” he
said, brushing off the whole topic as if it wasn’t important. “I
did come here for a reason, not just to have an argument with you.
I’ve had a new assignment come in today, and the client has asked
for your services personally.”

I sat up with
interest. “Really? Who is it?”

“It’s another
live-in job. For a week or so.”

“Who is
it?”

“They’re
willing to pay through the nose for you. And they live on the
harbour so you’ll have a lovely view the whole time.”

“Heller! Who is
it?”

He rubbed his
chin thoughtfully. “Promise me you won’t become angry?”

“Who is it?” I
almost shouted at him in frustration.

“Trent
Dawson.”

“Oh no! No way!
Not him.”

“Starting
tomorrow.”

“What? No! He’s
a moral hazard.”

“You’ll be
fine.”

“I saw his
wedding tackle!”

“Well, you’re
practically engaged then. You might want to start packing.”

“Heller, I
don’t want to.”

“I’m sorry,
Matilda, but a job’s a job. And it’s a lot of money for me. He’s in
court for the week over a story he ran on his show. Media attention
in the trial has ramped up over the weekend, which is quite ironic
when you think about it. He’s so concerned about it that he’s
decided at the last minute that he’ll need some security.
Apparently you sprang into his mind immediately. You must have made
a big impression on him.” He regarded me with neutral steadiness.
“Please be ready by seven in the morning and I’ll take you to his
apartment. There’ll be a couple of men with you on the job as well,
but you’ll be the only one living in.”

I fumed as I
packed. I’d met Trent Dawson during a job I’d had quite a few
months ago. He was an old friend of my client, a Hollywood movie
star. He’d spent a night bonking her, but then made a blatant pass
at me the next day. Charming. He hosted a current affairs show that
screened each weeknight on TV. There were no current affairs on the
show at all, just a revolving cycle of stories on diets, boobs,
celebrities, shonky tradespeople, bad neighbours and out-of-control
kids. It was sensational rubbish and he had a reputation as a
hardarsed sleaze – antagonistic in interviews and bed-hopping in
his private life. So I was definitely not interested in him,
despite him having a certain rakish appeal.

That night I
rang Dixie. I hadn’t spoken to her for weeks. I told her about
meeting Simon again and we talked for ages, reminiscing about
him.

“A vow of
fucking celibacy!” she howled with laughter.

“I’m not even
sure that’s possible, Dix,” I joked.

“You must have
scared him into it with your ravenous carnal appetite, you nympho,”
she teased.

“Geez, look
who’s talking!”

“Still though,
what a waste. Simon was gorgeous.”

“He still is,
but he’s very devout.”

“I’m very
devout too. I worship regularly at the Temple of Todgers.”

I laughed.
“Been getting any lately?”

“Of course I
have,” she dismissed scornfully. “More to the point, have you?”

I hesitated,
for some reason not wanting to tell her about Heller and me.
Instead I diverted the conversation. “I received an invitation to
Will’s wedding and I can’t find anyone to take me.”

“You have to
go. You have to show him that you don’t care any more.”

“Exactly!
That’s what I’ve been telling everyone! But nobody here agrees with
me.”

“Men! They
don’t understand. But you can’t go by yourself. That has loser
written all over it. What about Heller?”

“He won’t go
with me because he hates Will, but he won’t let me take anyone else
either. I’m going to force someone at gunpoint if I have to. I mean
it. I’m
not
going to that wedding alone.”

“Well, good
luck with it, Tils. Let me know how it goes.”

We talked a bit
longer and then I made my goodbyes, knowing I had to get up early
the next morning. But I lay awake for a while, mulling over my
encounter with Heller, and whether or not it signified any change
in our relationship.

Chapter
20

By six-thirty,
I was awake, showered, breakfasted, dressed in my uniform, wearing
no makeup with my hair tied back in a stern ponytail. I was not
giving Trent Dawson reason to believe that I was in any way happy
to be stuck with his company for the next week.

“Not even a bit
of makeup?” Heller queried when he picked me up on the exact dot of
seven.

“No.”

“Matilda.”

“Heller.”

He gave up and
led me at a quick jog down to the ground floor where we picked up
the rest of the detail, a couple of big, clean-cut young men I
hadn’t worked with before. The dark-haired one introduced himself
as Dubov and the fair-haired one as Ozanne. Of course they already
knew who I was, being the only female security officer. We piled
into Heller’s Mercedes and he drove us out into the early commuter
traffic.

The men were
obviously Heller fanatics, respectfully taking the opportunity to
ask Heller questions about security practices and hanging on his
every word in response. I looked out of the window, bored with
their Heller reverence. They’d probably rushed out to get their
Heller’s
logo tattoo as soon as they were eligible (after
one year’s service for the security men), probably unaware that I’d
started the whole craze with a spontaneous decision to have the
small
H
discreetly tattooed on my ankle as my personal sign
of commitment to Heller. I’d regretted it a few times since.