Mattress Actress (19 page)

Socialising in this industry is hard, usually friends demand to know what you do for work and I was adamant about not lying to people. So usually I stayed indoors or went out with the parents of Poppy’s friends.

Even though I had an abundance of men asking me out during the day I never dated clients. There were two reasons for this: clients only ever saw me as easy Cleo, who loved sex. Once they saw I was not a highly agreeable nympho they rarely wanted to see me any more anyway. Secondly, half the time they just wanted to get free sex so I was doing myself out of $300 a fortnight. I have always seen ‘Cleo’ as my work personality. She is a very different person to Annika. Cleo is jovial, flirtatious, sinful, raunchy, lusty and very sympathetic. The clients were asking Cleo out, not Annika— they had never met Annika. Even if they had, they probably wouldn’t like her anyway.

One of my neighbours recommended that I join the local gym to meet new people as well as shed a few pounds. The gym she went to had a social club that met fortnightly, so I signed up. I could not see the social value of all this exercising and went to the gym on my own. I spent thirty minutes walking while I watched a music clip on the TV provided, then fifteen minutes on the bike or Stairmaster, then forty-five minutes lifting weights while I counted to myself. At the end of all that I was panting and not at all looking my best. The gym seemed pretty cliquey anyway. I had the distinct impression that everyone there must all work together because they seemed to know one another. I occasionally got a courtesy nod from someone but no official hello. Had it not been for my body shaping up I think I would have stopped going.

Two weeks into my training regime I noticed a poster on the wall of the gym announcing a wine and cheese night for the social club. I wanted to go but I felt uncomfortable going alone. I managed to talk my neighbour into going with me and it turned out to be a great night. My neighbour Jo-Anne seemed to know everyone there, even the in crowd. Everyone was so nice and friendly, at the end of the function we were all best friends. In my drunken stupor—having consumed three wines—I invited about twelve people back to my place for a get-together.

One man in particular had grabbed my attention. Austin was built like a gladiator with a face like a male model. I knew that I didn’t stand a chance with him so I talked to everyone except him. Going after Austin would be setting myself up for a heartbreak.

The party back at my place had dwindled to about eight people and to my surprise, Austin was one of them. I kept thinking, What’s he still doing here, doesn’t he have a date with a super-model to go to? Douglas, one of my new friends, asked me what I did for work, and I made a joke about being on a widow’s pension. Austin announced, ‘So am I.’ The room was silent and instantly sober.

To me being a widow was a reality. I saw the Ben that I had known and loved as being dead. I feared daily that if he was ever to recover from his disease and delusions, he may still pose a danger to Poppy and me. I wanted her to have a fairy-tale childhood, one where her father was perfectly normal and loved her dearly, but couldn’t be with her because he was just too unwell. I knew it was a dreadful lie but the truth was worse. I thought about telling her the truth every day, but then I thought about her days at school with all the other children ribbing her about her crazy father.

Austin gave me such a look that a bevy of emotions welled up inside of me—emotions we both seemed to feel. Had I been cruel with my offhand remark? His look told me that he wasn’t offended.

Douglas again broke the silence. ‘Annika, I’m sorry to hear that, how did your husband die?’

I was prepared for this question, having been asked it a number of times before. ‘He had a dreadful brain disease.’ To me this was the truth. A disease of the brain killed my beloved Ben, leaving me with a man I no longer recognised.

‘My wife died of a brain tumor, too,’ said Austin.

There was now no one else in the room, only Austin and I alone in our mutual grief and sympathy. We exchanged no words but couldn’t drag our eyes from each other.

The crowd dispersed into my lounge room, leaving Austin and I alone in the kitchen. Every now and then one of them would pop in to say goodbye.

I didn’t even bother to show them out. Austin and I talked for hours. He had a daughter, Amanda, a few years older than Poppy. It wasn’t until our third date that I realised he also had a twelve-year-old son, Drew, his wife’s son from her first marriage. Drew had never met his real father, as far as he was concerned, Austin was his dad—he did know the truth but he had only ever known Austin as his father.

I was ashamed of myself for misjudging Austin so much when I first met him. He was a compassionate, hard-working, caring and sensitive man.

That evening I took Austin’s phone number and vowed to call him one day. It took me all of twelve hours to use that number. The following day, we arranged to get together with our daughters and go to the beach. I never would have suggested the beach for a first date. I dreaded the moment that we would touch the hot sand and I would need to take off my clothes, exposing a less-than-perfect body in a bikini. His body was so magnificent, surely he would think me physically inadequate compared to him.

At the time I saw myself as a genuine glamour—from the waist up. In fact, my ad read: Absolutely Stunning. I charged $300 per hour while the going rate was $180 per hour and there was never any shortage of punters. I was told at least eight times a day that I was hot. But in my mind I was hideous from the waist down.

Our daughters hit it off straight away, they built sand castles together and played jump sticks in the sand, leaving Austin and I time to talk and tan. He opened up about how his wife had died and how he felt watching her die. I knew that this was the first time he had talked like this. His monologue was long, and I listened intently. After about half an hour I realised that he was going to expect my story of Ben’s death and I would have to lie.

‘So, Annika, how did Ben go?’

A cold wind blew on my sunburnt shoulders. I turned to grab my shirt for some warmth.

‘Austin, I’m starting to feel a little cold, it seems that the sea breeze is here to stay, so why don’t we get the kids dry?’ We turned to our daughters, who were still playing happily despite the fact that they were very pink from our neglecting to reapply sunscreen. Austin invited us to stay for a barbecue dinner, which I was delighted about because I had no intention of letting the day end. He was a dream come true. Austin commandeered the grill while I played with the girls.

Amanda was a quiet girl in dire need of a woman’s touch. We danced together to the radio and did each other’s hair. After dinner, I packed up my towels and said our thank yous. Amanda gave me the biggest hug and begged me to come back next weekend. Poppy was also reluctant to leave, but it was late and I knew that if I stayed I would be tempted to unleash all my pent-up sexual frustration on this man. I wanted him to respect me, I wanted his daughter to respect me and I wanted to set the right example for Poppy. But most of all I wanted to jump this man’s bones. I wanted to satisfy him like he had never experienced in his life. I wanted to feel his lips on my nipples, on my lips, on my everything. But instead all I gave him was my phone number. There was no kiss, just a knowing smile.

A week and a half later we arranged to go to a concert together. He looked almost edible when he arrived to pick me up but I restrained myself from greeting him with a kiss. He had not tried to lay a finger on me as yet and I was not about to make the first move. I wanted to grab his hand or stroke his leg about a hundred times during the concert and probably another fifty times on the drive home. I swear I had the patience of a virgin when I wanted. We sat together on my couch after the concert.

‘So tell me about Ben, Annika.’

I knew this was coming so I just let my lips take over. I talked about how we had met. I talked about how I loved him, and how in truth I still probably did. I told Austin how Ben started acting out of character and at times, totally irrationally. I told him how he went to a doctor and was diagnosed with a dreadful life-threatening disease. I told him Ben didn’t want to burden me with his illness while I was expecting our child so left me to be with his family.

At this point I found myself crying. Austin was sitting opposite me on the other couch. He made no attempt to come to my aid or comfort me, he just sat there watching me.

I digressed to after Poppy was born. In my mind, everything I’d said had been the truth. I felt no guilt for being misleading. I wanted to be the widow for St Ben not the ex-girlfriend of crazy Ben.

I’m not sure whether he saw holes in my story, but if he did he never said so. His reaction was silent acknowledgement. For the rest of the evening we talked about anything and everything. At some point, he joined me on my couch. His restraint was unbelievable to the point of annoying. I really questioned whether he felt only sympathy for me and not sexual desire. We were both yawning but I was determined not to let him leave without a decent kiss.

All at once, he jumped up and said, ‘Annika, I’m really tired, thanks for a great evening, I had a great time. Let’s do this again.’

I felt like saying, ‘Do what?’ But I closed the door behind him, locked it, turned off the light and let him leave. I sat on the couch and emptied the rest of my Riccadonna into a champagne flute, contemplating how I could have put him off. Why didn’t he want me?

Just as I was downing the wine there was a knock at my door.

Austin was standing at my door holding my jumper. ‘You left this in the car, I thought you may need it.’

My brain was telling me to jump him. Drag him into the bedroom. Rip open my top and smother him with a breast sandwich.

‘Annika, I may be going out on a limb here, but I am going to take a chance—could I have a goodnight kiss?’

My heart was soaring. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’ I turned my cheek to meet his lips, then turned my head to kiss him passionately on the lips.

To my surprise he really was just going to give me a simple kiss, but I talked him into a real kiss. My god, what a fabulous kisser. He pulled away. It was over before it really started. He gave me the cheekiest smile I think I have ever seen. ‘Goodnight,’ we said.

It took me two full weeks to seduce him and, yes, I was the seductress. He was so adorably shy, which was the biggest turn on. But when it happened it was special beyond words. I was besotted.

We started spending every weekend together. I not only fell in love with him, I fell in love with his kids. Drew was a delight, mature beyond his years. He was funny and a true gentleman. Amanda was shy but so receptive to me. One evening, I was tucking her into bed and she started crying.

‘Please don’t leave, Annika, do you have to leave? Because I really don’t want you to. You make me feel good. I miss you when you’re not here. I really don’t want you to go.’

To my surprise, I was crying too. I felt needed and loved and appreciated. I tried to calm her but I couldn’t give her promises because I didn’t know where her father and I were going to be in the future. So instead I just cuddled her to sleep. Austin must have wondered where I was because he came looking for me, turning the light in the bedroom on and waking Amanda up.

‘What’s wrong, Amanda?’ he asked.

She started to cry all over again. Austin came to her side. I felt this was something they needed to discuss so I took my leave.

He called me an hour and a half later, drained. ‘You remind her of how much she misses her mother.’

We didn’t say anything more, simply sitting in silence on the phone, each waiting for the other to acknowledge that we had to either make this serious, break with the past and move forward for the children’s sake, or end it. I knew that I had to tell Austin about my work soon. I was in love with him, I was in love with his kids but it wasn’t fair to lie to him. Before he was well and truly in love with me I had to tell him what I did for a living so that if he wanted to call it off he could before anyone was deeply hurt. The whole thought scared me because I was sure he would abandon me once he knew that I fucked men for money.

The following Wednesday was the evening I had decided to tell him. In preparation I stocked up on alcohol: two bottles of cabernet sauvignon, two bottles of Riccadonna and three tins of gin and tonic. By way of buttering him up I cooked a magnificent roast dinner and a minestrone soup. I baked an orange and poppyseed cake. After dinner and a game of cards I put Poppy to bed, opened the second bottle of wine and plopped myself on the couch opposite Austin. He immediately jumped beside me ready for a snuggle. I moved to the other couch like a game of musical chairs.

‘Stay where you are. We have to talk. I have something that I have to tell you and I just need some space to get through this.’

The serious look on his face gave me the impression that he thought I was about to break up with him.

‘I am madly, deeply in love with you.’ He looked a bit startled by this admission. ‘But I fear that I don’t deserve you.’ He tried to join me on my couch, a smile growing on his face. ‘No, please, stay there. I have something to tell you that I know you won’t like. This secret may make you not to want to see me again, and I’ll fully understand and not be offended by your rejection.’ He looked curious and bemused, with a whiff of fear. ‘I did not plan Poppy, she came along before I had a chance to live myself. Before she came along, life was just about fun and survival. So I never really thought about my future. Children were a faraway thought. I never thought about saving money or improving my resume. And now I regret not taking life a bit more seriously when I had the opportunity because I have no qualifications, no savings and no assets.

‘Until recently, Poppy and I were destitute. When Ben finally succumbed to his disease, I lost the will to work. We were surviving on the pension, which really only pays for a roof and food. I had no furniture and no car. Poppy kept growing so she constantly needed new clothes that I simply couldn’t afford. My mother took my furniture and stole a lot of money from me. Some evenings we had to sleep in three layers of clothes just to keep warm because we had no heat. I had not turned out to be the mother that I had dreamed of being. Failing myself is OK but to fail Poppy was unthinkable. She deserves so much better. I knew at the rate I was going that I would never own my own car, never own my own home and never be able to give Poppy all the things she deserves.’