Tigerland (10 page)

And then I’d had enough. I told Coby I had to go to a meeting with senior management, and although he looked suspicious because he hadn’t heard anything about it he didn’t push the subject.

I just needed a break. I planned only to dart across Spring Street and head for the Fitzroy Gardens, but I hailed a taxi and headed home. I needed sanctuary.

I also needed distraction, and that occurred when the lift stopped at Abe’s floor to let Lisa on. I immediately had a warm rush at the sight of her, and I realised I needed a friend to tell me everything would be okay. Even if they maybe didn’t believe it yet themselves. Lisa, however, seemed to shrink inwards a little bit, caught out.

“Why, hello there.” I smirked.

“Good morning, Simon,” she replied, straightening up and relying on some quickly summoned inner courage to appear as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

“It’s afternoon, actually. Going down?” I asked, and she blushed. “Because this is going up.”

“Crap. I didn’t check.”

“Uh huh.”

Her resolve dropped. “Dammit, I hate it that you guys all live in the same building!”

“Blame your boyfriend. He was the one who bought in after Dec did.” My choice of word for Abe was out before I even thought about it, and before she could object I held up my hand and silenced her. “Figure of speech.”

“You think you’re so damn smart.”

“I am.”

“Bastard. Why aren’t you at work, anyway?”

“I told them I was in a meeting with all the bigwigs. I needed a few hours respite.”

“How’s Dec?”

“Quiet and withdrawn. Look, since you’re on your way up here with me, want to come in for a coffee?”

“Is Dec home?”

“Nope. He’s at Docklands Studios. He had some filming.”

“Okay.”

And the tension in the air dropped just that easily. It felt like it was Lisa and me again, the way things had been, my original comrade in arms against the WAGs.

“By the way, are those yesterday’s clothes?”

“Fuck you, Simon.”

But she laughed.

W
E
AVOIDED
the obvious subject, and coffee soon moved on to wine. We lay on the couch in a mess of comfortably tangled limbs. The more alcohol that was consumed, the warmer and braver I became, until the pressure building up within me demanded release, and I jovially elbowed Lisa. She returned the favour, and we were both laughing when I asked, more loudly than I meant to, “So, are you and Abe back on together, or not?”

Lisa choked back both her wine and her laugh. “Jesus, Simon, get to the point, why don’t you?”

“I figure we’ve been patient enough, and we’re getting sick of it.”

“‘We’ meaning you and Dec?”

“Or the royal ‘we’, whichever you prefer.”

Lisa took a long sip of her wine. “Wouldn’t Dec already know?”

I took her empty glass off her and set it down on the coffee table without missing a beat. “Abe’s keeping pretty quiet about it.”

“Wow, he’s really trying, then.”

“To what? Keep secrets?”

“No, to listen to me. To think of what I want as well.”

“Was that the problem?”

Lisa stretched across the coffee table for the wine and refilled our glasses. “It was one of them.”

“Which brings me back to the question. Are you together? I mean, you stumbled out of his flat this morning in the same thing you were wearing yesterday. Which means you either stayed the night or your wardrobe has become really fucking boring.”

Lisa considered it for a long moment and then finally said, “Kind of.”

That vagued it all up for me. “Kind of?”

“That’s all I can really say at the moment. I don’t know myself. It’s all a bit weird.”

“Do you think sleeping with him will make things easier?”

“Listen to you, Mr. Moral Majority.”

“Sorry, that did sound a bit conservatard. But I’ve been there, done that, bought the book and the audiotape.”

“It’s not outside my experience, either. But this is different. It’s Abe.”

“Then how will you know if you really are together again?”

“Oh, probably when we move back in together.” She tried to make it sound like an off-hand comment, but I knew better. She had already made up her mind. She wasn’t sure exactly when she would be moving back into our building, but it was going to be happening sooner or later.

“Fuck, I’ve really missed you,” I said, overcome at the thought of her living under the same roof—technically—as us again.

“Simon, you’re drunk.”

“Maybe. Doesn’t mean I’m lying.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll see when we see.”

But she turned her face at the last moment so I wouldn’t see her smile. It was all the confirmation I needed. When she looked at me again, her expression was impressively nondescript. “So Abe really hasn’t been talking to Dec?”

“If he has, Dec hasn’t said a word to me about it.”

“Then he mustn’t have.”

“Dec doesn’t tell me everything, you know,” I groused.

“Do you tell him everything?”

“Of course not. Are you claiming that you and Abe do?”

“Hardly,” Lisa admitted. “A couple can’t survive without some secrets.”

“Listen to us being all cynical.”

“I have a right to be cynical. Abe and I have been separated for almost a year. You and Dec are living in bliss.”

“It’s not so blissful at the moment.”

Lisa sobered up, and stared at the bottom of her glass. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“I mean, everything’s okay with Dec and I, I think. It’s just that it’s never easy when an ex appears on the scene.”

“Especially one that could tie you in a knot and bench press you.”

“Thanks, Lisa.”

“Sorry.” She wasn’t, really. “Anyway, you do know he’s a jerk, right? He has nothing on you.”

“You’re meant to say that. You’re my friend.”

She snuggled in closer to me. “I’m so glad to hear you say that again.”

“Yeah, well I never stopped saying it.”

Lisa slipped her hand into mine. “Just let it go.”

So I did. But the Heyward situation couldn’t be dropped. “Dec’s meeting him for coffee.”

Lisa almost yanked me off the couch as she jumped up. “That son of a bitch!”

“Which one?” I snorted.

“Greg!” Her brow furrowed. “Declan! Both!”

“Settle down, tiger.” I pulled her back down onto the couch. “I’m trying to be the new, mature Simon. I shall let him go in peace, and he’ll return like a butterfly or some shit.”

“He isn’t going anywhere. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t worry about that fuckwit trying to cause trouble.”

“He will, won’t he?” I hated hearing my own suspicions confirmed by somebody else. And Lisa had actually known the guy, so she knew better than me what he could be like.

“I can guarantee it. When are they meeting?”

“Tomorrow.”

“So soon? Even more suss.”

“It’s not like I can tag along on their coffee date.”

“Not as a chaperone,” Lisa said. “But you could… as a spy.”

I sat up, the wine emboldening me far too much than was healthy. “Should I wear a trench coat?”

W
ORK
was stultifying that afternoon. I let the researchers do all the work on Heyward’s personal history and footballing record, and just signed my approval. I read the newspapers and was relieved to see that Heyward hadn’t said anything about Dec other than thanking him for “paving the way for others like me to finally be open about themselves.” Puke. I wouldn’t have given him such a cake walk interview—I would be asking what took him so bloody long, especially as he had hinted to Dec that he was going to do it over three years ago.

Thankfully, Dec was already home when I stumbled into our apartment, immediately kicking off my shoes. He was cooking, a stress relief for him. It smelled good, something with lots of garlic. So obviously he wasn’t planning to pash Heyward tomorrow. Oh, I kid! I knew that joke wouldn’t go down too well with him, so I artfully restrained myself from sharing it.

I balanced myself over the counter top and kissed him hello. He had already been tasting the sauce as I could taste the garlic coming off him—although it was at that good stage before it fermented.

“How was work?” he asked as I got us both a beer from the fridge.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I grunted. “You?”

I passed him his beer, and he looked at the one in my hand. “Haven’t you already been imbibing today?”

I looked over at the coffee table, where I had forgotten to clear away the wine bottle and glasses. Oops.

“You really must be more careful with your affairs, Simon,” Dec said gravely.

“I told you this was the way it would be when we got together,” I replied in the same tone.

“Fran?” he grinned.

“Lisa.” I did my best waiter impersonation and cleared the table. “How did you know it was a woman, anyway?”

“There’s lipstick on the glass. Unless you or the other guy wants to fess up to another secret.”

“Look at you, Veronica Mars!”

Declan laughed and then remembered what I had said. “Hey! Lisa?”

“I ran into her doing the walk of shame.”

“But what were you doing home—wait, the walk of shame?”

“Uh huh.”

“That bloody bugger didn’t say a word to me about it today,” Dec said, referring to Abe.

“Lisa wasn’t exactly forthcoming about it either. ‘It is what it is’
,
or something like that.”

“Well, there’s nothing we can do about it until they make a decision.”

“I think they’re on their way to making one. Anyway, you’ve avoided my question.”

“What question?” Avoiding it once again, he turned back to his sauce.

“How was work?”

“Oh.” Dec grimaced and turned the sauce down. “Let’s finish this beer in peace.”

We rendezvoused on the couch, Dec sprawling against me.

“So?” I asked.

“I was the centre of attention. Everyone wanted my opinion.”

“Did you speak to Jill?” That was his manager, and I was surprised she hadn’t called Dec yesterday, although I guess her calls could have been a number of the many we avoided.

“Yes. I’ve been booked on some of the shows.”

“Why are you doing that?” It wasn’t like him.

“A clause in my contracts with the channel. Nicely hidden away, and vaguely worded enough that they could pull it out on me.”

“You could always say no. It’s not like they’d risk losing you for good.”

Dec shrugged and took a long swig of his beer. “Jill made sure to remind me that I could plug some charity events.”

So she got to him through guilt. Dec served on the boards of a couple of sport charities. The one most close to his heart dealt with LGBTQ youth in sport, trying to give them the opportunities to be open and happy from the start that he had never allowed himself.

“I don’t like Jill,” I said, sotto voce.

“I know. And it makes you happy that she doesn’t like you either.”

“Because she knows I don’t see you as a cash cow.”

“And I love you for it.” He grinned. “Will you come to the studio for the taping?”

It was the last thing I wanted to do. “Of course I will.”

Declan knew that my history with footy talk shows wasn’t always a positive one. The Neanderthal mindset that lent itself perfectly to the old guard of the sport manifested itself in rather bigoted ways against “the women” and “the gays” when it wanted to—which was almost always, at least on the most popular footy programs. Dec tried to go on those ones as little as possible, preferring the more “cerebral” footy shows (and yes, I know, that’s pretty much an oxymoron) where they actually devoted the majority of air time to discussing footy rather than doing skits in drag or talking to the most brain-dead fans they could find on the streets.

I sound like I hate the sport I love sometimes. I don’t; I love it passionately. But that doesn’t mean that it’s immune to criticism from me. And when I’d been profiled for WAG spots or if I’d been asked a question because I was spotted in the audience while watching Declan at a taping, I had never censored myself. That usually meant the next day would find my ugly mug plastered across the sports page or on a website with people lambasting me for daring to have an opinion. Inevitably my family would then show their disapproval, although Mum still loyally cut those articles out to stick in her scrapbook.

“Did anybody ask you if you knew about Heyward?”

“Yes.” Dec scratched evasively at the side of his nose.

“What did you say?”

“I couldn’t lie. Just in case. So I said that, yeah, I did. And left it at that.”

“Obfuscation, but not denial,” I approved.

“Yes, Mr. Dictionary.”

“I wish we knew what exactly was going on in his head. I hate this feeling like he has all the power, and he’s waiting to use it on us.”

“It’s not pleasant, no,” Dec said in the understatement of the year.

“Maybe you should plan a preemptive strike!” I sat up excitedly, almost causing him to fall off the couch.

“What?”

“A preemptive strike. Like on
Star Trek
. When you go up against the enemy while they’re planning to sneak up on you, but you gain the upper hand.”

“I’m pretty sure that was invented before
Star Trek
.”

“Whatever. Maybe you should just leak it to the media first.”

Dec placed his empty bottle of beer on the table. “That’s not the way I want to do it. It’ll make me look like the attention whore.”

He was right, and I knew it. But we were both coming from opposing forms of pride—mine wanted to get Heyward, and get him
good
before he got us. Declan didn’t want to appear like he was seeking more press.

Dec slapped my knee. “So, are you hungry?”

I nodded. “Yep.”

But I had lost my appetite.

D
EC
fell asleep long before me. I remained awake for quite a while; long enough for him to wake up when I stirred uncomfortably.

“What is it?” he mumbled.

“Nothing.”

“I don’t like it when you get insomnia. It means you’re stressing.”