Desk Jockey Jam (4 page)

He looked up at her and
said, “Puce.”

“Are you sick?  That’d be
right, leave all this cleaning up to me and Miriam.  Mum’s exhausted.  Nonna’s
already gone to have a lay down.”

He sighed.  “I’m not
sick.”

Bella sat beside him.  
“Something’s wrong with you.  What did you do to Toni?”

“Nothing.” 

They both watched the lizard
and listened to cousin Mario complain about school fee increases.  When that
got too painful he said, “Do you know about Toni?”

“Know what?  I know you
did something to her.”

“All I did was ask her
out.”  All he’d done was lose his head and his heart to her in the space of
fifteen minutes, like some freak out of the chick flicks Mum liked.  If what he
felt after being smacked down was even one whisker of what Dan felt when he’d
cut Alex loose he had no idea how the guy didn’t drown himself.

“Oh.”  Bella looked him
full in the face.  “Ouch.”

“So you do know.”

“Of course.”

“Does everyone know?  Mum,
Nonna?” 

“God no.  And it’s not
like she wants to make a thing of it.  And before you ask, yes her parents
know, and they’re fine about it.”

“So I’m the last moron who
didn’t know.”

“Yep.”  She patted him on
the shoulder.  “That’s what happens when you don’t pay attention.”

“I pay attention.”  Toni
had said something similar.

“No you don’t.  You only
pay attention to five things, Ant: being a good son to Mum, a good grandson to Nonna,
a good brother to Mim and me, surfing with the boys and work.  I bet you can’t
even remember the names of Francesca’s twins.”

He had no idea.  He could
see them across the yard in their car carry-ons.  One wore white, one wore yellow;
there weren’t even any clues to what sex they were.  Yet he’d been at their
christening a month ago.  Well, his good son, grandson and brother body had
been.  His head had been at work.

“Look as family you’re the
best.  Dad would be so proud of you, but you have tunnel vision, you only see
what’s right in front of you, and you only pay attention to what you can use.”

“You make me sound like an
awful person, a real user, some kind of monster.” 

Bella sighed.  She stood
and brushed her skirt down.  “No, just an average bloke.”

4:        Pivot

Bree in her Kitty Caruso uniform,
sat with her four team mates: Detonator, Pregnant Pause, Ann Arkey, and Cath
Arsis watching the Bad Secretaries take on the Tuck Shop Ladies Arms.  The
Tuckers used a goat herding strategy to put the Bad Secretaries out of play and
free their own jammer.  They were going to win.

Beside her Toni
the Detonator
Pagano shouted, “Good whip,” as the Tucker’s pivot grabbed their jammer’s hand
and swung her forward so she was better positioned to break through the pack
and score.

But Bree felt both jammed
and whipped, and she didn’t dare pivot because Detonator had brought a Stickyfoot—a
non skating, family friend along to the bout and that family friend was Anthony
Gambese.

“Tell me again how you
know him?” she hissed.  “You’ve been away so long I didn’t think you knew
anyone.”

“The Gambeses and the Paganos
have known each other since day dot.  Oh good jam!” yelled Detonator.  “Our
mothers were best friends.  Our fathers too, until Ant’s dad died when Ant was
fifteen.  Ant and I took baths together, played street cricket, had our first
smokes, you know that kind of thing.  But once his dad died he was busy being
the man of the family and had no time for me.  I haven’t seen him for years.  How
was I supposed to know you worked with him?  Don’t worry, there’s no way he’s
going to recognise you.  I hardly recognise you.”

This was true.  And it
wasn’t simply because this was the last place Anthony would think of looking
for her.  For a start, Anthony hardly ever looked at her anyway.  It was as
though he thought he shouldn’t in case she read something unprofessional,
something sexual into it.  On top of that, The Big Swinging Tricks uniform was a
good disguise.  Under all her padding and helmet, with her hair tucked up, and black
war paint on her face, Bree was virtually undisguisable from any of the Tricks with
the exception her lack of tattoos and the big red stars on her helmet which
signified she was a jammer, responsible for scoring the team’s points.

“And you brought him
because?”

“Because he made an arse
of himself then apologised so damn sweetly I felt sorry for him.  He’s my cuz. 
He’s the brother I never had.  Why do you care that he’s here?”

Bree knew why she cared. 
It was too close for comfort, but she wasn’t sure which part of what Toni said
to react to first.  Anthony being an arse, that he could apologise sweetly, or
that he could make anyone feel sorry for him. 

The being an arse thing
she could see.  He’d been an arse to her this week, just for violating the
unspoken principles of their territorial deal and coming into the office early.
He’d invaded the peace of her mornings with his strong smelling take-away
coffee, his brooding dark looks and general pissed-off-with-her-ness.  

Then he’d written an
absolutely cracker report on demand uncertainty that Doug had taken straight to
Bryan, who’d come out of his lair to personally talk to Anthony.  And she was
supposed to be
The Senior Analyst
.

Worse she knew he was
breathing down her neck in the share portfolio competition, which she was
supposed to win.  Had to win, otherwise everyone would think her promotion was
about skirts and heels, not the quality of her work.

They’d been taking their
places on the team bench when Detonator waved at him across the stadium and
pointed him out.  Bree nearly stacked.  Anthony wasn’t in his Armani or Boss,
just jeans and a t-shirt, he wasn’t even clean shaven, a dark shadow of stubble
on his jaw.  And he was tanned and his t-shirt emphasised what his suit didn’t—a
wall of chest and shoulder, narrow hips and powerful legs.  Yeah, he was a sex
god out of the office as well as in.  And that was so inconvenient.

He’d brought a crowd with
him, three girls and four other guys.  Bree watched them find a row of seats
that would take them all and settle in.  From the strategic placement of arms
and hands she worked out the girls were all accounted for, which left a cute
athletic looking blonde guy and Anthony as the only two not partnered up—unless.

“Tone, is he gay?” 

“Ant!  God no.  He’s a
player.  Big time.  Kind of a slut I suspect.  He embarrassed himself by asking
me out.”

“He asked you out.  And
you’re like cousins, siblings, and he didn’t know?”

Toni shrugged.  “He
stopped paying attention to me a long time ago.  It was a very awkward moment,
but since our families run together I’ll have to see him for the rest of my
life, I didn’t want it to be strained, so I asked him to come watch.  Anyway
what does it matter?  Why are you so concerned he’s going to recognise you?”

“Because I’m The Senior Analyst,
and senior analysts at Australia’s oldest and most respected stockbroker do not
play in a full contact roller derby league and wear undies everyone can see
with
Bite Me
written on them.”

The Detonator laughed.  “Well
maybe they should.  Why are you ashamed of it?  I looked up your stats.  Kitty
Caruso is one of the league’s best jammers.”

“I’m not ashamed.  I just
don’t think it’s anyone at work’s business.”

Detonator took her eyes
off the new bout in progress, Trash Talking Tarts versus Impossible Princesses
and looked at her.  “He’s a good guy, Bree.  You could trust him.”

“I think he’s a jerk. 
There are only six of us in the mining equities team, we all got hired together
twelve months ago and until I got promoted he hardly knew I existed.  He only
noticed me because I beat him and given he’s a big boofy bloke, that damaged
his fragile little ego.  Now he’s trying to out-compete me.  I can do without
him knowing anything about me, especially something that could hurt my
reputation.”

Bree puffed out a breath,
snatched another.  This really was annoying.  Derby was her sanctuary, rough,
loud, fast, intensely competitive.  It was the place she could let off steam,
shout and shove, push and parade around saying ‘looking at me’, and no one
would judge her for being a show-off, a big mouth or an aggressive piece of
work. 

They’d love her for it.

If she did any of those
things in the office, even toned down she’d be branded a diva, a trouble-maker,
hard to work with and on her way out the door.  Because what was good for the
blokes was not good for the chicks.  If a bloke was aggressive, loud, pushy and
competitive, it was his hot ticket to the top.  It was all so unfair.  And now
that dark and Euro-surly was sitting in her stadium, dirtying up her sanctuary
she had one more reason to resent him.

Toni grunted.  “Ah, it’s like
that.  I’m glad I work with knives and I’m top dog.  No one threatens me in my
kitchen unless they want to be looking for a job in someone else’s before the
shift is over. 

Bree sighed.  Maybe if she
waved a few knives around at Petersens they’d forget she wore heels and be too manhood-threatened
not to get out of her way.

Toni bumped her, elbow pad
to elbow pad.  “Do you want me to talk to him?”

She nearly left the seat. 
“Oh fuck no!”

Toni elbowed her again and
laughed.  She shouted, “Okay, okay.  I won’t say a word,” over the half time
music starting up, Adam Ant singing
Goody Two Shoes
.

They waited while the
Trash Talkers and the Princesses left the track, going to their team benches
for a short break to allow the fans to top up on junk food and hopefully shell
out on team merchandise, which along with the players’ dues kept the league
alive. 

There was little
sponsorship, no prize money, no pay to play, no fame.  Like lots of women’s
sports, roller derby simply didn’t rate the attention of mainstream media, so
the fan base was smaller than it might’ve been, and with the costs of the
stadiums, event management and insurances, keeping the league running was a
dicey undertaking.

It was easily as fast as
basketball, almost as rough as football, it was strategic like soccer, and far
more exciting than cricket, but since it was a woman’s sport, it was only second
best.  Bree tugged the snap on her helmet and resettled it on her head.  Second
best could very well be the story of her career if she didn’t stay focussed at
work.  Maybe Anthony showing up on her patch was a sign.  Maybe it was time to
give this up.  She’d missed more training sessions than she’d made it to this
year.  The risk of an injury and having to lie about it was high, and now the
risk of exposure was higher. Hopefully, G-man would only come this once and go
back to whatever else it was he did when he wasn’t dissing territorial agreements
and embarrassing himself by asking the wrong girl out.

She watched him and his
friends, sharing out cans of drink and hot chips.  It was hard to imagine him
embarrassed.  Harder still to imagine him doing anything sweetly, and
impossible to conceive he didn’t have a girlfriend.  Toni said he was a player;
he probably juggled a dozen women.  She sat forward and scrutinised him across
the track with the benefit of knowing she could without being caught.  If he
juggled a dozen why did he come alone today, and why was he watching the couple
beside him kiss with what looked like envy?

Interesting
. 
When his crew had taken their seats again they’d sat in a different order.  Now
there were obvious couples on either side of G-man.  He was blocked in by his
own pack, the only one not scoring.  In real life Anthony was a jammer, good at
assessing the scene, seeing opportunities develop and being quick to take them. 
He wasn’t jamming now, and there was no pivot to throw him a hand and whip him
forward.  Maybe it was possible to feel sorry for him.

·
      
 

“Scott, explain it again,”
said Alex, leaning across Dan to prod Scott in the leg.  “I think I like this.” 

Ant had Alex on his right
with Dan then Scott at the end of the row, and Mitch on his left with Belinda,
then Carlie and Fluke.  He could hear Belinda and Carlie squeal every time a
skater went down which was a regular thing.  This was almost like attending the
dance championship heats to watch Dan and Alex, except with porn names, loud
speaker commentary, 80’s hits, hip checking and limb crunching aggression.  And
the fans came in dress up.  Toni’s team’s fans were easily distinguishable by
their hot pink t-shirts and top hats.  Supporters of the team they were
playing, the Roaming Scandals, wore togas.  He guessed the pun, a bad one, was
on Roman sandal.

“Two teams of five on the
track at the same time.  Everything moves counter- clockwise.”  Scott winced in
time with Carlie’s squeal as a player on Toni’s team face-planted the track.  “Each
team has one person who can score.  That’s the jammer.  They’re the ones with
the stars on their helmets.  They score by getting past all the others in the
pack.  The ones on their team help them and the ones on the other team try to
stop them.”