The Taming of the Bastard (10 page)

“By the way,
you look lovely today,” Sam added, “I like that top.”

I’d heard him
say it so often to the girls at
The Lederhosen
I was
slightly sceptical, but I took him at his word.

“Thank
you.”

I noted that he
didn’t seem to feel any of the pressure I did trying to live up to
standards I believed he liked. He was wearing his old denims with a
rip in the crease of the knee and his usual slim fitting, dark,
V-neck t-shirt. At his throat a silver wisp of chain shone. It was
his typical Saturday afternoon gear when he wasn’t covered in mud.
And from the way girls at the refreshment counter were gawking, I
guessed the poor scruffy boy look was popular. He made good eye
candy, my Sam.

We walked
around the queue and across the star patterned carpet to the double
glass doors that led into the
Gold Class Cinema
. The foyer
inside was dark, the ceiling twinkling with fairy lights that
looked like a night sky. Clusters of chairs and sofas were dotted
through a lounge area. Movie posters decorated the walls but they
weren’t like the ones in the regular cinema. They were framed,
limited edition, vintage posters. We stopped at the reception and
Sam gave the usher our ticket numbers.

“We’re in
here?” I asked.

“Yeah. Alex
said you’d never been, so I thought… why not? It’s not every day
you can get a seat in
Gold Class
. You have to book weeks in
advance.”

I looked at him
quizzically.

“You booked
tickets weeks ago and managed to keep it a secret?” Wow. More and
more, the things he did were showing me another side of Sam. He
wasn’t all cocky smartarse. Under that sexy exterior there lurked
the thoughtful kind of man that others rarely saw, a kind I found
myself warming to. Almost falling for.

“It would have
been my last attempt to get you to go out with me, if the rugby
thing failed. Lucky really, the well of ideas was running dry.”

“You’re very
persistent, Sam.”

“It’s what
makes me so lovable.” He squeezed my hand and a gaggle of
butterflies began to flitter around in my stomach. I have no idea
how he managed to do it but I hoped he was feeling it too. I was
falling for Sam, harder and faster than I cared to admit.

After taking
our order for drinks and food, the usher led us into the first of
the tiny cinemas and I sat down in the recliner chair and looked at
the people around us, enjoying their Gold Class experience. Big
squishy chairs, side tables to put your snacks on, waiter service
and only thirty or so patrons to fill the whole theatre. It was way
better than I could have ever imagined.

“This is
awesome,” I gushed excitedly, watching as the waiter place a
gigantic bowl of chocolate balls and two coffees on the table
between us. “Maltesers are my absolute favourite. How did you
know?”

“I have
ways.”

I had no doubt
in my mind he did.

I dug my hand
into the bowl and sat back with my clutch of lollies to pull the
controlling lever of the footrest. It was stiff but I wiggled it
one way, then the other, hoping it’d move. I didn’t want to appear
like a total girl in front of Sam and have to ask for his help. And
if I was going to be running my own business I had to learn to
solve my own problems. I gave it a yank but the silly thing
wouldn’t budge. I wobbled it sideways, my gaze sidelong on Sam
hoping he hadn’t seen me looking like a dufus but oblivious, he’d
settled into his recliner and was tossing Maltesers up and catching
them in what looked like some sort of play-against-yourself
competition.

Annoyed at
myself, I let out an aggravated huff.

Sam stilled. He
straightened his seat and leant toward me. “Do you need a hand,
Mill’?”

“It’s fine,” I
grumbled, struggling with the handle even harder to hide the fact
that his hand on my shoulder was making me tingle. “I’ll get it,
it’s just a bit stiff.”

Sam snorted.
“Aren’t they all?”

Great.
Adolescent humour. That was all I needed. And, pulling with all the
might I could muster, my hand flew off the lever and knocked Sam’s
latte all over his crotch with the added decoration of my handful
of melting Maltesers.

“Shit!” I’m not
sure which one of us said that but it was closely followed by Sam
hollering at the waiter for a towel as he wriggled in his seat and
tried to pick bits of Malteser from his scalded genitals. “Are you
always this clumsy Mill’? Or is it just me?”

“Sorry,” I
grimaced. How could I tell him that every time he looked at me I
lost control of my bodily functions and it seemed touching
intensified the feeling?

“You sure have
a lot of accidents for a grown woman.”

“I’m easily
distracted.”

“
Hmm
.
Maybe I need to find some other ways to distract you.” He gave me
that
look.

“Did you have
anything special in mind?”

“Oh I have
plenty in mind, Miss McIntyre. Now, help me clean up this mess so
we can watch the movie.”

Trousers
cleaned and drinks replaced—for some reason Sam had switched from
coffee to scotch and dry—we relaxed into our reclining recliners
(mine had been fixed by Sam) and focussed on the screen. The movie
was starting and I had high expectations, after seeing the ads in
the
Sunday Times
. A
Lord of the Rings
trilogy would
be a triple treat—Sam,
Gold Class
and Aragorn all in one
afternoon.

“Excellent
movies,” Sam was saying, in between sipping his scotch and tossing
Malteser balls into his mouth. “Can’t understand why Bruce was
never nominated.”

Bruce? There
was no Bruce in
Lord of the Rings
.
Lord of the Rings
starred Orlando Bloom and that Hobbit boy. Desperately, I scanned
my memory of the cast members but for the life of me I couldn’t
remember anyone called Bruce. Beginning to worry, I racked my brain
for other movie franchises that had a Bruce in them. I looked over
at Sam, who had discarded his shoes, crossed his ankles and was
contentedly flicking Maltesers onto his tongue, then swallowing
them whole like a pelican eating fish. He wasn’t going to give me
anymore clues, that was for sure. This was meant to be his special
surprise.

Then it hit me.
Oh my God. Surely, Sam wasn’t referring to Bruce Lee. Walking down
the street with a guy who looked hot in a Bruce Lee t-shirt was one
thing—if tastefully done—but there was no way on Earth I could sit
through six hours of kung fu or whatever the name of that martial
art was. No matter what I’d stated previously. Anxious, I looked to
the other patrons for signs that they may be fans of such
movies.

The opening
shots lit the screen. There was a creepy German guy and, oh dear
God... it was Bruce Willis.

Now, Bruce
Willis in a suit, talking to a cute little boy about seeing dead
people was perfectly acceptable. I could handle that. In fact, I
enjoyed
The Sixth Sense
and wouldn’t have minded seeing it
again, but Bruce Willis wearing a singlet and a big gun while
sporting a buzz cut? Forget it. Sam, the bastard, had tricked me
into an afternoon of watching Bruce Willis. I glared at him from
the corner of my eye. I shot him daggers of annoyance, hoping he’d
see them and tell me this was one of his practical jokes, then
shoot me next door in time for the
Lord of the Rings
marathon. But Sam was too engrossed in the explosions.

Sensing, at
last, that I had gone rigid with annoyance, he turned. “Die Hard I,
Die Hard II and Die Hard III marathon,” he smirked, somewhat evilly
before reaching across to squeeze my knee for the second time.
“Can’t get better than that.”

I flicked his
hand away. That was a matter of opinion.

“
Argh
! I
detest Bruce Willis. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it was
a
surprise
, babe. How could I tell you if it was a
surprise?”

It was about
then I realised I’d let the fact that Sam had the cutest eyelashes
in the history of the world cloud my judgement. It was clear I
should have checked his credentials further before agreeing to this
silliness. The velvety smooth tones of his voice and styled
metrosexual hair were a cover up for an Aussie bloke
extraordinaire. Even the brand name thongs were a fraud. I had to
face the fact that our relationship, young as it was, was doomed to
failure. I could overlook rugby for nice manners. I could blind
myself to the cocky personality or maybe even grow to love aspects
of it but... BRUCE WILLIS? There was no room for Bruce Willis in my
life.

Peeved at Sam’s
deception, I stood up. I wasn’t sure why or what I was going to do,
I needed to clear my head. A walk through the lounge in the
direction of the bar should do it. “I’m going to get more food,” I
hissed in reply to his questioning glance. If I had to sit through
an afternoon of Bruce, I was going to need more than a bowl of
chocolate and a cup of coffee. There was alcohol to be
consumed.

“But the
movie’s starting...”

And hopefully
the line would be really long and the movie would be half over by
the time I got back. “You can fill me in.”

I didn’t care
that I was being a cow. Sam had led me on. He’d made me think I was
going to see
Lord of the Rings
again. He could’ve warned me.
But then he’d have known I’d say no to an afternoon with Bruce. I
mean, seriously.

“You don’t have
to get up, Millie. The wait staff will bring you all the food you
want.” Sam looked upset. His puppy dog eyes were glazing over and
the cleft in his chin had started to wobble, making me feel even
more of a bitch. Maybe he hadn’t done it on purpose, I decided,
flopping back down and crossing my arms over my chest. It was
plausible he’d only wanted to share one of the joys of his life
with me. As if the joy of rugby hadn’t been enough.

“Is something
wrong?” His voice was concerned.

“No. I’m
fine.”

But we both
knew that when you say you’re fine it means the exact opposite.

I was so mad at
myself. A man with cute eyelashes and a sexy hairdo had duped me,
something that had never happened before. I exhaled and gave him a
tight smile. For the sake of having him touch me again, I was
prepared to suck on my Maltesers and bare it. But I’d get him back
one day. I’d make him suffer. Maybe Colin Firth chick flicks or
maybe a
Sex and the City
Marathon? A bit of musical
theatre?

While Bruce was
busy blowing up the world, I made a mental list. Determined not to
let Sam pull the attractive wool over my eyes again, I worked my
way through the entire bowl of Maltesers, plus a refill. I drank so
many glasses of champs it was a wonder I wasn’t plastered. With
amazing clarity, I examined what I knew and decided what needed to
be done to rectify the things that worried me. With a few small
tweaks, Sam
could
be the perfect boyfriend. Things such as
commenting on other girl’s boobs like I was one of his mates and
farting in my presence were not on. Neither were remarks about the
size of people’s noses or stomachs straight to their faces. And as
for movie choices… we could reach a compromise, I knew we could.
The more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea. By the time
I was finished with him, nobody would ever call my Sam a smartarse
bastard again. Well, except me. He would be the perfect gentleman
with just a hint of larrikin. Finally content, I looked across the
darkness to where Sam lounged in his recliner.

Oh my God.

Sam was
snoring. And the resounding echo from his nose—it’d been broken
twice through rugby and was permanently blocked—was loud enough to
make everyone else in the theatre turn and stare.

“Sam,” I
hissed, jolting him awake.

“Hey, babe.” He
gave me a sleepy grin and rubbed his hand over his face. “Must have
dozed off. ’S okay though, I’ve seen this one seven times.”

And to prove
his point, he leant across the divide between our chairs began
quoting lines from the movie against my lobe. Disgustingly, I began
to melt. Sam’s voice could even make Bruce Willis appealing. But
rest assured this would be the last time in living history Bruce
and I would ever cross paths again.

^
12


A hint of
expectancy lingered as Sam and I walked in silence to the car after
the movie. It was as if Alex and Chantelle were having a
conversation inside my head and though I was nervous I had to try
not to laugh, or bang into any cars.

“They’re gonna
do it,
Chica
.”

“About bloody
time.”

“He really
likes her, you know.”

“He’s still a
smartarse.”

A cute one
though.”

According to
dating rules, we probably should have had sex way before now, but
somehow, something had always interfered. Not this time, it
seemed.

“Do you want to
come to my place for dinner?” Sam asked, his eyes smiling. Dinner
didn’t really mean dinner.

I stopped next
to the passenger door of the car and looked at his profile, set
against the backdrop of stars and streetlights. Apprehensive didn’t
describe the way I felt at that moment. I mean, there was no doubt
he liked me, that I was more than a number in his mobile phone.
We’d reached the stage of boyfriend and girlfriend. And how I felt
about him was a given. Every time I saw him I became incompetent.
But how serious was Sam? Despite his reassurances and compliments,
I wasn’t sure he’d want me after the deed. Sam was a man with a
past and my experience in no way measured up to his or to the women
who’d graced his bed before me. What if I was a failure? It’d been
quite a while between drinks, after all.

Sam gave me a
curious stare. “Well?”