Read Thin Girls Don't Eat Cake Online
Authors: Lindy Dale
Thin Girls Don't Eat Cake (28 page)
Simultaneously attracted and revolted by his smugness, I delivered t-bone steaks to people who ordered Bratwurst, I poured pilsners to overflowing and, horror of horrors, I almost agreed to go out with Jason, the kitchen hand. Jason was a sad loser with greasy hair and pimples. He picked his nose when he thought people weren’t looking and wiped it under the kitchen bench. Sometimes, when a bench wasn’t handy, he ate his snot. No girl who regarded herself as sane would ever agree to go out with Jason. But I nearly had, and all the while, Sam continued to saunter in and out of the dining room for no reason I could fathom other than to amuse some small voice inside his head that told him it was time to give his adoring fans another fix. I hated him. His walk messed with my head. His smile made my knees wobble. I was so annoyed with myself. Where was the strong independent Millie?
*****
“What do you know about Sam?” I asked Dianne, during a quiet part of the Thursday evening shift. We were standing behind the bar stacking pint glasses, a duty I was now allowed to perform only under supervision since I had dropped a tray of them while looking at Sam’s bum.
Dianne didn’t bother to look away from her shelving. “Um, he’s single, from over East and is always talking on his mobile to someone called Gracie. He calls her ‘sweet cakes’.” She twitched inadvertently at the memory. “Oh, and he’s working his way around Australia. Why?”
“Just wondering...” I handed her another tower of glasses. How could he be working his way around Australia? I was positive prancing around like a model for GQ magazine didn’t count as work.
“He’s trying to break the all time ‘Shag around Australia’ record,” added Chantelle, plonking a tray of empties for the washer onto the bar.
‘The what?” I paused, glass in hand.
“It’s a game he and his buddies devised. To be declared the winner he has to have enough female numbers on his mobile to clog up the sim card.”
“Oh my God.” I was traumatized. That did not sound like a game I wanted to be involved in, even if I had admitted to thinking his stubble was cute on a previous occasion. “How did you find that out?”
Chantelle raised her eyebrows at me and lowered her chin, waiting until Dianne bent under the counter. It was common knowledge Dianne had her sights set on Sam and as manager believed she had seniority. “My name’s on the list.”
I hoped that didn’t mean what I thought it did but, from the way she was smirking, I guessed it did. Satisfied I had all the ammunition I needed, I went back to my glasses. I had no interest in a man who played games like that. He was clearly not worth considering.
For weeks it went on. And on. And on. No one was immune from the charm of Sam. The barmaids were smitten. Desensitised from years of ridiculous come-ons by patrons, they were a hard bunch to crack but every time he chastised them for wasting company profits, all they could do was agree and giggle. Dianne, head of this gang, was the worst of all. She was pathetic. She undid the top button of her checked blouse and gushed like a giddy schoolgirl, leaving one of the regulars to ask, “Is that woman on something? She’s acting bloody weird lately.”
“Menopause,” I said. “She’s having the hot flushes.”
*****
“We can’t throw the baby out with the bathwater, you know,” Alex said, one night over a shared bowl of chips and gravy. We had been discussing the fact that Sam had been spotted helping old Lydia Jenkins down the stairs and into her car the previous evening, an act that appeared completely out of character. “I mean, what criminal was ever convicted on hearsay?”
“Lindy Chamberlain?”
“I don’t think a dingo eating your baby has a lot to do with this, do you? And that was thirty years ago, give or take.”
I supposed she had a point, I thought as I sucked the gravy from the end of my chip. Sam’s act could not have had any ulterior motive. He was simply being kind.
“Well, I still don’t like him.” I sighed, resigned and got up to take our bowl to the sink. No one else gave two hoots about what Sam was really like, as long as he wore those tight fitting t-shirts. Besides, Sam had no interest in me. It was widely acknowledged that he’d only said two words to me and neither of them constituted a sentence.
Chapter 3
It was lucky for me that working at The Lederhosen wasn’t my only form of employment or I would have gone crazy in those first heady weeks of Sam. I had my real job and I was returned to normality when I came out of my bedroom and into the hall of the Richards-Shaw household every morning. Well, as normal as their upwardly mobile, brand conscious lifestyle allowed me to be.
I’d worked for the family since the birth of the twins, Michael and Tori, three years previous and along with Paige, their five year old, the whole family had ingratiated their way into my life and my heart. Adele Richards-Shaw was a quirky soul, given to flights of fancy that were dependent on what Posh Beckham and TomKat were doing at the time. She never left the house without an oversized Gucci tote on her arm, in which she kept her most essential items – five bottles of herbal concoctions, a mobile phone, a pair of vintage Chanel sunglasses and her Palm Pilot. Without consultation to this at least three times a day, she felt ‘utterly stranded’. If it hadn’t been for the Richards-Shaws providing my diversion, I would have gone nuts.
“We’re off out now, Millie darling,” Adele said, as she glided into the kitchen early one evening, though how anyone could glide in heels that high was beyond me.
I looked up from my spot at the table where I was supervising the ingestion of organic vegetables and free-range chicken with the twins. Paige required no help. She had been independent since she left the womb. She knew more about fine dining than I ever would.
“Business dinner?” I asked.
“Do make sure Michael does ten chews before each swallow, dear,” she answered, ignoring my question. “He simply has to learn to eat nicely; his manners are so bovine, a bit like his father.”
I nodded and flicked my foot at the glob of potato Michael had spit onto the travertine tiles, hiding it under the table to be picked up later. This was no time to upset the Adele apple cart.
“Who’s a bit like me?” Brian entered the room and, heading straight for the wine cellar, returned with bottle of Pinot Gris. “We’ve got time for a quick tipple before the car arrives, don’t we? Do you want a glass of juice or water Millie?”
“No thanks, Brian; the twins would only knock it over. I’ll grab something after they’re all in bed. Where’re you off to?”
“Oh, my girl. We’re popping into the Duxton to catch up with my best mate from the old days, Kent. He’s in town for a day or two on business. I haven’t seen him in ages so it should be a hoot.”
Adele picked an invisible piece of something from the counter and put it into the rubbish bin under the sink. “Kent’s boy is our Godson. He lives in Subiaco. It’s a wonder you haven’t met him. He’s magnificently handsome. Looks so much like his father did at his age, it’s uncanny.”
“I don’t get out that much anymore, Adele, I’m trying to save.”
“Ah, yes, the beach house. How’s that going anyway? Is your target any closer?”
I knew Adele’s stance on this matter. She wasn’t being inquisitive out of niceness. She wanted to know when she had to start hunting for new help.
“I only need a couple of thousand or so more, I think. I’ve been doing a bit of research on the net. There’s some cool houses in my price range.” I stared out the window ignoring Adele’s gasp.
“Well, then, I shall have to cut your pay. We’ll never cope if you leave us. The twins would be distraught.”
“And who’ll watch me do my ballet practise? And turn the pages for my cello?” Paige piped up. “It will totally suck if you go.”
“Paige!” Adele’s botoxed brow gathered as best it could. “Honestly. Where do you learn such filth?”
“Jennifer Brayshaw-Jones.”
Adele huffed, flinging her arms skyward in my direction. “Heavens, Millie. Is it absolutely necessary that we have that Brayshaw child here for any more play dates? She’s a mini Paris Hilton.” Then, noting Paige’s pricked ears, she leant over, whispering, “I think we’ve repaid that mother’s invitation tenfold by now, don’t you? The child’s so common. Can’t we schedule her out of Paige’s day book?”
“What’s ‘common’ Mummy? Is it like ‘skanky? Jennifer says Miley Cyrus is skanky but I still like her.”
I smothered a giggle and pulled Paige back into her seat, giving her a fork and changing the subject. “Do you see your Godson often, Adele?”
“When he was growing up, not much but since he moved to Perth, we see him more than ever. He’s the sweetest boy; I can’t believe you’ve not met him. He was here the other night. You’d love him, wouldn’t she Brian?”
“For sure. He’s built like a brick shit house. Must introduce you next time he’s over.”
I guessed that was a compliment coming from Brian, though if he described his godson as a brick shithouse I hated to think what he said about me.
*****
Having stacked the dinner plates in the dishwasher, listened to Paige read us a bedtime story from ‘The Magic Faraway Tree’ - despite her seeming maturity she was a sucker for Moonface and Silky - and kissed the twins goodnight, I settled down for a night in front of the computer, my mission to find the perfect new home and make contact with the agent. The first virtual stop was Bali. I typed in the address of my favourite site, put in my ideal details and waited for the list to load. There were so many houses, some I’d seen before and some that were new. I scrolled the list, searching, until….
There it was. Its pagoda shaped roof screamed to me, its infinity pool called my name and I answered, opening the image files with shaking fingers to reveal four glorious bedrooms, three bathrooms and a state of the art kitchen. Four-poster beds swathed in gauzy fabric, huge windows that turned into doors and opened onto large decked living spaces. Lush Balinese gardens. Not to mention the views. Yes. Views. God, what were the exchange rates? It wasn’t exactly beachfront but could I afford a villa on the hill in Seminyak with a pool and views? I stared at the screen; I pulled up another tab with a currency converter and typed in the amount. Surely, a home like that, fully furnished and two minutes from town, couldn’t be so cheap. But it was. And with the money I’d saved already added to what Grandma Mac had left me in her will, I almost had enough. I pushed the chair away from the desk, pulling my fingers across my mouth. I bit the corner of my nails, something I never did. I stared at the screen some more as my heart began to pound. I could feel the clamminess in my fingers. This was my dream. It was there, on the screen, in all its Balinese glory. All I had to do was make it happen.
Oh, and resign. There was no way Adele was going to take that lying down.
Anticipation bubbling through my chest and down into my fingers, I scribbled agent’s email address onto a notepad and opened my mailbox. That was my house and I had to have it.
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