really was. She toyed with her necklace: seven polished wooden beads clustered along a silver chain, in shades from creamy white and honey-gold to pinkish-red and rich brown. She’d made it herself from offcuts of her favourite timbers.
Her phone beeped. It was Alistair. im outside, his message read.
She typed back, I’m inside at the bar.
Her phone beeped again. they say its at capacity
She looked over at the entrance. A clutch of model-gorgeous women walked in past the bouncer. While she was looking, another group walked in behind them. She finished off her beer and headed for the door.
Alistair was waiting for her outside the bar’s laneway entrance. He was a stocky man in a business suit, his collar open and bunched around his ears. Going by his red face, he seemed embarrassed that he couldn’t get into the bar; but when he spoke, he sounded like a footy club captain after a big win.
‘Hey babe,’ he said, leaning in for a kiss.
‘I’m Rose,’ she said, side-stepping his smooch. ‘You’re Alistair?’
‘All day,’ the man with no neck said with a smirk, ‘and all night.’
Rose laughed politely. It was too soon to write him off completely. ‘I thought we could go somewhere not as crowded.’
‘A little more private? I like it.’ Suddenly his face fell. ‘But you look amazing in that dress. I bet you’d be the most stunning woman in this place.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ Rose said. ‘How about we go somewhere we can both get in?’
‘Fair enough,’ Alistair said. ‘It’s a shame, though – that’s the coolest bar in town. They know me in there. I guess it must be crazy busy tonight. Where else did you have in mind? Bar Exclusif? Club Money? The Vault?’
‘How about we start with a drink?’ She pointed down the laneway. ‘I see the Smuggler’s Dog is still open.’
‘A pub,’ Alistair said, horrified.
‘C’mon,’ she said, ‘it’s good to try new things.’
Half an hour later they were both throwing glances at the pub’s exit. Rose wasn’t feeling a spark with Alistair and was thinking of heading home; Alistair clearly wanted to kick on somewhere else. He had taken offence at the pub from the moment they’d stepped inside, dropping minor digs into a conversation that he was increasingly making into a running monologue. He wasn’t happy that he’d had to order a tap beer when they hadn’t known how to make the cocktail he’d wanted; he was the only man there in a suit and clearly looked out of place; his nose wrinkled every time one of the pokies in the next room paid out.
‘Maybe we should get going,’ Alistair said.
‘Yeah, sounds good,’ Rose said. ‘I’ve got an early start in the morning.’
Alistair took out his phone. ‘Cool, cool. I’ll book us an Uber to Semi-Automatic.’
‘Is that a club? I don’t really feel like a big night …’
‘We could go somewhere else? Club Thuggery?’ He saw the look on her face. ‘Or maybe we could stay here? One more drink?’
Rose nodded. ‘I’ll get them this time.’
‘No way, babe – tonight is on me. A gentleman never lets a lady pay for her own drinks.’
Rose was already on her feet. ‘Same again?’ she said.
He hesitated. ‘Sure,’ he said flatly.
Rose was back with the beers in a minute; it had taken Alistair ten just to get the barman’s attention. ‘There you go, mate,’ she said, putting his beer down in front of him. ‘Cheers.’
‘Cheers,’ he said, taking the smallest possible sip; Rose downed half her beer in one gulp.
Neither of them spoke for a moment. Rose was now very familiar with pretty much everything there was to know about Alistair, and there wasn’t really that much to know. He worked in finance and acted like it was the centre of the universe, even though all he seemed to do was manage a team that ripped off little old ladies. He lived in a brand-new McMansion out in the suburbs, which had briefly interested Rose, but Alistair saw it entirely as a status symbol, proudly reeling off the prices of every feature and fixture. He’d overpaid for it all. His hobbies seemed confined to yachting and polo. Not participating; just watching from the sidelines with people as boring and status-obsessed as he was.
Eventually, Alistair ventured a new line of conversation. ‘Nicola tells me you’re helping out your parents.’
‘That’s right,’ Rose said. ‘Well, I contribute financially. Physically, they’re fine.’
He shook his head and took another fastidious little sip. ‘Bad move, babe – some people need to sink before they can swim.’
‘That’s a pretty ruthless way to think. Family’s worth investing in.’
Alistair considered this. ‘Maybe. Do they have extensive real estate holdings?’
Rose shook her head.
‘I just think you have to be a little ruthless to get what you want in this life. I know what I want.’ He leant over the table in an attempt to grab her wrists. She pulled them away just in time.
‘A hot babe like you shouldn’t be embarrassed about having scars, calluses and … whatnot,’ he said. ‘It’s not your fault you have to work with your hands.’
She looked down at his hands. They were soft and pink, like a baby’s. A creepy, sexist baby.
Alistair was still talking. ‘A woman’s hands should be doing more … delicate work.’
‘Like what?’ she said, then instantly regretted it.
He smirked and winked. ‘Seriously, though, being a tradie, babe … it’s not a good look. You should be hiring tradies, not … being one.’
Astounded, Rose stared at his face. The redness there was clearly just his natural colouring; it couldn’t be shame, because the man in front of her was shameless.
‘I like being a tradie,’ Rose said. ‘I like that I work with my hands.’
‘But babe, don’t you ever want to do something less … dirty? Something less menial?’
‘There’s nothing menial about creating things,’ Rose said. ‘Helping people’s dreams come true.’
Alistair wrinkled his nose. ‘Don’t you want to live your dream?’
Rose drained the last of her beer. ‘What do you know about my dreams? You haven’t asked me a question about myself all night.’
‘Not true, babe. I asked about your family.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘Only to insult them.’
He
