shrugged. ‘Phew babe, you needed to get that one off your chest.’ A cloud of hairspray assailed me.
‘Mmmm,’ I murmured, feeling a little sheepish, retying the red polka dot scarf at my neck.
Thomas took the piece of paper that I’d scribbled on. ‘It’s a start.’ He folded it and handed it back to me. ‘Keep this in your wallet and add to it from time to time. After all, you know what you don’t want.’ Removing the cape, he gave my shoulders an affectionate squeeze. ‘You’re terribly tight.’
‘I’ve had a headache for days.’ I checked the mirror for the tell-tale dark circles under my eyes. Only yesterday, I had felt as if my head was going to blow off my shoulders. Today, it was fractionally better, although only just.
Thomas gave me a look of concern and began kneading my taut neck muscles. ‘Have you booked an appointment with Chang?’
Moaning with relief at his touch, I shrugged. ‘No, I know I should.’
‘He’s the best acupuncturist around, you know that.’ And then he couldn’t help himself. ‘And he’s bloody hot.’ Leaning over my shoulder he lowered his voice. ‘I can’t believe he’s not gay.’
I cocked an eyebrow at him in the mirror. ‘You’re terrible Thom. In case you’ve forgotten, you have a partner.’
‘I know, I know. But can’t a man dream. Have you seen that smooth olive skin? It’s practically indecent. Every time I see him, I want to stroke him. I’m told he gets it from his Thai mother. Dad’s an Aussie, big guy, just like Chang.’ And then he folded his arms across his chest, and narrowed his eyes. ‘Come to think of it… hasn’t he always liked you?’
‘Oh God… I don’t know.’ My blush gave away the fact I actually did know. He wasn’t exactly my type, whatever that was, but, and this is a huge but, he was terribly, terribly good looking. I felt the colour in my cheeks rise again.
‘Hmmm Miss I-don’t-know, I think you do know.’ He looked knowingly at me. ‘You’d have very good looking children.’
I flashed him a look. ‘Of course, and then my name would be Mrs Peach Chang. Nice ring to it,’ I added sarcastically. ‘It sounds like iced tea! And come to think of it,’ I frowned, ‘is Chang his first name or his last? A few months ago I was having coffee with Dad at Campos and we ran into him. I had absolutely no idea how to introduce him.’
Thomas folded his arms thoughtfully, pursed his lips and watched his reflection in the mirror, something I noted he often did. ‘Hmmm… just Chang,’
‘No one is just anything, unless you’re Oprah.’
‘Well smarty pants, you do know who I’m talking about when I say Chang. You never say, “Chang who?” And listen, I haven’t heard you mention your dad in ages. Is he well?’
‘Abso-bloody-lutely.’
He laughed. ‘That cracks me up.’ And then his voice sobered. ‘But on a serious note, I am going to see if Chang has an available appointment this afternoon. And listen, he may not be the evening gown, but he certainly would be a great pair of shorts.’ And he spun on his heels before I had a chance to swipe at him.
*
‘No a smidge lower Chang,’ my muffled voice said. I knew lying like this was messing up my new blow dry but who the hell cared. ‘That’s the spot. Yes. You’ve got it. Yes,’ I breathed, ‘Yes, yes, yes put it in.’
Chang’s sensitive hands pressed on my upper back once more. ‘And here?’
‘Yes,’ my eager voice said. ‘Yes, yes… that’s it,’ I moaned.
He flicked another needle. ‘And I bet just here?’ His knowing fingers pressed my back feeling for tension.
‘Yes.’ I popped my head up for a second, careful not to move too much in case I upset one of the needles. ‘You really know your stuff.’
I heard the smile in his voice. ‘I trained in Japan with blind monks. It’s all in the touch. My fingers are very sensitive.’ I felt him flick another needle, already the pain in my head lessening.
‘Mmmm they sure are.’ Allowing myself to give thought to my earlier conversation with Thomas, I sighed heavily.
‘By the sound of that, I think your liver is low in qi.’
That wasn’t all that was low in qi, however I felt it prudent not to mention it.
*
I pulled the car into the driveway, just in time to see a blond tail disappearing down that laneway next to the house. I had stressed to all of the tradespeople to be extra careful with the gate. The lock was so impossible, often it was left ajar. I had taken to tying it with a strap, but occasionally it was still left open.
I fumed to myself. I was going to have to do something about it, sooner rather than later. I couldn’t keep the poor dog tied up all day. I was quite sure that wasn’t what Mr Carmody had in mind for Wilbur.
Hurriedly, I stepped from my little car which I had now christened Bambino, and rather unladylike, I hollered to Wilbur. In my teetering nude patent-leather Christian Laboutin heels, I made a mad dash over to the laneway, however I need not have hurried. A few metres along, Wilbur was being restrained by the tall cyclist who I had noticed took this route regularly. He had a firm grip on Wilbur’s new red collar.
‘Is this the Wilbur you’re looking for?’ he asked, ruffling the dog’s head. Once again, I noted his bright white teeth, and now closer, his olive skin. Of average height, but considerably broad shouldered, he carried a strong air of masculinity about him. I can’t say it did not cross my mind that there was something incredibly attractive about this man.
Walking towards them, I tutted loudly and shook my head at the dog. ‘That’s him, I’m afraid. He’s turned into an escape artist.’ I took Wilbur’s collar. ‘Thank you for your help.’ I began to walk back towards the car, leading Wilbur beside me. I turned back. ‘Does the track go down to the river?’ I asked.
‘It does. But it’s narrow and rather secluded.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. I used to come here when I was a child,’ he explained, walking along beside me, while he pushed his bike.
‘Oh, right.’ I nodded, letting go of Wilbur’s collar as we neared the front gate. On the loose again, Wilbur took advantage of my open car door and jumped in.
I rushed over. ‘No Wilbur, bad dog. Out!’ He took no notice, so I began to beg. ‘Please Wilbur, be a good boy. Hop out of my car.’ Thinking it was a game, Wilbur climbed over the front red leather seats and into the back of the car, no mean feat for such a large dog in such a small area.
‘‘Wilbur,’ I cried. ‘You’re making a mess on Bambino’s upholstery.’ I don’t know why I thought it, but it went through my mind that it was just as well it wasn’t one of the BMWs, as Davis would have had kittens at seeing the large dog in one of our cars. His fleet, as he called them, were his pride and joy. I noted how at times, my mind simply went to him out of sheer
