Bed

It was a friend of mine called Perdita who first introduced me to Chris. Apparently they'd been involved in some kind of a betting thing at their office and Perdita had won a lot of money. But in return she'd rashly agreed to do whatever Chris wanted her to do. She told me how he'd taken her to a photographer friend of his and done the whole porn thing with Perdita in front of a camera. She seemed to have enjoyed the experience a hell of a lot and dated Chris a few times afterwards, but they soon went their own ways. Which left Chris and I as mutual acquaintances, if not friends. He also lost no time in making it plain that he was eager to get me in the same place as he'd taken Perdita, and for the same reason. Which kind of left me stuck between two bases.

I've always been a boringly well behaved Catholic girl. Oh, I've had boyfriends and done the usual things with them, but always very discreetly. Call me a career girl who puts work before fun, dresses very quietly and leaves early from any party which looks as if it might be getting out of hand. Which is the way I am -- most of the time. But I was starting to get a feeling that maybe I was missing out on a really deep and exciting part of life. The sort of excitement which sometimes made me tremble when I imagined being with Chris and being forced to make love with another man watching us do it.

Well, when somebody starts getting as curious as that about how they'd react to something, they eventually find themselves being drawn towards it. Like a fish to a lure -- and Chris was just the sort of guy to keep dangling the hook in the water as long as he thought he had a chance. He knew where I had my lunch break and hung around a lot talking to me. I guess he was looking for my weak spot, and he found it.

As soon as I told him I was a one eyed Essendon supporter he began to follow up on it, offering bets on football matches and always in the same way. He wanted to bet on Essendon's opponents and for me to back the Bombers. No money changed hands, we just let it ride until nearly the end of the season. Which wasn't a good one for Essendon. Much as I and all the other fans barracked for them, they seemed to lose a lot of games. Maybe by only a behind or two, but enough to set the other mob singing their victory song in the showers. And as the Bombers kept bombing out the money I owed to Chris began to get serious. Which was when he offered me a forfeit or nothing deal.

"What kind of a forfeit?" I asked him and he smiled.

"You've talked to Perdita about me a few times. I guess you know what happened to her. So it's the same deal for you. If the Bombers beat the Dockers, you don't owe me a cent. If the Dockers do the Bombers you front up for a little photo session. Nothing too way out but enough to make your next visit to a the confession box more interesting than it usually is. How about it?"

What the hell, I didn't want to pay him what I owed -- it would have taken some of the jam off my budget for a while. And the Fremantle Dockers were the worse team in the AFL. There was no way they'd ever run out victors over the Bombers, not even an off form Bombers side. Not unless God himself wanted Chris to have me.

I couldn't believe that game, not even though I was there watching it happen. Essendon played as though they'd spent all night travelling on a Greyhound bus and the Dockers ... the Dockers came out of the tunnel like it was lions versus christians day at the Coliseum and they were the ones with the claws. It wasn't even a game, more like a gangland execution. At first turn the Bombers were already fifteen points down and about as committed as Warren Beatty at a gay pride convention. At half time the Bombers coach went out with his team thirty eight points down and gave the players some emotionally charged advice. He was juggling a ball in his hands all the time he was shouting, so maybe he was making sure they realized it wasn't round and they weren't playing soccer. Or maybe he just wanted to show that at least one member of the squad was trying.

Me, I was wondering if Chris had somehow fixed the whole match or was just very lucky. Anyway, whatever had happened, there was no way the Dockers wouldn't lapse back into the usual Freo Shockers after half time: they'd go into their usual slow motion mode and the Bombers big men would fly ...

Ha! The Essendon attackers went after their marks like wet hens trying to fly in a thunderstorm and the Dockers came off the turf as though they'd been taking Magic Johnson pills. Three quarter time, Freo ahead by fifty four, the Bombers fans groaning in despair, and the only happy faces in the terrace were the dozen Docker barrackers who'd flown across the continent to watch this match and were beginning to think it was one of the best investments in their lives. But as happy as they were, I knew that in front of a TV screen not too far away was an even happier face -- and I knew who it belonged to. And at the final siren, the Dockers winners by twelve goals and four behinds, there was no need to ask for whom the bell tolled. It tolled for me, on my mobile, with Chris's smug tones asking when might be a convenient time for me to cover my gambling debts. Or, in this case, to get covered for them.

Which is why I was lying on a bed in a strange apartment with a strange man taking photos of me in unreal lingerie, and waiting for Chris to enter from stage right as the leading man in this little drama. I had no idea what he was going to be wearing, or not wearing, but I was slightly nervous about the whole thing. If slightly nervous is the correct way to describe a situation where I kept expecting for divine intervention to stop me committing the same sins that Adam and Eve got thrown out of paradise for. There's no doubt about it, a Catholic education lays down strict rules on sex as fun -- nun yesterday, nun today, and nun tomorrow.

"Everything cool, Tami?" Phil asked me.

He was a small, middle aged guy with oversized spectacles and a silly ponytail of gray hair hanging from underneath a balding head. But at least he seemed very professional and cool, which was a big help. He also had the sort of good taste in interior decorating which I'd never acquire in a million years.

"Yes, I think so."

I just wished my voice sounded more confident than it did, or that I hadn't just noticed the book I was pretending to read was upside down. It would also have helped not to hear Chris suppressing a spurt of laughter from the doorway on the other side of the room. But at least I managed to control myself enough not to look up as I felt him moving closer.