Day 31

You’ve got some hide, girl

It’s Sunday and Tiffany is thinking about going back to work tomorrow.  The thought of Cameron and Paul in her bed during the early hours of Saturday morning still makes her groin instantly flush with heat and wetness, but as the weekend moves towards a close, the thrill of the encounter begins to fade.  Tomorrow she’s going back to the newsroom, but not to prepare for reading that night’s news.  Fuck knows who Bob’s got to take her place, but Tiffany knows that she’s going to have a hard time swallowing her pride and watching it all happen in front of her tomorrow without being involved.

And she also knows that this is just what Bob wants.  He’s banking on Tiffany not turning up tomorrow, taking leave and, when her leave runs out taking a leave of absence until she finally has to relinquish her contract.  That way, Bob and the station can be rid of her without having to pay her out.  She has to find a way to wait them out.

While she thinks about what to do, sitting in the oversized chair that she shared with Paul, Tiffany moves her hand down to her groin, thinking of Cameron kneeling in front of her.  As she slips her forefinger between her labia and finds her clitoris, still sore and swollen, she pictures the two men she picked up in the club on Friday night and feels the rush of blood pulsing under her finger.

As her orgasm recedes, pleasure is replaced with emptiness and a mild shame at what she’s done.  On top of this, Tiffany is still faced with the problem of what to do tomorrow. She decides to call Karla.

“Hey, mate.  How did you end up on Friday night?”  Tiffany asks the sleepy voice on the end of the phone, deciding not to apologise for ditching her mate and not calling earlier.  “I didn’t wake you up again, did I?”

“Well, um, yes.  I’ve got to stop leading such an exciting life.  Anyway, what happened to you, you skanky bitch?”  Karla’s voice rises as she remembers Tiffany’s disappearing act at the club.

Tiffany relates her night and her friend listens, interrupting only with the occasional, “You’re kidding.”

“Well, you’re forgiven, Tiff,” Karla tells her mate, when Tiffany’s finished her story.  “Jeez, you’ve got some hide, girl.  And you fucked them both as well?  I’ll bet they’re confused little puppies right now!”  Karla laughs and Tiffany joins in until the two friends are giggling uncontrollably.

When the laughter dies, Tiffany speaks again.

“I don’t know what to do tomorrow, Karla.”

“What do you mean, Tiff?  If I’ve got it right, you’re going to get paid a shit load of money to turn up and do nothing.  Whatta ya mean you don’t know what to do?  Just turn up.”

“I can’t.  I can’t just turn up.  I can’t just not be part of it.  That job.  It means a lot to me.  It’s, it’s part of who I am, Karla.”

The two friends stay on the phone for hours.  Tiffany hears the beeps of her call waiting cut in a few times while she’s holding the phone to her ear, but keeps ignoring it.  Whoever it is can leave a message.  Right now, if she lets go of Karla, she feels like she’ll be letting go of everything.

When she finally puts the phone on its cradle, Tiffany knows what she’s going to do tomorrow.

It’s been a while since Tiffany’s had difficulty sleeping, not without chemical assistance, anyway.  Tonight, there’s no drugs keeping her awake, just the emptiness in the pit of her stomach and a mind that won’t rest.  She’s lying naked on the bed, doona scrunched at her feet.  The TV, down so low it’s almost inaudible, flashes scenes from some early-hours home shopping show, each switch of vision lighting Tiffany’s bedroom differently, casting a new set of shadows.  Any channel but Six.

She’s tried masturbating, but her mind and body won’t work together to clear the way to orgasm.  She’s thought about getting up but there’s nothing in this world she wants to be doing.  Tiffany just wants to be asleep so she won’t have to think about tomorrow.  Today, now, anyway.  It’s coming.  It’s come.  It’s already here.  And still she can’t sleep.

Tiffany’s thinking about how she’ll look when she wakes up tomorrow.  Wakes up?  Gets up!  How many hours will she need in makeup before going on tonight?  Oh, yeh, that’s right, she’s not going on tonight.  Phew!  Lucky!  Thank God for that!  Or Bob, more like.  Yes, thank Bob.

She’s not going on tonight.

The flash of adrenaline injected into her bloodstream by this latest thought courses through Tiffany’s chest and down each arm, ending in her hands, leaving her fingers tingling.  Nausea mounts and her head spins.  This night is not going well.  Tiffany’s scared by what her body’s doing in response to her latest crisis.  She’s been in the shit before, but the bad times have never quite opened up the well of thoughts and sensations that are flooding up inside her now.  She’s scared and she doesn’t know what to do.

It feels like ages since she was on the phone to Karla.  Tiffany wants to pick up and call her again, but she can’t; she can’t make herself do it.  She’s already leant on her mate more than she’s wanted to.  She needs to keep herself together.  If she can hang on until it’s time to get up, Tiffany knows she’ll be OK.  She’ll probably be OK.  She’ll be fine in the morning.

But it’s already morning.

The adrenaline’s back again.  Tiffany writhes on her bed, trying to dispel the heat.  Her hands feel numb and swollen.  She turns on her side, looks at the clock again:  5:54, almost time for the early morning news.

Tiffany gets up instead.