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“Get out!” I reply with my back to her. “I’m done.”
Natasha
“So what did they say then?” Abbie frowns and I shrug. “Apparently he has done this before. He reads the police reports and tries to scare people.”
“Get a new job, this shit is too weird,” Bridget gasps.
I nod. “I know.”
We are at Milson’s, a bar in Pitt Street. We can’t go to any of our normal hangouts because Abbie is hiding from army guy the man Abbie is sort of dating. Apparently he’s getting all possessive and jealous and she’s not coping—it was only a matter of time. The music has a distinct R&B feel, very different to our normal dance kind of places.
The walls are painted gold and it has big brass pendant lights that hang over huge wooden benches, and you sit on what could possibly be the most uncomfortable stools in the history of the world.
“So the police think he has read the police report about the robbery and then has purposely tried to scare you,” Bridget sips her margarita as she listens.
“Aha, they accessed his computer and he was looking up some illegal website of local crime and he had also googled me,” I shiver at the thought.
“Shit. Thank god you don’t have any social media.”
“This is why I don’t. Do you think he really does have my vibrator? What if he was telling the truth?” I sip my drink again.
“He’s in maximum security—he doesn’t have your damn vibrator.” Abbie pulls a disgusted face.
I blow out a breath as I scull my margarita and Bridget bubbles up a giggle.
“What?” I say deadpan.
“This is actually funny, this last week you have been having. Just how many black cats have you run over?” Bridget asks.
I smile and shrug. “I don’t know… maybe a huge one. Like a fucking Jaguar or something.” We all giggle and our next round of drinks arrive. I hand over my credit card.
“I would like to propose a toast.” Bridget smiles and we all raise our glasses.
“To no more sadness.” Their eyes meet mine.
I smile sheepishly. “Sorry girls, I know I have been a nightmare lately.”
“Not to mention fucking boring,” Abbie snaps.
I nod and smile as I lick the salt from my glass. “I will endeavour to be more fun, just for you Abbie.” I raise my glass to her.
She does an exaggerated nod. “Good … about time. I would hate to have to trade you in.”
The waitress returns. “Excuse me, your credit card has been declined.” She hands me the card.
“Oh god,” I stammer. “I will have to transfer money—I’m so broke.”
Bridget hands over her credit card and I start to log into my internet banking on my phone.
“It’s good to have a phone again,” I remark as I concentrate on the screen. I’m having trouble reading it without my glasses so I hand my phone to Bridget.
“Here, can you transfer $300 for me onto my credit card?”
She takes the phone off me and I take a sip of my drink.
“Check out the fabulous shoulders on that guy at the bar,” Abbie smirks
I turn and look. “Hmm, not bad. Seven.”
