114She sits with her back pressed against the window and watches as the strong wind carries her cigarette smoke outside. She sighs. The ashtray by the window is choked with stubbed cigarettes and ash. She knows she should clean it, but she doesn't want to. She hates doing anything ordinary, like cleaning or falling in love.
Her house is a shrine to that part of her and she can barely walk through the junk littered floor. She should just chuck it all away, or better yet, she should just hire someone to chuck it all away. Though she'd probably miss it all if she did. Maybe she's really more sentimental than she realizes. Or maybe she just hates to clean.
She adds her fresh cigarette to the cigarette cemetery and decides she'll clean it later. Later just never seems to come. She's always far too busy doing something else, or pretending to have something better to do. She hates stories but she likes to pretend.
She doesn't like having nowhere to go, but she likes not having to get dressed up. She stares at herself in the mirror and chews her bottom lip. Her large light blue sweater is as warm as a blanket and her jeans are far too loose. She has a belt around them but that's even looser. Groaning, she parts her hair and stares at the dark re-growth.
Briefly she considers putting on the blonde wig but then she remembers she has no one to impress. Her own blonde hair used to resemble the soft gleaming wig but she hadn't the money to keep it maintained. The ends of her hair are split and look as though they're about to drop off.
The cat, Poppy, a Burma with long hair rubs herself against Audrey's legs and meows a few times. She's hungry and soon sits beside her green food dish.
"I know I know…you're hungry too." Audrey says, while opening the cupboards and searching through them before pulling out a new can of cat food. She pours it in the bowl and smiles as Poppy begins to eat it.
She pulls a letter from the fridge, doesn't bother removing the colourful magnet and it falls to the floor with a crack. Poppy looks up from her food briefly but doesn't give it a second thought. It stays on the floor for a long time after that.
"Can you believe my sister? Can you believe she'd have the nerve to write me this letter?"
Poppy doesn't reply.
With an audible sigh and a grumble of her tummy Audrey begins to read the letter aloud to herself and Poppy,
'Why are you doing this to yourself? Don't you realize I care about you? If you weren't so messy I'd consider letting you move in with us again. I hear you've found yourself a job as a stripper. It's so disgusting I can barely think about it. You're my little sister for heavens sake! Surely there are plenty of job opportunities for a twenty year old!'
"Yes… a twenty year old with no qualifications," she mutters before continuing.
'I wish you would just see what you're doing to yourself. It's not healthy for someone to live the way you do. Are you happy? How on Earth could you be happy doing something as vile as stripping for old men? Do you like yourself? How could you like yourself when you see the looks of satisfaction on their faces when you dance for them? It's wrong. You deserve better. I'm sure if you tried harder this time you'd be successful with that dance school you were talking about last year. Just promise me you'll try something else. And I hear you're back with Mark? How could you let that slime ball weasel his way back into your life? Is he hitting you again? Because if he is I swear I'll call the police this time. It makes me sad, your situation. But I love you; you know that. I'll always love you.
Angela. xoxo'
"It isn't fair is it, Poppy? Why does she have her life together?" she wonders aloud. She briefly tries to close the open window but it gets stuck and she decides to leave it. She scans the room for her black handbag and walks outside.
She narrows her eyes at the miserable weather. It's so predictable, this weather. It looks as though it might rain any second and a thick blanket of cloud is covering the sky, making her feel trapped. It's supposed to be summer, what the hell is wrong with this weather? She wonders to herself as she folds her arms tightly against her. Maybe the weather in Sydney has always been screwed up, maybe she just hasn't noticed before.
The idea of travelling around Australia fills her mind for a small moment but she is careful not to get her hopes up. Exploring the country isn't very realistic right now. Her heart aches momentarily as she walks past the closed nightclub. She tries not to think about her sister's letter, what good would being miserable do her? She's too poor to let herself be miserable about her job. Atleast she gets to dance.
And maybe Mark is back in her life again, he's drinking too much and losing control sometimes but it's none of her sisters business! She can look after herself.
A gust of wind hits her, stinging her bare face and hands. The cheap café she usually visits becomes visible. She breathes a deep sigh of relief and quickens her pace.
He's sitting at his old computer in the room that goes unnoticed by his parents and younger sister. What do they need a computer for? They're lives are already so complete that a computer is just a waste of time; waste of space. Certainly a waste of electricity! He stares at his reflection in the blue-rimmed mirror hanging on the wall beside him.
After a while, he concludes that he really must look older than his age. He took that comment from Audrey The Stripper as a huge compliment and if he isn't careful his head might start swelling.
He can't stop thinking about her. What guy his age is lucky enough to meet a pretty stripper and ask what her name is? He hopes he is the only one. He stares at the blank screen and dares himself to write a bestseller, but he rests his fingers against the keyboard and his mind becomes blank. Well, blank except for Audrey.
He thinks he should have spoken to her more that night, he should have worn better clothes, should have messed his hair up the way girls usually like. He knows he's good looking, even if he isn't winning any awards for popularity.
Does she think he's good looking? Maybe she hasn't given him a second thought. He's spent too long trying to figure out how old she is. She looks young; she probably looks young for her age. He is turning eighteen in two months and she could probably pass for the same age. Maybe she's eighteen but no older than that, he concludes.
He sighs and begins to type whatever comes to mind.
'She was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. She looked lost in her small outfit designed to capture the attention of rich men, she seemed to be wearing a mask. Behind her smile there was sadness in her eyes, something that made me want to reach out to her and tell her that everything was going to be okay. Was it going to be okay? Would she be okay out in the big wide world with her short frame and blonde wig? Was she okay? I wanted to ask her but I didn't even know her real name. She seemed to be able to reach heights undreamed of by other people; people who used their real names in their respectable jobs.'
He stops typing abruptly, realizing it's wrong to write those things about a stranger. It seems almost unhealthy. He saves the document to his desktop anyway; what does he have to lose? He groans and rubs his hands through his messy dark blonde hair.
He tells himself not to think of her again but as he's walking through the empty house he can't keep the image of her in her small outfit sitting on the jetty with her bare feet in the cold water from his mind. The house is too clean and lifeless. He isn't going to find any inspiration here.
He writes a note and sticks it to the fridge, wondering if anyone will even see it. He's probably going to be home before the rest of his family; he doesn't have anywhere else to go. It's supposed to be the school holidays for crying out loud, he should have something better to do.
She's at her usual table by the window and tries to pretend the seat offers her a good view. She stares outside at the murky water and busy street and wishes she were anywhere but here. She recognizes a few of the customers, old men that sometimes visit the club, but they don't seem to recognize her while they're with their wives.
A customer enters and the bell above the door rings like a wind chime. She glances at the person who walks up to the counter and recognition washes through her. She picks up the menu and tries to hide her face behind it but it's too late. At first Daniel, the young man from the other night, doesn't recognize her without make-up and in baggy clothes but she sees him smile from the corner of her eye and groans in embarrassment. He hesitates but walks over to her just the same.
"Audrey?" he asks, and for a moment she forgets that she's supposed to be Audrey.
"Uh… hi," he says shyly and jingles the coins in his hands nervously. "I hardly recognized you in…" he trails off because he isn't sure what to say.
"In clothes?" she asks and smiles although she wishes he would go away.
He laughs nervously, "Well, yes," he replies.
He can't believe his luck. How many almost-eighteen-year-olds meet a beautiful stripper twice in one week?
She stares out of the window again but he hovers at her table, unsure of what to do next.
"Sit down," she says as she remembers her empty purse. "Would you be a sweetheart and buy me a choc chip muffin and a coffee? I just can't think straight without my morning coffee." She smiles, knowing she's pushing her luck.
"Morning coffee? You know it's 1:00 in the afternoon?" he asks, momentarily forgetting his shyness.
She shrugs. "Well this is breakfast for me."
He smiles and walks over to the counter. She doesn't offer her spare seat to just anyone.
"Thank you!" she squeals as he sets the muffin and coffee in front of her.
He smiles again to show her that she's welcome because he can't seem to find his voice at the moment.
They sit in silence for a long while and she eats her muffin with satisfaction, licking her fingertips when she's finished.
"You know, this is nice," she says with a sigh as she stretches her arms over her head.
"What is?" he asks in a voice that is no more than a squeak.
"Being alone together," she answers as she picks off some of her black nail polish.
He smiles in silent agreement, how does she know he's lonely?
She twists her hands together as she stretches again and he notices a bruise on her wrist. She follows his line of sight and tries to pull the blue sleeve down. Smiling nervously, she places her hands under the table. She doesn't want him knowing she's broken, or that she's too weak to defend herself against her on-again-off-again boyfriend. She doesn't want this stranger knowing her secrets.
He looks away automatically, shocked at what he's seen. He can't help but wonder what happened to her. He feels angry even though he has no right to. She seems so vulnerable now as she sits with no make-up on and tears in her eyes. She doesn't seem like the confident stripper.
They sit in silence again and it's awkward this time. It's full of secrets, questions and loneliness.