1

The music was loud and painful. ‘Tragic,’ she yelled into Stacey’s ear, missing her eardrum and copping a jaw bone in the teeth. ‘Shit.’ Stacey hadn’t noticed. She was smiling that too happy, too trippy smile of hers. Give her twenty minutes and she’ll be wanting another pill, thought Jo.

The Market was full to all-but overflowing. They edged to the bar and bought drinks before doing the obligatory round of the dance floor, lounges and back to a spare corner near the bar. No one they knew – yet. It was only just 1am and once the second pills kicked in they would be surrounded by many of their new best friends.

The crowd, as it stood, swayed or slumped, was a mixture. Some shirtless fags, boys in their uniform sequined shorts and little else and a once-well-dressed bunch straight from the races. Just like Stacey and her. Too much champagne, about 10 hours too much, had slurred their ties, hats and fake silk frocks until they were all a little ruffled and sweaty. Some straight, some gay, some up for an experiment. Some just really, Jo couldn’t think of the word, as she nodded to Stacey and glanced over towards a group of 20-somethings. Girls, their fascinators now attached to their frocks as nipple tassels, their peep-toe sandals lumped into a mound of straps and fluorescence on the floor near their lounge. Jo and Stace watched as the one in an aqua spaghetti strap polyester number was dared to kiss one of the others. ‘Tragic,’ Stace muttered. ‘That’s the only word for it.’

‘Jesus, get this down your throat before we both get over it.’

They hung about the dance floor as the music, and their moods, improved. Stace had struck up a conversation with a couple of older guys. They were comparing ties and socks. Jo was laughing at her as she bent down to show one of the guys how her white ‘computer socks’ glowed in the purple UV lights, just as a hand slipped inside her coat and stroked her breast. ‘Did you win today?’ a voice in her ear half-yelled above the music. Jo turned slightly to see the grinning face of a cute young girl, slicked back hair and big eyes with black Kohl. Her lips were a brilliant red. ‘Perhaps I just have,’ Jo smiled back.

She leant in to the girl’s lips and kissed her softly as the music lifted and her head spun. Kissing always helps the peak, she thought, as she explored the other girl’s mouth gently with her tongue. Wet, warm and high. The day was getting brighter by the second.

It was a bright sunny morning when Jo finally parted the curtains of her bedroom and watched as Lol, the girl from the club, wandered out her front door, down the path and off into the traffic of Fitzroy Street. Jo was tired.

She turned on her phone, leaving it next to the breastfeeding Madonna her artist friend Madge had given her for her birthday (it glowed in the dark) as she headed for the shower. The water was hot instantly and she made herself stand under the spray until her skin was a blotchy red. She turned the cold on and soaped her body to the tune of her mobile beeping and ringing and vibrating from the hallway.

The shower had sorted her head out but her body was still tired. She wasn’t sure she had slept a wink. Although the glow from a night of fucking was delicious.

‘Is it Sunday or Monday?’ she said down the phone. Stace was on the other end.

‘Sunday you fool – she can’t have been that good – can she?’

‘I’m not the show and tell kind of girl – you know that Stace. What time am I meant to be at the Bowlo?’

Their friend Sam was having a party at the St Kilda Bowling Club. A lunchtime start with hopefully no end in sight. ‘You are still wearing your whites aren’t you? Stace asked.

‘Of course, lovely. What else do you wear to a bowling club?’

It was a glorious day for some lounging, laughing and cheap drinking. Stace came by Jo’s flat to pick her up on the way and the two of them strolled down and across Fitzroy Street, resplendent in white hats, shirts with ties and trousers. Jo even had white Chuck Taylor’s on her feet to finish the look. Sam, of course, was in head to toe white satin with bustle and bust secured to his ample form. ‘The worst thing darlings – I have had to wear flats!!’ he screamed across at them as they walked through the low, gated entrance.

It was a motley crew – many Jo had only ever seen at night in clubs – but everyone had made some effort in the apparel department. Toby was there in a tight white thigh high split skirt and white walking shoes; Madge was wearing her customary ‘shades of purple’ ensemble, albeit with the addition of a white wide, floppy brimmed hat; Sarah and her beau were in white, looking suitably insipid and pale out of their black leather (although Jo thought they looked insipid and pale IN their black leather); Joel had added a Hawaiian shirt and corked hat to his ensemble.

Oddly colourful and a little out of place but after all, it was a miracle that any of them had made it, after the nights they’d all had, she thought.

A sausage sandwich, BBQ sauce, a jug of beer, a banana lounge, the sun disappearing into the bay and a judge who was more interested in style than ability – what more could a girl wish for on a Sunday afternoon.