I made the school run with more confidence than I’d felt in a long time, head high as I stood amongst the other mothers – despite all the whispers that were clearly circulating post gigolo-gate. Today I felt strangely immune, my own entity of just Jodie, separate from Trent and his bang-ganging ways. My hair was freshly washed and straightened, my skin glowing through the wonderful illusion of decent foundation. I looked better and I knew it, and maybe it was a far cry away from the glitz and glamour of Porsche-bitch and her ilk, but it was good enough for me.
It was good enough.
Lorraine gave me a twit-twoo as I stepped into the cafe for the beginning of my shift.
“Get you!” she said. “You look fantastic. Have you dyed your hair?” She ran a section of my straightened hair through her fingers, held it up to the light.
“Not yet,” I said with a smile.
I was so concerned with how good I felt that I barely noticed the change in demeanour of those around me. Yesterday’s scorn had turned into curiosity, and further still into this strange ripple of interest that was whispering through the female village populous.
Hannah Bowen never usually gives me the time of day. She comes into the cafe at least three mornings a week, and besides a polite smile she gives me nothing. Not even a half-arsed how are you? Hannah Bowen has a reputation for being stand-offish, but it seemed that today was the day that all changed.
She leaned over the counter as I prepped her coffee, and she had bright pink lipstick on, foundation so thick she looked slightly orange.
“Hi, Jodie. Wow. Nice top.” Her smile was fake and bright, but I appreciated the compliment all the same. “How are you?” she said. “How are the girls?”
You could have knocked me down with a feather.
I spooned out the milk froth for her cappuccino and gave her a paper smile. “I’m good, thanks. We’re all good. And yourself?”
She flashed a look around the cafe, and then her smile grew brighter. “I’m great, yeah. Really great.”
“Pleased to hear it.” I placed her cup on the side, put a biscuit on her plate.
She didn’t even pick it up, made no effort to leave at all. She cleared her throat, and smiled some more, then she twisted a stray wisp of blonde hair around her fingers. “Say, Jodie, have you, um… have you seen Trent lately? I mean… is he, um…”
“Is he, um…?” I met her eyes and held her stare.
“Is he, um… you know…” Her eyes widened. “Is he really a… gigolo?”
I felt my cheeks warming beneath the foundation. “You’ll have to ask him yourself,” I said.
She laughed, just a little. “Well, I would, but…” She leaned in further. “We don’t really know each other…” Her eyes twinkled. “I just heard he was offering… group activities. If you know what I mean.”
“Like I said, you’ll really have to ask him.”
Another clear of the throat. “Is that his thing? Gangbangs?”
Not that I ever knew.
“I’m really not the person to ask.” I pushed her cup in her direction. “We were together a long time ago. I’m really not qualified to give you the lowdown on Trent’s current sexual preferences.”
I watched her deflate in front of me, huffing out at least a little disappointment. “Let me know, if you hear anything. I mean, if he has a website…”
Like he has a fucking website. Bang Gang - orgies on demand.
I forced a smile. “I’ll be sure to let you know.”
Hannah Bowen may have been the first to ask directly about Trent’s little moonlighting project, but she sure as hell wasn’t the last. Women who’d seemed as impartial to a full face of makeup as I’d been were suddenly rocking up with beautician-perfect smoky eyes and glossy lipstick. Must be something in the air.
Sweet little Amy Tanner from Elm Grove stuttered her way through questions about Trent’s services. Rita Powell laughed her way through a monologue on how she fancied living wild and did I know anything about five hot mechanics out for a good time? Sarah Kelly came right out with it and asked if she could book Trent and Buck through me, and that really did make me blush, foundation or no.
Lorraine handed me an espresso as a break in the queue came around. Her eyes were sympathetic, like they always are when it’s shit about Trent. She gestured to the packed out cafe and raised her eyebrows.
“I’m guessing the horny females of our lovely village haven’t all just taken a sudden liking to Tuesday morning coffee,” she whispered.
“Sorry,” I said.
“Don’t be, all business is good business, I just hope this isn’t too hard on you.” Her look was so pointed. That Trent’s-an-asshole-and-you’re-better-off-without-him look I’d come to know so well. She put a hand on my shoulder. “Best thing you ever did splitting up. He’s so…” She groaned. “Troublesome.”