Raising her eyebrows, she scans my soaked shoes. "Probably not Bud," she says. "More likely to be Victoria or Tooheys. You’re from America?"
"Is it that obvious?" I don’t even know why I’m asking. Of course it is!
"Well, I could offer you my welcome to down-under speech, but it looks as though someone has christened you already."
I grin, watching as the girl scans me from head to toe. I have plenty of female friends, but I’m very aware that other women are often wary of my confidence and my tattoo makes them jittery. Girls who like to live for today are more likely to be the ones who fuck boyfriends and husbands. That’s not me at all, but it still hangs over me. "Is this an Australian custom I didn’t read about in the Lonely Planet?" I toss the bundle of wet tissue in the bin and focus on my new bathroom buddy. She’s dressed in a smart skirt and white blouse which seems more appropriate for work than bar-hopping. With dark hair twisted into a bun, and small glasses perched on the end of her nose, she’s any man’s librarian fantasy brought to life.
"Not really." She sniffs and blots her face, her expression changing from friendly and open to worried and closed.
"Wanna tell me what made you look like someone stole your Twinkie?" The girl blinks at me, confused, and then I realize my reference isn’t something she’d understand. I guess they don’t sell Twinkies in Australia. "What’s causing the tears?"
"I got fired," she says with a shrug. "I’m good at my job, but my boss wanted extras and I’m not that kind of girl. I mean, I’m dedicated and hardworking and I go over and above to achieve but sucking cocks or bending over my desk for a fifty-year-old balding asshole is too far."
My mouth drops open. "He fired you because you wouldn’t sleep with him?"
"Yep. He tried hard enough. I can still feel his gross hands on my skin and smell his sour breath." She shivers, her hand rustling her right cuff as though she’s searching for something to distract her. "And he’s made up some bullshit about me to cover his tracks, so I can’t even get a decent reference or fight him in a work tribunal. He’s too powerful and scary, anyway. I just feel like a bug he squashed under his shoe. I came out to drink myself into oblivion, but I can’t even do that without crying."
"I’m sorry this is happening to you," I say. "And I’m totally on board with drinking myself into oblivion. My issues are small potatoes compared to yours but having one too many mojitos was the only thing on my to-do list tonight."
She blinks her bloodshot eyes and gives me another watery smile that seems less sad. "I like mojitos."
"Then, let's drink and forget our woes. Tomorrow is another day."
"Okay. Sure."
I grab my new friend’s hand even though I don’t know her name and march decisively to the bar. I may have been miserable three seconds ago, but now I’m a girl on a mission to uplift a sister. "Two mojitos, please."
We perch on vacant barstools, and I can’t resist a scan of the bar, searching for the beer-soaked Adonis but not finding him anywhere. Shame.
"So, first things first. I’m Dawn." I hold my hand out for a formal handshake.
"Chantelle," she says. "And thanks for this."
"No problem." I smile, feeling all the warm fuzzies that come with being someone’s knight in shining armor. In my case, it’s more of an avenging angel in lycra.
"So, who’s the mean guy and why can’t you press charges?"
Chantelle shakes her head and hangs it mournfully. "He’s too rich and powerful. You probably wouldn’t have heard of him." I shrug and she continues. "I wouldn’t stand a chance. To be honest, I’m scared of making it worse. You didn’t see his face when I told him no. His eyes were black and dead, but his mouth pulled into a twisted smirk that chilled my soul. The way he touched me." Her shoulders bunch and she shivers. "When I got the job, I didn’t realize how shady he was. The way he does business…" She shakes her head and grimaces. "...let's just say it was all underhanded."
"Ugh. He sounds like a peach." I pay the bartender for the drinks, even though I could do with saving my money for more important things. "I think we should make a toast." I pass her the tall, cool glass and hold my drink close. "To finding new jobs and happier times. And wishing your asshole boss’s cock withers up and drops off."
She clinks her glass against mine and snorts with amusement, both of us taking long sips of our very strong cocktails. "At least if it withers up and drops off, he wouldn’t be able to bother anyone else with it," she giggles nervously. I catch her looking around as though she’s worried he could be listening. The asshole has really gotten under her skin.
"Exactly. He’s probably got a tiny pecker, anyway."
"Probably. So, you’re not enjoying your trip?"
I shrug, not relishing the pathetic feeling of being homesick. "I’m enjoying the scenery, and everyone I’ve met has been perfectly friendly. It’s just…" I trail off, not sure how to explain that unless I’m living life in the fast lane, my time is wasted.
Chantelle raises her eyebrows. "Are you here with anyone?"
"No. I came by myself."
"That’s brave. I’m not sure I’d be that brave."
"My dad thinks I’m crazy. He spent days berating me for leaving a perfectly good job and a perfectly nice apartment to slum it on the other side of the world."
"Yeah, mine would probably do the same. So, what would make this trip more interesting?"
"That’s a good question." I stir the straw in my drink, making the ice swirl amongst the mint leaves. "I guess meeting interesting people and finding adventures."
"Do you have an itinerary planned?"
Shaking my head, I recall Kyla asking me the very same thing. "Itineraries feel too organized. I like living from day to day, not knowing where the wind will blow me."
"Well, the wind blew you here." Chantelle looks around and so do I. The bar has emptied a little and not for the first time, my heart sinks. "I think it was fate."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I was going to go home and cry myself to sleep, but maybe I should just wake up tomorrow and plan myself an adventure."
"You absolutely should."
"Does trawling websites for a new job constitute adventure?" She rolls her eyes at the lameness of her question.
"I guess anything can be an adventure if it’s taking you somewhere you haven’t been before."
"So that’s the definition. Newness?"
"Yep. I’m like a rolling stone. I like moving on."
"So, I guess I shouldn’t bother giving you my number? You know, in case you get a craving for another mojito?"
I smile broadly. "I start craving another mojito as soon as I’ve finished the one in my hand."
Maybe I was too hasty at judging this trip after all.
2
DAWN
I’m old enough to know that adventures that start at the bottom of a glass only lead to hangovers, but not mature enough to care. I crawl out of my bed after noon, throwing on a pair of cut-off denim shorts and a white tank, and slide my feet into thongs (well, that’s what they call them here!).