Thrill City by Leigh Redhead Page B

something. Watch King of Kings on TV?’
    ‘Thought you’d never ask.’
    We snuck down the back stairs, fell into a cab on Carlisle Street and directed the driver to Elwood. Sean had his arm around my waist and I had my drunken head on his shoulder. He smelled good, too. His aftershave didn’t have quite the effect of Alex’s, but it was nice just the same. It suddenly struck me that I had a boyfriend, and a live-in one at that. It was weird, yet also kind of cosy. I remembered the shit Alex had given me about domesticity, intimating that Sean was controlling me and didn’t want me to strip. What a crock.
    I lifted my head off Sean’s shoulder. ‘Hey, I was talking to Chloe about New Year’s. There’s some big parties on, lots of shows. She reckons I can easily pull in a thousand bucks that night.’
    When he didn’t say anything I went on. ‘Isn’t that great? I won’t have to keep sponging off you.’
    I thought he’d agree but he stiffened and moved away a little. The cab turned left onto Brighton Road. The interior smelled like plastic seat covers, sweat, fried onions and barbecue sauce. Outside the windows everything rushed past in a blur. The Greyhound Hotel, traffic lights, big leafy trees.
    ‘What’s wrong? You have to work New Year’s too. We can celebrate on the first instead, when I’m all cashed up.’
    ‘I just don’t think it’s such a good idea.’
    ‘But I’m old news, you said so yourself. There’s been nothing in the papers for weeks.’
    ‘You’ll get your licence back soon.’
    ‘Even if I do, I still have to supplement my pathetic income somehow.’
    Sean didn’t reply, just turned and looked out the window, like he was fascinated with the tram that was keeping pace with us.
    I poked him in the shoulder. ‘You’re pissed off? You can’t be. You knew what I did when you met me.’
    Sean turned back, face serious, voice flat. ‘Actually, when I met you you’d given up stripping and were working for Tony Torcasio as an inquiry agent. You went back to it when I left for Vietnam.’
    ‘I had to. He fired me. And what do you mean, I’d given up ? You make it sound like a vice.’
    He stared at me for a couple of seconds, exhaled hard out of his nose, then turned to look out the window again. Righteous indignation welled up inside me.
    ‘Let me get this straight, are you telling me I can’t work as a stripper?’
    ‘No. I’m telling you I don’t like it.’
    ‘I’ve got to make a living somehow.’
    ‘There are other occupations.’
    ‘None I’m any good at.’
    ‘You’ve worked in restaurants, supermarkets . . .’
    ‘I’m not going back to being a waitress or a checkout chick. I hated those jobs.’
    ‘And you like stripping?’ His tone was uncharacteristically sarcastic.
    ‘Bet your arse I do. It’s fun, good exercise, creative.’
    He snorted.
    ‘What?’ I said.
    ‘Creative? You’re not choreographing a piece of innovative modern dance for the Victorian Ballet, Simone, you’re shaking your tits in front of a bunch of drunken tradesmen in some scungy pub.’
    The taxi driver flicked me a look in the rearview.
    ‘Stop the cab,’ I told him.
    ‘Don’t stop the cab,’ said Sean.
    The taxi driver looked confused.
    ‘Stop the fucking cab.’
    He stopped. We were on Glenhuntly Road, Elwood, just around the corner from my place, next to the darkened Turtle Café.
    ‘I want my keys back.’ I held out my hand to Sean.
    ‘What?’
    ‘You heard.’
    He looked at me, mouth slightly open. ‘Are you breaking up with me?’
    ‘I don’t know what I’m doing. All I know is I don’t wanna spend the night with someone who thinks I’m a tragic slut.’
    ‘I didn’t say that.’
    ‘Actually, you did.’ I fumbled in my bag and pulled a twenty out of my wallet. I thrust it at Sean. ‘Here.’
    ‘I don’t want your money.’ He waved it away so I bunched it up and threw it at him. Plastic notes never crumple too well and it fluttered to the