#7: Fair game
Trixie had to admit, her first experience of app dating wasn’t the worst. In fact, it was quite tame in comparison to some of the horror experiences she’d read (somewhat obsessively) in posts from Bad Dates of Melbourne and r/relationships. And Trixie was used to being shamed for her job; retail wasn’t something people thought of as skilled labour, essential labour. Though Lukas had always supported Carr St with a flurry of outrageous purchases – everything from sleek, heavy coffee table books to colourful hardback picture books for his ever-spawning nieces and nephews – Trixie had always suspected he was waiting for her to find her “real” job.
The gang had asked for a full rundown of the date with Gavin because, though they’d watched eagerly from the other side of Bar Josephine, they’d missed the gentle slide from genial fun to chilly disinterest. While Kit and David were firmly of the opinion that Trixie had dodged “disaster”, Jin and Amal were a little more charitable toward some of Gavin’s . . . assets. “I’m just saying,” Jin explained to the riotous video chat, late on Saturday morning, “every date doesn’t have to be a love match, sure. But it could be a bit more . . . you know.”
“I don’t know,” Trixie replied. She was snuggled on the couch with Stef, who had returned early that morning with her neat rollaway suitcase and a box of pastries from their local bakery (which was currently so trendy, thanks to a write-up in Broadsheet, it was infamous for running out of stock before 9am on Saturdays).
Amal rolled her eyes. “She does so know.”
“Sure, a bit of sexy fun is definitely on my to-do list, Amal,” Trixie admitted. “But they have to actually stay on the date for that to happen.”
“Trixie, just make sure you’re open to everything single life can offer you! That’s all we’re saying.”
“I went on the date, didn’t I?” Trixie said, exasperated. “How am I not being ‘open’ to single life at this point?”
“I’m sure Trixie knows what she’s doing,” David said bluntly, from his black video screen, as always. “Now, can we talk about Kit’s date with a very attractive and semi-famous scientist tonight instead of rehashing a failed date?”
“Failed!” Trixie pouted. “Thanks.”
“No date is a failure at this point, David,” Stef said, giving Trixie a comforting squeeze. “Obviously, we’re just getting ourselves back in the game, so this is all just win, win, win.”
“Sure, but—”
“Can I just ask,” Amal interrupted, “what makes someone a famous scientist? I mean, for real, is that a thing?”
“Well,” said David, “I did say semi-famous.”
“Steven Hawking?” Jin suggested.
“Marie Curie,” added Trixie.
“Dr Karl,” Kit said, grinning. “Kr Karl is a famous scientist.”
“Um,” Amal said, “he’s a doctor.”
“He’s a scientist.”
“He’s actually both,” Trixie said, scanning his Wikipedia page on her phone. “He was a physicist, a pediatrician, and now he does his . . . science TV stuff.”
“So you’re both right!” Jin said, with the air of a parent trying to diffuse an argument between combative siblings.
“An-y-way,” David said, “great score, Kit. Nice one.”
“Thanks, dude,” Kit teased. “I’m a real player.”
“I just hope she’s not too, you know . . .” Amal trailed off, giving her webcam a meaningful glance. The rest of the gang paused, cautious.
“No,” Kit said flatly, “What.”
“Well, you know, such an attractive, famous, smart woman. I hope she’s not like this Gavin was to Trixie, you know? Thinking she’s, like, too good for you, Kit.”
There was a crackle of tense, electric silence. Stef cleared her throat.
“That’s nice, Amal,” Kit said. “Thanks.” They frowned at their screen, eyes sharp with hurt. Though you could never tell on a video chat just who was staring at whom, somehow the whole group knew Kit and Amal were glaring right at each other.
“I feel like I should be offended again,” Trixie said, trying again for a joke.
“Look, I have to get ready,” Kit said. “Better make sure I look extra impressive – considering I’ve got so much working against me.”
“Oh, Kit—” Stef began, but with an odd little electronic bloop, Kit’s video screen disappeared.
“I know,” Amal said eventually. “I know.”
“Too mean, mate,” Jin said.
“And not even true!” Stef shook her head. “Amal, you’re the one who suggested this whole thing. If you can’t get it together—”
“It’s not just me!”
“We know it’s tough, for both of you,” Trixie said. “But you do have a tendency to be a little more . . .”
“I know, I’m the biggest bitch in the whole universe, blah blah.”
“Amal, come on,” David groaned.
“See you in a couple of hours,” Amal said, over-bright. And then she was gone, too.
“Drama, drama, drama,” Trixie tsked.
Kit had picked a far larger, louder location for their date, with a rather more dive-y feel. When Trixie and Stef arrived at the Town Hall Hotel, they had to fight a scrum of punters crowded down the side alley that led to the dining room and through to the back beer garden. They were all smoking and sinking pints, dripping with perspiration (both the pints and the punters). As Trixie and Steff passed one group, all with stomachs protruding over their footy shorts, the girls were greeted with low whistles. Stef gave the blokes a steely look, then pointed at the sign around which they were loitering, which read “Please, no drinks in the alley!”.
Out the back, Jin and David had already snagged a table, and were getting started on their own sweaty pints. Jin waved and shuffled down to make room, while David pointed back towards the building. “It’s still Happy Hour for another . . . ten minutes. Better get a wriggle on.”
“I’m not drinking tonight,” Trixie explained, slouching into the booth.
“Ah, Gavin rubbed off on you, did he?” Jin said.
David grinned. “I think we all agreed that he definitely didn’t ‘rub off’ on her.”
Trixie rolled her eyes. “It’s too hot and I’m hung as.”
“Water? Sodie?” Stef asked, then bustled inside, elbows out to make room amid the steamy crowd.
“So, where’s this hot chickie?”
“Not here yet,” Jin said, shrugging. “But I’ve been doing a casual Google stalk. She is . . . quite impressive, I have to say.”
“Please, let’s not start that again.”
“I’m not saying Kit’s out of their league, by any means,” said Jin. “I mean, Kit is very impressive too. But this woman is absolutely everywhere online.”
“Told you,” David said. “You people always think I don’t know anything, but I actually know everything.”
“Oh, everything?” Trixie teased. “You know everything.”
David gave her a small smile. “Yeah, I know everything.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Stop flirting, you two,” Jin said, rolling his eyes. “Look at this: this is a whole article about her in the Age – about her being, like, a ‘Voice For The Youths’ or some shit.”
“She won some prize for being young and brilliant a few years ago,” said David. “This is what I’m saying.”
“Actually, it was Young Australian of the Year,” an unfamiliar voice explained. “And, to be honest, about half the winners are athletes so it’s not that exciting.”
She was quite beautiful, Trixie had to admit. She had very long blonde hair, which reached down almost to her waist but still looked perfectly done, and her eyes were very large and shaped like a Disney cartoon’s: a wide, flat leaf, feathered with dark lashes. She was tall, much taller than Trixie, and Trixie felt herself sitting up straighter in the booth, trying to match up.
They all stared at her for an uncomfortably long time, until she finally said, “Um, you’re Kit’s friends, right? They told me to look out for you. I’m Marta.”
“We know,” Jin and David said together. They all laughed, and David shuffled down so Marta could sit beside him.
Trixie smiled thinly at Marta, who returned the smile with full pink lips and perfect teeth. “You’re Trixie? I feel like I know you all exactly, the amount Kit talks about you! I reckon you guys are like the friends from Friends, or something.”
“Ugh,” Jin said, laughing, “please don’t say that. How embarrassing.”
“You’re Jin-Soo?”
“Yeah,” Jin said, reaching his hand over to shake Marta’s. “Just Jin is fine.”
“And you must be David,” Marta said, turning to David. He was looking at her, a little dumbstruck. “Hi.”
“Uh, yeah.” David looked at Marta’s outstretched hand for a long time – bizarrely long – before he took it. “Hi.”
“Great to meet you all!” Marta settled back into the booth. “I caught Stef on the way in – she’s easy to spot. What a stunner! Gave her some money for another couple of jugs, and some wine too. Hope that’s OK.”
“Sure,” Jin said. “Buying us alcohol is definitely OK.”
Marta let out a breezy laugh. “Good.”
“Sorry Kit’s late,” David said, frowning down at his phone. “They’re usually right on time to everything.”
“Oh!” Marta cocked her head to the side, and her blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders. “Kit’s not coming. Didn’t they tell you?”
“What?” Trixie pulled out her phone as well. “They’re not coming?”
“That’s—”
“It’s OK!” Marta said, holding her hands up to make peace. “Really. They told me a couple of hours ago that they had an emergency. And they said I should come anyway. You all just sounded so fun, I don’t know, I thought I would. Is that OK?”
Jin gave Trixie a little pinch under the table. “Totally! The more the merrier, always.”
“Excuse me for a sec, uh, Marta,” Trixie said, spotting Stef at the entrance to the beer garden, balancing two trays of drinks and fighting her way back through the crowd. “I’m going to go help Stef with the drinks.”
“Oh, sure!”
Marta smiled her radiant smile again as Trixie slid out of the booth, and something about it made Trixie’s muscles tense.
“Here – give me that.” Trixie grabbed at one of the heavy trays when she finally reached Stef, who looked intensely bothered and like she actually might stomp on one of the jostling patrons that surrounded her.
“Careful!” Stef snapped. “I’ve got them very well balanced, if you must know.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Trixie said. “Give it here.”
“Did you—”
“Yes,” said Trixie, “we’ve seen her.”
“What a ridiculous situation. Imagine showing up to a cancelled date! I’d be humiliated.”
“I mean, Kit did tell her to come.”
“I would never.”
“I know you wouldn’t mate,” Trixie said, grinning. “Just stand here for a sec. Pretend we’re stuck here.”
“Ooh, yes. So, what do you think? She’s very pretty.”
“She’s OK.”
Stef gave Trixie a skeptical look. “Trix.”
“OK, OK, she’s hot.”
“And she seems nice enough. I mean she gave me money for all this, even though I told her a million times I had it covered.”
Trixie looked over at the booth, where Jin and David were rapt in whatever Marta was telling them. “Didn’t stick around to help you carry it, though.”
“Why are you so determined to dislike her?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Trixie said, casting around for some reason behind her crawling skin. “She’s too . . . tall.”
Stef laughed. “OK, I’m with you there. We’d better go back.”
Marta proved to be quite the entertainer, at least as far as everyone else was concerned. Jin, David and Stef hung on every word out of her perfect pink pout for the rest of the evening: from her stories about trying to explain climate change to Barnaby Joyce and the rest of the Nationals, to her dramatic tale of a heckler at a (sold out) Sydney Opera House panel event whom she managed to talk down using the power of scientific persuasion.
Neither Kit nor Amal showed up to the Townie – though no one seemed particularly concerned about where they were, besides Trixie. Trixie messaged them both, and though received a curt reply from Kit (couldn’t make it. Just have fun.), she never heard back from Amal.
“I think the best T comes from the production staff of these shows, though,” Marta was saying when Trixie finally tuned back in. “Like, a better question is ‘Which Project host do the staff like least’, not which host do I like least – because they’re all nice to me.”
“Sure,” David said, “that makes sense.”
“But I have to say, Peter Hellier is not as jovial when the cameras are off as he seems when the cameras are on.”
“Goss!” Stef squealed.
“Really? Trixie murmured to her. “She’s talking about an old comedian on a current affairs show.”
“Anyway, I’m sure Trixie knows all about this,” Marta said, “Don’t you, Trix?”
Her comment caught Trixie off-guard, and she blushed. “What?”
“Well, I’m sure you meet lots of authors who are absolute trolls IRL even if they write totally beautifully.”
“Uh, yeah, I guess. Sometimes.” Trixie shrugged as the table stared at her. “You know, everyone’s an asshole.”
Marta laughed – she even managed to do that prettily. “That’s right, yeah!”
She launched into another feature-length story, and Trixie slouched back into the booth again, feeling unusually resentful. She watched the others laugh at something Marta had just said (though Trixie had been too caught in her own thoughts to hear it), and she couldn’t help scowling, at David in particular. He was beaming at Marta, his usually sallow cheeks flushed. Under the table, Trixie thrust her leg out towards him.
“Ah! Fuck,” David grunted. “Ow.”
“Dave?” Jin said.
Marta put a hand on his arm, looking concerned. “Are you OK?”
“What the fuck?” David said, looking straight at Trixie.
“What?”
“You kicked me.”
“No I didn’t.”
David frowned. He reached down, presumably to rub his shin under the table. “You – all right.”
“Sorry,” Trixie said, shrugging.
David shook his head, still frowning. “’SOK.”
Back at the flat, Stef gave Trixie a significant, piercing look as she handed over a cup of peppermint tea. “Why did you kick David?”
“I told you I didn’t.”
“Trixie, I was sitting next to you. I felt you do it.”
Trixie bit her lip. “Look, I don’t know. I was pissed at him for acting like such an idiot.”
“Because he was flirting?”
“It was Kit’s date!”
Stef sighed and blew at the steam rising from her tea cup. “Yes, that’s true. But Kit didn’t show up. So, you know, it was kind of fair game.”
“For real? I don’t reckon.”
“Why didn’t you like her? I thought she was nice.”
Trixie shrugged again. She’d shrugged so much that night, her shoulders were beginning to ache. “Dunno. She annoyed me.”
“Because she was tall.”
Trixie grinned. “Yeah, ’cos she was tall.”
Stef treated Trixie to one more Paddington bear stare, then carried her tea off into her bedroom. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on anyone, Trix!” she called as she retreated.
“Neither does being a know-it-all, Stefanie!”
The Broken-Heart Brigade is released via weekly e-newsletter instalments through Substack. It is supported by Matilda’s generous subscribers, Melbourne City of Literature, and the City of Melbourne COVID-19 Arts Grants.
The Broken-Heart Brigade is made in Naarm (Melbourne), on stolen Wurundjeri land that was never ceded. Matilda pays respect to the rightful Aboriginal owners of the land on which she lives and works, and hopes the readers of her writing do too.