Life For Rent. Part 2 free porn video

Life for rent - Part 2 Chapter 8 This can't be real! It's both internal statement and question. I'm trapped in my own disbelief. I concoct a possible scenario to explain this. Jack Nimbin had no doubt told Tracey Singer about the rumours of me poisoning Anthony so they've got a lookalike actor to try and trick me into a confession. Or at least unnerve me. An end which they'd definitely achieved. For the alternative was Anthony was awake, and was perhaps about to demand his body back on national television. But then I recall this isn't live. This is pre-recorded. He can't actually see me. And it's not an actor. I'd love it to be. But it's really him. I'd looked at that face in the mirror for 18 years. Like I had mentally noted in that first glance, thirteen years of muscle atrophy from disuse and sustenance only from nasogastric, or possibly even PEG feeding, had seen that face weather and distort through degrees of magnitude, but the eyes, sunken as they were, truly remained unaltered, and the bone structure the same. It was him. It was, I suppose, me. If Tracey Singer had wanted to, she could have interjected at this time, and said something to me like: "You look like you've seen a ghost." A common enough expression. But never would it have had a more apt and literal use than it did right now. For I truly did feel like I was seeing a ghost, and whatever facial expression accompanied that, was the one I would have in such a scenario. So accepting now that this was the same person who'd laid in a mindless coma for the last 13 years, and was now awoken from the dead, I was so overwhelmed with consecutive thoughts and questions that I could not order them in my brain. There was no way in hell I could conduct myself, or convey myself as a sane person from this point of the interview on. Tracey Singer had me. If she was all about the shock reveal, she had achieved that in spades. In spite of my protestations to the contrary, I had at least resigned myself on some level that this day was never coming. Particularly in the last couple of years, in the time since all the girls had suggested pulling the proverbial plug. I had belatedly started to see the inevitable writing on the wall. After all this time an awakening had seemed unlikely. Perhaps as an extension of that I'd never considered the logistics of Anthony waking up, or what would happen after he did. So I was in utter speechless shock. Unprepared, unsuspecting, unbelieving. If Tracey Singer had paused the video now and asked for comment I would have imploded. It was a small mercy then she let it roll. Perhaps it was because for her Anthony's emergence wasn't enough, but what he was going to say. It was still within the realms of possibility that Anthony was about to say he was really Kimberley, and that evil witch (me) stole her body. Of course that would dismiss him instantly as a crack pot and may well get him from the hospital bed to the psych ward so surely he wouldn't be stupid enough to do that. Although this is Kimberley we are talking about. She was a vapid nincompoop 13 years ago, and being in a coma won't have made that any better. I had to assume she would keep that quiet and would come for me about that later. She may actually believe that's what happened though. She may think I'm behind the transformation. I remember from back then; I blacked out when it happened and woke up after, and never being sure whether she, like me, blacked out in the transformation and never woke up. Or woke up from that, only to find herself in my body and then blacked out again, only this time never to awaken. If it was the former, then when she woke up from her 13 year coma, would have been the first time she discovered she was Anthony. I couldn't help but wonder how that had happened. Was it a sudden rousing or a slow return to consciousness? There was so much to consider in the midst of my meltdown I was in danger of missing the gist of Tracey Singer's interview with my former self. "Tell us about yourself Anthony." "Well I've been in a coma for the last 13 years. I only woke up recently, and have spent the last few weeks relearning to talk, to walk, to feed myself, to dress myself." The past few weeks?! Another surprise. How come nobody had told me? Clare specifically. She must have known. She's in communication with mum and dad more than weekly. This whole thing was now making me so paranoid. I'm beginning to feel more and more like the victim of a conspiracy by the minute. "It must have been quite a hardship for you," Tracey states with her ingenuine sympathy that I'm quite attuned to after our brief interaction. The camera has now panned out so I can see Anthony in full length. He's sitting in a wheelchair. Tracey is in shot now too. Sitting opposite. "Yes. It's been very.. extremely challenging," my old body states; looking uncertain and close to an emotional break. "Do you know how you ended up in the coma in the first place?" "I don't remember much about it, Tracey. But I've certainly been reminded about it by multiple sources since I woke up. It seems I got caught up in a rather vicious love triangle. There was this girl. She was the head cheerleader. She was maliciously trying to break up a relationship between my friend Lucinda, an athletics captain, and Brian the rugby captain. I didn't really know her, but I went around to her house one night to try and intervene, there was an altercation, and I ended up in a coma for the next 13 years." "Can you tell us for the record the name of this cheerleader?" "Yes." He pauses as if to heighten the suspense. But I imagine, like me, the viewing world know exactly what he is going to say. "Kimberley Jacobs!" The screen goes blank the moment after mention of my name, and Tracey Singer wheels around on me again. I can't help but think, before she speaks, why the hell would Kimberley implicate herself? She's just said Kimberley (me) poisoned Anthony (her). It doesn't seem the smartest plan. I can think of only one reason she's doing this. She's trying to back me into a corner. Make this life untenable for me. And the reason she's doing that is she thinks I have the power to change us back. Which means she believes I did this. The conceited bitch actually thinks I wanted to be her. That I cast a spell that transformed our bodies. Oh my God. You are dumber than you used to be. There is no way in hell I would ever have chosen your life. Yet when I think about it I suppose it's a logical conclusion. If she's been awake for weeks like she said, maybe too weak to do anything but with ready access to the world via internet she would have made finding out what happened to her old body the absolute priority. She would have researched me. She would assume I'm having a jolly old time laughing it up in her body. Of course that couldn't be further from the truth, especially right now. Tracey starts at me before I can further contemplate. "Just to be clear Kimberley. Neither myself nor Anthony are alleging you put him in a coma. That you assaulted him or poisoned or drugged him." "I'm glad to hear that Tracey." I'm trying to appear earnest and calm. Even though I'm certainly not the latter. "Because that's not what happened. I'm sure Anthony can't remember too much about it but he seems to have forgotten it was actually a love quartet. Silly teen drama really. It seemed so important at the time, but of course it wasn't. He actually was crushing on Lucinda and he came around to my house to strategise; not to confront." "We were just talking when he collapsed. I was just a university student at the time so I didn't understand but I'd say now, looking back, with the advantage of my medical knowledge, was that he had some sort of seizure and damage was done to the parts of his brain that are responsible for consciousness." I pause momentarily to calculate my next move. "It's what we call the Reticular Activating system Tracey," I purposefully medsplain. "Regulating sleeping and wakefulness. I was so afraid Anthony's was permanently damaged and he would never wake. But I'm overjoyed he has." Which I think I actually am. I just haven't been able to process that. "So you didn't poison him?" "No. I called the ambulance, accompanied him to hospital, stayed as long as I could. All his drug screens, serum and urine were negative. Need I remind you Tracey, I'm a Doctor. I help people. I don't hurt them." I felt like I was winning. Tracey might have been lulling me into that sense falsely. Looking at Anthony I could tell why he was pre recorded. Tracey didn't trust he could stand up to my scrutiny in a face to face confrontation. "And I'd love to see Anthony again after all these years." I wonder if that will be interpreted as a threat when he watches it. "Well Kimberley, you certainly have a few interesting anecdotes in your past." Tracey probably feels enough damage has been done. She has me looking decidedly sketchy. She knows she has won. "I guess I'm just a colourful character," I mock. "But I thought I was here to talk about my wonderful organization NETS, not any perceived shadiness from my past." "Oh yes. Let's." Tracey is insincere, but pretends to care. And we have a brief discussion about what NETS does, much like I had done on 'The Footy Show.' I was not so naive as to think the interview would end up edited favourably. Yet I chose not to warn Dr Michaels of what might be seen. I needed to see the final damage for myself. Once the interview terminated, and when I felt I was safely off camera I addressed Tracey Singer frostily but I was wary of other hidden cameras or recordings. "So much for a positive piece on NETS and empowering women. You're just a muckraker like those men on 'The Footy show.' You're the one who thinks you're better than everybody, not me. But you're not. You're a gutter journalist." She just smirks in reply and I am silenced, for the fears I'd articulated, not daring to say more and I leave. Which is all I wanted to do. So I can process what I just discovered. And what just happened. And try and make sense of it all. Chapter 9 With timing that was either fortunate or the exact opposite I'm no sooner home when a very tanned Mark and Clare roll in from the airport. They are in high spirits and giggling as Clare unlocks the door and enters the Unit. They seemed like they might have headed to the bedroom were I not unexpectedly there, sitting on the lounge room couch, clutching a pillow to my chest, staring blankly. "Oh hey Kim," Clare says excitedly. "I thought you said you were going to be working today. Which is why you couldn't pick us up from the airport. You lazy lying b..." She pauses and her tone changes dramatically. "What's wrong?" She has seen me there furrowed and mute. Instead of bouncing over my sister like I normally might, wanting to hear all about her holiday. I'm still stunned, but also unsure if I'm mad with her or not, and whether I have a right to be. "Why didn't you tell me?" It's more of a plead than an accusation. Clare pauses for a moment, as if trying to work out what it is I'm asking about, before realising. "I was going to. I was just about to. I thought it would be better in person." "This is the sort of thing you should have told me straight away," I say sternly. "Okay," Clare says. Uncertainly. "But I thought you'd be happy." "How could I be happy? Not by finding out the way I did. Ambushed. Humiliated." My voice raises. Clare looks confused, Mark too. "Steady on Kim," he says. I ignore him. "I've just come from being interviewed by Tracey singer on 'A Current Affair.' It was one of the worst moments of my life. It was the most damaging way I ever could have found out Anthony's awake." "Anthony's awake?!" Clare squeals. And it's clear she's not acting. "Mum and dad didn't tell you?" I enquire, realising my anger is totally misplaced. "No. I haven't spoken to them since the day we left." "But he said he'd been awake for weeks, you've only been gone a fortnight. They must know. Surely?" I'm uncertain. "Of course they would," Clare concludes. "They still visited your body at least twice weekly, like it was church or something, and as next of kin they would have known the moment he stirred." "I guess. But why wouldn't they tell you? Do you think it's so you wouldn't tell me? Do they still think I might go and finish the job or something?" "I don't know. I can't imagine it's that. I've spent the last umpteen years assuring them you're not the devil, I feel like they at least half believe me." "Unless." I muse. "He said when he woke up he couldn't walk or talk or anything. Unless mum and dad have deliberately not told you until he was more functional, so as to do like a big reveal." She doesn't address that possibility specifically but focuses on something else. "You've spoken to him? Oh God. How did that go? I'm surprised he didn't try to kill you or scream at you about getting his body back." "No," I reassure. "I saw him on taped interview." Before she can reply there is an interjection. "What the fuck is going on?" In the turmoil of the moment both Clare and I had forgotten we weren't alone. "Nothing Mark," I say, taking charge and flicking to damage control mode. "It's just family stuff. Perhaps you should leave." "No." He's stern. "Not this time. Not now Clare," he addresses his girlfriend. "There's something going on that you're not telling me. I heard what you said. What the hell do you mean by your comatose brother screaming about getting his body back? And what is your relationship with her really?" He points at me. "She's talking like you have the same parents. There's something really weird about this Clare and you're both lying. So if you're serious about our engagement then you need to start being honest with me." I inhale. I glance at my sister. Specifically my sister's hand. "You're.. you're engaged?" I exclaim. "Yes," she replies. "I thought that was what you were pissy about when we got home." "No. Of course not." I leap forward and grab her, squeezing her tight. "Congratulations little sis." I don't let her go. I see Mark watching us and I loosen my embrace. I hug Mark as well then. "Congratulations Mark." I say warmly, but he doesn't really return my embrace or my affection. "Which is it then?" Mark begins. "Are you cousins or are you sisters?" Shit! I quickly release him and I glance at Clare. "It's complicated," I reply. "Weird family dynamics." I try to dismiss it. "No Kim," Clare begins. "He's right. If I'm going to marry him I have to tell him. He'll just catch us in a lie sooner or later otherwise. And then all trust is gone. He kind of already has." "He won't cope." I speak as if he's not right there. "He's a smart guy Kim." Clare was no better with the third personing. "That's precisely the problem. He's a guy. I don't want any of them knowing." "Hey." Maybe Mark thinks that's sexist but he's ignored. "Well what do you propose we tell him? What do you think is going on honey?" Clare finally incorporates her fianc? into the conversation for the first time. "I don't know. Your dad had an affair and your mum doesn't know. And Kim's the result." "Can we go with that?" I say eagerly. "No. I don't want him thinking our parents are scandalous. He's marrying into this family remember." "Everyone does it nowadays Clare," I say but I'm kind of tending to agree with her. She gives me a look. "Fine!" I say. "But I want some sort of indemnification that if he storms out and you never see him again I'm not to blame." "I don't think you would; would you Mark? I'm a pretty good catch!" Clare is joking but I hope Mark realizes it's a truth. "Alright." I turn to Mark. "You asked for this. And whether you believe it or not is not my problem. And you get 3 stupid questions before I hit you with a frying pan, Rapunzel style." "Noted." Mark thinks I'm joking. I probably am. I can't be entirely sure. "Postcard version. When we were 18, a wayward curse turned Anthony into Kimberley and vice versa. She ended up in a 13 year coma and I've had to pee sitting down ever since." "So in summary. I used to be Anthony, now I'm Kimberley. Our parents don't know. They still think it's me in that coma. Or they did. I don't know what Kimberley's told them since she woke up. Anyway, welcome to the family secret future brother in law. Now's the time for you to give disbelieving looks and talk gibberish." He is silent. "Actually stay that way Mark. I need to fill my sister in on what a train wreck my life has just become." Clare takes my cue. "Why were you on 'A Current Affair' in the first place?" "Because Dr Michaels made me. The 'Footy show' interview went so badly. They found footage of me cheerleading and used it to humiliate me. So I went on 'A Current Affair' to try and redeem myself and for damage control. You know, resell the Nets message, which got completely lost in all their antics. But it just got so much worse. They insinuated that I was some sort of drug addict and the old 'I poisoned Anthony' rumours. I mean Anthony was pre recorded but he kind of played along with that." "But why?" "I thought about that. He thinks I'm responsible for the spell. He thinks I purposefully stole his life. And of course he would. She had such tickets on herself that of course she'd believe everyone wanted to be her." The pronoun switching was confusing even for me, as I gave my narrative. You would have thought after 13 years I'd have that sorted. And I did. It was easier when Anthony was a lifeless brainless entity. He was simply a him and I was a her. Now that he was awake and perhaps claiming not to be a him it had repercussions for me. "I can't quite grasp her rationale but I think she's trying to make things difficult for me so that I'll want to give her her body back. But in true stupid Kimberley style she hasn't thought it through. Any heat she places on me will end up on her when we do change back." I study my audience. Clare appears to be following. Mark is still processing. "So," Clare begins uncertainly. "So will you change back?" "I haven't thought that far ahead Clare. I'm still trying to get my head around everything." She makes a face. I don't think she wants me to. But it's not her decision. "Well if you can change back," Mark finally speaks. "Why haven't you before now?" "Because I didn't want to end up in a permanent coma Mark." Of course it was more complex than that, but that would do for him. "Who?" Mark continues. "Who was Kimberley originally?" For a moment I thought I'd need the frying pan but I realized it was actually a fairly intelligent question once I knew what he meant. "No relation," I explain. "She was a vacuous ninny of a cheerleader. So stereotypical it almost beggared belief. Clare never even met her. And I barely knew her." "And she wouldn't have been able to issue a burn like that." Clare coughs up, sarcastically. There was silence then. "We need alcohol," I offer. "And lots of it. It seems like there's a lot of shit to work through." I purposely changed the subject. Partly because I didn't want to deal with it all anymore, but mostly because I wanted to hear about my sisters holiday and their engagement. It was nice to get out of the introspective funk I'd been in for the last 4 or so days and have something to be happy about. He'd done well, Mark. Not just for ensnaring my sister I mean. The ring was pretty good for an intern wage. It may delay her moving out by being a financial setback, I think selfishly. And the proposal showed more of a romantic side to Mark than I had perhaps given him credit for. Clare talked enthusiastically about the holiday and the proposal. I had pangs of jealousy. For the holiday I thought. But maybe for more. I watched my loved up socially well adjusted sister talking about her life with enthusiasm and I was filled with envy. I had been single for so long. All my life really. I suspected the short lived second base romances I'd had as teenage Anthony didn't really count. Silly, shy, nerdy Anthony. It was probably very easy to say with the retrospectoscope but before I was wrenched from his life I feel like he was just about to come into his own. I mean I was at least trying to cure my virginity problem when fate intervened. Finally I was being recognised as an athlete of some merit, and hadn't Bethany said she would have considered dating me. I'm not sure how that would have panned out given she affirmed her sexuality soon after. But that clearly was not to be, and after being sexually assaulted I'd reared away from intimacy of any kind, with anyone. I still wanted Lucinda, but I wondered if that was habit. I hadn't spoken to her in 10 years. I wondered if all this was a positive sign, though. Clare was moving on with her life. Maybe it was time to get my original one back. Before I could mull too much 6:30pm arrived and we trepidatiously sat to watch "A Current Affair." It was every bit the hatchet job I expected, edited to portray me as unfavourably as possible, to make me look irredeemably villainous. The NETS discussion was left on the proverbial cutting room floor. I was prepared for this, but even so it was extremely unnerving. None of us spoke for the duration, and when it was over I still said nothing. "Wow," Clare spoke. "Are you okay?" she asked concerned. "I'm not of course. But I've got to say Anthony being awake is far more unnerving than that." I then have a thought. "Clare," I exclaim. "You need to ring mum and dad. As far as they know, this is the first you've heard your brother is awake. You should demand to know how long and why they didn't tell you. And find out exactly what Kimberley has said to them. She's obviously been smart enough to trick them into the whole 'I'm Anthony waking from a coma' palaver." I wonder for a moment if they are in danger. I don't air that thought with Clare though. I don't want to worry her. I'm not sure what the awoken Kimberley is capable of, looking frail and wheelchair bound as my old body did. But she was a manipulative bitch in her old life, so she could exploit my parents with such a doting audience. Clare agrees with the plan to call them and drill them for information. But even after ringing both parent's mobiles and the home phone there is no answer. Would they have been watching the article. I assumed so. Possibly even with Anthony for support. Tracey Singer was Melbourne based and most states had their own anchor, but if the article was deemed newsworthy enough it could be broadcast nationally. I had the sickening realisation that this would probably be the case. I had just appeared on the TV in every major Australian city and town. I imagined then that Beth and Caitlin would have seen it and amplify their efforts to contact me. God. What if Lucinda saw it too? Let's put aside the fact that the whole of Australia now think I'm the most evil woman who ever lived. How much more unravelling of my life can there be? I turn my phone off instantly. I go to bed early, although more retreat to my room is a better description. I can't sleep. I reassure Clare I'm coping but I'm really not. I'm just completely overwhelmed by it all. I'm numb. I think I've exhausted my total emotional stockpile. I think that there is some time requirement for feeling of any kind to reaccumulate. The next morning I'm up before the returned holiday makers, with bloodshot eyes and looking seedy. I don't really bother with restorative measures to give the illusion of status quo, but head into work early to prepare myself for yet another outburst from Dr Michaels. I walk into the NETs office. Three nurses are there, and one of them is Linda. Conversation finishes abruptly and I face their stares and deadly quiet. "Hi," I offer meekly. "You're off roster," Sarah, one of the other NETS nurses announces. "Dr Michaels wants to see you immediately." "I figured," I say softly. Then I add, for reasons I'm uncertain, but mostly to appear contrite. "I'm sorry." There is no response. Dr Michaels' door is open when I arrive. He doesn't greet me, merely barks at me to sit down. He gets up and closes the door behind me then. I hadn't. Was this an unconscious decision to give myself a potential escape route? When he re-seats himself behind his desk I speak before he does. "I'm sorry," I say for the second time in 5 minutes. "The damage you have done is irredeemable," he begins. It's a false calm. He's trying not to scream. He wants to. I think perhaps I'd prefer him to. "I didn't mean to." "Even so. This has turned into the biggest PR disaster in NETS history. In any organisations history I'd wager. You've single handedly destroyed our reputation. We may never recover from this." "It will all blow over though. People will forget." "No. They won't. The name NETS is now synonymous with a cheap fucking slut who can't keep her clothes on." I'm stung by his words. And taken aback. Shocked is an understatement. I'd never heard him speak like this. I never thought him capable of it. It was so vicious. And hurtful. "Dr Michaels..." I can't retaliate but I display my grievance. "There's an article in the Herald Sun today about how many of the local country lads you slept with as a teenager. There's even talk of a sex tape. What the hell is wrong with you?" There it was. The sex tape. Even if there was no remaining copy of it. Enough people saw it for them to talk about it. Furthermore, I didn't know how many boys Kimberley had slept with before I inherited her body. Early on at Deakin, after the spell, when I was still trying to work out who I was, plenty of the rugby players intimated they would like to revisit previous encounters they'd had. I ignored them and eventually the insinuation stopped. "I'm not that person any more," I say again to someone different. "This was all so long ago. It's not who I am now." "I don't care who you are now. I care about NETS. And our babies. And you've put everything in jeopardy. You have to go." "What?" "I'm sorry Dr Jacobs," he uses official tone. "Your services are no longer required with NETS, or with The Women's Hospital. You can leave immediately. And I will be recommending to the college you be removed from the Paediatric training program. I think that would be in everyone's best interest." I am perhaps too stunned to fully realise the repercussions. "You're firing me. Ending my career. Because of some bad publicity." "It's so much more than that and you know it. You are not a person of good character. And I don't think any parent, or any member of the public would want you looking after them, or their child." "But I'm a good Doctor," I plead. This time I am pleading for my job. "You know I am. How can you do this too me?" Don't cry Kim. I tell myself over and over. Be dignified. But my heart and soul is crushed. "Please Dr Michaels." "Get out of my sight," he says harshly. "And just so you know. I'll be letting every news service know how swiftly we dealt with you. Got rid of our bad apple. So at least your departure will be one bit of positive news." I knew my tears were welling, and I did not want him to see them. So I did leave. I did get out of his sight. I ran down to my office in NETS education, and hid. And cried. I knew it wasn't long before all my swipe access would be cancelled. Not only would I no longer be welcome at this hospital, I'd no longer be able to get in anyway. When I composed myself enough I gathered my things and left. I didn't see or say goodbye to anybody. I didn't know if they shared Dr Michaels' views. I suspected they did, given the reception Linda and Sarah had given me earlier. I would call Alice later. Searching for her now would just increase the risk of encounters. I needed to get back to the safety of my home, I needed to talk to Clare and formulate a plan. Even if I could not get Dr Michaels to reconsider, I had to stop the Paediatric College from removing me. There were plenty of other Neonatal positions, both in Victoria and interstate. And most states had an organisation similar to NETS. Surely if I wait long enough for the heat to die down, someone else would take me. But if I was removed from the training program I was a lost cause. I couldn't believe how fast my life was disintegrating. But I need to act equally rapidly to stop it. I rush home to Clare but she's not there. All that remained was a listless Mark on the couch watching morning TV. He startles and enlivens when I barge in. "Where is she?" I semi- demand. "She's gone," he replies. "To the airport." I look quizzical. "Her parents," he corrects himself. "Your parents I suppose; called her this morning. Replying to last night I guess. Next thing she's charging out the door off to get a plane to Sydney." "Did she say why?" "No time." I'm worried. What did she find out? What on Earth is old Kimberley up to? Plotting and scheming in my body. "I'll call her." "She's probably in the air. Leave it till she gets there," he rationalises. "This isn't good Mark. For Clare to leave like that. Something must be wrong." "Well it's good she's going then. To help sort things." "But without me?" I feel my anxiety build. "You're supposed to be working. Why are you home anyway?" I swallow hard. "I just got fired," I utter meekly. "What?" He exclaims. But my answer doesn't need repeating. I slump down on the couch next to him. I wanted Clare. I was sure she'd be home and that she would console me when I decompensate. I decompensate anyway. I bury my head in hands and start sobbing. Before long it's just messy ugly crying. I'm not really dwelling on anything in particular, just the whole of it really. Mark sits awkwardly beside me for a while, unsure what to do. With hesitation he eventually wraps an arm over my shoulder. He's a poor surrogate for my sister but I lean in anyway, nestling my shoulder in his armpit, and my head across his upper chest. He utters a few pointless reassurances which I ignore, but it is just nice to be held. They certainly have a distinct different smell about them; men. I'd forgotten that. I breathe him in. I'm suddenly jealous of my sister then. I want this. I've been alone so long. No one to love me, no one to touch me. No one to fuck me even I suppose. My sister is so lucky. So charmed. And all I have is this shit awful disaster of an existence. Why can't I just be happy. Why can't I have what Clare has. I unthinkingly place my free hand on Mark's lower abdomen. He jumps up off the couch immediately and rears away from me. My tears come to an abrupt halt. "Oh Mark. I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to..... I just wasn't thinking." He's unconvinced or unimpressed or both. "If that's not bad enough." As if beginning to speak mid thought. "I have to contend with the fact you used to be a dude." "That's not fair," I retaliate. "My life is falling apart. I just wanted some support. I wasn't trying to seduce you. And if the concept that I used to be male so repulses you then I'm not sure I want you marrying my sister." I didn't mean it of course but I was hurt. "Well we'll see how much of a sister she thinks you are when she finds out you tried to touch my dick." I gasp. "Mark! I didn't. I wouldn't. It's just a misunderstanding. Please don't say anything." "I'm leaving," he growls. And he storms out with a door slam. Oh God. I really didn't mean anything. It was nice to have some physical contact but I would never betray my sister. But what if Mark says something? Will Clare think me capable of that? I mean the rest of the world would after all they've learnt about me in the past week. But my sister would know better surely. But I'd learnt this once before and it seems like I was learning it again. When the whole world calls you a slut eventually you start to believe them, and maybe your sister does too. I'm alone now to howl away to my heart's content. Which I do actively. And it does seem to take a lot of tears to fulfil that desire. The day passes in its misery filled haze, a common state of being for me lately. I'm too scared to ring Clare now. I'll wait for her to ring me. Then I'll know if anything was said and whether she believes it. If she doesn't ring then that's equally disastrous. I can't lose her too. That's sure to be the end of me. Just before 5pm. My phone does ring. It had been eerily silent all day. I thought Ally or Cait would have hounded me relentlessly to check up on me. Maybe I shouldn't have ignored their calls all weekend. The number of the current call is unlisted but I answer, hoping it's Clare, wherever she is. It's not. It's a male. "Hello is that Kimberley Jacobs?" He asks in reply to my greeting. "Yes." I'm reserved. If this is more press I'll go absolutely spare, I think in that moment. "My name is Professor Burdon." Clearly not the press; I'm suddenly fearful this is the Paediatric college. Dr Michaels has perhaps made good on his spiteful promise. "From appra." I knew what that was. Not the paediatric college. This was worse. It was the phonetic pronunciation of AHPRA. The Australian Medical board. "Yes?" I say uncertainly. "I'm ringing to advise you that after all that has come to light lately we have decided that it is in the public best interests to suspend your medical registration." "What?" It was pretty clear what. Whether the paediatric college booted me out or not was now irrelevant. This was the overriding medical authority. I'm totally screwed. "Your license to practice medicine has been revoked. We will hold a formal hearing in a couple of weeks, which we will inform you about, where you are asked to show cause as to why your registration should not be permanently cancelled and you be removed from the register," Professor Burdon continues to clarify. I realise I've heard of him. He's an old fuddy-duddy physician on the board. So that's it. Suspended now. De- registered in 2 weeks. I can fight of course. Make a case. Beg for my medical life. But I was done with begging. Look how successful it had been with Dr Michaels, I reminded myself. There was nothing to be achieved by begging. I felt overcome by a seething anger. "You've got to be kidding," I hiss. "Pardon?" "You let psychiatrists who fuck their patients off with a stern word whereas I, who was a bit of a wild child as a teen, am going to be deregistered for that. You fucking misogynist prick." Take that. "Ms Jacobs I hardly..." "Ha. Well I suppose it is Ms now. Not Doctor anymore. Do you want to burn me at the stake as a witch too? Coz ironically I know some real ones." I want to get savage but I retain some control. "I don't understand." "This is a good old fashioned witch hunt. My past has nothing to do with my practice. And I'm being sentenced without trial." "There'll be a hearing." "A token one. The very definition of a Kangaroo court." "I assure you due process will be followed." "And I assure you you're full of shit. How do you propose I earn a living now? You've taken away my livelihood." "I think the only person to blame for that Ms Jacobs, is yourself." "You're a smug, arrogant old fool." "Goodbye Ms Jacobs." "Whatever." I think I felt a little better that the conversation ended that way rather than with me grovelling. At least I could claim to partly be an engineer in my own oblivion rather than a completely hapless victim. So that was it then. In the space of 5 days I'd lost not only my job, but my entire career. My credibility was shot. I was synonymous now with white trash skankdom for all the world to see. My sister thinks I betrayed her, and probably hates me and my friends have all seemingly abandoned me. My life was in complete an utter ruin. I could not have done a better hatchet job on it if I tried. As the world outside darkened for another night, and I sat alone in my unlit house, I could see no solution to my misery and no escape from my doom. My life was over. Despair engulfs me in totality. As I begin to succumb to the literal and figurative darkness a flash of light bursts forth in my brain, like a flare from a lost lifeboat. My life is not in fact over. Because of course, this is not my life! Anthony has awoken from his coma and no doubt wants his body back. And you know what; He can damn well have it. All the things Clare had said three years ago when they were wanting to kill him off, about how I was trapped in this life because of the responsibilities I had. They were all gone. I was nothing. I was an empty shell. And original Kimberley will do just fine getting her empty shell back. And I get to be Anthony again. I get my parents back. I'll get Clare back, she won't have to worry about me stealing her fianc? when I'm male again. And ultimately, most joyously, I'm sure I'll get Lucinda back. Thirteen years I'd waited for this. And now it was going to happen. I was going to get my happy ending after all. Bethany had promised. When Anthony was awake she would swap us back. Well that was now and there was no doubt in my mind that she would honour that promise. I had gone from desolation to rapture in moments. This was all clearly part of some plan. I hadn't done it intentionally, but my current life had to be razed to the ground to allow a clean start for both me and for Kimberley. I turned on a light, and then my laptop, and booked a Qantas flight to Sydney for the next morning. I won't tell her I'm coming, but I'll fly up to Beth and get her to fix this. I staggered into bed then, my mind mentally listing about whether there was anything in particular I had to do before exiting this life. Do I need to say goodbye to Ally. Explain why the next time she sees 'me' I won't have a clue who she is and won't be as nice a person. More materially, do I drain the bank accounts? This seemed sinister. Perhaps greedy. But I had worked for it. I had earned it. I decided I'd take half. Like a divorce. Then there was my home. The flat was as much Clare's as mine. I didn't particularly want Clare losing out, or being embroiled in some legal fight with the new Kimberley. I needed legal advice. But it would have to be from someone who knew the delicate intricacies of the situation. I resigned myself to the fact that it was not just Bethany I would have to see in Sydney tomorrow. As I had put on my nightclothes half an hour earlier I'd had mused wistfully that this may be my last night as a woman. Now it became apparent that it may be a few days before I can be sure the time to transform is right. Would I miss it? Being a woman I mean. I didn't think so. Right now this body was like a cursed rotting corpse. I just wanted to be out of it. The sooner the better. Although it appeared I was going to have to, at least for a day or two, figuratively at least, I could not wait. They say, and I don't know whether it's true or not, that it's always darkest before the dawn. For me it felt true enough. But dawn was coming. And with it, very soon, I would once again and forever more be who I was always supposed to be. For once again, and for the rest of my days, I would finally happily be: Anthony Wilkins. Chapter 10 February 2nd 2006. Sydney Olympic Park (10 years ago) I felt tingly all over. It was the affirmation I needed. I think it was the affirmation I wanted, but I was ambivalent about that. It was just over two years since I'd climbed into my car with Caitlin, and driven out of Wullendonga forever. On that day I had paused and taken one last lingering look around. Still hoping to the very last that Lucinda would appear, come running up over the hill. Maybe just to say goodbye to me. Maybe to beg me not to leave. Neither of those things happened of course, and I had not seen her since the day at the lake some months earlier when she told me she didn't want me because I was a woman. And I had not seen her since. Not once in the hundreds of days that had since passed. I suspected though, that I had thought about her on almost every one of them. But I could see her now. It was ironic that we were here, two years on, at exactly the same place where she'd discovered who I really was. Another day. Another race. Last time I was here it was the NSW state championships. This time though it was the National Championships. The Commonwealth games selection trials in fact. In 6 weeks those Games would be held in my home city of Melbourne. How I would dearly love to represent my country, in the green and Gold, in my town. I knew everyone here felt the same. We were all here for that reason. I was walking with my team mates, proudly sporting my Victorian royal blue tracksuit, when a gaggle of pale blue clad athletes passed us by. The colours of New South Wales. And there in the midst of them, was Lucinda. I knew she was competing, and I knew we would be racing. We were respective state champions. For various reasons we had not come up against each other in the past 2 years. I missed 2004 nationals because of the relocation to Victoria and finding my way in my new life. She had missed 2005 due to injury. Lucinda had gone to Athens in 2004 as a 19 year old, and was being touted as the next big thing for both Commonwealth games and Beijing. I had excitedly watched her on the tellie in the small hours in the 800 heats and semis at the 2004 Olympics, only to see her just miss the final. I felt pangs of longing for her watching her run, but I wondered if 18 months on I would still feel the same. I did. I wanted to go to her now. But I dared not barge through the New South Wales ranks as a sole Victorian. I watched her pass by and let the warm feeling wash over me. She must know I'm here too. You always knew who you were racing at nationals. You knew who the threats were. Did she consider me a threat? I had beaten her the last time we'd raced, but things were different then. Regardless, whilst I was clearly looking for her, she didn't appear to be looking for me. There were rumours too, that this was to be some sort of grudge race. That we hated each other. Because the last time we had raced we had refused to shake hands and there had been clear spite between us. I wanted to crush those rumours too by going up to her and giving her an affectionate hug. For the way I felt about her was anything but hate. Two and a half years since I'd last seen Lucinda Taylor, and I was still hopelessly in love with her. There were a lot of heats in the 800, but they weren't bothering with semis. Fastest 12 through to final basically. We weren't in the same heat but I still half expected her to approach me in marshalling. She didn't. I began to worry that the whole event may pass without us conversing. Maybe she didn't know I was here. Maybe she'd forgotten what I looked like as Kimberley. She hadn't seen me much as her. Apart from our picnic day together I suppose. But she'd kissed me then. Surely after that she must have a fair idea what I look like, and I hadn't really changed at all. Was she avoiding me? Was she mad that I didn't want to be friends with her when I couldn't have her? But that was just heat of the moment stuff. I still considered us friends. It was within an hour to the final when I summoned the courage to approach her in the warm up area. She was with her teammates who had also qualified for the final. They watched me warily. "Hi Cinders," I offered. It came out as warmly as I felt. "Hi," she replied. It wasn't friendly though and I was instantly filled with the fears I'd speculated on. "Can we talk? In private," I ask it like a warm request. Her teammates both express displeasure on their faces at the suggestion and she seems to be considering it rather than agreeing to it. "Okay," she finally concedes. Her lack of enthusiasm troubles me of course but I lead her away once I have her consent. We exit the marshalling room and descend a race taking us out of the stadium and find a quiet spot. We do not speak until I'm sure we're alone. "How are you?" I ask, for want of a better start. "I'm fine." She's courteous at least. "I've missed you," I say. But not emotionally, just sincerely. She does not reply, so I continue. "Are we Okay Cinders?" My voice needs a little steadying. "What do you mean?" "I feel like you're avoiding me. That you're mad with me." "I'm not mad with you. I just don't have anything to say to you." "Nothing to say to me?" My voice raises. "Nothing like. How have you been? How have you coped with being a woman these last two years? How's your sister?" "I don't know what you expect from me Kimberley. We haven't spoken in over two years and this is hardly the time and place for a catch up." "So you are mad? But you rejected me Cinders. You had to expect me to run away with my tail between my legs, ego battered, pride wounded and all that." "I said I'm not mad. This is nothing to do with that. I'm here to make the Games team. I don't want any distractions. I don't want to lose focus." "I'm not here to distract you Cinders. I just wanted to see my friend." "We're hardly friends Kimberley. Particularly today. We're rivals. You can't tell me you don't want what I want. And I'm not going to lose my place to you. Particularly when it's virtually cheating. You were a male for 18 years for goodness sake." "I was kind of thinking, given there's 3 spots, we could both make it together. That's what I was hoping for. And how can that be relevant now? What I used to be. You know as well as I that my body is as female as yours. It's not like I've got an advantage with high testosterone levels or a male bone structure." "Even so, how can you justify this? Potentially denying a natural born woman her right to compete." "What would you have me do Lucinda? Give up on my dream. It's the same dream I had as Anthony remember." "Yep, but you and I both know Anthony would never have made the Australian team. He just wasn't good enough." "I didn't know that!" I'm shocked. "I never believed that. And I had no idea that's what you thought." "Perhaps that's because we were friends and I was being supportive." "And you're telling me now because we're not friends?" "I'm telling you now because it's irrelevant. Anthony is gone." "But I'm not gone Lucinda. How can you even think that? Say that? I'm still me. I'm still the person you grew up with. I have the same soul. The same hopes and dreams. But you've given up on me and I don't understand why. And what's more you're contradicting yourself. You saying I'm not Anthony anymore, but that I'm not truly Kimberley enough to justify myself as a woman. You're confusing the fuck out of me Cinders. What would you have me do?" "I'm not having this discussion with you now Kimberley. I have to do my race prep. But you should seriously think about doing the right thing today. You know you should." She walks off then, without looking back, I let her go in silence. Was she right? Was I a fraud? Was the fact that I'd not lived a female childhood or endured a female puberty with breasts budding and body confidence issues and the trials of menarche negate my right to represent my country as a female athlete? If this is what my lifelong best friend thought then maybe I should heed it. When the race comes I don't approach her at the start, but her face is pretty clear about how she regards my presence. I can't run with conviction knowing she feels that way. I let her win. I let two Queenslanders take the minor places. I finish fourth. I offer her my hand at the end. Hopeful it will quash the rumours of bad blood, and she takes it. "Satisfied?" I ask, but not bitterly. "Very," she replies, and lets go of my hand, walking away. I decide there and then my days of competing are over. It's only her who knows of course, but if it's how she really feels then I can't race with a clear conscience. Six weeks later I watch her from the stands of the famous MCG at the Melbourne Commonwealth Games, where in spite of valiant effort, she is no match for the Africans and fails to medal. I'm sad for her. I don't imagine she knows I'm there. I don't imagine she cares. I never see her again after that. A few years later, some time after Clare discovers the truth about me, I recount the story of our exchange to her. Clare perhaps sees our meeting with a clarity I could not. Lucinda Taylor does not care about me. In fact Clare tended to think that she did in fact hate me. It's the one and only time I have seen Lucinda since our day at the lake. I don't envisage ever seeing her again. I feel like it's something I should actively avoid. And it's easy enough to do, when we live in different cities, and I'm not racing anymore. Ten years have passed now, since the Games trials, and now I have to see her. I need her help. I don't really feel I have much choice. Wednesday 17th August 2016. Sydney CBD "Chan, Davey, Whiting and Byrne." I read the sign on the building out loud, but only for me to hear. But no 'Taylor' I mentally note. I wasn't sure when you made partner, clearly it took longer than 8 years. I'm not that familiar with the Sydney downtown. Sydney Olympic Park is a lot further to the west, and that's the part of Sydney I knew better. I'm at the right building though. A big impressive Sydney law firm. It was easy enough to find Lucinda's place of employ. She was all over the internet. I didn't have to use linked-in or Facebook to find her. I was worried this might leave a cyber footprint. Not that I needed the element of surprise. Or maybe I did. I feel like a refusal to see me is less likely if I'm in the foyer of her building. I announce that accordingly to the girl behind the security desk. "Hi. I'm here to see one of your lawyers, Lucinda Taylor." "Do you have an appointment?" "No. It's a personal matter. I'm an old friend." "Ms Taylor is completely booked out with clients today. If you perhaps leave your name and contact details..." "She is expecting me," I lie. "She said to tell you to call her to verify and then to go right up." The woman reluctantly complies. I tell her my name. It seems she encounters a few walls of personal assistants who all go up the chain, seeking affirmation. After several minutes and prolonged pauses I become increasingly worried. Would Lucinda truly refuse to see me? Not even give me the courtesy of that. I did what she asked of me last encounter, all those years ago. She can't be bitter about me for that. Finally the woman speaks. "Yes she is expecting you. Here's a visitor pass. Head on up." I am relieved, and a little surprised Lucinda had played along with my fib. But it's pretty encouraging truth be told. "What floor is it?" I ask, and this induces a suspicious look, like I really should know. "9th floor," she replies curtly. I find my way with help once there, and what seems to be Lucinda's final guard dog, her very own personal assistant, a camp looking young man named Curtis, directs me to a seat outside her large mahogany looking door. "Ms Taylor will be with you shortly. Can I get you anything?" Curtis states and asks with business like efficiency. "No, I'm fine thankyou," I reply warmly. It isn't actually long before the big door opens and a man comes out. Lucinda is not far behind him and I appraise her; quickly in those initial moments. She has aged well. Not that we are old, but she was barely out of her teens last time I saw her, that day at trials. In the flesh I mean. She looks elegant and sophisticated. Immaculately dressed as one would expect from a high flying lawyer. My analysis is thorough and I'm filled with an unexpected pang of pain, on my inspection of her accessorising. I am annoyed at my naivety, and reflective about my emotional reaction. Lucinda engages the man in one final exchange. "Don't worry," she says kindly. "We're so very near the end of it. You've handled it all with such dignity I'm sure the public will respect you all the more for that." He's probably someone famous I guess. I don't really look. I can't take my eyes off the woman before me. But I sense his eyes on me now. For a moment I think he's checking me out. But then why would he? Compared to this omnipresent Goddess in front of me I look like a shabby peasant. It's more likely he's identified me from either "A Current Affair" or "The Footy Show." I had felt that maybe it had happened a lot at both Tullamarine and Sydney airport, and even on the plane. Stares and whispers. But I thought it was perhaps just paranoia. Regardless, after this I decided a box of Clairol on the way back to the hotel room might make me less recognisable as a brunette. I avoid the man's gaze completely. Lucinda separates from him and approaches me. I get the sense he is about to speak. But not to her, to me. So I scurry towards Lucinda and past her, back towards her office. She's a little surprised, but follows me. I travel a few metres into her vast lush office and turn, awaiting her to follow me, and close the door behind herself. She does. "I didn't want to do this out there," I begin. "Do what?" "Say Hi. Tell you how much I missed you. Tell you how sorry I am for whatever I've done. Ask for your help." She is silent. "I know you're busy Cinders. And important. And I don't want to waste your time. But 13 years ago you asked Anthony, you asked me; to find a way back to you. And I think I have. I know it's too late. I see you're married." I glance again at her wedding and engagement ring, which I'd seen straight away outside her office. "But it doesn't mean I can't try and get our friendship back." "How are you Kimberley?" Lucinda begins, as if I hadn't just spoken an entire spiel to her already. "I've been better," I begin. "I'm not sure if you've encountered any of my recent misadventures all over the news of late." "A bit." She's hesitant in her confirmation. "I'm a bit of a mess., as you can imagine..." I begin. "I've got clients all day." It's abrupt. "Please don't brush me off Cinders." I'm shaken by her interruption. "I'm not." She's a little softer. "But you can't expect me to drop everything for you just coz you show up after 10 years." "Well, can I make an appointment then?" "I'm not sure you can afford me." I'm uncertain if she's joking, so I'm silent. "Tonight Kim. After work. We can talk then." "Ok." I'm heartened. She called me Kim rather than an officious pronunciation of Kimberley. I know it wasn't 'Ant' but it was a step in the right direction. "How will I reach you?" I want to shore up the practicalities. "Curtis will give you my personal mobile number; and we can meet back here or somewhere close." She is back at her door and opens it, ushering me through it. With the reassurance of a meeting later I didn't feel too much like I was being hastily dismissed. Lucinda follows me out, spying a man sitting on the couch I had occupied briefly earlier. "You're still here," Lucinda directs at the man. It must be the one who just left her office when I arrived. I'd payed little attention then, and still wasn't. "Is everything okay?" Lucinda asks of him. "Yes. Fine thanks Lucinda. I'm actually waiting for her." I suddenly realize he's talking about me. I finally direct my focus to him. I'm thinking: what the fuck do you want? I imagine my facial expression says similarly. But it's the first time I've really looked at him and realization hits me. I know him. I'm frantically searching my brain to determine from where. "Oh of course Damon," Lucinda remarks. "I forgot you two know each other." That's it. His name was the clue. The footballer from the show. That was supposedly my favourite player. I cringe. "We don't really know each other," I refute. "But we've met." My shackles go up. I'm ready for hostility. "I just wanted to make sure you're okay. After last week's show. After what they did," he begins. "What do you think?" I'm mindful about being too snaky in front of Lucinda. "I lost my job because of what they did. And I've been deregistered." He didn't seem sure what that meant but he knew it was bad. Lucinda did though. I could sense in her posture change a reaction. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't know they were going to do that." He looks glum. "They weren't very nice to you either." I remember his reaction to comments about his wife. I'm trying to be conciliatory, and I ask politely. "Is that why you're here? To see Lucinda. For your divorce?" "Yes." He's meek. "It's been...prolonged. My wife hasn't been exactly fair." "I'm sorry," I say. And now we're both expressing our sorrow to each other without either of us being responsible for it. "But he's a trooper," Lucinda adds. "He's kept his dignity." He smiles. "Is that why you're here?" He parrots my question back at me, which on reflection was probably fair enough. I just wasn't expecting it. "Are you planning on suing or something?" He asks. "God no!" I exclaim, surprised. I hadn't even thought of that. Maybe new Kimberley will if she can be bothered, once she (re)inherits her body. If she feels her reputation tainted. But of what I remember of her she'd be much more likely to proudly own it. "Lucinda and I are old friends. I just came to visit." This is my justification for my presence. It's partly true I suppose. The real reason could not be rationally explained. Besides, it was strictly none of his business, although I wouldn't blatantly express that. "Oh," he notes. I suppose it would be an unexpected coincidence to him. I guess it was to me as well. He continues. "You have a great friend in her. Lucinda has been a fantastic lawyer and a great support." "I know. I can imagine." I shoot Lucinda a look that indicates the opposite. She hasn't been either of those things to me. She diverts her eyes. "Actually Damon," Lucinda begins, looking at him rather than me. "You can do me a big favour. Kim's from out of town, as you know, and she's got four or five hours to kill before we can meet up. Can you entertain her for me? You said you had the rest of the day off." Lucinda seems to think this a good plan. I don't know if she intended to land me in it. But she has. I give her a second scathing look within a minute. And I realize that given I haven't seen her for 10 years, and am still trying to define whether we have any sort of salvageable relationship; so perhaps I shouldn't be coming off as such a bitch. So I relent with the wicked looks and turn my attention back to Damon as he speaks. "Yeah of course," Damon replies. "I'd like that. If that's okay with you." He directs at me. "I mean if you don't have any other plans." I wasn't going to see Beth till I knew the financial emancipation had been dealt with, so I didn't have anything to do. Nothing was exactly what I wanted to do. Well that and go back to my hotel room and dye my hair. Although the more I thought about it a supermarket colour seemed beneath me. I could find a hairdresser in this city surely. Getting a professional colour would fill the entire afternoon and I'd be able to easily deal with some post teen chippy's idle prattle rather than making an effort to be civil to a meathead like Damon Wall. But I felt a little bit pinned down. Lucinda has made it difficult for me to wiggle my way out of this. "That would be lovely," I say sweetly. It's probably partly my own false saccharinity but also the resignation that I'm trapped with this guy for hours, but I suddenly have an urge to vomit. I take a few deep breaths till it passes. Damon doesn't notice. Lucinda does. "You okay?" "A little queasy from the flight," I say. "I haven't really eaten today." Which was just a thought spoken out loud. "Well I'll take you to lunch then," Damon chirps. "I know a great restaurant down by the water." I assume he means Sydney Harbour. I don't know Sydney at all I realize. I'm not even sure which direction to walk to actually find the water. Maybe a tour guide will be good. "Alright then," Lucinda says. "I better get back to work. But you two have fun." And she casts a sly grin directly at me. It takes a moment to process but then I have the startling revelation of what is actually going on. Lucinda has set me up. And I'm suddenly self conscious of my appearance. Wishing I'd made more effort. Would it be too obvious if I excused myself to the toilet and came back from the Ladies with lipstick and mascara on? And why the fuck am I even thinking about that? Well I knew why. Because of my stock standard insecurities I suppose. And also because I supposed that's what you were meant to do. When you went on a date. Which is what this was. What Lucinda had just engineered. A date with Damon Wall. Chapter 11 I am buoyant as we walk down a crowded city street that I feel like I should know the name of; more for orientation purposes than anything. But not because of the company. My encounter with Lucinda was so encouraging. I guess I would know for certain tonight but I'm sure she'll help me. I tell myself that she will be as excited to get me, the real me back, as I am. I was disheartened by the fact she was married. Although it's not like I hadn't considered it likely over the years. We were 31 now. Certainly well into the marriage window. I wondered what her husband did as Damon Wall spoke at me. I could listen enough whilst lost in my own thoughts so as not to be rude. He was playing tour guide, as seemed to be his implied brief from Lucinda. We had walked down Pitt St apparently and we're going around to The Rocks to some restaurant that overlooked the harbour. It was about 1:30 in the afternoon and Damon explains that although it's likely booked out he knows people there and we should be able to get a table for two. I'm not sure if he's trying to impress me or just stating fact. It sounds more like the latter. Does this make him more or less arrogant? I'm not sure. But he is accurate. They fawn over him like a rock star, and a prime table materializes. "Ok," I relent when seated. "I'm a little impressed. But I really didn't think Aussie rules was that big in Sydney." "I just come here a lot," he replied. "It's less to do with fame and more to do with being a regular customer I think." He seems a little self effacing. It's unexpected, and a little endearing. "Regardless. I feel underdressed. You in your suit and everything so swish." "You look fine. I suspect you'd look good in anything." I flush. Was I fishing for that? "How do you know Lucinda?" he asks to allow me to recompose I imagine. Definitely no foundation to hide my emotions this time. "We grew up together. She's from Wullendonga too." "I didn't know that." "She probably doesn't advertise it. We were best friends as kids. Inseparable really. But I moved to Melbourne at 19. And we kind of had a falling out 10 years ago. I hadn't seen or spoken to her since. Till today." I'm uncertain why I'm so candid. A waiter had already brought us each a champagne and I'd efficiently knocked mine back, but it was way too soon to have had effect. Part of it was perhaps the pending escape from this life. I didn't need to be coy about anything.. "Wow. I wouldn't have known. You seemed to get along so well." "I think it might have been habit." "But you do want something from her don't you? Maybe to help you get your registration back." I hadn't thought of that. But it wasn't necessary. "She's a family lawyer. I don't think she can save my medical career." "But someone else in her firm. They do it all there. Criminal, commercial, civil litigation..." "You sound like you're advertising them." I'm surprised he's so au fait with things legal. "Well we use them so