Free Max by C.J. Duggan

Fourteen
     
    Max
     
    Ben Erickson? A shearer from Ballan, six
foot, toned, tanned with black hair, blue eyes, and was a twenty-three-year-old
non-smoker, a social-drinking Leo who drove a brand new Toyota Hilux and loved
camping, fishing and Aussie Rules football.
    Never heard of him.
    Adam and I shared the ear piece to a
surprisingly clear connection. Our stance was nothing if not awkward as I held
a tea towel around the mouth piece of the phone to prevent any noise coming
through on the other end.
    The idea had been to see if what I had
interrupted before had been anything about me, but what I didn’t really suspect
was that it would be all about Mel, who by all accounts wasn’t the little
Melanie Sheehan I once knew. I wondered if Bluey knew about this bloke
Erickson, who seemed to be a bit old for her, if you asked me.
    Spotting a customer at the bar I nudged
Adam and motioned him to serve him, which he did reluctantly. I pressed the ear
piece flat to my ear as Mel’s voice continued to filter down the line.
    “One night, Ben took me to this really
flash property out on the old Miller Lane; he organised for this chef to cook
us this amazing three-course dinner by moonlight underneath this beautiful big
gum under the stars. He is so big and imposing you would never guess how
incredibly romantic he can be,” Mel crooned.
    I rolled my eyes. The bloke sounded like a
wanker, probably just buttering her up to get into her pants. I knew the type.
    “Oh, wow, he sounds amazing! Not even Sean
would go that far, and he is not bad on the romance, but this is like … wow,”
said Amy, accompanied by ooohing and ahhing from the others as Mel unveiled
more stories of her fucking boyfriend of the year. I was and I wasn’t ready to
hang up. I likened the experience to a traffic accident: you knew you shouldn’t
look but you couldn’t help it, plus on behalf of Bluey I thought I should
definitely be overhearing and analysing a character assessment on this Mr
Smoothy. It’s the least I could do.
    Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Henry.
    Initially I had felt bad by over-listening,
but now I had been satisfied that my paranoia was not granted, until of course
I heard my name.
    “What about Max?” asked Amy. “When I heard
Max was carrying a girl from his home town to his bedroom I thought you might
have been his mysterious girlfriend from back home.”
    The room went eerily silent, to the point
where I feared someone might have been
    on to the intercom and they were all
motioning to be quiet, but then the silence was broken.
    “Oh, um, no Max is um … just …”
    “Mel, are you blushing?!” Amy cried out.
    “No, I’m not,” defended Mel.
    “Yes, you are. Isn’t she, Penny?”
    “Bright as a beetroot,” said Penny.
    “Wow! Spill, what’s the story there?”
    “There is no story!” Melanie snapped.
    “Yeah, yeah, no girl blushes like that
unless there’s a history.”
    “I have a boyfriend, remember?”
    “So what, is Ben the present and Max the
past?” asked Heather.
    “No! There is nothing between Max and me.”
    “Ah yes,” Amy crooned. “But would you like
there to be?”
    And there it was once again, a long,
drawn-out, painful silence that had me wondering if the intercom had been
disconnected, and now I wished I could see what was happening, read the
expressions, see said blushing. And then the silence was broken by knowing
catcalls and taunts that echoed in the kitchen.
    “Mel, that look just said it all!” laughed
Amy.
    And just when I couldn’t think I could
press the receiver close enough to my ear, the line went dead, the teasing
calls and taunts for Mel were abruptly cut off, as if someone this time had
ended it.
    I stared at the phone, a troubled, confused
expression no doubt plastered across my face as Adam sidled up next to me.
    “How’d you go, any juicy goss? Does Melba
need a bunion cut off? Does the new girl fancy me?”
    I looked up at Adam who was waiting with
good humour for