3 Naked Men and Tamara

by Karen Goldrick

It’s another beautiful day in paradise, at least that’s what Kent says as he passes me my green tea. I really need black coffee. Two black coffees, and one of those scrumptious chocolate friands, but Kent says the green tea is full of antioxidants, so I s’pose I’ll drink it. Then I’ll have the friand.

He’s passing me the phone.

“Thank you gorgeous.” He notices but ignores my early morning sarcasm.

I hear the high pitched whine of a female post teenager on the phone. I picture her in tight low slung jeans and a cropped top, with a bulge of uncontained belly spilling out in between. She has work related issues. She thought the bastard intended to make her an honest women.

“Take a photo of the pair of you doing the rumpy pumpy love, and make sure his wife gets a copy.” She’s not so sure about this. “At least you’ll know where you stand. Just remember, you’re a beautiful person and he’s a jerk.”

I hang up and watch the midmorning rush subside. I never rise until after peak hour. Then I can enjoy my breakfast on the sidewalk and watch the school mums and salesman sweep past in their 4WDrives. I’m still in my dressing gown. Today it’s fluffy pink terry towling. Of course I’ve put make up on, but my hair’s still standing on end like a used red mop. Kent hands me my glasses.

“I’ll have a black coffee now, and one of those friands. No, don’t argue. I need caffeine and chocolate.”

He’s thoughtfully left my laptop on the table, beside the salt shaker and sugar bowl. I don’t even need to turn it on.

“Dear Tamara, I’m in a beautiful long term relationship” ... you lucky gal you ... “but suddenly my partner wants to transex. To become a male. What should I do? Signed ... freaked out.”

Dear freaked out ... hmmmm ... these dykes ... always want perfectly harmonious emotional and sexual relationships ... why don’t you just chill. Embrace the adventure and go with it. If it doesn’t work out ... bale.

Kent wants me to check the website so he can get to work. I can smell the need oozing from his pores and from the Linx he insists on wearing because the new commercial is so impressive. He’s wearing unfashionably tight faded jeans, always fashionably tight black T shirt and a leather biker’s jacket. Sort of eighties gone wrong. I’m licking the crumbs of friand from under my fingernails and wondering if I should have another.

“Professional feminist full of life looking for casual relationship. Spiritually and emotionally intelligent enjoys balance of inner and outer life.” Kent smiles and tells me he thinks he knows how to confuse her inner and outer lives. I smile back and tell him she’s looking for a girl. He sighs.

“Oh well, Valentino owes me a favour. He’ll pass as a girl.”

That’s my Kent. He could talk even Johnny Howard into owing him a favour. But not me. I don’t believe in office romance.

Kent gets me to my first appointment with only a few moments to spare. I’m still in my pink dressing gown. Two of the boys help me remove my blue silk pyjama pants and I recline, with as much comfort as I can summon, on the table. There are three today. All naked. Kent, the darling, must be after a pay rise. Pale anglo young things of slender sinewy build. I allow my eyes to skim over every hill, niche and valley. One isn’t circumcised. His penis a quaint pale fat slug compared to the other two helmeted toy soldiers. Kent comes over and they all three stand to attention. The Lynx affect.

He hands me my phone.

“Is that you, Tamara?”

I know that underwater baritone. “Lexie, gorgeous, how are you?” I say.

“Wonderful news.”

I already know what he’s going to say. “Karlos out of jail? Fabulous!”

Oooooeeerrr! I always hate that bit. But once it’s in, I really can’t feel it.

“Don’t make it too cold.” I tell the little slug as he turns on the tap.

“What was that, Tamara?” I hear Lexie in my ear. I tell him it was the gaspatcho soup. How can I explain that I now have the most pristine poo tube in the Inner West.

Kent hands me another cup of green tea and I hand him back the phone. I think about Karlos, and wonder where I’ve left the ring.

It’s mid afternoon now and what do you know, it’s too late to bother with actually getting dressed. I’m thoroughly internally cleansed and comfy in my dressing gown and slippers. I apply a new coat of plum lipstick to my lips and Kent brings over the laptop. He tells me I need to put in a solid hour’s work. We still have four singles to pair off, three letters to reply to, and there’s the small matter of organising Sheik Habib’s escorts for tonight.

“And this is for you.” He hands me the phone. At first I hear no voice, just the moist rasp of breath. Some teenager who’s too scared to give a voice to his problem. An older man perhaps, who doesn’t really believe in this sort of thing. I press the speaker phone button and put the phone down, so the heavy breathing becomes a back drop to our work.

“How many, what gender and which race?” I ask Kent. He looks at my phone but I wave his worries away. It’s on mute.

“Three. Female. Curvy Mediterranean types with dyed blonde hair.” Our breather is still there. Perhaps I should talk to him. Coax him back to actual speech. I flip through the catalogue on my laptop. Queen Bee fits. Little Forrest is probably too butch. Veronica, if Kent can fix her hair by tonight.

“We need one more,” I tell him. “What about your mother?”

“Busy,” he replies.

“Make her unbusy.” Kent heaves a hissy sigh and stomps out to the next room. I leave him to organise his favours while I read the next letter. But something is wrong. I can hear the muffled viola tones of Kent on the phone in the next room, but it’s way too quiet. The breathing has stopped.

I pick up the phone.

“Hello,” I say.

“Hello Tamara.” If ever a cocktail mixed fear and desire it was Karlos. I don’t want to see him, but I wont be able to stop him. I wont be able to stop myself. I push Kent out the door with the laptop. He’ll have sort the rest himself. There’s an old box of Dunhill in my bedside table, and one of the cigarettes is still intact, more or less. I light it, inhale and wait for the nicotine to dampen my apprehension. It will be fine, if I can find the ring. It will be fine. And there’s no way Karlos will ever know I put him there in the first place.