What Wicked Games We Play

I think I surprised them by finding the fifth for the harmony. Hayley, who wasn't quite so comfortable with vocals, concentrated on powering the riff.

Another one down. Things went smooth, although Sylvie managed to ruffle me, constantly questioning my rhythm and timing.

Okay, I was hardly a seasoned pro, but I felt comfortable with my playing. I may not be Sheila E, but I held my end up. Having Sylvie constantly picking holes in my playing fucked with my head. Especially when I knew she was wrong. It made me question her motives. She certainly had an alpha personality. She liked to be boss.

I put it down to her wanting to impress the other girls as much as me. It was hella good fun though, and it lifted my spirits. I'd forgotten how much I loved to play. My social life was almost nonexistent since returning. Playing felt so good I trembled.

Afterwards, we had a few drinks as we talked songs, and of course, band names. I laughed giddily. Every band I'd played in argued and fought over a name. This one was no different. I watched on in delight as the discussion went back and forth. Round and round. I sipped on my third vodka slider. I said nothing, but I did take it all in. Watching Sylvie, she sure was manipulative. She got the others to feel guilty for having their own opinions.

How she did it I don't know, but it intrigued me.

The early days of the band were interesting. It wasn't the actual performance, it was the way the girls accepted Sylvie's selections. It didn't really worry me, but it was fun watching Sylvie work on the girls.

Every time one of them said no, Sylvie managed to convince them to go with her suggestions. She missed her calling; she should have been an attorney, or failing that, a politician.

As we worked into the song list, Sylvie was full of instructions for everybody. She couldn't play drums, but she sure knew how to make me grumpy.

"Can't you make it sound fuller, or darker?" she muttered.

"You don't want it to sound like the original then?"

"Yeah, but rockier; you know what I mean."

"No I don't. What I just played is almost exactly how the original goes."

"Then make it faster or something, it feels like it's dragging."

I played it faster, and she turned and glared at me. "It's not a fucking race, Abby."

"You said faster."

"Not that fast, brighter maybe, more high hats?"

I did as she asked, but again it wasn't right. Every song was the same: she fought with somebody to get what she wanted. I could see the dissatisfaction on the other girls faces as she called them out for some minor infraction. There was always something.

Darla and Hayley were fun, easy to get along with and we became close friends. The night Darla broke up with her girlfriend, we ended up at my place. She got shit-faced, crying and sobbing on our shoulders in turn as we tried to console her.

"I thought she was into me."

"We all did babes." Hayley sighed. "You were good together. What happened?"

"I dunno, she said it wasn't working. I was too intense, never let her be herself. Like, what the fuck does that mean?"

"You can be a bit bossy," Sylvie mumbled.

Hayley and I gasped, glancing knowingly at each other. "Don't listen to her," Hayley snapped. "You're no such thing."

"I did everything for her, the fucking pillow princess. She never wanted to reciprocate. The one time I asked her, she does this."

"Is that her thing, receiving?" I asked.

"Yeah, and I love it as well, but shit sometimes, a girl just needs to get off."

"Yeah, ain't that the truth," I said, acknowledging her.

Bands are a lot like families. We're tied to the members by need, and by the fact we all live under the one banner.

Our first gig: God, what a fiasco. Everything that could go wrong went wrong. We had a broken speaker lead, and no spare. Because of the cable configuration, we couldn't use our PA; we had to use an old one the Penguin had in their storeroom.

It worked, but it was shit. We couldn't get the sound right. Darla's synths power supply crapped it, reducing her to just piano. Part way through our first song, and Sylvie's music stand collapsed sending all her lyrics flying.

Yeah, it was a night to forget. There was laughter a plenty from the audience. Not so much us, with everything going wrong, the stress levels were huge. Out of time, false starts. You name it. We did it.

Still, it was our first gig, and I've heard it's a thing for most bands. At least we weren't alone in our shittiness.

We learned, and we got better. The band, though, wasn't my main concern. That was my business. The day I got an email from my old boss in London, everything changed. Up until that time, I'd been buying gemstones from local suppliers and market place. It meant I got them easily, but wow, they were expensive.

The email alerted me to a large shipment of gemstones. Stella, my old boss, purchased a huge container load of gems from Africa. She couldn't afford to keep all of them, and offered to sell some to me.

Too good to be true, and my first instinct was to say no. However, as I flipped through the manifest of the gems, Stella wanted to offload. I was beyond interested. It was exactly what I needed. Not having suitable gems available had been holding me back. Sourcing them locally was possible, I simply didn't have the contacts. Not yet, anyway.

The twenty-five grand price tag was a sticking point, though. Although I was doing okay, I certainly didn't have that sorta cash laying around. Even if I maxed out my credit card and withdrew every cent I had, I still wouldn't have been able to afford it.

There was always Mum. I grimaced at the thought. Yeah, she'd happily give me the money, I knew that. But at some stage, if you want to be the strong independent woman you tell everybody you are. Then you gotta do it for your self.

I went through the inventory again, highlighting all of the gems I was interested in. Stella agreed to break the shipment down, but once I added, excise and GST, it would still be over twenty grand...

My only hope was a loan from the bank. Filling out the application paperwork, I got an understanding of how it was going to stretch my finances. Crunching numbers, yeah I was good with that. I drew up a proposal and a plan on how I would make it work.

When I looked at it, I sniggered at my naivety. There was no way they'd lend me the money. I sent in my application expecting the worst.

Two weeks later, I got a message from the bank, asking if I could make a five PM meeting.

God I hated it. Sitting outside the managers office, waiting expectantly. It took me back to my days at Waitaki Girls sitting outside the headmistresses office, my head full of fear, anxiety, wondering what it was for.

Right as the hands of the clock moved past five, the door opened and a rather striking woman emerged, tall, elegant and very attractive.

"Ah, Abigail, so pleased to meet you." She extended her hand. "I am Hannah Benson, the manager. Come into the office."

Once inside, she guided me to a chair facing her desk. "Would you like tea, or coffee?"

"Tea would be nice." I replied. After a brief conversation with her assistant, she sat facing me. "I thought we should have a little chat about your loan application."

I nodded, trying to decipher her tone, her piercing eyes fixed on mine. Lovely eyes, a deep browny green, little flecks of light reflecting back at me.

"Is there a problem?" I asked, my eyes taking in her appearance. Business chic I suppose. A lovely fitted cream blouse, a Chinese collar, two buttons unfastened.

"Not a problem as such, but the application has left me with many questions."

"Ah, I see. Hopefully I can help."

"Yes absolutely." She replied, as a gentle knock on her door announced the arrival of our refreshments.

"I must say, the documentation is very thorough, you have laid out a very detailed plan."

"Thanks, I tried to cover everything."

She nodded, her eyes going down to look at the laptop screen in front of her. "The prices quoted here. Are they current, and is there some verification on the gemstones?"

"Yes, I did attach the manifesto, which does include a documented declaration. Added to that, I personally know the seller. I used to work for her in London."

Her eyes glanced up her expression questioning. "You worked in London?"

"Yes, it's where I learned to design and make jewellery."

"Oh, I see. Was it like an apprenticeship, or training program"

"Nah, just me working with her. As far as qualifications go. I have none apart from my business management and accounting degrees."

"You studied business?" she asked, the curiosity so clearly evident.

"Yeah, studied at Dunedin."

"Gosh, what brought about the change in direction? Jewellery manufacture is about as far removed as you could get."

"I knew while I was at Uni. It wasn't for me. I headed overseas as soon as I completed my degree."

"What brought you home, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Yeah, no worries. My father was ill, terminally. Mum needed a hand to get the farm sorted, and I wanted to see Dad before he passed."

"Yes, of course. I'm sorry if my questions were too intrusive."

"Nah, all good."

"You have included a lot of extra furniture and equipment in the plan you have laid out."

"Yeah, if I get the loan, I need to change the shop to show a little more of the jewellery. At the moment, I only show a small portion of what I make. My costs are low. With the loan, however, I need to increase turnover, and that means reaching out to a lot more people."

"You actually make all of what you sell?"

"Eighty percent of what I sell I make myself. I do buy in some ready made stuff, but that's cheap costume jewellery and the like. I try to make sure that there's something for everybody."

"Lovely idea. All right, how do you expect to increase sales?"

"Advertising, all the usual social media sites. Facebook marketing, Instagram, and probably some TikTok videos showing me making the products."

"Excellent. Have you considered online marketing?"

"Yeah, but probably not. I want the shop to eventually become a must see local spot. I want people in the store. I know online is a good marketing angle, but not at the moment."

"I have to say, Abigail, I am impressed. You have provided a very compelling case."

"Thanks."

She leaned back in her chair, her legs crossing. She sipped her tea, and said in a more personal tone. "I saw you three weeks ago with your band. You played at The Penguin."

"Oh god no." I gasped, as a moment of recollection flashed across my eyes. "I am so sorry you had to see that."

She laughed at my embarrassment. "Don't be sorry. I thought you were pretty good, actually."

"No, we were flaming awful." I remembered seeing her with a group of friends sitting up the back sipping on their wines.

"That was your first performance. You were very brave. An all girl band in Oamaru."

"Yes, I guess we didn't choose an easy road."

"No, indeed. The other girls are all friends of yours?"

"They are now. We were all in the same year together, but travelled in different circles. We've only just become friends."

"Well, good on you. Is the music a serious foray, or simply fun?"

"Fun, I don't have time to make it serious. I'm focused on my business. That's my goal."

"Abigail, Can I ask you a personal question? By the way, you don't have to answer."

"Nah, fire away."

"Why do you not approach your mother for the money?"

"Oh shit," I mumbled uncomfortably. "I could, and I know she would give it to me. She'd pretend it's a loan, but never let me pay it back. I like to think of myself as an independent woman. I want to do this by myself. I'm prepared to throw everything into it. I want to succeed."

"Excellent, I admire that." We finished our tea, and I sat fidgeting as she ran her eyes over my proposal again. Occasionally, her eyes popped up and we exchanged little glances.

"Abigail, would you mind if I visited your shop/studio? I would really like to get a feel for it. I am certainly not ready to commit either way at the moment."

"Nah, I get that. Come around anytime."

"What about five PM tomorrow night?"

"Yeah, sweet. Although be warned, I don't get a lot of customers at that time."

"I am only interested in casting my eyes over the buildings, how the shop sits in regards to others in the precinct. I have shopped there regularly, but I do not remember seeing yours."

"No worries, I guess I haven't put to much emphasis on advertising, or promoting. I promise that would be the first thing to change if you give me a chance."

I walked away with a weird feeling. She gave off a vibe that I couldn't put my finger on. The way she looked at me when she thought I wasn't watching. "Oh my god." It hit me. "Is she gay?" I gasped aloud.

I tried to recall the group of women she was with at the gig. I knew them, without actually knowing them. Small towns, everybody knows everybody.

The gay community in Oamaru was small. The lesbian community even smaller. She was perhaps nine or ten years older than myself, but I couldn't remember her name being mentioned in dispatches. That night I searched the internet frantically. Flicking through page after page of info on her.

There wasn't one single hint or clue. She went to Waitaki girls, exactly the same as me. Her family was from Enfield, farmers, the same as mine. She had been a boarder at Waitaki girls. She played hockey, and netball, good at both. Represented the school.

She graduated in the top five percent from Dunedin Uni. All pretty impressive, but there was like nothing of a personal nature. Her Facebook page had nothing. Lots of photos from Waitaki and Dunedin, but nothing incriminating.

I giggled at my choice of words... Since when was it a crime? The more I perved over her photos, the deeper my intrigue gathered. I felt those little shock waves of desire coursing through my body.

I had to stop myself, lecture myself. "Fuck this up, girl, and you would lose any chance of getting the loan." I needed to be cautious. Hitting on your bank manager wasn't a good look. Especially if I misread the signals.

The next day I went mad. I wanted the shop to be sparkling. As you'd know, it never works that way. A steady flow of customers streamed through the shop. Still, I did manage to get it looking at least presentable.

Five PM on the dot, the front door bell tinkled, announcing her arrival. God, she looked divine. Her beautifully crafted business suit fitted sensationally. It highlighted her best features exquisitely.

The skirt finished just below the knee, and her legs looked shapely and the desire to run my hand up her inner thigh was unbearably hard to resist.

I greeted her, guiding her in. "Welcome to my humble little shop."

She smiled warmly, although I did feel the burning ferocity of her own appraising eyes. Immediately, the insecurities crept in. I couldn't compete with her in the fashion stakes. Even with our different styles, I preferred a slightly more masculine style.

I made cups of tea as she strolled through the shop taking in everything. She missed nothing, her hands running over the pieces on open display, her eyes feasting on the more expensive jewellery tucked into the display cabinets.

"You say you make all of these yourself?" she asked dubiously.

"Yes, I buy in the cheap stuff, but the rest I make myself." Her suspiciousness annoyed me. "Come on out the back. I'll show you my studio." I handed her the cup of tea and guided her out the back.

My workshop wasn't exactly huge, but it was everything I needed. Hannah, again, strolled, seemingly aimless in her search. We sat at the small table, her eyes focusing on mine. "I would love to watch you work," she murmured softly.

"I get the impression you don't believe me," I snapped back cautiously.

"Oh, heavens no. I simply love to watch artists at work. I will admit to spending hours at the glass factory around the corner, watching them blowing the molten glass. It absolutely fascinates me."

"Really?"

She nodded. "I don't have a creative bone in my body. Watching artisans creating such beauty. It beguiles me." She glanced at me, her eyes giving nothing away. "I have to say, the quality of your work, it's astoundingly good."

I noticed some of the jewellery she wore. It was all expensive. She didn't wear a lot. A very interesting necklace. Gold, a tree of life charm. Malachite gems, coupled with highly faceted citrine as the offset.

She noticed me staring. "I brought it in Belgium several years ago. Do you like it?"

"It's beautiful. I adore the citrine. So beautifully faceted."

"Abigail, your work is equally as gifted. I looked at some of the pieces you have crafted. Very beautiful."

"Sweet, thanks. I appreciate the compliment."

We finished our teas in silence. Hannah's eyes taking in everything. "Would you mind walking me through how you see your planned shop layout please?"

"No sweat." Taking her cup and saucer, I placed them in the sink and guided her back into the shop. I became quite excited as I explained my plans. My arms waving animatedly. She smiled, but took it all in. We were almost at the end when the front door bell tinkled again.

"Oh, hey Sylvie. What brings you by?"

She walked in, drawing me into a tight embracing hug. "We just got offered a gig at The Brydonne tomorrow night." I noticed her eyes hood over and her gaze narrow. "What the fuck are you doing here?" she snarled at Hannah.

"Hello to you as well, Sylvia," Hannah replied. "It's been a while."

Sylvie glared at me, then back to Hannah. "Are you up for the gig tomorrow night or not?"

"Yeah, I guess so. What time?"

"Set ups at six, although we don't play till nine."

"Yeah, count me in."

"Choice, see yah tomorrow then." She turned and walked out without saying another word.

"Wow, sorry about that, Hannah. You know Sylvie?"

"A long time ago," she sighed wistfully.

"Okay, well I'm sorry she was rude. She had no right to behave like that."

"It's fine, there is a little history there." She glanced at her watch. "it's almost seven. How would you feel about getting a bite to eat?"

"Um, yeah, sweet as, but I won't get a chance to change. Where were you thinking of going?"

"What about Fat Sally's?"

"Yeah, sweet. I'm in. Let me grab my handbag, and I'll lock up."

We wandered up onto the main road. One of those long summer evenings, a gentle breeze wafting in, the sun still well above the horizon of the Alps. "Where do you live?" I asked, fumbling for conversation.

"The Mariner Suites. I have an apartment there."

"Wow, choice. Do you have an ocean view?"

"Yes, it's quite spectacular this time of the year."

"How long have you been the manager at the bank?"

"Going on three years. It wasn't really on my radar, but they made me an offer I couldn't refuse. Plus, it's nice being close to my parents. I have been trying to convince my father he should sell up and retire. Stubborn devil. He refuses to listen."

"Yeah, it's hard. Dad would never have retired if he hadn't got bloody Alzhiemers, he'd still be out there working till he died."

"I'm sorry to hear about your father. Your mother seems happy though."

"You know Mum?"

"Yes, I manage her investments."

"Bugger, it really is a small town."

"Your mother is a lovely person, Abigail. She speaks very proudly of you."

"She does?"

"Definitely. She adores you, although she did say something about you being as obstinate as your father. She said you can be very single-minded when you want something."

I laughed as we strolled easily up the street. "Cheeky cow," I muttered in mock annoyance.

At the restaurant, we were escorted to a table in the corner away from the noise of the bar. We chatted in a friendly manner. Hannah opened up a little about her life in Melbourne, before returning to New Zealand. Like me, she hadn't planned to return.