Tinky was putting the finishing touches on her outfit for Talullah’s gallery opening when her doorbell rang. She glanced at herself one last time in the hall mirror, adjusting her precariously placed peacock feather fascinator with a flourish, and pulled open the front door.
“Hello, beautiful!” Tinky greeted Talullah with a kiss on the cheek.
“Holy crap, Tinky, you look unbelievable!” Talullah gushed. She was always amazed at how Tinky managed to pull off the most outrageous outfits.
Tinky did a little twirl in the hall. She’d chosen a black-and-white zebra print dress with a full skirt, that featured black tulle visible from underneath the hem. She’d cinched the waist with a dazzling bright blue belt and added a huge peacock-inspired fascinator, topping off the whole look with her signature gold glitter heels. She looked amazing.
“Jeez, Tink, you look like – like – some sort of safari goddess on acid, or something,” Talullah noted, gazing at her with equal measures of bewilderment and admiration. Tinky laughed.
“You look gorgeous, Lu. Where’s that dress from? I haven’t seen it before.”
Talullah was wearing a strapless tea-party-style dress made from pastel blue lace. The sweetheart neckline and absence of a cardigan showed off her double-arm sleeve tattoos beautifully. As always, she’d arranged flowers in her hair – tiny white baby’s breath buds – and had chosen a pair of white vintage heels that featured perfect, dainty little knots of white leather on the toes. She’d also bought herself a new gold locket, after having snapped the one that Nico had given her in two in her ill-fitting rage. She liked the new one better, anyway.
Talullah grinned shiftily.
“Well… after you left the other day, I kind of went shopping. Retail therapy, you know?”
“More like ‘hangover cure’,” Tinky teased, punching Lu on the arm. “Come on, we’d better get moving if we’re picking up Bonnie as well.”
Bonita was gazing at herself unenthusiastically in the mirror. She hated getting dressed up. It was a shame, too, because she owned a massive wardrobe of fabulous gear – she’d had to start investing in some key pieces when she started work at the station, as she was expected to attend all the office parties and functions.
Bonita had chosen a black shift dress with t-shirt sleeves that was encrusted with tiny olive-gold studs. It weighed a tonne, but it looked amazing – the overall effect – when paired with opaque black tights and combat boots – was quite industrial, and very, very cool. She added a thin black headband that featured a pair of small gold leather cat ears, and a coat of matte black lipstick.
She heard a horn blaring and went to the window, sticking her head out to see the road below. She could just make out Tinky and Talullah waving frantically from the back seat of the cab. She waved back, drawing her head inside. She went over to kiss Patrick on the top of the head, leaving a faintly black lip-shaped mark, grabbed her purse (an Alexander McQueen black leather clutch) and snapped the door shut behind her.
“You – look – amazing!” Tinky screeched as Bonita slid into the back seat of the cab. “AMAZING.” Ever the drama queen, Tinky cupped her hands to her own cheeks, gazing in marvel at her friend. “Very army-goth—meets-Sass-and-Bide. I love it.”
“Hey ladies,” Bonita drawled, kissing Talullah, sandwiched in the middle seat, on the cheek. “So – where are we headed?”
“The gallery is right near the Harbour, in Balmain,” Talullah replied, as Tinky checked her lipstick in the reflection of her phone screen. “A big old converted warehouse, I think.”
“Of course,” Bonita replied, grinning. “Original.”
“Bonnie,” Talullah admonished, “just try and – and don’t know – be nice. Okay?”
“I’m always nice! Bonita said indignantly. Tinky giggled.
“Yes, Bonnie, darling,” she said, reaching over to pat Bonita on the knee, “but you’re ‘nice’ is kind of like other people’s – oh I don’t know …”
“Feisty and intimidating?” Talullah suggested. Tinky and Talullah laughed. Bonita grinned in spite of herself.
“I’ll give you ‘feisty and intimidating’,” she replied, poking Talullah in the ribs. They giggled and teased each other all the way to the gallery. Upon arriving, Tinky handed the cab driver a fifty dollar note, blew him a kiss, and she, Talullah and Bonita clambered inelegantly out of the car.
“Right,” said Tinky, after much fussing and straightening of her hairpiece, “… where are we?”
“I think we go this way,” said Talullah pointing down the street, her face illuminated by the map she’d bought up on her phone screen.
The girls walked on for a few minutes, their chatter drowning out the clicking of Talullah and Tinky’s heels and the soft thudding of Bonita’s combat boots. The sound of laughing, music and clinking glasses grew louder the closer they grew to the gallery space. They eventually arrived at the door – a massive, heavy, wrought iron tangle on hinges – and Talullah handed over her media pass and the girls tickets. They hurried inside, eager to get out of the biting cold, and stopped to take in the surroundings.
The space was huge, and filled with an extraordinary assortment of people. The several layers of paint on the walls were peeling away, revealing exposed brick in some places. Somebody had restored the exposed wooden beams in the ceiling – they were highly polished, connected by glossy black metal brackets. From the beams, long, thin sheets of white silk-like material cascaded, pooling on the floor like frozen gossamer waterfalls. Various artworks were stood upon easels against the fabric, or strung, suspended above the painted-and-polished cement flooring, from wire cables. The art itself was abstract and highly colourful – Talullah had the impression of falling face first into a paintball gun.
Talullah turned to the two others, her face shining.
“This is amazing!”
“Booze,” declared Bonita, pointing at the bar on the far side of the room. The bar appeared to be a long trestle table, covered in the same white, sheer fabric that hung from the ceiling. Fairy lights cascaded down behind it, strung from the exposed beams in the cavern above like some of the neighbouring artwork. Two bored-looking, pockmarked teenagers stood in matching black tie, watching people go by with disinterest.
As Talullah, Bonita an Tinky walked up to them, their mouths dropped identically into perfectly formed, comical ‘o’s.
“One white wine, one vodka sunrise and one gin and tonic, please, sweetheart,” stated Tinky, winking at the taller of the two. He jumped and bent to whip out two glass tumblers and champagne flute.
“Nice,” Bonita said appreciatively to Tinky. “You’ve really got that down pat.”
“‘Pleasure,” Tinky replied, taking her drink and clinking glasses with Bonita. The girls moved away from the bar, oblivious to the stares of the two young barmen as they walked away.
“The art’s fabulous,” Tinky noted, gazing at a painting hanging nearby. “It’s so bright!”
“It looks like a unicorn threw up on a canvas,” Bonita replied. Talullah thought Bonita had a point. Lashings of bright pink, purple, teal and yellow paint in varying shades splattered over every inch of white space.
“Bonita!”
“What?” Bonita shrugged. “I didn’t say I don’t like it.”
“Thank God for that,” chuckled someone amusedly behind them. The girls turned to find a very tall, very handsome man behind them. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, with a long dark ponytail and giant fishhook skewered through his left ear. “I’d hate to read the papers tomorrow morning only to find everyone in Sydney thought my work looked like unicorn vomit.”
Tinky snorted half her vodka sunrise up her nose as Bonita baulked for a millisecond.
“I wasn’t- I didn’t mean-”
“No, no,” the man interrupted, raising both his glass and his eyebrows in a kind of reticent toast. “I appreciate the candid criticism. I do also, however, sincerely hope that you don’t work for the Morning Herald.”
“She’s not a reporter,” Talullah laughed, as Marcus turned to smile at her. Bonita flushed, as Talullah continued, “but I am. I’d love to have a chat to you about your latest collection, I write an ‘arts and culture’ column for a local…”
Talullah and Marcus turned and gravitated over to a nearby canvas, which was splattered with neon green and acid yellow paint.
Bonita sighed, and downed the last of her gin and tonic.
Tinky laughed.
“Oh, come on, Bonnie,” she said, grabbing Bonita’s arm and steering her around, “let’s grab another drink. The unicorn vomit can wait another fifteen minutes.”
Image creds: Le Blog
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