Trading Places

The following morning, the train was more than usually crowded. Franky felt hot inside all her layers of clothing, and she tried to distract herself by thinking about other things as she swayed against the bodies and the train clattered along. She thought about how her hair needed cutting. Maybe she could book it for lunch-time. She tried to remember if there was enough food in the house for tonight, or maybe they could get takeaway. Or go dancing.

Franky was glad to get out at her station, though she wasn’t looking forward to the day ahead. When she thought about work, a lethargy settled over her, as if all her limbs were heavy and the chambers of her brain musty. It was cold on the streets, and her breath curled into the air. All around her people were hurrying to their different offices, heads down. She and Bridget should go away somewhere, she thought, somewhere hot and deserted. Anywhere that wasn’t Melbourne. She imagined a white beach and a blue sky and she and Bridget slim and tanned in bikinis.

She stopped at the pedestrian crossing. A delivery truck roared by. Franky glimpsed the driver, high up in his cab and blind to all the people below him trudging to work. The next car squeaked to a halt and Franky stepped out into the road.

A woman was crossing from the other side. Franky noticed she was wearing a black skirt and stockings, some expensive looking pumps and a textured jacket. Then Franky looked up at the woman’s face. Franky didn't know if the woman stopped first or she did. They stood in the road looking at each other. Franky thought she heard a horn blare but she couldn’t move. It felt like an age, but it was probably only a second. There was an empty, hungry feeling in her stomach and she couldn’t breathe in properly. A horn was sounded once more. The woman’s blue eyes and straightened blonde hair were very familiar.

It was Erica Davidson. A shocked expression on her face and her mouth slightly open as if she was trying to think of something to say. Before either spoke, Franky started walking across the road again, and so did Erica. They passed each other, inches away, their eyes locked. Franky turned to face forward again and eventually reached the pavement.

She walked towards the building that contained the Flintoff and Jones offices and when she reached it she took a glance back. Erica was gone. So that was that.

Franky went at once to bathroom, shut herself into a cubicle and leaned against the door. There was a heavy feeling at the back of her eyes, like unshed tears. Franky closed her eyes as if that would somehow shut Erica out from her conscious once again. Someone else came into the bathroom, turned on a tap. Franky stood very still and quiet, and could hear her heart thudding beneath her chest.

After a few minutes she could breathe properly again. She splashed cold water on her face and checked her hair. She bought a coffee from the cafe in the foyer and a bar of chocolate, for she was suddenly ravenous, and made her way to her office. She picked the wrapper and the gold foil off the chocolate with shaky, incompetent fingers and ate it in large bites. The working day began. She read through her emails and deleted most of them, read over some briefs, then phoned Bridget at work.

“How’s your day going?’ Franky asked.

“It’s only just started.” Franky felt as if hours had passed since leaving home. “Last night was nice,” Bridget added, in a low voice. There were other people in the room with her.

“Mmm. I felt a bit weird this morning, though, Gidge.”

“Are you all right now?” Bridget sounded concerned, Franky was never ill.

“Yep. Sweet,” Come on Doyle, snap out of it. "Totally sweet. Are you all right?”

Franky had run out of things to say but was reluctant to put the phone down. Bridget suddenly sounded preoccupied. Franky heard her say something she couldn’t make out to someone else.

“Yes, love. Look, I’d better go. ‘Bye.”

The morning passed. Franky went to a staff meeting and checked in with Louise. She told Franky that she was going to court in the afternoon and didn’t need her assistance, but she gave her some filing jobs to complete. With Louise’s ok, Franky made an appointment at the hairdresser’s for one o’clock.

Just before one Franky picked up her coat then clattered down the stairs and into the street. It was just beginning to drizzle, and she didn’t have an umbrella. She looked up at the clouds, shrugged, and started to walk quickly along Collins Street where she could pick up a taxi to the hairdresser’s. She stopped dead in her tracks and the world blurred.

Erica was there, a few feet from her. Just standing and looking at Franky. Franky felt then as if no one had ever looked at her properly before and was suddenly and acutely conscious of herself - of the pounding of her heart, the rise and fall of her breath; of the surface of her body, which was prickling with a mix of both anger and excitement.

Erica walked toward Franky and they stood opposite each other. Franky crossed her arms, waiting for Erica to explain her presence. Eventually the blonde said in a low and shaky voice, “Hi Franky. I’ve been waiting for you.”

Franky felt like laughing out loud. She could not believe the nerve of Erica, finding out where she worked - or had she followed her this morning? - and waiting outside her office for her despite not making contact for years. But she couldn’t laugh or smile. She couldn’t even yell at Erica for turning up unannounced and expecting her to be receptive. Franky could only go on looking at Erica, into her blue eyes, at her mouth, which was slightly parted, the tender lips. She looked more beautiful then ever. Franky tried to say something, but all that came out was a muffled “Oh.”

“Please,” Erica said, not taking her eyes off Franky’s face. “Can we talk?”

A couple of seconds passed but Franky felt like a million thoughts went through her head. Would it be easiest just to tell Erica to fuck off? Leave things between them unresolved? She could continue living her life as she had been since she was released, she was perfectly happy. On the other hand, seeing Erica again is something she had thought about so many times in the past. If she refused to talk with her would she forever wonder what Erica would have said? In the end, Franky didn’t give Erica a verbal response but simply gave a quick nod of assent. Erica gave a polite grin and went to begin walking, presumably to the nearest cafe, Franky thought.

It was then that Franky’s instincts kicked in, particularly her instincts when it came to Erica Davidson. Franky was sure she knew what Erica had in mind. Order a couple of lattes, have a courteous conversation, assure herself that everything between them was copacetic, then go about the day with her conscience clear. The prospect of such a sterile and formal meeting irritated the hell out of Franky. If that was how she let things play out it would she would feel worse than if she didn’t speak to Erica at all.

A large surge of adrenalin passed through her, making her whole body tingle. It was a sensation Franky hadn’t experienced for quite some time yet it was very familiar. She was going to take control of this situation.

Franky reached out and grabbed Erica firmly by the elbow, causing Erica to stumble backwards before she turned around to face Franky again.

“Where’s your place?” Franky asked sternly.

“Sorry?” Erica’s brow furrowed, she was clearly perplexed.

“Where’s your place?” Franky repeated impatiently.

“It’s…umm…”

“Can we walk there from here?” Franky continued to speak firmly, pushing Erica to respond more quickly.

“Well, no…”

Without notice, Franky stepped into the road and flagged down a taxi. She held the door open for Erica, whose feet briefly remained glued to the sidewalk as her mind feverishly tried to analyse Franky’s actions. More in response to the brunette’s obvious hurriedness than anything else, Erica took a seat in the cab and slid across the back seat to make room for Franky to join her. “We’ll talk at your joint,” Franky told her as she shut the car door and buckled her seat belt. Erica watched her with her mouth slightly ajar, she couldn’t tell if Franky was being serious. Franky glanced at her sternly, emphasising that she was not joking around. Erica quietly gave her address to the driver.

Shortly into the drive, Franky turned towards Erica who was looking out the window. She appeared to be self-conscious knowing she was under the former prisoner’s gaze. Franky saw that under Erica’s textured jacket she wore an indigo-coloured silk top. There was a white gold necklace around her neck with a pink sapphire pendant. Her hands were bare. Franky looked at her slender fingers with their perfectly manicured nails. Clive was right with what he had said yesterday - there was no ring. Franky could still picture the round diamond engagement ring Erica had flaunted so heartlessly when they were at Wentworth. Who knows when she had stopped wearing it.

Erica turned her head to face Franky. “How are you?” she asked in a shy tone.

Franky chuckled at the normalcy of Erica’s question. In any other cab ride with any other person she would have been happy to engage in small talk. But this wasn’t any ordinary cab ride. The prospect of the two of them meeting on the outside, no matter what the circumstances, is one that Franky knew both of them had first thought of in the early days of their tutoring sessions back in Wentworth. They had not seen each other in years but their relationship at Wentworth had been volatile, intense and ultimately unresolved. Being in each other’s company again, the tension between them was palpable. To ignore that and merely exchange pleasantries would be absurd. “Let’s wait til we get there, hey?” Franky replied. Erica nodded and looked down into her lap. They spent the remainder of the trip in silence.

The taxi stopped and, looking out, Franky could see they were in Prahran. There were a number of cafes and restaurants nearby and the smell of coffee permeated the air. Franky got out and once more held the door open for Erica. She could feel the blood pulsing through her body. Erica led them through the foyer doors of an expensive-looking apartment building. They took an elevator up to one of the top floors. Erica took some keys from her handbag as they walked down a corridor before stopping to open the door to her apartment.

Franky saw a pristine kitchen, a flatscreen TV, a leather lounge suite. She hovered on the threshold. It was her last chance to change her mind. She didn’t. She followed Erica into the apartment. It was noticeably warm inside; the heating system clearly worked well.

Franky felt vaguely scared, not of Erica or course, but at herself. Her baser urges were controlling her behaviour and she knew that could be dangerous. But she couldn’t stop herself. Franky’s eyes raked over Erica. Her soft blonde hair, the curve of her breast that was evident despite the layers of clothing, her killer legs, emphasised so perfectly by her pumps. Erica started to take off her jacket, but Franky stopped her.

“Wait,” Franky said. “Let me.”

Maintaining eye contact with Erica, Franky walked over to the blonde and removed her jacket for her, letting it land gently on the floor. Franky then knelt on the floor and slipped off Erica’s shoes. Erica appeared shell shocked but her eyes illustrated her arousal as she looked down at Franky, placing her hand on her shoulder to stop herself from toppling. Franky stood again and pulled Erica’s top off over her head, She undid Erica’s skirt and pulled it down over her hips, it rasped against her stockings. Franky tugged off the stockings, collecting them into a flimsy ball which she put beside the shoes. She removed Erica’s bra and slid down her underwear so she stood naked before her.

“God, Erica,” Franky said, in a kind of groan.

Erica stepped forward and took off Franky’s jacket. She then unbuttoned her shirt, her hands trembling slightly as she did so. Franky’s arms were muscular and brown, highlighted by her sleeve tattoo. Erica copied Franky and knelt at her feet to pull off her shoes and socks. She unzipped Franky’s pants and eased them carefully down over ass. Her legs were toned and also quite tanned. Erica took off Franky’s bra and underwear and dropped them on to the floor. Someone moaned but Franky didn’t know if it was Erica or herself. She lifted one hand and tucked a strand of hair behind Erica’s ear, then traced her jaw with a forefinger, very slowly. Erica closed her eyes.

“No,” Franky said. “Look at me.”

“Please,” Erica said. “Please.”

Franky unhooked Erica’s necklace and let it fall softly onto the carpet.

“Kiss me,” Franky said forcefully.

Nothing like this had ever happened to Franky before. Sex had never been like this. There had been indifferent sex, embarrassing sex, nasty sex, rough sex, good sex, great sex. This was more like obliterating sex. She and Erica crashed together, trying to get past the barrier of skin and flesh. They held each other as if they were drowning. They tasted each other as if they were starving. And all the time Franky looked at Erica. She looked at her intensely, as if she was committing every inch of Erica’s body to memory.

Afterwards, Erica led Franky to the shower. They kissed passionately under the spray. Both were too spent to fuck again, but Franky gently cupped Erica’s breasts, revelling in their fullness and the soft and slippery sensation that the water and soap provided. Later Erica handed Franky a towel and gave her a moment alone in the bathroom; pointing out the location of the hairdryer should she want to use it.

“I’ve gotta get back to work,” Franky said when she re-entered the lounge area of the apartment, picking up her clothes from the floor, brushing her freshly dried hair back from her face. “You too?”

“I think I’ll take the rest of the day off,” Erica responded, she was still dressed in only a bath towel and her hair was still wet. “What time do you finish?”

“About six, I guess.” Franky was buttoning up her shirt and looked up to see Erica looking at her. She had an incredibly tantalising expression on her face, it was a mixture of innocent hopefulness and sinful lust. “i’ll meet ya back here when I’m done.”

Franky knew she should have told Erica then that she had a partner, a home, a whole other life. Instead she pulled Erica’s face towards hers and kissed her bruised lips. She could hardly bring herself to pull her body away from Erica’s.

In the taxi, alone, she pictured her, remembered her touch, her taste, her smell. Franky rested her head back on the head rest and contemplated the predicament she had just put herself in. “What the fuck am I gonna do?” she sighed.