Who's Calling The Shots?

‘We look stupid. We should be in wetsuits,’ Brooke fumed. Zen, she reminded herself, breathing deeply the way Maddy had taught her when she was young. Stay Zen.

Jack stopped and turned to her, looking at her as if he was surprised she was even there. Arrogant. Self-important. And he still managed to move her...again. Annoying.

‘Nonsense. It’s a beautiful, summer’s day in Manly. What you’re wearing is perfect. And you all look so good—why would you want to cover that up?’

Jack’s eyes were almost black in the sun. His hair was thick, with a slight wave at the front where it swept over as if he’d just run a hand through it. His cheekbones were high and his jaw was strong, but that wasn’t what made him sexy. It was the way he looked at her. His chin tilted up, his eyebrows slightly furrowed, his full lips together. Arrogant. Entitled. Confident. As if he was thinking about having sex with her right now.

He stood like a man who was aware of his own presence. He was physically intimidating and he knew it. And he was using that now. Despite the various...annoying...movements in her core, Brooke was aware of what he was doing and she wasn’t buying into it. He could stand there, all pouty and sexy and as manly as he wanted, but right now all Brooke saw was a snout and two piggy eyes.

‘Are you serious? I mean—did you actually say that?’ Heat rose up the back of Brooke’s neck and fizzed in her ears. She turned to the cameraman who was now getting closer to Katy’s breasts. ‘Did you get that? I mean—on film? Did you get that sexist, disgusting comment on tape?’

She turned back to Jack, who was standing with his hands in his pockets, his face blankly staring at her as if he had no idea what she was talking about.

‘Because that’s what the Australian public need to see. The extent of this man’s sexism and arrogance and...and piggishness.’

Her voice was getting higher. Her fists were in balls. She wasn’t even sure what she was saying. But a thought was forming in her head. That’s it! That was all she had to do! He wouldn’t put her on the telly if she was insulting and rude and...and honest! But then if he didn’t put her on the telly where would that leave Wright Sports?

Brooke tried to breathe. She tried to think. But her tongue had other ideas. ‘This whole show is a vulgar attempt to make women appear shallow and stupid and competitive. A way to prove this man’s theory that women are second-class citizens. Well—I won’t do it!’

Brooke dropped her surfboard and it made a satisfying thud in the sand.

‘And nor will anyone else. Will we, girls?’

Brooke turned to her fellow contestants. Her peeps. Her sisters from other misters. She expected them to crowd around her, fists raised, a cry of I am woman, hear me roar on their lips. Just as her real sisters would have. But instead eleven sets of long eyelashes blinked. A seagull swooped and made Contestant Number Four swat above her head. Someone coughed.

‘Right, girls?’

The girls were still blinking at her.

‘C’mon. We’re not going to let him get away with this, are we?’

Someone shuffled in the sand. Katy moved her surfboard from one side to the other.

‘We aren’t here to be ogled...’ Katy said quietly, hesitantly.

‘Yes! Exactly!’ Brooke let out a yell and pointed at Katy before turning back to Jack. ‘We’re not here to be ogled. Our Perfect Match won’t care what we look like. Not if he’s truly our perfect match. He won’t be attracted to big boobs or a small bum or be interested in the size of our thigh-gap. Love is more chemical than that. Love is more intuitive than that. Our perfect match will see through all that. He’ll be attracted to us because of our thoughts, our opinions... That’s what we should be showing. Our minds—not our butt cheeks.’

Jack nodded slowly. He pushed his lips together and his mouth turned down at the corners.

‘Is that right?’ He raised his eyebrows.

‘Yes!’

Brooke left her position to move and throw an arm around Katy. Katy was quite a bit taller than Brooke, so putting her arm around her was a little awkward, but they were banding together for a common good. There was nothing awkward about that.

‘That’s right—isn’t it, Katy?’

Katy didn’t speak, but she nodded. Slowly. Tentatively. But she definitely nodded.

Brooke squeezed her shoulder. ‘We won’t be paraded like cattle,’ Brooke said firmly.

‘Actually...’

Brooke’s head swivelled to face Alissa, a blonde-haired, big-boobed beauty who stood behind her.

‘I don’t mind being in a bikini. I mean—yes—I want my perfect match to want me for who I am, but I mean—a man’s got to have a little incentive.’ Alissa jiggled her boobs and giggled. ‘He is a man, after all.’

Brooke watched as the evolution of woman stepped back at least forty years.

‘She’s right...’ another big-bosomed beauty piped up. ‘We have to use what we have to attract them in the first place.’

‘You don’t want a man who’s attracted to you just for your looks!’ Brooke insisted.

‘No,’ said someone else. ‘But men are men, Brooke. They’re visual creatures. They have to like what they see.’

‘You’re missing the point.’ Brooke was feeling hot, and she knew she should probably stop but she couldn’t. She needed to say what she had to say. ‘Your perfect match will be attracted to you. To your face and your body and your eyes—and your bum. Not because it’s perfect, and not because it’s out on display. Think about it—when you’re attracted to someone you just are. You can’t help it. And it doesn’t matter if they have a crooked nose or thinning hair. When that chemical attraction takes hold all their imperfections are gorgeous. They make them who they are. You don’t see them as negatives—you see everything about them as gorgeous.’

‘That’s true, Brooke, and I’m not saying we’re all perfect. I’m saying that it doesn’t hurt to introduce the men to some of our...imperfections.’

Alissa smiled, but Brooke didn’t. She turned back to smug Jack Douglas and realised her mistake immediately. He was rocking on his heels with his hands in his pockets. Satisfied. Triumphant.

‘And, cut!’

Horrified, Brooke turned to face the camera now on her face. Jack sauntered towards her and came in closer than he ever had before, the heat of his skin making her cheeks burn.

‘Ratings gold.’

That deep, calm voice didn’t calm her this time. But it did make her whole body break out in a rash.

‘Good Job, Ms Wright.’

Then he moved back, smiled wide, turned and walked away—while eleven girls stood silently behind her and a lone camera beeped to indicate that it was back on and recording.

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