Pants on Fire Read Online Free

isn’t it, Pinkie?” said Jasper. “Come round here.”
    From the other side of the roof we could see the entire skyline of the CBD, the Opera House, the Bridge, North Sydney and all the way to the Blue Mountains.
    â€œThank you, Jasper,” I said. “This is incredible.”
    â€œHey, Pinkie, how did you know my name? And what’s yours, by the way? Not that I’m going to call you anything else but Pinkie until the day we die in each other’s arms, but you might as well tell me for the record.”
    â€œGeorgia. Georgiana Abbott.”
    â€œGeorgie Abbott—you’re the chick who’s come over to work on Glow, right?”
    I couldn’t be bothered to correct him. Georgie, George, Ringo, whatever.
    â€œSo Georgie,” he continued, “how do you like the bunch of tight-arsed neurotics you work with, then? Debbie Brent wouldn’t know a decent photograph if it sprang up and gave her a pap smear, neither would that living skeleton Zoe Siegler, and Maxine Thane is tighter with a dollar than a nun’s twat. Is that how you knew who I was? Did she tell you? Or was it that card-carrying psycho Liinda Vidovic? She boiled many bunnies lately?”
    â€œDo you know everybody who works on Glow ?” I asked him, appalled, but also intrigued.
    â€œThis is Sydney, Pinkie. Let’s just say I know everybody.”
    I didn’t know then quite how true that was.
    After Jasper’s outburst we just stood there for a while, gazing at the splendour around us, which I couldn’t help feeling included him. Once he stopped trying to be clever—or basically, once he shut up, which was rarely—Jasper was really quite beautiful. He had dead-straight long black hair, which I’m a total sucker for, and a sensitive face with a delicate, refined mouth. He had a way of cocking his head to one side and looking up at you through narrowed eyes, which was very attractive.
    The only thing marring Jasper’s face—he even had nice skin—was that stupid little pubey beard. But with all my years of experience choosing cover shots from photographers’ negs, before the model’s zits had been digitally removed, I just narrowed my eyes and edited it out.
    While I was sneaking covert looks at him, Jasper was having a moment of his own, spinning round slowly while gazing up at the sky, his arms spread out like wings. This gave me an excellent chance to observe him. Slim frame, built for speed rather than strength. Very long legs. Very long legs in bright pink trousers. Bright pink trousers and a double-breasted navy blazer with gold buttons. A pale pink button-down shirt. Hair slicked back and licking his collar. Aviator sunglasses with gold rims. Cuban heel boots. It was a kooky look. I liked it a lot.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” I asked him.
    â€œI’m trying to connect with the sky.”
    â€œIs it working?”
    â€œI think I need another joint.”
    â€œAnd by the way, what are those trousers?”
    He stopped suddenly and grinned at me, taking hold of the trouser legs and pulling them out to the side as if he was about to do a ballet-class curtsy.
    â€œGolf pants. Like ’em?”
    â€œI love them. They’re nuts. And they go with my hat.”
    â€œPinkie and Pink, you see? I took one look at that hat and thought, that Pinkie’s for me.”
    I didn’t comment. They can talk real pretty, these Aussie men, I thought. And they have quite the sparkliest eyes on earth. But after Billy’s uninvited oral assault I was still feeling a bit wary.
    Jasper came over to the parapet, took out his cigarette papers and rolled another reefer, using only his left hand. I hadn’t noticed he was left-handed before. He noticed me noticing.
    â€œAmbidextrous,” he said, twisting the end of the paper with his right hand and putting it between my lips. “Like Leonardo.” With his left hand he flourished a