The Lunchtime Special

Chapter 1 - It Didn't Go Well

"Fuck that shit."

"Ames..."

"Nope, no way, nuh-uh."

"It isn't that bad."

She looks at me like I'm high on something. "Are you kidding me right now?"

I play what I hope is my trump card. "Come on Ames, do it for Will."

"Oh that is low," she glares at me through almond-shaped eyes. "That is such a low blow, Mia, I can't believe you stooped to that." I can't either, but desperate means call for desperate measures.

"Look," I try to pacify her, knowing this could turn ugly but also aware she would do anything for her big brother. "He's meeting his about-to-be mother-in-law for the first time and he wants to make a good impression." I take a deep breath, wondering if I'm about to push my luck too far. "You know how much he loves Laila and how nervous he is about meeting her mum, so it's really important to him..."

She holds up a hand to stop me and groans loudly. "Okay, okay, I get it. Fuck! I'll wear that ugly sack of whatever-the-hell-that-is, but that doesn't mean I'm going to like it!"

I'm so relieved I could drop to my knees and kiss the toes of her Doc Martens right now. "We'll try to add some Ames touches to it, okay?" I attempt to appease, thinking rapidly how we can give the outfit small touches of her personality without ruining the overall look.

I have known Ames (whose real name is Amy, but the last person who called her that ended up with a blood nose) since she hit puberty and decided in her heart of hearts she was a rock chick; her customary outfits – including what she's wearing right now - consist of torn jeans, skin-tight rock band tees and tanks (usually Birds of Tokyo or Eskimo Joe), leather or denim jacket and heavy boots or Docs. Her dirty blonde hair is usually thrown carelessly into a pony or knot, loose ends sticking out every way til Sunday, and always, always with at least two streaks of bright, lurid colour. Today's combo of neon pink and lime green frame her pixie face; the ton of eyeliner surrounding her ocean blue eyes on fleek with the slash of scarlet that is her full lips. She looks...well; she looks like Ames.

The dress I manage to coerce her into wearing, however, does not. It's lined cream lace with a sweetheart neckline and low back, very feminine and so completely opposite to Ames that I now know where the expression chalk and cheese comes from. But Will's fiancé had picked it out and he, lovesick as he is, had begged me to somehow persuade his baby sister to wear it for the dinner tonight to meet Laila's mum, who was flying up from Melbourne.

Will and I have been best friends since beginning high school; we'd even done the same Bachelor of Business Management degree at Sydney Uni, though he'd stayed to do his Masters while I left to start my own business back here in Springwood. He met and fell in love with Laila at a cousin's wedding six months ago and they've been attached at the hip ever since and now, in the best tradition of whirlwind courtships, they're tying the knot. Laila's family, who apparently have Serious Money, are footing the bill for a big wedding in South Yarra and paying for us all to fly to Melbourne and stay at a fancy pants hotel for a week.

I zip Ames up and step back to admire her; the dress fits her to perfection and shows off her slender figure, so at least it has that in its favour. But it is so not Ames.

"Oh fuck," she mutters and I have to admit, I agree with her. This outfit definitely needs a splash of colour – and personality. I look around the room for inspiration, something – anything – that will transform it into being...I don't know...something it isn't right now, at any rate. I go to her wardrobe and rummage inside, finding a cropped leather jacket with wide lapels and pair of ankle boots with buckle detail, bringing them back with me and handing them to Ames.