Avoiding Mr Right (10 page)

'If it weren't for
your
people,
my
people would never have
been in shackles in the first place,' I correct him. 'Do you
think we shackled ourselves and then your mob came and
let us out? Can you see how illogical that is?'

He looks at me like I'm some freak. I walk off, my card
in hand, and my dream a nightmare. How could one word
on a piece of cardboard make someone change their mind
so quickly about another human being?

I leave the pub and walk into the cold English air and as
it hits my face I wake up, agitated.

♥

'It happened again last night.'

'What did?' Josie asked. She sucked hard on the frozen
fruit at the bottom of her smoothie as we walked along
Acland Street.

'I astral travelled.'

'No way. Where to this time, jetsetter?' Josie was ready
for another sexy story, but I didn't tell her about the Buddy
Holly stuff, just skipped straight to the exchange with
Jason.

'I went to London, saw a show, took a black cab, had my
photo taken with Leonardo DiCaprio at Madame Tussauds
and then got in a blue with a racist arsehole in a tragic English
pub where the barmen were fat and the music was too loud.
I hate the English and I don't want to
ever
go back there, let
me tell you.' I was almost shaking as I remembered it.

'It was a
dream
, Peta, it doesn't mean that's what all the
English are like. Sometimes you can be slightly irrational.'

'Is that right?'

'Yes, that's right. Have you told this to Alice or any of
your other friends back in Sydney?'

'No, they've got plenty going on up there. They don't need
to know absolutely
everything
about my life here.' Seeing as
Liza and Alice were walking together and I assumed they
were catching up without me, I felt that it was okay if there
were some elements of my new life that I just kept here
in Melbourne. I'd thought it was something that Josie and
I could share, until she decided I was irrational. Maybe
I was.

'So should we go to the Elephant and Castle for lunch,
then?' Josie couldn't help stirring me. There was nothing
more English than the Elephant and Castle chain of pubs
in Victoria.

'Greetings and salivations,' the voice said down the mobile
line.

'Who is this?' I had no idea who I was talking to as I
walked along Collins Street towards the office.

'It's Mike, we met at the very exciting poetry reading
a few weeks back. I've moved you up to the top of my "to
do" list.'

I thought back to Samuel's words about dreamtime
tabernacles and whitegoods sales, and then it registered: it
was the cop.

'Well, take me off your "to do" list. And how did you
get my number? You must have tracked me down illegally –
that'd be right, different rules for you fellas, eh? You can do
whatever you want. Well, I don't have warrants or a record,
and I didn't even give you my last name, so you must have
done something really underhanded to find me.'

'Oh yes, very illegal and underhanded. I'm from the FBI
– the Fine Body Investigators,' he mocked.

'You're all so untouchable, aren't you? Why don't you go
and punch a protester, or better still maybe try and lock up
a criminal for a change?'

'Ooh, you're a fiery one, aren't you? I like it, it's sexy.'

'I'm hanging up. You have no right to be calling me.
And how
did
you get my number? Tell me, or I'll . . .'
I was sounding slightly irrational, and I knew it. He was
probably harmless. It was just a phone call, after all, and his
lines were quite funny.

'Stop stressing. I saw Sylvia,' he said, suddenly serious.

'It's Sylv-eye-a,' I corrected him.

'Of course, Sylv-eye-a.' He pronounced it slowly, as
everyone did when first saying it. 'At the reading last
night. She told me where she worked and that you worked
together. So I rang the switchboard, they put me through to
your voicemail and your mobile number is on there. There is
absolutely nothing illegal or improper about that process at
all, is there? You've even got me doubting myself now, and
that doesn't usually happen. I called you is all. It's not like
I'm following you – but I do think you should be arrested.'

'What for?' I was totally confused.

'It's gotta be illegal to look as good as you do.'

'Where are you?' I started to look around me. 'You're a
bit stalker-like, don't you think?'

'Stalker-like? Hell no. I just think it's the normal
behaviour of a man who wants to take a very difficult woman
out to dinner.'

'So a woman who's not interested in eating with you is
considered difficult, is she?'

'A woman who constantly accuses someone of wrongdoing
and claims she doesn't eat lunch because she's a bit,
let's say, frightened of new friends, is pretty much being
difficult.' I laughed – he was probably right.

'Ahah! I made you laugh! That's a good start,' he said, so
I stopped laughing. I almost stopped breathing completely.
There was silence.

'Are you there?' he asked.

'I'm here.'

'So, can we have dinner? Come on, be unique and
different and just say yes.'

'Look, I'm just about at the office and I've got work
to do. I'll think about it and let you know. I've got your
number on my phone. I'll call you.'

'Don't call me too soon though, cos that'll mean you're
interested in me. I know how you women work. Transparent
as anything.'

'Goodbye.' I hung up with a smile that spanned my entire
face and found I had an odd spring in my step.

♥

'Do you think I could be friends with a cop?' I asked Shelley
as she made a stir-fry for dinner.

'Do you want to be friends with a cop?'

I looked at the postcard her parents had sent from the
Big Banana and frowned, wondering why Australians
were obsessed by our 'big foods'. So far her mum and dad
had been to the Big Avocado, the Big Prawn and the Big
Oyster.

'Well, he seems nice and genuine. And he's funny. He
comes out with these weird one-liners all the time. Really
cheesy pick-up lines.' I grabbed a piece of broccoli out of
the wok.

Shelley slapped my hand. 'Get out of it! Does the "cop"
have an actual name? You think he's referring to you as "the
public servant"?'

'Oh all right, let's give him an identity then. Constable
Care, Mike the cop . . . whatever. He comes out with really
bad pick-up lines. He's . . . kinda quirky.'

'You like him. I just saw a smile. You like Mike-pick-up-line cop.'

'I don't
like
him. I just think he's quirky. A quirky
cop
.
Anyway, I can't like him, even if I wanted to. I'm in love
with James, remember?'

'James, of course. Oh, there's a message on the machine
from him. But check after, I want company while I cook.
Which
you're
supposed to be doing, seeing as I unhooked
you, remember?' and she grimaced at the memory. 'Now
back to Constable Care . . . where was I? Right, cops are
human too, you know.'

'You think so?'

'Yes, and sometimes my dear cultural affairs friend, you
are not all that broadminded. Being friends with a cop might
be good for you. You might actually learn something.' And
Shelley raised her eyebrows, as if to say,
I'm trying to say this
as gently as I can, but you're being a coppist!

♥

Hi, u free 2 skype? Px

Loggin on now, x Alice

I logged onto the computer in the living room and fixed my
hair as I started to dial Alice's address. Skype was fantastic in
that it was free and you could see the person at the other end,
but it also meant you couldn't really talk in your underwear,
like you could do on the phone. I tried to look as respectable
as possible and only had the table lamp on so it wasn't too
bright. I liked talking to Alice on Skype because she had a
laptop from school and would move around her flat, and
sometimes I could see the ocean behind her. It was almost
like sitting in her flat with her. Gary the Garbo had Alice
on a bit of a budget since they got engaged, and although
she didn't admit it, she was doing it tough, not being able to
do all the girly things, like going to the beautician regularly.
The sacrifices women made for love sometimes made me
wonder. Or maybe when you were truly in love they didn't
feel like sacrifices?

'So, I met this, um, rather
interesting
cop at a poetry
reading a few weeks back and he's asked me out for
dinner.'

'I don't think it's a very good idea,' said Alice. 'I mean,
if he's a cop. And what about James? Aren't you supposed
to be celibate?'

I knew she wouldn't approve. 'Alice, it's not a date. It's
just as friends.'

'Could you really be friends with a cop?'

'I don't know. He's funny. I kind of like him.'

'No way, Peta. Jews, Nazis, Blacks, cops. Get it?' Alice
was using the same argument I'd used with Mike.

'You think too much, Alice. Reality is I have to eat, so I
might as well eat with him.'

'Yes, but you'll have to talk too – can't just sit there and
shovel food in your mouth and say nothing. It's the talking
that's going to be the problem.'

'I don't have to talk politics.'

'Well, it's hard not to talk politics when you're Black and
you work in policy.'

'Can't I just go, eat some food, and talk about the
weather or Melbourne or poetry?'

'Poetry? Fuck, well that'll kill the night, won't it?' And
she laughed.

'Yes, true, so I'll talk football or something, I don't
know.'

'The problem will be the whole Black deaths in custody
thing. You know that, don't you?'

I took a sip of the Pimm's that Shelley had brought in
for me after dinner and adjusted the computer screen. Alice
took a sip of tea. She didn't drink near as much gin'n'tonic
since moving in with Gary.

'Why would I be talking about that at dinner?'

'Well, what's the point in having dinner or being friends
if you can't talk about the stuff that's important to you? No
point six weeks or months down the track realising that
very significant aspects of the way you view society and the
world are diametrically opposed, now is there?'

'Six weeks? Six months? I'm just having dinner with him,
for God's sake.'

'Firstly, no guy
just
wants to have dinner, that's crap.
It's always about sex, some just take a longer, less direct
route, but in the end they're all playing the same game, and
the ones who say they aren't are either lying to you and
themselves or they're gay. In Melbourne, they're just lying.'

'I'll just have lunch, maybe. It can be my little bit for
reconciliation. I'll be doing it to bridge the gap between our
community and theirs.'

'You're mad. I've gotta go, I'll Skype you later in the
week.'

'Okay, next time put some lippy on and grab a glass of
wine and we can pretend we're out and about.'

'Excellent idea, see ya.'

After a restless night's sleep I decided that I'd call Mike. I'd
suggest dinner, not lunch, so I could have a wine and relax
properly and perhaps not be so uptight. When he answered
the phone I simply said, 'It's Peta Tully.'

'My Koori rose, how are you?' He had a deep but playful
voice.

'What? Where did you get that phrase?' I was a little
surprised.

'You think you guys are the only ones to listen to Koori
Radio here in Melbourne? I have it on in the wagon
sometimes.'

'Whatever. I'm just ringing to say I'll have dinner with
you this weekend.'

'Oh, no can do. Sorry, but I'm working nights this
weekend, six pm till six am.'

'You're the one who suggested dinner, but now you can't
go.' It was already too hard.

'I can go, just not this weekend. I'm off next weekend.'

I hesitated.

'What about Friday this week?' he said, but before
I could respond he added, 'Shit, no, sorry – I just realised I
can't do Friday. It's Anzac Day, I have to be out and about,
it's a uniform thing.'

'So you'd rather drink with old men than a gorgeous
young woman?'

'Peta, let me assure you that you'd be hard-pressed to find
any
guy who would choose a woman, as gorgeous as you are,
over two-up on Anzac Day. Sorry, but it's the truth.'

'Actually, I did some research last year and you'd be
surprised to know that when I polled one hundred men
about whether they'd prefer to go to the pub and play two-up
or make love to a gorgeous woman on Anzac Day—'

'But—'

'Sshhh, you know what I found?'

'But—'

'Don't interrupt; it was a rhetorical question – it doesn't
require an answer from you.'

'I know what a rhetorical question is, Peta.' He laughed,
which only annoyed me further.

I continued, 'My survey found that seventy-three men
chose two-up, twenty-five chose the woman, and two were
undecided. Eight proposed marriage, five asked me out for
dinner, and three had to be asked to leave the bar because
they tried to touch me. So, not
all
men, Mr Mike-the-stalker
cop, will choose two-up.'

'Can I say something now, Miss Tully? Firstly, you
didn't offer me a choice between two-up and making love,
you said lunch or dinner. Of course I would have chosen
that option had it been the question posed.'

'Well my friend, that's an option you're never going to
be given.'

'Ah, but you just called me your friend, so that's a start.
I'm going to lock in lunch for this Sunday before you
change your mind.'

'But won't you be too tired after night shift?'

'Oh no, it'll be worth it. It's ladies' choice, so just let
me know where you want to go the day before and I'll
organise it.'

I was proud that I had agreed to eat with a policeman.
It was the grown-up thing to do. Shelley was right, I might
just learn something.

♥

We met at what was commonly referred to as Melbourne's
'most famous restaurant on the beach', the Stokehouse. It
was bustling with families and birthdays and young people
in groups and the odd couple peppered throughout. It was
unusually warm for April (at least that's what everyone
told me) and I had a sleeveless dress with enough cleavage
to be sexy but not saucy, and pair of brown boots. The
space was large, open, with a wood-fired oven, and Mike
was seated at a table in the middle of the room between
the bar and kitchen. It was very beach-shack-meets-a-Californian-bungalow, or as they said in Melbourne a 'Cal
Bung'. I studied the casualness of moneyed Melbourne and
wondered what the Sydney equivalent might be. Ravesi's at
Bondi perhaps? Nick's on the promenade at Cockle Bay?
No, they were both flashier than the Stokehouse. It was
more like the Clovelly Hotel. The full glass frontage could
not hide the fact that St Kilda beach was dirty, and the wind
was up so there was lots of white wash swirling around.

The wait staff were young and funky in jeans and white
shirts. I stood at the bar just taking it in before Constable
Care spotted me and I walked over. He put one hand in
the small of my back and kissed me on the mouth. Whoa, I
thought, you don't lip kiss someone you've just met. I pulled
back with a jerk, which he apparently didn't notice or chose
to ignore.

'Damn girl, you've got more curves than a racetrack.'

'Okay, stop with the lines, please.'

'Sure, but you do look beautiful.' He seemed sincere.

'You look all right, too, I suppose,' I said with a smile.
'What else looks good, I mean besides both of us?' And I
opened the menu as soon as I sat down.

'Well, I can tell you everything on the menu, I've been
here a while.'

'Am I late? I thought we agreed on noon.'

'No, you're on time, I just got here early, to get the table
and be waiting.' God, he was stalker material. 'I think the
suckling pig looks good.'

'What, a whole pig?'

'No, it's just cut from a suckling pig.'

'So can pigs eat pig?' And as soon as I said it I knew I'd
gone too far.

'Okay, are you done? Any more pork jokes you want to
get off your very beautiful chest?'

'Okay, truce – no pig jokes, no pick-up lines.'

'Truce. But can I flirt with you?' He just never stopped;
he was the perpetual comedian.

Flirting was technically acceptable, wasn't it? I could
look but not touch, read the menu but not order, wasn't
that right? I'd have to tell him I had a boyfriend sooner or
later, but I didn't need to do it right away. It might look
weird – and he might want to just be friends anyway, and
I'd look like a right knob
assuming
, the way Alice did, that
all men just wanted to have sex.

The waiter came and took our drink orders so the moment
had passed anyway.

'Pimm's and lemonade, please.' I'd been terribly
influenced by Shelley.

'Coopers, thanks mate.'

Just relax and be normal, I told myself. I'd always been
the easygoing, happy-go-lucky girl in our group and now I
was acting like a nervous schoolgirl, freaking out, thinking
too much. Maybe Melbourne wasn't that good for my state
of mind after all.

I decided I'd just jump straight in.

'So, give me your details, then. Siblings, birth date . . .'

'I'm twenty-nine and I have two brothers – PJ and
Shaun – and two sisters – Lily and Patricia. We're a close
family, so I'm lucky. With my schedule though, I hardly
get to see them, even though I'm big on family and want to
have one of my own someday. Yeah, life in the force means
you need stability at home,' he said, as if he'd given it a lot
of thought.

'The hours must make it hard to meet people, though?'

'Hey, I met you.'

'Yeah, that was just lucky!' I tried to brush off the
compliment. I'd have to tell him about James soon, but I
didn't know how to introduce the subject.

'To be truthful, the hours do play havoc with your social
life. Sometimes it means having to hang out with cops all
the time, because they're on the same roster and so on. Our
happy hour might be seven in the morning, because we
finish at six am. It's the kind of lifestyle that's not easy for
most people to cope with.'

'I know what you mean. I travel a lot for my work, and
it's hard to find someone with a compatible lifestyle. So you
end up sometimes having to trade off one for the other.
Most guys I've met can't cope with a career woman either.
They seem to want attention exactly when they want it, and
not just after the report has been finished or the field trip
is complete. It's such a juggling act. I want to be able to
manage both somehow, to have a balanced lifestyle.'

'And you should have it.'

'What about you? Do you have to date cops to have that
compatible lifestyle?'

'Oh no, never date cops; don't dip the pen and all that
stuff. Anyway, I do have a lot of other interests that make
me attractive to all kinds of women, you know!'

'Really?' I laughed at his cheeky confidence. 'And what
would they be?'

'I actually like hanging out in museums and galleries. I
find them really soothing after long shifts on the beat. And
don't laugh, but I love chick-flicks. That's what comes from
having two dominating sisters I really like hanging out with.
See, it's not all about cops and robbers.'

I could understand that; it was like people thought
Blackfellas only ever hung out with Blackfellas and only
talked about land rights and 'our' issues. I had friends from
all walks of life and occupations. Shelley the stockbroker
and Sylvia the eco-poet my two latest additions. My
boyfriend was an architect and now I had the unlikely copper
friend Mike.

When we were finished our meal, Mike signalled for the
bill. He was turning his BlackBerry back on when I noticed
a blue rubber band on his wrist, one of those charity bands
that every second person wore to show their support for
a particular cause: breast cancer, homeless youth, World
Environment Day and so on.

'What's that for?' I asked.

'Oh, this.' He moved it around his wrist nervously. 'You
probably won't like it.'

What wouldn't I like about a charity band? How could I
possibly have a problem with MS or the guide dogs?

'It's in support of John Bush. Do you know who he is?'
I nearly fell off my chair.

'Of course I know who he is! He's the policeman who
killed a Black man up on Possession Island. How can you
possibly support him?'

'I'm supporting due process.'

'Due process? What due process?' I was furious. 'The
Queensland Director of Public Prosecutions was given a
coroner's report that clearly showed that a Black man died
at the hands of a white policeman, but she refused to charge
him, and only after national outrage was there a special
inquiry that led to charges being laid. Never at any time was
the DPP's job under threat, though.' I took a breath. 'But at
the other end of the spectrum, we had a Black man who spat
at a cop on Redfern station – spat, not maimed, or stabbed or
killed, just spat at a cop – and he was arrested immediately.
When
he
went to court and the magistrate let him off, the
bloody New South Wales Police Minister stepped in and
the magistrate's job was under review immediately. So we
have a policing and legal system that says it's worse for a
Black man to spit at a white cop than it is for a white cop to
kill
a Black man and that's your fucken
process
.'

Mike just sat there for a moment, and then stood up, put
his hand on my shoulder and said, 'You need to relax. I'll
order us another round and we can talk about this.'

I was fuming. Relax? Relax? I didn't need to relax, I
needed to be somewhere other than here, now, with him.
I didn't know what to do, but relaxing wasn't on the top of
my list of options. While he was at the bar I picked up my
mobile and thought about calling Alice, but what would she
say?
I told you so.

Before I had a chance to punch in a number, Mike was
back with a bottle of wine and the wrist band off. I didn't
know where it was, but it wasn't in sight.

'I didn't mean to upset you. My intention today was to
get to know you.'

'Do you want to be my friend?' I asked.

'Of course.' Of course he did, because he knew I knew
my stuff and clearly I knew his policing stuff as well. I
wasn't an idiot, and a smart man, even one who makes a
poor judgement call in supporting John Bush, would want
to see a smart, gorgeous woman again.

'Well, if you want to see me again, you have to read
Simon Luckhurst's
Eddie's Country
. It will explain the
history of relations between the cops and Kooris and then
you'll understand why I'm so angry now. Can you do that?'

'I can do that.'

'You don't even know what it's about.'

'I don't care. You make me want to learn. If you think
it's an important book for me to read, then I'll read it.' He
reached out and took my hand.

'I have a boyfriend,' I said. It was the right time to tell
him.

'Really?'

'Are you surprised?'

'I'm surprised he's let you move down here all alone.'

'We can be friends, though. I mean, if you read—'

'I will. Friends is good.'