Avoiding Mr Right (13 page)

Oh God, why ruin it all? James just couldn't see that I
would make a bad wife and a shocking mother. There he
was acting like Muriel again – or Alice, anyway.

Reconciliation Week came and went in the blink of
an eyelid. It was the most jam-packed week I had ever
experienced. I'd been busy every day and night since
James left with morning teas and launches, an event at the
Bunjilaka Aboriginal Centre at Melbourne Museum, the
launch of Archie Roach's new CD and a fabulously funny
night seeing Tammy Anderson's play
Itchy Clacker
.

Each event did much to bring the Indigenous and non-Indigenous communities of Melbourne together, and I was
glad for all the invitations to attend, but I was exhausted,
too, because every event generated more work. Sylvia kept
giving my card to people and then emails and phone calls
came flooding in. But I was in my element.

'Sylvia!' I sung out like a command from my office. She
came promptly. 'Right, what's left to do today?'

'One more event at the Koorie Heritage Trust Cultural
Centre and then you can rest.'

'We can
both
rest,' I corrected her, as we'd been working
strongly as a team since I arrived and she had to be as tired
as I was. 'What's the event?'

'Opening night of a new exhibition; a local artist working
in metal. But before that you have some guests from the
Assembly of First Nations in Canada arriving. I thought we
could walk down together and then they can get some local
culture and we don't have to organise catering or anything
– there'll be a spread on there.'

'God, I love the way you think. Thanks for that.'

From the moment I arrived at the centre I was avoiding
people: one of my mother's ex-boyfriends who was still an
alcoholic womaniser; a married man who kept following me
around; a cousin who always bit me for money; and three
or four potential clients who wanted to know when funding
decisions would be made.

I was so frightened of bumping into someone I didn't
want to speak to that I refused to head up the wooden
stairs to the main exhibition. To look busy, and to show
my interest in the artist and his work, I put a deposit on a
blue metal sculpture worth three weeks' wages. I didn't even
really know what it meant, or have my own space to put it
in. It was titled 'Untitled', which I thought was just lazy
of the artist. I'd always been mesmerised by dot paintings
from Papunya and the stories they told, but there was no
story attached to this sculpture to help me understand it. Of
course, I could never say that out loud, not in the job I was
in, but it was true. I only bought the piece because the artist
saw me eyeing it, but he didn't realise that the look on my
face was confusion, not admiration.

I was very drunk when I got home and started texting,
first to Alice:

Belated Happy Reconciliation Week, miss ya, Px

Then a return text to Liza. She'd sent a message for Sorry
Day on 26 May but I hadn't had a chance to get back to
her:

Thanks sista 4 the msg. Been hectic here, will call soon, promise.
Love ya, P xxx

Then to James:

Hi, sorry been quiet, was BIG recon wk, haven't stopped, just home
now, exhausted. Will call soon. X P X

♥

I stayed home every night for the next two weeks, played
on Facebook, sent a backlog of emails, even wrote a letter
to Mum. I had to save some money for the 'Untitled' piece
I would eventually have to pay for, but I also needed to
cleanse my system after a huge week of functions. I offered to
babysit for Joe and Annie when I heard it was their wedding
anniversary and Aunt had gone away with her line-dancing
group for the weekend.

I rocked up to their place with lots of kids' movies and
plenty of lollies and chocolate, which was the advice from
Sylvia. However, Annie told me sugar only gave them
more energy and their son Will needed Ritalin, not sugar.

Joe and Annie were going to dinner and then to Klub
Koori – they were still young enough to enjoy the bar scene.
I was there at six pm to help feed the kids.

'Now, Aunty Peta is going to look after you for a while
tonight, and I want you to be on your best behaviour,
okay.'

'Okay,' Maya said as she sat up to the dinner table.

'Kay,' Will echoed, looking at his big sister.

'We'll be right, you go get ready,' I said, and I shoved
Annie out of the room. 'Right, let's eat.'

I took a seat next to Will, and started on my own takeaway
Thai while the kids played with and occasionally ate
some of their food. Then Will poked me.

'Don't do that, Will, I don't like it.'

He poked me again.

'I said, don't! Okay?' I stared him right in the eye. 'I'll
poke you back.'

He just stared at me until I returned to my dinner. Then
he poked me again, so I poked him back really hard. He
burst out crying, wailing uncontrollably until Annie and Joe
came rushing out.

'What's going on?' Annie asked.

'Eeta poked me!' Will cried.

'He poked me first! I warned him if he kept poking me
I'd poke him back. Eye for an eye, isn't it?'

'No, Peta, it's turn the other cheek in this house. Maybe
you shouldn't have kids.'

'Oh really? You think I hadn't figured that out myself
yet? Thanks for the advice. We'll be fine now – just go, we'll
sort it out.'

'I'm worried DOCS might come and take the kids away
from the babysitter,' Annie laughed.

When we'd all finished eating, I was pissed off to find
more food had landed on the floor than in Will's mouth.
Joe had prepared a yummy meal, but Will just kept saying
'cheese, cheese, cheese'.

Annie had left strict instructions that no ice-cream was
to be served for dessert unless they ate their meat and veg,
and I was determined to stick to the orders. After all, as a
child I wasn't allowed to have sweets if I didn't eat all my
dinner. But as a child, I also knew that while you might be
too full to eat the brussels sprouts, you are
never
too full to
eat ice-cream.

After dinner I sat them both down in front of
Madagascar
and we watched it together. Maya and I got
Will to repeat the names of all the animals as they appeared
on the screen.

'Monkeys . . .'

'Keys . . .' Will said enthusiastically.

'Giraffe . . .' Maya said slowly.

'Rarf . . .' was all he could manage.

'Racoon . . .' I said clearly.

'Coon . . .' And as hideous as the word was and
sounded, there was something funny about this two year
old innocently mispronouncing the word 'racoon'.

'Okay, so maybe we don't bother trying racoon for a
while then.'

They were both still awake at eight-thirty and I was sure
it was too late for them to be up, but when I suggested
they go to bed Maya said she wasn't tired and Will just
started to scream. I didn't want a screaming child, nor did I
know what to do with a screaming child, other than perhaps
smack them, but I also knew that there was probably some
law against smacking other people's kids, so I just let
them stay up and gave them more ice-cream, not thinking
that the sugar might be contributing to their unusual
energy levels.

At ten-thirty Will was so tired he could hardly move, so
I carried him to his cot. He was asleep within seconds of
me covering him over. Maya helped me get him settled and
then took herself off to bed.

'Goodnight, lovely, see you soon, eh?'

'Oh yes, we still have to go to Luna Park, remember?'

'Of course, how could I forget?' Kids never forgot
promises adults made to them.

It was only eleven when Annie and Joe arrived home,
but I was exhausted. I was almost positive motherhood and
I should never meet.

After two weeks of working long hours and staying in at
night I was desperate to go out again. On Friday evening
I felt like going for a drink and being sociable. I was still
trying to make as much as possible out of my twelve-month
stint in Melbourne, and to see as many bars and restaurants
and venues as possible. Even if I had a boyfriend back in
Sydney, I still liked to party. I asked Sylvia if she was up for
some bevies, but she already had plans with the boyfriend I
still hadn't met. I briefly considered texting Mike, but that
was beyond ridiculous, given our last encounter, and even I
knew that. Shelley always had drinks after work on Friday
with her colleagues at a place called 'Comme', so I gave her
a call on her mobile, thinking perhaps we could hook up.
Typically, I got her voicemail – she never seemed to have
her phone switched on – so I left a message.

'Hi love, I'd really like to go out for a drink. Maybe I
could meet you at Comme bar? It's six pm, I'm still in the
office, call me.'

But by seven, when I'd finished off my emails, I still hadn't
heard from Shelley, so I got the tram home, wondering why
she'd never invited me along to meet her workmates, and
decided to confront her about it.

She stumbled in the door at twenty past nine, slightly
pissed. She kicked off her heels and flung her grey suit
jacket on the couch next to her as she placed both feet on
the coffee table.

'It's sooooo good to be home.' She rested her head back
and closed her eyes.

'How were drinks?'

'Same, same.'

'Is that a good same or an average same or a bad same?'

'Just same, same really. I only go because it's expected
of me. Have you noticed I'm home at the same time every
week?'

'Yes I have actually, and I've also noticed that you go
every week and never invite me along. I'd like to check
out this Comme bar with you and meet your colleagues
sometime.' I couldn't have been any more up-front than
that.

'Oh no, I don't think you really do, Peta.'

'Oh, yes, I think I really do.'

'I just don't know . . .' She sat upright and put both feet
flat on the ground.

'What? Why? Aren't I good enough for your hoity-toity
stockbroking mates?'

'Oh no, it's the other way around, Peta. I can tell you
right now that you will hate Comme bar, and loathe the
men who go there.'

'But I wouldn't be going there for the men. I hate to have
to keep reminding you of it, but I have a boyfriend.'

'That's right, I forgot.' Shelley was drunker than I had
originally thought.

'I just want to see what it's like in
your
world – you
know, outside of our little salt'n'pepper squid and Pimm's
existence we share here at St Kilda.'

'Well, okay, but don't say I didn't warn you. Come next
Friday then.'

'Great, now put those heels back on because someone
by the name of George is waiting for us on the corner of
Fitzroy and Grey Streets, and I do believe he has a drink
there too.'

♥

Friday came and I was looking forward to my initiation
into the Comme bar after-work soiree. I pulled out my
obligatory little black Melbourne dress, fishnets and heels.
The evenings were really cold by now, so I wore my pink
coat, too. It made me stick out like a sore thumb, but I
didn't care. I looked hot and I knew it. The black-clad
Collins Street crowd would just have to cope.

Shelley was there when I arrived but it was hard to find
her. I waded confidently into a sea of drab suits and made
my way around the left of the bar, assuming if I did a loop
of the oval space I'd bump into her eventually. It was jam-packed
and I had to brush up close to everyone I passed.
Squeezing as elegantly as possible through the crowd I was
chest to chest with two guys talking about a woman on the
other side of the bar.

'She's got the biggest tits,' one of them said, gesturing
across the room. He proceeded to describe the woman's
cleavage and exactly where she was positioned at the bar,
no shame and no concern whatsoever that I could hear
everything he was saying. Shelley was right, the FTSE, the
Nikkei/Dow and the sharemarket were not discussed after
work. It was a market of a different kind: the meat market.
The wanker banker meat market.

I found Shelley eventually and we both looked at each
other with relief. She was sitting with a few other people,
and introduced me to them: there was a young gun in a suit
who immediately excused himself to go to the bar; Ollie,
around forty, with a completely shaved head; and Shelley's
assistant, Casey.

'Ollie, this is Peta, my housemate. Ollie specialises in
offshore investments with the firm.'

'Nice to meet you, Ollie.' I extended my hand.

'Yes, it is.'

I also shook hands with Casey, who generously offered
to take my coat to the cloakroom.

Ollie leered at me as I slipped it off. 'Peta, just some
advice, best you dress like you work in the city,' and he
looked at my gorgeous watermelon coat like it was a
housecoat. 'Loud colours like that scream you're from the
burbs
and
desperate.'

'What? I bought this coat on Chapel Street, and I wear
it all the time. Anyone with any spunk knows it screams
style
.'

Shelley pushed her chair back further, recrossed her legs
and rested her drink on her knee like she was settling in for
the show.

'And what's wrong with the burbs anyway?' I asked.

'I was just looking out for ya, love.'

'Well, don't bother. I don't need anyone looking out
for me. And who's desperate? I'm doing my best to
avoid
men, actually. I'm not looking for one. Anyway, I don't give
a rat's arse what a Melbourne—' I looked at his card. 'A
Melbourne
whatever
thinks of me. I'm from Sydney and
going back in a year.'

'Well, that explains it then.' He looked me up and down
one more time, stood up, said, 'See ya, Shells,' and walked
off .

'What was that? What a wanker! Surely they can't all be
like that.'

'Not all of them, but a lot of them. Maybe you can teach
them a thing or two, Peta. Who knows, we might actually
have some fun tonight.'

After a couple of drinks Casey said she had to go home,
and headed off. Then Shelley had to take a call from a client
she'd been waiting to hear from. I was surprised she even
had her phone on, but there were still deals to be made on
Friday night, apparently. The place was really loud, much
louder than the George, so she went outside and I was left
to fend for myself. She was gone a while, and I made my
way to the bar to order a drink. While I was waiting for my
change, someone lurched into me. It was Ollie – and this
time he had a mate with him.

'Hey, Peee-taah! This is Jake, he has too many girlfriends.
Jake, this is Shell's housemate, Peee-taah.' Jake extended
his hand, but without much enthusiasm. He checked out
my cleavage then looked around the room for his 'too many
girlfriends'. I wasn't sure how Jake had so much female
interest, as he was packing a few pounds. With a paunch
like a middle-aged married man content with home-cooked
meals, I was surprised to learn he was only twenty-six.

'Where's the girl with the nose?' he said to Ollie. It was
clear to me that women at Comme were only referred to by
parts of their anatomy – breasts, noses, legs – but never by
name, and rarely with respect or warmth. I needed Shelley
back and fast. It was approaching nine pm, her usual escape
time. I couldn't see her anywhere, though, so I thought I'd
hide in the loos for a while.

When I came back, I took a seat at the bar. I still
couldn't see Shelley, but was glad just to sit down again.
My feet were killing me in heels. I wore them so rarely since
moving to Melbourne – with all the public transport I was
constantly paranoid about tripping on a tramline, or getting
my heel caught getting on or off a train. I ordered a glass
of water because I was already imagining the hangover due
next morning.

Jake and Ollie were still there in the corner of the bar,
but they didn't seem to feel obliged to talk to me. I was glad
of that, and just sat and listened to their conversation.

'There's no-one here worth shagging,' Jake said to Ollie
as he sipped his beer.

'Nah, and too many blokes, nothing worse than cock
soup,' Ollie replied.

'Yeah, ya right, or a sausage factory.' They both sniggered
like teenage boys.

'Hey, check out that woman there. She looks like a
forty-year-old mother from the suburbs trying to find a
boyfriend.'

'Yeah, it ain't gonna happen. She should be at home.'

'Absolutely, why doesn't she just try Lavalife or
something?'

'That's right. It's half past nine. If she was a self-respecting
woman she'd be home by now.' And they both looked at me
as if to say,
And so should you, because you don't fit in either
. I
was gobsmacked. I looked at the woman they were referring
to and she just looked like a normal, well-dressed woman
like me, perhaps a little older. Was I supposed to be at
home too?

'Hey, check out the two sad cases behind us,' Ollie said,
motioning his head towards the women at a high table
nearby. I couldn't help but look too, because I wanted to
know what a 'sad case' actually looked like in their eyes.

'Fuck, old and trashy, sitting there with their bottle of
wine. Tragic.' I wasn't quite sure what was tragic about
them – the wine, or the fact they could be there, willingly,
among all the judgement and criticism. I'd had enough. I
sent Shelley a text:

Meet u out front ASAP, ova this. Px

I went to the coat check and got my loud coat and put it on
proudly. It was warm, it was stylish, and no snotty-nosed
bloke was going to tell me I couldn't wear it. I came from
the suburbs in Sydney and was proud of it.

Shelley soon followed me out, and we grabbed a cab
home.

'What's with Jake and Ollie just standing in the corner
and bagging everyone out all the time?' I asked, resting my
head on the window. I was sure I was going to throw up
at some point. I was just hoping to be able to get home in
time.

'Oh, no-one takes them seriously. Everyone knows
Jake's got a tiny dick and Ollie is a premature ejaculator, so
they often have threesomes because it takes two of them to
get one job done. All that judgement stuff is just projecting
their own sense of self-loathing onto others. Left here,
thanks driver.'

'Next time I invite myself to one of
your
events, can
you remind me again why you didn't invite me in the first
place?'

'Should I say it?'

'What?'

'I told you so.'