Avoiding Mr Right (20 page)

I couldn't believe August had come around so quickly, and
so too Alice's hens' weekend and birthday celebrations on
the Gold Coast. I was excited about going away for a few
days not only to see Alice, Liza and Dannie, but also to
escape the miserable Melbourne weather. Alice had Skyped
me every day the week before, and counted down on her
Facebook page the days to arriving at Conrad Jupiters. I
knew that she was also bursting about her hens' night – the
one she'd once vowed she would never have.

I was in Sydney for a meeting with the Aboriginal and
Torres Strait Islander Arts Board at the Australia Council
the day before we left, so it meant we could all fly together
up the coast. I stayed overnight in a hotel in the city and
James came and stayed with me.

We only had twelve hours together and most of it was
spent sleeping – we were both exhausted from work. We
made love, but it was sex you have when you're still half
asleep, or mostly asleep, with no energy at all, just rhythm
and grinding until the job's done. Neither of us said anything,
but as James drove me to the airport I wondered
if that was what married life was like for busy working
couples. It wasn't how I wanted it to be for me.

'I'm glad you're having this weekend with the girls.
Just behave yourself, all right,' he said as he patted my thigh,
half jokingly, half seriously.

'Oh, I thought I might find myself a retired fella in a
Hawaiian shirt and a really bad tan and move to the Gold
Coast.'

Perhaps sleepy sex with someone you loved was better
than no sex at all.

♥

Dannie, Liza and Alice were all full of life and happiness,
but I boarded the flight pissed off that we weren't flying
QANTAS. I wasn't a frequent flyer for nothing. I wanted
to sit in the QC and have my free coffee and raisin toast.
But Liza was on shitty money at the Aboriginal Legal
Service; Alice was on a teacher's wage; and Dannie had
school fees, uniforms and excursions to pay for so it was a
miracle she could even afford to come at all. I had to hold my
sensibly single Black bourgeois tongue and get the cheaper
ticket on Virgin as well so that we could all fly together to
Coolangatta.

From the moment my foot stepped onto the Virgin
aircraft and the yet-to-reach-puberty flight attendant
welcomed me aboard by my first name, I knew it was
going to be an inordinately long flight.

'Hi Peta! I just love that name – my best friend at school
was Peta.'

Don't call me Peta
, I thought.
Call me Ms Tully or madam
or whatever. But don't be so bloody familiar. And I'm not the
least bit interested in who your friends were at school. I'm not
your friend – I don't even want to be your customer, okay?

I didn't say it of course, but it sounded good in my
head.

'Eight aisles down on the left, Peta.'

And I don't need you to point me in the direction of my seat.
Obviously it's ahead of me somewhere, on either the left or the
right of me, as there's only one aisle to walk down.
I was already
looking for the exit, remembering the nearest one might
just be behind me.

'Good morning, groovers, welcome to flight 537 to the
Gold Coast. If you're
not
going to the Gold Coast, then
you're probably on the wrong plane.'

'Wow, he's a genius,' I said sarcastically to Alice.

'My name's Ryan. I tried out for
Popstars
, but didn't make
it, so instead I'm going to be your singing flight attendant.
I might sing you a song later, but first up let me introduce
you to your crew today.

'Sandy likes dark chocolate, Georgia has just broken
up with her long-time boyfriend so can you all be kind to
her today, Alex still lives at home and his mother does his
washing, blah blah blah . . .' Was I the only one getting the
shits listening to nonstop commentary?

'We're very lucky to be led by our Captain James Cook.'

'
James Cook
? Hilarious!' Alice said.

'Yeah, and I'd like to know why we're so lucky. Are the
other captains dodgy? Or are we lucky because he can't
hear Ryan rambling and won't be pissed off or distracted
from doing his job?' Alice had been joking, but I was deadly
serious.

'Maybe we're lucky cos he's sober.'

'What's luck got to do with flying a plane anyway?
I thought it was about skill and experience.'

Ryan still hadn't shut up: 'And in the middle of the
plane is Abbey. It's Abbey's birthday, so let's sing Abbey
happy birthday.'

'Let's not,' I mumbled to Alice, but to my surprise a good
proportion of the plane, including Dannie, started singing.

Then the safety demonstration began.

'Seriously, who needs to be shown how to do a seat belt
up?' I mumbled.

'What's wrong with you?' Alice asked. 'You're such a
grump today. Melbourne's turned you into a real whiner.
I hope you're not going to be miserable all weekend and
spoil it.'

'
You're such a grump
.' I whined some more, but under
my breath, watching the cloned Virgins check and double-check
that tray tables were up, seat backs were upright and
hand luggage was stowed correctly; all of them identical
in their camel pants and skirts, crisp white shirts and red
jackets. Alice was right about me being grumpy, but no-one
was going to accuse me of spoiling the fun of the girls'
weekend on the Gold Coast.

I closed my eyes and started to count down to our
eventual arrival at Coolangatta airport. I tried to sleep but
couldn't, because even after we started along the tarmac to
take off Ryan was
still
talking.

'Again, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, pimps
and pros, you're on flight 537 to the Gold Coast . . .'

'Yes, we know that you knob, just shut up,' I said out
loud and even Alice laughed.

♥

'Ladies and gentleman, it's Ryan here and we've just begun
our descent, so please take your seats. The cabin crew will be
coming through shortly to collect your rubbish, so to make
turnaround time quicker at the other end can you please
look under your seat and in the seat pockets, and help us
with the cleaning?'

'What? It's not bad enough that we have to buy a bottle
of water but we now have to provide the cleaning as well?'

Ryan just kept going. 'Please don't leave your ex-husbands
or children behind as they are both hard to sell,
and don't go well on the baggage carousel.'

Let me off the bloody plane
, I was screaming to myself.

♥

If Sydney had a coastal feel about its fashion, then the
Gold Coast had a tropical island feel about it. It seemed
like there were no dress regulations at all. The foyer of our
hotel had everything from board shorts and miniskirts
to canary-yellow slacks, hot-pink strapless frocks and no
shortage of gold glitter T-shirts. The four of us in our
tailored dresses and darker colours looked classy and high-end
– and distinctly overdressed. I couldn't exactly say it
felt great to be home, even though it was good to be back
with my friends.

I'd decided not to see Mum or Gis or the boys while I
was up. I didn't want to spoil my weekend with the girls
trying to squeeze in a visit with the family as well. We
needed more than a couple of hours to catch up, and I
didn't have the time or the inclination right then.

We spent the day lying by the pool at the hotel. It was
low season so there were hardly any tourists and, to my great
joy, no schoolies. Hanging out with Will and Maya was
one thing; teenagers were quite another. I delved into the
novel Sylvia had lent me for the trip,
The Accomplice
. It was
by a local writer, Kathryn Heyman, and told the story of a
seventeenth-century shipwreck off the coast of Australia.

'You'll love it,' Sylvia had assured me as she put it in
my attaché. 'Heyman's been shortlisted for the Nita Kibble
Award and sells well abroad. A literary writer, does better
than we mere poets.'

What she'd failed to tell me was that it was a meditation
on evil. According to the jacket reviews it was a cross
between
Robinson Crusoe
and
Lord of the Flies
. It was a brutal
read for what was meant to be a relaxing holiday, but I really
didn't care. It was so wonderful to feel the sun on my skin
and build some of my tan back up.

On our first night we strolled along Broadbeach Mall
and ate in an Italian restaurant, nothing like the standard
of Lygon Street but I wasn't going to say a thing. I was
hoping to get through the weekend without any cross-border
debates happening.

None of us really wanted to go clubbing that night,
because we were all too old compared to the bronzed, blonde
girls out and about. We went back to the Prince Albert Pub
at Conrads and listened to a covers band instead.

The food we'd had at dinner wasn't really authentically
Italian, so I didn't think there was any risk of having an astral
dream while sharing a room with Alice – and I didn't.

The next day we spent hours walking around Pacific Fair,
checking out the shops, stopping for coffee and just taking
it easy. I took some pics on the camera phone and sent them
to James. He texted back:

I'm glad you're there with the girls. It must be like old times, hey
babe? Love you. James

On our second and final night we decided to get frocked
up properly, which made us really stick out. We had our
hens' celebration dinner at the hotel's Charters Towers
Restaurant.

'So, Missy, what plans do you have for the wedding?
I do recall you said I could be "producer" and God knows
you'll need me to coordinate the music. Remember your
mum said you could have Archie Roach play? I could
probably help with arranging that if you like.'

'Gary said we can only afford to play Archie's CDs in
the background.'

'Right. Well, we can talk more about the music later.'

'I still want you to help me do all the planning, of
course. It's just a bit harder with you down there, but you'll
be home in January and the wedding's not till March.
Dannie's still matron of honour and I'd love you to be
bridesmaid.' She looked directly at me, but not Liza, and
I felt uncomfortable.

'Well?' Alice asked, when I didn't respond immediately.

I looked towards Liza, embarrassed. 'But what about—'

'Liza's already agreed. I asked her last week.' Alice
beamed at Liza, who returned the same broad glow. Alice
was my best friend, but I was the last to be asked, and the
last to know. Our fabulous foursome seemed to have become
the terrific threesome since I'd moved to Melbourne.

'I've offered to do a pre-nup for them, too,' Liza added.

'Of course Gary's got nothing to "nup",' Dannie threw
in.

Alice grinned. 'Truly, without making you want to spew,
I
know
Gary and I will be together forever. We don't really
need a pre-nup.'

'What about dresses?' I asked.

'Well, we've already had a look at a few,' Alice motioned
to Dannie and Liza. 'And we kind of decided that you girls
should just wear whatever you want, but I thought maybe
cocktail, to the knee, and then you should get some more
wear out of it later.'

'Great!' I said, with as much enthusiasm as I could
muster. My nose was really out of joint now, but I tried
not to show it. 'There are some fabulous shops that I know
Shelley can take me to in Melbourne. If you want we can
have a look when you come down for Melbourne Cup.'

'Sounds like a plan! Let's toast to that,' Alice said, raising
her glass.

'Now, what about your ring? When's that happening?
I've seen some gorgeous designs in Melbourne.'

'Actually,' Alice said, reaching into her handbag, 'it's
been really hard for me to keep it hidden. But here it is.
It was Gary's grandmother's – we had it remodelled into a
more modern design. I love it.' And she put the ring on and
showed us all the most elegant diamond ring that sparkled
like none of the diamonds today. Antique diamonds had
something special about them.

'It's absolutely gorgeous. Why didn't you show us before?'
Dannie asked.

'It's just that Peta is missing out on stuff, so I didn't want
her to miss out being the first to see the ring also.' The girls
nodded, and I gulped back a lump in my throat. I'd been
a little selfish, I realised – tonight was really about Alice,
not me.

'Thank you for thinking of me, Alice. I have been feeling
a bit left out because I'm so far away, but now I feel lucky.
So who's for the casino? I think I'll be a good luck charm for
a high roller,' I said as the waiters cleared the table.

When Alice and I got back to our room that night, I
couldn't stay awake no matter how hard I tried and no
matter how much Alice kept talking. I think I fell asleep
within seconds of saying, 'Goodnight, Muriel . . .'

The winter months and mochas and heavy meals coupled
with my weekend away to the Gold Coast had done damage
to my liver
and
my waistline. I needed to do some exercise
desperately. I wanted to keep swimming, but couldn't go
back to the St Kilda Baths, it was just too relaxing for any
real exercise and too expensive to be a regular part of my life.
So I went to the Melbourne Sports and Aquatic Centre, or
'MSAC' as it was commonly referred to. 'It's where serious
swimmers go,' Josie told me.

I loved MSAC straight away. The centre was massive
and like nothing I had ever seen. There was an indoor comp
pool, an outdoor comp pool, a leisure pool, stadiums for
basketball, squash, table-tennis and more. I wanted to
move in. The MSAC also had a hydrotherapy pool, but I
told myself I could only use it
after
I'd done some serious
swimming.

I started going after work and aimed to swim 1.5
kilometres three times a week. For the first week I stuck
to the 'medium' lane. The workout would help me sleep
soundly, which had been a problem lately. Alone late at
night was when I missed James the most. It was the only
time when my head wasn't in overdrive thinking about
work.

I bought a red Speedo, the closest thing I could get to
the Baywatch cozzie. My red pout matched my cozzie and
the fitter I got, the more I felt like Pamela Anderson.

The downfall of a completely chlorinated pool, though,
was that the chlorine stayed in my pores regardless of how
much showering, soaping and moisturising I did.

The biggest problem was the damage the chlorine was
doing to my hair. My hair had always been long, but now
it reached right down my back. I was wearing it up most
days, but my locks needed some attention from spending so
much time in the pool.

I left work early one afternoon, around three-thirty, and
walked into a salon just a short stroll from the office. It
looked groovy and had a price list I could survive. A young,
fit guy with biceps bulging through his black T-shirt looked
at my hair, touched the ends, pushed it off my face and said,
'I'm Benny and I'd
love
to get my hands on your scalp.'

'That's one I haven't heard,' I laughed.

I sat in front of the mirror as Benny lifted strands up and
down and fluffed the hair around my face.

'Do you want a new style? A colour and a cut?'

'I hadn't given it much thought. I really need a treatment,
and probably a trim, but I think the colour's fine.' I
had dark hair and didn't need to colour it. It was normally
naturally shiny, but the pool had completely dulled it.

'What about just a couple of pieces, here—' he lifted
some strands to the left of my face, 'and here?', indicating
the opposing strands on the right. I thought it might be
nice to have a change and so agreed. As he painted
mahogany dye onto sections of my hair and wrapped them
in foil, I read a newspaper article about the government's
new immigration policies and the introduction of language
tests. The hairdresser looked over my shoulder and tuttutted.

'Look, I'm not racial, but why can't they just learn to
speak Oz-tralian when they come here?'

'
Oz-tralian
? There's no such language. I think you'll find
you mean English.'

'Yes, English of course, because that is the language of
Australia, isn't it!'

'Actually, no. There's no one Australian language.
Originally there were over five hundred languages spoken
in Australia and about forty in Victoria. Immigrants didn't
have to do language tests back then, luckily, or your own
ancestors mightn't have got in.'

'It's not the same. My ancestors were British – they
weren't
boat people
.'

'Sorry to be the one to break the news, but the First
Fleet weren't planes, they were BOATS! The original "boat
people", as you say, were British!'

Benny just stared at me with a look of dumb confusion.

'Look, I think I'll just read my book if that's okay?' And
I opened the latest book sent to the department, one we'd
funded as part of a literacy project.

'Sure, yes, read your book, go for it,' I heard him say, but
I was already trying to bury myself in thoughts of something
other than this ignorant man whose mercy I was at. The
next thing I knew a foil flopped on my forehead and my hair
hung right into my face. I didn't know if he had done it on
purpose or not. I blew the hair out of my face and pushed
the foil away, but it happened again, and again, so I just
closed my eyes and waited for him to finish.

'The clock is on for thirty mins, love, you just relax.' I
knew then Benny had no idea that I was pissed off with
his ignorance. He continued to fluff around as if we hadn't
even had a conversation at all, put the clock on and got
started on the woman next to me. She was reading a trashy
women's magazine, and while he applied her colour they
chatted about Lindsay Lohan.

I went back to reading
The Papunya School Book of
Country and History
. I loved that more and more kids'
books were being published with Aboriginal people
involved in the development of the stories and the artwork.
I'd been researching illiteracy in Aboriginal communities
and a lack of relevant reading material was a big part of the
problem. Black kids needed to see their own realities on the
page – urban or remote – and they needed to see dark kids
on the page as well. Just as boys generally read books about
boys, and the same with girls, Black kids wanted to read
stories about Black kids. We'd never had books at home
when I was a kid, and I was so glad times were changing.

'Over to the basin, babe.' God I hated being called
'babe'. It was such an annoyingly generic term. Men only
used it because they couldn't think of something original
or when they didn't want to use your own name. I knew
that wasn't the case with James, but I hated him calling me
babe too. There just wasn't anything special about it. I much
preferred to be called by my actual name – except by Virgin
airline staff or racist hairdressers, of course.

I rested my neck on the towel of the basin and enjoyed
the lukewarm water rinsing the dye out.

'How's the temperature?'

'Perfect, thanks,' I said in a half-trance. I could've gone
to sleep there and then. A shampoo was followed by the best
head massage I'd ever had, as Benny worked and reworked
the conditioner through my hair with his magical hands. It
was so good I momentarily forgot he was a jerk. If I focused
enough, I could possibly even orgasm from his hands
massaging my head. Would it mean I'd been unfaithful to
James? Again, I remembered Liza's advice: 'If either one of
you has an orgasm, then it's regarded as sex.' I'd answered
my own question.

'There, let's get you back to the chair for a cut.' He
wrapped my hair in a towel and helped me out of the seat.
I was still aroused from the head massage and my legs were
shaky.

I looked in the mirror and even with my wet hair I could
see the beauty of the highlights. I wanted this man with
the hands and the hair magic in my life – as long as he
remained mute. I could still pretend that I was celibate if
there was no touching of genitals in any way. I could even
just come for a wash and dry once a week, the cost of three
glasses of wine. But I had that niggling feeling about him
– I couldn't give my money to a racist, regardless of how
magical his hands were.

'So, what do you do for a job?' Benny asked me.

Oh God. I could feel a cross-cultural training session
coming on.

'I'm the national Aboriginal policy manager for
DOMSARIA,' I said.

'DOMSARIA?' Benny had no clue. Seemed like the
years of fumes from the perming lotion had damaged his
brain.

'It's the Department of Media, Sports, the Arts, Refugees
and Indigenous Affairs.'

'Really? Then can I ask you something?' He leaned in
close and whispered in my ear. 'I'm not being racial, but
why can't Aborigines handle their drink?'

'Excuse me?'

'It's just that I was at the pub the other night and there
were two Blacks really pissed and they ended up causing
havoc.'

'Oh, right, and so how many white people were there
drunk?'

'About thirty probably, but none of them were fighting.'

'But have you ever seen pissed white people fighting?'

'Of course, all the time.'

'And how many times have you seen Blacks pissed and
fighting?'

'Well, just the other night. But it's more obvious with
them.'

'It's only more obvious to you because they're different
to you. There's probably noisy, drunken white people, many
of them hairdressers, around you all the time, but you don't
notice them cos they look like you. Don't worry about the
cut, I'm outta here.'

'But it's not even dry.'

'I don't care.' I tore the plastic cape from my neck, shook
my head a little and ran my fingers through my hair. There
were no knots, he had used so much conditioner and combed
it at the basin, so I was pretty much ready to go.

'Did I say something to upset you?'

There was no point saying,
I'm Aboriginal
, because that's
not why I was offended. I was simply offended as a human
being with a brain. I put the cash owing on the counter and
walked out.

I still needed a haircut so I called my hairdresser in
Sydney as I walked back towards Collins Street from
Bourke Street Mall. Prue suggested Paul in Melbourne
Central and called him for me straight away. I did an about-face
and headed right there. It looked far more bourgeois
than I would normally feel comfortable with. It had sleek
fittings and the customers were drinking glasses of wine
and champagne. But Prue had said, 'He does good hair and
good politics,' so it was a done deal.

I told Paul the whole story. He was sympathetic but
said, 'Oh, love, it's worse for me, I get all kinds. But I've
learned how to manage it. When one of my clients says
something racist, I still do good hair for them, because I
have my professional reputation to think of, but love, I
charge them a racist tax. I up their total by about eighty
dollars, because while I have integrity as a hairdresser I also
have integrity as a human being.'

I left the salon looking and feeling better, about my hair
and about my hairdresser. Paul became my new stylist, and
he promised me a good deal: whatever he charged other
clients in racist tax, he'd take off the cost of my haircut. And
that suited me fine.

I raced to meet Sylvia at 3 Below. We'd agreed to meet
up there so she could give me the afternoon's messages,
but I also wanted to take my new hair out to a chic drinkery.
I needed a glass of red to warm up anyway. It was a blustery
August evening, and my gorgeous new hair was being
blown everywhere. I had a huge black scarf around my neck
which hung down the back of my watermelon coat, but the
wind went right through me. I needed some of that thermal
underwear that I'd worn in my astral trip to Delphi.

♥

'Hello there, stranger. Not answering calls any more?'

It was Mike.

'What do you mean? You haven't called me! Behaving
like a typical bloke, saying you'll ring then not delivering.'

'I've tried calling about a dozen times, but you never
answer your phone.'

'Your name hasn't come up as a missed call once. And
you haven't left a message.'

'Damn!'

'What?'

'I have "private number" set on my mobile, completely
forgot. I don't know how to turn it off.'

'Well, that explains it,' said Sylvia. 'She never answers
calls from private numbers, do you, boss? She usually makes
me answer if I'm around.'

'Isn't it your shout, Sylvia?' I said. She took the hint and
went for another round.

'Why didn't you just leave a message?' I asked Mike.
'You're not really the shy, retiring type, are you?' Two
drinks down and the policeman was looking attractive.

'I just figured if you didn't answer the phone and you
didn't call me back, then you probably didn't want to talk
to me.'

'Not the case, Constable Care. Give me your phone
and I'll fix the settings for you, and then you can call me
tomorrow, I'll answer the phone, and we'll make a time to
catch up properly.'

'You're not just a pretty face and hair are you?'

'No, she's not!' Sylvia said with a naughty glint in her
eye, as she placed another glass of wine in front of me.

Mike grinned. 'I've got to go, but I'll call tomorrow.
I'll be expecting either one of you to answer the phone.
Okay?'

'Okay!' Sylvia and I said in unison, like two cheeky
teenagers propped up on our bar stools.