Avoiding Mr Right (22 page)

'Hi darl, it's Peta, I am soooo happy for you and George.
Great news. I'll see you next week for the Melbourne Cup
and we'll celebrate. Well, you'll be on mineral water, of
course, but we'll make sure it's the best sparkling we can
find.'

I was excited about the Melbourne Cup. Alice and Dannie
were coming down, but Liza had to work. The girls had
sent me pics of what they were wearing and I was looking
forward to seeing them and their men. James was also
meant to be coming, but at the last minute he couldn't
leave the office as there was a problem with a job for Lane
Cove Council. I was slightly relieved, though I felt bad
about it – I'd gotten so used to doing my own thing and
flying solo, and with just three months left on my contract,
I didn't want to start thinking about going back to Sydney
and into the same confused rut I was in when I left.

I was looking forward to my first Melbourne Cup as
well. I'd bought a new dress, shoes and a hat. I'd opted for
the hat because I didn't know what was so fascinating about
wearing a fascinator.

The night before the race I took everyone, including
Sylvia, to the Hofbräuhaus, a kitschy German family
restaurant in the city. I knew the boys would love the beers
and the schnapps, and I thought the girls would like seeing
the male staff in their lederhosen.

Alice burst out laughing as soon as she entered the
restaurant. 'This is so . . .'

'What, can't find the right adjective, Alice? That's not a
good sign, what with you being a teacher and all.'

'It's a bit like Mum and Dad's place, is what I was
thinking.' She scanned the room. There were wooden
plaques with greetings in German, and flower boxes in the
windows in true German countryside fashion.

'I thought you'd like a bit of European heritage –
closest thing I could get to Austrian, but they're nearly the
same anyway, aren't they,' I said, proud of my efforts to
please my best friend.

'Actually, Peta, they're two different countries, like
Australia and New Zealand, or should I say like Wiradjuri
and Bundjalung?'

'Okay, okay, I get the point. No need for the history
lesson at dinner, Miss Aigner.'

We were soon seated in heavy wooden chairs. Blue
tablecloths overlaid white linen and Lufthansa posters
lined the wall. Oompah-pah music wafted through
the restaurant as the band dressed in traditional garb
entertained us with the occasional yodel. Behind the stage
two Australian flags rested against the wall as a reminder
that we weren't actually in Bavaria, while steins of beer
were delivered to table after table.

When Sylvia arrived minutes after us, she puffed as she
sat down.

'Hi, sorry, got caught up with some rels in the street.'
The Greeks were as bad as Blackfellas for community and
family and having to stop and gossip.

'Everyone, this is Sylv-eye-a,' I announced.

'Like Sylvia,' George said, clearly not having been briefed
by Dannie.

'Actually, it's Sylv-eye-a,' she said in automatic pilot
mode.

The girls all smiled, friendly, but a bit wary of my new
mate and how she'd fit in.

'So, is this your favourite place, Sylvia?' Alice asked, as
if the choice of dinner venue might be her fault.

'Hell no, this is my idea of a nightmare meal – I'm a
vegan.'

'I like you!' Alice exclaimed, and it seemed that Sylvia
had immediately been let into
our
circle.

The waiter came to take our orders.

'So I guess you won't be having the giant Wiener
schnitzel then, Sylvia?' Dannie asked.

'No, I'd prefer just the giant wiener.' The girls laughed
and the men raised their eyes at each other as if to say,
We've got a live one here.

'Look, if we're going to do this, we should do it properly.'
Alice happily took control and looked at the menu,
then the waiter.

'We'll have the
Frankfurter
,
Bratwurst
,
Weisswurst
, the
goulash and some venison, please. And a side of
Kartoffel
.
Enough for the whole table, except one. Actually, do
make it for the whole table – Dannie, you're eating for
two anyway.' I was impressed by her accent: she sounded
just like her dad. Then we all looked at Sylvia, wondering
what she would order.

'And you,
Fräulein
? What will you be having this
evening?'

'Right, can you make me a platter of sides? I'd like the
potato dumplings, sauerkraut, red cabbage, potatoes of
the day – I don't care what they are – and the fresh vegetables.
And I'll have the
Spätzle
without the pork gravy.'
She didn't look up once from the menu and rattled the
order off like a woman who knew her mind, and her
stomach.

'But it won't be
Spätzle
then,' said the waiter. 'It'll just
be fried noodles.'

'That's okay, can I have that please?'

'I'll ask the
Koch
,' the waiter said, unsure, and walked off.

'What's a
Koch
?' Sylvia asked Alice.

'That's a man who can cook,' she said matter-of-factly.

'What? As opposed to a man who
can't
cook?' Dannie
said, nudging George, who wasn't known much for his
culinary ability. 'I really should just call you
Koch.
' She
pinched his cheeks like a little boy.

'Yeah, well it beats you calling me
cock
all the time.'
The table erupted with laughter, drowning out Dannie's
protestations. 'I never say that word! I
never
call you names
– not to your face anyway.'

When the laughter subsided, Alice said, 'You know,
Sylvia, you shouldn't really bastardise another culture's
traditional food. Let me guess, you're going to Aussie-fy it
and add tomato sauce.'

'Actually, I was thinking I might Greek-afy it and flame
it with ouzo.' And she continued to endear herself to my
Sydney friends. I was glad, because it showed them I was
doing all right in Melbourne and had nice, supportive
people around me.

After dinner everyone was full of meat (except Sylvia)
and potatoes. It was time for schnapps.

'The tradition my dad taught me was that either everyone
at the table has schnapps, or no-one does,' Alice said.
'Is there anyone who doesn't want one?' Silence fell on the
table; no-one was going to miss out, except Dannie.

'I'll have the Mozart liqueur, cos it's dark chocolate like
me,' Alice laughed.

'I'll have the Killer Schnapps, cos it's extra strong like
me,' Gary added, the two of them cuddling close and
laughing at their own lame jokes.

'I'll have the Stonsdorfer,' Sylvia said.

'Because it's
herbal
!' I couldn't help myself, but she
laughed and so did the whole table.

The band got into full swing and the men started slapping
their thighs. We all clapped.

'I love the
Schuhplattler
. My dad would never do it at
home.' Alice was enthralled by the cultural activity up
front.

'A schu-what-ler?' Dannie asked with a glow in her
cheeks. She wasn't drinking but she said her hormones were
going crazy.

'It looks like Bavarian aerobics to me,' Gary laughed,
slapping his thigh, then Alice's. For some reason I thought
briefly of Mike: he would've fitted in really well with the
group, with funny one-liners and lots of laughs. I should
have asked him along.

We stayed at the restaurant until stumps and the happy
couples went to their hotel, where we agreed to meet
in the morning for a pre-race bevie before heading to
Flemington.

♥

Back at St Kilda, the house was empty. Shelley was at a
pre-race ball with friends from her firm. One thing they
knew how to do well was party. I didn't expect to see her
home before sun-up, so I put a bottle of water next to her
bed, knowing she'd need it, and crawled into my own. I was
thinking about all the meat I'd consumed and wondered
if it would appear on the scales in the morning. I laughed
when I remembered George and Gary trying to yodel and
do the
Schuhplattler
and I suddenly find myself skiing on the
Katschberg mountain in Austria. I've never actually skied
before and I'm terrified of breaking bones and my skinny
Murri ankles are in really big boots and I'm glad that there's
heaps of padding so people can't see how scrawny my legs
really are.

Little skiers are going right through my open legs with
no fear at all. And there's something called a black run, and
I wonder if it's especially for Blacks, because most of the
people here are white – actually, they're nearly all white,
probably because it's such an expensive sport and Blackfellas
can't afford it. And I look at the black run and it's
whoa, really steep, and I'm chanting,
I ain't goin up there, I
ain't goin up there.

My ski instructor Gerhard is dictatorial like Hitler and
he hates me. I don't know if it's an Aryan thing or because
I can't ski or because I'm a woman or because he seems to
hate everyone. He watches me fall over time and time again
and refuses to help me get up, not once, and I'm crying
with the frustration of it all. 'This is bullshit!' I say, but
Gerhard just laughs at me.

Where's the schnapps and gluhwein and schnitzel and
where are the sexy ski instructors I can be love fickle with?
I can hear the oompah-pah music; I know there's a party
somewhere and I'd be happy to have pork gravy
Spätzle
and
to eat as many potatoes as they give me, just to get out of
the skis and the cold. It's freezing, and I don't have thermal
underwear, but really I should.

The desire to get my arse out of the snow gives me a
burst of inspiration and I lean uphill and get myself to my
feet. Gerhard says, 'See, it's not that hard after all. You
need to not be so much the princess.'
Fuck you
, I want
to say, but I don't know if he knows who I am and what
department I work for in the waking world and I don't want
to risk a complaint to the director, so I just smile a pathetic,
I-can't-ski smile.

I find the party and enjoy the après-ski, but I'm partying
in my ski gear, because it's the only outfit I have with
me. Everyone else is in ski gear as well, though, and as
the Austrians aren't renowned for their fashion anyway, I
needn't worry that I've got little edelweiss flowers
embroidered on my beanie and I'm in red and white rather
than black, but I laugh out loud at what the Melburnians
would say.

I'm still in my snow boots as I land in Vienna at the
Prater fun fair, and I'm on the Riesenrad. The guy working
the ride says, 'This is one of the world's biggest Ferris
wheels,
Fräulein
. It has fifteen cabins,' and he lets me have
a cabin all to myself for three spins until a blonde-haired,
blue-eyed Viennese man gets in. He looks too much like
Timmy the drummer, but with an accent.

'I am Erik,' he says, and kisses my hand, as if to say,
We Viennese are very chivalrous
. I want to ask if he's Viennese
from Iluka but I can't speak, as the Ferris wheel is going
around and around, and my head is spinning and the lights
of the city are beautiful and Timmy-Erik leans into me,
and I feel a hot rush, and he says 'I eat you,' which I think
is incredibly forward even for a chivalrous Viennese, but
not for a drummer.

'Um, excuse me?' I'm not sure I've heard him correctly.

'I eat you,' he repeats.

'Oh,' I sigh, not sure if he means there and then or for
dinner or later, and I must look confused, because he says,
'Is it wrong? When someone looks sweet enough to eat,
you say, "I eat you", no?'

'Where I come from that phrase means something
very, um, personal.' And I can feel my face is hot and red –
even for a Blackfella the blushing is noticeable.

'Oh, I am sorry. Please, tell me what it means where
you come from. I want to learn the cultures of other
people.'

I don't think
cunnilingus
is a word that he will know in
English, and it's not the kind of word that comes out easily
for me either, let alone with a complete stranger, but the
situation needs some clarity, and it's only a dream, so I'm
safe to do whatever I want. I lean in close to his ear and
gently touch the lobe with my tongue and say, 'It means
doing this . . .', and I grab his hand and slide it up my skirt,
'Down here.'

'Oh,' he says, 'I like your meaning much better.'

'Mmmmm, me too,' I moan.

♥

Alice looked great, and there was only the tiniest bump
on Dannie's belly. They both had huge fascinators on, and
I couldn't help touching them constantly like a naughty
child. At the racetrack we met up with Josie, who was
frocked up like the prissiest girl I'd ever seen, and even
Sylvia had traded the kohl eyes for spring colours. The boys
were all decked out in suits and looked very handsome. I
wore my soft pink silk dress and black hat with matching
pink flowers.

'You look like Rachel Berger,' George said.

'Yes, apparently I do.' And as he walked off and I stood
there watching a race, a woman came bouncing up.

'Rachel? Rachel Berger?' I'd had just about enough of
being mistaken for Rachel Berger. I'd never even heard of
her before I moved to Melbourne. I watched Josie high
five George like a bloke at hearing the comment, as if they
were old mates, and so I just said, 'Yes, sorry, do we know
each other?'

'Oh no, I just love your work is all. I've read
Whaddya
Mean You're Allergic to Rubber?
'

'Oh, great, I hope you liked it,' I said, thinking that I
had just made myself a comedian and an author in one
fraudulent swoop, and that I was getting myself into some
serious illegal shit.

'Oh, my sister is going to be so disappointed she didn't
get to meet you. But hey, I'll get my friends!' She went to
turn around but I grabbed her as quickly as I could.

'Actually, I'm trying to have a quiet day here with my
friends watching the races.' I looked at Josie, who was
motioning that the Berger fan was a hottie. Sylvia was just
shaking her head in disbelief, and Dannie was busy fixing
Alice's fascinator.