Looking for Alibrandi (12 page)

Sixteen

I SKIPPED SCHOOL
on Friday and went to Manly with Jacob Coote.

When I think of it now, cutting in a St. Martha’s school uniform was pretty stupid, but I was so caught up with seeing him that I didn’t care. He was waiting for me by the quay and I felt as if I was going to be sick when I saw him. I mean, he’s the first guy who’s ever passed the test, because usually when I like a guy I get instantly turned off when he likes me back.

But when he winked at me, my heart melted.

“I didn’t think you’d show,” he said, lighting a cigarette and putting an arm around my shoulders.

“I didn’t think you would either.”

He paid for my ferry ticket and I allowed him to because I didn’t want to get into an argument about me paying for myself just yet.

It was the most glorious day. Sometimes there are these beautiful days in the middle of winter, and Friday was one of them. The sun caressed our faces. People were walking around looking happy and street entertainers were singing and dancing along the pier.

It was the most beautiful day of my life.

To give you a rundown on Jacob is very hard. Sometimes he speaks really stupidly and doesn’t know what I’m talking about, and other times he speaks really well, and I don’t understand what he’s talking about.

Sometimes he’s a tough guy and I can imagine him bashing someone’s head in, and other times he’s this real nice sensitive guy who smiles at babies and helps old women across the street. He smokes dope, drinks and I think he sleeps with a lot of girls, but on the other hand he really loves his family and has respect for people.

He looks like a grot sometimes because of his hair and earring and wild look, but when he smiles it’s warm and sincere. Never ever fake.

For lunch we sat on the beach and ate fish-and-chips off butcher paper.

“Mum used to bring me down to the beach when I was a kid,” he said, leaning back on the sand with his hands behind his head.

“We used to go to the beach every Boxing Day with my grandmother’s relatives,” I told him, laughing at the memory. “Ever seen those big Italian families at a beach picnic? It’s not your typical sausage on the barbecue. It’s the spaghetti leftovers from the day before, schnitzel, eggplant and all these other fancy things. I used to envy the Aussie kids who had a piece of meat between their bread.”

“And the Aussie kids with the piece of meat between their bread probably envied you.”

“Of course. Grass on the other side, et cetera,” I agreed.

I lay back on the sand next to him, silence reigning for a while.

“Do you miss your mum a lot?”

“Yep,” he said, closing his eyes. “I mean, it’s been a while, but sometimes I think of her. I think my sister Rebecca misses her the most because she’s a girl and they used to talk all the time.”

“How old is Rebecca?”

“Twenty-four, I think. She’s married to Darren, who’s just bought the garage he’s been working in for the last couple of years and they’ve just had a baby. She used to work at the university library and had a completely black wardrobe. My father hated it.”

I laughed, thinking of my mother. “So it’s just your dad and you at home?”

“Most of the time. Dad’s girlfriend Eileen stays over a lot and looks after us because we’re hopeless with the food and cleaning and all.”

“Are they engaged?”

“God, no. Why should they be?”

I looked at him and shrugged.

“I suppose it’s the different cultures. I mean, Italians don’t live with a guy unless they’re rebel Italians in the first place.”

“Was your mother a rebel Italian?”

“My mother was a naive Italian. She didn’t have me just to make a statement. She had me because . . .” I shrugged. “I don’t even know, but in those days you didn’t do things like she did.”

“How about if she was married and her husband died, would she live with a guy or marry him?” he asked, propping himself up on his elbow.

“Want to know the truth?” I murmured. “Most Italians who’re older, just say in their forties or fifties, they don’t remarry, unless they’re men of course. Men can’t do without.”

“Without what?”

“Without everything. But women, God, no. People would talk. They’d say that she didn’t wait long enough, or she’s making a fool of herself. An Italian woman has to wear black for ages. It’s not a written law or anything, but if she doesn’t, people will talk. If she gets involved with a man within a year people say that she’s a sex maniac. It’s all rather political, mourning is. There are rules.”

“Bloody hell, you’re all weird. What would you do?”

“Me? I’d like to be a rebel Italian. I’d like to shock everyone and tell them to stick their rules and regulations. If anyone ever died, I’d wear bright colors to the funeral and laugh the loudest. But I can’t.”

“Why not?”

I looked at him and wondered if he understood.

“Because I have no father. Because if I did all those things, hypocrites would shake their heads smugly and say, ‘See, I told you she couldn’t amount to anything.’ They’re waiting for me to make an error so they can compare me and my mother.”

“But what’s the big deal? Everyone has babies without being married these days. Everyone lives together and gets remarried,” he said, turning on his side.

I shook my head. “I can’t explain it to you. I can’t even explain it to myself. We live in the same country, but we’re different. What’s taboo for Italians isn’t taboo for Australians. People just talk, and if it doesn’t hurt you, it hurts your mother or your grandmother or someone you care about.”

“I’d hate them all. I’d hate to be Italian.”

“No.” I smiled, looking at him. “You can’t hate what you’re part of. What you are. I resent it most of the time, curse it always, but it’ll be part of me till the day I die. I used to wish when I was young that my mother had made a mistake and that my father wasn’t the son of an Italian, but an Australian. So I could be part of the ‘in crowd,’ you know. So if you said, ‘Let’s go away for the weekend,’ I could say, ‘Hey, sure thing.’ But there is this spot inside of me that will always be Italian. I can’t explain it in any other way.”

“And your dad?”

“I met him for the first time a couple of months ago. I’m working with him at the moment.”

“No joke?” he asked incredulously.

I shook my head.

“He’s a barrister, and although I didn’t want to, I like him a lot. He’s honest and not a hypocrite and I sometimes want to hate him for what he did to my mother, but it’d be stupid to hate someone for something they did eighteen years ago. I mean, you could change heaps, couldn’t you?”

He leaned over and kissed me quickly.

“What was that for?” I asked, embarrassed, but laughing.

“I like the way you talk. I like the way you think. So much passion behind those eyes. So much to say.”

I shrugged.

“A lot makes me angry. Maybe angrier than most because of the so-called sin surrounding my birth. So much pointing and talking.”

“We used to make fun of you, you know?”

“Oh, great. Confession time,” I groaned.

“This was years back when we had community week and you had to get up there and say what your school was doing,” he said, pulling me down to lie with him. “I know now that beauty is skin deep and all that shit.”

I looked at him incredulously.

“Meaning I’m still ugly but you’re getting accustomed to my face?”

“I’ve grown accustomed to you,” he said, looking down at my body. “You’re just not what I’m used to.”

“Well, I’m so sorry, Jacob,” I said in a mock submissive tone. “I’ll try hard. I promise to be the type you go out with. Please give me another chance.”

“And you’ve got the biggest mouth I’ve ever met.”

“Lovely. Why am I lying on the beach with a boy who’s insulting me?”

“Because you’re attracted to me sexually.”

“Yeah, sure.”

He leaned forward and kissed me.

When I think of it, it was my first passionate kiss. Paul Sambero kissed me in Year Eight, with no tongue contact whatsoever, but Jacob’s tongue went straight in before I could think of anything else and I was so worried because I didn’t know what to do.

Jacob, when kissing me, has a habit of putting his hands all over my face and he even pushed up my glasses so I was half blind, but who needs eyes when kissing? I loved it. No dramatics like in the romance novels, but different. Intimate, because part of him was inside part of me. Tasting someone’s breath is so spiritual.

Fifteen minutes later I was an expert. That’s all you need. I think I was even getting the upper hand, which is very simple with a guy. Anything seems to turn them on.

It was difficult to get any further than that because we were on a public beach and I was scared we’d be seen by someone I knew, so we took the ferry back and as I sat with my head against him and listened to his heart beat, I felt that I would never be closer to another human being again.

I felt so in touch with him. I had never felt like that before. Jacob Coote knew who I was. I didn’t have to impress him with clever conversation or anything. Maybe I just had to educate him a bit, just like he had to educate me.

We kissed again on Circular Quay and he said he’d call me. I waved and walked to the chambers, wanting to tell Michael all about it, but I knew I couldn’t.

I’m in love.

I don’t want to be in love with Jacob Coote. I want to be in love with John Barton and have people look upon me with envy, but John doesn’t make me feel like this. I’m beginning to realize that things don’t turn out the way you want them to.

And sometimes, when they don’t, they can turn out just a little bit better.

Seventeen

REALLY GETTING TO
know Michael Andretti took place during the June holidays when I went to Adelaide with him.

We had kind of established a relationship during my afternoon stints at work with him, but most of the time he made me photocopy and make him coffee. If they’re handing out degrees for photocopying, I’m sure I’ll get honors.

I’m still shocked by how fast things are going between us. Six months ago I hadn’t met my father and I didn’t want to. These days I see him three times a week, and the days I don’t see him, he rings me. Somehow we’ve developed a great relationship. We’re still stilted and a bit embarrassed around each other but there is a great respect there. I never really thought I would respect my father.

“If you’re so rich, why are we driving to Adelaide and not going first class on Ansett?” I asked him after we’d driven through our one hundredth small town that seemed to be populated by old men and middle-aged women.

“Because I thought that driving would be nicer and I don’t fly first-class Ansett. I fly business-class Australian.”

“I hate long-distance travel.”

“The scenery is beautiful, Josephine. Appreciate.”

I gave him a sidelong look.

“Beautiful? Michael, everything is brown and the scenery has looked the same for the last five hours. I’m bored and I can’t believe you haven’t got a tape deck.”

“A lot of teenagers don’t get the opportunity to meet the people you have since we left Sydney. Think yourself lucky that your horizons are expanding.”

“They’re boring. They tell boring stories. There are no kids around and that last pub served us spaghetti out of the can warmed up. I’m going to puke and I have a headache,” I complained.

“You should get sunshades for your glasses. Like these ones I’m wearing,” he said, glancing over to me.

“You look like a CIA agent with them on.”

“CIA agents don’t go around looking after seventeen-year-old pests who think they’re smart enough to rule the world,” he said drily.

“Well, they spent eight years looking after a seventy-year-old geriatric who thought he was smart enough to rule the world.”

“And you could do a better job, I suppose?”

“Naturally.”

I stuffed four Lifesavers in my mouth, trying to avoid car sickness, and sat back in sufferance.

“So how was Jake when you rang him?”

“Jacob,” I corrected. “He’s fine.”

Michael met him when he came to pick me up from the chambers. I’m not sure what he thinks of Jacob, but he keeps on asking me what Mama thinks of him and interrogates me frequently on what kind of person Jacob is. Mama’s first impression of Jacob has changed. He came over for dinner the other day and washed the plates. The way to my mother’s heart is through housework, so Jacob’s a hit.

“He told me to call him Jake the other day when he rang for you at the office. We had quite a friendly chat after I told him he isn’t to disturb you at work again.”

“Oh, did you? What did you talk about?”

“Cars. If you know anything about the engine of a car Jake will like you.”

“Wrong. I don’t know anything about the engine of a car and he likes me.”

“Ah, but you’re smart and physically attractive. Of course he likes you.”

I laughed aloud, turning to him and grinning.

“Physically attractive?”

“Good-looking, definitely. Like your mother at her age. Men have to beware.”

“Wow. Do I remind you of her back then?”

“She wasn’t as rude as you and better looking, but she had the same disdainful air about her. Wouldn’t look at me for weeks after I first tried to kiss her.”

“I wouldn’t look at you either. You’re not that great looking.”

“Oh, thanks a lot,” he said, looking wounded. “If you’d like to know, you look more like me than people give you credit. You managed to look a bit like everyone.”

“Did you like her a lot?” I asked quietly.

He shrugged. “I liked all girls back then and they all liked me,” he added with a mocking evil chuckle.

It was funny seeing this part of him. He was usually so straight and practical.

“Has she told you the story?”

“Not really. A few bits and pieces years ago.”

“Well,” he sighed. “She lived next door to me ever since I could remember. Naturally she hated my guts and used to bash me up. Broke my nose once. Made my lip bleed. I think she was also the one who knocked out two of my teeth.”

“My sweet fragile mother? Surely you jest?”

“The very same. Of course this was when she was a foot taller than me and I led a terrorist gang in the street. Then one day I grew taller and she decided to become a lady and all the guys in the street fell in love with her. We called her Prissy Chrissy. We thought she was a snob, but she was only shy. Deep down, of course, I knew she secretly loved me.”

“Of course,” I mocked.

“She did,” he argued. “We were fourteen and infatuated. Probably more mature than you are now.”

“Fourteen,” I scoffed.

“Uh-huh. Then, when we were sixteen I heard her crying in her garden shed while I was fixing my car on the other side of the fence. I asked her to come over and we sat in my garage and became best friends. She told me all her problems and I told her all mine.”

“What were her problems?” I asked.

“She was forever in trouble with your grandparents. God knows why, because she was such a perfect daughter. All I know is that she lived in the same house with a man who didn’t talk to her and she couldn’t understand why.”

“And your problems?”

“Maria Lucianni’s mother. I danced with the girl at a wedding and her mother saw wedding bells. She’d come and visit my mother all the time bringing over stuff from Maria’s hope chest. If I’d married Maria, Josie, I would be sleeping on purple satin sheets.”

“Imagine waking up to them with a hangover,” I said, feeling green at the thought. “So you became friends?” I added, wanting to get back to the subject of my mother.

“The very best. She forgot she was shy and I remembered that I had a crush on her and we became pals. Over the next few months it kind of changed. We became closer . . . and then we went into something we shouldn’t have.”

He took his eyes off the road and looked at me gently.

“We can look at it now, Josie, and say that you were a result of it, so it had to be worth it, and we can never regret you as long as both of us live, but it was a thing that we couldn’t handle. Kids shouldn’t play grown-up games. I don’t mean the having-the-baby bit either, because I wasn’t around for that so I don’t know how hard it was. I mean the sex bit. It was a whole new ball game for me, because I was involved emotionally and not just physically. What we did made her feel so ashamed and me so inadequate. I wasn’t making her feel good as far as I was concerned, so I hated her. When I think of it now, very few men know how to make teenage girls feel good emotionally as well as physically. They always lack something. It comes with practice.”

“Not what I’ve heard. Boys are at their sexual peak at seventeen. Women at thirty,” I said informatively. “I’ve got thirteen years to practice. You’re definitely over the hill.”

“Brat.”

I dug into my bag and took out some chocolate. When I feel carsick I eat, but I knew that sooner or later I would feel like throwing up from all the food I was consuming.

I looked out the window again and was met with the same scene and same feeling. Tree stumps. Bush. A road with two lanes. A radio that didn’t work because we were between transmissions. Heat that didn’t seem normal in the middle of winter. Boredom.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Hmm,” I said, the boredom vanishing. “Are we going to visit her?”

“No,
we
are not going to visit her.
I
may visit her.”

“Hmm. What does she do for a living?”

“She’s an accountant.”

“Hmm. What a pity. I would have liked to meet her. We could be great friends.”

He looked at me distrustingly. “You sound really sincere,” he said sarcastically.

“She’d have a nervous breakdown being my stepmother.”

“I’m sure you’d try your hardest.”

“My mother is going out with a doctor.”

“How interesting,” he said in a bored tone.

“An Italian one.”

He looked at me for a second, and somehow I was kind of pleased with his reaction.

“Great-looking guy. I adore him.”

Okay, slight exaggeration. She’s gone out with him once and I threw the meat loaf down the sink when I found out, but my mother has had men after her for years.

“I like you better. You’re ‘good people,’ as Zio Ricardo would say.”

He looked over at me and smiled so beautifully that I began to fall in love with the idea of this man being my father.

“If I had to choose a daughter, I would have chosen you.”

I was touched because I knew, especially after our first few meetings, that I was a bit hard for him to take.

“I have that effect on people,” I said in mock modesty.

He laughed and reached over to touch my face.

“You’re a good girl, Josephine.”

“No. I’m a nice girl. There’s a difference between ‘good’ girls and ‘nice’ girls.”

“Ambiguous meanings?”

“Yep.”

I offered him some of the chocolate and he shook his head.

“You’re making me sick. Don’t eat any more, Josie.”

“If I eat, I don’t have to concentrate on this shit scenery.”

“Sit back and get some sleep.”

“Oh, great. So if we have an accident and I’m asleep, my resistance toward fighting death will be down and I’ll wake up in a morgue.”

“I won’t say the obvious,” he said, shaking his head.

“Jacob told me that. Says that I should never read in the car either.”

“We’ll be in Broken Hill soon, so get your clothes out if you want to shower.”

“How could people live out here? I never could.”

“You might have to one day.”

“But I won’t.”

“Maybe you’ll marry someone from out here.”

“So”—I shrugged—“he can come and live in Sydney.”

“You’ll want to compromise.”

“No, I won’t,” I said frankly. “I’ll never do anything I don’t want to do.”

He growled, opening the sunroof.

“One day you’ll understand, Josie.”

“You sound like Mama,” I said, standing up through the sunroof.

“Get down,” he shouted.

“ ‘I love a Sunburnt Country...,’” I recited.

“I detest that poem, Jose.”

“ ‘A land of sweeping plains...’”

I spent the rest of the hour reciting poetry to him, just to see how much he could take, and discovered just how much of Michael Andretti I had inherited.

We arrived in Adelaide three days after we left Sydney. I loved it on sight. The houses were absolutely gorgeous, with the most enormous front yards. Michael’s flat was in a suburb near the beach called Glenelg. It was on the third floor, so we could see the water, and no matter how cold it was at night, it was just fantastic sitting on the balcony drinking hot chocolate and just looking out.

I must confess, though, that I did have preconceived ideas of what my holiday would be like. I imagined how my paternal grandparents would react. Maybe they’d hug me and cry and say that I looked exactly like Michael. But they didn’t. Michael had told them about me only a month ago, so it all seemed too unbelievable for them.

But I adored being with Michael. Finding out what he was like was great. I mean, who really gets to know their parents as strangers first?

He’s more of a fool when he’s relaxed. Tells the corniest jokes and hates all modern music, except Billy Joel. He doesn’t believe in commercial TV (
Four Corners
is his favorite program). He also doesn’t know how to cook, so we lived on take-out for two weeks.

It was weird living in the same flat as a man too, because I’ve never been under the same roof with one. I mean, I’m not used to someone leaving the toilet seat up in the middle of the night, or seeing men’s undies, or whatever they’re called, hanging on the clothesline. Kind of weird. I just noticed the other day that you can buy the ones with Y-fronts, and others that are just normal.

But the best thing about living with him was that he snored. Remember how I said that nighttime scares me a lot because I feel as if everyone could be dead? Well, just being able to hear Michael snoring made the nighttime sound so alive. Sometimes I’d just lie in bed grinning. I’m not sure why. Maybe because I really felt as if I had a father. I didn’t realize how much it would mean to me.

As for his family, well, Paulina, his sister, took me shopping one day and I ate at her place that night. She has three children who were all over me like a rash. It felt great to have first cousins. I think, by the end, my grandparents halfheartedly accepted me. Paulina took me over one day and the kids brought out some photo albums.

My grandfather pointed everyone out. He was pretty rapt that I spoke Italian and told me I should keep on with it, and at one stage my grandmother pointed my mother out in a photo of all of them down at Cronulla beach in the sixties.

Mama was tall and skinny and Michael was short and looked like a devil.

So by the end of my stay we had formed some kind of relationship, although my grandmother still tended to speak to me via Paulina as if I didn’t understand. Maybe I do understand how they felt. Just a tiny bit. All in all, I missed my mother heaps and was glad to be back with her.

She lets me go out with Jacob now, on weekends, but I have to be home by eleven-thirty. How embarrassing. On Saturday night he told me never to go anywhere again because he’d missed me.

We’ve only been together for a short time, but I feel as if I’ve known him for years. The same with Michael. I feel as if I’ve known him for years too. It kind of makes me glad that God didn’t take me up on my “I’d rather die than meet my father” statements.