Raw Blue (9 page)

13

die and lay down

Hannah arrives home half an hour after I do. I’ve had three cigarettes and when I hear her car pull into the carport I quickly hide the jar I keep my butts in.

‘Cookie? Cookie?’ She appears as a dark shadow around the corner of the house. ‘But you’re out here in the dark?’

I stretch my neck out. ‘You’re home late.’

‘I’ve been at a work dinner. We went to Crows Nest.’

She’s in a suit but she sits down anyway, not seeming to worry that the decking will snag her stockings.

‘These guys at work …
phew
! They are so rude to me, you know? I asked Gavin – he’s the one I am supposed to be working with, we are supposed to be a team – I asked him a question about the project deadlines and he said to me, “Don’t worry about it, mate. You’ll be long gone before that becomes a problem.” And I said, “Well,
mate
, I am making it a problem now.”
Ah!
They’re just so rude, you know? Then tonight they all drink together and nobody listens to me.’

‘That sucks.’

Hannah sniffs and wipes at her face. ‘But it is not easy, you know, living in another country.’

‘Shit, Hannah, don’t cry … well … cry if you want. It must be really hard.’

‘I always thought Australians were friendly … They are so competitive.’

‘Yeah, they are. We are.’

She sniffs. Then she sniffs again. ‘Hey, Cookie, but I can smell cigarette smoke. Have you been smoking?’

‘No.’ I get up. ‘You want a beer?’

‘No. Oh, yes, all right.’

I go inside to my bathroom, rub some toothpaste on my gums and rinse out, then get two beers from the fridge in the kitchen, twisting their tops off and dropping them in the bin. Back outside I hand one to her and lie down on my stomach, placing my beer in front of my face.

‘Australians are competitive,’ I say. ‘You know what I heard on the radio the other day? On the news they said, “A recent study found Australia is
not
the number one country in the world in terms of shark attacks.
America
was found to have the highest incidence of attacks.” The newsreader was really disappointed, sort of outraged. Like, come on Australian sharks, get going, start snapping.’

‘Australian sharks are probably just very inefficient. They are probably spending their time drinking beer and talking about sport.’

For some reason that makes me laugh. After a bit, Hannah does too. Laughing helps.

‘You want to know what happened to me today?’ I ask. ‘I snapped my board and I wrecked another guy’s board.’

‘Were you hurt? Are you okay?’

That’s lovely somehow, the fact that she’s worried about whether I was hurt. I tell her about it and she really listens, and I feel bad for all the times I’ve been impatient with her.

‘The worst thing is, I probably shouldn’t go back there,’ I conclude. ‘Which is shitty because I love that break. I’ve improved so much surfing there. But yeah, not after today.’

‘But Cookie, you can’t just die and lay down.’

‘What? What did you say?’

‘Die and lay down – is that not the expression? I’ve used it before.’

‘No, it’s … No, it’s great. Thanks Hannah. Here.’ I hold up my beer. ‘Let’s make a toast.’

We clink, I open my mouth and pause, not sure what to say.

Hannah says, ‘Maybe something like … like … I know!’ Her teeth flash in the dark. ‘Like, go vaginas!’

‘Okay,’ I say slowly, thinking that I just don’t get Dutch humour sometimes. ‘Go vaginas.’

‘Go vaginas.’

‘Go vaginas.’

‘
Go vaginas!
’ she shouts, and we both laugh. She sips her beer, kicking up her little finger like she’s drinking tea. ‘Yes. Now, while I remember, I did something today also. I rang the Salsa Lounge and I asked them if I could purchase entry tickets for tomorrow night.’

‘For us?’

‘Yes.’

‘Don’t you just buy them on the door when you get there?’

‘Yes, but this way you have to come with me.’

‘You’re kidding? You bought tickets to make sure I go?’

‘Yes.’

‘Whew. Well. Don’t you think that’s coercion?’

‘Yes.’ Her chin juts out. ‘So when you finish work you’ll come home and then we will go. I’ll drive us there.’

‘Aren’t you supposed to see this Victor guy? Won’t you want to have a few drinks? Shouldn’t I drive?’

‘No. No, I don’t want to have any alcohol. Especially if we might …’ Hannah raises her eyebrows and sips more beer.

And that right there is how different we are. She’s about to get sex and she exercises control. If that were me, I’d have to be drunk out of my head.

14

not yet

Marty comes up behind me while I’m mixing a batch of muffins. I don’t hear his approach over the noise Roger’s making at the sink – he’s had his normal hours reinstated, Emilio must have realised his earlier decision to cut them back was madness. Anyway, when I feel hands close over my shoulders and start kneading I think they belong to Golden-Staph Adam and I’m about to snarl. But then I catch a glimpse of Marty’s blond-brown curls and –
whoosh
– my face burns so red I look forwards again in a hurry.

‘What do you want, Marty?’

‘To massage you, eh?’

‘Found a new place?’

The bell dings and Emilio’s round worried face appears in the window. ‘Carly?
Come on
, Marty, mate.’

He bustles off and Marty leans forward so he’s pressed up against the length of me.

‘You think he’s jealous?’ he whispers.

The laugh is squeezed out of me. ‘Yeah. He thinks you’re hot, Marty.’

‘What are you doing tonight?’

I can feel his breath on my ear and it’s giving me goose bumps. ‘Why?’

‘I’m finishing early. Adam and Emilio are doing the close.’

‘Oh,’ I say.

I’m using a male spoon to mix the muffin ingredients together. Female spoons are slotted – they have holes. Welcome to the international language of kitchen brigades.

I’m over-mixing the muffins to hell.

‘Nah, do you want to do something? Together?’ Marty stops his kneading and waits for me to answer him, his hands still on my shoulders.

I can’t speak. I’m overheating. If you can’t take the heat, get out of the … Why is the reality of attraction always so claustrophobic?

There comes an enormous crashing noise from behind us and Marty and I turn as one to look at Roger. I’d forgotten he was there.

He’s dropped a pile of plates. He doesn’t look at us, just angrily kicks the broken pieces of crockery under the sink. I feel like I’m being judged.

It’s a quiet night, which is odd because it’s school holidays and you would expect a Saturday night to be busy at the best of times. I tell Emilio I’m going to shut down the kitchen early and he nods. Even though I’m doing myself out of wages – pruning labour costs – I couldn’t care less.

Marty knocked off at ten. I didn’t answer him about tonight and he didn’t ask again.

Emilio’s in the office counting the register takings when I go in there to pick up my bag. Notes are stacked in neat piles in front of him and his fingers flick two-dollar coins off the end of the desk into a plastic change bag.

‘Hey, so I’m off, Emilio. Are you going to be okay?’

‘Sure. You get out of here.’
Scrape, scrape
. ‘We’ll have to get you out the front soon. Get you making coffees.’

I can’t be bothered arguing. ‘Yep.’

He stops what he’s doing and glances over at me. ‘Everything okay, Carly?’

‘Yeah, why?’

‘Anything going on between you and Marty that I need to know about?’

‘No.’ My voice is surprised and my eyes are too big. I try to squint a little. I feel like Emilio’s a teacher and he’s disappointed in me. ‘You know what Marty’s like. He’s just mucking around.’

He nods. ‘You do a great job here, Carly. It’s appreciated. I was thinking about having a talk to Michael, telling him you should be on salary. You should know that.’

I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything. I’m happy because it would mean better money, but I’m worried it might involve daytime shifts. I pick up my bag.

I’m just about out the door when he says, ‘Carly? That friend of yours that wanted the job?’

‘Danny?’

‘He can start next Friday if he’s still keen. I’ve lined his shift up with yours.’

‘Really? Thanks Emilio. I’ll let him know.’

For a second we stare at each other. I don’t know much about Emilio except that he lives with his girlfriend, who’s a physio, and he’s making a career of this, even though I don’t know why. But he’s a decent guy.

‘Thanks,’ I say again.

‘Have a good night.’

It feels weird to be leaving early. Hannah’s expecting me back home at 12.30 a.m. precisely, at which point I am to spend exactly fifteen minutes having a shower and getting changed before she drives me to the salsa club. Unless, of course, I decide to stunt roll from the moving vehicle and escape that way. Jesus Christ.

I could go home early – the sooner she gets there, the sooner she and Victor can get down to getting it on – but I’m feeling sulky and coerced. I go out the front, winding my way through the tables to the toilets. Once in there, I wipe my face over with a piece of wet soapy paper towel, pull my hair out of its ponytail and scrabble my fingers through it. It’s texture is different these days from the salt water and sun, and it’s so dry it drinks grease, which is a good thing. I rip my whites off and stuff them into my bag. Then I change out of my black T-shirt into the clean blue top I’ve brought with me, giving my chest a brief wipe over with more moist paper towel. Ever since the night Georgina, Marty and I went to The Steyne for a drink I’ve been carrying this spare shirt around in my bag just in case I ever went out again. Finally, I spray on more deodorant and wash my hands.

Outside the air feels thick and heavy. The lights, the noise, the jostling crowd on the Corso combine to make me feel drunk. Faces blur. The night is a mix of gold and shadows. I pause for a second and the crowd flows around me. Do I want to go the beach? No, I’ll get in my car and drive to Cook Terrace. Have a cigarette on the cliffs overlooking the ocean.

‘
Carly!
’

Before I turn around I realise I knew this was going to happen. That’s why I got changed. No, that’s not quite true. I never really thought he’d wait around for me to finish, I just liked the idea that he might.

Marty pushes through the crowd towards me, taking a drag from the cigarette he’s holding in the crook of his fingers. He’s still wearing his work shirt, but he’s rolled its sleeves up and unbuttoned it midway to his chest, showing the T-shirt he’s wearing underneath. For some reason all that cotton thrills me. I love the smell of cotton.

He blows smoke over my head like he’s tough, then his face splits into a grin. He looks embarrassed. I grin back at him. The two of us stand there in the middle of the Corso grinning like we’re deranged. Marty looks so beautiful. The sharpness of his shoulders leaves me pumped full of air.

I laugh because I don’t know what else to do.

He says, ‘I was just waiting around. For you. You want to do something?’

‘Um … yeah. But I … I’m supposed to be going out with my neighbour. We’re going to a salsa club.’

‘A salsa club, eh?’

‘A salsa club.’

‘What are you going to do there?’

‘I don’t know. Salsa?’ I laugh again like a fool, swinging my bag around to the front. ‘I don’t even know how to salsa.’

‘You got off early.’

‘Yep. But not before Emilio warned me about you.’

‘What? The bastard.’

He stubs his cigarette out on the ground, then glances back up at me, and I feel my face flush. His green eyes are very bright, very intense. I wonder if he’s on something. Does it matter?

I take a deep breath. ‘So.’

‘So.’

I fidget with the strap on my bag and open my mouth to say something – what? – but he’s talking.

‘You want me to walk you to your car?’

‘Okay.’

We start moving through the crowd. Marty puts a hand on my shoulder, the one nearest to him, steering me towards Pittwater Road. He must know where I park. Of course he knows where I park, everybody from work parks there. When we get to Pittwater Road he lets go of my shoulder and slides his hands into his pockets and I feel like I’ve done something wrong.

We stop at the intersection near the backpackers’, where, as usual, there are people out the front, squealing and carrying on. I hit the pedestrian button a couple of times.

‘Once will do it,’ he says.

‘Three times makes them change faster.’

He raises his eyebrows. ‘Is that right?’

‘It’s a fact.’

‘You really want to go to this salsa club?’

‘Not really. I just said I would. I’ve been roped into it. She’s bought tickets.’

I want to ask him to come with me. But that means him coming home with me now and waiting while I get ready before we drive there in Hannah’s car. And then … well, Hannah will be with Victor, which means I’ll be with Marty. And he’ll come home with us because that’s what you do. And the whole night will be like a funnel leading to one inevitable conclusion.

I’ve seen the girls Marty flirts with, the ones who work in the surf shops on the Corso. They sneak sly glances at him while they’re waiting in line to order their coffees. They are tall and slim with long blond hair and faces that are bored and knowing. I’m not like them. But even so, when Marty first looked at me, way back before the serious flirting started, there was a spark in his eyes. I’ve got something that has his interest, even if I don’t know what it is.

On Kangaroo Lane the traffic noises die away and our footsteps sound loud on the bitumen. Marty takes a hand out of his pocket and gently massages the back of my neck. It feels like a cliché and it makes me want to giggle and duck away, but I don’t. I’m trying to breathe quietly.

I’ve parked under one of the few streetlights. I can see my yellow Laser in the distance, the deadline for a decision.

‘Hey, where are you parked?’ I ask, suddenly realising I can’t see Marty’s Kingswood.

‘Nah, I didn’t drive today. My brother dropped me off. I’m staying at his place.’

‘Oh.’

I start biting my cuticles.

‘You nervous?’

I glance sideways, bumping against him, and find him watching me. I drop my hand. ‘No.’

‘How about a lift to Harbord? To my brother’s?’

‘Okay.’

We get to Harbord and he directs me through the flat streets down near the beach. He’s slouched down in his seat and looks like a stranger. Are his pupils dilated more than they should be?

‘Are you on something, Marty?’

He enunciates his words carefully. ‘No more than usual. Here, it’s just here.’

I pull over and leave the engine running. That way if he just gets out and slams the door closed behind him it’s no big deal. But he doesn’t. He runs his teeth over his bottom lip, studying me.

‘You know I like you, eh?’ he says.

I take a breath, can’t speak.

‘Come in with me, Carly.’

‘What about your brother?’

‘What about him?’

‘I’d feel a bit funny.’

He flicks his head, suddenly insistent. ‘What about the beach then? We don’t have to do anything, just talk.’

‘Yeah right.’ But I’m flattered. I’m so flattered. I like his persistence because I need to be pushed. I want it, but I don’t, and I’m sick of that.

He puts his hand on my thigh and squeezes it. ‘Please?’

I hesitate, then turn the car around and drive down to the parking lot at the beach. There are quite a few cars there but they probably belong to the customers and staff at Pilu restaurant, which overlooks the beach. While I’m locking the car I hear the crash of the surf, smell the salt tang, and I suddenly feel sure. The beach is good, the beach is my place. When I catch up to Marty he smiles at me, and I push my way under one of his arms so that he squeezes my shoulders and we jostle together as we walk. We hit the soft sand and he waits, swaying, while I pull my boots and socks off.

He’s wrecked on something and I need to be. Arms around each other, we help one another down to the beach.

Down near the water, out of the lights, the sand still feels warm. All the longing in me is arcing out to him, but I’m afraid to stop walking because I’m not sure what comes next.

In the end he stops. And then he pulls me around to face him and starts kissing me. Really hard. His tongue rams into my mouth and he tastes like a cigarette. And I’m just relieved that the waiting is over. My body goes weak like it’s been punctured.

His hands move all over me in a physical onslaught, squeezing my bum, rubbing my back, pushing my breasts upwards. Our teeth clack together. Then he’s down on his knees in front of me, pulling me down and pushing me back on the sand. With one movement he’s on top of me, grinding into me even though we’re still fully clothed, and I arch up, even though there’s something mechanical about it all.

Breathing heavily, he reaches for the waistband of my black pants. I catch his hand and pull it up. Not yet, not yet.

He slumps forward, pinning me with his weight, tugging roughly at my pants with both hands. And that’s when I start to panic, feeling claustrophobic. I try to push him off me and I can’t. I push against his chest, raising him up slightly. His face is in shadow and for a second I wonder who he is. He tries to kiss me again and when I shove him he grunts.

I struggle with him silently until he gradually winds down, like a clockwork toy. He stops doing anything, just lies still, a dead weight slumped on me. I squirm out from under him and I sit up, pulling my knees up to my chest.

He pushes himself up on one elbow and looks around. ‘Not gonna happen, eh?’ His voice is flat.

‘Marty.’ I want him to look at me. If he would just look at me and really see me, that would be a kindness. Things in me are still arcing out, wanting to connect. But right now I don’t know who he is, or what he’s thinking, or if he’s thinking anything at all.

He’s blank.

After a while he gets to his feet and trudges off, mumbling, ‘I’ll see you later, eh?’

I don’t say anything. I don’t make a sound.

I take the long route home, following the curving coast road around the point to Curl Curl then over the hill to Dee Why, past the parade of restaurants and cafés. I want to drive all the way up to Palm Beach, stopping only when I run out of road at Barrenjoey Headland, the end of the peninsula. But Hannah’s waiting for me.

I should have let him do it. When he finished he would have left me on the sand like a piece of litter, the slime from him running down my legs. And that must have been what I wanted or else why was I there? I relive it all, whipping myself with it.
What’s wrong with you?