White Lady (6 page)

… not right.

I turn to my side, grab the edge of my bed, and pull myself off the floor. I push my tongue into my front teeth as though it might help me keep balanced. My knees crack and my heart pounds, rises, thumps in my throat. My head feels so light it’s as if it’s not even there, the air soft on my skin. I grab my phone off my desk and text Kimi:
Don’t feel good.

I pace the room.

The floorboards creak, and I wonder if I’m gonna need Dad, I don’t wanna need Dad, it would be embarrassing, he’d stop trusting me, I’d have to lose weight the normal way, and not at all quickly enough to be skinny for when Mum comes home, she could visit at any time, she could be here tomorrow, she said she was coming at the end of summer, it’s past the end of summer, she must be coming soon, fuck, she can’t see me like this, shit, imagine if she saw me like this? Dad pushed her away by just being the man he is … what’s Mum gonna think now that I’m a big fat fucking cow?

My phone buzzes.

“Hey!” I say so loud my voice vibrates through my head.

“You’re not freaking out on me, are you?” Kimi’s voice is slow, calm, soothing. I stop dead in the middle of my room, close my eyes, and take a long deep breath through my nose. All I want to do is talk. But I would sound ridiculous. And what if Dad came home? He’d hear me babbling and wonder what was going on. I don’t need that right now.

Don’t.

Need it.

“I took two,” I say, and sit on the edge of my bed. A spring snaps and throbs through the mattress.

“You what? Jesus.”

“You said they were just caffeine!”

Silence. Fuck fuck fuck fuck …

“Kimi, please—”

“If I’d told you they were uppers, you probably wouldn’t have taken them.”

“Uppers? I’m on— What the fuck is an upper?”

“Speed, Mia. You’re on speed.”

Oh my God. I look out my window, as if the cops are gonna come charging in to arrest me at any second.

Kimi laughs—deep, velvety. Suddenly I forget about the cops and think about kissing her.

I blink. Hard. Whoa.

Now I feel calm. But it only lasts a short moment. “Why did you want me to take speed?”

“Was a test.”

“Why?” I squeal, then slam my hand over my mouth. Why am I speaking so loudly?

“Hey, Mia?”

“What?”

“You’re gonna be fine.”

“Um … can you please just tell me what’s going on?”

Kimi sighs; something muffles the receiver. I can hear tapping, and saliva swishing around Kimi’s mouth as if she’s sucking on a lollypop. My crotch tingles.

Holy fuck, why am I so turned on and so freaked out at the same time?

“Um. I needed to test you.”

“Needed?”

“Yep.”

“Did I pass?” What am I talking about?

“A-ha.”

It starts to rain again. It patters on the windowpane like a sweet lullaby. I stare at my reflection in the glass and tip my head to the side. My mascara has smudged.

Pretty.

“Mia?” Kimi asks, her voice rising in tone a little. “I need your help with something. I need to you to help me fuck someone up. Can I trust you?”

Chapter 18

Sonia: Did I really say “lemme”?

I have had three double bourbons on a school night. Nash has had five, and has almost finished his packet of Drum. He is rolling his last slither of tobacco now, grinning like an idiot. A handsome one, though. And an awkwardly charming one.

I am a lucky woman.

The street spins around me like a Google map virtual view, in a slow and beautiful cinematographic glide. No nausea, just a sluggish yet embraced lull in my tired and abused brain. It has been a long time since I felt the effects of alcohol, and it is absolutely splendid. I can still hold it down pretty well. Remarkable really. Even more remarkable that I think it is something to be proud of. But I am. Especially in front of Nash, who is still grinning like an idiot, lighting his cigarette, staring into the sky, exhaling his smoke as if a sacrifice to the moon. The man on the moon. I like to think of him as God——an optical illusion, something we
wish
to perceive.

“What do you think of God?” I say with a few too many pauses between words. I mark the end of the question with a mouthful of bourbon. Or perhaps it is to prevent myself from vomiting more nonsense.

“Not a bad guy.” Nash takes another drag. “Met him at the pub last weekend.” He exhales with a smirk. A short gust of wind shifts his cap, but he pulls it back down before it comes off.

“Since when do you go and see live music?” I say.

“I don’t.”

I frown and draw my chin into my neck. A bubble of vomit rises up my throat, but I catch it just in time and swallow it back down with a wince.

I squint at Nash, with my head tilted to the side. I feel sixteen again. The day I tried to act cool in front of him in Chemistry. I recited the periodic table from top to bottom, after looking at it for only two minutes. I saw Nash smile at me. I thought he was going to say something, but Ibrahim slapped him on the back and started whispering about getting high behind the shelter shed at lunch. I will never forget how much I wanted to be invited. I will also never forget how much I regret being invited the next day.

My face is hot, the tips of my fingers cold, my palms and feet sweaty. I fling my head back and look into the sky—the stars are hidden behind a thick mass of grey cloud illuminated by the city’s glow.

“I said
God
. Do you believe in him?” I look back down and clear my throat.

Nash squashes his top lip to his nose in thought, takes another sip of his drink using the hand that is holding the cigarette.

“Actually, do not answer that. Lemme ask you another question.” Wow. Was that a slur? Did I really just say
lemme
?

Nash taps his cigarette on the edge of the ashtray. It’s the first time the wind hasn’t blown the ash away.

Nash looks into my eyes; the streetlights reflect off them like travelling souls. I count the seconds of silence in my head and divide it by pi—just for fun.

“What would you say if I said I was serious about the Gold Coast?” I soften and lower my voice, trying not to sound drunk. “It is their last year of school; they can look after themselves.”

Nash smiles and gets the waiter’s attention. He asks for the bill.

“What are you doing?” I say. Why does he keep ignoring me? Are we leaving? I was just beginning to relax. I need this. I have needed it for a long, long time. I am not done. Need another drink, but I do not have the energy to protest. I look at my hands, all four of them, blurring into each other.

Nash smirks at me, lifts his pelvis, pulls his wallet out of his back pocket, slams it on the table like a deck of cards.

I laugh and down the remainder of my drink. I close my eyes and sigh.

School. Right. Forgot for a moment. That was nice.

The waiter arrives with the bill. Nash pays, shoves my hand away when I try to pay my share. Nash stands, holds out his hand to help me out of my seat. I put my hand in his. He pulls lightly, and I float to my feet. I fall into him, the top of my head on his chest, supporting the weight of my body. Both arms hang limp by my side. Nash kisses the top of my head and breathes into my hair like it’s a secret.

We stand, joined brain to heart. In silence.

“Can I please stay with you tonight?” I whisper.

Nash flicks his cigarette onto the road, levers me into a standing position, and takes my hand. He leads me towards his car.

For a very brief moment, I wonder what it would feel like to stab him.

Chapter 19

Nash: She’s her mother’s daughter.

The bourbon just hit me. Great example I am. For my daughter. Drunk driver. Smoker. Pizza-eater. All hidden behind the mask of a Physical Education teacher. Crikey. I got a lot going for me, don’t I? I promise myself I won’t do it again. But I reckon I will. It’s just the nature of being human, I s’pose. The single-dad status could also be my downfall. But the calming effect of the alcohol makes me feel like my life is great. In this moment. Nothing to worry about. At least not until the morning.

By the time I roll into my driveway, Sonia is fast asleep, clutching a bottle of water to her chest. Her face is squashed against the passenger window, mouth open wide, a cone-shaped mist painting the glass like the voice of a ghost. I turn off the ignition. The car rumbles to a halt.

I admire Sonia’s beauty in the after-hush of the engine growl. Her eyelids flutter. The tiny creases at the corners of her eyes are haunting; I can’t figure out whether they’re from too much smiling or crying.

Sonia opens her eyes and wipes drool from the corner of her mouth with the top of her wrist. She makes a strange noise—a combination of a squeak and groan—and jolts upright.

“Where are we?”

“My house.”

“Why?”

“You wanted to come.”

Sonia gawks at me as if I’m talking rubbish, then rolls her window down and sniffs at the grassy post-rain air with her eyes closed. She stretches her arms as far as they can go before colliding with the windscreen, and relaxes into her seat again.

“Right,” Sonia swallows as if her throat hurts, then frowns. “Where were we tonight?”

I laugh. “Dexter’s.”

“Oh! Right.” She swivels around and looks at the backseat. “Why are we sitting in the car?”

“Just got here.”

“Oh.” Sonia laughs under her breath. “I’ll shut up now.” She grabs her handbag from between her feet, opens the passenger door, and steps out. She clutches at the door handle as if it’s the only thing protecting her forehead from the ground.

I get out of the car too. We shut our doors simultaneously, and the sheet metal clunk echoes through the street.

“I’ve got a question.” I scratch my beard. “Why don’t you ever invite me over?”

Sonia shrugs and rummages through her handbag. She pulls out an army knife, stares at it, drops it back in, then finds her lipstick. She twists the deep-red-velvet balm through the top of the tube, dabs it on her bottom lip, and then rubs it against her top one. She contorts her mouth to the left as if she were dislodging something from her teeth with her tongue, drops the lipstick back in the bag, and fixes a glare on me as she snaps it shut.

“Perhaps it is … dangerous.” Sonia laughs with unease.

“Dangerous.” I repeat, lowering my chin. “But he’s gone.”

“It’s not that. Mick and I are really messy. You might trip over something, hit your head on the edge of my coffee table, and die.” Sonia winks. Her thong scrapes on the concrete.

“Well, clean it. Mia and I are coming over for dinner.”

“
Mia
and you? When? I am not sure that is a—”

“Yeah, it is.”

We stare at each other, from opposite sides of the car, across the hood. Heat radiates from it like midday sun from a wet road. Sonia purses her lips. “Well. We can make it work, I imagine. But you must tell Mia that Mick will be there. If you leave it to the last minute, all hell will break loose. You know they—”

“I know. I know.” I clench and release my jaw.

“Okay. I am just—”

“You told Mick?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Not sure what I am worried about, really. He will probably just gyrate his hips, make orgasmic sound effects, and—”

I stare at Sonia, expecting her to continue. She stares back. We both laugh. I’m not sure if it’s nervousness or genuine jest. It’s been months since we’ve been in the sack together. Not purposefully. Time flies by without even realizing it. Especially with teenage kids.

I move to Sonia’s side of the car and put my arm around her shoulders. I kiss her softly on the nose. With Sonia’s head on my shoulder we walk to my front door. Her hair smells like apricots.

As we approach my porch, I notice a heavy thumping and muttering, and fast footsteps on a hard surface, as if someone’s doing aerobics. But we have carpet. It doesn’t sound like feet on carpet.

I open the door and we step inside. Sonia gasps and brings a hand to her mouth to stunt a laugh. Mia is jogging on the kitchen counter with her arms stretched out from her sides, reciting the lyrics of “White Rabbit” by Jefferson Airplane.

“One pill makes you larger

And one pill makes you small

And the ones that Mother gives you

Don’t do anything at all

Go ask Alice

When she’s ten feet tall

And if you go chasing rabbits

And you know you’re going to fall
…”

I don’t like to swear. I really don’t. But what the
fuck
? Mia smiles, not at all put off by us, as she continues to jog and chant the lyrics as if they were pumping her full of air.

“What’s going on?” I say, closing the front door behind me with my foot.

“
Tell ’em a hookah-smoking caterpillar

Has given you the call to

Call Alice

When she was just small
…”

I frown and smirk at the same time, rub my hand over my beard, then put my hands in my pockets. I don’t know what to do with them. My little-boy instincts make me want to point and squeal. And then I realize this is my daughter. Acting crazy. On my kitchen counter. Singing song lyrics that are more than forty years old.

Sonia looks at me with a huge grin, glances at Mia and back at me again. She points in the direction of my bedroom with her thumb. “I will just—”

I laugh under my breath as Sonia tiptoes out of the room.

But Mia is still jogging. She’s going to make herself pass out if I don’t get her to stop.

“Mia, get down.”

“I’m not finished.” She puffs.

“With what?”

“Working out. Burning calories. Getting thin, man!” Mia emphasizes
thin
as if trying to dislodge a parasite from her tongue.

“At two a.m.?”

“I think the question you’re looking for, Dad, is ‘On the kitchen counter?’”

“That too.”

Mia laughs, breathes, laughs, breathes, laughs, and starts to slow down.