Avoiding Mr Right (21 page)

'If you were one of the seven dwarfs I'd call you sexy.'

I knew who it was but I asked anyway. 'Who is this?'

'It's your Mike.'

'You're not mine, and vice versa.'

'Crunch time, Peta, we've gotta make a date for
dinner. I've been doing my homework and reading. You
promised.'

'I don't recall promising anything, Michael, but I do
have to eat at some point every day – three times a day
actually – so I suppose I could be sitting at the same table
at the same time as you, if we happened to be in the same
vicinity.'

'I like a woman who plays hard to get.'

'I'm not playing anything.'

'Then I like a woman who's just hard to get.'

'Well, with the pathetic lines you use, I'm not surprised
you find it hard to get women.'

'Yeah, I think you might be right.'

♥

We went to a place called Il Duce Si Diventa in Carlton.
It was the strangest, most eclectic drinking hole I'd ever
walked into, but cosy too, which was good. Sydney had
usually started to warm up by mid September, but the
nights were still chilly here. I looked around the room and
was fascinated by the cube seats and glass-topped gilded
Egyptian-styled tables. There were sculpted busts and torsos
throughout the bar under red ceilings and low lighting, and
pictures of everything from Rubenesque nudes to posters
of Sophia Loren. It was Greece meets France meets Italy,
but somehow it worked. The candelabras and chandeliers
told me that anything went there. I liked it. I couldn't help
imagining what my architect would think of it, though.
James liked clean lines, sterile white spaces, uncluttered
and formal environments. Although he loved my place and
said it had a warm feeling about, it used to drive him nuts
that nothing matched, and he often rearranged things to
put them where they were aesthetically more pleasing. This
bar would have sent him into re-design overload – but I
didn't really think it fit the macho cop profile either.

Mike seemed happy to sit silently while I just sat
and looked at all the paraphernalia in the upstairs bar,
mesmerised by the colour and contrasting fixtures. We were
comfortable, like friends should be, or so I thought.

'I like it here,' I said.

He nodded. 'Me too.'

'So anyway, Mike, I still don't know all that much about
you. I don't even know where your family are from. Did you
grow up in Melbourne?'

'No way – south coast of New South Wales. Ulladulla.'

'I love the coast down that way. Great beaches.'

'Yeah, I really miss the beach, being in Melbourne.'

'Oh God, tell me about it. I used to see the surf every
day.'

'Me too!' Mike said enthusiastically, like we'd been
connected by the sea. 'Actually, I'm fourth generation from
Ulladulla,' he added with Aussie pride, and I laughed.

Most whitefellas didn't realise how ridiculous they
sounded when they talked in such short time frames about
their connection to a certain place or country. But I liked
Mike, and whitefellas were really only ignorant if they'd
been told the truth and still said ridiculous things. If we
were going to be friends I couldn't lecture him every time
we met, so I tried to tread lightly but honestly.

'Well I'm 4000th generation Coolangatta, or as we call
it, Bundjalung Country.'

'Wow, 4000th, that's a lot eh? Fourth generation doesn't
really rate then, does it?' he said with an embarrassed
smile.

'No, it doesn't really count in the Koori world, Mike, and
to be truthful, most Blackfellas laugh at the way whitefellas
talk about their so-called looooong histories on the land.'

'Really?'

'It's just that Aboriginal people have been here through
ice ages, and whitefellas talk like the First Fleet was the
beginning of any human existence here.'

Mike was just looking at me all doe-eyed, and his blue,
blue eyes were just staring into mine, and before I knew
what was happening he had lunged in and kissed me on
the mouth, and I took longer than I should have to pull
away, and I felt like I was astral travelling but I wasn't. It
wasn't earth-shattering but it was nice, and I remembered
how exciting kissing could be and thought about how the
passionate kiss gets passed up these days. Did anyone still
kiss for hours on end any more, or was that something you
only did as a teenager, because you weren't supposed to be
having sex? I missed kissing. I liked kissing, I wanted to
kiss more.

'What are you doing? I have a boyfriend!' I said, pushing
him away. I hated myself, I had never cheated on James.
'You
know
I have a boyfriend. And infidelity is one thing he
wouldn't cop. No pun intended.'

'This so-called boyfriend of yours – where is he? He's
never here when I see you. I'm beginning to wonder if he
even exists.'

'He exists, and he would never forgive me if I let this
go any further. I'd never forgive myself. I should go.' I stood
up and steadied myself.

'Wait, I'm sorry, please don't leave. I never meant to
upset you, or disrespect you in any way. It's just that I
thought this was a date.'

'What? Why? I can't go on dates, I have a boyfriend.'

'So you keep saying, but I've never seen him, and you
left him in Sydney for a job eight hundred kilometres away,
and you're out with me, so I thought perhaps you weren't
that serious about him, and that if I charmed you enough
with my very witty repartee, I might be in with a chance.'

He paused for breath. I was stunned into silence, and he
knew it.

'I know I'm just a cop and you're a high-flying bureaucrat,
but I like you. And you make me think about things I
should
be thinking about. And you were there right in front
of me being really smart, and dangerously sexy, and I just
couldn't help myself, and believe me I'm not in the habit of
kissing women like that, I just thought—'

'It's okay, I'm sorry too, I should've been much clearer
from the outset. I
am
in a relationship and I
am
faithful to
James.' I didn't want to explain the celibacy business – we
were already on shaky ground. 'Look, I should go.'

'No, please don't, sit down, let's just finish talking.'
Mike was half out of his seat, urging me to stay. I sat back
down but kept my bag in my lap. He looked relieved, but still
a bit nervous that I might up and leave at any moment.

'Now we know where we stand, I'd still like us to be
friends. I need people like you in my life – I've got to have
someone to go to chick-flicks with, don't I?'

'Are you sure we can do this, the friendship thing?'

'Absolutely, and I even promise I'll sit on my hands when
I get an urge, and I'll only wrap my lips around my drink.'

'Me too then!' I put my bag down on the seat next to me.

'Deal! So let's talk about you then, Ms Peta.' He seemed
genuinely interested. 'Siblings, family life, marriage, kids?'

'Two brothers, Benjamin and Matt, and a sister, Giselle,
one mother, one absentee father and two step-fathers. So
as you can see, as dysfunctionalism goes my family has the
monopoly. I'm in no real rush to get married or have kids –
I've got a defective marriage gene.' I meant it as a joke, but
it sounded truer as I said it out loud and there was a tone of
sadness in my voice.

'That's a bit harsh, Peta.' He reached for my hand, then
changed his mind and picked up his drink instead.

'Look, my mum's been married three times and she's still
alone. What's the point of all the heartache when you can
skip all that and stay single and happy, and not screw up
other people's lives by also having kids?'

'Is that what you seriously think?'

'If I were truthful, I'd say no. I've seen some very happy
and stable families. My cousin Joe and his wife Annie
are made for each other, and so are my best friend Alice's
parents. So are Alice and her boyfriend Gary, for that
matter. So I do know it's possible. I just don't know if
it's possible for me. I'm pretty much married to my career
goals if that makes sense. Marriage and children would
just hold me back right now.'

'I totally understand what you're saying, because my
sisters talk about this all the time. All their friends got
married young and started families, and there's a lot of
pressure on them to do the same, but Lily says she's too
young to have kids at twenty-two. She's not even sure if she
wants them at all – says she doesn't have the patience. She
wants to go back to uni and do her masters in creative arts
– her boyfriend goes to uni so they have similar goals. And
Patricia's just become partner in a cafe in Ulladulla and is
working sixteen hours a day, seven days a week, and reckons
she'll be doing the same for years to come, so she can't even
contemplate kids. My sisters know their own minds – they
want careers and independence, and peer pressure just isn't
going to change them at all. I love them for taking a stand
and believing in themselves. I just listen and then tell them
to do whatever makes them happy, but I'll kill any bloke
who hurts them. That's a brother's job.'

Finally, a man who seemed to get what I wanted from
life: a career and independence!

Come Friday I was anxious to finish a ministerial briefing
paper on moral rights for Indigenous artists and communities,
and an overdue performance management report.
As I hit the send button the report went to the director, the
brief went to the minister's office, and I breathed a sigh of
relief. 'Happy hour!' I yelled. 'Anyone still here?'

Sylvia had worked back late too, and was getting changed
to go out. 'I'm meeting Rick at Revolver for the launch of
the Charcoal Club's new album,' she said. 'They're a local
Koori band. They say their music is for "burnt-out Blacks
and singed whites". That's you, right? Do you want to come?
Richard Frankland's the lead singer.'

'Isn't he that bald-headed Greek-looking Blackfella who
once worked in a Chinese restaurant?'

'That's him!'

'I saw him on
Message Stick
. He was a scream. I didn't
know he was a muso, though – they were interviewing him
about his latest film. God, we're just so deadly, us Blackfellas,
aren't we.'

'Yes, you are. And you're often late, too. Let's go.' Sylvia
took me by the arm and led me out of the office.

As we set off for Flinders Street station, I felt good.
October had a different smell about it and the days had
finally started to warm up.

I was in a black skirt, a tight black tee and red shoes.
Sylvia gave my outfit a quick once-over and nodded her
approval.

'I'm so glad you didn't wear your coat.'

'Why? Are you telling me how to dress now as well as
managing my diary? For God's sake, I am so over this rude
Melbourne right to comment on people's attire.'

'Calm down, boss. I was just thinking that the place is
going to be full of rockers and tatts and not a lot of pink is
all.'

'It's
watermelon
.'

'Yeah, and that's worse. You'd be smacked for sure if you
argued that it's watermelon.'

When we arrived, I spotted Josie at the bar and waved.
She pointed at her beer and then at us, then held up two
fingers.
Yes
, I nodded. It was a massive turnout, and loads
of Kooris were there to support the band.

'Here you go, gals.' Josie handed us a beer each.

'Thanks. I'm Sylv-eye-a, nice to finally meet you,' Sylvia
said, shaking Josie's hand formally. I could see Josie giving
her the once-over and I frowned at her to stop. We found
some space on a sofa to sit and claimed it all for ourselves.

As I scanned the room I noticed that most of the crowd
were wearing black and while they looked different in a
quirky way they somehow looked the same. When I spotted
a guy wearing make-up who wasn't a drag queen I couldn't
help myself. 'I thought I left guys in make-up behind in
Sydney!' I joked to Josie.

A young guy walked past me sporting a blonde Mohawk
and he reminded me momentarily of Geronimo. Next to
me Josie was stretching her neck, desperately trying to find
some hot women to hang with. The next thing I knew, she'd
disappeared. I looked around the crowd for a moment, but
I couldn't spot her.

'Everyone here has really skinny legs,' I said to Sylvia.

'Yeah, they're really skinny all over. Drugs probably,' she
said, as if she knew all about the drug scene.

'No, it's not drug skinny, it's body shape skinny. Look,
they're also really tall. It's not normal. Look around,' and
I motioned my head around the room, 'there are all these
extraordinarily tall people with long skinny legs. See?' And
I pointed to about ten really skinny guys in long black jeans
with skinny legs that went right up their backsides and
almost up to their armpits. I felt like taking my black skirt
off to prove I had good legs as well, but that wasn't the point
these people were trying to make. They weren't trying to
make a point at all.

'It's a really interesting crowd here, don't you think?'
Sylvia asked, looking around while she spoke.

Then I saw a hot young Koori guy in black jeans and
a yellow T-shirt adorned with the face of some waif-like
model. He made me catch my breath. That hadn't happened
since I'd first met James in Bondi Junction one Saturday
morning when we took a number at the deli counter at the
same time.

I assumed this guy was a muso because he had that
cool, grungy look about him. The look you either had or
didn't have but certainly couldn't create by choice. He had a
wholesome face, with a tiny ginger goatee and kissable mole
on his upper lip. I tried not to stare when he turned in my
direction.

Sylvia stood up and took my hand. 'Hey, come meet
some people,' she said, and led me to the back bar where the
guests were mingling. Loud music was playing over a sound
system in the background, and a band was setting up.

'Who's that guy?' I asked Sylvia, throwing my head in
the goatee's direction.

'Oh, that's Timmy, he's a drummer, and a session muso.
He's a friend of my boyfriend's. Stays with us sometimes.
Nice guy. Why? You interested?'

'No, of course not. I'm with James, remember?'

'Good, cos he
is
a drummer.'

'What does that mean?'

'You know all the jokes about drummers, don't you?'

'No, what jokes?'

'You've
never
heard a drummer joke?'

'No I haven't. Obviously I've been living under a rock.'

'What do you call a drummer with half a brain?'

I just looked at her.

'Gifted.' She went on, 'What's the best way to confuse a
drummer?'

And still I looked.

'Put a sheet of music in front of him.'

I frowned. I couldn't read sheet music either.

'Why is a drum machine better than a drummer?'

'Why?' I was already over the drummer jokes.

'Because it can keep good time and won't sleep with your
girlfriend.'

'Hey, I've got one,' a guy said as he stopped and stood in
between Sylvia and I.

'Why do guitarists put drumsticks on the dash of their
car?'

'So they can park in the handicapped spot,' both Sylvia
and he said in unison, and laughed.

'That's appalling! They're just like blonde jokes.'

'Did you hear the one about the blonde drummer—?'
he started.

'Stop, I can't listen to any more.' We were supposed
to be making policy to support
all
artists in all art forms,
drummers included.

'Relax, Peta! This is Rick, my boyfriend.' She cuddled
into him as he offered me his hand to shake.

'I'm Peta, I work with Sylvia,' and I handed him my card.

'Nice to meet you. You government types all flash with
your cards and everything, aren't you? Bet you think I can't
read.'

'Why, are you a musician?'

Rick laughed. 'Something like that. Time for another
beer, see you later.' And he kissed Sylvia on the cheek and
walked off.

'Those drummer jokes are a bit cruel aren't they?
I mean, why are drummers different to other musicians?'

'They're just jokes, Peta. Why are you so worried about
jokes and drummers? I thought you weren't interested.'
Sylvia had a smile on her face.

'I'm not interested in the drummer or humour, clearly.
And anyway, guys like that never choose girls like me; they
choose swimsuit models or young girly groupies, don't
they?'

'What?' Sylvia said.

I couldn't stop. 'No, my best bet is to stay right away
from guys like that, because he is cute, isn't he? I mean too
cute for someone like me.'

'Oh yeah, he's cute all right. Every woman at the gig
probably thinks he's cute. He could have most of the women
here and probably has. You know, it's that kind of industry.
I think a couple of the boys fancy him too. But I'm pretty
sure he's not gay. He doesn't say much when he stays. He
seems pretty laid-back. Rick reckons he's the best drummer
this side of the Queensland border.'

'Maybe he's a thinker.' I kept staring at his mole.

'Maybe.'

'But he's too cute.'

'Stop saying that. He may be too laid-back for someone
like you, but he's certainly not too cute for you. That's just
ridiculous.'

'What? Are you the big relationship counsellor now?
I didn't even know you had a boyfriend till I'd been here
for weeks.'

'So, we just like to keep it low profile, that's all. But
I do love him, and he's my soul mate and that's all that
matters.' We both looked over towards Rick, who was deep
in conversation with one of the guys from the Charcoal
Club.

'He's obsessed, you know. All he talks about is his music
and CDs and new bands.'

'That's it?' I asked seriously. 'Nothing else?'

'Oh, and the Saints. Loves the footy of course, but he
is
a bloke.'

'He sounds really lovely.'

'Yeah, he is, I've learned to live with him being in the
studio till all hours and having no money. We'll probably
never own our own house. But we love each other.' At that
moment, Rick looked over and motioned to Sylvia to see if
she wanted a drink. 'I'm right,' she mouthed back.

'I don't know if loves me more than his music, but I
know I can tell him anything and he'll always be there. And
he reads my poetry.'

'Well, that must be love!'

'Yeah, that's what he says.' And then the band walked on
stage and people started moving from the bar towards the
front. Sylvia went off to talk to Rick and I found myself a spot
up the back near a massive wall fan. It was already hot and I
hadn't even started dancing.

A few songs in I found the drummer standing next to me.
One hand in his pocket, the other holding a beer.

'Hi, I'm Peta,' I said over the music.

'Hi, Timmy.' He offered nothing more.

'You a local?' I asked.

'Nah, Bundjalung, a Jones from Iluka, up Grafton way.'

'Me too. Bundjalung, that is. I'm a Tully from Coolangatta.
The Joneses are a big mob, I hear.'

'Yeah, pretty big.'

'So what brings you down south?'

'I'm just here gigging for a week, doing some studio work,
then back home.'

'So, you're a drummer?' And he looked at me as if to say,
How did you know that?

'Oh, sorry, just . . . a guess.' Could he tell I was lying?
'What do you play?'

'Yeah, I play the tubs. What about you?' I didn't want
to kill the conversation by saying I was a top-ranking
departmental bureaucrat with aspirations of being Minister
for Cultural Affairs. Would a drummer even understand
what that was?

So I massaged the truth a little. 'I work for the public
service, in cultural affairs, so I know a little about music,
but learning more every day. So, do you sing also?'

'No way! When I do, I sing like a bee.' He laughed and
took a swig of beer.

I wasn't sure if he was kidding or not. Trying to be funny,
I said, 'Oh, kind of like Muhammad Ali?'

'No, sis. I'm pretty sure those song words are "floats like
a butterfy and
stings
like a bee".' Shit, he was right, and
bigger shit, I looked like a complete knob.

'Of course, clearly I know nothing about song lyrics
or
boxing.'

'But Ali
is
Black, so I can see how you might confuse us.'
And he flexed his muscles.

I laughed; he was funny. Then a younger girl asked
him for a cigarette and they headed outside. I was a little
jealous – I wanted to talk to the muscly bee-singer some
more. Then I suddenly thought about James and felt guilty.
I went into the dimly lit ladies' toilets and sent him a
message.

Just 2 say hi, hope ur well. Miss ya, Px

♥

We left Revolver as the groovy younger crowd started to
file in, long legs and all. As we stumbled down the stairs
and out the door onto Chapel Street, I saw Mike across the
road and immediately caught my breath. I'd bumped into
him too many times now and it was just getting weird. It
was too much of a coincidence – especially when I didn't
believe in coincidence. I didn't know if I should avoid him
or go and say hello. He was with another cop and I was
with Josie and Sylvia. But it wasn't my decision anyway,
as Mike saw me and sung out straight away. People in the
street stopped to look and Josie had a sly look on her face.

He waved to get my attention and jogged across the
road. 'Hi. Do your parents know you're out this late?'
he said in his usual cheesy way, then kissed me on the
cheek, which made me feel uncomfortable and tingly at
the same time.

'Hi,' I said awkwardly, not knowing what to say or do
next.

'Hi Sylvia,' he said, with the correct pronunciation, and
he kissed her on the cheek as well, which made me feel less
special. 'Josie, nice to see you again. Good night, was it?' he
asked the three of us.

'Excellent,' Sylvia answered.

'Deadly,' Josie added.

'Yeah, really good, but it's late so we should probably get
a move on, eh girls? Been a long day – long week actually.
So, guess we'll be seeing you round then.'

'Yes, hope so – you make the beat look much better,
all of you.' The other girls laughed, while I rolled my eyes,
wondering why he was flirting with them as well.

♥

When I woke in the morning and turned my phone on there
was a text message from Dannie:

Hi everyone – we're having bub #3. Due April. Very excited. Love
D&G

I couldn't believe it, Dannie and George had finally
conceived. I was happy for them, because having a family
was their thing and they were good at it, but I was really
hurt and disappointed that she'd sent me a group text and
didn't call. By my calculations she'd been pregnant for
three months, which meant it was twelve weeks she'd not
said anything. Was I now so out of the loop? First Liza
breaks up with Tony and I don't know, then Alice and the
girls make decisions about the dresses without me and now
Dannie sends me a text to say she's pregnant.

I called her straight away to say congratulations and to
hear all about it, but I got her voicemail and assumed that
she was on the phone taking calls from other people.