Authors: Anita Heiss
'Pay it forward.' I turned to walk away, and he called
back, 'Oh, and nice legs.'
It was going to be a hard task to avoid the men in
Melbourne, they were friendly and cheeky, but were my
'nice legs' only worth two dollars? I was almost tempted to
try again to see if I could do better.
I still had time before the first open-for-inspection, so I
took a walk around the Sea Baths precinct. It was too early
for a drink, so I got a green tea to settle my nerves and sat
under an orange umbrella at Beachcomber Cafe and just
looked out to the pier and the marina. I took a photo on my
phone and sent a text to the girls and to James. He wouldn't
know it was a group text, unless he asked Alice.
At St Kilda havin cuppa bout 2 find new flat. Wish u were here!
Luv ya, Px
I was starting to relax, feeling right at home among all the
couples eating breakfast, the mothers and the fathers having
time out together on the weekend, and then I heard him: a
noisy, crying, whining, bawling, complaining brat.
I got up and strolled around the building reading the
signs; there was a wellness centre, a tanning studio, a health
club and a 'Day Spa Dreaming'. I was too scared to go in,
just in case it was one of those places that tries to sell a
'traditional Indigenous experience' without any Indigenous
involvement in the process at all. Like the Native Americans'
dream catchers and medicine wheels, completely bastardised
by hippies up the north coast who mass-produced them,
probably believing they'd been Indigenous in a past life.
I wasn't sure what 'dreaming' would be offered in the
luxurious day spa, other than the obvious dreaming you'd
do if you fell asleep during a relaxing massage.
As I walked along Jacka Boulevard, my phone went, and
it was James.
'Got your message, how's it going?'
'I'm just walking towards the first unit and I'm laughing
at the palm trees that line the street like an attempted Venice
Beach.' I half expected to see some bikini-clad rollerblader
zoom past me any minute. I didn't, but a red Golf passed me
and I thought of Alice back there in Coogee and I smiled.
'I'm here now, gotta go, I'll call you later.'
'Love you, babe.'
'You too.' And I hung up.
The first unit I entered on Grey Street had a hot young
agent in a pale linen suit showing people through. I liked
the space as soon as I walked in. I wanted it. It would
be perfect. One bedroom, newly renovated kitchen and
bathroom, with a small shared courtyard out the back.
'Can I have an application form, please?' I held out my
hand.
'Hi, I'm Max. You'd look great in this flat.' He smiled
and handed me a form. Max was right. I would, and in
fact did already look great in the flat. But there were about
twenty other people looking at the same property. There
were couples, single women, parents, and artsy-looking
folk. No-one looked over forty, which I found interesting.
It was promising to see who wanted to move into the
area that I'd decided I would call home for the next year.
Problem was they all appeared on sight to be worthy
applicants, so I had to think about what would set me apart,
give me that edge that would mean
I
would get the lease
over someone else. I needed to be original when I filled out
the form. Could I simply write,
PS I'd look great in this flat
,
just as the agent had suggested? Or had he said it to every
single girl who walked in? James had warned me about real
estate agents.
I put Alice down as a referee because someone employed
as head of department at a private Catholic school would
have to carry some serious weight for sure. I decided that
putting Liza down from the Aboriginal Legal Service was
an equally
bad
idea. I also put down my old landlord, who'd
offered to keep my flat in Coogee on notice for when I
returned. I handed Max the form.
'You have a good chance, Peta.' Max winked at me, and I
thought,
You are way too cheeky and way too cute, Mr Max
.
First thing Monday morning, agent Max called me on the
mobile to talk about the flat. 'There are some things you
forgot to fill out on the form. Do you have time to do it after
work?' I was sure I filled everything out on the day, but if
he said I'd left something out then I must have.
'Sure, but I won't be able to get there until six.'
'We shut at five. I can meet you at the George Hotel
around the corner from the unit at six – do you know it?'
'I'll find it, and I'll see you there.' It seemed the George
was going to be my local. I punched the air like a sports star
who had just won gold in the 400-metre butterfly. It was
obvious I'd landed the flat I wanted – why else would he
need me to fill more forms out? Life was going to be very
good in Melbourne.
'You look happy.' Sylvia appeared at my desk without
warning. She was one of those phantom types, one minute
there, the next gone, and then back again.
'I'm fairly sure I just got a great flat in St Kilda. I'm meeting
the agent after work to go through the forms again.'
'Sounds great, congrats.'
'We're meeting at the George, do you know it?'
'Of course, it's also known as the Melbourne Wine Bar.
But why are you meeting him there? Be careful, won't you.'
'What do you mean?'
'Now, Peta, I know you're an adult and everything,
and
you're my boss, but you do know that real estate agents deal
in deceit every day, don't you.' She sounded just like James.
'Really?' I'd rented straight from an owner in Sydney and
he was more like a father to me than a landlord. If only my
mum had chosen him as one of her many husbands.
'Yes – and it's part of their job to tell lies to innocent,
unsuspecting candidates, just like you.' Sylvia was adamant
as she went through my diary and slotted in different events
I had been invited to attend.
'Gees, that's a bit brutal isn't it, Sylvia?'
'I'm just worried about our new resident is all. Be careful,
boss.'
'First of all, don't call me boss. I don't play the hierarchy
thing. And secondly, thank you for your concern, but I'm
not as naive as you imagine.' I liked that Sylvia was being
a bit protective of me as the new person in town. It was
exactly what Liza would do if someone from another state
started work at the ALS in Sydney.
'Trust me, Peta, I know what I'm talking about. I'm not
as old as you, but I've been around the block a few times,
you know. I'm telling you, for every property deal he'll have
a woman.' Sylvia was serious.
'Yes, and I can see why, because he's hot.' I showed her
Max's business card with his photo on it.
'See, don't you think there's something conceited about
someone who has a photo of themselves on their business
card?' Sylvia said in an I-told-you-so voice, raising one
eyebrow at the same time – something I always wished I
could do.
'Hmmm, I don't know. I was thinking we should get
them too!' I was joking, but she did have a point. I didn't
know anyone else who had a photo on their business card.
♥
I arrived a little early at the bar. It was dimly lit, so everyone
looked better than they would otherwise, and I seemed
even more gorgeous than usual. I didn't need a photo on
my
business card to prove it. I ordered a gin'n'tonic and sat, just
looking at the shelves lined with bottles. I noticed their top
shelf spirits were
really
top shelf, about ten foot up top, and
wondered how expensive they must've been. Another whole
shelf was lined with bottles of ouzo, and I pondered whether
or not it was the Melbourne Greek influence that had done
that. Was the owner Greek? George was a Greek name after
all. It made me think of Dannie's George and I felt a pang of
homesickness so I texted her as I waited for Max to arrive.
Hi D – just wantd 2 tell u I'm in bar called George! Made me homesik
4 u guys. Luv 2 ur mob. News on embryo??? Px
Dannie responded almost immediately, which really
touched me, as it would be chaos in her house at that time
of night, trying to feed kids and dogs and get homework
done, et cetera.
Hi, lovly 2 hear frm u. Messy mob send luv. No embryo yet, will let
u no 4 sure. Miss u, D x
I looked around the bar and noticed an extraordinary
number of men – straight men, businessmen, grungy men,
men with men friends, men with women friends, men of
all denominations. And then I missed James and sent him
a text:
About to sign lease for flat. I miss you! Px
I turned my phone off because I knew he'd call and I
couldn't really talk there and then. I smiled as I looked
around some more and I knew this would be my local, even
if I didn't end up living in St Kilda. Being faithful didn't
mean being blind. The no-sex rule meant I'd have to at
least be having a damned good perve.
Max arrived and kissed me on the cheek, which seemed
very forward and unprofessional.
'Hi Peta, great to see you. Can I get you a drink?' he
asked enthusiastically.
'Oh, okay, I'll have a gin'n'tonic.'
'You know this
is
a wine bar.'
Normally, I would have said, 'So what?' but I wanted the
flat, so played the game. 'Right, well then I guess I might
have a wine. Can I see a wine list?' Already I was thinking,
You're a knob, and you can stick the flat keys where the sun don't
shine.
'I'd suggest something from the Geelong region,' Max
said, while I looked down the list of whites.
'Really, is their wine as delicious as the football team
looks?' I thought I was funny, but he just rolled his eyes.
'Actually, I think I'll try a sauvignon blanc from the
Yarra Valley.'
'Oh no, if it's a sauvignon blanc you're after, try the
Kettle Lake from Central Victoria.'
It's just wine
, I thought
to myself. This was getting too serious and too wanky and
it had to end.
'Hmmmm, Kettle Lake, would that be to go with the
Kettle Chips?' I couldn't help but laugh at my own joke, but
Max didn't seem to think it was funny. The barman who
overheard did, though, and laughed out loud.
'The lady will have the Yarra Valley Sauvignon Blanc,'
said Max. And that was it. I couldn't stand it any more.
He'd pissed me off. James would never have ventured to
tell me what to drink. I wanted to get down to business and
end the 'meeting'.
'So, have you got the forms for me to go through?'
'Oh, they're in the car. I thought you might like to go
and look at the flat one more time and if you like it, we can
seal the deal tonight.' A sly grin came over his face.
Something didn't feel right, but I wanted the flat, and
only two sips of wine had lubricated me enough to chill and
just go with the flow.
'We should go,' I said almost immediately. 'We can walk
from here, can't we? And shouldn't we get the papers from
your car?'
'Oh, we can get them on the way back.'
As we walked towards the unit I felt a little light-headed,
but not drunk. I was excited about seeing my new home.
I started dreaming about where I would put the few
knick-knacks I'd brought south with me and momentarily
forgot Max was beside me, so I was startled when he opened
the door to the flat, slid one arm around my waist, spun me
around and kissed me. I pushed him away.
'Get off me, you fucking jerk! What do you think you're
doing? That's assault you know!' I yelled, and ran out of
the building, frightened and shocked. 'I don't want the flat!'
I shouted back at him, and kept going. James and Sylvia
had been right.
I was relieved to be sleeping at Aunt Nell's that night,
and let myself drift off without having to worry about
renting for the next few days.
When I woke in the morning and turned my phone on
there was a message from James asking about the flat. I sent
him a text from the train on the way to work. I didn't want
to fib, but I didn't want him to worry about me any more
than he already was.
Owner wanted more $, can't afford. No worries. Call later on train.
Px
He texted me back straight away:
I can help with the money if you like. Love you babe, x
That was generous James. And grammatical James: he
always spelled everything out, even when he texted.
Nothing was too much for his 'babe'. I could never take
his money, though, it went against everything I said and
believed in about women losing their independence when
they hooked up with men.
As part of my enculturation into Melbourne, and my new
job, I took the City Circle Tram upon the advice of some
of the city's 'Melbourne Ambassadors'. Cute and cuddly
looking retired men in red shirts, they were still young and
feisty enough to make a pass at any gorgeous woman who
asked them about their much-loved city. Coming from
Sydney, where the greatest money spinner for the city each
year was Mardi Gras, I almost keeled over laughing to hear
the old fellas talk about the city's one main gay bar.
'Yes, it's for gays only. But there has been some legal
opposition to it. You know, because other people want to
go there on Saturday night.'
'Well, everyone needs to feel safe in their environments,
don't they?' is all I said. These fellas were
real men
, like John
Wayne
real men
. The kind of men that Alice's mum was
talking about. I knew there was no point in trying to have
the conversation about the 'gay bar'. Were they actually
homophobic? Or was it just that homosexuality wasn't part
and parcel of everyday life for their generation, like it was
when you lived in Sydney?
I had to tell the girls about the tourist tram; it was
fantastic. I sent the same email to James, but separately:
Hi there, just sending you my own personal blog so you know that
I'm still alive, have all my limbs and that life in Melbin ain't that
bad. Today I took the tourist tram from the corner of Spencer
and Swanston streets and listened with interest to the running
commentary from the tram driver, learning that Melbin has the
largest tram network in the English-speaking world. Who'da
thought? The tour was deadly. Can't wait till you come down, you
have to do it for sure. Also saves walking!!! Have to tell you though
that I smiled when I saw all the palm trees lining the streets, behind
the Telstra Dome and along Docklands, just like at St Kilda. Like
Melbin's some tropical paradise or something. Just an observation,
I'm sure you'll have some of your own. Miss ya, P xxxx
Alice emailed back and cc'd the girls. I could hear them all
laughing at my expense:
Hey yourself tidda, what's with the palm trees? Are they meant to
convince Melburnians that it isn't that cold in winter? Are locals
meant to forget the frost when they see the palms? Seriously Peta,
can't wait to do the tram ride with you, sounds fabulous. Have fun.
Skype soon? Girls? Miss you too, x Alice
♥
At the end of my second week the department had happy
hour drinks and I met some more of my new colleagues
before Sylvia dragged me away. Warm-cheeked and lightheaded
from two glasses of cheap wine, I sat eagerly at a
table at Pireaus Blues in Fitzroy scanning the menu.
'I've brought millions of Kooris here. They love it.' Sylvia
enjoyed playing hostess and was right at home with the
staff, calling them by their first names.
'Millions of Kooris, really? That's quite a lot given there's
only a few hundred thousand Blackfellas in total.' Sylvia
had a whole language of her own, and exaggerating for
her really wasn't exaggerating at all. It was just the way
she made her point known. I wasn't sure if it was a poet
thing, a Greek thing or just a Sylvia thing. For her,
everything was measured in millions, tasks were referred
to as missions, and she'd always tell me she got up at
sparrow fart, rather than saying she woke first thing in the
morning. I wondered how she'd get on with Alice, Dannie
and Liza.
'So, what's good on the menu?' My mouth was watering
and I had that slightly pissed need to eat something
urgently.
'Well, I'm a vegan, so I haven't tried any of the meat
dishes,' Sylvia said, without looking up from the menu.
'Vegan? Is that like vegetarian?'
'Bit more than that. I don't eat eggs, dairy products, or
any foods that are related to animals in any way.'
'What about honey?'
'Nup.'
'More to the point then, what
do
you eat?'
'Plenty! Grains, beans, legumes, vegetables and fruits.'
She counted them off on each of her five fingers on her left
hand.
'So no junk food, then?' The vegan diet sounded so
boring.
'Well, I can buy vegan hot dogs and ice-cream.'
'Would you bother? I bet they taste terrible.'
'They do!' She laughed.
'Can you eat
anything
off this menu? I mean, we can go
somewhere else if you want.'
'No, I love it here. I'll have the ladies' fingers, all the
dips, and grilled vegetables. Peta, you eat all the chargrilled
meat and octopus you like.'
'Hi Sylvia, great seeing you again.' The waitress Pires
spoke to Sylvia like she was an old friend, and made me feel
welcome too. I liked her immediately.
'Should we get a bottle of something, Sylvia?'
'You know I only drink because it helps me write
poetry.'
'That's funny, I only drink because it helps me read it.'
And we both laughed.
'Seriously, I try to only drink organic wine and beer
which don't have animal products in them.'
'Beer and wine have animal products in them? Really?'
'Yeah, a lot of beers and wines are refined using something
called isinglass, which comes from fish, and some
are filtered with bone char.'
'Bone char? I don't know what that is but it doesn't sound
like something I want to be drinking, that's for sure. But
how do you know which wine is which? I've never heard of
vegan wine before.'
'It's not called vegan wine – it's organic wine.' Sylvia
seemed to be enjoying the cross-cultural vegan workshop
she was giving me. Sitting opposite her I realised that the
Greek-Australian eco-poet was going to be teaching me a
lot while I was in Melbourne.
Pires was back at the table. 'Actually, Sylvia, we've just
got some Robinvale organic wine. The owner agreed to
order it in cos their cellar door is shaped like a Greek temple.'
She smiled at being able to please her customer.
'Excellent, we'll have a bottle of your finest, then.'
When the food arrived, it was delicious and there was
plenty for Sylvia to eat. I couldn't remember going to a
Greek restaurant in Sydney where I'd enjoyed myself so
much, so I just had to text the girls to tell them:
Hi, havin best souvlaki this side of Athens, organic wine 2, deadly.
C if u can find sum in Syd. Px
Then I turned my phone off, because I didn't want to be
carrying on a debate via SMS over dinner.
I enjoyed hanging out with Sylvia, and was glad that we
clicked immediately, but there were no boundaries with
her, she said everything she thought – perhaps it was the
artist in her, always challenging the audience. I was quickly
exhausted by her dinner recitals, which included too much
information on her bowel movements since becoming a
vegan. I looked at my watch and it was only nine pm, but I
was done.
'It must be time to leave, Sylvia, it's been a long day, a
long week.' I wanted to call James when I got home if it
wasn't too late and Aunt was still awake. I was using the
sofa bed in the lounge room, in the centre of the house, so I
couldn't talk if people were sleeping.
As we left the restaurant we bumped into one of Sylvia's
friends on the street. Shelley was just on her way out, her
night beginning as ours was about to end.
'Shelley, Peta, Peta, Shelley. Peta's going to be the
Minister for Cultural Affairs, and Shelley's going to be
the Chair of the Reserve Bank and save the working class
from too many interest rate hikes.' Sylvia was the eternal
optimist, and I liked that she believed in my dream, but
I also knew by now that anyone who believed they were
going to be a best-selling poet in Australia really did know
how to dream.
'Nice to meet you, Peta.' Shelley had had a couple of
cocktails by the looks of it, as she grinned a silly smile in
her corporate clothes. She looked back at Sylvia. 'Hey, darl,
I'm looking for a housemate, so if you know anyone who's
happy to share let me know.'
I do, I do!
I screamed within,
hoping that Sylvia would say something.
'Actually, Peta's looking for somewhere to live. You're at
Albert Park, aren't you?'
'Didn't I tell you? I've moved into the family home at
St Kilda. Mum and Dad have gone travelling around the
country, which was perfect timing because I broke up with
Josh the week before they left, and one of us had to get
out of the flat. No such thing as coincidence, they say.' I
already liked Shelley. 'They're doing that retiree trip they all
do. So, I've got the place to myself, but it's too big just for
me, and my brother refuses to come back home.
'So, the rent's cheap.' Shelley started talking directly to
me, 'And we're close to bars and cakes if that's a drawcard
at all.' God, Shelley was my Ms Right, or would've been if
I were a bloke.
'Oh, sounds perfect – can I see the house?' I hoped I
didn't sound too eager as we arranged for me to see it first
thing in the morning.
I crept into Aunt's house as quietly as I could but she had
one of those old seventies beaded curtains to keep the flies
out that rattled forever. It was too late to make calls and I
was disappointed but knew I'd speak to James the next day.
The taste of taramasalata lingered even after I'd brushed,
flossed and gargled, and when I collapsed onto the sofa
bed, my head spun slightly as I burped the taste of garlic
souvlaki, and fell into a drunken sleep.
♥
I'm in a taverna in Delphi, and Miltos the waiter is filling my
glass with retsina. I see the sun setting and Miltos is knocking
off work and getting ready to go out. His friends arrive to
go to the opening of a nightclub in town, and although I'm
only in a dream, I'm invited. I don't have luggage because
I've astral travelled there so I have to wear the clothes I've
got on. Luckily I am in fashionable Melbourne black, as
if I knew I was going to Europe in winter, but underneath
my skinny pants and tight roll neck (because it is my dream I
can be as thin as I like), I am wearing very ungroovy thermal
underwear. Still, it's black, so that's a little sexy. It is winter
after all, and Delphi has frost in the mornings.
The venue is Delphi-by-Night and it's the place to be.
My friends say the disco is going to bring new energy to
the olive-growing town. I'm dancing with Miltos for hours
it seems, and then, as I make my way to the ladies, past the
bar, one of his friends, Spiros, grabs me. 'Are you going to
sleep with Miltos?'
I don't try to explain that I'm already asleep and that
I'd need to wake up first to be able to 'sleep' with someone.
I don't try to explain the concept of astral travelling
either, because Spiros's English isn't that great, and my
knowledge of astral travelling isn't that great either. All
I can do is look shocked, which of course I am anyway.
I mean what kind of guy asks you that, even in your
dreams?
'I'm going to be sleeping alone, thanks anyway, Spiros.
If you were worried about me or something.'
'I am not worried, Miltos is a fine man and it's your
decision, but I can't do anything because Miltos saw you
first.' Like I'm a bloody lobster being chosen out of the
fish tank at a restaurant in Chinatown! I hate to admit it,
but Spiros is gorgeous. He has big Moby Dick lips that you
just want to kiss. He pulls me close and slips his hand up
the back of my top, under my thermal underwear vest, and
somehow undoes my bra. Greek men clearly have a better
understanding of women's underwear than any Aussie man
I have ever met, even in my dreams.
I return to where Miltos is sitting, because I'm loving the
attention and I don't really want to wake up. As long as it's
a dream, technically I'm not flirting.
'I'm not sleeping with you, Miltos, so if you want to go
look elsewhere then that's fine with me.' Of course I don't
mean it, it's not fine at all for a man to admit that he's only
interested in having sex with you and then leave when you
tell him it's not happening. But Miltos isn't an idiot, he's
got his strategy down pat. He knows my line is a test.
'I'm not going anywhere, or looking elsewhere.' He
kisses me. It's an all-right kiss, not an amazing kiss, but he
didn't leave the booth, so he gets some points for at least
pretending to be a gentleman. And then he whispers in
my ear, 'Is there any chance you might change your mind?'
Oh my God, the man is cheeky and persistent and somewhat
hilarious. I have to give him more points for trying. I mean,
a man's got to at least ask.
The ouzo should be wearing off now, and I should be
boarding my astral flight home to East Bentleigh, but
somehow I am a teenager and I believe Miltos when he
says, 'We can just cuddle.' Does a man ever mean that? Do
other women believe them when they say it? How old are
you before you recognise immediately that it's a lie, and
cuddling never satisfies anyone unless it comes
after
sex?
The next thing I know I'm in a little hotel, flat on my
back with a pair of big white Y-fronts in my face and Miltos
is in them and I'm in my thermal underwear neck to ankle
and I'm thinking this is not where I'm supposed to be, and
what would my James think if he knew or God forbid saw
this scene, and with Zorba playing in the background I lift
myself out from under Miltos and off the bed, then grab my
clothes, putting my pants on inside out, not even knowing
how I get the zip done up. I want to travel back to East
Bentleigh the way I came, but I'm waiting at a bloody bus
stop and it's the middle of the night and I don't have a ticket
or money because I didn't think to bring any with me. But
then I'm on my way, leaving Delphi, Spiros, Miltos and
their olives behind.
I astral fly over Athens and see the lights on the
Acropolis, and it's beautiful, but I feel like I've missed the
real tourist experience and I'm disappointed in myself for
that as much as for my behaviour in Delphi.