Authors: Anita Heiss
'What are you doing?' I ask, only a little scared, because
I know that nothing bad is going to happen to me. I'm in a
dream and I am, after all, the Minister for Cultural Affairs.
'I am going to strip-tease you,' he says and I laugh because
I'm not sure if he means he's going to do a strip-tease for
me, or that he's going to strip-search me, and I don't really
mind which it is, because my self-promotion to minister
has been an aphrodisiac, and I'm up for either because he's
hot. And because I know I won't be there for thirty days
and time is running out, we strip each other, starting slowly,
unbuttoning clothing, undoing zips, unbuckling belts, but
then getting faster and faster as stockings and boxer shorts
are aggressively pushed down around ankles and our bodies
are moving in time to the flamenco music and someone's
clapping – not applauding, but clapping a dance – and one
minute I'm on the plain table in the little room and then I'm
walking along La Rambla in Barcelona and there are street
performers doing acrobatics and flamenco dancing and
busking. It's colourful and noisy and I love it. I walk and
smile but soon I am frowning as I enter the Museu Picasso,
which is like five large town houses joined together, all of
them really old, 500 years old or more, and I'm walking
in a bit of a maze and my confusion is exacerbated by the
artwork; there's a portrait of a man in a beret and I get that
painting, obviously, but I am not sure of others, like the
Seated Man, who has a head like a horse but I read it's
meant to be mask-like, it's supposed to be a symbol and
fetish. No-one else seems to be struggling, rather they are
talking about 'broad brush strokes' and 'a basic and brutal
aesthetic'. I don't see it, though, and think Picasso must've
been on some serious acid or something. But as the new
minister I must try to appreciate the work; it is all part of
my professional development. I step out of the Museu onto
the street and I'm in Madrid but also Pamplona and there's
bulls running and people cheering and I get caught up in
the action and the red flags and matadors in the sexy outfits
with tights and I'm thinking about the guy from customs
and how I could strip-tease them but the thoughts subside
quickly as I run past old churches and the cathedral into the
Basilica de San Francisco, and ask for forgiveness from the
God I don't believe in for my pornographic thoughts. I light
a candle and hope for the best. I say a quick prayer for James
too, because I feel I should.
A gorgeous beggar on the street is asking for pesetas
but I think he says 'potatoes' and miraculously, I pull some
from my bag. The Lord provides in mysterious ways. I want
to make creamed potatoes with the beggar but I wonder
if that's me being too community-minded and I just keep
walking until I become bored with my astral dream because
there's no men, and no more strip-teasing and I want to go
home, and for the first time in my life I am glad that I am
about to vomit because it wakes me up.
It took me weeks to go through my hotmail account, my
inbox was so full. I had a long list of emails inviting me
to be people's 'friend' on Facebook. There were invitations
from Alice, Dannie, Liza and even James. Apparently this
phenomenon had been happening without me. I signed up
and had too many friends in no time, all poking, super-poking,
headbutting and kissing me. I was sent drinks and
flowers and growing plants and invited to join causes and
groups as my page had bling and bumper stickers added.
I posted photos of the house, of my office and of St Kilda
so the gang could all see how things were going for me.
Likewise Dannie posted pics of the kids, Liza put up pics of
the basketball team she coached and Alice had photos of her
and Gary down at Coogee. James sent me things constantly
and got a bit annoyed when I didn't respond immediately,
but Facebook had been barred at work as the department
had calculated the amount of hours lost every day to the fad,
and I had to set a good example anyway.
For about a month it was loads of fun, but also addictive
and before I knew it I was spending hours every night
responding to emails and aquarium gifts, vampire bites and
likeness quizzes. It was a great way to keep on top of what
everyone was doing, though, and better than trying to fit
it all into three separate phone conversations once a week.
We were all on the same Facebook page at the same time.
I rationalised the time spent online by saying I was being
sociable and maintaining my friendships, which could easily
deteriorate in twelve months if I didn't make the effort.
Sylvia was on there as well and sent out an invitation to a
fundraiser she was involved in for the Black Dog Institute,
an organisation supporting people with depression. She
really was a mixed bag. It would be great to go for a night
out while supporting a worthwhile charity at the same time,
I thought, so of course I accepted. It was at the Westin
Hotel in the heart of the city.
♥
'Wow, you look fantastic,' I said to Sylvia, who had lost
the dark kohl look for something more conservative. I only
found out then that she was on the organising committee
and thought she should dress a little less poetically than
usual.
We sat down at a table with some of her friends. Everyone
was having little conversations in pairs, and trying to listen
to the MC at the same time.
'The fashions are very different here, aren't they?'
I observed. And as I looked around the grand ballroom,
I noticed that everyone was wearing black.
Everyone
.
'Yes, Sydney's fashion has a more coastal influence, while
Melbourne's is more diverse.' I couldn't see how everyone
wearing the same colour was a demonstration of diversity,
but I decided not to mention it, and changed the topic
instead.
'Hey, why haven't you got a boyfriend?' I was curious
that Sylvia, who was interesting and intelligent, had never
mentioned a man. I'd been thinking that if she were gay,
I could set her up with Josie.
'I have got a boyfriend,' she said, almost defensively.
'Oh, sorry, didn't mean to pry.'
'That's fine, I just don't let him out much,' she said with
a sly smile. I could see Sylvia being in charge of the social
calendar for both of them, like she was for me.
'Oh, you're hilarious. Why haven't you mentioned him
before?'
'Well, Rick's a muso, and oddly insular and I'm really
oddly outgoing, so we don't do a lot of things together
that involve other people. We're great when we're by
ourselves. He finds me a little too out-there when I'm with
my friends.'
'I can't imagine why.' I smiled at her.
'You can meet him soon if you like. We might go see
him play or something one night, if you're into it.'
'Sounds great.' I hadn't been to much live music for
years, and only really ever saw bands at Klub Koori events
organised by Koori Radio.
'I'm in charge of the silent auction, so I better go check
out if anyone's bidding yet.' Sylvia got up and took me
with her.
We strolled around the table and there were some
interesting pieces to bid on: a framed pic of Kylie, a bronze
World Cup Soccer trophy, a Russell Crowe
Gladiator
print, and a framed autographed pic of Jessica Mauboy
from the 2006
Australian Idol
final. I went to put a bid on
Jessica, but as my hand reached for the pen, so did another.
I grabbed it first and wrote my name and mobile. I only
bid a modest amount because I hadn't actually gone there
prepared for an auction. The next person would easily beat
my offer by at least fifty dollars. I put the pen down and the
hand, belonging to a nicely cuff-linked wrist and even nicer
looking guy, picked it up. I looked at him.
'Hi, I'm Lee,' he said, and offered me his hand to shake.
'Hi, I'm celibate,' I blurted, then cringed with embarrassment.
I shook his hand roughly like a man and let it drop.
'That's an interesting name. Does it have a special
meaning?'
'Actually my name's Peta,' I said, burning with shame,
and not knowing where to look. He was so hot he was
making me perspire.
'So, the celibacy is just . . . ?'
'A national crisis, obviously.' I was trying to be funny to
take the focus off me being an idiot.
'You being celibate
is
a national emergency for sure. I'm
in the SES, so maybe I can help you with it, if you like.'
'I'm sure you could, but you really can't. Thanks anyway.'
I was tongue-tied like a teenager with a crush on the most
popular boy at school, and just walked off.
Black tie fundraisers were clearly great places to meet
men, for those in the market. Everyone there was supporting
a worthy cause, they looked great, and the wealthy guys
could always be found hanging around the silent auction
table.
♥
When I woke up in the morning I had knickers on and
nothing else. I threw on a T-shirt and walked into the mess
that was the lounge room and saw my dress flung over the
back of the chunky lounge chair. My shoes and stockings
were just inside the front door, and my pink wrap was on
the telephone table. My handbag was on the ground with
coins strewn everywhere. My camera was in my bag, minus
its cover, and the hundred dollars I had withdrawn at the
pub we went to after the dinner was missing. It must have
fallen out in the cab on the way home. I felt like I was still
drunk as I jumped in the shower. I didn't bother using
the four minute timer because I knew I probably wouldn't
be able to stand up that long anyway, but I was hoping it
would sober me up. I was supposed to meet Josie at nine to
go shopping.
Dressed and feeling slightly better I went to leave the
house. Shelley was in Sydney visiting friends so I didn't have
to worry about tidying up with any sense of urgency. Then
I realised to my horror that the front door was deadlocked,
and the keys weren't in the lock, as they usually were. I
searched the house, my handbag, under the tables, lounge,
and telephone table. I panicked. I heard the neighbour's kids
playing outside on the footpath but I was too embarrassed
to ask them if the keys were in the door. How would that
look? 'Excuse me, are my keys in the door? I'm locked in . . .'
I had to find another way of getting the keys. They had to be
in the door – I did get inside, after all. We never used the
back door and Shelley hadn't given me a key for it. The only
thing I could do was climb through the bathroom window.
I'd need a leg-up even to reach it, and it was so tiny I was
sure to get stuck. I started to cry with the stress of it all and
called James.
'What do you want me to do about it, Peta?' He wasn't
the warm, caring James I'd expected – the one who'd offer
to ring the local locksmith to let me out.
'I don't want you do to anything. I just wanted to tell
you is all.'
'Well, if you were so drunk you locked yourself in the
house, what else were you drunk enough to do?'
'There were no men involved last night, if that's what
you're asking me, James. Sorry I called.' And I hung up. The
last thing I wanted was a long-distance domestic argument
while I was suffering a terrible hangover and locked in my
own house.
I took my shoes off, put one foot on the rim of the bath
and the other foot on the toilet seat, hoping it wouldn't
crack, then pushed myself up out through the window and
fell into the bottlebrush plant below. There! I didn't need
James after all. Dusting myself off, I got the keys out of the
door, thankful that no-one had found them and robbed the
house. Then I texted Josie to let her know I'd be late and ran
to catch the tram to the city.
When I found her she was buying a dress for a hot date
she had with some woman she'd let off a parking ticket. She
even got a matching lipstick.
'This woman is hot, hot, hot!' Josie said as the girl at the
make-up counter attempted to do her face.
'She must be,' I said as I watched Josie let her brows be
brushed.
At lunch in the Melbourne Centre my mobile rang. I
didn't recognise the number.
'Hi, I've got something of yours.'
'What?'
'Jessica Mauboy. You bought it, remember?' It was Lee,
the cuff-linked SES guy from the fundraiser.
'Shit, did I? I didn't pay for it – I didn't hear them call it
out. I must have left by then.'
'No, you were still there – it looked like you and your
celibacy were having a great time.'
Fuck
, I mouthed to Josie. I was so embarrassed.
'Well, thank you for picking it up for me. I should get it
from you and give you the money.'
'No worries. It was no trouble, and it guaranteed I'd see
you again.' He was going to be disappointed.
'Actually, how did you get my number?'
'You wrote your number next to the bid, remember?'
'Oh yes, of course I did.' I hoped he was the only one
who'd made a note of it.
I met Lee in the early evening at Pellegrino's, an espresso
bar in the city. At first it seemed to be an odd choice, with
its bar stool service and very basic menu, given that Lee was
a classy guy with plenty of cash, but apparently Pellegrino's
was an institution, like so many places in Melbourne.
Everything here seemed to be an institution or an icon, or
a must-see and must-do. I wasn't overly impressed with
having to sit on a bar stool at the counter, but the Italian
food was as authentic as any I'd ever eaten, never having
actually been to Italy.
'The minestrone is delicious, how's yours?'
'The spaghetti Napolitano is
bellisimo
!' Lee said with a
mock Sicilian accent, kissing his fingers like an Italian you'd
see on a television show.
'Thanks for bringing me here – it's like a little Italian cafe
isn't it, very traditional.'
'Oh, someone would've brought you here on a date
eventually.'
'I'm not dating,' I said. 'I have a boyfriend.'
'Where?' Lee looked around. 'Was he at the fundraiser?
I thought it was just you and your celibacy.' He laughed and
I cringed.
'Okay, so I deserved that. No, he's in Sydney. We're
doing the long-distance thing.'
'So you're being faithful, not celibate.'
'Same thing.' I took another spoonful of soup, not
wanting to discuss the difference between celibacy and
faithfulness with Lee. He was too dangerously cute to talk
to about sex, or not having sex, and I knew I would sound
like a complete flip to anyone who didn't really know me.
Even James had struggled with the concept and he loved me
unconditionally.
Lee was staring right at me.
'What?' I asked.
'You've got some sauce just . . . there.' He wiped the side
of my mouth and I went weak. Was that all it took to make
me love fickle? A wipe of food from my grubby face?
I liked Lee. He was hot, and funny, and gentle, and
single, and sitting there in front of me. It was a recipe for
disaster on the celibacy front and I knew it, and knowing it
meant I had to remove myself from the situation.
I looked at my watch. 'I think my tram's due shortly.'
'I'll walk you to Bourke Street, then.' Lee was also
chivalrous, which made him all the more sexy. The men in
Melbourne really were different to those in Sydney.
When we reached the tram stop we stood awkwardly
and waited.
'Do you want to come back to my place for a nightcap?'
Lee asked.
'A nightcap? Do people actually use that phrase any
more?'
'Well, I did.'
'Yes, but don't you mean,
Do you want to come back to my
place for a shag?
'
'Well, yes, I was trying to be a gentleman, but okay,
do you want to come back to my place for a shag?' He raised
his eyebrows and grinned, as if to say,
Say yes!
'If you think you can trade a ten-buck pasta for my
celibacy, you are so wrong. I'd have to have had some
dessert as well for that.' We both laughed, and he leaned in
and kissed me gently on the mouth goodnight just before
the #96 tram arrived.
'You're wicked, Peta, but I like it. Now get on your
chariot and stop teasing innocent men in the street. And
take Jessica with you.' I'd completely forgotten about the
photo I'd bought at the auction.
'The money, wait, here . . .' The tram's bells were
ringing.
'It's a gift.' He
was
a nice guy. A guy who went to
fundraisers, who dined in restaurants because he liked the
food, not because they were fancy, and who was kind and
funny and generous, giving gifts just for the sake of it.
I smiled all the way back to St Kilda, clutching Jessica
tightly and wondering if I would see Lee again. I was still
smiling when I finished taking my make-up off and went
to bed. I closed my eyes thinking of Lee but knew that I
shouldn't be. I remembered Lee's soft lips and the hot rush
of blood that suddenly turns cold as I hear a countdown and
everyone screaming and cheering, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2,
1, BANG.
It's midnight, New Year's Eve, but I don't know what year
it is. I'm at Piazza della Signoria in Florence and everyone's
throwing bottles into the middle of the cobblestone piazza,
but there are no fireworks or 'Auld Lang Syne' like back at
home. I turn to the guy next to me and it's Lee and I kiss
him, because it's New Year's Eve and because he's there
and because in my dream I'm not celibate, and there's no
James, and I've been given a second chance and he looks
good enough to eat.
'I'm Luigi and you are
bella
.' Lee-Luigi is there and I'm
beautiful and everything is fine by me.
'Yes,
Luigi
, I am.' And we kiss again. In my dreams my
self-esteem is good.
'I am a security guard and I must go check the city, you
come with me, on my bike.'
'Okay,' I say, because I know I'm astral travelling and
don't need travel insurance and I'll wake up in the morning
and Lee-Luigi won't expect me to make him breakfast. But
I know I'm doing things that girls should never do when
they are travelling alone, things I would never do if I were
awake travelling.
I put my arms around Lee-Luigi's waist and hold tight
as we cruise the streets on his moped until we stop outside
the Uffizi Gallery.
'I must check here, you come inside with me?' He helps
me off the bike.
It seems less daring to go into the gallery than to stay
out on the street by myself. Lee-Luigi flashes his torch into
the darkness and I catch a glimpse of some Rubens posters
and I'm tempted to ask for a complete tour, but just past the
entrance he stops, and so do I.
I've heard about hot-blooded Italian men who love
women and know how to romance them. Lee-Luigi is
the kind of guy who loves women, who worships women,
who wines and dines and does wicked things to women. I
bet Lee-Luigi tells women all the time that he loves them.
Lee-Luigi is love fickle for sure, and the only thing worse
than one love fickler in a relationship is two love ficklers.
But I'm dreaming, so who cares anyway, and we make out
for hours. As he gently kisses my neck he starts to peel my
clothes off and I just stand still, a willing participant in astral
fornication, but then suddenly the lights go on and we rush
out the door and when I go to step back onto the moped,
my foot lands on the cold bathroom floor and it seems I've
also been sleepwalking.
♥
I met Josie for coffee on Brunswick Street the next morning
feeling completely jet-lagged. I ordered a double shot soy
latte and an Italian pastry.
'I need to tell you something.' I was bursting to tell Josie
about my astral travelling experiences.
'What?' she asked, only half interested.
'I travel in my sleep.'
'What do you mean?'
'I eat a certain cuisine, and then that night I travel in my
sleep to the country it comes from.'
'What? Like astral travelling?' She suddenly seemed
much more interested.
'Yes, I think that's it. The dreams are really
real
, if you
know what I mean. I'm what you'd call an international jet-setter,'
I bragged.
'Oh my God, where have you been to then, in your
sleep?'
'Greece, Spain and last night I went to Italy. I had New
Year's Eve in Florence, it was fabulous.'
Josie pushed me so hard I nearly fell off my chair. 'You
lucky bitch. You're seeing the world for the cost of a meal.'
'I know, it's weird. Actually, it's freaking me out. And I
feel jet-lagged.'
'Don't complain. Hell, I want to go to Florence. How
was it?'
'Amazing. I rode a moped with a local named Lee-Luigi,
he was hot as.'
'That's a weird name. Is it Italian?'
'Well, it's what I called him; he looked like a Lee-Luigi.'
Josie just screwed her face up. 'And in Greece where did
you go?'
'A gorgeous little village called Delphi.'
'I know it,' she said excitedly. 'They grow olives.'
'That's right,' I said. I was so engrossed in my own story
that I didn't even ask how she knew of Delphi. I didn't
know of it before I visited.
'So you had a good time? Met people?'
'Yes, yes, yes, I had a ball, each time. And the men are
amazing when you're astral travelling, and it certainly beats
backpacking.'
'You could write the astral travellers' guide to Italy. Or
rather,
Italy on Eight Hours' Sleep
.'
'Don't be ridiculous. I'm not a travel writer. I'm not even
a traveller really, and it's all just accidental.'
The bill arrived, and I realised I didn't have any cash.
'Can you take care of it, Josie, and I'll fix you up when
we get to an ATM?' We had become good friends and
little things like money didn't seem to get in the way.
'Sure thing, but if that little hottie Antonia comes to
pick up the bill I'm going to offer to pay with the hairy
chequebook.'
'The hairy what?'
She looked down to her lap.
'You are disgusting.' I threw my serviette at her.
'Don't blame me, I heard it from Alice, and she heard it
from guess who – Aunty Ivy. It's an old saying.'
'Well, put your chequebook away, I've got a credit card
if you haven't got cash.'