Not Meeting Mr Right (14 page)

***

I love that my bedroom faces east and gets the
morning sun – except when I've had a big night out.
The temperature was already twenty-eight degrees and
it was only seven-thirty. My room was like a sauna;
the day was going to be a scorcher. I rolled over to see
myself naked in the lone full-length mirror that hadn't
been thrown out when I feng shui-ed my flat. I decided
that the final mirror might have to go as well.

I hadn't made it under the covers when I got home,
and I was lying on top of the bed, my clothes scattered
across the room. My lucky bra hung on the doorknob like
the warning sign used in a share house I lived in during
uni. It meant 'Do Not Disturb', which translated to 'Sex
In Progress'. I dozed on and off for an hour before my
door buzzer went. I pulled on my knickers and cupped
my breasts in my hands as I ran to the intercom.

'Yes?' My voice was croaky.

'Someone's hungover, then.' It was Peta. I threw on a
top while she came up the stairs, then ran out to open
the door and found her there holding two carrot and
ginger juices.

'Moornniinnng, Missy ... oops, didn't interrupt
anything did I? I see you've got your lucky undies on.
Should I come back?' she asked, knowing full well that
I was there by myself – I wouldn't have answered the
door otherwise.

'Very funny Peta. What the hell are you doing up so
early on Sunday morning? Piss the bed or what? And
how did you know these were my lucky undies?'

'Just went for a run and thought I'd bring a juice and
some good news to my friend. I was with you when you
did that big shop for sexy underwear when you thought
that surfer-dude was 'the one', remember? What was
his name? Julian?'

'Jason.'

'Yeah, Jason, the left boob guy.'

'So what's your good news?'

'Saw Pauly yesterday at the pub. Gave a rave 'bout
you, told him how smart, sexy and staunch you are.
Didn't even need to suggest you guys go on a date. He
asked me for your number straight away. I gave him
your mobile number. Is that okay?'

'Absolutely! And here's cheers to someone
else
seeing this underwear in future.' My hangover seemed
a little easier to manage all of a sudden.

We sat there for an hour while I milked as much
information out of her as possible about my soon-tobe
blind date. We both giggled like teenagers and she
said, 'I have a good feeling about this, Missy. If he's not
Mr Right, he's gotta be Mr Almost-Right. We just have
to face the fact that sometimes that's the best you're
gonna get.'

I was so excited about the prospect of the date with
Mr Almost-Right that I smiled, inside and out, and
sighed a big Sunday morning sigh.

I'd just started thinking about what to wear and
where to go as the phone rang. I motioned for Peta
to answer it, but she ignored me, and went out to the
sunroom to read the paper.

It was Liza, naturally.

'You piss the bed too, Liza? Thought you'd be in bed
at least till lunchtime.'

'No way, I've got loads to do around the house, and
some case notes to write up. Working for the ALS is a
twenty-four/seven job, you know. Just thought I'd see
how you were feeling.'

In a sudden flashback, I had a vision of me kissing
someone on the dance floor, and blurted out, 'I think I
kissed that boy last night, Liza.'

'Yeah, you rocked his boat all right – and his mate's.'

'What?' I was horrified. 'Tell me you're joking,
please.'

'What's the drama? You looked really sexy and you
were having a great time dancing. Everyone wanted to
be near you. Hell, half the girls wanted to kiss you too
at one stage.'

'I'm not a lesbian, Liza. You know that don't you?'
She thought I was a lesbian too!

'You're such a drama queen sometimes, Alice. Noone
thinks you're a lesbian. And no-one cares you
pashed two boys. You're allowed to let your hair down
occasionally. But I don't know that your behaviour falls
within the strategy, does it?'

I went into self-punishment mode straight away. Two
decades of Catholic upbringing and sexual suppression
made it easy for me to torture myself about my uncouth
behaviour. Sure it was all right to kiss a boy or two or
five when you were a teen, and even if you're a bit older,
you can get away with it on New Year's Eve. Surely
when you reached your late twenties, though, and you
were a teacher at a Catholic school, and were supposed
to act as a role model, you shouldn't behave like that
anymore. By twenty-eight, you should be more refined
and dignified – or at least a little more discreet.

'But Liza, that boy was about twelve.' I felt sick. 'You
might have to defend me in court!'

'He was twenty-one, and he thought he was king
of the castle smooching with you. Don't know about
his mate, but just think of it as your community service
to youth.'

My mantra for the day would have to be:
Don't
worry about what you might have done yesterday, focus
on what you can do tomorrow.

It was a long week waiting for Peta's mate Paul to call.
He didn't. I didn't turn my mobile off at all, but left it on
silent when in class and in bed. I spent every recess and
lunchbreak in the staff room, and even arrived early
and left late just in case he'd lost my number and tried
calling the school. My attendance was commented on
more than once, and while I mightn't have been a good
role model for my students, the principal seemed to
think I was setting a great example for the teachers. If
only they knew the truth.

All week, though, the phone was strangely silent,
and I was fearful that it wasn't working, or that perhaps
I was somehow out of range. Or, maybe, just maybe, Mr
Almost-Right wasn't that right after all. I didn't want to
seem anxious, so I didn't contact Peta, thinking I'd only
mention it if she asked.

With only a couple of weeks until Christmas it was
time to put the tree up and attempt to put some fairy
lights in the windows. I dragged my pathetic three-foot
green plastic tree from my linen press and stood it atop
my coffee table in the living room window, overlooking
the foot of Arden Street. I really wanted a new tree,
but with the costs of Bianca's wedding sapping my
funds, I'd have to make do with the no-frills number
for another year.

I'd bought decorations at the clearance sales last
year, so at least I had new shiny purple and silver balls.
Enough balls and a bit of tinsel strategically positioned
and I wouldn't even see the tree underneath.

It took me all of ten minutes to dress the tree, but
almost an hour to hang the lights in the window. I'd failed
year after year to get it right. I refused to ask Dad to help
me after Mum's comments about looking after myself
and not relying on him. I was determined that this year
I'd be blinking along with the rest of the neighbourhood
without his help. It was moments like these that I made
a mental list of all the things a husband would be useful
for: hanging fairy lights, changing the oil in the car,
killing spiders and all those kinds of boy jobs.

I always emphasise that I don't
need
a man, but there
are definite reasons for wanting one around anyway.

I wrapped a few presents and put them under the
tree to add some more Christmas cheer, but I knew I
was really just trying to keep busy as I waited for Paulthe-
Engineer to call. 'You're an idiot,' I mumbled to
myself. He didn't even have my home number, so why
or even
how
would he ring me here? Why was it that
Simple Simon was smart enough to look in the phone
book but Paul-the-Engineer couldn't manage it?

I concluded that all men were basically emotional
cripples or completely illogical or both. Even though
they didn't think like we did, they could at least
be considerate enough to think like each other, so
that there was some consistency to their irrational
behaviour. Santa would be coming in less than four
weeks and it was unlikely that I'd get anything like a
man in my stockings. Strange thing was, until I'd set
myself the thirtieth birthday deadline to get married, I
was fairly happy with my single life. Now I seemed to
be disappointed a lot and either waiting by the phone
for it to ring, or in Simple Simon's case, not ring.

I put on my bikini but it didn't make me feel at all
sexy. How could I? I had my period and had been
bleeding heavily for twelve hours straight. I felt
completely bloated, and needed some sun to perk up
my mood. Grabbing Linda Jaivin's
Dead Sexy
from
my bookcase, I headed for the Ladies' Baths, where I'd
have a good chance of bumping into Peta and a slight
chance of seeing Liza, if she wasn't swimming at her
usual Bondi spot.

Two hours later, I'd started going a golden brown
and had read almost all of my book. At least I now
knew the sex life I
could
be having. Sex with firemen,
sex involving scarves, handcuff s, stilettos and so on. I
planned on dragging out my stilettos and scarves when
I got home, keeping them on hand for my next night
of passion. Assuming I'd have one eventually. Mental
note to self: be sure and put them somewhere not likely
to gather dust too easily. Then I took a dip, needing to
cool off in more ways than one. The water was chilly,
and I didn't even go under, just wet myself and lay back
down for a while.

As time passed I grew tired, and decided to ease
myself off the steps into the rock pool for one last
paddle before heading home for a nap and a night in
front of the telly. Wading in, I saw arms waving and
flapping about in the water in front of me. It was Peta.

'Well hello there, Missy ... how's ya been?' Peta was
so positive and energetic at times it could be almost
depressing.

'I'm great!' I lied, with as much enthusiasm as I could
muster. 'What about you? Haven't seen you all week.'

'Yeah sis, been out bush working on a community
education model for the department. Just got back this
morning.' Peta was always travelling, meeting interesting
people and seeing a lot of countryside, but she made a
point of saying 'It's all work,' trying to convince us that
she never had time to shop or sightsee.

'Right. So what are you up to tonight? Thought I
might see if Dannie can escape the kids and Liza will
stop working long enough to watch a movie and share
some food. Might throw some roo in the wok.' My body
was screaming out for red meat.

'You doing that "fusion" thing again, Alice?' Peta
did the inverted commas hand gesture. 'What is it this
time? Roo curry? Sweet and sour roo? No, no, no, let
me guess – Mongolian roo?' She fell back in the water,
laughing at her own joke.

'Very funny. On second thoughts I might make Chilli
Con Kanga. Yeah, and we can have margaritas to start.'

'Sounds good. I'll bring some tequila and corn chips
and see you round eight.' She splashed off without even
a mention of Paul-the-Engineer and I felt like bursting
into tears. I decided I'd ask her later that night, and
headed for home, where I'd have to take some vitamin
B6. Maybe there was a message waiting for me on the
machine, I thought, and upped my pace. There wasn't.

***

At seven pm I started to cook. I laughed out loud as I got
the roo mince out of the fridge, recalling a conversation
I'd had with Gabrielle a few weeks before.

'Oh, I don't think I could eat Skippy.' She'd frowned at
me when I invited her over for some roo and bok choy.

'But don't you eat pork, Gab?' I was surprised at her
immediate and definite refusal to eat my cooking.

'Yes, of course, I love it!'

'Well pigs roll around in mud and eat their own shit,
don't they? How could you possibly have a problem
with kangaroo?' I said matter-of-factly.

Gabrielle chuckled, and said I was disgusting.
Eating different things really was just a state of mind
wasn't it? I loved roo, hunted it three times a week
at the supermarket: it was low in fat, high in protein
and really cheap. I often wondered what the checkout
chicks thought as I went through the register with roo
kebabs, mince and steaks alongside Lindt chocolate,
cottage cheese, strawberries, ice-cream, tampons and
Pantene. Did they see that women of all colours are
united by the need for beauty products, good chocolate
and high-protein foods?

Eight o'clock on the dot and Peta was on the buzzer,
tequila, corn chips and bag of lemons in hand – a
hangover waiting to happen just standing in my
doorway. Dannie and Liza were trudging up the stairs
right behind her.

'Hi there Missy, picked up a movie too.
The Way We
Were
with Redford,' Peta said.

'And Streisand,' Dannie panted. 'Know it?' She
handed me the DVD.

'Know it? It's my all-time fave movie,' I said.

'Perfect choice,' Liza added enthusiastically. It had
been months since all four of us had been together.
Meeting at my place seemed to be the only time we
ever managed it. We were all so busy.

We finished the chilli and corn chips and had a
couple of potent margaritas as we went, then sat back
and soothed our chilli mouths with bowls of French
vanilla ice-cream while we watched our movie.

On screen, Barbara tried to make her passion for
politics mesh with Robert's passion for himself. I cried
at the end: Barbara was still fighting for her political
causes and Robert was happily off with a nice young
wife. Sometimes true love was simply not enough.

Dannie reckoned she could see me in Streisand's
character, Katie, which didn't help. With all Katie's
passion, she still ended up without her man.

'Do you reckon you could sweep aside politics for
the love of a good man, Al?' Liza asked. It was a fair
question. Had I reached the point at which I could give
up my passion for politics to keep the man I loved? I
wasn't quite sure.

'I'd only really know if I met someone as gorgeous
as Robert Redford, I guess.'

'Closest thing you'd get to that round here is Robert
Redfern!' Dannie was in her funny-girl mood.

I couldn't wait any longer to ask Peta about Paul.
'Your mate, what's-his-name, Rob, John, Jack, Sid?
Anyway, he hasn't called.' I was trying to be as casual
as possible.

'Paul,' she said.

'Paul, yes, I knew it was a one-syllable name.' Trying
to act semi-uninterested.

'Who's Paul?' Liza and Dannie chorused.

'He's a friend of mine,' Peta told them, then looked
back at me. 'Sorry, I forgot to tell you – his grandmother's
dog died on Monday and he went back to Newcastle to
stay with her for a few days. She was really upset about
it. I think he mentioned something about buying her
a new dog. You know, to keep her company at night.
She's all alone up there. He told me to tell you he'd call
when he got back, which is tomorrow I think.'

'Sounds promising, Alice! Just don't be pushy,'
Dannie said.

Liza quickly followed her lead: 'And don't expect too
much on the first meeting.'

Peta looked slyly at Dannie, then me. 'And before
you ask, he's gorgeous.' I wasn't even listening to them.
Of course Paul was with his grandmother, because
that's the kind of gentle, caring and considerate guy he
was. That was what made him so ... right. So
Mr Right
.

I smiled. I hadn't been rejected, and there were still
two outcomes possible: that we lived happily ever after,
or that
I
rejected
him
.

***

'Call for you, Alice!' Mickey had answered my mobile
in the staff room as I made a cup of tea. My heart was
pounding – it had to be Paul. Why now, why lunchtime,
when everyone is here and will hear me sound like a
teenager being asked to the school dance?

'Thanks, Mickey, who is it?' I said, as though I wasn't
expecting a call.

Mickey covered the mouthpiece. 'Don't know, but he
sure sounds cute.' Everyone suddenly stopped talking.
There had been rumours for months that Mickey was
gay, and most of the nuns and male teachers weren't
at all happy about it. The principal had given a lecture
about 'inappropriate, non-Christian behaviour' at an
all-staff meeting recently, staring at Mickey and me
the entire time. She had used the words 'promiscuous'
and 'alternative lifestyles' a lot. So much for Christian
tolerance.

I grabbed the phone, took a deep breath and said
calmly, 'Alice Aigner.' Clear, non-warbled, confident.
Nice work, I mentally congratulated myself.

'Hi, it's Peta's friend, Paul.'

'Oh, hi Paul. Peta told me about your grandmother
losing her dog. I hope she's feeling brighter.' I was
cruising through the conversation.

'Yes thanks, she's fine. I bought her a little black
Scottish terrier and she's happy as Larry, as they say.
Anyway, I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner
with me this Friday, if you're not already busy. I
understand it's close to Christmas and you've probably
got a million invitations—'

'No I haven't,' I cut in, 'I mean, I have nothing on
this Friday. I'd love to have dinner with you.'

'Great, I'll call you Friday to organise where to pick
you up and I'll book a table for eight o'clock. By the way,
do you like seafood?'

'I love seafood, Paul.'

I spent the rest of the day analysing word by word,
sentence by sentence, everything Paul-the-Engineer
had said in our two-minute phone call. He'd bought his
grandmother a black dog. Black rather than white, that
was a good sign, I thought.

He had invited me to dinner on a Friday night, too –
it was a very positive sign. A lunch invitation is good,
but a dinner invitation is much better. Dinner means
a serious invite. A date on a Friday is a really serious
date, much more serious than dinner on a Tuesday
or Wednesday. He didn't say Thursday, because it's
payday – not like Simple Simon. Yes, it was certainly
looking good.

He'd thought I'd probably have lots of invitations.
That meant he thought I was very popular. That
everyone must want me at their parties. Of course they
did, but how did
he
know that? I was grinning from ear
to ear.

He was going to pick me up. He had a licence
and
a
car. I loved him already. I wondered what sort of car it
was. Didn't matter – as long as dinner didn't have to be
on a train line, I didn't care.

Mental note to self: buy Peta something extra special
for Christmas. She must've fed him a whole heap of info
to make me sound deadly and desirable.

***

By half past twelve on Friday, most of the teachers and
students had gone home, following the final assembly
for the year, but I stayed back and pretended to clean
out the fridge as a gesture of community service. The
principal was suitably impressed but it was really an
excuse to wait somewhere quiet for the phone to ring. I
didn't want to be driving or shopping when Paul called
me, so staying put until he had seemed the smartest
option. My phone hadn't completed its first ring when
I picked up.