Not Meeting Mr Right (17 page)

At midnight the fireworks went off over the bridge.
They were beautiful, but I couldn't help thinking that
they had cost $2 million, and yet there were people
living in the streets of Sydney, Aboriginal communities
without decent facilities, and soup kitchens that could
use that kind of funding. I hesitated, but then voiced my
concern to Paul. He agreed, adding, 'And what about
what it does to the environment?' I hadn't spoiled the
moment – he felt the same way! We kissed away the
fireworks and toasted each other and the New Year. The
year I would probably get engaged, and move another
step closer to becoming Mrs Right. Mrs Alice Aigner-
Right.

'Rise and shine, princess, big day today.' Paul was more
excited than Bianca probably was. He tickled my face
with kisses to wake me.

'Can you kiss my knees instead?'

'It's seven-thirty, you better get up if we're going to
be on the road by nine.' He kissed my breast lightly and
pulled me out of bed.

One thing that both impressed and irritated me
about Paul was his ability to organise. I soon understood
how my own scheduling of everything pissed
other people off. Paul was always on time and always
thinking ahead.

'I've already got petrol, packed a little something to
nibble on in the car, and left enough space in my bag for
you to put most of your gear into. No point in taking two
bags, is there? Oh, I've also got a spare suit bag for your
dress.' I wasn't sure if I was annoyed or appreciative.

The phone rang and he answered it in five seconds
flat.

'It's Liza – she wants to know what time we're
picking her and Luke up. I said ten past nine. What do
you think?' He'd already told her what time, so I didn't
know why he was asking me. I really wished Liza would
get a car, I was always chauffering her around. But
because Paul was perfect, he'd never complain about
something so insignificant as giving someone a lift
somewhere. I had to stop being so negative.

'Nine-ten is fine, sweetheart.'

Dannie and George had left the eastern suburbs
before us, having to drop the kids off at his parents' on
the way. It was the kind of extra organisation that Paul
would be great at. No doubt about it, he'd be an excellent
father. Liza, Luke, Paul and I made our own fun driving
out west, laughing like adolescents at the name 'Rooty
Hill' and singing along to some old hits by Racey, Amii
Stewart and Blondie along the way. 'The Tide is High'
brought back memories of a trip to Fiji for Liza and me,
and we threw each other a glance, thinking of fun times
in our younger days, back when we really were happy to
be single. I liked Liza's man Luke, though: he was really
laid-back. A little rough around the edges, but a downto-
earth kinda guy – a good match for Liza, who didn't
handle bourgeouis bullshit well. I could fake handling
it when I had to. It was a requirement of working in a
private school.

'We should all take a trip somewhere together!' Liza
shouted. I saw an immediate flash of doubt cross her
face, as she realised that we'd only been seeing these
fellas for a short while. Luke and I were both quick to
agree with her, even if we didn't quite mean it, and I
gave him brownie points for being smart enough to
take what Liza said seriously and act interested. Paul,
on the other hand, remained silent. Was he thinking it
was too early to make plans together?

'What about you, babe? Not interested in a trip to
the tropics?' I needed to know. After all, I was in this
relationship for the long haul.

'Oh, yes, of course – it's just that I'm not that big on
flying.' He wasn't at all convincing.

'Have a few drinks!' Liza and I chorused, sounding
like the complete lushes that we were. Paul laughed, but
didn't say anything else. I was still curious, but didn't
push it.

We had a pit stop so Liza and I could talk about the
boys.

'So, Luke's nice, Liza,' I called to her from my cubicle
as we both peed.

'So's Paul. He's really generous and friendly. Dannie
thinks so too.' So the girls had been gossiping, fair
enough. Would've been more worried if they'd had
nothing to say about him.

'Did you notice he hesitated about your idea of a
trip? He didn't seem keen to me.' I was worried, and it
would play on my mind until we'd cleared it up.

'Al, don't go over-analysing again. He was probably
just concentrating on the traffic.' I thought that a strange
response from a non-driver, but she was probably right.

We arrived at Rooty Hill around ten-thirty and went
straight to our hotel, not far from where the ceremony
would be held.

Paul and I spent the afternoon getting ready: him
resting and me doing my nails, hair and make-up. I
wore a slinky red dress with the highest heels I'd ever
owned. Peta had loaned me a diamond necklet and
earrings and I felt like a million dollars.

As I held my hair up, Paul did up the clasp on the
necklet.

'Do you really not like flying?' I was going to get to
the bottom of this. I had to know whether we'd ever be
able to take a trip together or not.

'You look beautiful.' He smiled as he took me in with
his eyes.

'
Flying?
'

'Short flights are okay, like in Australia, but I wouldn't
be keen to go much further.'

'What about Broome?' I asked. I'd always wanted to
stay at Cable Beach Club and ride a camel along the
sand at sunset.

'Yeah, Broome, I'd love to go there and ride a camel.'
Everything automatically seemed all right again.

'You know it's quicker to fly to Noumea than to
Broome,' I said, 'so we could still do the Pacific with
Liza and Luke.' Actually, I thought, we could do both
over the next couple of years.

Paul looked doubtful again. 'It's the flying over
masses of water that frightens me. What if we crash?'

'We've got more chance of survival crashing into the
water than into the desert between here and Broome.'
He and I both knew I was right, but we didn't have time
to argue – we had to leave for the wedding.

***

The ceremony took place at Watt's Cottage. Paul told
us that it had been built at the turn of the century
by Frank Watt, a descendant of the original white
settlers in the Rooty Hill area. I smiled back at Liza
and Dannie, proud that my man was a walking fount of
trivia. I think Liza felt a little put out, as I usually relied
on her for such details. She couldn't keep her hands off
Luke, though, so she was over it pretty quickly. Dannie
and George seemed to be soaking up their time away
from the kids, enjoying just being a couple for a while.
Dannie actually looked our age again, and not really
grown-up, as married women with kids often do.
Bianca had started looking that way from the moment
she got engaged.

As we stood around waiting for the bride, Liza and I
tried to dodge the hateful stares of the women from the
hens' night who'd been off ended by Liza's outbursts and
our drunken antics. The cake-cooker sure as hell hated
Liza, and only managed to throw me a barely-there
smile. I was hoping that no-one would say anything
to Paul about my community-service-to-youth at the
Retro Club that night.

The bride arrived in a black Cadillac that oozed
class and style and I wondered what had happened to
the daggy hen I'd seen walking through the city with a
veil and sixteen henners a few weeks before. Her father
helped her out of the car and the entire group took a
deep breath in awe.

Bianca wore a long, sleeveless silk dress with a
sweetheart neckline and a fitted bodice with little
pearls that matched the ones in her ears. Her long
white satin gloves and long chiffon shawl draped across
her décolletage and flowing down the length of her
dress were impressively elegant. Bianca looked angelic
as she carried her bouquet of white lilies and beamed
at Ben, her groom, waiting anxiously for his wife-to-be.
Just before she reached him, though, he pulled up both
trouser legs to reveal one blue and one gold sock. Most
of the men cheered. Dannie laughed, but I didn't get
the joke.

'What's it mean? I don't get it,' I whispered in Liza's
ear. She just shrugged – she didn't get it either.

The ceremony was romantic and sincere; tissues
dabbed eyes all round me. Paul had his arm around my
waist and leaned over to whisper in my ear, 'You'll make
a beautiful bride.' I tilted my head to meet his peck on
my cheek, happy, but thought to myself, 'Will it be by
the time I'm thirty?'

As the bride and groom left to have their photos
taken, the six of us went straight to the reception
centre. The venue was the local club, and pre-dinner
drinks consisted of schooners and Barcardi Breezers in
one of the many bars – we could take our pick. The
guys went hunting for the best bar for us easternsuburbs
types in full wedding regalia. We settled for
the unbelievably named 'Rooters Bar' – the only one
that didn't have footy TAB and card machines ringing
in the background.

Before long, most of the other wedding guests had
made their way to Rooters Bar, too, but we kept to
ourselves, making small talk, reliving the ceremony and
discussing the bride's outfit. I was conscious, though, of
the single women guests looking awkward and out of
place. I'd never understood why wedding invites weren't
automatically extended to partners – at least for those
who wouldn't know anyone else attending. One or two
women were obviously by themselves; I smiled at one,
who stopped to talk.

'Hi, I'm Tara. I'm actually here by myself, do you
mind if I hang with you guys? I'm feeling a bit awkward.'
God, I felt for her. I'd been there before.

'Sure, no worries. I think there's a couple of other
women in the same boat. We're on table seven if you
want to change your place card around too.'

She appeared to be glad about that, and brought
one or two other girls into our circle. I patted myself on
the back for not becoming one of those 'I've got a man
now, so the rest of the single world can drop off ' kind of
women. I'd lost count of the times I'd been at weddings
by myself and had to make small talk until the bridal
waltz was done and I could leave.

After a few drinks, Liza and I were soon giggling like
schoolgirls. Dannie was getting a bit of a glow up as
well, but it had taken her several days to recover from
the hens' night and she'd vowed to take it slower at
the wedding. Luke seemed like a bit of a boozer and
downed at least five schooners while we waited (I was
counting). My Paul just smiled and organised everyone,
and George sipped a couple of bourbons.

When we were finally ushered into the reception
room, Liza and I burst into laughter, turned to each
other, and said, 'You've got to be kidding.' Ben, Bianca's
now-husband, was a minor league player for the
Parramatta Eels, and the colours of the decorations
were blue and gold. Blue and gold serviettes on every
table, blue and gold candle centrepieces, blue and gold
balloons forming an arch along the wall behind the
bridal table. It looked like Grand Final night. We both
looked at each other and said, 'The socks.'

'Don't be bitches. It's Bianca's day, she can have it
any way she likes,' Dannie said.

She was right, of course, but Liza and I were both
gobsmacked that the classy bride had not only endorsed
the decorations, but helped to put them up. It got worse:
as we headed to our table, right up the back, we passed
a champagne-glass pyramid.

Before sitting down, Liza moved a few name tags
around and made sure the few people there who
liked us were on our table. We didn't want too many
single pretty ones, though: we were both new to our
relationships and didn't need any outside competition
this early on.

Seated, we waited for something decent to drink, as
music started to play in the background. Regurgitator
followed Powderfinger followed Silverchair and
Something for Kate. Even Paul commented on the
unusual repertoire for a wedding dinner.

Liza, Dannie and I got stuck into the carafes of wine
on the table, until Paul offered to save us from the
dreadful hangover the cheap wine would bring on. We
put down our glasses of moselle in shame as he walked
off into the fluorescent light towards the bar. 'He
is
gorgeous', I said, as much to myself as to the girls, who
agreed with me.

I couldn't take my eyes off him, admiring his rounded
butt in his tuxedo. Thankfully George and Luke had
worn tuxes, too, or we'd all have had to leave. They
were the only men attired so formally, and the girls and
I were all dressed to the hilt. Collectively we stuck out
like sore thumbs.

Liza and I carried on bitching about the appalling
decorations, the cheapness of things and the lack of class
we saw as inherent in the western suburbs. Dannie was
disgusted. She was always telling us about the snobbery
in her Paddington street, and now she became a vocal
advocate for the 'down-to-earth suburbanites', Bianca
and Ben.

'For someone who works in community law, Liza,
you can be incredibly bourgeois and pretentious when
you want to be.'

'Yeah, Liza,' I added in support.

'You too, Alice!' Dannie said. Thank god, Paul came
back at that exact moment with a bottle of Yellowglen
– 'the best they had,' he said.

'Oh, this is going to be a looonngggg night,' Liza said
to no-one in particular.

Half an hour later, Bianca and Ben finally arrived to
a rowdy fanfare. We all stood clapping as they walked
through the archway of chicken wire covered in blue
and yellow paper flowers to ABBA's 'I do, I do, I do,
I do, I do'. It was the best music played so far.

***

After dinner, the best man took his place at the
microphone. He was a bald-headed, goateed, stocky
bloke with a tooth missing in the front and a shirt too
tight around the collar. 'Mr and Mrs Willis, ladies and
gentlemen, Eels-supporters,' he started, and the room
went up in a chorus of 'Oi, oi, oi!'

'I am Christopher, otherwise known as the Crusher,
and I'll be your MC for tonight. I 'ope you've enjoyed
your meal, dessert is in the form of wedding cake, and
we'll be carvin' that up straight after the speeches.' Liza
slumped back in her chair, both hands wrapped around
her glass, and rolled her eyes. Crusher rattled on for half
an hour about how Ben loved Bianca almost as much
as football, and their plans for her to give birth to an
entire Parramatta side in the next few years. I couldn't
understand how Bianca could find any of the speech
funny, but she appeared to be laughing constantly.
Maybe I had been at St Christina's too long, maybe
Dannie was right. I was a bourgeois Black, and so was
Peta. (It wasn't hard to be in the Aboriginal community
– you just had to have a job and own your own car and
you were regarded as middle class.)