Lovesome

by Sally Seltmann

‘Whaaa? Oh my god, that’s such great news. What time is your date?’

  I glance over at the clock.

  ‘Shit!!! It’s eleven o’clock! I’m meeting him at twelve.’

  ‘Okay. Get ready. You’ve got heaps of time. But one thing—I left my guitar at your place.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ I tell her. ‘Sorry. I forgot to tell Michael last night.’

  ‘Oh, no worries. It’s actually been nice having a bit of a break from…well…I feel really relaxed around Michael. Like, I’m not as worried about all my upcoming shows, and my new record deal in the States, and my budget for my next promo tour. All that shit. Michael’s so calm and…really good for me, I think.’

  ‘It makes me happy hearing that,’ I tell her, noting that my prediction about them was spot on.

  ‘Can I come and pick up my guitar tomorrow arvo?

  ‘Yeah sure. Okay, I need to—’

  ‘Yeah. Go, go. You get ready.’ Then she says cheekily, ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’

  ‘Ha ha,’ I say, with a hint of sarcasm.

  ‘Bye, Joni.’

  ‘See ya.’

  I take a cup of coffee into the bathroom with me, and prepare for my lunch date. I give myself an extra soaping, and while I dry myself with a towel I ponder how I should wear my hair. Up or out? I decide on leaving it out, so it falls over my shoulders. As I’m slipping into my blue floral dress, I wonder where James is. What is he doing right now? I think about his sensuous lips, his sad, soft brown eyes, his playful nature, his funny observations and his beautiful hands.

  I throw on my big navy cardi, and my denim jacket over the top. I look in my full-length mirror for an awfully long time, and then put on some tights and my Blundstone boots. Silver hoop earrings. Sandalwood oil. And then another cup of coffee, after which a rush of nervous anticipation sets in, then doubles, and then triples.

  As I head out the gate, the good old butterflies take flight inside my tummy. What will we talk about? What should I say? I try to calm myself down, but it’s no use.

  24

  James pushes his chair out and stands tall. He’s wearing a light grey hoodie under a beat-up black leather jacket, and faded blue jeans. His dark-brown hair is in a beautiful mess, and he’s slightly unshaven. He reaches out and lovingly puts his arms around me, and I hug him back, but I’m too nervous to absorb how it feels.

  ‘How are you?’ he asks, and the sight of his face up close makes me weak at the knees.

  ‘I’m…good,’ I tell him, taking a seat, watching him sit down again in his own chair. He reaches out for a menu, and I watch his fingers, wishing I could hold them in the palm of my hand.

  ‘Did you get lots of painting done yesterday?’ he asks, looking into my eyes with interest.

  ‘Yeah, I did.’ I fumble with the knife and fork in front of me. ‘Whoops,’ I say, as I accidentally knock my knife off the table. How embarrassing. I awkwardly reach down to pick it up, and he smiles, sending me the message that he adores me. At least, that’s what I think he’s doing. Hope he’s doing. ‘I’m happy with how this new one’s coming along. I was playing around with adding a touch more amber. It’s such a fine line, though. One slight variation in colour, and the whole work changes. You know? The mood, the energy. I’m quite obsessed with it.’

  ‘That’s beautiful,’ he says. ‘A beautiful thing, to be that passionate about your work.’

  I blush, and hold tight to his compliment.

  ‘How ’bout you? Did you drop the film off okay?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And then what did you get up to?’ I ask, feeling so privileged to be sitting opposite him.

  Instead of answering me, he quickly asks, ‘Shall we order? I need to head back into the city for a meeting with my agent. I’m so sorry I can’t stay too long.’

  Oh no, he doesn’t want to stay long. Maybe he doesn’t like me? Has he invited me here to tell me that he just wants to be friends? Maybe that’s all we are anyway? I’ve built things up too much.

  ‘Yep, let’s order,’ I agree, hoping my facial expression isn’t exposing my paranoid thoughts.

  A waitress comes to our table and looks down at James. I can tell she thinks he’s hot.

  ‘What would you like, Joni?’ James asks me politely.

  ‘Um.’ Fuck. I can’t read. Too nervous. Each line of the menu is a blur.

  James waits patiently, then tells the waitress, ‘I’ll have the lentil burger with chips, thanks.’

  ‘Oh, me too,’ I say, and then worry that James will think I have no brain; I just copy what other people do.

  The waitress leaves us, and James answers my question. ‘So yeah, I dropped the film off. Thank you so much again for suggesting that room for the shoot, Joni.’

  We talk more about Harland, and I tell him all the funny things that happened at the summer staff dinner. And then I fill him in on Michael and Annabelle getting together on Sunday night, and how the whole thing was a bit awkward, but I don’t go into details.

  ‘So,’ he says with a smile, ‘I want to know more about you.’

  ‘And I want to know more about you.’ I relax, feeling reassured that he’s still into me.

  ‘How long have you lived in Balmain?’ he asks, pouring me a glass of water from the jug on the table.

  ‘About six months,’ I tell him, crossing my legs. ‘I like living here,’ I add. ‘What made you want to move back to Australia? Didn’t you like London?’

  ‘I love London,’ he says, filling up his own glass. ‘I moved over there ’cause I started getting work there, and I hated the long flights. I had some friends from Sydney living there as well, so I knew I wouldn’t feel lost in such a big city.’

  He smiles at me, and I wonder whether he might reach over and hold my hand, but he doesn’t.

  ‘The reason I moved back is because Mum’s pretty sick. As soon as I found out she wasn’t well, I came back to be with her.’

  ‘Oh no,’ I offer gently.

  ‘Mum’s…she’s…I have a really close relationship with her. She was already a bit disappointed when I told her I was moving over to London, just because we get on well, and enjoy each other’s company. I really love her.’

  ‘Oh, that’s so nice.’ I feel like I could fall in love with him, especially now that he’s telling me how much he loves his mum.

  ‘Yeah.’ He pauses, and looks down at the pot plant sitting beside the doorway into the café. ‘She has stomach cancer,’ he says, and I can tell it’s hard for him to talk about it.

  ‘Oh gosh, that’s awful. Is she undergoing treatment?’

  Our lentil burgers arrive, and James picks up a chip. I watch him put it in his mouth, and I feel all warm and fuzzy between my legs, yet so sad about his mum at the same time. And also bad for feeling turned on at such an inappropriate moment.

  ‘Yeah. She’s partway through chemo. That’s why I moved back. I wanted to be close to her while she was dealing with…It’s been pretty rough, but we still manage to laugh and talk about stupid things and…Dad’s been great.’

  I take a bite of my burger, and feel certain that I have tomato sauce all over my face, with iceberg lettuce stuck on. I wipe my mouth, and James gives me the most handsome smile.

  ‘Well, that’s really kind of you,’ I tell him. ‘Leaving your life in London so you could be here with your mum.’

  Then we both do some eating, as I think how beautiful it is that James—who obviously moved to London to develop his career as a photographer—moved back home to be by his mum’s side in a time of need. What a caring man.

  ‘She only has a few more months of chemo, and then…the doctors are saying she has a good chance, so hopefully she’ll be fine,’ he says before he takes another bite of his burger.

  At the same time as I feel honoured that James chose to open up to me about his mother, a sense of disappointment washes over me at the thought of him moving back to London in a few months.

  ‘So do you think—�
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  ‘You’re about to ask me if I’m going back to London, aren’t you?’ he says with a cheeky grin.

  I shrug, blushing.

  ‘I know you already, Joni. Well, not as well as I’d like to know you.’ We both laugh a little, and I lower my gaze to my half-eaten burger. ‘I’m having an exhibition here at the end of the year.’

  ‘Oh, great.’ I hope desperately that this will mean he’s not moving back to London any time soon.

  ‘I still travel quite a bit for work, but now that I’ve met you, and you live here,’ he says, with a flirtatious delivery, ‘I’d like to hang out with you some more.’

  ‘That sounds good. I’d like to hang out more with you too,’ I confess, returning his mischievous gaze.

  I cannot believe this is happening!

  We talk some more, and finish our burgers. He tells me he’s planning to gather together a bunch of his portraits for his upcoming exhibition, and that he’d love me to visit his studio at The Rocks and have a look through them. They’re all pretty large format, and he has a large darkroom, hence his big studio space.

  ‘And I’d still love to come and see some of your paintings,’ he tells me, moving his dark-brown hair out of his eyes with a gentle swipe of his hand.

  ‘Well…’ I fall into a wide grin. ‘My studio space is a corner. In my tiny bungalow.’

  We both laugh.

  ‘I’m sure it’s beautiful.’ He stares into my eyes for a long time.

  I break the silence at last. ‘Are you still coming to the dinner at Harland tomorrow night?’

  ‘Of course,’ he tells me, signalling the waitress over, and handing her cash for our meals.

  ‘Oh, let me get it,’ I offer.

  ‘You can get the next one.’

  Knowing that he wants there to be more James and Joni lunch dates gives me the courage to ask, ‘Would you like to come over to my place tomorrow so I can show you some of my paintings?’

  ‘I’d love to, Joni.’ He licks his lips with such understated sensuality that I almost pass out.

  I pull myself together. ‘Maybe four? Does that sound okay? Then we can go to the dinner together.’

  ‘It’s a date,’ he tells me.

  Then he reaches into his bag and pulls out a worn diary. I tell him my address, watching the way his hand moves fluidly across the page as he writes it down. We both stand, and he apologises for needing to leave after such a short time.

  ‘That was really nice,’ I tell him.

  He puts his arms around me, and I feel very certain that, when we let go of our embrace, we’ll kiss. But no! We don’t. This is killing me.

  ‘So, four o’clock tomorrow. I really look forward to it, Joni. You’re…I’m so glad I met you.’

  ‘I feel the same.’

  We say goodbye, and I slowly walk away, unable to wipe the smile from my face. As I take a left off Darling Street, I turn my head back towards Café Blue, and catch James climbing onto a bus headed for the city. To me, his catching a bus is even more charming and alluring than a man in a convertible sports car or a boy on a motorbike. And besides, he lives on a boat.

  When I get back to my bungalow, I potter and paint and lie on the couch, staring up at the wooden-slat ceiling for what would probably be described as an unhealthy amount of time. But I feel overwhelmed by the major crush I’ve developed on James. He is so dreamy. I am falling for him in such a big way. Hugely and madly. This is so new for me.

  At around six I put the kettle on, make a cup of tea, and cosy up close to the heater. It’s Tuesday—one of my nights off from working at Harland—so I do my usual, and watch a re-run of The Golden Girls. I to and fro between laughing out loud and feeling like a loser for watching such a lightweight show. Then I suddenly panic at the state of my bungalow.

  I do a little tidying up, make myself some dinner, and go to bed gazing out through the little box window at the leaves of the gum tree. Tomorrow he’s coming here! I—cannot—believe—it!

  25

  The morning drags, like the long drags Lucy takes on her cigarettes, but in slow motion, and on loop. I can’t quite concentrate on getting work done, so I continue with the aimless pottering, while my mind carries on imagining how amazing it’s going to be having James here. I go through a few outfit options in my head, pull a few clothes from my rack, then decide that I won’t wear a dress. I rearrange the glasses and mugs in my cupboard, clean my bathroom, tidy my clothes rack, neaten my bookshelf, make a vegie soup, and sit out on my verandah.

  The day finally makes its way into the afternoon. As I’m checking the clock, noting that it’s just after three, Annabelle shows up. I forgot she was coming over to pick up her guitar, but I’m so happy to see her. I serve her up some soup, and we sit together at the table as she devours it. I fill her in on my lunch date with James yesterday. She’s excited for me, as I knew she would be.

  ‘He’s coming over soon,’ I finally tell her.

  ‘What! Here?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Oh my god! Do you want me to go, or…’

  ‘No, stay, stay. I’m really nervous about him being here. It’ll help having you here too.’

  ‘I’ll stay for a bit, but then I’ll leave, yeah?’

  ‘Um…yeah. Do I look okay? Is this outfit alright?’

  Annabelle looks over my light blue jeans and baggy white T-shirt.

  ‘Joni, you look great. Always.’

  We move over to the couch and sit together, enjoying each other’s company.

  ‘I saw Rebecca on my way in,’ Annabelle says. ‘Sitting on her back porch. She’s so pretty.’

  ‘I know. She’s quite perfect, isn’t she? And she’s so in love with Peter. They’re like my mentor couple.’

  ‘Yeah, I get that.’

  Annabelle and I chat about Jung’s personality types. About our favourite scene in Pulp Fiction, and why. And whether Annabelle should dye her hair black, which gets a definite no from me. We break out into a fit of laughter after she apologises for her loud sex, then we make a bet on whether James and I do it tonight. Twenty dollars. I say no, she says yes.

  Before we know it, we hear the crackle of feet walking over the leaves on the lawn. I look at Annabelle, who pulls a hilariously goofy face: her jaw drops, her eyes widen, and her eyebrows rise higher than I’ve ever seen them go. My fear melts and I burst out laughing, trying desperately to be as quiet as a mouse.

  Next thing we know, James appears in the doorway. He’s holding a cardboard box full of oranges.

  ‘Hi,’ he says, placing the box down on the doormat. We hug awkwardly, and I savour every second of our clothed bodies touching. His black loose-knit jumper, soft against my white T-shirt, his jeans-covered thighs hard up against mine. My cheek rests on his shoulder for a brief moment, and his beat-up leather jacket feels cold against my skin. We pull back from our embrace.

  ‘I bought these oranges at the market yesterday. I thought you might like some. I have another box in my car. They’re amazingly sweet.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I say, thinking how adorable he is for bringing me oranges. He picks up the box and hands it to me. Our fingers touch, causing my heart to race as I carry it over to the kitchen table.

  ‘Hi Annabelle,’ James says politely.

  ‘Hi James. Thanks so much for taking the photos the other night, and sorry I was…I’d had way too much to drink.’

  ‘Oh, no worries. I think the photos are going to come up really well. What a great room Joni suggested for the shoot, hey,’ James says. Then he takes in my bungalow.

  I watch his gentle eyes look at my crammed bookshelf, the half-finished painting that rests on my easel, my record player, and records leaning against the left-hand speaker, my messy clothes rack with my colourful collection of scarves and secondhand dresses, and the straw hats that hang on each end. His gaze follows the ladder steps up towards my bed on the mezzanine.

  Finally he turns to me. ‘I love your place, Joni. I love all your things.�
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  ‘Thanks,’ I tell him, blushing.

  I can’t handle it. The welcoming chitchat that I normally offer up when someone enters my bungalow is unable to find its way from my brain to my mouth. I’m speechless. All I can do is stare into his eyes, and he’s staring back at me.

  ‘Would you like a tea? Coffee?’ I finally ask him, fidgeting and playing with my fingers, then tucking both hands in the front pockets of my jeans.

  ‘Tea would be really nice.’ He follows me as I move over towards the kettle on the kitchen bench. ‘Just tea with milk, if you have it?’

  Annabelle picks up a book and pretends she’s reading, popping her head up and glancing at us every now and then. After I make James and myself a cup of tea, we stand in the kitchen, and he tells me all about his older sister, Jenny. How she’s travelling in Spain, and has become obsessed with flamenco dancing.

  ‘She’s learning Spanish, and working in a bar. She was studying for her doctorate in political science, but last year she decided it’s not what she wants to do with her life. She’s been sending me letters from Madrid, and she sounds so, so much happier. I think it’s great she went over there. So many people hang onto these soulless jobs that they hate—the boring nine-to-five slog. I’ve never wanted that. That’s what I love about being a photographer. I travel—sometimes I’m on a shoot on the top of a building at midnight, other times I’ll be shooting in the desert.’

  I move in towards him, enjoying every word.

  ‘I’m much closer to Jenny than my younger sister Sophie. I’ve always looked up to Jenny. We have a similar…spark, I guess you’d call it. The same things make us tick.’

  ‘So you’re a middle child, hey,’ I ask him, thinking about my mum’s obsession with position in the family. I bring this up with James, and we agree that being an only child is probably the most fortunate position to be in.

  ‘I know,’ I tell him. ‘When I was little, and I was sick, I remember Mum and Dad both running to me, and smothering me with love and kisses and…Mornings would be me jumping into bed with them. I loved that. No other kids around. It was like I was friends with my parents, instead of being their kid.’