‘You would have been so cute when you were little,’ he says, locking his eyes with mine.
I sit up on the kitchen table, legs dangling off, in an attempt to hide my nervousness. I look over at Annabelle on the couch, and see her peering over the top of the book she’s ‘reading’. Her eyes shine as she catches me watching her, and I can tell she’s smiling behind the pages. James leans against the kitchen bench, telling me about his family. ‘Jenny, being the eldest, was always the first to do everything. She went overseas first, moved out of home first, broke a bone first…’
‘Have you broken anything?’
‘Ah, yeah, I was bucked off a horse on a family holiday, in a big paddock next to these falling-down stables.’
‘Jesus!’
‘I know, it’s like, a ye olde accident, isn’t it? Jenny had a crash on her motorbike around the same time, and now she has a really cool scar on her arm. Just there.’ He runs his finger diagonally across his forearm, then removes his leather jacket and places it softly on the table next to me. I move my eyes over his shoulders and chest, and then he catches me doing it, and I become terribly self-conscious. He smiles, as though he’s enjoying me checking him out.
‘So what did you break? Arm or leg?’
‘I broke my collarbone. Feel this.’ He touches his left collarbone. I hop off the table, walk closer to him, and run my fingers over his shoulder. I move my hand down a little lower, and find his collarbone.
‘Feel that bump?’ he asks.
I feel it.
‘Ouch!’ he says, making me jump. ‘It doesn’t really hurt,’ he adds quickly. ‘Sorry—I was joking. Oh no, you look worried.’
He holds onto my hand, the one that touched him, as if to physically demonstrate his apology. He squeezes it ever so gently, and I turn my palm slowly, until we are properly holding hands.
‘I really like you,’ he says quietly, coming closer.
I look to see if Annabelle’s watching—of course she is—then I look right into James. ‘I really like you too.’
‘Sorry about that stupid Ouch.’
‘It was funny. I’m sorry I jumped.’
We let go of each other’s hands and he asks if he can see some of my paintings.
‘Sure.’ I lead him over to my corner set-up.
‘I love this one,’ he says, standing in front of the painting I’m working on.
‘Oh, thanks. I think I was telling you the other night that the theme I’m exploring at the moment is portraying the energy and feelings felt or exchanged between two people.’ As I speak, I flash forward to working on a painting of me and him.
‘I love that as a concept.’ He glances at my open sketchbook. ‘Do you mind if I take a look?’
‘Of course. They’re just ideas I have floating around. I like to sketch things up at random times of the day. Well, some nights. Middle of the night, actually.’
James slowly looks over every inch of every page he turns. ‘These are beautiful,’ he tells me. ‘I love this one.’
He points to a sketch I did of the gum tree in the backyard, viewed from the box window just above my bed.
‘I’ve always been so in awe of people who can paint and draw,’ he says, shifting his eyes from my sketchbook to me. ‘I can’t draw to save my life.’
‘Yeah, but I bet your photographs are incredible. I’m hopeless with a camera.’
Before we’re able to go any further down the path of complimenting each other, Annabelle announces, ‘Well, I should get going, Joni.’
‘Oh yeah, yeah.’ I look over towards her as she picks up her guitar. ‘We’ll see you out the gate,’ I tell her, wondering if that’s awkward with James here, or normal, or whatever. ‘You wanna come?’ I ask him.
‘Sure,’ he says, ‘but can I look at more of your sketches when we come back inside?’’
‘Yeah, of course,’ I tell him.
James follows me, and the three of us make our way over the lawn. When we reach the gate, Annabelle puts her arm on my shoulder. ‘See ya, Joni.’
‘See you in a bit, at the dinner,’ I tell her, excited about rocking up to Harland with James.
‘Yes!’ she exclaims. ‘Can’t wait!’
I close the gate behind her and turn to look at James.
‘I never got you that tea. I’ll put the kettle on?’ I ask him, as we both walk slowly back towards my bungalow.
‘That sounds good.’
He puts his hand on my shoulder, and we turn towards each other, then come to a complete stop. Leaning in towards me, he lays a tender kiss on my lips. I kiss him back, feeling inexperienced. We hold hands, and walk up the stairs towards my front door. There’s a lightness to my step as I float into the kitchen and fill the kettle. Is this the beginning of my entering into boyfriend territory? For the first time in my life? I think it might be. Although I may be jumping the gun a little.
The kettle clangs as I place it on the hot plate. I look over at James, down on his knees, flipping through my record collection. He pulls out Slanted and Enchanted by Pavement.
‘Love this,’ he says. ‘Reminds me of when I lived in London. Oh my god, shooting in this crazy studio, and then one of the big light-stands fell over and missed me by about this much.’ He makes a funny face and a tiny pinch with his fingers, looking into the space between his forefinger and thumb. I laugh as I walk over to him.
He slowly gets up and comes towards me, meeting me halfway. His hands feel warm when I reach out for them. Then the sensation of his lips kissing mine for a second time unlocks the gate, and all of my worries are set free. They float up towards the sky, where they dissipate into nothingness, as a sense of contentment rolls in on the breeze.
26
We wander over to the art corner, teacups and saucers in hands, back to where we were before we saw Annabelle to the gate. James flips over another page in the sketchbook he’d been examining, and my milky tea splashes over the edge of the red saucer, onto the floorboards. I rub the sole of my Blundstone boot over it and James gives me a smile, as though approving of my bohemian method of cleaning up spills.
‘Wow, this one’s amazing,’ he tells me. I move in closer to him and look over his shoulder, as he affectionately runs his fingers down my arm. I bring my cup to my lips and take a sip.
‘Have you been here?’
‘Where?’
‘New York. That’s the Statue of Liberty isn’t it?’
‘Yes, it is. Um, yeah, about ten years ago I went on a trip with Mum and Dad. Well…Mum was going for her work. We didn’t travel all that much. We didn’t have much money. But Mum really wanted to visit all the big galleries—MoMA, the Guggenheim. She saved up for quite a few years.’
‘So how old were you?’
‘About eleven. I loved it. Dad had given me a little Instamatic camera, and I took photos of all the touristy things, like the Statue of Liberty. That’s why I sketched it. Not then. A few months ago. I kept all the photos from the trip—look, I have them in this box.’
I place my teacup and saucer on top of the messy shelf where I keep my paints and sketchbooks and art stuff, and pull out a small square cardboard box. I lift the lid and reveal multiple square-format photographs lying in an untidy pile, their corners poking out this way and that. The ones we can see on top are slightly out of focus, and their muted tones obviously appeal to James, because his face lights up.
‘Oh, I love these,’ he tells me.
‘Have a look through.’
James takes one out. ‘Is that your mum?’ he asks, looking at a photo of Mum standing in front of a yellow taxi in Manhattan.
‘Yeah. Look at what she’s wearing. She looks hilarious. That hair!’
James smiles. ‘She’s so pretty.’
He pulls out a few more photos.
‘Dad’s bookshop,’ I explain.
‘Wow, I didn’t know your dad owned a bookshop. Hang on, I know that one. Is that in Glebe?’
‘Yeah. It’s still there.’
‘I bought this incredible landscape photography book there a few years ago. Before I moved to London.’
‘Well, you’ve probably already met my dad then.’
We smile at each other, and James touches my arm again. He pulls out a few more photos.
‘What model camera is this?’ he asks. ‘I have the 100 and the X-15F.’
‘Oh, mine’s the…I have no idea what model mine is.’ I walk over to my bookcase in search of my Instamatic camera and find it nestled on top of my stack of second-hand children’s encyclopaedias.
‘Oh, it’s a 100,’ I tell James, touching the cold metal on the face of the camera with my fingertips. I play with the little black wrist strap attached to the side as fond memories fill my mind. I remember being a little girl, in my baby-blue parka, walking across the Brooklyn Bridge and listening to Dad’s history lesson on how the bridge was built. Its Neo-Gothic open truss design, the deaths involved during its construction et cetera. Oh, he went on and on, totally in his element, pointing here and there, trying to keep his voice one level higher than all the honking horns and trucks and traffic.
‘Here.’ I hand my camera over to James, and then I lean in further and kiss him.
This time we kiss for ages. Like a real proper pash, although that makes it sound throwaway. It is anything but. It makes me feel things I’ve never felt before, and it makes me want more. More James. More of his mind, and more, much more of his body. We stare into each other’s eyes.
‘A friend of mine had one of these,’ he tells me, refraining from taking our kiss to the next level. This is killing me.
‘Have it,’ I tell him, and this time I affectionately rub the palm of my hand up and down his forearm. I’m trying to send him the message: We can climb the stairs to my bed and roll around under the covers right now, if you want.
‘No…it’s yours,’ he tells me, as he leans in and kisses me. This time, he runs his fingers through my hair, and I put my hands around his waist. We pull apart, and I stare into his beautiful brown eyes.
He’s under my spell as much as I’m under his. We’re under each other’s. It’s equal. Equal infatuation. Equal adoration.
And then the phone rings and ruins everything.
‘Hang on,’ I tell him, holding his hand, backing towards the phone, until our arms are stretched out straight between us. I finally let go, so I can get to the phone.
‘Hello?’ I say.
‘Joni? Joni?’
‘Oh, hi Lucy.’ I look over to James, who is sifting through my box of old photographs. He pulls one out, examines it, and places it on the shelf.
‘I’ve already decorated Gatsby, so there’s no need…’
‘Oh sorry, I said I’d come and help set up.’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ she says sarcastically, as if she knew I’d forget.
I’m scared she’s going to tell me off, so I give her the important information. ‘James is here.’
‘Oh my god, Joni! Sorry. Am I interrupting? Sorry, love.’
‘No,’ I lie, and look over to James.
‘Well, you two should get your little tushes down here anyway. The dinner has officially started. Juliet’s here. Dave’s here.’
I glance up at the clock. ‘Oh shit, I didn’t realise the time. Okay,’ I look around my bungalow, and then down at what I’m wearing. ‘Sorry, Lucy. We’ll be there soon. Is there anything I can—’
‘Just tell your boyfriend the party’s started,’ she says playfully.
‘Lucy.’
‘What? He is your…’
‘He’s not my…’ I look over at James, fully aware that he’s able to hear everything I’m saying. Lucy and I share a long phone silence. I hear Dave singing loudly in the background, and Juliet carrying on with a super loud, over-the-top falsetto laugh.
‘Are you there?’ Lucy snaps.
‘Yeah, yeah, I’m here. We’ll be there soon. We’ll head off now.’
The sound of Lucy dramatically slamming the phone down makes me feel excited about heading to Harland. Ah, the drama and delicious decor. I love it.
I walk over towards James. ‘People are arriving for the staff dinner. Lucy wants us there. Are you okay if we go soon?’
‘Oh sure, yeah, that’s fine.’ James places the snapshots back in the box. ‘Where should I…’
‘I’ll put it away,’ I tell him, taking the box from his hands and sliding it back into its spot on the shelf. ‘I should get changed.’
‘Oh, go ahead.’
He pulls a book out of my bookshelf and sits on the couch reading the blurb on the back. I move over to my clothes rack and hunt through my dresses and coats
Where is it, where is it? Ah ha. I pull out my tight black dress, the one with small red rosebuds printed all over it. This is about as sexy as I go.
I take it over to the bathroom and close the door. I slide my jeans down, pull them over my ankles, and chuck them into the corner. I whip off my T-shirt and fling it on top of my crumpled jeans, slip into my dress and zip it up. Sheesh, this is tight!
Staring into the mirror, I pull a crazy face, an I-can’t-believe-this-is-happening-to-me face, followed by an I’m-relaxed-poised-and-calm face—even though that’s everything I’m not. I brush my hair, put on a little make-up—just foundation, eyeliner and some pink lip gloss.
Smothering sandalwood oil on my wrists and neck, I take one last look in the mirror, give myself the okay, and walk back out to James. ‘I’m ready when you are,’ I tell him.
He turns towards me as he gets up off the couch. ‘You look…gorgeous.’
I blush, and he takes my hands and kisses me on the lips. Another long one.
‘I’m just gonna grab a coat.’
I put on my black velvet coat with the tie around the waist, and do it up tight. Slipping into my gold Mary Janes, I suggest to James, ‘Shall we?’
‘After you,’ he says politely.
Keys? Check. Purse in pocket? Check. I walk out the front door and James follows close behind. I lock up and James asks, ‘We walking in?’
‘Let’s ride. I’ll give you a double.’
‘That sounds like fun,’ he tells me, reaffirming our compatibility. I love someone who’s up for doing things thirteen-year-old kids do.
I wheel my bike over towards the gate.
‘I’ll just get my camera,’ James says.
He opens the door on the passenger side of his car, and pulls out his camera. He hoists the strap over his shoulder and joins me up on the footpath.
‘Climb on,’ I tell him. ‘That metal rack on the back will hold you, don’t you think?’
‘I’m a lot heavier than you,’ he says, laughing.
‘Yeah, but I want to ride you in. You’re my guest.’
I look up into his adorable eyes, and he cradles my face in his hands. He stares right into me, and I know he can see everything: Joni as a child, Joni when she’s crying, Joni as a teenager, Joni when she’s daydreaming.
‘You’re beautiful.’ He gives me a kiss on my lips as the cool winter air dances between us.
‘On ya get,’ I tell him.
He climbs on the back, and I clumsily get on the seat. This dress is hopeless for riding a bike. It’s hitched right up and the whole world can probably see my underpants, but who cares? I’ve got James, and James has got me. He puts his arms around my waist, and I attempt to take off.
‘Shit!’ I’m wobbling all over the place, unable to take us anywhere.
We giggle and laugh and James starts to push his feet along the ground, giving us enough momentum to officially take off.
‘Wheee!’ he calls out. ‘Yay Joni, we can fly, we can fly,’ he says, and I laugh like crazy.
‘Stop it, I’ll crash!’
He holds tighter around my waist, and I bump down a driveway, onto the road, make a left onto Darling Street, and let the hill take us. Past the Emerald, along the bitumen road, on our way to Harland.
James moves one of his hands from my waist
down onto my bare thigh. I suddenly feel hot and dizzy, and scared I’ll wobble the handlebars and lead us into a disastrous collision. Then I pull myself together and cry out, ‘You wanna stay over tonight?’
‘What?’ James calls out, bringing his arm back up around my waist.
‘Do you want to stay over tonight?’ I repeat, as the sandstone cottages flash past us.
‘Joni, that would be…’
‘What?’ I call out, unable to hear what he’s saying.
‘Yes! Yes!’ he yells at the top of his lungs.
I take my left hand off the handlebars and hold onto his hands, wrapped around my tummy. He puts one of his hands on top of mine, the other underneath, making a little hand sandwich.
This is the best day of my life. This is the best day of my life.
We sink down into the valley and, before I even attempt to pedal uphill, I make the call. ‘Okay, we ain’t gonna be—’
The bike wobbles and we both fall off.
‘Ouuuch,’ I call out in between bursts of laughter. ‘My knee. Owwy.’
‘Oh Joni, you’ve grazed it,’ James says, through his giggles.
‘It’s okay, it’s okay,’ I tell him, pulling my dress down, and giving my knee a quick wipe as our laughing fit continues.
I take hold of the handlebars and we pull ourselves together and walk up the hill. James puts his arm around my shoulder, and I tilt my head and nestle into his chest, still managing to wheel my bike. When we get to the top, there’s Harland, with a big sign on the front door: private function.
‘Come on,’ I tell James. ‘This way.’
I lead him down the side path, and rest my bike against the shed. I place my cold hand in his, and give him a quick kiss on his lips. Together we climb the stairs to the verandah, and walk in through the back door.
27
The sound of Josephine Baker’s voice on the stereo weaves its way through the cozy Bar Room. I head for the hatstand in the corner, and James follows. We remove our coats, and I hang them both, James giving me a quick ‘Thanks’, along with a little kiss on my lips.
I lead him by the hand over towards the hallway. Dave, wearing a red flannelette shirt over blue jeans, bounces past Lillibon, heading straight towards us. His greeting, as always, is sprightly.
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