After pizzas and no washing up, the make-up queen takes out every colour of lipstick imaginable. She spreads them all out on the lounge-room table. We have a deep discussion about our favourite colours. Mum puts on purple lipstick. ‘Not good, Mum.’ Angie and I put our hands in front of our faces, blocking out the sight. I try on orange lipstick and come out like a ghoul, but Angie lines her lips with hot pink and comes across as delicious.
‘I’m looking forward to the school concert.’ Mum smacks her purple lips. Angie giggles.
‘Some of the singing is tragic.’ I give Angie a knowing stare. ‘On the night they could all fall into a heap or sing out of tune, or get mass hysteria.’
Mum starts laughing. ‘And the roof could fall in and an earthquake could swallow you all up.’
‘Very unfunny, Mum.’
‘It’ll be a great night—and the premiere of Not Perfect.’ Mum fiddles with the lipsticks, checking out more colours.
Not Perfect. That name had better not be an omen. Imagine being like Loser Trash at Rockfest? We’ve got to be perfect.
Mum gets up. ‘Better get back to my work for college. So I’ll leave you girls to have fun without me.’
‘We couldn’t do that,’ I hug Mum, ‘but we’ll try.’
Angie carries her cosmetic bag down to the basement, then fiddles with the CD player. She puts on the Beatles. ‘A break from Insomniac Road. Please?’ Angie presses her hands together like she’s praying.
‘Just don’t get down on your knees and beg,’ I sing ‘Hey, Jude’ along with Angie and the Beatles. I like old music too. The Beatles’ songs are classics, but I can’t admit that to Angie.
We make ourselves comfortable on the big cushions. Angie lays out hair dyes and make-up on trays like in a beauty salon. ‘Hair first.’ She holds up different colours. ‘I’m doing green streaks.’
What a surprise. ‘To match your green eyes.’ She smiles. ‘Pink for me.’
Then it’s a mass of creams, shampoos and foams as our heads turn into strange-looking meringue puffs. Angie does my hair, then I do hers. We put on a DVD. Angie’s brought over Dirty Dancing. She’s into old movies and romance and the girl-guy thing. Dirty Dancing plays while our hair turns green and pink. We end up dancing and singing ‘Hungry Eyes’, pretending to be femmes fatales. We’re laughing so hard we collapse on the cushions.
‘Hair, hair,’ I yell as foam hits the cushions. Saved by quick thinking, I rush to get a wet towel and wipe off the sticky foam. We pause Dirty Dancing, shower and condition our hair until we look like drowned puppies. Angie produces a hair dryer, of course. Angie’s hair takes forever to dry, since it’s so long, but she looks beautiful. I refuse to be jealous. Green highlights sparkle as she swirls around, with her dark hair spreading out like exotic feathers.
My turn. Angie fluffs my brown and pink hair into soft, messy curls. ‘You look fantastic, Pip.’
I glance into in the mirror and scrunch up my face. ‘I’m more like Not Perfect.’
Angie turns Dirty Dancing on again and starts dancing around. ‘No, no, you’re perfect.’ I raise my eyebrows, but Angie can’t be persuaded. ‘Perfect,’ she announces as she unloads more of the cargo from her magic cosmetic bag.
Angie’s in charge of dyeing eyebrows, curling eyelashes and splashing star dust on eyelids. We’re falling over each other in fits as the curler gets stuck on my eyelash. It has to be my eyelash, of course. As we test every shade of colour in Angie’s make-up collection, we decide that we’re guy magnets.
By the time Dirty Dancing has ended, so have we. ‘We’re fantastic.’ I flick my hair, then Angie’s. I grab her hand and pull her behind me up the stairs. ‘Let’s show Mum.’ Mum is startled as we prance into the lounge room. ‘Are we gorgeous or what?’
‘Definitely gorgeous.’ She gets up. ‘But being beauty queens is thirsty work.’ She pours lemonade into glasses and we gulp it down, leaving smudges of lipstick on the rims.
I fossick through the pantry and discover my favourite shortbread biscuits. My diet’s definitely forgotten tonight. ‘Can we have some of these, Mum?’
‘Who else would they be for but gorgeous girls?’
‘A bit over-the-top, Mum.’ I kiss her and leave an orange splodge on her cheek.
We carry lemonade and biscuits back to the basement. ‘My turn, Angie.’ I put on Passages of Living and Dying. We get comfortable again, sitting on the carpet with cushions underneath us, eating the shortbread biscuits, working out the dance steps in Dirty Dancing.
It’s time. I have to bring up Eddie. ‘I know why you love that film. It’s the romance, isn’t it?’
‘It might be.’
‘Romance is great. Until it’s serious.’ I take a breath. I have to confront Angie. ‘There are lots of boys who like you. Who wouldn’t?’
‘I don’t know about that.’
‘I do.’ I lean forward. ‘I know you like Eddie.’ Angie starts protesting. ‘Hey, don’t. Just listen to this for a minute. He likes you too. But if you go out with Eddie, it’ll only be for a while. You’ll have fun, but then you’ll break up. When you do, you and I will break up too.’
Angie’s eyes are greener than ever. She shakes her head. ‘That won’t happen.’
‘That’s the way it works.’ I fiddle with the loops of the carpet. ‘Think about it. Don’t say anything now. It’s just that I want us to be friends forever, even when we have boyfriends, lose boyfriends, leave school, travel, whatever we do.’
We’re both silent for a while. Then Angie puts her arm around my shoulder. ‘I want that too.’
Angie’s dad whistles when he comes to collect her. ‘Rainbow girls.’ He puts on a blue woolly hat he’s found lying on the back seat of his car. ‘I’ll join you.’ Mum races in to get a flowery sunhat.
‘Dad, you’re so embarrassing.’ Angie pushes him out of the door.
‘What about my mother?’ I yell after her.
After Angie leaves she calls me, twenty times. ‘What should I do? Eddie. Me. Eddie. Me.’ The Eddie—Angie saga continues all night. I’m falling asleep on the phone. Eventually I put the phone on silent. I have to sleep.
The next day the school looks like a crazy zoo, with everyone in different clothes. I’m wearing the jeans I bought with Dad’s birthday voucher. Hair is every shade of pink, green, blue, yellow. Where girls haven’t dyed their hair, bright ribbons are flowing. Money pours into the leukaemia fund and the Principal congratulates everyone at assembly.
The assembly is a short break from the other form of insanity sweeping through the school. It’s concert mania. There are arguments between the arrangers, conflict over control, walk-outs by performers, dress-code dramas, teachers shouting or comforting or saving the day, and the occasional moments of success and group bonding. Music clashes through rooms and corridors. It’s an emotional zoo, as dress rehearsals compete for space. Mr Connelly is running around trying to save every disaster, like he always does. ‘Why do I do this every year?’ he moans. ‘Every year.’
‘Because you love it, Mr Connelly,’ we shout at him.
‘Sure.’ He rushes off to deal with another crisis.
Karen and I finally have our concert arrangements perfect, or near perfect—or Not Perfect.
‘We’re as ready as we’re going to be,’ I confess to Irina as we take a few minutes’ break. ‘How’s the memorial going?’
‘I was wondering…’ Irina hesitates. ‘There’s a party after the memorial service in the hall near the synagogue. A Russian party. There’ll be a lot of food and noise. It’ll be different, so you mightn’t like it. Do you want to go there with me after the service? Only if you want to.’
‘As if I wouldn’t.’
‘Do you think I should ask Angie and Karen if they’d like to come?’
What a good idea. I’ve been avoiding the topic all week. It’s called lying by omission. ‘Definitely invite them. They’ll be really hurt if you don’t, to be honest.’
‘Really? Is it t
oo late to ask?’
‘No. It’ll be too late once it’s over.’
Irina tries to explain why she didn’t ask them earlier, tries to make excuses, until I have to stop her. ‘Hey, hey. Just ask them.’
The Eddie—Angie saga is at the next stage of development. Every time Angie sees me she wants to talk about it. She’s got our attention at lunchtime. Eddie. No Eddie. Girlfriends or boyfriends. I don’t want to hear about it any more. If I hear one more word about it, I’ll explode. ‘Let’s talk this afternoon, Angie. At the Not Perfect practice.’ Angie wants to go on, but I run away into Mr Connelly’s office to deal with more concert dramas. Groan.
I’m so tired by the afternoon. Angie’s waiting for me in our Music Home Room. I give our Not Perfect sign a pat before I face Angie. I listen. She’s done a lot of soul searching. She’s going to make a sacrifice for us, her girlfriends. Eddie’s not going to be the next love of her life.
I’m relieved. Really relieved. It’d be too hard going to Breakers. Everything would be a disaster if Eddie and Angie got together. ‘You’re doing the right thing,’ I promise her.
‘Are you sure, Pip?’
‘Yes.’ I look at Angie. Suddenly I feel warm and grateful. I hug her. ‘Thank you. Thank you.’
Karen and Irina arrive. Tonight’s the night. We’re asking the parents about the Breakers Festival. No excuses will be accepted. Parents are to be imprisoned if they don’t let us go. We’ve got Eddie. The big weapon. ‘Let’s have a practice run.’ I nervously laugh. ‘No, come on. The trial run, before the final.’
Karen gets into it. She thinks it’s seriously funny, as she puts on a Russian accent. ‘How will you get the food? You need cake, cake, cake.’ (Irina’s mother.)
Her voice changes into a little squeaky sound. ‘You’ll ask your father, won’t you?’ (Karen’s mother.)
I pretend to be worried. Actually I am worried. ‘Can Eddie’s car make it?’ (My mum.)
Irina’s voice becomes thick. ‘You’ll take your piano music? To study at night?’ (Irina’s father.)
Angie’s laughing. ‘No boys.’ (Angie’s dad.)
Karen strides across the room. ‘Of course there is no underage drinking allowed.’ (Karen’s father.)
All of us shout together. ‘Is it safe?’ (All parents.)
‘Safe? Of course it’s safe. There’s Eddie. Eddie the security guard.’ I display the muscles in my arms. Not that I have many.
‘We’re going to Breakers and that’s it.’ We sing out, ‘We’re going. Going. Going.’
I grab my guitar. Angie gets hers. Karen is standing in the middle of the room. ‘Let’s play.’
Irina gives the drum beat. Karen leaps forward with her hair flying. Angie copies her. Then I do and we’re a rock band, rocking and jumping and playing and letting go.
Nothing’s going through my mind,
I don’t care about anything,
I just wanna have fun
I’m gonna go out and just do my thing.
Not Perfect sounds good. Really good.
Chapter Eighteen
Eddie’s throwing basketballs into the back-yard ring. I clap when he gets one in. He gives me the thumbs up. We throw a few balls and then I bring up Angie. He didn’t even realise that he was targeted as the next serious love of Angie’s life. His head swells. ‘I’m in demand.’
I throw the ball at his head. He laughs. ‘No, Eddie. You’re not. Angie’s dumped you before it’s started.’
He winks at me. He throws a last ball into the hoop before we head inside.
‘Good one,’ I tell him. I can see why girls like him. He’s got no permanent girlfriend at the moment, which is a great break for all of us. Including Eddie. These days he’s more interested in his car and his guitar. He’s been under his vintage automobile every weekend. It’s a Falcon, he advises me and I’m not allowed to call it vintage any more. He’s realised I’ve been sending the car up. So Falcon, it is. It had better not break down on the way up to Breakers. He’s been practising his guitar every day. It’s pretty desperate, but he is improving. In tiny steps. Mum actually sits and listens to him play. ‘Sounding good, Eddie.’ Mum has to be wearing ear plugs.
Mum’s persecuting me about counselling again. My stomach sinks. She’s talking too fast. ‘Your appointment is Friday afternoon, Pip. It’s for an hour. Eddie can pick you up from school early, then you can drive in together.’
‘Great, Mum.’ I don’t want to go. I don’t want to go. Tension descends like a fog. Dad descends like a fog. We stand there, not speaking.
Then Eddie bounds in, blowing the fog away. Just like that. He holds up his guitar. ‘Listen to how good I am.’ I can’t help smiling. Mum slips a look at me and smiles too. He’s not good. He’s Eddie. ‘Get your guitar, Pip.’ I don’t move. ‘Come on.’ He does a slide onto his knees.
I can’t help laughing. ‘Okay, okay, Eddie.’ I get my guitar.
Mum settles into the lounge with a cup of coffee. Eddie gives me the nod and we play and Eddie slides again until I’m shouting at him. The room fills with music. Eddie nudges me, then bends his head towards Mum, blowing her a kiss. I get the message. I nod at him and we start playing KISS. Mum’s eyes light up. Her feet tap and she’s swinging with the beat. She knows all the words. I don’t, but we sing ‘I Was Made for Lovin’ You’. Eddie joins in and it’s awful, but who cares? Mum and I just sing louder.
I’m humming as Mum jumps up. ‘I have to get something.’ She dances across the floor and comes back with her under-the-bed shoebox.
Eddie does a loud strum. ‘Groupie coming. Groupie coming.’ The afternoon becomes KISS and hot chocolate and Mum’s shoebox and music and us. I blow on the hot chocolate. Eddie collapses in a chair. Mum’s happy. I am too.
It feels the right time to ask. I think Mum will be all right about it. I put my cup down, try to be casual, as I bring up the Breakers Festival—the camping, the bands, the music. Mum listens quietly, but I see her eyes. There’s a look. Mum’s clever. She knows about Breakers. About music. She knows about me.
‘Do you want to go, Pip? Eddie?’
‘Yes, Mum.’
‘I want you to go too.’ She touches her shoebox.
The parents have to discuss every detail of the Breakers Festival. Safety. Arrangements. Talk, talk, talk. Talk, talk, talk. ‘Yes, they’ll be careful. Yes, Eddie will be there. No under-age drinking. Lots of security. Yes, yes, yes. The girls will be safe.’
Not Perfect plays the perfect game. Success. Final score. Girl Team—four (plus Eddie), Parent Team—nil.
I jump all over Eddie until he grabs my arms and grounds me. He’s laughing. ‘I didn’t know you loved my Falcon so much.’
‘I do. I do.’ So Eddie is officially the driver of Not Perfect to the Breakers Festival. And we’re officially all going.
It’s Friday afternoon. Eddie’s and my turn for counselling. A miracle is supposed to occur, leading to the climax, the big event. That’s when all of us go to a family session. Wow, gee whiz, what a thrill, can’t wait.
Eddie’s hanging out for me in his car. I get in and slam the door shut. ‘Hey, careful, Pip.’
We arrive at the Community Health Centre. It’s one of those old, run-down government buildings. Bad sign. We eventually find the waiting room after working our way through a rabbit warren of corridors. Bad sign. In the waiting room we sit on a brown vinyl lounge that sticks to my legs. Bad sign.
Eddie wipes his face. He’s flushed and perspiring.
‘Hey, it’s going to be okay,’ I lie. ‘It’s only counselling.’
‘I’m fine about it.’ In the back of Eddie’s mind, I know he’s thinking the counsellor is a secret agent for Dad. I do as well. Will it be a brainwashing session? Mum has weakened since her counselling started. She’s started to forgive Dad. ‘I can’t do better at school, Pip. Not at English, that’s for sure. Technical Drawing and Woodwork, they’re the subjects I can do.’ Eddie pretends to flick through one of the dated mag
azines on the table. ‘I’m not like you. Not smart enough.’
‘As if that’s true.’ Suddenly I want to cry. I just do. ‘I can’t fix up a car. Don’t even know what a dipstick is. Is it for oil or something?’
Eddie rubs his head. He can’t believe I’m that ignorant. Secretly, I’m not. ‘You’ll know when you get a car and it runs out of oil. The engine will explode.’ That’s all the encouragement he needs to start talking about his favourite topic. His Falcon and the work he’s doing to make it super special. Mag wheels, carburettor, racing cams, shaved head. Normally I’d change the subject or ignore him, but not now. I just sit and listen. I think of Mum. She doesn’t wear earplugs. I don’t want to either.
Our names are called. ‘Hi, I’m Leanne.’ Leanne extends her hand. She’s dressed in blue jeans and a flowery top. As we follow her into her office she turns and asks, ‘Do you want a lemonade or cola?’
‘Lemonade.’ Eddie gives me a muddy glance.
‘Diet cola?’ She smiles at me.
How does she know that’s what I drink? I don’t trust her. ‘Sure.’
The hour starts. In the beginning we’re silent. This angry feeling keeps spurting into my head. We drink, look at our feet, listen. Leanne chats.
Gradually something strange happens. Bit by bit, we join in. We don’t talk about anything, really. Just music, cars, movies, Not Perfect. Eddie takes a third can of lemonade. Greedy Eddie. I stare at him. No response. Then I kick his foot.
‘What?’ He stares back at me.
Leanne smiles at me and the session is over. I glance at my watch. I can’t believe it’s really been an hour.
‘So do you want to come at the same time next week?’
That's Why I Wrote This Song Page 19