Queen Kat, Carmel and St Jude Get a Life

by Maureen McCarthy

  ‘Well, I’d love to come,’ I said quietly. Katerina’s smile brightened as she turned to Jude.

  ‘I’ll be there, too,’ Jude said. ‘Er, what kind of party is it? Do we wear our glad rags or what?’

  ‘Oh sure!’ Katerina laughed. ‘Wear all your glad rags if you like. Or none if you don’t like!’

  We laughed. She gave us a cheerful wave and was gone.

  Jude and I didn’t talk about the invitation. But I think she was pondering it too. I don’t think either of us could quite work out how we felt about it. I know I was excited and troubled at the same time.

  ‘Feel like a walk?’ I said. It was a nice day and I had been looking forward to exploring; to walking down past the university to the city proper and then on to the botanic gardens.

  ‘I’d love one,’ Jude said, screwing up her nose wistfully, ‘but I’ve got too much study to do.’

  ‘Okay.’

  I took off on my own, a little depressed. Jude was a terrific friend, but her answer had highlighted the differences between us. She studied hard as well as taking an interest in everything around her. She had long-term plans as well as short-term interests. I was simply treading water. I could see no clear path ahead of me, except the one I dreaded most and tried not to think about: back to Manella, in disgrace.

  THERE DIDN’T SEEM TO BE ANYONE AT HOME when I let myself in the Tuesday before Easter. I took a deep breath and bounded down the hall. Jude might be out the back putting clothes on the line or something. I wanted to tell her what I’d seen at the art gallery. I stopped dead in the kitchen. There was a large, official-looking yellow envelope propped up on the kitchen table with my name in neat type across the front. My hands trembled as I picked it up and saw the university’s insignia printed in one top corner. My stomach gave a sudden terrible lurch.

  The craziest thoughts went through my mind as I tentatively picked it up and opened it with a knife. I was going to be disgraced. They would tell my parents for sure. I couldn’t, I wouldn’t, go back to Manella. Anger burst inside me as I began to read.

  Dear Ms McCaffrey,

  It has come to our attention that you have not been attending classes and that your work requirements have not been met. Could you please contact this office to explain the situation at the earliest opportunity. Trained counsellors are available if you are having any personal difficulties . . .

  Personal difficulties! Tears sprang into my eyes. What did that mean? It would probably only apply when someone close to you had died, or you’d been in a serious car accident, or something like that. Just feeling awful wouldn’t constitute ‘personal difficulties’, would it? Nor would feeling fat and awkward and utterly hopeless most of the time. I slumped miserably onto a chair and sobbed, not knowing what to do. Strange that over the last few weeks I’d often felt sharp pangs of homesickness, yet I desperately didn’t want to have to go home. Whenever I’d had vague feelings that perhaps I’d better come clean, tell everyone that the course had been a mistake, that I’d better go home, one of Mum’s letters would arrive just in time. Terse little notes about the weather and the twins’ school reports and the chooks that had been taken by a fox the night before. She’d usually end on something like the price of lambs . . . and that she hoped I was working hard. And I’d think, Oh God, no, no. I just can’t!

  The weeks had been sliding by and the money was running out. Vince had written to me with a few contacts to follow up about part-time jobs, but I hadn’t done anything about it. The thought of working terrified me even more than going back to class. How would I be able to give change in a shop? I was hopeless at arithmetic. I would never be able to pull a beer or make milkshakes. My parents were right. I’d never worked before. I was too vague and clumsy. Tears poured from my eyes. There was nothing for it. I would have to go home.

  Jude found me blubbering at the kitchen table. She’d been out the back, clearing through all the rubbish in the little shed at the bottom of the yard, and had come in to find the dustpan and brush. She had a scarf around her head and was dusty, hot and bothered.

  ‘Carmel! What’s up?’

  I looked up. I suppose my eyes were red raw. I knew my face would be blotched. I didn’t care. She sat down next to me and waited. It didn’t take me long to spill out the whole sorry story, because she didn’t interrupt or even act surprised. I told her everything. Missing my classes, the addiction to trying on clothes, the shoplifting, the food I used to gorge myself on, my sneaking belief that I would never be able to find a place for myself in this world. She smiled every now and again, but on the whole she just looked thoughtful until I finished talking.

  ‘So what can we do?’ she said after we’d spent a few moments in dreary silence. I can’t tell you what it was like hearing her say we. It made me feel better at once. But I was ashamed that I’d more or less lied to her for weeks.

  ‘Sorry about not being straight with you, Jude,’ I said. ‘I mean, this will probably sound crazy, but I kept thinking I’d go back to uni. Telling myself every day that I’d go back tomorrow. But the time has sort of flown by and . . .’

  She shrugged off my apology with a smile.

  ‘That doesn’t matter, Carmel. What matters is what will happen next.’

  ‘Well, I guess I’ll have to go home and . . .’

  ‘No way!’ she said. ‘I won’t allow it.’

  ‘But Jude, my money is running out. I’ve been a complete . . .’ She held up her hand like a traffic cop.

  ‘They’ll cut off my student allowance, for sure,’ I sniffed.

  ‘You have to get a job, that’s all,’ she said, ‘a job that will give you enough to live on . . .’

  ‘But I can’t go on lying to my parents and my brother . . . and . . .’ ‘Why not?’ she grinned. ‘Just for a bit longer you can, until you find your feet.’

  ‘My feet?’ I said bitterly, lifting one of my large sweaty ones onto the table, ‘my feet are the bloody easiest part of me to find.’ She laughed and slapped my leg, and I put it down.

  ‘Did you go to the gallery?’ she asked.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Did you see the Bonnard and the Renoir?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What did you think?’

  ‘I loved seeing them,’ I sighed.

  ‘See, I told you,’ she teased. ‘Listen, there’s a cafe where all the Chileans hang out. I heard the owner say that he’d be needing someone for a while. His wife has gone overseas. Want to come down and see if we can get you a job there?’

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘Waitressing, I dunno,’ she shrugged. ‘I know the guy who owns it. He might have a few ideas.’

  ‘But I’m not, you know, Chilean. And I can’t speak Spanish.’ ‘That won’t matter,’ she said.

  ‘I haven’t had any experience,’ I said. ‘I mean waitressing.’

  She shrugged as though that wouldn’t matter either and smiled. ‘And look, when you get a job, how about helping me in your spare time instead of hanging out in Myer?’

  ‘Help you?’ I said puzzled. ‘Sure. But what with?’

  ‘I’m coordinator of the protest. There’s an amazing amount of work to do and those lazy bastards have put me in charge.’ ‘What protest?’

  ‘Didn’t I tell you? The Chilean president is coming here in June. We’re going to make sure that he gets to know that we don’t approve of what’s going on over there.’

  I nodded. Jude had talked a lot about Chile over recent weeks. I was starting to find it interesting. She’d given me a few books and a couple of pamphlets, and I’d surprised myself by reading them all. Many people had died in the seventies. When the military coup happened in 1973, thousands had been rounded up and incarcerated in the city’s huge football stadium. Some were held without being charged for months, her father among them. Many were tortured, others killed. Most had simply been students and teachers, ordinary people who happened not to agree with the military takeover. But very few of the former torturers a
nd corrupt police of the old regime had been tried or gaoled for what they’d done. In fact, many of them were still in positions of power. There were small pressure groups around the world trying to bring them to justice. Jude, of course, saw herself as part of it because her father had been one of the people who’d died. The present government was trying to forget about the promises it had made to bring these people to justice. It wanted to forget all about the people who’d died and disappeared during that time.

  ‘I’ll help in any way I can,’ I said tentatively. Jude held out her hand and I slapped it with my own.

  ‘So, how do you go about organising a . . . er, a protest?’ I asked, really interested. ‘Who invited the president here anyway?’

  Jude shrugged. ‘Oh, the Australian government. It’s a trade thing. I’m going to use the back shed out there to store stuff. This guy Joe will be around later with a computer. I told him to come through the back gate. We’re going to set up a desk out there, with a computer and printer . . .’

  ‘But what about your study?’ I asked. ‘Are you going to go on with your own course?’ I was afraid that there might be two of us, two drop-outs in the house at the same time. It seemed much worse than one.

  ‘Of course I am,’ she grinned, ‘but come on. Let’s get down to Juan’s and see if we can get you a job!’ At that moment we heard a key turn in the front door.

  ‘That will be Katerina,’ I said.

  ‘Listen, Carmel,’ Jude leant forward and lowered her voice, ‘don’t say anything to Katerina about me using the back room, eh?’

  ‘But won’t she see?’

  ‘She never goes out there. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.’

  ‘Okay,’ I agreed, ‘I won’t say a word.’

  Katerina bustled into the room, loaded up with shopping.

  ‘Hi there!’ she smiled at us and dumped her packages onto the table. ‘Isn’t it hot? I’m completely wrecked!’ As usual, she looked anything but wrecked. In fact she looked breathtaking, in spite of the few beads of sweat on her forehead and the smudge of grime along her chin. Her hair was pulled away from her face with a bright blue headband and she was wearing a lovely little straight dress in the same colour. It stopped about four inches above her knees, showing off her golden-brown legs to perfection.

  ‘You been shopping?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes.’ Katerina took a couple of deep gulps from the glass of cold water she’d poured herself and turned to us. ‘Look, I’m making a special meal tonight. I’m having a . . . er, a guest,’ she said. ‘You’d both be very welcome to stay. Actually I meant to ask you yesterday.’ I hesitated and looked at Jude.

  ‘Maybe you’d like us to be out . . . out of the way, I mean.’ Jude said quickly. The same idea had occurred to me. ‘Feel free to say so. We don’t mind, do we, Carmel? We were going out anyway to . . .’

  ‘Of course,’ I said, thinking that I’d rather have tea out with Jude anyway.

  ‘No, no!’ Katerina said, shaking her curls emphatically. ‘That’s not what I meant at all. I’d really love you both to be here. It’s a guy I’ve been seeing a bit of lately. I thought we could have a dinner party . . . all of us together. I haven’t seen much of you two since you moved in . . .’ She was giving off these imploring little vibes that confused me. ‘Were you really both planning to be out?’ she asked.

  ‘Not really,’ I looked at Jude for confirmation. Jude looked at her watch.

  ‘What time are you planning to eat?’ she asked Katerina.

  ‘About eight.’

  ‘Well, we’ll be back by then,’ Jude said. ‘Come on, Carmel. Let’s get down to the cafe.’ She turned back to Katerina apologetically. ‘Sorry about not being here to help cook.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ Katerina said. ‘I’m better on my own anyway. I’ll see you back here at eight. And be hungry!’

  ‘We’ll probably be back before then,’ Jude said. ‘We’ll want to change for . . . for the man.’ Jude pulled a wicked face. ‘Whacko!’ she yelled, clicking her fingers and rotating her hips, ‘I can’t wait to meet him!’ Katerina grinned at Jude’s teasing tone. I smiled too. At that moment Katerina was just an ordinary girl, like us. Beautiful, but ordinary. Funny that most of the time I didn’t think of her like that though. Her incredible looks, her braininess, and the cool, superior air she had about her made me feel wary most of the time.

  ‘Okay. Then you can both set the table.’

  ‘It’s a deal,’ Jude grinned, and waved goodbye. I picked up my bag and followed her out of the house.

  ‘It’ll be interesting to meet whoever he is,’ Jude said gleefully. We were on the bus to Collingwood and I was beginning to feel sick. Buses always make me queasy, but it wasn’t just the bus. I felt jumpy inside. I’d never been for a job interview before. I wanted to ask Jude how I should behave, but was too churned up about it. I felt sure she was being unrealistic, that there would be no chance I’d get any kind of job.

  ‘For sure he’ll be good-looking,’ Jude babbled on, ‘but there’ll be something else about him. He’ll be rich, if I know her.’ She turned to me questioningly. ‘It’s interesting to speculate on the kind of guy that’d be attracted to her . . .’

  ‘Oh Jude!’ I said impatiently, staring out the window at the people hurrying along the footpath, all of whom would have jobs already and neat, interesting lives. ‘Any man would be attracted to Katerina . . .’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ Jude said thoughtfully, biting her nails. ‘Sure they’d all want to get into her pants, but I get the feeling this one is different.’ I was getting used to the casual way Jude would drop in crude little phrases like that. Still, I was glad she was looking at the window because sometimes, much to my embarrassment, it still made me blush a bit.

  ‘Maybe he’s one of those,’ I said, trying to sound offhand and cool. Jude looked around at me with interest.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean one of the ones who wants to . . . er,’ I could feel the heat rising in my face, ‘get into her pants.’ Jude watched me stumble over the words and grinned.

  ‘God, you’re a treat, Carmel!’ she teased, digging me in the ribs. ‘Practise saying it, come on!’ I laughed and shook my head.

  My mother’s term for anyone who used coarse language was ‘guttermouth’. I was about to regale Jude with that side of my upbringing when she suddenly stood up.

  ‘Come on. This is it.’

  Inside, the long narrow Smith Street cafe was plain, except for a brightly painted mural along the left-hand wall. I wanted to stop and examine it. I’d never seen such a long painting. It was full of simple, finely painted figures of birds and people, buildings and animals, held together by a meandering road that widened and narrowed, rose and fell, as the story progressed through the depth of the room. What did that eagle symbolise? Why did that little group of people look so cowed and frightened? But Jude was motioning for me to follow her up through the sparsely populated tables towards a man who was standing behind the kitchen area with his back to us.

  ‘Hi Juan. It’s me,’ she called cheerfully. The man turned around, but I couldn’t see his face because my eyes were still adjusting to the dim light. The place, although clean, smelt of coffee and stale cigarettes. The walls were white, the tables were bare laminex, and the floor was covered in chipped brown tiles.

  ‘This is my friend Carmel, Juan. Isn’t she just gorgeous?’ The thin, tall, swarthy-skinned man came out from behind the coffee machine, smiled, and held out his hand. He was dressed neatly in dark trousers and a white shirt, and the flecks of grey through his hair and moustache made him seem handsome and impossibly distinguished. Like a professor of some very esoteric subject. Arabic poetry, I thought wildly as I took his hand and tried to smile. Jude’s words were still rattling around my brain. I felt like running, or curling up in a corner. Isn’t she just gorgeous. Jude had given me no warning she was going to introduce me like that. The smile on my mouth turned rigid as the man’s dark, i
ntense eyes bore down into my own. So dark and liquid, so utterly . . . mysterious. I had to look away or I would have been drawn right into them.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Carmella,’ he said in a thick accent.

  ‘Yes. You too,’ I managed to mutter. Then he stepped away and looked me up and down in the direct, matter-of-fact way someone might check over a dog or a fridge before they bought it. I had on a new straight red skirt that came down to mid-calf, my old sandals, and my long black loose T-shirt. I knew my hair did look nice, I’d washed it that morning and the curls were springy and soft. I’d also put on some glossy lipstick and a little eye make-up. He seemed to be taking it all in.

  ‘Yes,’ he said with a laugh, ‘she is gorgeous.’ My hand flew to my mouth and my face immediately flushed. I didn’t know if I was going to laugh or cry. God, I’d never been so embarrassed, or pleased, in my life. He’d said it as though he really meant it. As though it were obvious.

  ‘I’ve got no experience or anything . . .’ I stammered, forgetting that the man hadn’t the faintest idea why he was being introduced to me. ‘I mean, I’ve never worked and I’m not sure that I could do . . . this job, and I.. . .’ Jude stepped in before I could do any further damage. She grabbed one of my arms and held it out for him to look at.