KATERINA
I KNOW EVERYONE HAS A CLEAR IDEA OF ME already. I’m the bitch, right? The one who is so easy to categorise, so easy to hate. Because of how I look and the fact that I have a brain in my head, people think they can pigeon-hole me. They think: life has to be so easy for her; she’s beautiful, clever, wealthy . . . Someone like me would have to have it all together or there’d be no hope for anyone else, right?
My first year at university and I’ve waded in far above my head; I’m so deep in shit it doesn’t matter.
I got caught up in all this stuff, struggling for breath, for air, while people around me went on laughing, stroking me and telling me they wanted me to star in their next jeans commercial! I mean that literally. There I was, off my face on pills and feeling like I’d snuff it any minute – hallucinating on someone’s fancy marble toilet seat in Toorak – and a group of friends came in and went right on talking about when they’d do the filming!
The front cover of Vogue, jeans commercials, pin-up calendars. Wow!
But who won the prize? Was it me? I don’t feel as if I’ve won anything.
It’s hard to work out when things happened exactly. It’s only afterwards that you realise that events held great meaning for you, that they changed you in some important way. But it’s almost impossible to disconnect one thing from another. All these important moments have become jumbled, toppling over and squashing together in my mind.
But one afternoon does stand out. I came home after having spent the morning at Jordan’s place. Jude’s mother Cynthia opened the door. That was a surprise. I’d only ever seen her in the distance in Manella before. She was an interesting-looking woman, with her long red-grey hair, and she smiled at me and asked if I minded her staying for a few days, that Jude had been a bit sick. Sick? Was that what had been wrong with her? I suppose I smiled back as I passed her and said that it was fine by me. But I really can’t remember, I was completely freaked out, shaking inside after what I’d just been through. No. Not shaking. More like, screaming inside. Like the way a car screeches around a tight corner; black smoke, a terrible high-pitched vibration careered up and down my spine, then around my head in a criss-cross of live wires. I’d been up till five that morning. There’d been a lot of dancing, quite a few pills – just uppers: ecstasy and speed – drinking, laughing and then . . . this photographic session.
Why the hell am I feeling like the lowest form of life on earth? Had I encouraged it? What should I have done? I remember hearing Cynthia’s and Jude’s low voices as I made my way down to the empty kitchen. I tried not to feel paranoid as I stood shivering and waiting for the kettle to boil. As usual those pigs hadn’t washed up after themselves. Piles of dirty dishes and half-full cups of cold coffee were spread out over the sink, the butter was going soft on its glass plate. Anger suffused me. Louise will be back from Europe soon. I’ll get them both kicked out. Tell my parents that they’re quite unsatisfactory as housemates. I threw the dishes into the sink and poured the boiling water into the coffee plunger. My arms and fingertips tingled and the screaming in my head changed into a dull, foggy buzz.
How it irked me that Carmel – that fat nobody – had pulled Anton. I thought back to the beginning of the year, when she broke the chair. Then I hadn’t thought her worth a second glance. She was a hick from nowhere who knew nothing. Coming from the kind of family she did, I had imagined she might be useful, that she might, without anyone asking, do the housework. She was so apologetic and awkward. Just like most of the country girls I’d been to school with, so eager to please.
But surprise, surprise! It turned out the girl could sing like an angel. I’m not usually competitive. But seeing her blossom over those first few months drove me crazy. And then she and Jude shut me out when I really needed friendship. That’s the truth of it. Their closeness shut me out and that got me doing things I was sorry about later.
It was while I was spooning the sugar into my coffee that I realised I would have to step off for a while, cut right out of this fast scene. Things were getting . . . well, too much. I shivered as I felt a high-pitched scream start up again at the base of my neck. It had all suddenly got beyond me. Me! Who’d always been in control. I plonked myself down and decided there and then that I would stop hanging out in all those smart clubs and fast places. I would cut out the dope and the rich guys, ease up on it all. The thing with Jordan that morning had been a sort of culmination. A warning.
I brought the hot strong coffee to my mouth and decided that I would throw myself back into my studies. Maybe go for honours. Why not? I was smart enough. I took a few gulps and felt my head clear. The screaming stopped. I became overwhelmed with ambition. I wanted to see my name on that board outside the Law faculty in five years’ time: Katerina Armstrong, top of the Law school, graduating in Arts/Law (Hons). That would show Louise.
Coffee was what I needed, but it wasn’t enough. Not by a long shot. I got up quickly and went into the bathroom. A long hot bath. That was sure to make me feel better. Put me right back on track.
Looking up into the steam-filled atmosphere of the bathroom I thought about the circle of people I’d gravitated towards as soon as I’d hit the city. They had so much money and such inflated ideas about themselves and their importance in the world. We all did. I was flattered by their attention. And so much of it, especially early on, was fun. Great nights in classy clubs, stunning clothes, expensive restaurants, and . . . all kinds of things.
Every house I’d been invited into was full of beautiful things. Glassware. I have this thing about nice glassware. Swedish fluted champagne glasses and Waterford crystal. Anyway, compared to being with boring students of my own age, whose idea of a good time was hanging out in the uni cafe drinking cheap wine from polystyrene cups, I was having fun. Advertising executives and film producers, rich lawyers and the heads of city accountancy firms. The fast set, who owned boats and fancy holiday houses, who lived in fabulous city apartments and flew around the world for business meetings. And they wanted me, that was the flattering, exciting, bizarre part! They wanted to wine, dine and parade me around. There was an exchange, of course. No such thing as a free lunch and all that. I didn’t want to know about it. I thought I belonged.
But I’d misread the signs. Those people ate girls like me for breakfast! It took me a while to realise.
At last I’d had enough. My body was as pink as a cooked lobster’s. I stood up slowly and leaned out of the bath to grab my towel from a nearby chair. Damp. Someone else had used it before me. My teeth were on edge as I rubbed myself dry. When I opened the door, one towel around my head and another around my body, I stopped in surprise. Jude’s mother was washing the floor. All the dishes had been done and the benches were clean. A pretty tablecloth had been placed over the table and a small vase of flowers sat in the middle. She caught my look of surprise and smiled.
‘I hope you don’t mind, Katerina?’
‘Well, no . . .’ I said. ‘Thank you, but . . . er, you shouldn’t.’
‘Oh, it’s a pleasure. Really!’
I smiled uneasily when I noticed a huge pot bubbling on the stove. A delicious fresh smell of stock and vegetables had seeped out into the air. It made me feel very hungry.
‘It’s soup,’ she said simply. ‘It’ll be ready soon, if you want some. Lamb shanks, barley and vegetables.’
‘I’d love some.’
‘Good.’ She seemed pleased and went back to cleaning the floor. As I walked through she looked up.
‘Is there a shop around that you go to for good bread?’
‘Yes,’ I smiled, thinking of the Greek lady only a few doors down. ‘I’ll go and get some as soon as I’m dressed.’
‘Oh, would you?’
‘Sure. A pleasure.’
‘Thanks, Katerina!’
So I began a comeback. I managed to put the episode with Jordan behind me and get stuck into my studies. It certainly helped having Jude’s mother there for the week. I think we all really lov
ed it. The cleanliness. The nice food smells. Within a day, without anything much being said, the household suddenly seemed to mesh. Carmel and I started to get on. Nothing deep and meaningful, but we could talk about where we’d last seen a vase or if there was any milk left in the fridge or if it was going to rain or not, without getting on each other’s nerves.
Jude was still quiet, but she was friendly enough and her mother’s calm presence over the week more than made up for any taciturn behaviour on her part. But I was edgy underneath. Although for the most part I succeeded in concentrating on my studies, every time the doorbell rang, or the phone went, or someone spoke loudly, I jumped. Sometimes my hands would tremble so violently that I’d have to sit on them. I’m not sure what I was afraid of exactly, but I found it hard to be still for any length of time. I’d be sitting at my desk working and it would all come crashing back, clear as day. This deep shudder would wash right through me. I’d stay frozen for a few moments, absolutely terrified, then gradually the fear would subside and things would return to normal.
I did my best to push it all aside. What would be the point of dwelling on all that rubbish? I was determined to get on with my life.
Cynthia left after about a week and the house fell back into its former griminess. Dirty dishes were left on the sink, no one bothered to wipe down the stove or sweep the floor. I tried not to care as I ploughed on with my work. I was getting good marks and that pleased me. With Cynthia gone, Carmel, Jude and I reverted to our separate lives. At odd times I found myself ruefully wishing it wasn’t so, that we could give each other another chance, somehow begin the year again. Everything would work out better the second time around, I was sure of it. I suppose I was lonely.
I walked into the kitchen a few days after Cynthia had left and saw Jude coming out of the bathroom with a towel over her shoulder. I gasped. Her hair had been chopped off really short. And there was this ugly raw-looking thing on her right arm. A tattoo. A real one. It looked sore. She stopped as if shocked to see me.
‘Hello,’ I said brightly. ‘How are things?’ She nodded coldly, didn’t look at me, and walked straight past without so much as a word. Things had cooled a bit between us all after Cynthia had left, but never before had either of them been so blatant about it. Their exclusiveness was always so maddeningly polite. They would simply stop what they were doing, put on these fake smiles, and then wait until I’d left the room so they could resume whatever it was they had been up to. Their smug little world of singing and playing guitar, all those tatty South American friends and the crazy political stuff were beginning to irk me seriously. The ‘Save Timor’ poster on the fridge annoyed me every day, and every day I vowed to myself that I’d rip it off, but I never quite dared. I followed Jude up the hallway, anger rising in me.
‘Excuse me, Jude,’ I said icily. ‘Is there anything wrong?’
‘Nothing,’ she said.
‘Well, then, why . . . ?’ I faltered. She was glowering at me. She seemed even more fierce with no hair. All the confusion I’d felt over that last month, the lies I’d been told, the letdowns, the crappy flattering rubbish I’d been dished up by men I should have known better about. I shrugged.
‘I don’t know,’ I said lamely. ‘I thought something was up . . .’
She shut the door in my face.
I walked back to the kitchen overcome with rage, inexplicably in tears. How dare that little rag treat me like that! I’ll ring my parents, get them both kicked out! Two sharp taps on the front door stopped me in my tracks. I walked back up the passage, thinking. It would probably be one of their friends. One of those dark Chilean boys with bright teeth and sloppy clothes. But I opened the door to this attractive blonde woman with bright green eyes who was smiling at me. It took a couple of moments for me to register that it was my own sister, Louise.
‘Hello, sis,’ she laughed, and held out her arms. ‘I’m two weeks early!’
She was dressed in a pale-blue cotton jumper, jeans, and long black leather boots. Her neck and face were lightly tanned and she’d lost at least a stone in weight.
‘Lou! You look . . . terrific!’ I stammered, caught off guard. She laughed. We kissed and hugged, then I helped her carry her case down the hallway.
‘You going to move back in?’ I said, hoping suddenly that she was planning to. It’ll be a way of getting rid of one of them, at least. ‘So where’s all your stuff?’ Louise wrinkled up her nose at the mess in the kitchen and shrugged.
‘I don’t think so . . .’ she said, turning to me and then smiling broadly, quite unable to contain herself any longer. She grabbed both my hands in her own. ‘I’ve met someone. The most wonderful man!’
‘Really!’ I said, trying to look pleased. So that was it. She’d lost weight and her skin was glowing. She’d also lost that dull, homely look that I was so used to associating with her. For as long as I could remember my older sister, although quite good-looking, had always managed to seem dowdy. She’d become a new person during her eight months away. I tried to be glad for her, but underneath I was uneasy. Louise had never been one for boyfriends.
‘And . . . we’re going to get married,’ she burst out.
‘God, really? But . . .’
‘But what?’ Her face clouded momentarily as she registered my shock.
‘Aren’t you . . . too young?’
‘I’m twenty-three! And we’re not going to get married for another year.’
‘So why . . . ?’ I began. ‘Oh, that’s great, Lou.’ I leaned over and kissed her. ‘I can’t wait to meet him!’
‘You will soon,’ she said happily. ‘He’ll be arriving on Thursday. We’re going straight from the airport up to Mum and Dad’s . . . you’ll come home this weekend, won’t you?’
‘Well, sure,’ I said, hesitating for only a moment. ‘I guess so.’ ‘Great!’ She got up and hugged me. ‘You’ll love him!’
‘What does he do?’ I asked.
‘He’s a surgeon,’ she said, flopping down again in the chair opposite me, unable to hide her pride and happiness. ‘Ten years older than me. I met him in Paris.’
‘Is he French?’
She nodded.
‘What’s his name?’
‘Jean-Paul,’ she giggled. ‘Isn’t it lovely? And get this! He’s been to Australia twice before and he loves it! Very happy to move here. Sick of Europe and all the pollution. We’re probably going to settle somewhere on the New South Wales coast. He adores our beaches!’
‘Well, that’s great, Lou.’ It was hard getting those words out. I felt as if I’d swallowed a lemon. Of course Louise would marry a surgeon. And Mum and Dad would be so pleased. They’d have the 2.2 kids before anyone could blink. And everything else besides. Everything was sure to work out perfectly for her. It always did.
She only stayed for the afternoon. We went and did some shopping, then came home, had lunch, and drank a lot of coffee. She told me all about being overseas. The places she’d seen and the people she’d met. She couldn’t wait to finish her course so that she and Jean-Paul would be able to work in the same hospital or at least nearby. The plan was still to go home to Manella eventually and take over Dad’s practice. I couldn’t believe it. She had it all worked out. At about five in the afternoon she called a taxi.
‘It’ll be much easier for everyone if I stay with Elaine,’ she said airily. ‘She’s got a spare room and everything. I don’t want to upset your housemates at this time of the academic year. I’ll see you on the weekend. Okay?’
‘Sure, Lou. See you then.’ I was browned off. She was off to stay with her best friend and she’d hardly asked me a single question about my life. She slammed the car door and wound down the window.
‘You’ll love him!’
‘Sure,’ I said quietly as she drove off.
I walked back into the house and lay on my bed for a while. No one else was home. I hadn’t seen Carmel for a few days, and I assumed Jude was off at the library studying. I’d seen her leaving the house
a couple of hours before, a pile of books sticking out of her bag.
I began thinking about all of the people I’d been mixing with over the past few months. It was sobering to realise that only two had remained real friends: Kara, my old buddy from school, and Julian, the young gay guy I’d met at the beginning of the year at one of the clubs I used to frequent. Jules was lightly built, had long curly fair hair, and was about twenty-five. He dressed always in white or cream; wide shapeless pants and long embroidered shirts. He’d started off as our crowd’s dope supplier; he would deliver anything that anyone wanted, quickly and without fuss. Speed, coke, LSD, even heroin, although not many went for that. Needles and syringes were somehow serious, whereas pills were just . . . well, just fun.
Jules hung around the edges of this fast rich crowd, in spite of the fact that he was very slow-talking, slow-moving, and, as far as I could gather, didn’t have much, apart from a lovely old-fashioned flat he was buying in Parkville. He didn’t even own a car. I guess he was tolerated because he was pretty and humorous – and because of his access to drugs, of course. For the first couple of months I never took any notice of him, apart from when I needed something. But gradually we became closer; after a time he felt like my only friend in the world. He’d come by with the stuff and we’d sit in my room, sometimes with Kara as well; we’d maybe have a smoke or pop something and then talk for a few hours. I think he enjoyed our company because we didn’t pry. From the snippets he gave away, he seemed to live a wild, semi-dangerous existence in that half-lit world of drugs and torrid promiscuity. There was a new guy on the scene almost every week for Jules. But we took care never to ask him much.
I liked his dry summing-up of people and the droll humour that turned against himself as often as it made fun of others. I never really thought of him as a drug-dealer. It was just the way he lived. I had the feeling that he would have preferred doing something else, but had never really summoned up the energy to try. I suppose he was addicted himself, but again it wasn’t something I thought about much. So many of my friends took stuff. Jules never acted as if he was doing anything particularly risky, although he sometimes hinted that things could get heavy for him if there was any problem with payment. I enjoyed his gentleness, the fact that he didn’t seem to want anything from me but to talk.
Queen Kat, Carmel and St Jude Get a Life Page 32