‘Sure. Definitely,’ I lie.
‘I mean…’ still not looking at me. ‘Never done it at all. With anyone.’
It takes a moment for this to register. ‘You mean, you’ve been saying you’re gay…but you haven’t actually had sex?’ I try to keep the disbelief out of my voice.
‘You know what the wankers at our school are like. You know how they carried on, what a bad time they gave me…’
I nod. ‘Those guys, all that teasing, they really convinced me I must be gay. I wasn’t attracted to any of them, and because I hated them I thought they were right, that I’m gay for sure. I thought that once I left school and got out into the real world, I’d find nicer guys, and that it would all happen somehow.’
‘How do you know it won’t happen? What about that guy tonight at the club? Didn’t you like him? He certainly seemed to be into you.’
He makes a face. ‘It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like me. Sort of like playing a part in a movie or something. I…I can’t explain it.’
‘Maybe he wasn’t the right one.’
‘No,’ he shakes his head. ‘It wasn’t anything to do with him. It was to do with me. Don’t you understand Emma? I didn’t want to do anything with him. I was… was disgusted.’
I smile wryly. I know all about disgust, about being a dislocated cubist woman. But this isn’t the time to go into it.
‘Would you…I mean, could you, er, can we sleep together, Emma? I really like you and then I’d know if I…’
I’m totally horrified. ‘No! No way! Sacha I like you and everything, but you can’t turn these things on and off like a tap.’
I’m a little insulted. A lot, actually. He must see me as easy. My fault. He knows too much about me. If only I hadn’t confided in him. I go back to my own bed. What would Dessi do? If only she was in that other bed, I wouldn’t be in this situation. Shit! What do I do now? Best keep things calm, not show how I feel sorry for him… not show any compassion…
‘Em?’
‘Go to sleep,’ I say abruptly. ‘Just go to sleep, Sash.’
Next morning things all round are strained. Especially after Jodie pale faced and sweaty, stumbles in looking grey and sick.
‘She’s done it again,’ Kaz says grimly, half dragging her into their bedroom. ‘I’ve a good mind to post her back to Mummy and Daddy. Truly, I’ve had enough, Emma. Come and help me undress the silly bitch and get her into bed.’
Between us, we haul Jodie on to the bed and start undressing her. ‘Oooh! Look at this!’ Kaz is openly revolted. There, stuck in Jodie’s navel, is a metal ring. A very large metal ring and where it’s been inserted, the skin is shiny and red.
‘God!’ I gasp. ‘Do you think it’s infected? When did she get it done?’
Kaz is openly stressed. ‘Must have been yesterday when she disappeared all afternoon, remember? I can’t handle this. I’ve just about had it.’
Looking at Jodie’s pallid complexion, I wonder if we should call an ambulance. A secret part of me would love to get that exact shade of grey face and crimson stomach. Francis Bacon paints people in this sickly state. I ask, ‘What did she take, Kaz?’
‘How do I know?’
‘How did you get back here?’
‘Cab. Cost a fortune, but we had to get outta there fast. Hey, Jode?’ Kaz begins to slap Jodie around the face, none too gently. ‘Wake up! Can you hear me?
‘Shit!’ Jodie’s eyes swivel in her head and she makes a gasping noise. ‘Gunna be sick…’
‘Oh no! Not again. Quick! Get a towel, Emma.’
I race into the bathroom and grab a couple of towels. Too late. Jodie has already spewed everywhere.
‘That’s it! I’ve had a gutful,’ Kaz cries. ‘I’m gonna phone her dad. Let him look after her. I’m supposed to be on holiday not running a casualty ward.’
‘Don’t phone him,’ Jodie groans. ‘Please, Kazza. I’ll be good from now on. I think someone put something in my drink.’
‘And I think you wouldn’t know. I’m going to have a shower. I don’t want to see your face for the rest of the day. And clean up this puking mess. I have to sleep in here too, you know? And I’d like to be able to do it without wearing a gas mask.’
‘Sorry, Kazza,’ Jodie whispers and bursts into tears.
I sigh to myself. Sacha. And now Jodie. How are we going to take her on a cruise? If only Dessi was here to help me cope… if only Dessi was here.
21. DESSI, Melbourne
What a night! Only when grey light filters through the window, do I finally manage to doze off. Then I dream twice. First, I hear a bird screaming into the night. I look up to see an owl wheeling overhead, his belly and wings bleached white as he flings himself into the darkness. I stay awake for ages. Next time I doze off, I’m in Jon’s car in the driver’s seat. Both Emma and Abdul are in the rear. We’re heading for that roundabout and another car is coming straight at us. I step on the accelerator and the car speeds up. I’m about to ram into that car… and this time the crash will be fatal… Help! I’m about to destroy everything that’s precious to me.
I lie there waiting for my heart to stop thumping. When I do get out of bed, it’s almost noon and the day turning into a scorcher.
I shower and pull on an old tee-shirt and cut-offs. Though I don’t know what dreams about owls mean, I don’t have to be extra smart to realise that my subconscious is telling me I’m heading for trouble. Maybe there are too many answers needed. How come Abdul isn’t going with someone his own age? What do I know about him, really? If only there was someone I could talk to, someone who could find out more about him…
Leila! She might even know Abdul. Or know someone who does. I hit Leila’s number and she picks up the phone.
‘Dessi here. What are you up to?’
‘Not much. Just helping Dad with his accounts. What’s news at your end? How’s the leg?’
‘Bit better, thanks.’
‘Hang up and I’ll call your landline.’
I do. Leila rings right back. ‘Can’t tell you how boring doing accounts is,’ she says as if there’s been no break in the conversation. ‘Dad’s at me all the time. He keeps insisting I’m muddling things up. But you should see his filing system. I reckon it’d take a genius to clear up this mess. Almost wish I was back at school.’
Back at school? We shriek with laughter. It takes me ages before I mention what’s on my mind.
‘Abdul Malouf?’ Leila giggles. ‘That’s like asking if I know Joe Smith. What does he look like?’
I try not to rave. ‘Good body, about my height, long curly black hair, little cleft beard, great eyes, eyelashes...’
‘You mean he looks Lebanese?’
‘Huh.’ I laugh apologetically. ‘Well, except for his hair, guess so.’
‘Maybe if I saw him... Hey, Abdul Malouf. Isn’t this the guy Emma’s just met?’
‘Yes. But you know how over the top she gets. I’d like to find out more about him.’
‘Don’t you know anything?’
‘Well… only that he’s Melbourne third year Maths.’
‘What about his folks?’
‘They’re originally from Batroun.’
‘What do his olds do?’
‘She’s a nurse. He works in the Service Department at the same hospital. There’s an older brother Ahmed, now doing a medical internship.’
‘Is his brother married?’
I stare at the wall. How come I don’t know? Meanwhile Leila is saying, ‘Listen, this Abdul… I’ll see what I can find out.’
‘Yeah... well. It’s no big deal.’
She’s silent a long, long moment. I suspect there’s something she wants to confide. Finally she says, ‘Dessi, I’ve met this guy...’
‘Yeah? Great.’ I settle back to listen. So far Leila’s run shy on men. Not that the guys in our year didn’t like her. But what we have in common is caution. Leila doesn’t intend giving anything away unless she’s sure the guy is worth mar
rying. Being a good Muslim is important. ‘Who is he?’ I ask.
She giggles. ‘Can you believe he’s actually Lebanese. His folks come from Beirut.’
‘You mean your olds will like him?’
‘I know. It’s so irritating. I was working on bringing someone home they’d really hate.’
‘So tell me more.’
She giggles again. ‘Harry, Lebo name Hussein, and he’s twenty. Like me, he’s born here and now he’s at uni doing accountancy and works part time.’
‘How did you meet?’
‘Came in here on business and we got talking. He’s tall, and got this great body. He admits he only understands Lebanese, can’t speak it at all. Guess his olds wanted to assimilate ASAP.’
‘Isn’t that different from yours?’
‘Sure is. It’s like we end up different shades of grey. Some migrants won’t give up the old ways and others can’t wait to get rid of them.’
We talk lots more. If Leila is correct, Buddha and the Dalai Lama have nothing on this Harry. She finishes off with ‘This Abdul… I’ll see what I can find out.’
‘Thanks,’ though I’ve almost forgotten my original reason for calling. Still seated by the phone, I imagine another conversation I’d like to have:
DESSI: I think you should know I’ve been seeing Abdul and that he’s taking me to meet his folks. Hope you don’t mind.
EMMA: Course not. I hope you’ll both be very happy. Anyway, I’m having a great time. I’ve just met this fabulous guy and he’s taking me to Paris to display some of my paintings in this famous gallery...
Something hits me in the small of the back.
Turd!
‘Get off,’ he yells. ‘Stop hogging the phone.’
I grab a crutch and use it to hit out. ‘What’s your problem?’
‘Ouch!’ He rubs his knee. ‘Get off! I need the phone…’
‘Okay…okay… Chill out! You don’t have to chuck a mental.’
I hop into the kitchen. Hannah is in there. As usual she’s working. ‘How come you’re home?’
Hannah looks up as if astonished to see me. ‘Rostered day off. The bank owes me time.’
‘No point staying home,’ I say snakily, ‘If all you do is work.’
‘Don’t you start.’ Her grin is rueful. ‘I get enough from your dad.’ She stares at the screen. ‘Right!’ She closes the laptop, starts to say something, then changes her mind. ‘How do you feel?’
‘Okay, I guess. This ankle still driving me crazy.’ I refuse to let her off the hook. ‘How come you’re bringing work home?’
Hannah shrugs. ‘Everyone does. There’s heaps more work, they’ve let lots of people go, so there’s less people to do it.’
I settle into a chair. But there’s something more on my mind than a work schedule. What I really want is to quiz Mum on is her relationship with Julie. Those two couldn’t be closer if they tried. Hannah was Julie’s bridesmaid and Julie was Hannah’s matron-of-honor. Julie is her godmother, and Hannah was the first person Julie turned to when her marriage broke up. She says ‘Tell me again how you and Julie met…’
March 1975, Melbourne
Hannah wove her way through the gyrating dancers into the toilets. Two cubicles. Both locked. In cubicle one she could hear someone throwing up.
Cubicle two? Silence. She positioned herself in front.
A few minutes later the door to cubicle one opened. A girl emerged. Wiping her mouth on toilet paper, she headed into the passage.
Hannah went inside. Vomit everywhere. The smell chased her back outside. Her bladder ready to burst, she thumped on the other door. ‘Hurry up!’
The door swung open, missing her by millimetres. Scowling ferociously at whoever came out, she rushed inside, slamming it behind her. Why had she agreed to come to this crap party anyway? Though all first years were advised to check out the clubs, in less than an hour she knew ‘Uni-Players’ wasn’t her.
Back outside that girl was peering at herself in the washroom mirror. Hannah took in waist length curly fair hair, delicate features and extraordinary violet eyes, though presently red rimmed and teary. The girl’s skin-tight jeans, Indian shirt and platform cork sandals showed off her slight figure to perfection. Dangly silver earrings, chunky bracelets and anklets acted as mere frosting on this pretty cake. Even smudged eyeliner and mascara only emphasised her fragile beauty.
Ignoring a twinge of envy — why would anyone who looked like that be crying? Hannah set to work on her own hair. Though the girl was rubbing her eyes on damp tissues, thus strengthening her resemblance to a pretty panda, Hannah ostentatiously ignored her. She wasn’t ready to buy into any one else’s problems.
That mirror wasn’t really big enough for two. But instead of leaving, taking a hint from Hannah who was skilfully avoiding eye contact, the girl croaked as if they were halfway through a conversation, ‘Guys… make me sick.’
Hannah found this hard to ignore. ‘Yeah? Some. Maybe.’
The girl wriggled her shoulders and sniffed. ‘Julie… Julie Brewer. Economics, Accountancy,’ and unexpectedly stuck out her hand.
Hannah found herself shaking it. ‘Hannah… Hannah Lawrence. Law.’
They looked at each other. Neither would ever know how much they picked up through body language. But Julie was so pretty, and so distraught, Hannah found herself saying ‘What’s up?’
Julie choked back a sob ‘Guess… guess I’ve just been given the bum’s rush.’
‘Yeah?’ Hannah peeked at her own reflection. What she saw was a tall skinny girl with a halo of dark tight-curly hair, dark eyes, a slightly too prominent nose and lips that turned up at the corners giving her a permanent smile. It was this smiley mouth which gave off a false air of self-assurance and invited confidences from total strangers.
Blowing her nose on a clump of soggy tissues, Julie made a poor attempt at stifling another sob. Always a sucker for a hard luck story, before Hannah considered where this impulse might lead, she found herself saying ‘Like a coffee
Julie’s face lit up. ‘Love to. But aren’t you with someone?’
Hannah thought back to the creep who’d brought her here. ‘Not really,’ she lied. ‘Genevieve stays open late. Coming?’
‘Right.’ Julie picked up her bag. Quarter of an hour later, after the two were settled behind frothy cappuccinos, it turned out Julie had been dating a Second Year Medical student who came from a conservative Jewish family. ‘Both Ben’s parents are children of Holocaust survivors, so I guess that’s why they’re so into their religion and culture,’ she woefully explained. ‘And that makes me the shikse … gentile girl,’ at Hannah’s questioning glance ‘…who’s messing up their son’s life.’
‘So how come he was taking you out?’
‘The thing is,’ Julie explained, ‘if Ben marries me his children would no longer be Jewish. So even though he’s next generation Aussie, his parents have this girl lined up.’
‘Isn’t that old fashioned?’
‘Well, in a way I can understand them. He’s their only child and they’re terrified of losing him.’
‘Did you ever get to meet them?’
‘Only once. He brought me home for a Passover night. Seems that then you’re allowed to bring a stranger home and that stranger was me.’
‘How did they act?’
Julie spooned sugar into her cup. ‘On the surface they were polite enough, though I could feel his mum getting mad any time he even spoke to me. She kept on and on about this Cindy they’re real keen on, saying how she and Ben grew up together, and how close they’re always been. I could tell she hated having me there.’
‘So how come Ben kept on seeing you?’
‘Suppose he likes defying his parents,’ Julie said miserably. ‘Anyway it came to a head tonight because I said I was sick of him pretending we weren’t dating…’ Stifling a sob she searched her bag for more tissues.
‘And…?’
‘He said maybe his parents were right i
t was time we stopped as he had no intention of upsetting his parents by settling down with someone from a different background. Oh…’ as Hannah tried not to let her smile get loose, ‘he had some pretty good arguments. But what the hell.’
Hannah cast around for consolation. ‘Heaps of decent guys out there,’ she said stoutly though no one so far has convinced her of this. ‘And I guess if you hadn’t been this upset, we wouldn’t be here right now…’
Back to the Present
‘...so how come Julie was taking accountancy?’ I butt in. ‘That’d be the last thing she’d be any good at.’
‘Oh, she’d only enrolled in that to please her father and she had no intention of continuing. She really wanted to do drama. She’s so artistic.’
‘Like Emma.’
‘Yes. Maybe that was her attraction for me.’
‘And you were the one who ended up majoring in law and economics.’
‘Right. Anyway, because your grandfather had been so strict with me, I loved Julie’s feistiness. I was so shy and she was so outgoing.’
‘And then you stayed friends,’ I murmur.
‘We certainly did…’
‘How about guys? Was there ever a time you fancied the same guy?’
Hannah reddens slightly. ‘Sure,’ she says. ‘But I always left them to her. Anyway, Julie was so gorgeous most guys didn’t give me a second glance.’
‘What about dad?’
‘I didn’t meet Graham until well after we’d both left uni. By that time Julie was married to Robert, so there was no problem.’
‘But what if you had fancied the same guy?’
‘Then I would have always found our friendship more important,’ she says firmly. ‘Now, how about some fruit-salad for lunch?’ She reaches into a basket and takes out a plum.
22. EMMA, Surfers
Plums! What Jodie’s navel mostly reminds me of is a shiny, purple blood-plum.
‘I promised her dad I’d look after her,’ Jaz cries. ‘We’re going to have to take her to the hospital. Should I phone her folks?’
Dessi's Romance Page 9