Dessi's Romance

by Goldie Alexander

  Will she ever talk to me again? What will I do if she doesn’t?

  This first Saturday in February I finally give in to Leila’s gentle insistence that I go to Jodie’s eighteenth birthday party. Because the invitation says’ formal’, I can wear the green taffeta strapless I bought for the end-of -year celebration I never got to.

  I try it on. But I’ve lost too much weight and the bodice gapes hideously. In the end I wear the same top and skirt as when I met the Maloufs.

  Leila’s Harry drives Leila, her brother Naiz and Dessi to Jodie’s. Harry is amusing and charming, Naiz sulky and immature. All the way there, Harry and Leila do their best to include me in their chatter. I answer just enough not to be rude. After a while everyone gives up and we travel in silence. I hardly notice. My stomach is in my mouth. My heart won’t stop fluttering.

  Emma will be there. What will I say?

  Jodie lives with her family in a Victorian double-storey-terrace. The party is in a tent in the back garden. All our old crowd is here, plus Jodie’s relatives and her father’s business buddies. My hands won’t stop shaking as I make my way into the tent. When Kaz bounces over, I ask, ‘Where’s Emma?’

  Kaz looks embarrassed. ‘Look, ah... she’s not coming.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘You know Emma. She says if you’re here, she’s best off staying away. ’

  ‘But that’s ridiculous,’ I wail. ‘Jodie’s her friend, too.’

  Kaz shrugs. The gesture says it’s not her fault that we’ve had a falling out. For the rest of that evening, though there’s awesome music, heaps to drink and great food, though everyone goes out their way to make me comfortable, nothing helps. Not even Sacha casually dropping that he’s not gay, that he’s boarding with Emma and Julie, and even hinting that he had a brief fling with Emma in Surfers.

  Julie has already filled us in on what a wonderful boarder he is, how tidy, how helpful, how polite. However I find this last piece of information very interesting. ‘So now you and Emma, you’re together?’

  Sacha looks sad. ‘No, wish we were. I’m really keen but Emma keeps saying it only happened because she was confused about her dad and that Lebanese guy she was keen on was unfriendly.’ He sighs and adds, ‘Guess I shouldn’t have mentioned it, only you’re such close friends. Please don’t tell her I told you.’

  ‘Can’t even if I want to,’ tears starting up. ‘She still won’t talk to me.’

  ‘She’ll get over it,’ he says wisely. ‘Give her time. I’m sure she’s missing you as much as you miss her. But what happened in Surfers, you won’t tell anyone else will you?’

  ‘Course not,’ I quickly assure him taking in his perfect features, blonde hair and firm body. He’s handsome enough to be a movie star. And he’s so... the only word I can come up with is… so sweet… no wonder Emma succumbed. Trying to keep the blatant curiosity out of my voice, being forced to see him as a totally different guy from the one I’ve known so many years, I say, ‘So you’re really not gay?’

  He gives me an appraising look, the kind men give women they find attractive. It sends my heart into a flutter. Not that I’m interested in Sacha except as a close friend. But he really is gorgeous and I bet I’m not the only woman who thinks this. ‘I’m definitely not gay,’ he assures me. I have no trouble believing him.

  But even after this, the party isn’t a success. Not even Jon finding enough guts to come over to talk to me makes me any happier. At first I don’t know what to say. We haven’t seen each other or spoken since the accident. Not so long ago, I would have refused to communicate. When he came to the hospital, I told the nurses to tell him I was asleep. I remember Emma pleading with me to change my mind. She said, ‘Jon’s truly sorry. Won’t you let him tell you how he feels?’

  I remember saying, ‘I never want to see that arse-hole again.’

  But now, after all that’s happened, who am I to hold a grudge against anyone? Even an airhead like Jon?

  ‘Oh... ah...’ At first he’s speechless. It strikes me as ironic, even appeals to my dark sense of humour that we share similar feelings about love and betrayal. ‘Dessi,’ he finally manages. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Fine, I’m fine. Much better.’ Looking at his lanky frame, that yellow hair, those baby-blue eyes and sullen expression, I find that most of my wrath, as if anger was merely an irritating wasp, has flown away.

  ‘Oh… ah,’ he persists. ‘I just wanted to say that I’m really sorry for what happened.’

  I sigh and glance away. ‘It’s fine, Jon. It really is. I’m not mad with you. At least… not anymore.’

  ‘Then... then... it’s okay between us? We still mates?’

  ‘Mates forever,’ I assure him, and he goes off looking much, much happier.

  But as I’m still furious with Emma, I get stuck into every vodka and OJ I’m handed. How dare Emma treat me like this? We both know what a louse Abdul is, how he played us both for idiots. We should be consoling each other. Instead, Emma is placing all the blame on me. It’s all too unfair. I want to shake her until her teeth rattle.

  I get so drunk I get to the guest toilet just in time to throw up. Then I phone Hannah to drive me home. But even in the middle of throwing up, an unbidden image of Emma doing the same a few years earlier comes into my mind.

  Sleeping with the wrong man?

  Drinking too much?

  Throwing up in other people’s homes?

  How virtuous I felt when Emma was going through her bad time. Not that I ever showed it. But now the irony strikes me. Aren’t I doing much the same, only three years later? I’m both ashamed and embarrassed. If only I could talk things over with Emma.

  But Emma isn’t talking.

  Will she ever talk to me again?

  That night I dream that Emma visits me and in a fit of total rage, I shove her towards a blazing fireplace and push her in. I wake still angry, heart beating in double quick time. It takes me ages to get back to sleep.

  Of course it doesn’t help that next morning I have a terrible hangover.

  The worst ever.

  A few days later it’s Jeremy of all people who starts me on the slow road to recovery. Two days after Jodie’s party, I don’t emerge from my room into the kitchen until midday. Earlier on, I heard loud voices coming from Mum’s bedroom. Oh no, not another fight!

  Jeremy opens the fridge and peers inside. ‘Heaps to eat. Not.’

  I ignore him. He’s always moaning about the lack of ‘decent food’, by which he means hamburgers, pizzas, chips and chocolate.

  But to my astonishment, he mutters, ‘This place sucks! Can’t wait to get back to school.’

  My chin drops. ‘Thought you hated school.’

  His feet shift uneasily. ‘Not if it gets me outta here.’

  ‘What’s wrong with here?’

  ‘They’re always fighting. You’re always miserable. Can’t wait to get away.’

  I eye him with new respect. Sometimes I need reminding that he’s growing up fast. ‘We’re giving you a hard time aren’t we, Turd. Sorry about that.’ I really mean it.

  He’s too depressed to even snarl at his nickname. ‘Can’t you snap out of it? I mean, stop feeling low?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘You’ll have to sooner or later,’ he persists. ‘Anyway, I never did trust that Abdul.’

  ‘Huh. Why not?’

  ‘Dunno,’ he admits. ‘He kind of moved in Emma and you. Guess he was too good to be true. Too smooth by half.’

  Too smooth by half? I consider this. Somehow Jeremy’s tag places a different perspective on things. ‘I’m much more upset about Emma,’ I confide.

  ‘Uh, don’t worry, sis. She’ll come round. I mean, she’s still your best friend, isn’t she?’

  I nod sadly. These days the words ‘best friend’ have a hollow ring.

  44. EMMA, Melbourne, mid-February

  We three settle into our new living arrangements without a hitch. It’s been a lot of hard work to get Sa
cha’s room ready. First I make Mum pack away her crystals, pyramids and tarot cards. Then I apply two coats of white paint to cover some of the worst ceiling and wall cracks. Prowling through second-hand shops and eBay, I buy a decent bed and a sturdy bedside-table, desk and office chair. When Sacha moves in he’s as grateful as if shown into a five star hotel. He quickly finds work in a bar and to everyone’s delight, only last week a woman from a prestigious modelling-agency listed him as her latest discovery.

  I suspect that his bartending days will shortly be over. I just hope modelling won’t take over from his artistic aspirations. Meanwhile I’m still working nights in the bistro and, what with generous tips and saving heaps. I rarely see Sacha. When I do, he keeps to his side of our bargain. If anything our friendship is more solid than ever.

  I now know that I’ve got into RMIT. Sacha will go to Swinburne; I’m sure his excellent textile designs got him in, even though his exam results were bad. Naturally, I know Dessi has a place in Monash Arts. I’m sad that we aren’t sharing this terrific time together, but my heart remains hard. Haven’t I promised myself that no one will ever deal me any more treachery? I’m still so angry with Dessi who has everything I’m missing out on – a loving father, brother and grandmother, and then has to steal my boyfriend. I still view this as unforgivable. Anyway, I no longer have to worry about Dessi’s health. Julie assures me that the broken ankle is healing nicely and that Dessi no longer uses crutches.

  Our mothers join forces to try and talk to me about the split. But my anger stops them halfway. Now whenever Hannah turns up to see Julie, she never mentions Dessi except in passing. I think both mothers have accepted the status quo. There’s not much else they can do. I just hope that it won’t interfere with their close friendship, but if it does, then the fault can be laid right at Dessi’s door.

  Dessi keeps on emailing but I immediately delete them. If I recognise that familiar handwriting on an envelope, I write RETURN TO SENDER and throw the letter into a post-box. It gives me a certain sick satisfaction knowing how unhappy this will make Dessi. Serves her right. Part of me, the part that’s to do with her, has become the sort of person who could watch a child remove a fly’s wings and do nothing about it. There’s the secret pleasure I gain in dismissing her overtures. I know how miserable this will make her and this makes me feel powerful. Only at night does some kind of dream reconciliation take place. But my mindset is so strong, I quickly ignore it. If ever a tiny voice at the back of my mind hints that I’ve set up a double standard, one for her, one for me, I shrug it away. Wasn’t sleeping with Sacha just helping him determine his sexual preferences? Isn’t that totally different from stealing your best friend’s boyfriend when she isn’t around? Any time I feel my resolution weaken, I harden my heart by remembering the number of times others have treated me badly and how this must never happen again. I’m determined that no one else will ever try to run my life... that whatever happens to me in the future will stay in my own hands.

  This being my one night off from the bistro, I’m preparing for a long soak in the bath. Just as I’m about to step into the tub, the front door bell chimes.

  I’m home alone. ‘Hang on,’ I yell wrapping a towel around my body. ‘Coming.’

  On the other side of the door Kaz and Jodie beam at me.

  ‘Hi Emma.’ Kaz steps into the narrow hall. She’s brimming over with excitement. ‘We haven’t seen you in weeks...’ and before I can apologise for neglecting my friends, ‘isn’t it awesome? We all got our first preferences, except for poor old Jodes here.’

  ‘I did get a place,’ Jodie chimes in. ‘Only it’s in Bendigo,’ she defiantly adds.

  I settle them in the living room and dart off to pull on some clothes. I feel sad for Jodie who will find it hard to survive without Kaz looking after her. When I get back I reassure Jodie by saying, ‘You’ll love it. Country people are so friendly.’

  ‘Yeah, well,’ Kaz butts in. ‘We’re not here to talk about that, are we?’ She pins her eagle gaze on me. ‘We know you and Dessi haven’t talked in ages. But Em, why aren’t you trying to work things out?’

  ‘And anyway, since we’re on about things, why didn’t you come to my party?’ Jodie puts in. ‘That was so mean.’

  I flush slightly. ‘Sorry about that, Jode. Truly. I had to work that night. I did get you a present though.’

  Jodie brightens immediately. ‘Yeah? Where is it?’

  Kaz flops on to the couch. ‘C’mon kitty.’ She wiggles her fingers and Chagall responds by rolling onto his back. ‘Hey, Emma? Is this one taken? Can I have him?

  Wasn’t Chagall promised to Dessi? I hesitate only a second. ‘Sure. He’s yours.’

  I go to my room to find Jodie’s present. When I return, both girls are playing with the kittens. ‘Can I have this one, Emma?’ Jodie is entranced with Raphael.

  ‘If you want.’ This leaves only Picasso. I decide to keep him as company for Myrtle. ‘Here’s your present. Happy birthday, Jodes.’

  Jodie tears at the wrapping paper to find a box of nail polish. ‘Hey, this is awesome! Look Kaz.’

  ‘Okay!’ Kaz butts in. ‘Now what’s up with you and Dessi? I’m here to tell you she got absolutely shit-faced at Jode’s. Pathetic! You should have seen her.’

  Jodie nods solemnly. ‘It’s sad, you know. You two have been friends forever. Like me and Kaz. What happened, Emma?’

  ‘She stole my guy, she stole Abdul!’ The words seem to explode out of me. ‘That’s what happened.’

  ‘Yeah, well he must have been willing, eh?’ Kaz says shrewdly. ‘Anyway,’ she persists, ‘It sure looked to me like you and Sacha were getting it on. He’s not gay, is he?’

  Jodie giggles loudly. ‘He’s really cute.’

  ‘We’re just good friends,’ I insist, but Kaz goes bug-eyed.

  ‘He talked to Dessi for ages at my party,’ Jodie says. ‘Until she threw up in my bathroom and her mum had to take her home…’

  ‘Shut it, Jodes,’ Kaz demands. ‘We’re talking about serious stuff here. So, what are you going to do about it, Simps? Sulk for the next ten years? C’mon! Get real. That guy whoever he is, he surely wasn’t worth it, that’s what I say. Dessi’s really upset.’

  ‘She keeps emailing, texting,’ I grudgingly admit, because to be totally honest, I’m missing her terribly.

  ‘Well, what does she say?’

  ‘Don’t know. I delete them.’

  ‘Oh Em,’ Jodie says. ‘That’s so-o mean.’

  Mean? I think of the many responses I could make when I’m saved by Mum walking in with the shopping. ‘Hello, girls. How nice to see you! Emma, come and give me hand with these bags will you? We’re having a special dinner tonight. To celebrate Emma and Sacha getting into their unis and did Emma tell you Sacha’s about to become a top model, a real celebrity…‘

  ‘Sacha’s living here?’ Kaz shrieks.

  ‘Didn’t you know?’ Julie rattles on before I can shut her up. ‘Such a lovely young man, so helpful.’

  I close my eyes. How am I ever going to explain this?

  ‘Got to go, Mrs Simpson,’ says Kaz and drags Jodie along with her. ‘A word with you Em, if you please.’ And when we’re at the front gate: ‘Seems to me Simps, that you haven’t been entirely honest. I think it’s time you forgave your best friend. I mean,’ she waggles a finger, ‘Dessi‘s always been there for you, hasn’t she?’

  I don’t answer. There’s lots more of the same until they finally decide they’ve stayed long enough and leave.

  Then I’m busy helping Mum prepare her celebratory dinner. As we hover between sink, table and stove I say, ‘Mum, could you forgive Hannah if she did to you what Dessi did to me?’

  She wipes her hands on a towel. ‘I honestly don’t know.’

  ‘That’s a big help, thanks.’

  ‘But I do know this,’ she hurries on. ‘I couldn’t imagine life without having her as my friend. Women need their female friends. We’re different from men.’


  ‘Yeah? Never actually noticed.’

  ‘I mean it, Emma. You and Dessi have something special. Don’t let this...this silly little upset spoil everything between you. If Abdul had really cared about you,’ she goes on to add, ‘he wouldn’t have done what he did. And I know from Hannah that Dessi is terribly upset… ‘

  ‘Yeah, because he dumped her too. Only I don’t know why.’

  ‘No, that’s not right. Sure, Abdul’s upset her. But that’s only a fraction of it. She’s far more upset about you and her falling out. Believe me, Emma. Can’t you get over it? He turned out to be a bit of a bastard, leading both of you on, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ I say at last, still determined not to weaken, though this is becoming increasingly difficult. I’m missing Dessi ever so terribly...

  45. DESSI, Melbourne, a fortnight later

  ...Hannah announces that her immediate boss is going to Perth and she’s been offered his position. To celebrate, we eat dinner out. Dad wants to try a newly opened Middle-Eastern restaurant. I insist we eat Italian. Even though Abdul lives on the other side of town, there’s always the risk of running into him. What would I do if we did? What would I say?

  By now I’m wearing a less intrusive surgical boot and next day I take my first driving lesson. All the way to our local shopping centre Dad explains every move. ‘Planning a right hand turn, watch out for cars cruising through yellow lights.’

  ‘Okay.’ I try to smile. But these days my face feels permanently frozen.

  He parks directly opposite the supermarket.

  Wasn’t this where Emma met Abdul?

  ‘Dad, why we here?’

  He points to the hardware store beside the supermarket. ‘I need a fine screwdriver.’

  I keep an eye on the street via the rear vision mirror.

  A couple emerge from the supermarket.

  My heart almost stops. I feel sick. I wonder if I’m about to throw up. It’s Abdul... Abdul and a woman. The woman must be his fiancée, Fatima Khouri. Even from here I can see how pretty she is; tiny waist, slim arms, long legs, pale oval face under a colourful scarf.