Troy’s Possibilities

by Rodney Strong

  ‘That’s not fair. How will I know where the line between admiration and lust is?’

  ‘When I slap you, it’s lust.’

  Her eyes were brighter than I remembered, undiluted by pixels, taking in artificial light and turning it into something beautiful.

  ‘And none of that,’ she said, breaking contact and waving her hand in my face.

  ‘Definitely none of that.’ I swallowed.

  With the general ground rules in place we spent the next two hours talking. A couple of times people lurked pointedly, waiting for us to move so they could swoop on the table, but we ignored them. When one particularly forthright woman told us to move Cat and I smoothly switched to sign language and pretended not to understand her. Despite the fact she had just heard us speaking she turned bright red and backed away, apologising. After she disappeared we switched back to talking.

  I can’t remember all the things we discussed. By some unspoken agreement we steered clear of the attack and its aftermath, so it was all general stuff – how she found living in Australia, and the news that Steven had broken up with Jessica. I felt a twinge of disappointment to hear that. He and Jessica had seemed like a good match and I felt some responsibility for getting them together. Cat didn’t know all the details, but from what her parents had said it was his idea and Jessica was pretty cut up.

  We talked a little about Emily. Cat expressed her regret that she hadn’t stayed in touch as much as she should have. I told her Emily was doing well, mostly true, and understood about Cat leaving, mostly untrue.

  At one point in the conversation I glanced around and spotted a woman sitting at a table a few feet from mine. About my age, with short brown hair and in a business suit, she was vaguely familiar. A few seconds later I realised it was Heather, but it couldn’t be. I didn’t believe in ghosts. My heart stuttered and I blinked a couple of times, then realised it only looked like her.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Cat asked, following my gaze.

  I turned my attention back to lunch, picking at crumbs and draining air from an empty bottle. ‘No one. She reminded me of someone I went to school with.’

  Cat studied my face. ‘Crush?’

  I nodded sheepishly.

  ‘And she didn’t feel the same. Ah well, probably for the better. If she’d felt the same way you might have gotten married and had a daughter, and I’d be sitting at a table talking to myself.’

  She grinned, but my gaze went back to the woman, memories of Heather and I together, getting married, lying in bed, having sex, all flashing through my mind before I blinked them away.

  ‘Sorry,’ Cat said. ‘I didn’t realise she was the one who got away.’

  I turned back to the woman sitting opposite me, more determined than ever not to let this one get away. ‘She was the one who went away. Like you said, her loss. I’d hate for people to think you were crazy. Crazier, anyway,’ I added.

  ‘Touché,’ Cat said with a laugh.

  The lunch seemed to stretch on forever, but eventually Cat glanced at her watch and said she was meeting her mother for manicures together. She made a face at my raised eyebrows, and protested it was normal for mothers and their daughters to do that sort of stuff.

  We threaded our way through the crowded tables and stopped at the bottom of the stairs leading to outside. She put on her coat and hat again – rugged up against the cold or armoured against the world, I wasn’t sure which. We stood there awkwardly.

  ‘So, what are the rules for ending a pre-date?’ she asked.

  I shook my head. ‘I don’t know. A handshake seems too formal.’

  ‘And a kiss is too date-like.’

  ‘What about a hug?’

  ‘That could work, but it would depend on length and placement of hands.’

  ‘So where does that leave us?’ I asked.

  ‘I guess it depends if the pre-date was a success. If it wasn’t, then a general hand wave and a generic see you later would be acceptable.’

  ‘And if it was?’

  Someone bumped past us and I realised we were in the way of pedestrian traffic. I grabbed her hand and pulled her to one side. When I went to let go she didn’t. I looked down at our hands together, feeling her warmth, then up into her eyes.

  ‘Maybe we’re overthinking this. A brief handhold seems acceptable,’ she said softly.

  I swallowed. ‘Practically scandalous in Victorian times.’

  She held on for a few more seconds, then gave my hand a squeeze and reluctantly – at least from my perspective – let go.

  ‘Will you tell Emily I’ll call her in a couple of days?’

  ‘And me?’ I asked in a light tone that didn’t match the speed of my heart.

  ‘You I’ll call tomorrow. We need to start negotiations.’

  ‘Negotiations?’

  She paused halfway up the steps and looked over her shoulder. ‘For the actual date,’ she grinned.

  ‘I’ll have my people call your people,’ I said to her back as she disappeared. I turned to see the disgruntled woman from earlier standing right behind me, the one we’d turned away from the table.

  ‘So you can talk,’ she said sarcastically.

  I grabbed her arms and kissed her on the forehead. ‘Take the damn table,’ I said before releasing her and bounding up the steps.

  The one with the acting career

  Tension flowed out of the screen, infecting us with nervousness. We couldn’t keep still though none of us wanted to leave the room; however my bladder was achingly full. The TV host said they were going to a break. I bolted from the room, sliding on the wooden floor before regaining traction and rushing into the toilet, yanking on my zip as I went, barely getting there before the flow started. I urged the urine to hurry, cutting it off before I should, hoping no one would notice the drops that didn’t quite make it, and made it back to the lounge just as the ad-break finished.

  I accepted the glass of water Emily shoved in my hand, some of it slopping over the edge onto my pants, helping conceal the damp patch. On the other end of the couch Steven and Jessica sat, recently back together for the second time. Across in the armchairs were my parents, and Cat’s dad was perched on a dining chair wedged in between them. Her mother was in Melbourne with Cat. We’d caught one glimpse of them in the audience, clapping enthusiastically at the winner of an earlier category.

  On the coffee table sat an unopened and chilled bottle of Deutz – the middle-class equivalent of champagne – and seven glasses, six of which matched. We’d been impatiently waiting for the last hour, sitting through endless people thanking other people that no one had ever heard of. I couldn’t tell you the names of any of the winners.

  Suddenly it was time. The host announced the presenter, and the presenter announced the nominees for best actress. It was the fourth name that interested me.

  ‘Elissa Sanders, for Lessons in Song.’

  The crowd went wild – at least the one in our room did. In the theatre thousands of miles away there was polite applause for the New Zealand nominee. While critics lauded her starring role in the drama series, newspapers and websites wrote off her chances compared to the darling of Australian television, Claudia Marshall. When I’d spoken with Cat a few hours ago she’d pretty much agreed with them, saying she was just going for the atmosphere and the autographs.

  I’d reminded her only a few people get nominated each year for best actress and it was a big deal, so suck it up and take the compliment. She told me she loved me for being optimistic, and then laughed at me for being stupidly naïve and hopelessly biased. We’d ended the call gently arguing.

  She looked stunning. Given the hours in makeup and hair, and getting dressed, I wasn’t surprised. But then, as she had said, I was hopelessly biased, and considered her stunning in an old T-shirt and track pants.

  Our pre-date seemed a lifetime ago. She’d exited the food court onto the street, only to run into her old acting agent, who convinced her to go to an audition. The audition turned into a
part in a commercial, which turned into an appearance on a local TV show, which turned into a starring role in Lessons in Song, an Australian drama series. Our relationship was mostly via phone or Skype at the moment. It wasn’t easy – something we were both aware of but mostly ignored.

  ‘And the winner is…’ Pause for dramatic effect.

  I wanted to reach into the television and shake his fake tan off.

  ‘Elissa Sanders for Lessons in Song.’

  We went mental. Popcorn was thrown, couches were jumped on and somehow a pot plant met its untimely death. At one point I was being hugged by three different people, before Emily shushed us all. Cat made her way up onto the stage and stood in front of the microphone, grinning like a mad woman.

  ‘This is…such an honour. The last year has been this crazy journey – it’s been nonstop since we started filming the series. I’ve hardly had time to breathe, which is good because I can’t breathe in this dress anyway. I want to thank our director Carl Silvers, who gave me a shot and believed in me, and the immensely talented Gareth McClure, who made every day on set bearable. To all the wonderful cast and crew, thank you, this is for you, for giving me the opportunity to look good. I’d like to thank my agent, and all my friends back in New Zealand – hi, guys. Especially my parents for all the love and support they’ve shown me over the years, particularly for letting me crash at their house when I couldn’t afford to pay rent.’ Music began playing in the background and she looked around wildly. ‘Oh, there’re so many more people I need to thank. The moon and the sun, I love you all, thank you so much.’ She was ushered off the stage.

  Everyone in the lounge buzzed, talking excitedly about the win and being able to brag about knowing a Logie winner. Everyone except Emily, who was staring at me.

  I gave her a wink, attempting levity to offset how I felt inside. What did I expect – a romantic declaration broadcast to millions? Actually that would have been nice, but I would have settled for a casual mention.

  ‘I’ll get the dip,’ I said lightly. ‘Open the bottle Ems.’ But she didn’t, instead following me into the kitchen. I tried to ignore her, but when I straightened up from retrieving the dip from the fridge she took the bowl out of my hand and set it on the bench.

  ‘Stop it,’ she said.

  ‘Stop what?’

  ‘Thinking.’

  ‘Um, excuse me?’ I said in an attempt to be vague.

  She sighed. ‘I know you, Troy. Right now you’re overanalysing why Elissa didn’t mention you in her acceptance speech. What does it mean? Not even a casual mention.’

  I started at how accurate she was.

  ‘And until you talk to her it’s all pointless.’

  ‘But – ‘

  She held up her hand.

  ‘Ems…’

  She shoved her hand in my face.

  I swotted it away. ‘Seriously, that’s fucking annoying. How can it not mean anything?’

  ‘Troy, the history of the awards shows is littered with people who forgot to thank the people they care about the most. You and I have no idea what it’s like on that stage. The pressure must be enormous – the lights, the cameras…’

  ‘The action,’ I quipped.

  She gave me a disgusted look. ‘My point is, don’t overanalyse it. You know Elissa loves you.’

  ‘Does she?’

  ‘Surely you guys have said it?’

  ‘Not in so many words,’ I replied slowly.

  ‘There are only three words involved – which one did you leave out? I, love, or you? It’s obvious you’re crazy about her, and she must be crazy because she’s into you.’

  ‘Gee, thanks, Ems.’ I picked the dip up off the bench but she took it out of my hand and put it back down.

  ‘Troy, why haven’t you told her?’

  I shifted uncomfortably on the spot. ‘I haven’t found the right time.’

  ‘Jesus, Troy, you’re not proposing to her. There is no right time – just say it.’

  ‘Says the expert,’ I retorted.

  ‘I’ve said it plenty of times,’ she shot back.

  ‘Family doesn’t count,’ I said to be cruel, but she didn’t take the bait.

  ‘The difference between you and me, Troy, is I don’t have anyone in my life at the moment that I want to say it to; you do.’ There was a hint of regret in the way she said it. Emily was a strong, independent woman, or so she kept telling me, but she also loved being in a relationship. She hadn’t been in one since the attack – apart from all those Possibilities that never happened and therefore don’t count.

  ‘You will, Ems,’ I said, putting my hand over hers.

  ‘Of course I will,’ she said with a suggestion of a tear in her eye. ‘I’m fabulous. But we’re not talking about me, are we? We’re talking about you being a typical bloke – too scared to say how you feel.’

  ‘You’re a pain in the arse. Oh, look, I can say how I feel.’

  ‘Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, but then I guess it’s better than no wit at all,’ she responded with a raised eyebrow.

  I felt a little bad. ‘The thing is, Cat… I mean Elissa and I, we haven’t slept together.’ At first I’d been determined not to push things, to let her take things slow, and then she’d had to go to Australia for filming. I’m not sure how she felt about the lack of sex, but it was becoming a real issue for me. I’m not some sex maniac, which I realise is exactly what a sex maniac would say, but most sex maniacs wouldn’t have spent one Possibility living in a monastery for thirty years after taking a vow of celibacy. What I am, though, is a normal, healthy twenty-eight-year-old male who isn’t having sex, and the longer it goes on the more I think about it. We’ve had phone sex a couple of times, but that’s a fancy way of saying masturbation. ‘And I don’t want to say it before we do, because I don’t want her to think I’m only saying it to get her into bed.’

  She shook her head. ‘Man, what is it like in your head?’

  Before I could answer Jessica walked in.

  ‘They sent me to find out what was happening with the snacks. But it looks like I’m interrupting so I’ll tell them you’ll be in when you’re in.’ She turned to leave but Emily grabbed her arm.

  ‘Nope, you can help with this argument.’

  ‘Discussion,’ I said.

  ‘Disagreement,’ Emily said pointedly.

  ‘Listen, I really don’t want to get involved in your domestics,’ Jessica said, trying to back away.

  ‘All you have to do is answer a question,’ Emily assured her.

  ‘Okay,’ she replied suspiciously.

  ‘Has Steven told you he loves you?’

  Jessica looked relieved. ‘Oh, sure.’

  ‘Was it before or after you slept together?’

  ‘After – about thirty seconds after.’ Jessica and Emily laughed, increasing my sense of discomfort.

  ‘If he’d said it thirty seconds before, would you have thought it was to get you into bed?’

  Jessica thought about it, then shook her head. ‘Nah, by that stage I’d already made up my mind to have sex with him, and I think he knew it, so it was the icing on the cake.’

  ‘See?’ Emily rounded on me. ‘Overthinking.’

  ‘That’s one opinion, Emily. Hardly conclusive scientific proof.’

  ‘Fine. There’s another woman in the lounge – let’s ask her as well.’

  I stopped her. ‘Ems, that’s my mother. You are not going to ask her anything that will make me imagine her and my father in bed.’

  ‘Then stop being a dick.’

  ‘What’s the problem?’ Jessica asked in confusion.

  ‘Troy’s all cut up because Elissa didn’t say his name on television.’

  Jessica looked at me thoughtfully. ‘I didn’t notice – I was just happy about her winning.’ She picked up the dip and went in search of chips.

  Ouch! It felt like she’d hit me over the head with the dip bowl. I’d been so caught up in what wasn’t said, I’d completely overl
ooked that she’d won. All her hard work had been recognised at the highest level.

  ‘How’s that ego now?’ Emily asked.

  ‘Flatter than a pancake,’ I replied miserably.

  She patted me on the arm. ‘Perspective, my friend. It’s all about perspective.’

  The logical part of my brain understood and agreed with her, but the logical part of my brain wasn’t currently in charge. The emotional part was running rampage through the streets of doubt, burning cars.

  The doubts remained, until my cell phone rang thirty minutes later. I could barely understand her through the background noise. I asked her to repeat it twice, before suddenly the noise subsided.

  ‘I said, I won,’ Cat said.

  ‘I know,’ I replied. ‘Congratulations.’

  ‘Thanks. I can’t talk for long – I’ve shut myself in a cupboard, but they’re looking for me. I’ve got more press to do. I can’t believe I won.’

  ‘I can. Didn’t I tell you?’

  ‘Yeah, but you had to say that – you love me.’

  I glanced around at all the ears listening. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Whatever. Did you get my reference?’

  ‘What reference?’ I asked.

  ‘To the moon and the sun. To you and me. I wanted to say something special only we could understand. Tell me you got it? I’ve already had journalists asking me what I meant by it. You did get it, didn’t you?’ She sounded anxious and I felt stupid.

  ‘Of course I got it.’

  ‘Good,’ she said, relieved. ‘I gotta go, but tell everyone I’ll call tomorrow, okay? Oh and I just heard they’ve given the go-ahead for a second season. Isn’t that fantastic?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, trying to mean it.

  ‘Talk to you tomorrow, babe. Bye.’

  She was gone before I could respond. Suddenly aware of every eye on me, I forced a smile. ‘She told me to tell you all hi, and says she’ll catch up with everyone tomorrow.’

  While conversations resumed, I mentally beat myself up. It was my story yet I’d been so focused on listening for my name I’d completely missed the reference.

  I vaguely heard Steven talking about milking being the brother of an award-winning actress. The dads were talking about cars, in a way where neither of them really knew what they were talking about but didn’t want to appear ignorant. It amazed me they had already moved on from the win, even though it only just happened. Emily and Jessica were discussing Cat’s dress, wondering how expensive it was.