Garrett & Sunny: Sometimes Love is Funny

by Peter Butler

  I stop daydreaming and move on to the third most likely place to leave a note: the kitchen.

  For a big house the kitchen is not a very big room, but it does have quite a lot of bench space. Clearly, it's meant for food preparation, but I use it more for dirty plate and pot storage. The dirty items only need to be scrapped and put into the dishwasher, but I still struggle with the scrapping and putting part. The obsessively tidy part of my persona starts and ends in my office.

  I notice a freshly rinsed bowl in the sink and the open box of organic muesli she has left on the table. So she has definitely been here. But there is no sign of a note... or the phone.

  I move on and search the three spare bedrooms, then the bathrooms and even the laundry room, but without success. The dining room is hardly ever used and has a don't mess me up aura that discourages people from casually using it. I never use it, and a quick look through the door confirms that she was not game either.

  Then I hear it. A phone is ringing. My ringtone, my phone! And it seems to be coming from the kitchen. I run though the house and arrive there just as the ringing stops and the caller either goes through to voice-mail, or hangs up.

  Damn!

  The ringing seemed to be coming from somewhere near the refrigerator, so I check on top of it and the cupboards and benches around it, but I can't find it.

  I open the fridge door and check the shelves thoroughly, it's quite lightly stocked at the moment. I open the egg section, the crisper on the bottom and even the butter compartment. Nothing.

  In desperation I even look in the freezer.

  I start again, this time I shift bottles around and look behind tins and jars. Then back to the fruit crisper where I start rummaging through the oranges and apples.

  Success! She had buried it under some apples. I say she, because even drunk and high on illicit drugs I would never do that to my phone. I think!

  Fact number three: She's a certifiable psycho!

  I realize this can't be an accident. Seriously: she was getting herself an apple and the phone somehow slipped into the tray and the apples just happened to tumble over the top of it, and she never noticed any of this. No way. She hid it there deliberately and she had a reason. My short-term memory might still be non-existent, but my thinking was back up to speed, thank God. This was a game she was playing with me, one that was meant to continue long after she had left here.

  Given the effort she had spent in hiding the phone I guessed that she has inserted her number into the address section. Maybe it was her who just called? I checked the voice mail. It turned out I had three messages so I played the most recent one.

  'How's my favorite grandson? I was calling to see if you can come around today, after your appointment with Gerald. I know what that meeting is about and we need to discuss some things. Seriously, I'd like to see you today, Gary.'

  That was my grandmother Liz, and I'm not only her favorite grandson, I'm her only grandson, I think. Her voice triggers memories in me. My grandfather, Ed, died a few weeks ago. His death tore me apart, I loved the old guy more than my own father. That's not actually saying much as I don't get on with my father, and Gramps literally replaced him during my teenage years. Gran is a wonderful, loving woman and I also think the world of her.

  Everyone in the family, with the exception of my father, would be keeping a close eye on Gran over the next few months, so it was a given that I would happily call around and see her.

  The second call was from my mom. 'Hello darling, it's Mom. Your father is not well today. I think Dad's death has had a big impact on him. It would be really lovely if you could pop around and see him. He misses you terribly, you know. We love you.'

  I put the phone down. This was safer than holding it, as there was a good chance it would have been crushed or thrown through a window.

  That's the way my father, Alex Nixon, works. The bastard. What a piece of shit! He's playing the 'poor me' card' again. And using Mom to do his dirty work. Well stuff him. It's not going to happen.

  I would have liked to be able to see Mom though, we get on really well, but it would end badly if Dad was in the house. And he would be... he never leaves it these days.

  I took a moment to cool down, then I played the last message, hoping it was her. It was Megan, my sister, 'Hi Gary. Why do you never answer my calls? I'm sure you check the Caller I.D. and let me go to voice-mail. I wanted to talk to you about our meeting with Gerald today, but hey, it's not important enough for you to pick up, it's only your sister.'

  Contrary to what she said in the message, I talk to Megs at least once every day. We are very close and she likes to 'take the piss' out of me, whenever she can.

  I dialed her number.

  'So you do know how to talk on the phone.' Was her opening line.

  'I'm sorry, Megs. I had a really late night apparently, and I couldn't find my phone. It was in the fridge.'

  'What are you talking about, Gary? Are you still drunk? You're certainly not making sense.'

  'It's a long story, one that even I don't know, yet. But it involves a woman who hides phones in refrigerators. I'll tell you what I know when I see you.'

  'She sounds like a psycho!'

  'Ha!' I laughed at the similarity of our sibling thought patterns. 'That's exactly what I thought. But, she's really something, Megs. We connected. She's had a big impact on me.'

  'Oh God! Are you in love?' She chuckled, '... again! What's her name?'

  'I don't know. It's in this phone, somewhere, but I haven't had a chance to find it.'

  'Gary, do you have any idea how lame you sound? If I didn't know you so well, I'd say you were doing drugs. Look, you're not fifteen anymore. You can't fall in love with every pretty little thing who flutters her eyelids at you.'

  I didn't want to get into this right now, so I said, 'What did you call me for?'

  'I wanted to know if you could pick me up, for our meeting with Gerald today?'

  So Megs was going to the meeting, also. Normally, it would have made sense to do that, because Megan's house was only a mile or so away from here, but I had to see Gran after the meeting and she was on the other side of the city. But I still said, 'Sure, no problem. What time are we meant to be there?'

  'Three, so you be here at two thirty, Okay? Don't get sidetracked and head off to the Registry Office to get hitched with your psycho girlfriend.'

  I ignored her sarcasm, and said instead, 'What is the meeting about, anyway?'

  'You were there when Gerald told us he needed to talk to us. At Gramps' funeral.'

  Now a small memory came back to me. I remembered how both Megs and I were surprised by his manner and his insistence that the meeting take place on the thirteenth. Neither of us had any inkling of what was to be discussed, and he refused to elaborate at the funeral. We guessed it concerned Gran or Ed, as he is my grandparent’s legal representative.

  'Yep, I remember now.' I was anxious to start looking for the phone number, so I said, 'I've got to run, Megs. Lots of shopping to do before then... and I don't even know her ring size.'

  I ended the call without giving her the last word. Small victories can be strangely satisfying.

  I opened the "Contacts" list. It was arranged alphabetically, so I hoped her name wasn't Zelda or something similar. This was my only personal phone and I had all my friends and business contacts listed. It was a very long list. I scrolled down, thinking I could probably delete a lot of these names, but decided against it. You never know. I was looking for something that seemed new and I found it in the "H" section. Heidi. I do not know a Heidi. Well I didn't, until now.

  I pushed the call button and waited.

  'Hello.'

  I tentatively asked, 'Is that Heidi?'

  'No.'

  Damn! It occurred to me that she had given me a false number. 'I'm sorry. I was given this number but it's obviously a mistake.'

  'Yes,' she said, 'but it isn't a wrong number.'

  'But you just said you weren’t Hei
di... Oh! I get it. You just answered her phone. Could I speak with her, please?'

  'That is not going to be possible,' she replied.

  Games within games. I was pretty sure that I was talking to the girl who was here. She sounded very similar and this bizarre, cryptic conversation certainly seemed to come from a mind like hers.

  I decided I needed to try and gain some control, so I said, 'I'm sorry to hear that, I really wanted to talk to her about something she lost at my place last night. Sorry to bother you.' I quickly ended the call, guaranteeing that I would have the last word.

  I replayed the conversation in my mind. Obviously a mistake....but not a wrong number.

  So Heidi wasn't her name. It was a test to see if I knew her real name. Oops! Failed, big time.

  I couldn't see any way to improve my place in the game, so I decided to end the nonsense and just admit that I had no memory of last night.

  I twisted the phone in my hand and my finger was just about to hit redial, when it started ringing.

  'Hello.' I said.

  There was a longer than normal pause on the other end, then she said, 'You have no idea what my name is, do you?'

  'Well, I'm pretty sure now it isn't Heidi.' I answered tentatively. Then I added, 'But you did put that name in my phone, so I have to assume that you can't spell your real name. My first guess is that you're a Russian spy and your real name has about twenty letters, and it just wouldn't fit in my phone. Or, now that I think about it, my favorite theory is that you have multiple personalities and they all have different names. One would definitely be Sybil, of course.'

  She chuckled. Maybe I'd just scored a point in her game. 'No. It's Sunny.' She thought for a moment, then continued, 'And yes, I do have a few different personalities, but they are all good fun, hopefully.'

  I could tell from her voice that she was enjoying this, so I said, 'Nice to meet you Sunny. Let me take a stab at your full name. Is it Sunny... Lecter?'

  'Ha Ha...You're starting to sound a lot like a guy I met last night.' She laughed. 'No, my name is Sunny McGuire, well actually it Sonya McGuire but I changed it in school because some creative little clown started calling me "Piss". Piss-on-ya was just stupid enough to catch on. Now I only answer to Sunny.

  I laughed, 'So you changed the name but retained the golden theme. Well played, nice touch.'

  'You lied about your name,' she retaliated. 'You said it was Gary. Turns out it's a bit longer than that. You have trouble spelling the big word?' She deepened her voice as she said this, mimicking my earlier dig at her imaginary Russian name.

  'We have something in common.' I replied. 'At school, some of the kids decided Garrett was too hard for them, and not nearly as amusing as their choices of "Parrot" and "Carrot". So I started using Gary. Now, even my mom calls me Gary.'

  'Well, Garrett Nixon, you need to know that you failed the "Find the Phone" test and the sad thing is, it's not really designed for humans, it's more an animal test. They usually replace the phone with food for them. The average chimp will do it in under three minutes.'

  'That's rubbish. You just made that test up. Besides, I would have aced it if you had put it behind the beer. I'm beginning to think that you really are related to the Lecter family.'

  'You know that can't be true, because you're standing in your kitchen, hopefully dressed by now, talking to me,' she laughed, 'and not still in bed, trussed up like a turkey awaiting an appointment with a carving knife. Now, to important matters.' She changed the tone of her voice again. 'The contents of your fridge, in fact your entire kitchen, are pathetic. If that's what you eat then you really need to keep your medical insurance up to date.'

  I replied, slightly defensively, 'It's not normally that barren, I haven't had a chance to...' I smiled to myself, as I remembered exactly who I was talking to, 'The truth is, I've found that when I have virgins over, they're usually really hungry in the morning, and while I sleep on blissfully exhausted, they're consuming the contents of my fridge. It just became too expensive, so now I deliberately leave the kitchen understocked.' I paused, realizing that my attempt at humor could very easily be taken the wrong way. If she really was a virgin I had just added her to an imaginary list that was presumably very long, and if she wasn't, then I just sounded like a tight-ass. I tried to retrieve the situation a little, 'But I notice you only had a bowl of muesli, which makes you an unusual virgin.'

  'Aw gee! Not special?' she laughed. 'I also had an orange... and both are long gone, so I can't give them back.'

  I liked the way things were going, so many of the women I had dated in the past were overly keen to score any point they could. When I managed to put my foot in my mouth, and I usually did, they would happily place theirs up my backside. Almost like they were looking for ways to keep some distance between us. The fact that she had just laughed off an opportunity to do that was significant. I have never been very good at managing the subtle mood changes that women seem to go through in the early stages of a relationship. Sunny seemed to be the perfect woman, beautiful, playful, intelligent and easy going, too. Time to find out.

  'You don't happen to own a pub?'

  'No. Why would you ask that?'

  Oh, she didn't get it... 'I've always wanted to meet a woman who owned one,' I chuckled defensively. 'It's not a big deal.' Clearly she hadn't heard about most guys version of the perfect woman.

  'Well I'm sorry to disappoint you. I'll go and get one this afternoon.'

  'Sunny, you do realize that I have very little memory of last night?' This was a lie, I still had no memory at all. 'Tell me how I got home and why my clothes are all over the lounge room.'

  'You really don't remember? Pity, you were a lot of fun right up to the time you passed out.' She waited a moment, as if she was working out just how much she should say. 'I can't take all the credit for getting you home and inside. Truf half dragged, half carried you from the cab,' she giggled.

  It was a beautiful little sound that I was fast beginning to fall in love with.

  The fact that Truf came back here and then left us alone confirmed that he trusted Sunny.

  More importantly, he could tell me everything that went on last night.

  Truf is a very good judge of character, the sort of guy who can spot a phony from a mile away. He got his name back when we were kids together. For as long as I've known him he was fascinated with rocks and anything to do with the earth. He was always digging things up that caught his eye. When we were about fourteen I saw a documentary on TV about a Frenchman who roamed the countryside near his home with a pig, who used its incredible sense of smell to uncover buried truffles. From that day on Henry Stonewall had a new name. Not that I was really comparing him with a pig. It just seemed appropriate. He liked being included with a group of special people finding all sorts of valuable things just under the surface of the earth. Where the rest of us only saw dirt and rocks, Truf could see gold or silver or tin.

  Truf is one of the country's top geologists now, and has his own business. He works on contract for most of the big mining houses, preparing opinions on the value of their leaseholds and mapping out their best options for any potential mining. He works all over the world and does very well.

  Truf is also a very big, powerful man. I'm over six foot tall, but he towers over me, so getting me from a cab to the lounge would not be all that difficult for him.

  'Oh, look at the time!' She suddenly shrieked over the phone. 'I have to get to work. I'm sorry I stole a bowl of your muesli and an orange, all I can suggest is you come around to my place and you can have some of my muesli, I think you'll like it. I don't have any oranges, so we'll need to work something out to replace that. Are you up for that?'

  I'm pretty sure she wasn't really talking about breakfast cereal; at least I hoped she wasn't, so I said, 'I think I'm up for that. What time suits you?'

  I waited for a response... and waited, but the phone was quiet.

  She had already hung-up.

  Crap! At lea
st I had her phone number, now.

  I was still trying to work out if her last statement about the muesli was a euphemism. God, I hope it was.

  Chapter 2

  Driving along Megan's street is like being in a tunnel. It is lined on both sides with large Camphor Laurels with thick branches, heavy with leaves. The massive trees tower over the street, creating a darkened tunnel through which I drive.

  I pull up in front of a neat white picket-fence with foliage spilling over and through it. Megan likes the green leafy plants and has filled her garden with varieties that create small forest-like pockets around her front and rear yards. There is a modest size open grass area in the middle for Chelsea and Livvy to play.

  As I walk towards the front door I offer up a small prayer that Megan's husband, Tim, will not be at home. Just before I reach the first of the three steps that lead to the veranda my legs are simultaneously grabbed from behind. This attack is accompanied with squeals of delight from two little girls, who were clearly hiding in the bushes waiting to ambush me. Not to spoil their little game, I was expecting this attack, having spotted them as soon as I arrived; their attempts at camouflage were not quite the equivalent of a crack SAS team.

  I allow them to drag me to the grass and they pile on top of me, still squealing and laughing. I start to growl and snarl like a dog at them and they squeal even louder. I manage to ease Livvy, who is the youngest at four years of age, off me, but Chelsea, who is one year older, seizes the opportunity to put me in a head lock and plant a big, sloppy kiss on my cheek. Not to be outdone by her sister, Livvy manages to slip away from my arm and copies her sister, giving me an equally sloppy kiss on my other cheek.

  'Ooh... yuck!' I feign horror at being kissed by the girls and pretend to wipe their kisses away with my sleeve while I half-heartedly try and push them away - even though I love their affection with every fiber of my body. This just increases their screams and squeals, and the intensity of their kisses.

  I give up and lay there with my arms stretched out in surrender, smothered in their beautiful kisses and infectious laughter.