Avoiding Mr Right

by Anita Heiss

  Oh God, why ruin it all? James just couldn't see that I would make a bad wife and a shocking mother. There he was acting like Muriel again – or Alice, anyway.

  twenty-one

  Babysitting

  Reconciliation Week came and went in the blink of an eyelid. It was the most jam-packed week I had ever experienced. I'd been busy every day and night since James left with morning teas and launches, an event at the Bunjilaka Aboriginal Centre at Melbourne Museum, the launch of Archie Roach's new CD and a fabulously funny night seeing Tammy Anderson's play Itchy Clacker.

  Each event did much to bring the Indigenous and non-Indigenous communities of Melbourne together, and I was glad for all the invitations to attend, but I was exhausted, too, because every event generated more work. Sylvia kept giving my card to people and then emails and phone calls came flooding in. But I was in my element.

  'Sylvia!' I sung out like a command from my office. She came promptly. 'Right, what's left to do today?'

  'One more event at the Koorie Heritage Trust Cultural Centre and then you can rest.'

  'We can both rest,' I corrected her, as we'd been working strongly as a team since I arrived and she had to be as tired as I was. 'What's the event?'

  'Opening night of a new exhibition; a local artist working in metal. But before that you have some guests from the Assembly of First Nations in Canada arriving. I thought we could walk down together and then they can get some local culture and we don't have to organise catering or anything – there'll be a spread on there.'

  'God, I love the way you think. Thanks for that.'

  From the moment I arrived at the centre I was avoiding people: one of my mother's ex-boyfriends who was still an alcoholic womaniser; a married man who kept following me around; a cousin who always bit me for money; and three or four potential clients who wanted to know when funding decisions would be made.

  I was so frightened of bumping into someone I didn't want to speak to that I refused to head up the wooden stairs to the main exhibition. To look busy, and to show my interest in the artist and his work, I put a deposit on a blue metal sculpture worth three weeks' wages. I didn't even really know what it meant, or have my own space to put it in. It was titled 'Untitled', which I thought was just lazy of the artist. I'd always been mesmerised by dot paintings from Papunya and the stories they told, but there was no story attached to this sculpture to help me understand it. Of course, I could never say that out loud, not in the job I was in, but it was true. I only bought the piece because the artist saw me eyeing it, but he didn't realise that the look on my face was confusion, not admiration.

  I was very drunk when I got home and started texting, first to Alice:

  Belated Happy Reconciliation Week, miss ya, Px

  Then a return text to Liza. She'd sent a message for Sorry Day on 26 May but I hadn't had a chance to get back to her:

  Thanks sista 4 the msg. Been hectic here, will call soon, promise. Love ya, P xxx

  Then to James:

  Hi, sorry been quiet, was BIG recon wk, haven't stopped, just home now, exhausted. Will call soon. X P X

  ♥

  I stayed home every night for the next two weeks, played on Facebook, sent a backlog of emails, even wrote a letter to Mum. I had to save some money for the 'Untitled' piece I would eventually have to pay for, but I also needed to cleanse my system after a huge week of functions. I offered to babysit for Joe and Annie when I heard it was their wedding anniversary and Aunt had gone away with her line-dancing group for the weekend.

  I rocked up to their place with lots of kids' movies and plenty of lollies and chocolate, which was the advice from Sylvia. However, Annie told me sugar only gave them more energy and their son Will needed Ritalin, not sugar.

  Joe and Annie were going to dinner and then to Klub Koori – they were still young enough to enjoy the bar scene. I was there at six pm to help feed the kids.

  'Now, Aunty Peta is going to look after you for a while tonight, and I want you to be on your best behaviour, okay.'

  'Okay,' Maya said as she sat up to the dinner table.

  'Kay,' Will echoed, looking at his big sister.

  'We'll be right, you go get ready,' I said, and I shoved Annie out of the room. 'Right, let's eat.'

  I took a seat next to Will, and started on my own takeaway Thai while the kids played with and occasionally ate some of their food. Then Will poked me.

  'Don't do that, Will, I don't like it.'

  He poked me again.

  'I said, don't! Okay?' I stared him right in the eye. 'I'll poke you back.'

  He just stared at me until I returned to my dinner. Then he poked me again, so I poked him back really hard. He burst out crying, wailing uncontrollably until Annie and Joe came rushing out.

  'What's going on?' Annie asked.

  'Eeta poked me!' Will cried.

  'He poked me first! I warned him if he kept poking me I'd poke him back. Eye for an eye, isn't it?'

  'No, Peta, it's turn the other cheek in this house. Maybe you shouldn't have kids.'

  'Oh really? You think I hadn't figured that out myself yet? Thanks for the advice. We'll be fine now – just go, we'll sort it out.'

  'I'm worried DOCS might come and take the kids away from the babysitter,' Annie laughed.

  When we'd all finished eating, I was pissed off to find more food had landed on the floor than in Will's mouth. Joe had prepared a yummy meal, but Will just kept saying 'cheese, cheese, cheese'.

  Annie had left strict instructions that no ice-cream was to be served for dessert unless they ate their meat and veg, and I was determined to stick to the orders. After all, as a child I wasn't allowed to have sweets if I didn't eat all my dinner. But as a child, I also knew that while you might be too full to eat the brussels sprouts, you are never too full to eat ice-cream.

  After dinner I sat them both down in front of Madagascar and we watched it together. Maya and I got Will to repeat the names of all the animals as they appeared on the screen.

  'Monkeys . . .'

  'Keys . . .' Will said enthusiastically.

  'Giraffe . . .' Maya said slowly.

  'Rarf . . .' was all he could manage.

  'Racoon . . .' I said clearly.

  'Coon . . .' And as hideous as the word was and sounded, there was something funny about this two year old innocently mispronouncing the word 'racoon'.

  'Okay, so maybe we don't bother trying racoon for a while then.'

  They were both still awake at eight-thirty and I was sure it was too late for them to be up, but when I suggested they go to bed Maya said she wasn't tired and Will just started to scream. I didn't want a screaming child, nor did I know what to do with a screaming child, other than perhaps smack them, but I also knew that there was probably some law against smacking other people's kids, so I just let them stay up and gave them more ice-cream, not thinking that the sugar might be contributing to their unusual energy levels.

  At ten-thirty Will was so tired he could hardly move, so I carried him to his cot. He was asleep within seconds of me covering him over. Maya helped me get him settled and then took herself off to bed.

  'Goodnight, lovely, see you soon, eh?'

  'Oh yes, we still have to go to Luna Park, remember?'

  'Of course, how could I forget?' Kids never forgot promises adults made to them.

  It was only eleven when Annie and Joe arrived home, but I was exhausted. I was almost positive motherhood and I should never meet.

  twenty-two

  Stock market cum meat market

  After two weeks of working long hours and staying in at night I was desperate to go out again. On Friday evening I felt like going for a drink and being sociable. I was still trying to make as much as possible out of my twelve-month stint in Melbourne, and to see as many bars and restaurants and venues as possible. Even if I had a boyfriend back in Sydney, I still liked to party. I asked Sylvia if she was up for some bevies, but she already had plans with the boyfriend I still hadn't met
. I briefly considered texting Mike, but that was beyond ridiculous, given our last encounter, and even I knew that. Shelley always had drinks after work on Friday with her colleagues at a place called 'Comme', so I gave her a call on her mobile, thinking perhaps we could hook up. Typically, I got her voicemail – she never seemed to have her phone switched on – so I left a message.

  'Hi love, I'd really like to go out for a drink. Maybe I could meet you at Comme bar? It's six pm, I'm still in the office, call me.'

  But by seven, when I'd finished off my emails, I still hadn't heard from Shelley, so I got the tram home, wondering why she'd never invited me along to meet her workmates, and decided to confront her about it.

  She stumbled in the door at twenty past nine, slightly pissed. She kicked off her heels and flung her grey suit jacket on the couch next to her as she placed both feet on the coffee table.

  'It's sooooo good to be home.' She rested her head back and closed her eyes.

  'How were drinks?'

  'Same, same.'

  'Is that a good same or an average same or a bad same?'

  'Just same, same really. I only go because it's expected of me. Have you noticed I'm home at the same time every week?'

  'Yes I have actually, and I've also noticed that you go every week and never invite me along. I'd like to check out this Comme bar with you and meet your colleagues sometime.' I couldn't have been any more up-front than that.

  'Oh no, I don't think you really do, Peta.'

  'Oh, yes, I think I really do.'

  'I just don't know . . .' She sat upright and put both feet flat on the ground.

  'What? Why? Aren't I good enough for your hoity-toity stockbroking mates?'

  'Oh no, it's the other way around, Peta. I can tell you right now that you will hate Comme bar, and loathe the men who go there.'

  'But I wouldn't be going there for the men. I hate to have to keep reminding you of it, but I have a boyfriend.'

  'That's right, I forgot.' Shelley was drunker than I had originally thought.

  'I just want to see what it's like in your world – you know, outside of our little salt'n'pepper squid and Pimm's existence we share here at St Kilda.'

  'Well, okay, but don't say I didn't warn you. Come next Friday then.'

  'Great, now put those heels back on because someone by the name of George is waiting for us on the corner of Fitzroy and Grey Streets, and I do believe he has a drink there too.'

  ♥

  Friday came and I was looking forward to my initiation into the Comme bar after-work soiree. I pulled out my obligatory little black Melbourne dress, fishnets and heels. The evenings were really cold by now, so I wore my pink coat, too. It made me stick out like a sore thumb, but I didn't care. I looked hot and I knew it. The black-clad Collins Street crowd would just have to cope.

  Shelley was there when I arrived but it was hard to find her. I waded confidently into a sea of drab suits and made my way around the left of the bar, assuming if I did a loop of the oval space I'd bump into her eventually. It was jam-packed and I had to brush up close to everyone I passed. Squeezing as elegantly as possible through the crowd I was chest to chest with two guys talking about a woman on the other side of the bar.

  'She's got the biggest tits,' one of them said, gesturing across the room. He proceeded to describe the woman's cleavage and exactly where she was positioned at the bar, no shame and no concern whatsoever that I could hear everything he was saying. Shelley was right, the FTSE, the Nikkei/Dow and the sharemarket were not discussed after work. It was a market of a different kind: the meat market. The wanker banker meat market.

  I found Shelley eventually and we both looked at each other with relief. She was sitting with a few other people, and introduced me to them: there was a young gun in a suit who immediately excused himself to go to the bar; Ollie, around forty, with a completely shaved head; and Shelley's assistant, Casey.

  'Ollie, this is Peta, my housemate. Ollie specialises in offshore investments with the firm.'

  'Nice to meet you, Ollie.' I extended my hand.

  'Yes, it is.'

  I also shook hands with Casey, who generously offered to take my coat to the cloakroom.

  Ollie leered at me as I slipped it off. 'Peta, just some advice, best you dress like you work in the city,' and he looked at my gorgeous watermelon coat like it was a housecoat. 'Loud colours like that scream you're from the burbs and desperate.'

  'What? I bought this coat on Chapel Street, and I wear it all the time. Anyone with any spunk knows it screams style.'

  Shelley pushed her chair back further, recrossed her legs and rested her drink on her knee like she was settling in for the show.

  'And what's wrong with the burbs anyway?' I asked.

  'I was just looking out for ya, love.'

  'Well, don't bother. I don't need anyone looking out for me. And who's desperate? I'm doing my best to avoid men, actually. I'm not looking for one. Anyway, I don't give a rat's arse what a Melbourne—' I looked at his card. 'A Melbourne whatever thinks of me. I'm from Sydney and going back in a year.'

  'Well, that explains it then.' He looked me up and down one more time, stood up, said, 'See ya, Shells,' and walked off .

  'What was that? What a wanker! Surely they can't all be like that.'

  'Not all of them, but a lot of them. Maybe you can teach them a thing or two, Peta. Who knows, we might actually have some fun tonight.'

  After a couple of drinks Casey said she had to go home, and headed off. Then Shelley had to take a call from a client she'd been waiting to hear from. I was surprised she even had her phone on, but there were still deals to be made on Friday night, apparently. The place was really loud, much louder than the George, so she went outside and I was left to fend for myself. She was gone a while, and I made my way to the bar to order a drink. While I was waiting for my change, someone lurched into me. It was Ollie – and this time he had a mate with him.

  'Hey, Peee-taah! This is Jake, he has too many girlfriends. Jake, this is Shell's housemate, Peee-taah.' Jake extended his hand, but without much enthusiasm. He checked out my cleavage then looked around the room for his 'too many girlfriends'. I wasn't sure how Jake had so much female interest, as he was packing a few pounds. With a paunch like a middle-aged married man content with home-cooked meals, I was surprised to learn he was only twenty-six.

  'Where's the girl with the nose?' he said to Ollie. It was clear to me that women at Comme were only referred to by parts of their anatomy – breasts, noses, legs – but never by name, and rarely with respect or warmth. I needed Shelley back and fast. It was approaching nine pm, her usual escape time. I couldn't see her anywhere, though, so I thought I'd hide in the loos for a while.

  When I came back, I took a seat at the bar. I still couldn't see Shelley, but was glad just to sit down again. My feet were killing me in heels. I wore them so rarely since moving to Melbourne – with all the public transport I was constantly paranoid about tripping on a tramline, or getting my heel caught getting on or off a train. I ordered a glass of water because I was already imagining the hangover due next morning.

  Jake and Ollie were still there in the corner of the bar, but they didn't seem to feel obliged to talk to me. I was glad of that, and just sat and listened to their conversation.

  'There's no-one here worth shagging,' Jake said to Ollie as he sipped his beer.