Avoiding Mr Right

by Anita Heiss

  A young life guard in a black and orange uniform smiled at me and I was hoping it wasn't because I needed a bikini wax. It was winter, after all, so I hadn't thought to prepare myself for public exposure.

  The steam room was all white, with two levels of benches along three walls and eucalyptus vapours that cleared the throat and lungs. It was cleansing and refreshing after the salt in the pools, but in that hot, confined space I felt a particular energy as the only woman in there with two men. One was a young guy in long shorts who kept pouring water over himself from a Mount Franklin bottle. It was a very sexy thing to do, but I couldn't imagine myself doing it. There are some things that some people just shouldn't even try.

  He was only about twenty, way too young for me, so I tried to focus on work priorities then, to block male thoughts from my mind. I started making a to-do list in my head: edit the new music strategy paper; check staff are all doing the required amount of professional development . . . But then I noticed that the other guy was staring at me. He was around thirty-five, dark, fit and cute, but hairy. I didn't really like hair. James didn't have anything other than three strays on his chest which he would never let me pluck out, even though they were worse than the comb-over on an old balding man. This guy was incredibly attractive, though.

  I was suddenly horny and started visualising getting naked with my toy boy and the hairy older guy at the same time. I was so turned on that I scared myself and got up abruptly and left the room.

  Ever since I'd decided to stay away from men because of James and my long-term career plans, all of a sudden they were everywhere, following me. Or maybe they weren't at all – maybe I just subconsciously wanted them to be. I emerged from the spa for the final time, grabbed my towel and sat on the white chair facing the bay. I started to dream about the Ladies Baths back at Coogee – serene, private, and women-only – and I wondered how Alice and the girls were getting on. Were they there right now, sunning themselves on our rock? A pang of homesickness consumed me, and it was easier to satisfy that pang than the horny one, so I headed back to Acland Street to Monarch and some chocolate guglhupf and sachertorte in honour of my friend Alice and her Austrian heritage. I sent her a text:

  Missin u all, eatin cake 2 feel better. Ur fault if I get fatter! Pxx

  I also bought a piece to give to Josie as she was taking me to my first football match that night.

  thirty

  A trip to the G

  'Peta, you really have to learn to fit in, assimilate already.' Josie just looked me up and down and shook her head. We were manoeuvring through the masses of traffic heading to the game. I was in black pants and polo and my watermelon coat. I couldn't be all black at the football, but I didn't own any footy attire and promised myself I never would.

  'What? I have to assimilate in order to be accepted?'

  'That's right. They should make you do a bloody entry test before they let you into Victoria – the Melbourne IQ test.'

  'What? Like the national values test?'

  'Exactly! And top of the list of values for Victorians is commitment to football!'

  'Right next to only wearing black, yeah?'

  'That's right, unless you're at the football.'

  'Right, got it, made a mental note. I'll pretend for now that I'm completely committed and I'll act obsessed.'

  'Good, now let me focus while I find us a parking spot.'

  AFL was like a cult in Victoria. Even Shelley, the stock-broking, Pimm's drinking shoe and bag lady, was into it, and said I had to go for St Kilda while I was in Melbourne. This evening's game was Collingwood vs. Sydney Swans, though, so I was barracking for the Swans. Josie was a Saints fan, too, but even she was going for Sydney tonight.

  'I'm confused – how do you go for the Swans when you're a St Kilda fan? Shouldn't you at least go for the local team and not the Swans tonight? Sorry, but I don't get it.'

  'No, see, if your own team isn't playing, then you just go for the team playing Collingwood, doesn't matter if they're from Sydney or West Coast or Adelaide. No-one likes Collingwood, except for their own supporters, and they're mongrels.'

  'Oh, I'm getting it. Like everyone hates Manly in the rugby league.'

  'That's it, you've got it!'

  'What about women? Are there many female supporters at these matches?'

  'Oh, yeah baby, it's really the reason I go. About fifty per cent of AFL supporters are women, and they make up about forty-five per cent of the crowd at games.'

  'Really? That surprises me.'

  'That's because you come from a rugby league state, where female support is only about thirty-nine per cent.'

  'How do you know all these stats?'

  'Vested interest, love.' Josie winked at me.

  There was an exhibition game with young lads before the main match, and as we walked past the entrance to the change rooms where the team was warming up we heard the coach berating the aspiring players.

  'Look, there are kids your age in other parts of the world fighting for their lives, fighting for their freedom, and all you have to do is go out and win a fucken football match. Do you think you can do that?'

  'Yes,' they responded solemnly.

  'What? You can't even yell like men. DO YOU THINK YOU CAN WIN THE FUCKEN MATCH?'

  'YES!' they roared, as much from fear of the coach as passion for the game. I didn't think I'd ever really understand the AFL psyche, but with sports in my department's portfolio I needed to get my head around it at least, with so many Blackfellas in the code and at the top of their game.

  There weren't many Swannies there and as we made our way to our seats we were heckled by Collingwood supporters. One of the other parkies had given Josie tickets to the MCC Members Reserve. It was the best place to watch a game from, or so Sylvia told me. I didn't really care where we sat, I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about.

  'I'm really excited about this, Josie. I've always wanted to go to the "M"!'

  'What's the "M"?' she asked, screwing her face up.

  'The MCG!'

  'It's called the "G", you twit.' And we both laughed. I really had no idea.

  'Are any of your other friends coming tonight?' I hadn't met many of Josie's friends, and wasn't even sure if lesbians were interested in AFL as a rule, or just the female spectators.

  'Are you kidding? I couldn't get anyone else to go to a Swans game, especially when they're playing Collingwood. They're dogs, you just wait and see.'

  Then the game started and it was all on.

  'Carn the Woodies!' came the cry from an old fella sitting a few rows behind us.

  'Right, what's a woody, apart from the obvious thing?'

  'You heteros only ever think about that, don't you?'

  'Pretty much.'

  'The Woodies are Collingwood.'

  'Of course, Colling-wood.'

  Barry Hall missed a mark for the Swans and I heard a young boy no more than eight years old scream with the passion of a veteran spectator: 'Send them to hell, Collingwood!' He sat down and wrapped his 'Hot Pies' banner around his shoulders for all those behind to see. Then a boo from the crowd sounded throughout the stand.

  'What happened there?'

  'Holding the ball,' Josie said, looking straight towards the field, not even blinking an eyelid. She was completely into the game.

  'That's not good, is it?' The Swans seemed to be down on the scoreboard.

  'It's okay, Sydney are getting their groove back, watch,' Josie said, as Adam Goodes ran and kicked the ball further than I've ever seen a ball travel. I elbowed her hard with excitement even though I wasn't quite sure what was going on. I could see red and white bodies waving streamers and flags here and there around the stadium.

  Three generations of Collingwood fans sat in front of us: a brother and sister, their father and grandfather. Their dad had his phone in his ear, listening to the game being called on the radio. The kids spent their time running up and down the stairs until the daughter fell and hurt herself. Th
e father didn't fuss, though – in fact, he didn't take his eyes off the game while he rummaged through a backpack looking for a drink bottle to appease her. Later in the game I watched the boy clutching himself through his shorts, saying, 'Dad, I really have to go to the toilet.' The third time he said it, about fifteen minutes later, he finally got a response: 'Now's not a good time, son.'

  'I hope he pisses his pants,' I said to Josie.

  'No, you don't want that. It will be embarrassing for him, not the father.' She was right.

  'Well, if he doesn't take him soon, I'm going to offer to take him. That's really bad parenting. Even I know you have to let them piss occasionally.'

  I tried to ignore the potential pissy-pants boy, just like his father was. There was a cheer and the Swans got a goal.

  'How many points for a goal?' I asked Josie, leaning in.

  'Six if you get it through the middle posts, and one point if it goes between the outer posts,' she answered without looking at me. She seemed to be in a trance. After a while I started to understand how it all worked and got right into it: when your team was winning the game really was addictive – and so was looking at the long, lean, muscly, pumped bodies all over the field.

  Sweat glistened on biceps and glutes filled out tight shorts and I imagined the joy of being a footy team physio or masseur. How did women control themselves in the locker room with all that testosterone and firm flesh? And how hard would it be to control sexual urges when you were rubbing the players all over? I was getting agitated at the thought of naked men I didn't even know, wrapped in very small towels with torsos rippling, loins in need of some deep tissue massage and tired muscles in need of liniment.

  'I'd rub it in,' I accidentally said out loud.

  'What?' Josie asked without looking at me.

  'I'd rub the liniment in for them, you know, in the locker room, if I had to. If it was my job. I mean, I was just thinking that it would be a hard job, I wasn't perving or anything, you know, cos I have James, and he looks good in shorts too.'

  'Oh God, stop rambling. It's okay to perve, everyone does it. Even I do.'

  'You?' I was glad the emphasis had been taken off me.

  'Don't be so surprised. Just because I prefer the female form to play with doesn't mean I don't or can't appreciate a good-looking male. And there are plenty of them out there. Which means there's plenty of females right back here.' She leaned back in her seat and looked around at the women in the crowd.

  I continued to stare out at the players, dreaming about my new fantasy job as the Swans' team liniment applicator. Before I knew it it was half-time, and we headed to the Blazer Bar.

  'Hey, I forgot to give you this.' Josie handed me a Swans beanie and I laughed.

  'Priceless, thanks.'

  'Well?' she asked, looking at the beanie in my hand and then at my head.

  'Oh, you don't seriously expect me to wear it, do you? I spent ages doing my hair this evening. I don't want beanie hair.'

  'At least put this on, then.' And she pulled a scarf out of her bag as well. It clashed terribly with my watermelon coat, but I wrapped it around my neck with as much glamour as I could.

  'Cheers!' We clicked our Blonde beers in a toast. 'Thanks again, Josie, this is the highlight of my Melbourne experience so far.'

  A pissed guy standing next to us decided to join our conversation. 'Where are you from?' he asked.

  'Sydney,' I said proudly, ready for the onslaught.

  'No you're not!' he slurred.

  'Excuse me?'

  'No, you're from up further north than that. Your tan's from up north.' I saw Josie step back in concern about how I might react. In her job she'd learned not to let losers get to her, and I knew she wouldn't want to deal with any conflict while she was out socialising, so I tried to take a leaf out of her wise book.

  'I'm from Sydney, I just spend a lot of time on the beach.' That was all he was going to get from me.

  'Hey, you look like that comedian Rachel Berger,' he said.

  'Yes, apparently I do.'

  'Okay, let's go over this way.' Josie dragged me away.

  'Thanks for saving me from that guy.'

  'Oh, I didn't, I just wanted to stand over here where all the hot women are. Watch this. I'll get that woman there.'

  'Is she gay?'

  'Probably not, but I reckon I can get her to come talk to me.'

  'You're insane, but go on, I'm intrigued.'

  I watched Josie concentrate in the direction of a blonde woman with an ample breast and arse. About the same height as Josie, she was standing with a group of friends and enjoying her beer. I saw her notice Josie and just go on talking. But Josie kept in direct line with her and just kept staring. I wasn't sure what she was doing, but sure enough, ten minutes later the woman sauntered to the bar, bought a couple of beers and walked over and handed one to Josie. I'd never seen anything like it.

  'Don't I know you from somewhere?' she gushed. I noticed she was wearing a wedding ring.

  'I'm a parking cop in St Kilda – hope I didn't book you.'

  'No, it's not that – I always obey the law.' She threw a sleazy smile and touched Josie on the arm.

  'Maybe I've seen you at Girls Bar,' Josie said.

  'Oh no, I haven't been there.'

  'Maybe you should.'

  'Maybe I should.'

  The siren sounded, signalling the game was starting again and everyone began moving out of the bar and back to their seats.

  'How the hell did you do that? You knew her already, didn't you?' I couldn't believe what I had just seen.

  'Never seen her before in my life.'

  'Seriously?'

  'Seriously. It's something my old people taught me, but sorry, I can't share it with you.'

  Fair enough, I thought, but I was sure the old people would've been teaching her how to attract men and she'd just manipulated it slightly.

  'So was wearing that sexy black top part of the strategy to meet women too? It's great, even though it's black. Where did you get it?' I touched the sleeve – it seemed a bit thin for a wintry night out in Melbourne.

  'Like it?' She ran her hands over herself. 'I bought it yesterday.'

  'Weren't you working yesterday?'

  'Yeah but I go MIA all the time.'

  'MIA?'

  'Missing in action. Don't they use acronyms in Sydney?'

  'Of course they do, I just thought that maybe the "M" was for Melbourne something or other. So, how do you go MIA when you're supposed to be on duty?'

  'Easy, we all do it. We need to do our shopping, pay bills, and check our email, MySpace and Facebook pages. We only get thirty minutes for lunch, can't get much done in that time.'

  'But don't you get eight days off after each ten-day shift?'

  'Yeah, but sometimes things need to be done before the next day off. Like I needed a new top for tonight.'

  'Then I suppose you never get bored at work, do you?'

  'Nah, if that happens we just issue tickets.' We both laughed, then settled back to watch the second half.