Avoiding Mr Right

by Anita Heiss

  ♥

  'Wow, that was great. I mean the atmosphere, not the fact that Collingwood won. I have to say I'm surprised the time went so quickly. I didn't think I'd manage sitting through an entire football match. It really is addictive, isn't it?'

  'You mean the players are addictive.' Josie was right, I was on my first football high – I was starving, too.

  'So, where do you want to eat?' I hoped she'd have somewhere groovy and tasty in mind, but she didn't.

  'I don't care as long as I get fed.'

  'God, you're rough sometimes, girl. What about just going to a pub?'

  We went back to the Prince of Wales and it was busy enough to have a buzz to it, but not so busy that we couldn't find ourselves somewhere to sit and order food. Scanning the room for a table, I saw some Blackfellas sitting in a corner, laughing and having a good time. I recognised one as a local filmmaker and another was a photographer.

  I groaned. 'Oh, God. They're my clients, they'll start asking me about funding opportunities and deadlines if they see me.'

  'Yeah, and they'll ask me to get them out of a parking ticket. Let's eat first, and then head over.'

  'I like your style, Josie.'

  I watched her completely devour a huge porterhouse steak; I had the Moroccan chicken.

  'Okay, let's go say hi to the 'lations,' she said when she was done, wiping her face aggressively with her serviette. 'Come on. You know we never bundy off as Blackfellas.' She was already on her way over to the table.

  As we sat down, drinks were plonked in front of me: two pints of pale ale and a glass of red. I followed the hands up their arms and to the face of Constable Care, Mike.

  He looked me straight in the eye and said, 'Honey, I'm new in town – dya think I can have directions to your house?'

  'You're mad.' I giggled like a schoolgirl.

  'I know you like me, I'm a likeable guy. That's me, Mike, Mr Nice Guy.' We hadn't spoken since the hideous lunch, but looking around I realised he couldn't be such a bad guy, even if he was a cop: he was sitting there with a mob of Blackfellas. But what was his story? Did they know about the blue wrist band too? I couldn't control myself and grabbed his sleeve, pushing it up to his elbow, and then, not satisfied, pushed it further up his biceps to see if the rubber band was there. It wasn't.

  'What are you doing? You want to touch these puppies, do you?' He flexed his muscles. Now that he wasn't wearing the blue band any more he suddenly became more attractive. Perhaps he wasn't so much the Nazi in the Nazi/ Jew scenario I'd imagined.

  'You know I have a boyfriend.'

  'And where is he then, this boyfriend you keep mentioning? Why isn't he here protecting you from potential suitors like me?'

  'Because he doesn't have to protect me. And even if we weren't together he knows I would never kiss a cop,' I said adamantly, looking into the bluest eyes I had ever seen.

  'Peta, how would you feel if I said that I wouldn't kiss someone who's Aboriginal?'

  'I'd think you were a racist prick and probably tell you so.'

  'And fair enough. I would be a racist prick if I said that. But it feels the same when you say to me that you could never kiss a cop. Can you see how discriminatory you're being?' And he was right. I didn't say anything. There were a few seconds of uncomfortable silence between us.

  'I hope you know CPR,' Mike said, dodging the topic.

  'Why?'

  'Cos you take my breath away.'

  'Okay, that's enough already. It's time to go. We've got a huge day tomorrow.

  'What's on, babycakes?'

  'The rally against the government's intervention in the Northern Territory. But I don't suppose that's anything you'd be interested in.'

  'Why would you think that, Peta? Gees, you're so quick to judge and second-guess others, aren't you? Of course I'm concerned about human rights; my job is about protecting human rights. I'm not marching tomorrow because I'm on duty, but I would've.'

  'Yeah, yeah.'

  'Look, I'm just as pissed off as you are about the way the NT legislation was passed by suspending the Racial Discrimination Act. It was unlawful, and I'm an officer of the law. And of course it's immoral as well.'

  I must have looked surprised.

  'What? You think you're the only one who reads the newspapers? It's the first thing I do every morning. I've even been known to write a letter or two to the editor.'

  'Of course, my apologies. It's actually getting late, we really should go.'

  thirty-one

  End the intervention!

  Human rights for all!

  I was supposed to meet Josie at Federation Square at ten am, ready for the march. It was difficult to find her as everyone was asked to wear red. I wasn't sure if it was because we were 'seeing red' due to the intervention, or if it was to connect to the red earth of the Northern Territory or if it was just for visual effect. Either way, it was great to see that even the Melbourne black was put aside for this one day. There were thousands of supporters there, hundreds of Aboriginal flags and loads of banners reading: NT LEGISLATION = DISCRIMINATION and STOP THE INVASION OF THE NT and so on.

  There was a huge contingent of Greens supporters and even Bob Brown. He was such a great politician, he just needed a good Melbourne makeover. While I was scanning the crowd for Josie I saw staff from other sections of DOMSARIA huddled together behind one massive banner. I called James, knowing he'd be thinking of me. Sunday mornings we'd nearly always be together, out for breakfast or lazing in bed with the papers. Just as he answered Josie walked up to me, also on her mobile. We air kissed and just kept talking into our respective phones.

  'Where are you? It sounds like a circus down there.' James had forgotten about the march.

  'I'm at the march against the intervention with Josie and a mob of Blackfellas, and some staff from other sections of the department.'

  'Of course, many people there?'

  'Masses, it's a great statement.'

  'You know it won't make a lick of difference, don't you?'

  'What?'

  'People marched against the war in Iraq, they marched against mining, they marched against the GST even, but the government will still do what they want.'

  'So what are you saying? It's a waste of time?'

  'Well . . .'

  'Well, what? It's not a waste of time to the Elders who have travelled here from their communities looking for support when the government won't even meet with them. It's not a waste of time if lone individuals can take some sort of collective responsibility for the cause, and make a public statement about how they feel.' I sounded like I was in a meeting at work, talking to the linguist again. 'I've gotta go, there's some movement up the front.'

  'Just don't get arrested.'

  'So you won't bail me out?'

  'You know I would, I'm just saying it's not worth a record.'

  That was the difference between us: I thought the fight for social justice and human rights was worth whatever I could give.

  We marched down Swanston Street past Bourke Street Mall and the chants were well timed and strong. I was straining my lungs with Josie and all those around me when I felt someone grab my arm gently. It was Mike and he was in uniform.

  'Hi!' He had to bellow over the chanting. I could see people around me looking worried, thinking I was in trouble with the law or something

  'Hi. You didn't tell me you were on rally patrol. It's almost laughable. What are you doing, making sure we don't cause a riot?'

  'No, I was meant to be at the station.' He was still bellowing – a guy with a megaphone was making his way along the line of marchers to keep us all in sync. 'But I swapped with someone so I could be here.'

  'Why?'

  'Didn't you hear what I said last night?'

  'Right, but you can't march in uniform, can you?'

  'No, I can't, but I can walk along the side and do my job and still feel like I'm part of it. Better go, I'll call you.' And he was off.

  Before I had to
o much time to think about it a new chant began: 'End the intervention! Human rights for all!'

  ♥

  We all ended up soothing our sore throats back at the Espy. Josie and I found a table in the corner because we both wanted some quiet.

  'So, Mike was there today, didn't know you had a date,' Josie teased.

  'Don't be ridiculous, he was working,' I told her.

  'Oooh, that was a bit defensive, Peta. Touch a raw nerve did I? Like he touched your arm, eh? Yes, I saw the gentle move he made.'

  'Now you are being ridiculous. And I'm not talking about him with you.'

  'Keep digging there, sista, you'll bury yourself in a minute.'

  'You really are a nut, Josie, but I like you.' I smiled. 'No, not that way, so stop grinning like the cat that got the cream.'

  'But what if I buy you one more drink? Will you like me that way then?'

  'I'm going home to put the pics up on Facebook to show the girls, and James. See you soon, eh?' I said as I pushed my chair in and left Josie with a mob of strangers who had made themselves comfortable at our table.

  Shelley was out and I got busy uploading photos and sending emails. I especially wanted James to see the turnout, and how many people had rallied to exercise their democratic rights and try to do something to make the country more equitable for all. I sat at the computer for hours catching up on superpokes and snowglobes and hugs, and then my phone sounded a text message. It was from Mike:

  Hi Peta, gr8 turnout 2day. Was good 2 c u. Hope 2 c u soon. The Cop

  The cheesy lines had gone, like we were real friends now. I drafted and redrafted my reply, and before going to bed finally sent it:

  Hi Mike. Yes, a good response all round. Perhaps we cld do dinner? Peta

  Minutes later he texted me back:

  I'll call u soon. Good nite.

  thirty-two

  Authentically, not!

  I stayed at Aunt Nell's place in East Bentleigh on Monday night to babysit Maya and Will while Joe and Annie took Aunt out for her birthday. Maya greeted me at the door with a painting she had done at school for me.

  'That's beautiful, Maya,' I said, not quite sure what I was looking at.

  'It's you and Mummy and Nanny and me out shopping, without Will.' She turned her nose up as Will came crashing into me yelling, 'Eeta, Eeta!'

  'Hello big fella,' I said, lifting his heavy weight off the ground. Will was chunky for his age, no doubt from Joe's cooking. 'What are you up to? Are you being a good boy for Mummy?' No sooner was he up than he was down on the ground again, running through the house bellowing 'Eeta, Eeta!'

  I enjoyed hanging out with Maya and Will that night and even got them off to sleep without too much hassle. They'd become better behaved with me over the months and had learned that going to bed without arguments meant that Aunty Peta was a nicer and more generous aunty. My first babysitting stint had taught me the advantages of bribery as a strategy.

  I pulled the sofa bed out and crashed in the lounge room and somehow didn't wake up when Aunty Nell and the others came in the door at midnight. The next morning I was awake early, expecting the kids to torment me, but despite the central heating even Will and Maya seemed to think bed was the best place to be in winter.

  'Okay, cuz, if that's not a blanket keeping you warm in there then kick him out.' Joe stuck his head around the doorway and came in with some homemade muffins for breakfast.

  'Oh, you're sooooo hilarious aren't you?' I pulled the doona up further.

  'Or so he thinks.' Annie followed him with a freshly brewed pot of tea.

  'Shouldn't you stay in bed and make the most of the kids not being awake?' That's what I would've done.

  'Actually, it's much nicer to be up and have a quiet cuppa together while we can.' Annie poured me a cup of tea and Joe passed me a muffin and they sat on either side of the sofa bed and just ate and sipped. There was a sense of homeliness about being there again, and the relationship between Annie and Joe inspired me. They actually seemed to like each other.

  Joe dropped me at the station about quarter past seven and when I saw people running for the train, I ran as well. Even though I had plenty of layers on, including my loud coat, I was numb from the low temperatures. There was simply no denying that Melbourne was a lot colder than Sydney.

  I watched my breath as I exhaled into the cold air, and smiled at the well-dressed men who hurried beside me in their dark suits and scarves. Scarves were something I rarely if ever saw men wearing in Sydney, it never got cold enough.

  As I waited for the train to pull out I laughed at the palm trees that made a weird backdrop to the station and the graffiti-adorned wall. It was like a fusion of Los Angeles and Western Sydney.

  Sylvia and I had agreed to meet at the Vic Markets before work to buy some supplies for the after-work drinks that day. It was a farewell for one of the IT guys, Jeremy, whom we were all going to miss because he always managed to find the files we thought we'd deleted and lost forever.

  As I mostly caught trams in Melbourne, I still didn't have my bearings on the train line, even though I'd been in the city for six months. I got off at Flinders Street station by mistake and was immediately caught up in a sea of pin-striped, scarved and stilettoed Melbournites on their way to work. Their dark strides were fast, determined and purposeful, and I was carried along with the current quickly. Everyone was well dressed, well groomed, well rugged up, but they all looked the same. Dark, grey, drab, dull. Black. I was in the so-called fashion capital of Australia, but everyone looked exactly the same. I felt like I was at some big fat city-wide Greek funeral. And then there was me, sticking out like dog's balls, in my watermelon coat.

  It was obvious that the 'coastal' fashions and colours of Sydney were out of place here in the Euro-moody weather of Melbourne. I walked in step with the others, completely conscious that I did not fit in, yet feeling oddly good about it. I liked being an individual. I liked having some spunk about me, even though I felt other women in the street were smirking at me, as if to say I had no fashion sense whatsoever. I upped my pace until I reached the markets.

  It was my first time there, so I'd planned to arrive early for an unrushed browse before meeting Sylvia. I strolled along each aisle, lingering at some stalls, ignoring others. I wasn't interested in leather jackets, running shoes or cheap jewellery, or a logoed T-shirt made in a Taiwanese sweatshop. I found a stall where I could get my name written in Japanese and framed, but couldn't think of one reason why I would.

  Then I hit the stands selling 'Authentically Australian Souvenirs', where generic dot-painted everything seemed to be the flavour of the day. At one stall I picked up a tea towel with a map of Australia on it. Each state had its flower or bird or other animal, like the Tasmanian tiger. The Northern Territory, however, had a stereotypical Aboriginal man in a red loincloth, holding a spear. At the Vic Markets Aboriginal people were still considered part of the flora and fauna of Australia.

  In another aisle the sign read, 'Extensive range of quality Australian souvenirs'. I had to ask myself how much quality you could actually buy for two dollars. At that moment the issue for me wasn't so much about the appropriation of Aboriginal cultural property but just how cheap and nasty most of the items were. But most people were ignorant of the value of Indigenous arts and culture and were happy with kitsch rip-offs.