Avoiding Mr Right

by Anita Heiss

  Mike seemed happy to sit silently while I just sat and looked at all the paraphernalia in the upstairs bar, mesmerised by the colour and contrasting fixtures. We were comfortable, like friends should be, or so I thought.

  'I like it here,' I said.

  He nodded. 'Me too.'

  'So anyway, Mike, I still don't know all that much about you. I don't even know where your family are from. Did you grow up in Melbourne?'

  'No way – south coast of New South Wales. Ulladulla.'

  'I love the coast down that way. Great beaches.'

  'Yeah, I really miss the beach, being in Melbourne.'

  'Oh God, tell me about it. I used to see the surf every day.'

  'Me too!' Mike said enthusiastically, like we'd been connected by the sea. 'Actually, I'm fourth generation from Ulladulla,' he added with Aussie pride, and I laughed.

  Most whitefellas didn't realise how ridiculous they sounded when they talked in such short time frames about their connection to a certain place or country. But I liked Mike, and whitefellas were really only ignorant if they'd been told the truth and still said ridiculous things. If we were going to be friends I couldn't lecture him every time we met, so I tried to tread lightly but honestly.

  'Well I'm 4000th generation Coolangatta, or as we call it, Bundjalung Country.'

  'Wow, 4000th, that's a lot eh? Fourth generation doesn't really rate then, does it?' he said with an embarrassed smile.

  'No, it doesn't really count in the Koori world, Mike, and to be truthful, most Blackfellas laugh at the way whitefellas talk about their so-called looooong histories on the land.'

  'Really?'

  'It's just that Aboriginal people have been here through ice ages, and whitefellas talk like the First Fleet was the beginning of any human existence here.'

  Mike was just looking at me all doe-eyed, and his blue, blue eyes were just staring into mine, and before I knew what was happening he had lunged in and kissed me on the mouth, and I took longer than I should have to pull away, and I felt like I was astral travelling but I wasn't. It wasn't earth-shattering but it was nice, and I remembered how exciting kissing could be and thought about how the passionate kiss gets passed up these days. Did anyone still kiss for hours on end any more, or was that something you only did as a teenager, because you weren't supposed to be having sex? I missed kissing. I liked kissing, I wanted to kiss more.

  'What are you doing? I have a boyfriend!' I said, pushing him away. I hated myself, I had never cheated on James. 'You know I have a boyfriend. And infidelity is one thing he wouldn't cop. No pun intended.'

  'This so-called boyfriend of yours – where is he? He's never here when I see you. I'm beginning to wonder if he even exists.'

  'He exists, and he would never forgive me if I let this go any further. I'd never forgive myself. I should go.' I stood up and steadied myself.

  'Wait, I'm sorry, please don't leave. I never meant to upset you, or disrespect you in any way. It's just that I thought this was a date.'

  'What? Why? I can't go on dates, I have a boyfriend.'

  'So you keep saying, but I've never seen him, and you left him in Sydney for a job eight hundred kilometres away, and you're out with me, so I thought perhaps you weren't that serious about him, and that if I charmed you enough with my very witty repartee, I might be in with a chance.'

  He paused for breath. I was stunned into silence, and he knew it.

  'I know I'm just a cop and you're a high-flying bureaucrat, but I like you. And you make me think about things I should be thinking about. And you were there right in front of me being really smart, and dangerously sexy, and I just couldn't help myself, and believe me I'm not in the habit of kissing women like that, I just thought—'

  'It's okay, I'm sorry too, I should've been much clearer from the outset. I am in a relationship and I am faithful to James.' I didn't want to explain the celibacy business – we were already on shaky ground. 'Look, I should go.'

  'No, please don't, sit down, let's just finish talking.' Mike was half out of his seat, urging me to stay. I sat back down but kept my bag in my lap. He looked relieved, but still a bit nervous that I might up and leave at any moment.

  'Now we know where we stand, I'd still like us to be friends. I need people like you in my life – I've got to have someone to go to chick-flicks with, don't I?'

  'Are you sure we can do this, the friendship thing?'

  'Absolutely, and I even promise I'll sit on my hands when I get an urge, and I'll only wrap my lips around my drink.'

  'Me too then!' I put my bag down on the seat next to me.

  'Deal! So let's talk about you then, Ms Peta.' He seemed genuinely interested. 'Siblings, family life, marriage, kids?'

  'Two brothers, Benjamin and Matt, and a sister, Giselle, one mother, one absentee father and two step-fathers. So as you can see, as dysfunctionalism goes my family has the monopoly. I'm in no real rush to get married or have kids – I've got a defective marriage gene.' I meant it as a joke, but it sounded truer as I said it out loud and there was a tone of sadness in my voice.

  'That's a bit harsh, Peta.' He reached for my hand, then changed his mind and picked up his drink instead.

  'Look, my mum's been married three times and she's still alone. What's the point of all the heartache when you can skip all that and stay single and happy, and not screw up other people's lives by also having kids?'

  'Is that what you seriously think?'

  'If I were truthful, I'd say no. I've seen some very happy and stable families. My cousin Joe and his wife Annie are made for each other, and so are my best friend Alice's parents. So are Alice and her boyfriend Gary, for that matter. So I do know it's possible. I just don't know if it's possible for me. I'm pretty much married to my career goals if that makes sense. Marriage and children would just hold me back right now.'

  'I totally understand what you're saying, because my sisters talk about this all the time. All their friends got married young and started families, and there's a lot of pressure on them to do the same, but Lily says she's too young to have kids at twenty-two. She's not even sure if she wants them at all – says she doesn't have the patience. She wants to go back to uni and do her masters in creative arts – her boyfriend goes to uni so they have similar goals. And Patricia's just become partner in a cafe in Ulladulla and is working sixteen hours a day, seven days a week, and reckons she'll be doing the same for years to come, so she can't even contemplate kids. My sisters know their own minds – they want careers and independence, and peer pressure just isn't going to change them at all. I love them for taking a stand and believing in themselves. I just listen and then tell them to do whatever makes them happy, but I'll kill any bloke who hurts them. That's a brother's job.'

  Finally, a man who seemed to get what I wanted from life: a career and independence!

  thirty-six

  The 'too cute' guy

  Come Friday I was anxious to finish a ministerial briefing paper on moral rights for Indigenous artists and communities, and an overdue performance management report. As I hit the send button the report went to the director, the brief went to the minister's office, and I breathed a sigh of relief. 'Happy hour!' I yelled. 'Anyone still here?'

  Sylvia had worked back late too, and was getting changed to go out. 'I'm meeting Rick at Revolver for the launch of the Charcoal Club's new album,' she said. 'They're a local Koori band. They say their music is for "burnt-out Blacks and singed whites". That's you, right? Do you want to come? Richard Frankland's the lead singer.'

  'Isn't he that bald-headed Greek-looking Blackfella who once worked in a Chinese restaurant?'

  'That's him!'

  'I saw him on Message Stick. He was a scream. I didn't know he was a muso, though – they were interviewing him about his latest film. God, we're just so deadly, us Blackfellas, aren't we.'

  'Yes, you are. And you're often late, too. Let's go.' Sylvia took me by the arm and led me out of the office.

  As we set off for Fl
inders Street station, I felt good. October had a different smell about it and the days had finally started to warm up.

  I was in a black skirt, a tight black tee and red shoes. Sylvia gave my outfit a quick once-over and nodded her approval.

  'I'm so glad you didn't wear your coat.'

  'Why? Are you telling me how to dress now as well as managing my diary? For God's sake, I am so over this rude Melbourne right to comment on people's attire.'

  'Calm down, boss. I was just thinking that the place is going to be full of rockers and tatts and not a lot of pink is all.'

  'It's watermelon.'

  'Yeah, and that's worse. You'd be smacked for sure if you argued that it's watermelon.'

  When we arrived, I spotted Josie at the bar and waved. She pointed at her beer and then at us, then held up two fingers. Yes, I nodded. It was a massive turnout, and loads of Kooris were there to support the band.

  'Here you go, gals.' Josie handed us a beer each.

  'Thanks. I'm Sylv-eye-a, nice to finally meet you,' Sylvia said, shaking Josie's hand formally. I could see Josie giving her the once-over and I frowned at her to stop. We found some space on a sofa to sit and claimed it all for ourselves.

  As I scanned the room I noticed that most of the crowd were wearing black and while they looked different in a quirky way they somehow looked the same. When I spotted a guy wearing make-up who wasn't a drag queen I couldn't help myself. 'I thought I left guys in make-up behind in Sydney!' I joked to Josie.

  A young guy walked past me sporting a blonde Mohawk and he reminded me momentarily of Geronimo. Next to me Josie was stretching her neck, desperately trying to find some hot women to hang with. The next thing I knew, she'd disappeared. I looked around the crowd for a moment, but I couldn't spot her.

  'Everyone here has really skinny legs,' I said to Sylvia.

  'Yeah, they're really skinny all over. Drugs probably,' she said, as if she knew all about the drug scene.

  'No, it's not drug skinny, it's body shape skinny. Look, they're also really tall. It's not normal. Look around,' and I motioned my head around the room, 'there are all these extraordinarily tall people with long skinny legs. See?' And I pointed to about ten really skinny guys in long black jeans with skinny legs that went right up their backsides and almost up to their armpits. I felt like taking my black skirt off to prove I had good legs as well, but that wasn't the point these people were trying to make. They weren't trying to make a point at all.

  'It's a really interesting crowd here, don't you think?' Sylvia asked, looking around while she spoke.

  Then I saw a hot young Koori guy in black jeans and a yellow T-shirt adorned with the face of some waif-like model. He made me catch my breath. That hadn't happened since I'd first met James in Bondi Junction one Saturday morning when we took a number at the deli counter at the same time.

  I assumed this guy was a muso because he had that cool, grungy look about him. The look you either had or didn't have but certainly couldn't create by choice. He had a wholesome face, with a tiny ginger goatee and kissable mole on his upper lip. I tried not to stare when he turned in my direction.

  Sylvia stood up and took my hand. 'Hey, come meet some people,' she said, and led me to the back bar where the guests were mingling. Loud music was playing over a sound system in the background, and a band was setting up.

  'Who's that guy?' I asked Sylvia, throwing my head in the goatee's direction.

  'Oh, that's Timmy, he's a drummer, and a session muso. He's a friend of my boyfriend's. Stays with us sometimes. Nice guy. Why? You interested?'

  'No, of course not. I'm with James, remember?'

  'Good, cos he is a drummer.'

  'What does that mean?'

  'You know all the jokes about drummers, don't you?'

  'No, what jokes?'

  'You've never heard a drummer joke?'

  'No I haven't. Obviously I've been living under a rock.'

  'What do you call a drummer with half a brain?'

  I just looked at her.

  'Gifted.' She went on, 'What's the best way to confuse a drummer?'

  And still I looked.

  'Put a sheet of music in front of him.'

  I frowned. I couldn't read sheet music either.

  'Why is a drum machine better than a drummer?'

  'Why?' I was already over the drummer jokes.

  'Because it can keep good time and won't sleep with your girlfriend.'

  'Hey, I've got one,' a guy said as he stopped and stood in between Sylvia and I.

  'Why do guitarists put drumsticks on the dash of their car?'

  'So they can park in the handicapped spot,' both Sylvia and he said in unison, and laughed.

  'That's appalling! They're just like blonde jokes.'

  'Did you hear the one about the blonde drummer—?' he started.

  'Stop, I can't listen to any more.' We were supposed to be making policy to support all artists in all art forms, drummers included.

  'Relax, Peta! This is Rick, my boyfriend.' She cuddled into him as he offered me his hand to shake.

  'I'm Peta, I work with Sylvia,' and I handed him my card.

  'Nice to meet you. You government types all flash with your cards and everything, aren't you? Bet you think I can't read.'

  'Why, are you a musician?'

  Rick laughed. 'Something like that. Time for another beer, see you later.' And he kissed Sylvia on the cheek and walked off.

  'Those drummer jokes are a bit cruel aren't they? I mean, why are drummers different to other musicians?'

  'They're just jokes, Peta. Why are you so worried about jokes and drummers? I thought you weren't interested.' Sylvia had a smile on her face.

  'I'm not interested in the drummer or humour, clearly. And anyway, guys like that never choose girls like me; they choose swimsuit models or young girly groupies, don't they?'

  'What?' Sylvia said.

  I couldn't stop. 'No, my best bet is to stay right away from guys like that, because he is cute, isn't he? I mean too cute for someone like me.'

  'Oh yeah, he's cute all right. Every woman at the gig probably thinks he's cute. He could have most of the women here and probably has. You know, it's that kind of industry. I think a couple of the boys fancy him too. But I'm pretty sure he's not gay. He doesn't say much when he stays. He seems pretty laid-back. Rick reckons he's the best drummer this side of the Queensland border.'

  'Maybe he's a thinker.' I kept staring at his mole.

  'Maybe.'

  'But he's too cute.'

  'Stop saying that. He may be too laid-back for someone like you, but he's certainly not too cute for you. That's just ridiculous.'

  'What? Are you the big relationship counsellor now? I didn't even know you had a boyfriend till I'd been here for weeks.'

  'So, we just like to keep it low profile, that's all. But I do love him, and he's my soul mate and that's all that matters.' We both looked over towards Rick, who was deep in conversation with one of the guys from the Charcoal Club.