The Cait Lennox Box Set

by Roderick Donald

  “You sound like a racist redneck. Don’t forget, you’re an immigrant too. The only difference between you and them is that you didn’t arrive on a refugee boat,” said Kylie, her voice increasing in decibels as she wound up. “You’re a wog too Sean, always remember that.”

  The booze was working as a truth serum. Kylie was a successful barrister who had an opinion and a social conscience, which made her a formidable foe, and at this stage of the evening she couldn’t give a shit if Sean was the co-owner of Fig Jam or not. His outrageous comments raised her ire, and as far as she was concerned he needed putting back in his box.

  “I noticed that you conveniently“—Kylie drew the word out, placing particular emphasis on it as if she was making a point to a jury—“didn’t refer to your Indians as also needing to be put on that mythical boat that’s meant to ship all the troublemakers out of here. No doubt because you’re too bloody busy exploiting them in your overpriced accommodation.”

  Kylie was backing Sean into a corner and closing in for the kill.

  She’d hit a raw nerve, and Sean’s ruddy Irish complexion was turning the color of a ripe tomato.

  “You stuck-up bitch. What would you know? You’re nothing but a bloodsucking lefty lawyer.”

  They’d had this argument before and it was like a continuation of a past, simmering disagreement between them. Sean was never anyone to shy away from a fight, especially with a woman who thought she knew better, so he let fly, thumping the table hard with his fist. His half-full glass flew off the edge, smashing into a thousand shards on the tiled decking.

  Fifty eyes immediately turned Sean’s way as the sound of shattering glass cut through the background chatter, a deafening split-second silence on the outdoor balcony area cutting through the hubbub like a slash from a switchblade knife.

  Oh shit! Here we go again, thought G.

  “Hey guys, cool it. Chill out big-time, okay? Let’s talk boats,” he said in his best calming tone. G was used to jumping in and saving Kylie from winding up and tearing some poor male apart with her vitriolic tongue, but this time it was Sean and it could get ugly. Kylie was making a name for herself in legal circles as a street-fighting barrister who went for the jugular, and there would be blood on the table if he didn’t stop them.

  Immediately.

  “It’s just not worth it, you guys. Get wound up over a yacht race, but this is bullshit. You’ve both had too much to drink.” G paused for effect, then continued, “For Christ’s sake, chill. You’ve had this argument before and no one ever wins.”

  G was trying his best to avoid World War III, and the first shot had already been fired across the bow.

  He sensed that Kylie couldn’t resist going in for the kill, and Sean was on the edge, about to snap. G ripped off his sunglasses and threw them down forcefully, all eyes watching them as they skidded through the puddles of spilled beer, spinning toward the middle of the table.

  “Sean, shut your trap . . . and Kylie, cool it.” G glared at them both, moving his steely gaze from one to the other with a direct eyeball to eyeball stare that was wolf like, frightening in its intensity and meaning.

  A momentary silence cut through the rising tension.

  “Besides, Dec’s here and I don’t want him to see you both tearing strips off each other.” G threw his son in for good measure, feeling that it would soften the intensity of his comments. But Dec was totally aware of the simmering tension between Sean and Kylie and he couldn’t care less. In fact, he thought it was a hoot. It made sailing with them interesting, to say the least.

  Gordy also picked up on the direction of where this was all heading. He’d been watching from the sidelines and saw the red mist take possession of Sean’s psyche when he sensed that Kylie’s comments were hitting home. But to Gordy, Kylie did have a valid point, even if it was expressed in her usual confrontational way. And Sean was just being himself—a big teddy bear—who really didn’t mean any harm by his over-the-top comments.

  So in his best”you need to hear this” way, Gordy said, “I tell you what mate, I know it’s none of my business, but there’s one huge elephant in the room here. You do need to look at this bashing issue in a bit more depth.”

  Gordy knew he was treading a fine line and he didn’t want to sound like he was taking sides or giving homilies, but he continued in any case.

  “I’ve just come back from India and trust me, Melbourne’s certainly not the flavor of the month at present. ‘Curry bashing,’ as they call it, is in all the papers over there on a regular basis.”

  Kylie was about to butt in but she picked up on another of G’s”back off” glances that he firmly cast in her direction across the table, so instead she took a sip of her gin and tonic and then, like a chameleon, instantly changed from a courtroom adversary to”let’s talk boats.”

  “All right, enough said. Let’s just agree to disagree, Sean,” said Kylie, the effect of G’s penetrating glare as effective as if a judge had just bawled her out for taking things too far in a courtroom brawl.

  “Now, a second place tonight in the race. Not bad, but a first would have been better,” said Kylie, as sweet as pie, as if no cross words had ever been uttered. “As usual, G was right. We should have gone inshore on that final leg home to the finish line to get the lift off the breakwater instead of going out for fresh breeze. Cost us the gun smoke, guys.”

  “She’s only got eyes for her kids, hasn’t she?” said Bec to Jools, nodding at Kaz’s back as she was walking inside to order her coffee. Or whatever hot drink it was that Kaz was into at the time: chai latte, flat white, skinny cappuccino? You never knew with her.

  Jools and Bec were already sitting outside waiting for their coffee when Kaz arrived. But instead of saying hi or giving a nod or even an acknowledging glance, Kaz turned her back on the girls and walked straight over to her son Jason and his two friends who just happened to be sitting at a table two up from where Jools and Bec were.

  “Do we exist?” said Bec.

  When it came to discussing Kaz, Bec detoured from her usual reserved self and was a straight-to-the-point girl. In fact, the two of them had decided some time ago to take Kaz under their wing and”coach” her in the ways of the world”for her better good.”

  “She certainly lives for her family,” said Jools. “Being a lady of leisure with a husband like Paul has its drawbacks. She’s got money to burn, but that glass of hers is still only half full. I told her at the BBQ to get out of her comfort zone and do some volunteer work like you.”

  “Bet that went down like a ton of bricks.”

  “Yep,” replied Jools with a knowing lilt to her voice. “Really, she needs to snap out of her pessimistic view on life and start living again.”

  “She’s just ‘too busy,’ I bet,” replied Bec. “Kaz needs another interest outside of her family to make her aware of what’s really happening around her . . . or in other people’s lives, for that matter.”

  Their coffee arrived and the rich aroma rose up to greet them, diverting their attention away from Kaz. Bec needed a sugar hit so she popped two artificial sweeteners into her drink, then as if to compensate for the lack of real sugar, dove into the warm white chocolate and raspberry muffin that accompanied her order.

  “Here, have some,” said Bec through a mouth full of food, tearing the muffin apart and sliding it across to Jools. “It’s yummy.”

  Bec was one of those people who constantly had to eat. She blamed it on always being hungry at boarding school.

  “No thanks,” said Jools, pushing the plate back toward Bec, her taste buds forcing her to take another sip of the bittersweet drink in front of her instead.

  “You know, you’re so right. Kaz was such a happy-go-lucky, carefree person before she had money. Remember when the kids were young and we had our own little mother’s group?”

  “Yeah, where’s that all gone. Kaz’s never really got over the kid bit, has she?” said Bec, reflecting back on past times.

  “You k
now what she’s like with her kids. Worships them, especially Jason. Sometimes you’d think she never sees him,” mused Jools as she looked over her shoulder at Kaz’s back. Jason looked up and gave a friendly wave and then continued talking to his mother.

  Jools was practically Jason’s second mother, as the two families and their children had literally grown up together, and Kaz was certainly one of Jools’s closest girlfriends. Except when Kaz’s kids were around.

  As far back as Jools could remember, by nature Kaz had always had a pessimistic bent, justifying her questionable outlook on life by wearing the mask of a pragmatic realist. Even when Paul was starting to rise up the corporate ladder and was promoted at the bank to head honcho in charge of Asia, with a salary and perks to match, she refused to acknowledge that they were comfortably off. Instead, she found it difficult to look forward to anything with excited anticipation, just in case her charmed life came tumbling down like a stack of cards.

  “It’s strange, isn’t it, how Kaz feels more comfortable denying Paul’s financial success than enjoying it,” said Bec. “Really, she just needs to let go sometimes.”

  “So true, Bec.”

  Ten minutes later, Kaz finally sat down with Bec and Jools. “Sorry about that. Just had to sort a few dramas out with Jason. He misplaced his credit card last night so we’ll have to arrange for a replacement.”

  “Kaz, if he lost it, then surely he should sort it out himself? He’s a big boy now,” said Jools eruditely, as if she was advising one of her patients.

  “Cut those apron strings, girl,” is what Jools would have really liked to say, but she held her tongue.

  “He’s got it all in hand. I just had to make sure that he’d done everything correctly.” Kaz was being her usual overprotective self.

  Kaz, Bec, and Jools were outside at 21 Squares, their usual prewalk meeting place, sitting on two milk crates and a sturdy, chipped high back chair at one of those low, collapsible wooden tables that was probably made in Bali from nonsustainable rain forest timber.

  But at least the table was being recycled.

  With only twenty-one square meters of actual floor space, the coffee shop was a hole-in-the-wall that really did live up to its name. It was so small inside that it was like trying to fit a football team into a phone booth. But to those in the know, 21 Squares was a St Kilda institution; a locals-only, totally eclectic restaurant of sorts tucked away in Blessington Street, well off the main drag and around the corner from the more popular and crowded coffeehouses and European cake shops in busy and touristy Acland Street that St Kilda was so famous for.

  Actually, for the regulars 21 Squares was more like a communal lounge room, but without the trimmings. It was very bric-a-brac meets avant-garde, with its mix of shabby chic secondhand furniture, old chairs from Elwood High School that still bore the graffiti of generations past, plastic milk crates to sit on or use as an occasional table, and of course the coffee. Their coffee was to die for, especially when Kiwi Dave was behind his beloved espresso machine.

  The Killers were belting out “Mr. Brightside” in the background if anybody other than the staff cared to listen. Jools had a good ear for music and immediately recognized the track and rocked in her head as Kaz and Bec discussed the comings and goings of Bec’s next-door neighbor’s kids.

  “I honestly don’t know how Jane does it. Don and her are just starting to enjoy being footloose and fancy-free again sans children and then, out of the blue, Julia’s moved back with her live-in lover and declared that she’s home for good. And Jasmine’s just returned from her job in London, complete with her English fiancé, and joined them as well.”

  “You’re kidding. How old are their kids now?” inquired Jools.

  “Julia’s twenty-nine and Jasmine’s twenty-six, I think. Way too old to be living with their semiretired parents, don’t you think?”

  “Maybe a few months for one of them would be okay, but all at once? Makes me exhausted just talking about it,” said Bec.

  “Not half as exhausted as me though, I bet,” said Kaz, subconsciously trying to direct the conversation back to her. “Now that we’ve bought the unit for the kids I’ve got two places to look after . . .”

  Jools butted in. “Kaz, you do have a cleaner, an ironing lady, a gardener, a pool man . . .”

  “And you don’t work,” added Bec.

  Subtle as a sledgehammer in a glass shop, that girl, thought Jools. But quite correct nonetheless.

  “Yes, but . . .”

  Jools picked up on Kaz’s body language: she had just crossed her arms and began stroking the top of her left arm with her right hand in an unconscious gesture of agitation.

  “Come on, let’s go for a walk,” said Jools, cutting the conversation short by picking up Mia’s leash from the table and standing up abruptly. The conversation was beginning to look like a witch hunt, which wasn’t fair on Kaz.

  “Mia’s fidgety and the pavement’s calling, girls. Chop-chop. Need to walk off those coffees, don’t we.”

  It didn’t take long for the conversation to get back to Kaz. About half a kilometer, actually.

  “I’m bored. Really bored. Paul and I have such a mundane life. It’s the same old shit, day in, day out. We never really do anything. Nothing’s new or exciting anymore.”

  Kaz was on her usual”woe is me” bandwagon. Jools and Bec instinctively knew where Kaz was at, as they had both heard it all before.

  In fact, many times.

  “Kaz, how can you possibly be bored? I mean, really. Just look at your life. You’re blessed. You don’t have to work, you get to travel all the time, Paul’s successful, and your kids . . . well, they’re certainly not junkies or axe murderers,” commented Bec with an almost bored inflection.

  As they walked down Barkly Street, Bec cast a quick sideways glance at Jools, rolling her eyes slightly, their private thoughts in sync with each other: Lovely person, great friend, generous . . . but oh, such a complainer. But it’s important for her to get it all out. Cathartic in a way.

  So they let Kaz prattle on a little longer before cutting her off and changing topics.

  The problem was, if Kaz was allowed to ramble on, there was always something new to gripe about and she’d go on for hours. And when she was on a roll, it was like she had verbal diarrhea. She just didn’t know when to stop.

  Jools and Bec used to joke behind Kaz’s back that if she couldn’t find anything wrong, then she would make something up just to keep up appearances. And as far as they could surmise, Kaz’s negative view on life and constant attention-getting behaviour was gaining momentum the wealthier she and Paul became.

  All their close friends knew that Paul earned the equivalent of the national debt and quite frankly, they all couldn’t give a damn. Paul was still Paul, no matter what he earned or how much money he had. And so was Kaz. To the inner sanctum of their close friends—G and Jools, Sean and Bec, Steve and Jo—nothing had changed over the years. Paul was still a slacker who got up too late, put everything off until the last moment, liked his red wine to excess, couldn’t cook to save himself, and who would be lost without Kaz following behind him picking up the loose ends and organizing his life. And Kaz was a caring friend who was fun to be around—just as long as she wasn’t complaining about her lot in life.

  “You realize, Bec,” Jools had said to Bec only recently over coffee, “Kaz’s complaints about her ‘boring’ life are actually a cry to be noticed, especially by Paul.”

  To Kaz, Paul had the word”success” written all over him right from when she first met him at university. He was studying commerce and she was studying humanities. Paul may have been wet behind the ears then, but now thirty-four years later, he was at the top of his tree and the piper had to be paid.

  And the price was high.

  All her married life Kaz had to put up with a husband who had taken two wedding vows in his youth—one to his wife, and one to his job. He was always working, getting home late and then burning the midn
ight oil, or alternatively he was out socializing with his clients. And then there were the constant interstate trips and the regular overseas jaunts—first class of course—usually to somewhere in Asia or New York or London, leaving Kaz stuck at home in Melbourne, a bored work widow.

  Which really wasn’t quite true. Paul had given up inviting her to join him on his travels years ago.

  “It’s so boring when you’re on business. I end up being stuck in some hotel, often for days on end, while you go off and attend to ‘business.’ I’d rather stay home. Besides, who’s going to look after the kids?” she had said to him so many times over the years that he took it as gospel that she never wanted to come along. Unless of course there was a real holiday involved as part of the deal, and then she would jump at the opportunity.

  In reality, Kaz probably had the most interesting and varied life of all her girlfriends. Contrary to her whining, she did get to travel overseas with Paul at least two, sometimes three times a year.

  “As if, Kaz. How can you possibly say your life’s boring? While we’re stuck at home here in Melbourne, you’re getting ready for your next trip. What, it’s October and already this year you’ve been to LA and New York, and then there was that barge trip through the canals in France a few months ago,” said Jools with a hint of jealousy.

  The pace of their walk had been brisk and they had already reached Elwood Canal. As if she was one of Pavlov’s dogs, Mia led the way and instinctively turned left, the girls following the requisite ten paces behind.

  “And aren’t you looking at going to visit Jason when he’s skiing in Chamonix in February? Come on, Kaz, that’s far from boring.” Bec just couldn’t resist making a comment.

  Like, what are the poor people back here doing with their boring lives?

  “Kaz, boring is staying in Melbourne and budgeting for an overseas trip in two years’ time,” said Bec.

  “Oh Bec puh-lease, spare me the details, will you. Sean and you get to do heaps. You’re always off somewhere.” Kaz was always quick to defend her position.