by Sean Kennedy
Nyssa was busy on Friday afternoon. She was never too busy on Bog-off-to-the-Pub Fridays, and I knew she was still meeting Fran and Roger at the Napier, but had to fob me off so I wouldn’t try to come. I thought about firing her for not showing loyalty to her superior, but decided I would need evidence first. And I really couldn’t be bothered stopping off at the pub on my way home and peering pathetically through the coloured windows to try to make out the vaguely discernible shadow puppets of my friends.
Dec didn’t stay over Friday as he was drinking with the boys, and the Grand Final traditional breakfast was held the next morning. But on Saturday I caught the tram into the city and then hopped off at Southern Cross Station to walk across the bridge into the Docklands.
It seemed like the last time I was here, the Docklands was still a black hole, devoid of life. Now it was a bustling minimetropolis, and I couldn’t help but wonder about Declan’s privacy issues. It seemed there were far more people about here than there were on my quiet street. Maybe it was because there was a sense of anonymity in crowds, and that’s where he felt safest. But I could only imagine that it would get worse here at night when the restaurants and bars started getting more business, although he would have the benefit of undercover private parking in his building and a discreet entrance.
He was waiting for me where he said he would be, just down from the lobby doors, sitting on a sandstone wall and lazily swinging his legs. He was wearing a closefitting cap and sunglasses that managed to obscure most of his facial features, along with the casual disguise of cargo pants and a plain long-sleeved top. He jumped off the wall when he saw me, and we exchanged greetings with a carefully maintained distance between us.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” I replied. I resisted adding bro to maintain the façade of our rampant heterosexuality.
“You ready to see it?”
“Sure.”
Crap, it was killing me. Let me have some whine with my cheese, but a so-called normal couple would have been able to kiss and hug each other instead of this coded bullshit we had to adopt. As he swiped us through the lobby with a security card, I wondered whether even without the secrecy built around our relationship, if we would feel comfortable with such a public display of affection. When it came down to it, I honestly didn’t think I would be. And I wasn’t sure if it was fear or just the fact that I was reserved to begin with.
Okay, fear. I knew a lot of it was fear. But I hated admitting it, even to myself.
Could someone who was gay suffer from their own form of homophobia? Or was it merely common sense and practicality combined with a desire for self-defence and protection?
All I knew was that whenever I met up with Dec my natural response was to want him in my arms, and it was too early in the morning for me to be having a philosophical debate with myself.
“You’re being very quiet,” Declan observed as we waited for the elevator.
Obviously he couldn’t hear the voices in my head, which was a relief. “Enjoy it while you can,” I said wryly.
“I like your babbling. I’m used to it. It scares me when I’m with you, and I suddenly realise I can hear something else in the silence.”
I smiled at him. “Arsehole.”
The elevator sounded its arrival. The doors slid open, and we stepped within. Back within our own personal bubble, Declan gently took my face in his hands and kissed me.
Sense and practicality quickly left me, and I responded quite happily in return, but I didn’t get so lost that when the elevator began slowing down, I forgot to pull away.
“You better hope there are no cameras in here.”
“Only in the lobby,” he responded.
“You do think of everything,” I said in awe.
“Believe me, the money I’m forking out to live here, you get to ask these questions.”
“I wonder if you have any famous neighbours.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“Like, imagine if there’s a knock at your door one day, and it’s Cate Blanchett asking for a cup of sugar.”
The elevator doors opened, and he led me down the hall. “Doesn’t she live in Sydney?”
“You own property in two states, why wouldn’t she?”
“I promise, if Cate wants a cup of sugar I’ll get her autograph for you.”
“Bugger that, I want her reenacting scenes from Elizabeth in your loungeroom.”
Dec laughed, and we came to an abrupt stop at the end of the hall. A large window looked out onto the water. This place was so swanky, even the halls had views.
Unlocking the door, Declan posed like a model on some game show. “Ta da!”
I walked through, and it was like I was hanging over the ocean. As his apartment was on the corner of the building, his windows took up half the walls of his lounge and kitchen area. “Holy shit,” I breathed.
“No view of Mount Wellington, but it’s pretty fucking good,” Dec said.
“You’re not kidding,” I murmured. “Wow.”
“So you approve?”
Suddenly I was ready to forget my ingrained sense of loyalty to the proletariat and sign my soul away. “Fuck yes.”
I walked over to the window and leaned against it. I could almost believe I was suspended in air. The wind carried the salt off the waves, and I could smell it even through the glass. Declan came up behind me; I could see his reflection. I turned, and he waved the keys at me.
“Come out onto the balcony.”
I followed him. We leaned against the railing, the water far below us. The wind was fresh and strong. I closed my eyes and breathed it in.
“I’ll miss you while I’m gone,” Declan said suddenly.
I opened my eyes and looked at him. “I’ll miss you too.”
“I feel pretty shitty, running off to the Grand Final today, and then leaving tomorrow. This is the last time I’ll see you for a couple of weeks.”
“Hey,” I said reassuringly, “it’s the way it is. It’s cool.” I was just glad he was saying it, because I knew I never could have brought it up out of fear I would sound whingey and clingy.
“Really?”
“Yes. Really.”
“It’ll be better when I get back. Off season, and I’ll have more time here.”
“Plus, you’ll be incapacitated, and you won’t be able to run,” I said, in reference to his operation. “That helps.”
He laughed. “Bastard.”
“I look forward to making you chicken noodle soup and mopping your fevered brow.”
“You would make me soup?”
I winced. “From a packet, probably.”
“Hey, if I’m getting operated on, I want the real thing.”
“What about if I get Fran to make it and then pretend it was me?”
“The way you’re going, I seriously doubt you’ll be speaking to Roger by then.”
“Hey!” I protested. “I’m talking to Fran!”
“Yeah? Well, I want soup made from scratch. By you.”
Time to change the subject while I still was able. “I could just imagine lying out here all day and reading. Why would you ever want to go inside?”
Declan shook his head, knowing what I was transparently up to, but letting me get away with it for the moment. “Because there isn’t enough room for a bed?”
“There is for a banana lounge.”
“I’ll have to invest in one then.”
“Make sure it’s big enough for two,” I said with a glint in my eye.
He looked at me, and the air between us was growing serious again. I could tell he wanted to say something, but he was holding it back. I wasn’t sure if it was the moment, but I wanted to say it, what I had wanted to tell him ever since the moment I had procrastinated over a couple of weeks ago.
“Dec—”
We were saved—or cruelly interrupted—by the security buzzer as it sounded within the apartment. “That must be Abe and Lisa,” he said, giving my arm a quick squeeze be
fore going to let them in.
For fuck’s sake. Would I ever be able to get it together?
I wasn’t left pondering this rhetorical question very long as Abe and Lisa made it up in record time. We exchanged greetings; Abe shook my hand and gave a manly hug and back slap to Declan, while Lisa kissed us both.
“This place is amazing,” Abe said. “Two waterfront apartments, Dec. Good to know where your salary is going.”
“This puts my little place in St Kilda to shame,” Lisa agreed.
“I like your place in St Kilda,” Declan told her. “It’s close to the beach and the Espy, and that’s all you want.”
She shrugged affably. “Not if you like your view to be of the next complex’s wall.”
“Don’t worry, baby,” Abe said. “When I get traded, we’ll buy a place like this.”
“You want to get traded as well?” I asked.
Abe nodded. “Melbourne’s home.”
“I bet you the Devils will hate to lose both of you.”
“They won’t have any choice when contracts are up,” Lisa said, sounding less than sympathetic towards the club.
“Maybe we should buy in here so Dec can never escape us,” Abe said, with a devilish glint in his eye.
“Fuck no, I’m meant to have classy neighbours,” Dec laughed. “I’ve heard Cate Blanchett is buying in.”
Abe feigned a punch to him, and Dec sidestepped it gracefully.
“I only meant Abe, of course,” Dec told Lisa. “I know you’re classy.”
“Too bloody right,” Lisa replied. “And just to show how classy I am….” She began burrowing into the large tote bag she was carrying and produced a Frij bag. Abe rolled his eyes at Declan, and they both laughed with the easy camaraderie of friendship that gave me a pang for Roger again. Lisa produced four plastic cups and a cheap bottle of champagne that was still chilled. “Let’s drink to your new abode!”
Declan did the honours; the pop of the cork sounded like a gunshot in the empty apartment and reverberated around the stark walls. The contents of the bottle were shared amongst the four large cups, and we toasted the apartment and drank, all making faces at the cheap taste.
Abe looked at his watch and said regretfully, “We better get going.”
He and Lisa began talking amongst themselves, pointedly looking in the other direction to give Declan and I some privacy. Dec pulled me aside into the hall.
“I hate rushed good-byes,” he said. “And I hate having to say it here like this, instead of when we actually should.”
I nodded. There was nothing more I could add to that. I recalled what I had been about to say on the balcony and wished I could say it now, but the presence of Abe and Lisa stopped me. It shouldn’t have, but it wasn’t an ideal moment.
“I really like the apartment,” I said lamely.
He leaned in and kissed me. I hugged him close and whispered, “Hurry back.”
Dec smiled at me. “I will.”
He pulled away, and all I wanted to do was pull him back.
Declan clapped his hands together. “Let’s go and see how real footballers make it to a grand final.”
Abe laughed, and Lisa shook her head, rolling her eyes at me for my benefit.
We locked the apartment behind us and walked through the Docklands precinct.
Declan was starting to get really excited over the thought of living here, although I think it was the thrill of having a home in Melbourne again that was more appealing to him.
We parted ways at the junction of the station and Collins Street. Abe and Declan thought they would be better off walking down to the MCG and remaining barely unrecognisable rather than risk jumping on a tram and being hemmed in by other AFL supporters and detractors. Lisa baulked at the idea and insisted that they would have to piggyback her most of the way.
“Don’t let the hobbits kidnap him in New Zealand,” I told Abe.
“I won’t.” He grinned, bumping fists with me by way of farewell.
Lisa grabbed me and hugged me. I held onto her for a little longer than I would have normally, pretending it was Declan’s hug by proxy. “We’ll catch up soon, okay?”
“Sure.”
Declan and I awkwardly bumped fists, in the same fashion I had with Abe.
“Take care,” I said.
“Call—”
“Roger. Yes, I know, Oprah.”
He winced. “You could at least call me Dr. Phil so I feel secure about my masculinity.”
Abe guffawed, and Lisa punched him on the shoulder lightly.
“If you’re going by Dr. Phil to prove your masculinity, I would still stick with Oprah if I were you,” I scoffed.
“Bye, Simon.”
I waved them off and watched them turn and leave, disappearing down Collins on their way to cut across to the G at Elizabeth. My tram came quickly, and as it rattled down the middle of the street I craned my neck to catch sight of them once more. The three of them waved at me through the window, looking comfortable together, like Athos, Porthos, and Aramis. I waved back and remembered in the story that there were eventually four musketeers.
I hoped that would be the same with us one day.
WHEN I got home, I checked my answering machine immediately in the hope that Roger had left a message.
He hadn’t.
Before I could lose my nerve, I picked up the phone and called his number.
The answering machine swung into action. Again. “You’ve reached Roger and Fran. We can’t take your call, so let us know who you are.”
He had to be home. It was half an hour to the Grand Final, for Christ’s sake!
Unless… he had gone out for the final. It was inconceivable, but it could be possible. Or maybe he and Fran were holding a huge barbecue with all of their new friends…
“Uh, hi,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “It’s me. Again. Look, I know when I was pissed with you, you knew that it wouldn’t be forever. Just as I know now, when you’re pissed with me, that it’s not going to be forever. So I hope it’s sooner rather than later that we do the inevitable and talk. See ya.”
I think that is what’s called laying it all out on the line.
This would be the first time since I was twelve years old that I would be watching the final without Roger. I was pretty sure the fact wouldn’t be lost on him either, and I guess I was hoping for a last-minute miracle, like one from a really bad Christmas telemovie where everything comes all right in the end.
I was still thinking that during the pregame entertainment, and into the first quarter.
At halftime I was losing hope. The beers were going down smoothly though, and my lunch of a large packet of cheese and onion chips was more than satisfying. I caught one brief glimpse of Declan on the telly, sitting in one of the VIP boxes with the rest of his team as they watched the game unfold below.
I fell asleep before the end of the game and was awakened by the phone ringing.
Hoping it was either Dec or Roger, I stumbled over and answered it, trying to sound like I wasn’t recently brought back from the dead.
“’ello?”
“Hey, mate! How are you? Did you watch the game?”
The voice sounded familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. “’o’s this?”
“Very funny. Are you drunk?”
It clicked into place. “Tim?”
You have to understand my surprise here. Tim hardly ever called me of his own volition. The only way I could have been more surprised was if it had been my father.
“Of course it’s bloody Tim!”
“Uh, how are you?” I asked politely.
“Good, good. That’s why I’m calling, actually.”
“Oh?” Because he was good?
“Yeah. Guess what?”
This was Tim, my guess could be anything. “You need bail?”
He laughed. “Yeah, right. No, I was ringing up to tell you that Gabby and I just got engaged.”
If I didn’t have su
ch a good grip on the phone I would have dropped it. “What?”
“Yeah, I proposed to her after the final.”
“Did she say yes?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“Of course she did, arsewipe. Or else I wouldn’t be ringing you up to say we’re engaged, would I?”
“Oh, of course. Well… congratulations.”
“Thanks, bro. Who would have thought I would have gotten married before you?” He paused and chuckled. “Well, of course, you can’t.”
“Thanks for reminding me,” I said dryly.
“You would also have to be seeing someone first.”
All I could think was I hope I’m not best man.
He didn’t make the offer, and I was relieved. “How did Mum and Dad react?”
“Way more excited than you.”
I knew I better muster up some energy. “No, really, Tim, I’m very happy for you. Have you set a date yet?”
“We’re giving ourselves a year.”
“That’s probably sensible. You know, giving yourself enough time to plan and save, and all.”
“Yeah. I mean, I wanted January, but Gabby insisted on a year.”
“You were ready to get married that soon?” I wondered what it was about Gabby that she managed to become the Annette Bening to his Warren Beatty. But then, people might think that about Simon Murray when it came to trying to find a reason for Declan liking me.
Tim laughed good-naturedly. “When you know, you know.”
I think it was the only time I have ever heard my brother say something unrelated to football I could actually agree with, except I couldn’t tell him that. It was his moment, anyway; I was happy for him to have it.
I wanted to ring up Roger so I could share the news and the what the fuck? reaction. Declan wouldn’t be able to understand the bizarreness of this new development in my family history, as he wasn’t a part of it. But in the end I thought I had harassed the Daltons’ machine enough this weekend.
My mother called about ten minutes after Tim got off the phone, and she sounded drunk with happiness at the prospect one of her sons was getting hitched. Especially as this had the universal meaning to mothers everywhere of the promise of grandchildren to follow.
“There’s just one thing I’m not happy about,” she said.
