by Kris Webb
‘I have to go,’ I whispered.
He stirred and opened his eyes. ‘I know. I wish you didn’t.’
‘Me too.’ Reluctantly I pulled myself away and sat up.
‘Julia?’ Tony’s hand was on my back. ‘Lie down again for a minute.’
I knew what that meant. I was sorely tempted but shook my head. ‘I’d love to, but Jack . . .’
He interrupted. ‘No, I . . . I just want to tell you something – please.’
I lay back down, not sure what was coming.
‘I don’t know if this is the right time – I just wanted you to know I’m divorced.’
Right. Baggage. Big time.
I was still trying to think of an appropriate response when Tony spoke again. ‘We didn’t have any kids and we’ve been divorced for nearly a year, but . . .’ He sounded as though he regretted bringing it up. ‘It makes a difference to some people.’
I thought about it for a minute. Did it make a difference to me?
Actually I thought maybe it did. He’d loved someone so much he’d asked her to marry him. He’d got dressed up and looked into her eyes and promised to be with her forever. I knew I was a hopeless romantic, but did that mean he could never be completely in love again?
‘Were you together long?’ I asked.
‘I guess – Joanne and I met soon after I stopped playing golf and got married after a couple of years. It was all great while the money was coming in from the restaurant stuff and there was lots going on. But when I started the film course things started going downhill and got gradually worse. I’m still not quite sure what happened. It just seemed like we ran out of things to say to each other.’
‘Oh.’
There was a moment of silence.
‘Look, I don’t want to bore you with it. I just wanted you to know.’
‘Okay, thanks.’
Unsure of the protocol in this type of situation, I sat up again and tried to remember where my clothes had ended up. Naked, I headed out to the lounge room and dressed as quickly as twenty clasps would allow. Still unsure what to say, I returned to the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed.
‘I’ll talk to you soon,’ he promised.
I couldn’t prevent the small fizz of happiness I felt at his words.
‘I’d like that,’ I replied, not sure whether I meant it. I stood and paused awkwardly. ‘Well, cheerio.’ The words were out of my mouth before I realised what I’d said, and sure that any attempt to improve on them would only make things worse, I gave a small wave and left.
‘Cheerio?’ I mouthed to myself as I headed for the front door. Where in God’s name had that come from?
TWENTY-SEVEN
‘Oh my God, look over there,’ I said as I spotted a swimming legend who’d won five gold medals at the last Olympics.
‘And isn’t that Brad Hastings?’ I asked as a well-known newsreader walked past.
‘Julia, please be cool,’ Patrick pleaded. ‘I have to work with these people.’
He was joking, but only just. While I was here strictly as a tourist, Patrick needed to impress these people. Some of them at least.
He had arrived home yesterday, after a meeting at the television station, with an envelope addressed to me. Inside was a ticket to a party celebrating the station’s forty-fifth anniversary and a note that said, Love to see you there! Tony.
I didn’t know whether to be pleased or offended, considering his lack of contact since Monday night.
I’d spent Tuesday unable to decide if I regretted my wanton behaviour and trying to figure out exactly how I felt about being involved with a divorced man.
My mobile rang repeatedly during the morning, but none of the calls were from Tony. Maggie’s advice had been not to wait, but to call him myself – advice that I knew was sensible but that I couldn’t quite follow. Finally, at almost four, his number had flashed up on the screen. But in a sudden attack of cowardice, and with Jack looking at me like I was mad, I’d watched the phone ring without answering it.
No matter how many times I played the message Tony left, it never got more romantic. ‘Hi Julia. It’s Tony . . . I . . . um, I guess I missed you. Talk to you soon . . . Bye.’
Since then there’d been nothing. At least now I knew I wasn’t inventing something that didn’t exist. We’d had what I, at least, had thought was fabulous sex and he’d left one message. This wasn’t exactly the stuff of one of Tanya’s novels. I’d even called my own mobile to make sure it was working properly. It was.
‘Well, that’s just wonderful,’ Maggie said when I played the message for her on Wednesday night. ‘Not exactly a man of many words, is he? But the party sounds good – you need to go, look stunningly gorgeous and totally ignore him.’
We decided on a dark blue Lisa Ho dress I’d bought on sale several years earlier, although I had my doubts that it would be good enough to make the transformation Maggie had in mind.
Next we called Tanya and put her on speaker phone.
‘Well, as an erotic fiction writer, I feel obliged to ask the next question. Was the sex good?’
I blushed. ‘Um – yeah, I guess.’
‘Okay, on a scale of one to ten, what would it be?’
‘C’mon Tanya . . .’ There was a silence on the other end of the line. Maggie was regarding me seriously.
‘All right then . . . if you must know, it was about a seven.’
‘Oooh!’ Maggie’s eyebrows were suddenly raised. ‘Seven’s good for the first time – very good.’
‘Yeah, but what about the ex-wife?’
‘Well, it is a bit of an issue,’ Maggie agreed. ‘I wish I hadn’t been quite so accurate about his having baggage.’
‘Yeah, but hang on,’ Tanya’s staticky voice came down the line. ‘Who doesn’t have a past by the time they’re our age? Julia, you’ve got Michael. Maggie, you have Marcus, although admittedly he may no longer be a past. But anyway, my point is that at this age just about everyone has someone they really cared about in their history. Whether or not you signed a piece of paper is a bit of a technicality, isn’t it?’
Tanya’s words lifted my spirits. ‘I guess you’re right. I loved Michael, but that wouldn’t stop me loving someone else. Tony really does seem different, you know – he’s just . . . I don’t know . . . caring.’
‘Yeah, well, I’m not sure that caring is one phone message in three days,’ Maggie supplied.
‘No, you’re right,’ I agreed. ‘But maybe the ex-wife is part of that. I can kind of understand him not wanting to jump back into a relationship after having been through a divorce.’ This wasn’t a new thought. I’d spent a lot of time dwelling on it over the last few days.
‘Yeah, it could be. But if he doesn’t want to get involved, why did he invite you home the other night?’
Maggie had a point. I wasn’t exactly a candidate for a no-strings fling.
‘So do you think I shouldn’t go?’
‘No!’ Tanya yelped from the phone. ‘She doesn’t mean that. Just don’t get hurt – that’s all we’re saying.’
I arrived home at six-thirty the next evening, having arranged for Carla to put Jack to bed at her place. Carla had offered to have him on his first sleepover, but I’d decided he was still better off waking up in his own bed in the morning. Instead, I planned to pick him up on my way home in a taxi.
Feeling unaccountably liberated at the absence of his normal bedtime rituals, I poured myself a glass of wine and showered quickly.
The party was in one of the tall office buildings in the middle of town. A large part of one floor had been taken over for the event and all the fittings stripped out. Everything was white, from the floor and walls, to the waiters’ uniforms and their trays. I was used to functions where you almost had to put a waiter in a headlock in order to grab a warm glass of bad wine. Here I had people offering me lychee martinis and white cocktails whenever I glanced around.
When I finished my first drink, a new one was in my hand
within seconds. I told myself to slow down. Gordon’s court case was tomorrow and I was nervous enough about it as it was – I didn’t need to add a hangover to my problems.
‘C’mon Patrick.’ His discomfort at my being so uncool as to star-spot was rather touching really. ‘You have to loosen up. This is a party. You’re supposed to have fun. These are media types – they’ll think you’re a nerd if you’re uptight.’
‘You’re right – I need to relax.’
He looked so uncomfortable trying to appear at ease that I laughed. ‘Just finish your drink and have a look around. I didn’t realise that people lived like this.’
‘It’s not like it happens every week. This is an important –’
Patrick’s words stopped abruptly and I looked over at him. He was staring at the other side of the room with a look of horror on his face.
‘No! No! Goddamn it, not here!’
I followed his gaze but could only see a crowd of people.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘It’s Jennifer. She’s over there.’ He gestured wildly.
‘Jennifer . . .’
‘Jennifer – bloody Jennifer. Jennifer-who-ruined-my-life Jennifer!’ He looked around desperately for a means of escape but it was too late.
This was not good.
‘She’s on her way over. She must have spotted me as soon as we got here – maybe even before! Surely she’s not going to destroy this for me too.’
I felt a chill of apprehension as I watched the ring of people around us. From what I’d heard, this was one scary lady.
A woman slipped between two groups and stood in front of us. Despite the fact that Patrick had described her as being of normal height with brownish hair, I had always pictured Jennifer as looking something like Zena the Warrior Princess.
The woman standing in front of us did in fact look fairly normal, if a little on the glamorous side. She was about five foot four with sleek, dead-straight black hair that stretched halfway down her back. She was one of the few women in the room wearing trousers, but they were so obviously well cut and expensive, she didn’t look out of place. ‘Patrick. How are you?’
‘Hello Jennifer. I’m fine thanks.’ Patrick had pulled himself together and looked surprisingly calm, although I could see his hands clenched behind his back.
Jennifer turned and shot me a look of pure contempt.
‘Um – this is my sister Julia.’
At that she managed a chilly smile before turning her attention back to Patrick. Obviously the fact that I wasn’t Patrick’s girlfriend raised my popularity slightly.
‘I’ve heard about your show.’ The words seemed to hang in the air. Although I knew no one else was taking the slightest notice, I imagined the people around us holding their breath. ‘My partner is in the industry.’
I willed Patrick to be silent, but he couldn’t help himself. ‘You mean your husband has changed j–’
She gave him a pitying look and shook her head. Clearly this was a new partner – the husband was history.
‘Congratulations,’ she continued. ‘You look like you’ve landed on your feet.’
I wondered what was going to come next. Even if she did think he’d treated her badly, having him sacked had to be quite enough payback. Surely she wouldn’t try to ruin this for him too.
‘Thanks.’ Patrick was obviously hoping the same thing.
‘You were a lousy accountant. But it looks like you might have found what you are good at – so maybe it was all for the best.’ She let out a tinkling laugh. ‘So, if you ever need any accounting help, just give me a call.’
I felt as though I’d wandered into a scene from Days of Our Lives. This woman had done just about everything in her power to ruin Patrick’s career and here she was acting as though she’d done him a favour.
She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek and then swivelled back the way she had come, but not before she had slipped a business card into his hand.
I resisted, but only just, the temptation to ankle tap her.
Patrick blinked, looking down at the card. ‘Is that it?’
‘I think so,’ I breathed. ‘Did she just hit on you again?’
‘Um. Well I don’t think she really wants me to call her for accounting advice,’ Patrick answered. ‘She’s not bad looking, is she?’
‘Patrick! The woman ruined your career. She’s a monster.’
‘You’re right.’ He didn’t sound convinced.
‘I think one drastic career change a year might be enough. If you go near her again you could find yourself emptying bins at dawn.’
‘All right, all right. But she did sound kind of keen, didn’t she?’
‘Who cares? She’s a bunny boiler – leave her alone.’
He breathed out heavily. ‘This calls for another drink.’ As if he had read Patrick’s mind, a nearby waiter headed towards us and handed him another martini.
I looked around in what I hoped was a casual manner. I knew absolutely no one. I took another big sip of my drink as I felt my earlier courage start to fade.
‘Come on, Patrick. You must know someone we can chat to. If we stand here by ourselves much longer we’re going to look like total outcasts.’
It was his turn to look around. ‘Nope, not a soul. I’m not exactly a regular at station boardroom lunches, you know. My only chance is to recognise a cameraman or . . .’ He paused as Tony walked in the door.
‘Patrick,’ I hissed, grabbing his arm. ‘Turn around! It looks pathetic if we’re standing here with smiles on our faces, just waiting for him.’
‘What?’ Patrick looked at me strangely. ‘But we are. We don’t know anyone else.’
It was at times like this that I realised women were wasting years of their lives trying to read intricate subtexts in the conversations of their menfolk.
‘That is not the point, Patrick. Turn around.’
I grabbed his elbow with fingers of steel and pulled him towards me.
‘This is great, Julia. Now he’ll find someone else he knows and leave us stuck here by ourselves.’
‘Julia, Patrick. Hi.’
I felt a touch on my arm and turned around just as Tony leaned in to kiss my cheek.
‘Tony! Hi . . . Been here long?’
Over Tony’s shoulder, I saw Patrick roll his eyes.
‘No, I just got here. What a great party! They didn’t exactly put this kind of show on at TV53.’
‘Mmm, I know what you mean. My firm’s idea of going wild and crazy is having a slide show at the annual dinner.’
Tony was treating me exactly the same way as he always had. So were we supposed to pretend that Monday night hadn’t happened?
‘Hi Patrick.’ Tony turned towards him.
‘How are you going?’ They shook hands.
‘Have you spoken to any of the guys from the program?’
‘No . . . Can’t actually spot anyone I’ve ever seen before.’
‘Right. I’ll get on the case.’ And with a wave he was gone.
‘Well he was a great help, wasn’t he?’ Patrick said glumly. ‘This room is full of beautiful women and the only ones I manage to talk to are my sister and the woman who destroyed my career.’
As he spoke, a blonde girl in a backless white dress appeared at his side.
‘Hi. I’m sorry if I’m interrupting anything.’ She looked uncertainly at me before directing her gaze back at Patrick. ‘I just wanted to say that I’ve seen your show and think you’re great.’
‘Really?’ Patrick asked uncertainly. ‘Are you sure you have the right person?’
‘You’re Patrick Butler, aren’t you?’
‘Yes! I mean yes . . .’ He tried to adopt a nonchalant expression, but looked exactly as he used to before he opened his presents on Christmas morning.
If she noticed, the blonde didn’t give any sign. ‘I’m Audrey. I work in production.’
‘It’s lovely to meet you, Audrey. This is my sister Julia.’ He said the wor
d ‘sister’ so loudly that a couple of people in neighbouring groups turned their heads.
She smiled briefly. Casting me an apologetic look, Patrick turned his body towards her, leaving me standing by myself.
Right. What now?
Suddenly the night was looking a lot less fun.
This was ridiculous. Patrick aside, Tony was the only person I knew in this room and I’d had sex with him three nights ago. Surely I wasn’t overstepping the mark by expecting a bit of small talk?
Before I could change my mind, I strode over to where I could see him talking to a circle of men. He smiled as I approached and I relaxed slightly.
‘This is Julia Butler. Julia, this is . . .’ He reeled off four names, none of which I even registered.
I smiled vaguely at them.
‘Are you in television, Julia?’ asked the man beside me, an overweight fellow with a receding hairline.
‘Ah no. I’m a lawyer,’ I replied. That reply was always a conversation stopper. ‘I do a bit of entertainment law though,’ I ventured, vaguely remembering writing the terms and conditions for a radio station car park years ago.
‘Really?’ Receding hairline looked slightly more interested.
Beside me, I saw Tony turn his head.
‘There’s Arnold,’ he said. ‘Would you all excuse me, I must have a word to him.’
And he was gone, leaving me alone with the four suits. Splendid. How on earth was I going to get myself out of this one? There wasn’t even a bar I could pretend to go to.
After a few minutes of increasingly strained conversation I decided the only option was a trip to the toilet. Just as I was about to make my excuses and leave, the lights dimmed and the wall at the other end of the room was rolled back to reveal another huge room beyond.
It was the same size as the one we were standing in, but there the resemblance ended. The walls were bright yellow and the floor a brilliant blue.
If the last room’s theme had been sophistication, this room was like a funfair. There were banks of clowns’ heads moving left and right, waiting for punters to throw table-tennis balls at them. Several whippet-like girls were turning somersaults and doing other contortions that made me ache just looking at them. The waiters here were dressed in bright colours and circulating with trays of bizarrely coloured cocktails and tubs of popcorn.
