by Penny Tangey
After the initial rush of people I still have a third of a pot of oatmeal left. I am improving.
I’m stirring the hard bits off the bottom when a voice says, ‘A very small amount for me please.’
I look up and almost scream. ‘Mary!’
‘Yes.’
I scoop up some oatmeal and hand her a bowl. She rolls her eyes. ‘I said a very small amount. I’m not an elephant.’
I shakily scoop some out of the bowl and hand it back to her. There are messy dribbles down the side of the bowl. Mary walks away, shaking her head.
I turn to Emily. ‘That was Mary,’ I say.
‘Yes.’
I lower my voice. ‘I thought she died?’
Emily burst out laughing. ‘What?!’
‘Hilda told me that she was dead.’
‘Hilda loves to exaggerate. They thought it might have been a heart attack but it turned out she just fainted. She probably hadn’t eaten enough.’
‘I feel terrible. I should have made her have more oatmeal.’
‘It’s not your fault,’ says Emily. ‘She won’t eat it anyway.’
A monkey makes a strange squawking noise and then swings itself up onto a branch next to another monkey. They groom each other, taking it in turns to pick things out of each other’s fur. One of them finds something and eats it. A small boy points and shouts, ‘Gross!’
I was so tired during my shift at the centre that all I wanted to do was go straight home and back to bed. But Emily asked me what I was doing today, and of course I didn’t want to admit that I was planning to sleep and watch Footballers’ Wives, so I told her I was going to the zoo.
Now I’m sitting on a bench in front of a cage of monkeys. I’m envious of their lives, which seem delightfully straightforward. Eat, sleep, groom, chuck around some poo and then eat again.
My phone beeps. It’s a text message from Campbell and I’m instantly nervous. I open the message. He’s invited me for coffee on Saturday.
I look up at the monkeys. I can tell that I’m grinning like an idiot now and I’m not jealous of them at all.
When I get out of bed on Saturday morning I see what I’ve been dreading: Mum and Tony having breakfast together at the table. Tony is wearing Mum’s purple robe and looks ridiculous.
‘Morning, Clara,’ they chime in unison.
‘Morning,’ I say.
‘Tony and I are going to the Lincoln Memorial. Do you want to come?’
I pour myself some cereal and milk.
‘Don’t roll your eyes, Clara,’ says Mum.
‘It’s just that I went there ages ago.’
‘Well sorry, Clara, but some of us don’t have as much time for sightseeing as you do. We could go to the Jefferson Memorial if you’d prefer.’
‘I have other plans,’ I say.
Mum says, ‘Do you want to share those plans with us?’
‘No,’ I say. I pick up my cereal and walk back to my bedroom. I need to decide what to wear.
I arrive at the cafe almost three quarters of an hour before I’m supposed to meet Campbell. The cafe is not scary like the White Dog. There are comfortable couches and wooden tables with enormous white cups on them.
I can’t go in now. I would look pathetic waiting for a friend for forty-five minutes. Also, what if I ask for a table for two and then Campbell brings a whole group of people? Everyone will know that I thought it was a date when he was only being friendly.
I pass the cafe and keep walking to a clothes shop two doors down. I will browse in the shop, then I will go to the cafe, arriving five minutes late so that Campbell will already be there.
I know as soon as I walk in that I can’t afford any of the clothes. It’s the wooden hangers. Shops with wooden hangers are always too expensive.
From her expression, the shop assistant also knows that I can’t afford anything. ‘Can I help you?’ she asks.
‘I’m just looking,’ I say.
She smiles with her mouth closed.
I start rifling through the clothes. I force myself to be methodical. Ignoring the prices I go through the rack of clothes piece by piece deciding if I like them.
I pick up a pair of pants. ‘Is it okay if I try these on?’ I ask.
‘Sure,’ says the shop assistant. She whisks over, grabs the pants from me and takes them to the change room, where she does something elaborate with a curtain.
I walk into the change room and start taking off my shoes and pants.
‘I’ve got a shirt that would look great with those,’ says the shop assistant.
‘Okay,’ I say hesitantly because I have no intention of buying either of them.
She flings back the curtain thrusting a red shirt at me. I have one leg in and one leg out of my pants. ‘We have it in grey too,’ she says.
‘Great,’ I squawk, tugging the curtain back across. I know it’s immature but I’m not comfortable being undressed around other people.
I look at the price tag on the shirt: $300.
Even though it’s completely pointless, I put the shirt and pants on. They look great, like something Emily would wear. I could go to a proper job in an office in these clothes.
Reluctantly I take them off. I don’t have that much money in my bank account and Mum and Dad won’t let me have a credit card.
I look at myself in the mirror. I try to objectively assess how I look, but I can’t. I try to imagine Campbell standing in front of me, seeing me almost naked. I grab my shirt and pull it over my head quickly just as the shop assistant whisks back the curtain and says, ‘How did you go?’
When I walk into the cafe I am five minutes late as planned, and, as planned, Campbell is already there. He’s sitting by himself on a couch near the window. I walk over to him. He stands up and leans forward. I stand motionless, not wanting to do the wrong thing. He kisses me on the cheek.
I hesitate. I’m not sure if I should sit on the couch opposite, or beside him. Campbell pats the couch next to him.
A waitress arrives. ‘What would you like?’ she asks.
‘You first,’ I say to Campbell.
‘I’ve already ordered,’ he says.
I’m never sure what coffee is called here. I know they don’t have flat whites. ‘A latte, please?’
The waitress nods and writes it down.
She walks away and Campbell says, ‘I’m glad you could come. I’m kind of checking out the competition here.’
‘It’s nice to get out of the house,’ I say. I sound so boring. ‘I went to the zoo yesterday,’ I add, to make it sound like I’ve done something. But then I remember that lots of the anarchists are very committed to animal liberation. Campbell might think zoos are prisons.
‘Did you see Mei Xiang and Tian Tian?’ asks Campbell.
‘The pandas? Yes. They were great. Although Mei Xiang’s white fur was kind of grubby.’
Campbell doesn’t say anything. He looks comfortable, but gaps in the conversation make me nervous.
‘What about you?’ I ask. ‘What did you do yesterday?’
‘You know, just working and reading.’
‘What are you reading?’
‘I’m getting back to basics. Reading some Proudhon.’
‘He’s an anarchist?’
‘Yeah, he’s kind of the father of anarchism.’
‘Are his books good?’
‘Of course. I can lend you some if you like.’
‘That would be great.’
Our coffees arrive. Mine is served in one of the enormous white cups I saw earlier. I pick it up with both hands and take a sip. It is basically warm milk.
Campbell has ordered a macchiato, which is normal sized. I watch, envious, as he takes a sip.
�
��How’s yours?’ he asks.
‘Very warming,’ I say.
‘But how is the coffee?’
What coffee? I think, but I say, ‘Good.’
I don’t want to talk about coffee. ‘What does Proudhon say about anarchism?’
‘Well,’ says Campbell, putting down his coffee.
Campbell talks about Proudhon as I hold my cup sipping and listening. I try to follow what he’s saying and make the right noises, but I’m not taking most of it in. The nearness of Campbell is distracting, particularly because he keeps touching my knee when he makes a point. I occasionally ask questions, which I hope make sense.
I’ve almost finished my drink.
Campbell notices. ‘Did you want another coffee?’ Campbell shifts his weight on the couch so that he is sitting even closer to me.
‘No, I’m fine,’ I say. One litre of milk is probably enough for the moment.
It feels like we’ve come to a natural end of the conversation. I wonder whether I should get up to leave. Is he going to kiss me again? Do I want him to kiss me in this cafe full of people?
Then he does, and I do.
Campbell smiles at me. ‘I guess we should get going,’ he says. He turns to look for the waitress. ‘Could we get the cheque?’
After we step outside onto the street I panic. I don’t know what to do. Does Campbell expect me to go home with him now? I don’t want to do that. I can’t do that, I might embarrass myself. I haven’t thought it through and I don’t know what I want.
‘What are you doing tonight?’ I ask hurriedly, to make it clear that I’m not expecting to spend more time with him.
‘I’m not sure,’ he says, smiling.
What does that smile mean? ‘Well, I have to get home to cook tea,’ I say.
‘Okay,’ he says and I’m not sure if he sounds disappointed. ‘In that case I might look at a bookshop down the road.’
‘It was nice to see you,’ I say.
‘It was. If you’re interested in Proudhon, you can come round to my house to borrow some books.’
‘That sounds great,’ I say. ‘Well, bye then.’
‘Bye, Clara,’ says Campbell. He leans forward and kisses me again. It’s lovely, but brief, and as I turn to walk away I can’t believe I’ve rushed away from him. I panicked. Now I don’t know when I’ll see him again. I want to turn back and say, Wait, no, actually I don’t have to go home, I want to be with you. But I keep walking.
The Masonic temple is a massive stone building that looks like a war memorial, plonked into a suburban street in Dupont Circle. A board placed on the footpath reads, Tours daily. I’m here because I had to get out of the house. I had to stop sitting around hoping Campbell would contact me. It was driving me mad. I looked through the guidebook and tried to choose an unusual tourist destination that Campbell might think is interesting. That is, if I ever see him again.
I make my way up the stone steps to the entrance, intrigued but a bit anxious. Freemasons are weird and I’m worried they’ll be able to tell I think that.
Two sphinxes guard the entrance, which is a massive bronze door. I push but it doesn’t open. I notice a bell, and press it.
A middle-aged lady comes to the door and I stammer that I’m here for a tour. She says, ‘You’ve just missed our group tour at eleven. I’ll have to see if anyone else is available.’ She disappears, leaving the door ajar, and then returns saying, ‘You’re in luck – John can take you through now.’ She gestures at a man beside her. He puts out his hand. ‘Hi, I’m John.’
‘Clara,’ I say. I’m taken aback. Tour leaders are usually ancient, but John is perhaps only a couple of years older than me. And he’s quite good-looking, with curly sandy hair and bright blue eyes. Mum would love him; she has a thing about curly hair.
The lady at the desk says, ‘It’s $7.33 for the tour.’
I hand her eight dollars and she makes a fuss looking for sixty-seven cents before I say, ‘It’s fine, keep the change.’ So now I’ve made a donation to the Freemasons.
Once again, I’m getting a personal tour. John is a new Freemason, with a very low rank, but he is knowledgeable. He explains that the architecture of the temple symbolises important Masonic ideas. Numbers seem to be particularly important, especially thirty-three, but John won’t explain why. There are thirty-three columns, each of them thirty-three feet high.
John leads me into the executive chamber, which has an altar in the centre of the room with marble steps leading up to a chair that looks like a throne. A purple canopy hangs above the throne. This is the grand commander’s chair. Campbell would hate this. Clearly Freemasonry is all about hierarchies.
John says I am allowed to sit in the grand commander’s chair and offers to take my photo. I am not sure about this, it doesn’t seem right, so I say no.
As we walk through the temple I try to get John to spill the dirt on the secret-society weirdness. When I ask him what Freemasons actually do, he says that he can’t tell me everything, but that basically they hold ceremonies and meetings and they support charities.
John leads me upstairs where there are exhibitions dedicated to famous Masons and Americanism. Masons seem quite patriotic.
I notice that all the pictures are of men. ‘Can women be Masons?’ I ask.
‘No,’ he says. ‘There are some events that women come to, but they can’t become Masons.’
‘Why not?’ I ask.
‘It’s tradition.’
‘Do you think that will change?’
John looks uncomfortable. ‘Well, I think that maybe some of the younger members don’t always agree with all the traditions, and that maybe in the future it could change.’
‘Would you change it if you became the grand commander?’
He laughs. ‘I don’t think I’ll go that far.’
‘You might,’ I say.
The tour lasts for two hours. John keeps asking if I’m interested in seeing extra rooms and exhibitions and I always say yes. It’s not like I have anything else to do today and it takes my mind off Campbell.
When I’ve seen everything, I thank John for the tour. He says, ‘I’m going to go for lunch now. Would you like to join me?’
‘You mean . . .’ I hesitate.
‘I mean like a date,’ he says.
I go for years with no interest at all, and now I am being asked out for the second time this week.
‘Sorry, but I have to get going. I’m going to Virginia Mills with my mother this afternoon. We need a new toaster.’
This sounds like a pathetic excuse but John just says, ‘Oh, okay. Have a great day!’
As I walk down the steps (which I now know are symbolically in sets of nine, seven, five and three), I feel slightly guilty. Maybe I should have gone to lunch with John. Mum and I really are going shopping at Virginia Mills, but I could have had lunch first. Still, it’s not fair to lead John on when there’s Campbell. Not that Campbell’s my boyfriend. I don’t even know when I’ll see him again. Maybe I ruined my chance when I rushed away after coffee yesterday.
Mum has already left for work by the time I walk into the kitchen. I didn’t set an alarm this morning and I must have slept through her morning chaos.
She has left a note on the bench: New toaster is great. Working late tonight. Dinner with Tony at 9 at Obelisk. You’re welcome to come. Give me a call. Also, check the mail.
Whenever Mum has a new boyfriend she tries to include us in her dates so we don’t feel left out. I’d much rather be left out. There is no way I’m playing third wheel to Tony and Mum tonight.
Her instruction to check the mail is interesting though. Maybe there’s a Christmas parcel from Australia.
I pick up my keys from the table next to the door and head downstairs. In the foyer I peer into our letterbo
x. Disappointingly there’s no parcel, but the mail has been delivered. There’s something from a credit card company and a letter from Dad sent by express post.
Still standing in the foyer, I open the envelope. There’s a note that says, Just in case you’re interested. Love, Dad. Inside is an unopened envelope with the Victorian Tertiary Admissions Centre logo on it. It’s my results.
I walk slowly to the lift staring at the envelope. It would be so easy to open it. It would only take seconds and then I’d know. The envelope is such a thin barrier between me and what’s inside. I try to hold it up to the light, but all I can see is white. My hands are shaking. Why is this making me so nervous? And what am I doing? I don’t actually want to know.
I’m furious with Dad for thrusting this on me. Mum must have known he was sending it, so I’m mad at her too.
I open the apartment door and throw my keys onto the hallway stand. In the kitchen I open the cupboard door under the sink and throw the envelope in the bin.
I go into my room and lie on the bed.
I wish Campbell would call me, but maybe he’s waiting for me to contact him. I can’t bear the suspense any longer. I pick up my phone and write a text: Would be great to borrow those books. Let me know when would be a good time.
After I’ve sent it I feel nervous. Am I being too pushy? Should I have waited for him to text me? Yingmei would know but I can’t ask her.
My phone beeps. It’s a message from Campbell: Not working today, come over if you like.
I want to see him but I didn’t think he would suggest today. What will he be expecting if I go to his house? He is so much more experienced than me, and I don’t want to make an idiot of myself. At least he’s given me another chance though.
I text back that I’ll come. I look in the mirror. I’m a mess. I hurry to the bathroom.
I walk along the suburban street clutching the map I printed out. The houses are more rundown in this area, but I don’t feel too unsafe yet. I hope Campbell remembers that he invited me. I imagine him answering the door, frowning and saying, ‘Clara? Why are you here?’ I would say I’d come for the books and he’d say, ‘Can’t you go to the library?’
