Walking Shadows

by Narrelle M. Harris

  "No, no," he protested, folding the paper and sliding it into his wallet, "I'll call, I prom…"

  "Don't!" I blurted, startling us both with the vehemence of the interruption. I tried a less hyper approach. "That'll lead to all sorts of expectations and then if you don't call I'll be all glumface and I don't want to spoil today. I like you. I had fun. It's okay if this is all there is. I'd love to see you again, if you want to, but don't promise."

  "All right." He fished a card out of his wallet, flipped it over and borrowed my pen to scribble a number on the back. "That's the number I'm using. In case you have to get in touch." He tucked the wallet into the back pocket of his jeans while I slipped the card into the flyleaf of the book in my bag.

  We came together again for a quick kiss, then a much longer one.

  "I really do want to see more of you," he said at length.

  "Good."

  We dithered a bit more around goodbye. He picked his shirt up from the floor - the shirt I had been wearing earlier - slipped it on, and was tucking it in when I gave him a final farewell peck on the cheek and departed.

  On the way home on the tram, the person sitting opposite me gave me a conspiratorial grin. That's when I realised I was singing 'Cheek to Cheek' under my breath. Good lord. He'd better call.

  The tram deposited me back in the city and I hummed more Irving Berlin tunes on the way home. The sight of Gary waiting at the foyer door only inspired a dance step or two as I reached him at the end of 'Steppin' Out With My Baby'.

  "You sound happy."

  "That'll be 'cause I am," I told him with a grin.

  "It's… I don't see you like that often. It's… you kind of fizz." He furrowed his brow at me. "Has something happened?"

  No way was I getting into the salient parts of this morning's activities. "I went shopping."

  "Oh. I've got something for you."

  "I've got some things for you too."

  Gary's brow creased in bewilderment. "What for?"

  "Seemed like a good idea at the time. Coming up?" In the lift I finally noticed that he was wearing the T-shirt I'd given him for Christmas, sans the tropical shirt. "Fits you well, that," I observed.

  He smoothed his hands self-consciously over it.

  Upstairs I pranced to the sofa and pulled things out of my bag while Gary did the usual shuddery threshold-crossing. When he had recovered, I showed him the startlingly-studded collar I'd bought for Oscar, then the things I'd chosen for Kate.

  "And these are for you!" I gave him the notepad followed by the drawing. He regarded both like he'd been hit on the back of the head with a blackjack.

  "Don't you like them?"

  "Yes. Um. Yeah, I do. Thanks. But, it's, why?" His expression was plaintive.

  "I wanted to."

  "But yesterday. After Ballarat." It clearly was not computing. Gary fished into a pocket and pulled out a little parcel of tissue paper. "I found this for you. To apologise. For yesterday. I remembered Mum had them."

  The intrusion of Ballarat and what had happened there brought a shadow into my sunshine. Momentarily, the memories threatened my mood, but I thought of kissing Evan after the rain, and sunshine won.

  Folding back the tissue paper revealed a pair of black and pink earrings. They matched the art deco brooch he'd given me for Christmas. "Gary, they're beautiful."

  He picked up the notepad, then the drawing, put them both down again. "Does this mean we're okay?"

  "Yep." I reached over and ruffled his hair affectionately. His bewildered expression resolved briefly into exasperation.

  "When are you going to stop doing that?"

  "I calculate about never, at the moment."

  He grinned. "I'm going to have to learn to duck, aren't I?"

  Unable to sit still, I bounced up from the chair. I think most likely I wanted to dance, which was a pretty unusual impulse for me. "Come on," I declared instead, "Let's go out. Have you ever played pool?"

  "A long time ago."

  "Great. I might have a chance of beating you."

  His eyes narrowed. "Don't count on it."

  "Ha! A challenge! I might need backup. Time you met some friends of mine."

  He baulked at this announcement. "I'm not…"

  "Come on. It'll do you good."

  "I don't, usually, I don't do stuff with people."

  "You do stuff with me."

  "You're different."

  "Seriously Gary, they're a good crowd." The word 'crowd' elicited a widening of the eyes. "Well, not crowd, there's just a couple of us. We made friends at uni. They're great guys. Give it a try. Get your mind off Ballarat, anyway." The uncertainty remained. "Please. It's just for a game of pool. If you don't like it, you never have to see them again."

  I don't know if the please or the lure of billiards made Gary acquiesce. I made a few phone calls, threw together a cheese sandwich for a late lunch - grilling it primarily for Gary's olfactory entertainment - and an hour later we were walking through Chinatown. We bypassed the side street that led to the Gold Bug and took instead a wider alley lined with posters for upcoming concerts and special music events at various nightclubs.

  "I haven't been down here in ages," Gary said. He glanced up at the overhanging sign. "It was different then."

  "The friends we're meeting introduced me to this place," I told him, entering the concrete foyer which led to the tiny, clunky and periodically out-of-order lift. I had stumbled across the joint last year, after I'd first met Gary. The idea of coming back, given that it was so close to Magdalene's joint, hadn't occurred to me until I'd made new friends and they'd brought me along. "They do karaoke too." Now, that had been a funny night.

  "I've heard of that. Are you, do you...?"

  I've never seen anyone so horrified and speechless at the thought of singing in public. And this includes me. I view karaoke more as a spectator sport, in the same way that watching smash-up derbies used to be.

  "No, that's not till tonight." The graffitied lift shuddered open onto a small bar area, littered with stools and tall tables. To the left, the karaoke stage was bare with a couple of mike stands shoved to one side. We turned right instead.

  The look on Gary's face was rewarding, as he saw the banks of pool tables in the large, dimly lit room. The pool hall was actually several large rooms that smelled variously of decades of stale cigarette smoke, spilled beer and mildew. On a Friday and Saturday night the place was full to bursting with students. Mid-afternoon of a Sunday it was much quieter, with only the front room active.

  "Heya, Lissa!" A petite Chinese-Australian woman was jumping and waving from a table in the corner. Her black hair was streaked with purple and blue that matched her two-tone shoes and accessories exactly. Two people beside her also waved as we approached. Her smile widened. "And who's this?"

  "Gary, this is Tina. I met her last semester. She's studying design."

  Gary nodded acknowledgment, looking vaguely ill at ease. I diverted his attention by introducing Mez and Drew. They smiled in a friendly fashion. Would they be able to detect something more than ordinarily odd about Gary? Belatedly, I felt nervous on his behalf.

  Mez, dressed in her customary striking black-red-white combo, stuck out her hand for shaking then returned to chalking her cue with the dramatic flourish of someone pretending to be a pro. Drew, a short and wiry redhead, grinned his greeting and immediately shoved a cue into Gary's hands. "Unless you want a different one?"

  "Uh. Thanks. No. This is fine."

  Drew nodded firmly and spent a few moments shifting his own chosen cue in his hands, getting the feel of it. He was in his habitual jeans and bandshirt garb. Today he wore a vintage '80s Joan Jett shirt. Knowing Drew, he had liberated it from his mother's collection.

  "What are you studying?" Drew asked, peering along the length of his cue, "I'm doing law with a history minor."

  "Ah. Nothing. I used to, um, I started with engineering." Gary studied the cue in his hands. "I had to drop out."

 
"That sucks. Still," Drew grinned, "more time for other stuff."

  Gary mumbled something inaudible in reply.

  "Shut up, Drew," Mez chided lightly. "Ignore him, Gary." She prodded Drew in the ribs with the chalky end of her cue. "Drew talks a lot but he never listens."

  "Your face," Drew threw back at her good-naturedly.

  "Yours."

  Gary regarded me hopelessly, probably wondering if they were talking in code.

  The guys had already set up the table and, with odd numbers, we played the first round by taking turns, the winner being whoever sunk the black once everything else was down. That turned out to be Gary. He played very seriously, concentrating over each shot.

  Next round Tina elected to sit out, so I teamed up with Gary against Mez and Drew. Our opponents suitably expressed their awe at Gary's prowess with a cue, as did I.

  "Where'd you learn to play like that?" Drew asked.

  "My dad taught me, and I played a bit at uni," he said, matter-of-factly. "It's all maths: angles, vectors, pressure. It's the only thing vaguely like sport I was ever any good at." He regarded his cue tip thoughtfully and burnished it with blue chalk. "I haven't played in a long time." He bent over the table, lined up the shot and proceeded to sink three balls in a row.

  Tina returned with arms full of drinks and nibbles from the bar. Mez and I helped her unload and Tina offered a bottle of beer to Gary.

  "Oh. Ah. Thanks. No, um, I don't drink."

  Tina thrust a bag of cheese corn chips at him instead.

  "Um. Or eat."

  Everyone glanced up at that and Gary shuffled uncomfortably and said, "I, I'm a…"

  For a horrible moment I thought he was about to confess all. Hi. My name is Gary Hooper. I'm a vampire but I haven't bitten anyone in 40 years.

  "He's vegan," I shoved in rapidly, "With a lot of allergies."

  "Oh man," Drew nodded sagely, "That sucks, I know. I've got allergies so bad. I nearly died once from a peanut. It was vicious, man."

  "My life has changed since they brought in the smoking bans," added Mez, "I could never come here before 'cos of my asthma. I used to wheeze for days after. I can deal with the rising damp smell, though. It's kind of atmospheric."

  That dubious claim was met with laughter. Tina shoved all the theoretically deadly and unethical food and beverages down the far end of the bench and covered her bases by telling him, "If you want anything, just say so, I'll grab it."

  "Thanks. But, yeah, thanks."

  Conversation moved from life-threatening allergies to ranking the atmospheres of a range of bars, from The Espy and its infamous sticky carpet to the sterile space of the huge concert stadiums. I wouldn't have thought Gary had much to add, but he spoke of St Kilda's old Palais Theatre without quite revealing he'd last been there in the mid-60s. From there the conversation turned to music and then old films.

  He was, I was delighted to see, getting on well with my friends. If anything, he was amassing a certain amount of geek cred, with his vast knowledge of schlocky horror films and current Goth and indie bands. If a song had even the vaguest undead references, he had it in his collection. His area of expertise was narrow but very deep.

  Drew got him onto the subject of the '60s and Gary was unexpectedly off and running, talking about his favourite bands from the period. He had, I recalled, an eclectic collection of vinyl albums covering everything from the Carpenters to Iron Butterfly. Mez, a budding music journalist, was impressed. She laughed at his wry dismissal of everything from the '70s as being "10 years of songs about disco dancing", then dragged him off to the video jukebox to introduce him to punk.

  Drew challenged Gary to pool mano-a-mano, much to the jocularity of the double-x-chromosomed persons present. Mez, Tina and I sat against the opposite wall, watching them. I was bah-bah-bahing along with the AC/DC song currently playing.

  "You're in a good freshly-laid kinda mood," Mez observed.

  She grinned at me as I snorted beer through my nose. My attempt at a stern glare dissolved into a deeply smug smirk and she laughed at me with her eyes. "Gary, huh?" she said.

  "Oh, no! He's just a friend. I met a guy today at the St Kilda craft market." Mez's lips pursed in a teasing moue which only made me defiant. "His name is Evan and he's sex on legs."

  Mez laughed and Tina leaned forward, keenly alert. "So that means Gary is available?" she said.

  "For what?" I said, not thinking. Then, "Why?"

  "He seems really shy. I like that in a guy."

  "This is just like your last boyfriend, Tina," Mez pointed out. "And the one before that. Short, cuddly, sort-of-clueless guys. What is it with you? You like initiating them or something?"

  Tina grinned. "They have a certain charm, fewer bad habits, and they're ever so grateful." She giggled wickedly.

  The conversation finally sank in. "Are we talking about Gary?"

  "You don't have to sound like that about it," Tina protested. "He has got that kind of nerdy-cute thing about him, don't you think?"

  "I've honestly never thought about it."

  Mez clearly thought me deficient. "He is kind of adorkable, you've got to admit."

  "Totally adorkable," Tina agreed emphatically.

  The observation flummoxed me. Gary was absolutely not my type. Or breathing. Breathing was definitely a prerequisite. I couldn't even begin to explain that one to them. "He's not very into girls."

  "Oh, gay, is he? Maybe Drew will notice the geekboy allure then. Plus, Drew's into bears."

  "No. I mean…" There had been some conversations with Gary about his failed attempts to date at uni. "I don't think so. I meant he's not into," Think brain! "he had mumps when he was 20. I hear it can affect a guy's libido." No, brain, not that.

  "Oh, I don't know," Tina said, leaning back with a feline smile to regard the guys at the table. "Maybe he just needs to warm up first."

  You don't know the half of it. I wondered if I should warn Tina off. Any attempts at warming up were not going to go anywhere except the Land of Disappointment. Unless it was the Land of Acute Embarrassment. Or Aghast Horror.

  Alberto's photographs of his lost loves flashed into my head, and I realised that there was another, appalling possibility. More places my brain ought not be going.

  "How does he get his skin so pale?" Tina asked suddenly, regarding Gary intently. "I've got friends on the scene who'd kill for skin that white."

  "He's naturally pale," I said, "and he stays indoors a lot."

  At that moment, Gary glanced over at me with a glimmer of a smile, and played a final shot. I hoped to heaven he wasn't actually overhearing us. Damn vampire aural superpowers.

  Tina jumped up, clapping, and threw her arms around him. "Well done!" When Tina decides to activate the Flirt-a-tron, she does it at 10,000 volts. She leaned against his arm and gazed coquettishly into his face.

  Drew scowled at the table, which still bore every single one of the balls he was supposed to have sunk. Gary - after blinking bemusedly at Tina - held out his hand for a gentlemanly, post-game shake. "Good game."

  "Bite me."

  Gary drew back sharply, snatching in his hand and stepping away from the table and Tina. "I - Don't - I - Ah... What?"

  "Andrew," scolded Tina fiercely.

  "Hey, chill, Eddie Charlton," Drew scratched his fingers through his hair, "I'm being a bitch-faced loser." He sighed and squared his shoulders. "Could you teach me to play like that? That thing you do, checking the angles and stuff. It looks like you know what you're doing."

  "Oh. I guess. Yeah. Sure."

  Gary looked endearingly perplexed at this new development. Gary, this is called making friends. You might have forgotten how it goes.

  "I'd like to learn." Tina leaned on his arm once more and smiled prettily at him.

  Gary said, "If you like," before extricating himself and setting up the triangle for a new game. "Want to play, Lissa?"

  I leapt up to team with him. Mez elected to commentate, leaving Tina to join forces
with Drew.

  "Reckon you could teach me too?" Mez asked Gary casually.

  "Yeah. Um. If you like."

  "My brothers are always ragging me about how crap I am. It'd be nice to blow a figurative raspberry at 'em next time I'm home for the weekend." Then she smiled at him, her eyes twinkling, and I realised that Tina wasn't the only one attempting to engage the Flirt-a-tron. I almost laughed aloud. If Gary was failing to register Tina's batting eyelashes, he was certainly going to miss Mez's more subtle efforts.

  Three shots in, my phone rang and I pounced on it with embarrassing enthusiasm. I dropped the phone onto the table in my urgency, dislodging a ball, snatched the phone back up to my ear and left someone else to fix the table while I held my breath and waited for the caller to speak.

  "Lissa?"

  "Evan." It came out as a semi-squeak. And that's an 'F' for Melissa Wilson in trying to sound nonchalant. "How did it go today?"

  "Fine. It looks like I'll be free tomorrow to see you. For coffee." A long pause. "Or something." And then he laughed, all self-deprecating, like he'd been teen-angsting about this call himself. "I mean coffee or dinner or just a talk."

  "Or something sounds good too."

  Another laugh. "Can I call you in the morning to tee up a time and place?"

  "Sure. Yes. Please."

  "Good. I'm looking forward to it." A few more inane goodbyes were said, showing our mutual reluctance to hang up. A slow inhale-exhale then, to calm myself down. It didn't work very well. I was too exhilarated.

  "You okay?" Gary stood close by, speaking quietly, "Your heart rate has gone weird."

  "I have never been better." I grinned at him and did a kind of skip-dance back to the table. "Is it my turn again?"

  "Tina's," he corrected me. "You're all fizzy again."

  "That's me," I agreed, "Ms Effervescence." Impulsively, I kissed him on the cheek and whispered, "I've got a date. Maybe a proper dinner date."

  "We still doing a movie next week?"

  "You betcha."