Take A Look At Me Now

by Miranda Dickinson

  The bump of a palm against a microphone summoned our attention and we turned to the stage area. Max was standing there, looking amazing in a black shirt, trousers and shoes, the collar open at his neck and a single red rose resting in his shirt pocket. I know my intake of breath was louder than I’d intended because Lizzie giggled and jabbed me in the ribs with her elbow.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of Haight Urban Art Collective I want to welcome you to our fifth annual art exhibition. The works you see have been created as part of a citywide art initiative this year and I’m grateful to the Mayor’s office and Department of Arts for their generous support in supporting our efforts to bring art to the diverse communities of this great city.’

  Polite applause rippled through the guests. Max continued, thanking a list of community groups and benefactors who had helped to create the works of art on show. But I didn’t really take it in: I was just watching the movements he made with his hands, the way his mouth moved when he spoke and the delight in his eyes whenever he had to pause to receive his audience’s applause …

  ‘So, I would like to invite you to enjoy this exhibition. If you would be interested in purchasing any of the works on display, please approach one of the artists – including myself.’

  He stepped down to applause as technicians dressed in black buzzed about, resetting the stage for the theatre group’s imminent performance. People in the crowd of guests came up to him, shaking his hand, offering their congratulations. In the middle of a group of well-wishers he raised his head and waved when he saw me, his smile widening as he made his way towards us.

  ‘You made it!’ He kissed my cheek, whispering, ‘You look wonderful,’ close to my ear, his warm breath tickling my skin. Pulling back, he turned to greet Lizzie.

  ‘And you must be Nell’s cousin. I’m Max.’

  ‘Lizzie. It’s good to finally meet you.’

  ‘You’re both welcome.’ He held my gaze for a moment. ‘I should get back to my hosting duties. Enjoy the exhibition and I’ll catch up with you later, OK?’

  Lizzie only just managed to contain her delight as Max left. ‘My life, Nellie, when you said he was good looking you didn’t say he looked like that.’

  I beamed back. ‘He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?’

  ‘Is he ever! Please tell me you’re going to see him again if he asks you. I want you to be able to enjoy that view as much as possible before you have to go home.’

  ‘Lizzie!’

  We pretended to consider one of the enormous painted canvases as a group of exhibition guests walked slowly by.

  ‘Gorgeous,’ Lizzie smirked, waving her half-empty champagne flute in the general direction of the painting.

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘Personally, I could gaze at that for hours …’ She winked in Max’s direction.

  ‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ one of the guests commented, impressed by our apparent art appreciation. ‘The craftsmanship is remarkable, don’t you think?’

  Lizzie gave a solemn nod. ‘Stunning.’

  The woman leaned towards us. ‘You know, that would look awesome in my bedroom?’ Smiling conspiratorially, she wandered away.

  Lizzie snorted, pretending to sneeze when several of the other visitors turned. ‘I bet you were just thinking the same thing, Nell …’

  ‘Behave, you. We’re meant to be appreciating art here.’

  ‘I thought we were.’

  An hour later canapés were served and the artists, performers and technical staff were introduced to warm applause, moving to mingle with the visitors. Max wove through the bodies towards me and I noticed Lizzie discreetly move away to look at a large bronze sculpture. I loved her for giving us a moment together.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘It’s really good, Max. I wish I knew more about art but I like what I’ve seen.’

  ‘That’s what counts,’ he replied, pleased with my response. ‘Art should be something you feel here.’ He rested his hand just below the scarlet-red rose in his shirt pocket. ‘Your gut response is all that matters. I find if a piece resonates with me, it stays with me. I don’t subscribe to the theory that you should battle with it. If it provokes human response, it’s valid for the person responding.’ He laughed. ‘And now I sound like an art professor. Forgive me.’

  ‘Don’t apologise. I like hearing you talk about your work.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He placed his hand lightly at the small of my back and steered me a little way from the crowd. I was surprised by the intimacy of such a small gesture. ‘I have to say, it’s great you’re here. Could I see you on Saturday some time?’

  ‘Of course. Any time, actually, I don’t work at Annie’s at weekends. But won’t you need to rest before the exhibition’s last night? You’ll be exhausted by then.’

  ‘I’ll be fine. And I want to spend some time with you. Meet me at the 43 Muni stop on Haight, Saturday morning at ten.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘And bring a jacket. It may be a little cold.’

  Saturday morning was bright as I walked to the Muni trolleybus stop. With no sign of Max I walked a little way up the street to look at the new window display at 4:13 Dream, the strange clothes boutique. I wouldn’t be brave enough to wear the kind of clothing they sold, but their window displays were incredible. Papier mâché skulls covered in roses and stars surrounded what looked like a waterfall and river made from the shop’s trademark skull-and-rose print shirts. The top half of a shop window dummy rose from the centre of the shirt river, her body sprayed silver and covered in stick-on crystals, blood-red ribbons tied in her jet-black hair and at her neck.

  ‘Thinking of buying something?’ I turned to see Ced’s deathly pale face, noticing that his hair had been cut into a long shaggy bob, a new fringe framing his eyes.

  ‘I don’t have the guts to. But I adore their windows.’

  ‘You could work their style,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Your hair’s a good colour, pale English skin, great green eyes.’

  ‘Wow, um, thank you.’

  ‘Welcome.’

  After such a surprising compliment I felt I should return the favour. ‘I like your new hairdo by the way.’

  ‘Hair what?’

  I laughed as the translation issue caused Ced to stare at me in case I’d just insulted him in another language. ‘Sorry – your haircut is nice.’

  ‘Oh. Thanks. Autumn did it last night. I’m not sure yet – it’s a bit Jon Bon Jovi right now. Not really the undead look I was going for.’

  ‘It suits you. Makes the colour of your eyes stand out.’ This was the least I could say, given his sudden assessment of my own features.

  ‘OK.’ We stood awkwardly on Haight Street for a moment, both finding ourselves in unfamiliar territory.

  ‘Hey, I meant to say,’ Ced rushed, as if the words would escape him if he didn’t utter them immediately. ‘I heard about you wanting to open your own food place? I think it’s cool. And, you know, I’ve been in the business a few years. If you need advice, you know where I am.’

  I was touched by his offer. ‘That’s very kind, thank you. I’ll definitely take you up on that. When would be a good time to talk?’

  ‘Tuesdays after two p.m. are quiet most weeks. Or just drop in whenever.’

  ‘That would be great. Thanks Ced.’

  ‘You’re welcome. I’d – uh – better get back.’ He knocked on the shop window with his knuckle. ‘You should think about that stuff. You’d rock it.’

  As he walked away I was amused by the revelation of Ced as a fashion guru. Haight-Ashbury was certainly full of surprises. Looking towards the bus stop I saw the unmistakable saunter of my date. My date – it was going to take a while to get used to that …

  ‘Hey,’ he smiled when I reached him. He was wearing his black leather jacket, a white t-shirt beneath with faded black jeans and he smelled of green tea and lemongrass as he leaned in to kiss my cheek. ‘So are you ready for our more-than-coffee-or-an-art-exhibi
tion date?’

  ‘I think so.’ I noticed he had a rucksack slung over one shoulder. ‘Are we hiking?’

  ‘Maybe. Maybe not.’ He looked down at my trainers. ‘But good choice of footwear.’

  ‘Thank you. I thought if we were catching the Muni then there would probably be walking involved.’

  Max laughed. ‘I have a regular Miss Marple here. There will be walking involved, yes. But that’s all I’m saying – the rest is a surprise.’

  True to his word, Max gave no more clues as to where we were going as we travelled through San Francisco, the pastel-hued houses passing us by claiming his attention.

  ‘You see that yellow house there – one back from the corner? That was the first place I rented when I moved here from Oakland. There were four of us living there, two artists and two city workers. We cooked for them because we were in all day and they paid for the wine. It was the perfect arrangement.’

  ‘Did you always know you wanted to live here?’ I asked, amused that I already accepted these street views as normal, instead of wanting to photograph every painted house like I had during my first week.

  ‘Growing up in Oakland you could always see San Francisco across the Bay. I wouldn’t say it called to me, but it felt like home whenever I visited. I guess it was a safe place to branch away from my family without leaving them behind altogether. That kind of thing is not so important when you’re a teenager but when you get older it’s nice to have your people nearby, you know?’

  I did know. If it hadn’t been for my family I’d be homeless now. ‘I’ve just moved back with my parents.’

  He pulled a face. ‘Wow. How are you finding that?’

  ‘Oh it’s fine. Mum was fussing around me a little at first but then that’s Mum. I actually like being back there. My housemates at my previous address weren’t exactly my best friends. Anyway, why the face? I thought you said it was important to have your family near you.’

  ‘Near me, sure, but at a safe distance, like roughly the distance between San Francisco and the furthest end of the Bay Bridge!’ He laughed. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I love my folks, but I’m a big believer that when you move out, you move out for good.’

  That was funny: I’d always felt that way until I lost my job. But then it’s very easy to believe in a principle like that while your bills are being paid. ‘Well, I didn’t have a choice in the circumstances.’

  Max’s face fell. ‘Oh gosh, I didn’t mean … Of course in your situation having your family around you must have been comforting.’

  ‘No offence taken. It isn’t perfect, but I had to make the best of a bad lot.’

  The bus rounded a corner and began a steep descent down one of the city’s many hills.

  ‘I’m curious: what made you decide to come to San Francisco? Was it because Lizzie lives here?’

  ‘Not initially, no. Although when San Francisco was mentioned I called Lizzie straight away. To begin with, I just knew I didn’t want my whole life to be defined by this thing that had happened to me, which I had no control over. I didn’t want to become a victim of it, so I decided to do something positive. Of course I’ll be completely broke when I go home, but out here I feel like I’ve taken back some control of my life, you know? Even if it turns out to be an unwise choice, at least I’ll have had two months of fun.’

  Max was looking straight at me now, his hand millimetres away from mine on the seat between us. ‘I love that you think that way, Nell. It’s bold and courageous. And I think life rewards those who take chances.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I was struck by an overwhelming urge to bridge the gap between our fingers and take hold of his hand. Suddenly aware of how close our faces were to each other I sat back and looked out of the window to steady myself. ‘So are we nearly there yet?’

  He reached across me and yanked the metal cord that ran the length of the trolleybus to alert the driver to stop. ‘This is us now.’

  I had quickly learned that Muni trolleybus drivers stopped sharply and now waited until the bus had braked before I even attempted to stand. We stepped off in a suburban street unremarkable from countless others we had passed on our journey.

  ‘Where are we?’

  Max began to walk away. ‘You’ll see. Come on.’

  At the end of the street I could see a line of trees, leading to a park gate with a main road winding its way into the park.

  ‘Is this The Presidio?’ I asked.

  ‘Part of it. Have you been here yet?’

  ‘I’ve been to the bottom edge of it, where the Palace of Fine Arts is.’

  We passed whitewashed wooden buildings that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a movie set at the turn of the nineteenth century, with neatly clipped gardens and beautifully pristine pathways. As we walked through a deserted strip of car park, Max suddenly grabbed my hand.

  ‘Nell – look …’ he whispered.

  It was a while until I realised what he was asking me to do, due to the shock of him holding my hand – and how natural it felt. When I pulled myself together I followed the direction of his arm until I could see something buzzing about the flowers in the bushes that edged the car park. At first I thought it was a large moth or a dragonfly. It was larger than a bumblebee but no bigger than my thumb. It was moving quickly, hovering for a moment on a flower, then flitting across to another. I took off my sunglasses and squinted a little – instantly reminding me of Vicky’s reading technique, which made me smile. And then, I recognised it.

  ‘Oh goodness, it’s a hummingbird!’

  I had seen hummingbirds before on television wildlife programmes (of which Dad was an avid fan) but never in real life. This creature was much tinier than I’d imagined and far more beautiful. The miniature bird had a shock of vivid green on its head and back, which was the only thing I could focus on as the rest of its body moved at such high speed. I was mesmerised as we watched the hummingbird collecting nectar from the yellow flowers of the bush.

  ‘They’re awesome, aren’t they?’ Max’s hushed question was close to my ear and I felt his hand squeeze mine.

  ‘I can’t believe how beautiful they are – or how tiny.’

  I was acutely aware of his breath, of his closeness to me. It was exciting and yet somehow comforting. I didn’t fight it, keeping my eyes on the tiny birds.

  Max was still holding my hand, only letting go when we began to walk again. I was aware of a stab of disappointment when he did. He laughed nervously and so did I.

  Being with Max was like being fifteen all over again. I remembered those first, excruciating dates in my teens when I felt like a fish out of water and everything I did seemed to have been scripted by Buster Keaton. Tripping over my words, blurting out exactly the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time, falling over myself to try to impress boys who clearly weren’t interested and, on more than one occasion, actually falling over. My left knee still bears the scar of my ill-fated attempt to woo Ross Andrews, fourteen-year-old heart-throb of Year Nine, by nicking my next-door neighbour’s skateboard and sailing past him straight into a brick wall at the edge of our local skate park …

  Now, at thirty-two years old, it seemed I was no better at avoiding awkwardness on a first date. Although technically this was our second – or third, if I counted visiting his exhibition last night. Being with Max Rossi – especially being alone with Max Rossi – was something that left me both thrilled and terrified: thrilled because of the effect he had on me and terrified because of how much I already felt for him …

  After a sudden steep climb we emerged in another car park – and I suddenly realised where we were. Ahead of us, rising tall into the cloudless blue sky and reflecting in the waters of the San Francisco Bay, was the Golden Gate Bridge. It was beautiful, and from the viewing point I could see the sweep of the Bay to the right, over the tops of the dark green cedar trees at the edge of Crissy Field towards the rise of San Francisco and Oakland beyond.

  ‘It’s gorgeous, Max,’ I breathed, feeling th
e sting of cooler air at the back of my throat.

  ‘That’s where we’re going,’ he replied, his eyes alive with the success of his surprise. ‘We’re going to walk the Golden Gate Bridge.’

  Since arriving in San Francisco, I had of course seen the enormous red metal and steel cabled structure many times: on the horizon from Fisherman’s Wharf and Aquatic Park, its towers usually shrouded in mist; closer by at West Bluff and Crissy Field; and in the far distance from between the cedar and palm trees on the brow of Alamo Square Park – but this was going to be a new experience.

  Tourists and sightseers clustered at the small viewing point, posing for the ‘must-have’ shot of the bridge, and a few local people exercising their dogs were kept busy taking photos for them. They didn’t seem to mind at all, being thoroughly proud of their local landmark. An older man with a very sweet spaniel offered to take a picture of us and I was about to refuse when Max thanked him and slung his arm around my shoulders, grinning from ear to ear.

  ‘Aw, you two look so happy. Smile now!’ Job done, he handed the camera back to Max and beamed at us. ‘So how long are the two of you in San Francisco?’

  ‘I live here,’ Max replied, ‘but Nell’s visiting for a while.’

  The local nodded sagely. ‘Ah, I see. Holiday romance. How sweet. And what a great day for you it is.’

  I knew I was blushing, but maintained my smile as Max agreed with him.

  ‘Isn’t it? I was just about to tell Nell how lucky we are to have a clear view.’

  ‘First clear morning we’ve had for weeks,’ the man said. ‘Usually the fog stays until early afternoon. My wife and I take it as a sign that something good is going to happen if we can see the whole bridge. I hope that’s the case for the both of you.’

  When he had walked on, I gave Max a nudge. ‘So we’re having a holiday romance now, are we?’

  His expression was pure cheekiness. ‘It would appear so.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’d like to think we might.’

  ‘Me too.’