Hating Valentine's Day

by Allison Rushby - Hating Valentine's Day

  And when I say this my dad looks straight at me, just as if he’s heard me for real.

  As I walk back out to the limo everything turns dark again, just as it turned light before. The neighbours disappear one by one and the streetlights flick on. It reminds me of one of those time-delayed pieces of video footage where you can watch a city go from dawn to dusk in thirty seconds or so. I look up ahead at James, remember Tony, and then wonder about the next ghost. About what it will show me.

  It’s as if time means nothing any more. As if it’s a pack of cards you can flip through and pull one out at random—some scene from your life, past, present or, of course, future, which I have to admit I’m more than slightly curious about. Who knows what that dream will be like?

  Sitting back in tan leather heaven, I wonder where we’re going to go next. I know better than to ask James, of course. He’ll only tell me it’s up to me, like before, so I sit back and think of nothing. After all, it’s not like I’m actually deciding anything here. Even though James, like Tony, has told me I’m making the decisions, we seem to be turning up to places without me having to consciously think about where we’re going, so there’s no point trying to work it out beforehand, is there?

  I turn and look at James as the limo pulls out of Dad and Eileen’s driveway and something occurs to me. ‘Who’s driving this thing, anyway?’ I ask him, nodding my head in the direction of the dividing screen that’s separated us and the driver the whole trip.

  ‘You are,’ he says.

  ‘No, I don’t mean who’s deciding where we go. I mean who’s physically driving. As in, who’s up front?’

  James presses a button and the dividing screen whirrs down.

  There is no one there.

  I stare at the blank space for what’s probably a very long time before I can speak. ‘Let’s put the screen back up, shall we?’ From now on I’m just not going to ask the obvious questions. And I’d better think of somewhere to go—quick.

  I don’t come up with many ideas. I wouldn’t mind seeing how Justine and Drew are going at the ball, or…The car changes lanes and I remember the driver up front. Or lack of driver. I stop thinking about where we’re going then and watch the road, trying to visualise how I’d be seeing it if I was driving.

  ‘This is a really bad intersection,’ I say to James, as we pass by a place I know. ‘Watch out for the zebra crossing,’ I add, as we approach one I know many pedestrians have been hit on.

  ‘You don’t have to worry.’ James turns to me.

  ‘I’m thinking it’s a bit late for that,’ I reply, my mind’s eye picturing the vacuum at the front of the car.

  A few minutes later we pull up. Thank God.

  I open the window a little, hear the noise, read the signs and work out where we are—the Cupid’s Choice Ball. I start to push open the limo door, but James beats me to it once again. As I get out, I notice I’ve already managed to dirty my beautiful cream dress on something.

  ‘Oh, no,’ I say, picking up the skirt and inspecting it.

  James bends down to touch the spot, and as I watch the mark miraculously starts to disappear.

  ‘Hey,’ I say, watching it inch away. When it’s all gone, I let the dress fall back down. ‘You could save me a lot on dry-cleaning.’

  James smiles and nods.

  I doubt if he knows what dry-cleaning is, I think, looking at his squeaky-cleanness. There’s not a spot on his tux, a hair out of place or a blemish on his now John Cusack-looking face.

  Ah, lovely.

  James starts off across the road quite quickly and I realise he’s forgotten to take my arm—in fact, he seems eager to get inside the function. Far more eager than he was to see Ryan or Dad and Eileen.

  The ball’s being held in one of the large brick exhibition buildings attached to the city’s show grounds, and from the noise emanating from inside it sounds like there’s a good few thousand people in there at least. We round the corner and come to the entry, which is decorated with silver and gold hearts. An oversized plastic Cupid, taking aim with his bow and arrow, hangs above the two bouncers’ heads. I notice the neatly placed piece of velvet Cupid is wearing and think of Tony. Hmm. Maybe he was right about going for the pink ensemble.

  I follow James inside, almost losing him in the sudden burst of noise and flashing lights. When my eyes adjust, and I catch sight of him again, I notice that he’s lost any semblance of his suave act—he’s excited to be in here. He seems brighter now, more alert, and has a strange Mona-Lisa-type smile stuck to his face that isn’t giving anything away. I start to wonder what he’s up to, but then, as I take a quick look around, it becomes obvious what he likes about this place.

  He’s in his element.

  I mean, the guy’s the Ghost of Valentine’s Day Present, isn’t he? Of course he’s going to like this place. It’s full of people celebrating Valentine’s Day and trying to get together. What more could he ask for?

  Well, maybe for computer matching to actually work, but still, at least they’re making an effort…

  After James sees that I’ve caught up, he moves off, the crowd parting for him and closing behind him as he goes. I step up closer to him when I find they’re not going to do the same for me.

  It’s such a pain being mortal.

  I shuffle close behind James and am trying to spot Drew and Justine when something flies into my eye.

  ‘Ow!’ I say, cupping my hand over it. ‘What was that?’

  But in front of me James is busy, and it doesn’t look like he’s heard. The thing that landed in my eye, whatever it is, is on my cheek now. I can feel it. I pull it off and have a look. It’s a tiny pink metallic heart. As I’m looking down at it, another few land on my hand. I drop them all and look up to see where they’re coming from.

  James.

  James is digging into his pants pockets with both hands, pulling out handfuls of these things and throwing them into the air. He notices me looking at him. He turns around. ‘Is something the matter?’

  ‘You kind of got me in the eye.’

  ‘I am sorry,’ he says, dropping the rest of his hearts and truly looking, well…sorry, I guess. ‘Forgive me.’

  ‘Um, sure. Of course,’ I say. How could any girl not forgive Ethan Hawke’s baby face and big brown eyes? ‘What are you doing?’ I add. Scattering pink metallic hearts in the wind doesn’t seem a very James thing to do.

  He pauses. ‘Er, to help, er…’

  It’s the first time I’ve seen him at a loss for words. He looks caught out, as if I shouldn’t know he’s doing this. Or maybe he shouldn’t be doing this? ‘Ah.’ I give him a nudge with one elbow. ‘A bit of an aphrodisiac, hey?’

  James looks shocked at my suggestion.

  ‘Oh, come on.’ I wave my hand and start to think I might be a little bit tipsy. ‘It’s not cheating. You’re just helping move things along a little. Like you told me you helped Dad and Eileen. You know—kind of spreading the spirit.’

  ‘Yes, that’s it.’ He nods. ‘Spreading the spirit.’

  ‘Well, that’s what we’ll call it.’ I reach up and swivel him around by the shoulders. ‘Off you go, then. Do your job, like a good ghost. I hope you’ve got plenty of those hearts.’

  As we continue through the crowd I start pointing out potential couples to James. ‘Don’t miss those ones,’ I say as we pass by a man and a woman, both blondes, who look perfect together. ‘They could even share their hair dye later on in life.’

  James sprinkles a little extra on them.

  ‘And those two.’ I point out a girl about my age who’s comparing her computer match print-out with her date.

  James sprinkles even harder.

  I turn to my left, in the hope of finding another couple worth sprinkling, and come face to face with Drew, who’s carrying four drinks. ‘Stop.’ I tap James on the back again. ‘It’s Drew. And Justine,’ I say, spotting her as Drew finds their group and passes around the glasses. I walk over quickly, curious to get a closer
look at their dates.

  It’s Michelle, Drew’s date, the poodle enthusiast, that I walk up to first. She has long curly blonde hair that I’m guessing is permed, and is wearing a lavender-coloured shapeless old-lady dress with some beading around the hem and neckline. I stand between her and Drew (there’s more than enough space) and eavesdrop. Or maybe it isn’t eavesdropping if the love gods have decreed I’m supposed to be here. I don’t know. Either way, I’m not going to miss my Invisible Man chance to listen in.

  Michelle is talking to Drew about her website. About how many hits it gets and the photo competition she’s just started, where people can send in pictures of their poodles dressed up as famous people and win a prize. She adds that next year she’s thinking of running a dog and owner lookalike competition. Beside her, Drew smiles and nods and asks questions politely, though I don’t think he’s really that interested. It’s the glazed look in his eyes that gives him away.

  After a while, Michelle is still talking a mile a minute about her website. I walk back over to where James is waiting. ‘So, are you going to sprinkle them?’ I watch him carefully as I ask my question.

  He looks cagey, as if he doesn’t want to answer.

  I ask again. ‘Drew and Michelle, I mean.’

  ‘No.’ He shakes his head slowly and I feel relieved when he says this for some reason, even though I’ve decided ‘just friends’ is it where Drew and I are concerned.

  There’s a pause and James glances away for a second at a couple behind him. When he looks back, I see…

  Robert Downey Jr.

  ‘That’s it! You’ve finally got it! Now, stay right there,’ I say smartly. ‘Just like that. And no taking illegal substances when I’m not looking. They’ll wreck your complexion.’

  His face reads confusion.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about it.’ I sigh, and check back on the group. ‘Well, if you’re not going to sprinkle Drew and Michelle, how about these two?’ I ask him, as I go over to Justine and her date.

  ‘Justine and Gary—yes.’ James follows me and gives them a good heart-sprinkling before he steps back again, leaving me some room to step in and listen.

  They’re sharing bad date stories. Justine is telling Gary about the guy she was set up with who stood her up three times, each time coming up with a plausible story, and how they never even got to meet before he broke the relationship off. Gary is telling Justine about a girl he took out to dinner whose right breast kept trying to sneak out of her dress. He didn’t know whether it was a ‘your skirt’s tucked into your pantyhose’ kind of situation, where you tell the person, or not. In the end he told her about it, to be polite and she just looked down and tucked herself back in. Five minutes later, there it was again. The second time he didn’t say anything and let the breast do what it wanted.

  Halfway through the story, Drew and Michelle start listening in.

  ‘Was there nipple?’ Drew says, laughing.

  ‘No.’ He shakes his head. ‘I was getting scared there would be, though.’

  ‘And she didn’t care she was hanging out there?’ Drew asks—a little bit too interested in all of this, I note.

  ‘She didn’t seem to,’ Gary says. ‘I think it was a free-range breast.’

  Everyone laughs except for Michelle, who looks shocked. ‘That’s disgusting.’

  ‘It didn’t put me off my dinner,’ Gary adds, and everyone laughs again. Everyone except Michelle, that is.

  I move back over beside James. ‘That girl needs another drink. A double. And fast,’ I say.

  James doesn’t say anything, however, and we continue watching the group. As they laugh and chat together, I start to feel a bit sad. As if I am missing out, like Dad said before.

  I turn away from the group and look at James. ‘Can we go now? Can I go home?’

  He nods and we start to make our way out to the entrance again, James sprinkling as we go.

  I’m still feeling a little sad as the limo pulls out for the last time. ‘They looked as if they were having an enjoyable evening,’ James says, staring out of his window, away from me.

  This time it’s my turn to nod. ‘I know.’ And as we drive off I think about Ryan, Dad and Eileen, Drew and Justine, and I realise at last what James has been trying to show me about Valentine’s Day—that it doesn’t have to be expensive or over the top. Everyone I’ve seen tonight has been having a good time, making some small gesture towards the day for the fun of it, to show other people they’re important. For them it’s just a silly day that comes around once a year that they make a little bit of an effort for. Unlike me. But I guess that’s the thing about my job—it brings out the worst of Valentine’s Day. The overcharging, the over-sentimentality, the spectacularly large gold Cupids. And, thus, it brings out the worst in me as well.

  I guess James has served his purpose. I’ve taught myself a lesson here—I’ve seen tonight that Valentine’s Day isn’t so bad if you do it for the right reasons with the right person. Looking out of my own window, I remember Ryan and his French toast again. The ingredients probably cost less than ten dollars, but it’s the effort that Rachel will remember. The trouble he went to. The thought he put in and the fact that he realised it would mean more to her than an expensive dinner out that he could just whack on his credit card.

  ‘Yes,’ James says, making me look over.

  I lose my train of thought when I catch sight of his face. He’s gone all Sean Connery on me. A young Sean Connery, but still…

  ‘You’re getting grey hair,’ I say, sliding over the seat closer to him. ‘And wrinkles! What’s happening to you?’

  ‘I must leave,’ he says. ‘Valentine’s Day is passing.’

  I shake my head, confused. Valentine’s Day is passing? It can’t be Valentine’s Day yet. When I nodded off on the couch it could only have been nine-thirty at the latest.

  The limo pulls over and I look out to see my apartment building, even though we hadn’t been close to my suburb at all seconds before.

  I wait for James to open the door, which he does with one hand, buttoning his jacket with the other as I get out. He closes the door behind me and then moves over and gives me a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. He has a few more grey hairs, I notice.

  Damn. I should have pushed my point about the Robert Downey Jr thing.

  ‘Well, thank you for a nice evening,’ I say, remembering my manners.

  ‘It was lovely to meet you,’ James says in parting. I watch as he makes his way back over to the limo and unbuttons his jacket before he gets in again.

  I shake my head.

  And people think I need to lighten up.

  Y Y Y Y

  I hang around in the driveway and watch as the limo indicates and pulls away from the kerb. Well, that wasn’t too bad a dream, I think. At least James was a well-mannered, well-dressed ghost. A well-mannered, well-dressed ghost who’d soon be needing a nose and ear hair clipper set, the way he was ageing. But a well-mannered, well-dressed ghost just the same.

  As the car turns right at the end of the road, I know I should go upstairs and try to get some proper rest. But with James gone and only my thoughts left to talk to suddenly everything doesn’t seem quite so cheery and ‘let’s get on with it, then’ easy.

  I go over and sit down carefully on the apartment block’s low brick letterbox, minding the beads on my dress. I don’t want to go upstairs yet. My headache hasn’t returned, but somehow I don’t feel right. I need some time to think.

  I look back down the street to where James’s limo has just disappeared and think about the ball once more. About Drew, really. Well, Drew and Justine. I wonder if they’re both still in the same spot, talking to Michelle and Gary, or if they’re talking to other people. I wonder if they’re even still there, or have left and gone on elsewhere. It doesn’t take much brainpower on my part to work out what doesn’t feel right. I still feel like I’m missing out, and I really do wish that I’d gone out tonight like my dad thought I should.

 
; If, after yesterday’s debacle, I’d still been invited.

  Oh well. I take one last look down the road before I push myself up and make my way upstairs. I can’t stay out here all night, dreaming or not.

  Inside the main door, everything is quiet apart from my stomp, stomp, stomp up the steps to my apartment. I open the door and expend the least amount of energy possible as I take the three steps over that I need to fall onto the couch, feeling as if I now know what Superman was talking about when he whinged about Kryptonite. The couch is as far as I’m going. I just don’t think I can make it to my bedroom, let alone save the world using my superhuman strength.

  I do manage, however, to turn my head and check out the time on the VCR—12:23. James was right—it is Valentine’s Day.

  I snuggle back, rest my hands on my lap and close my eyes. But, again, just as my eyes shut, there’s a noise outside the door. I sit up and look at the VCR clock, startled.

  12:24. I thought so. I didn’t think I’d actually gone to sleep. I mean, you hear about people closing their eyes and waking up eight hours later, thinking they’ve only just gone to sleep, but that would have been ridiculous.

  There’s another noise. A different noise. The door handle rattles.

  Three spirits. I remember Mrs Batty-Smith’s words.

  I get up warily and go over, not knowing what’s on the other side. And when the door handle rattles one final time I wrench it open.

  ‘Agh!’ Justine and I both yell at each other. Then, ‘Shit—sorry,’ we say together.

  ‘I didn’t expect you to be up,’ she says, looking me over.

  ‘I didn’t expect you to be home so early,’ I reply.

  Justine checks her watch. ‘It’s not that early.’

  I move aside to let her in. As I shut the door I look down and realise that my beautiful dress has disappeared and that I’m back in my pyjamas.