Morning in Melbourne

by Nicole Taylor

  Chapter 16 – Not a kid anymore

  James’ 21st was coming up and he clearly wanted to have a ‘function’. Louise dared to suggest a party at home, and he shook his head at her.

  “Mum,” James looked at her enquiringly. “Remember when you bought this townhouse? You said that we would spend the money we saved by not buying a bigger house on having our functions in restaurants and hotels. Remember?”

  She had said that – and meant it. “But James – this is such a great party house!”

  James shook his head. “You really don’t want to have a party here,” he said. “For one thing, whenever there is a party at someone’s home, everyone sleeps over and stay for days.”

  “I know that!” laughed Louise. “Your friends do that already!”

  “I really want to have the party at a bar in town.”

  “Oh?” Louise thought about it. “Actually, that would be really nice, wouldn’t it?” She was urged on by the light in James’ eyes. “Okay then, we’d better start looking.”

  “Thanks Mum!” James was very happy.

  “I’ll have to get a few quotes, James,” Louise warned him. “It may be too expensive.”

  “We’ll manage!” James was confident.

  Louise smiled and shook her head. She was looking at the calendar. “Oh, by the way James, did you realise that your birthday is on election day?”

  “What?”

  “Saturday August 21st 2010 is the date set for the federal election!”

  “Sweet!” James’ smile was broad. “I can see the invitations now: Labor Party; Liberal Party; David’s 21st Party: The choice is obvious!”

  Louise smiled back at him. “Not bad!” she said.

  *

  James stood in the bar of Young & Jackson’s first floor function room and smiled at his mother. “This is where I want to have my 21st Mum,” he said decisively.

  Louise loved the place, too; and Young & Jackson’s did have many advantages as a venue for a 21st.

  “Well, “ she said, “it is a lot more expensive than the other places we have looked at.

  “And there is a reason for that,” countered James. “This is better, so that’s why they charge more.” He shrugged as though it was an elementary deduction and only a fool would expect anything different.

  Louise shook her head, smiling at her son’s air of superiority. “I always find it amusing that it is so easy to justify the expense when someone else is paying,” she said.

  But James was admiring the painting of Chloe. “Can we get this onto the invitations too?” he asked.

  They were overheard by the functions organiser. “Yes,” she said. “I’ll send you the link if you want to include it in your own invitation; or we can provide you with invitations which you can send out.” And she handed Louise a folder. “Here is a package that explains our function set-up. You can choose whichever options you want.”

  They settled into a discussion of D.J.’s and dance floors, finger foods and bar tabs. It was going to be big.

  And on the night they celebrated James’ 21st, Julia Gillard was voted in as the first woman Prime Minister of Australia. It was a clear, fresh night; and from the wrap-around corner windows of Chloe’s bar in Young & Jackson’s which was adjacent to Federation Square, where their party was in full swing, they could see people celebrating her victory.

  “So Melbourne!” Louise clinked her glass against James’. “You were right about this place, James.” She indicated the beautiful corner lounge, with its leather couches and wooden dance floor, the famous painting “Chloe”, and the panoramic view of the city’s night lights. “It’s brilliant, especially tonight. Imagine – we have a woman Prime Minister! I feel sorry for people anywhere else tonight. Melbourne is the place to be.”

  James nodded, looking from his party room out onto the victory celebration in Federation Square. “Awesome,” he said, smiling a little drunkenly and so broadly that he couldn’t have said much else, Louise thought.

  *

  “Muuuuuum!”

  From the tone in her daughter’s voice, Louise knew that Camille was going to make a raucous complaint against one or both of her brothers. It was definitely her “I’ve put up with this for as long as I can and now I won’t tolerate it for another minute” voice; more of a long, shouted tone than a screech, but the emotion was the same.

  Fifteen. Camille was so beautiful. So blond and slender and tall. She had a milk and roses complexion, and soft blue eyes, and the most adorable lisp. But she was still fifteen.

  In direct confrontation to their sister’s difficult age, her brothers were 14 and 21. At 14, Peter was entering the stage where he would detach himself from the apron strings his mother dared to drape around her youngest child. Peter, whose young face seemed to be stuck in a constant scowl, found the figurative rusty axe and hacked at these strings with his hurtful words and dismissive actions.

  James, who was 21 and therefore the man of the house, had been suspicious of his sister from the time of her arrival when she had abruptly ended his 6 year reign as only beloved child and catapulted him, unprepared, into the far less glamorous role of older brother. Peter simply had no time for Camille but James needed to show his mother that Camille was wrong. Every day and in every way.

  “What is it?” Lou tried to sound calm and sweet, but firm; and expecting a sensible answer too. Could she imbue three small words with so much meaning? Was that even possible?

  “Peter is kicking the wall in his room,” Camille’s voice remained strident, “and James is sitting on his head!”

  Camille knew – everyone knew – that she had pressed the Magic Button. The walls had just been repainted and Louise guarded them like a gardener cherishes a prize bloom.

  “JAMES!” she roared as she took the stairs two at a time.

  Chapter 17 – The dress

  “Lulu!” It was Rachel on the phone – Louise’s old friend, who had also grown up in Canberra, and moved to Melbourne with her husband and three kids; then gotten divorced. Louise and Rachel had been friends for 20 years but this was the first time they had lived in the same city in more than a decade.

  Louise thought it was great to have a friend in Melbourne who had the same home-town as she. Rachel’s girls were a lot younger than Louise’s kids, but Camille babysat, so that worked, too.

  “I’ve got tickets to the Melbourne Food Festival! Wanna come?”

  That was the other thing Louise loved about Rachel. Sure – they were both single parents. Sure – they both had bills to pay. But every now and then, you had to live a little. Louise had lots of friends who took their families overseas every other year; and always had money to go out with a boyfriend – but when it came to socialising with women friends, the cry went up: ‘I don’t have the money; I can’t afford it!’ Rachel was one of the few woman Louise knew who delighted in treating herself – just twice a year – to some fun social event with a woman friend that actually cost more than a pizza. But like Louise, Rachel had already been around the world, and around Australia; and, like Louise, her parents had taken her out to nice restaurants and other places while she was growing up, rather than making them live on beans on toast all year so they could have 3 weeks overseas where they would have to eat beans on toast when they got there!

  And both women agreed: people from all over the country, and the world, saved up to come to Melbourne. Why not enjoy what this marvellous city had to offer, rather than rushing off with 3 kids in tow (who would rather be playing a computer game anyway) to sit for hours in foreign airports hoping that the hotel you had booked online really was clean and comfortable. And people from everywhere lived in Melbourne! Melbournians had parents born in China, Europe, Israel, Chile, Africa – you name it. And they all had restaurants around town.

  But Rachel had already set her sights on a modern restaurant in St Kilda. She called Louise to give her the details.

  “Do you need a babysitter?” asked Louise.

 
“No, thanks,” answered Rachel. “Rob is going to take the girls to his sister’s place for the weekend, so they can see their cousins.”

  “Can I bring Camille, then?” Louise didn’t want to detract from the ‘adult time’ aspect of the lunch, but Camille was 15 and old enough to enjoy a good restaurant.

  “Sure,” said Rachel. “I’ll book for three.” Then she added “I need your financial advice.”

  “Oh?” Louise was interested.

  “I’ll tell you all about it over lunch.”

  So, Camille and Louise had gotten the train from Laburnum Station to Flinder’s Street, where Rachel was waiting for them, and then they all got the tram to St Kilda. It stopped right outside the restaurant. “Perfect!” said Louise. “I can have a glass of wine with lunch and not have to worry!”

  “It’s great, isn’t it?” agreed Rachel. Back in Canberra, the only public transport was buses which ran irregularly on the weekends. “One of the many things I love about Melbourne is its public transport system.”

  “Me, too,” agreed Louise. “It’s hard to believe that Sydney and Brisbane had trams – but ripped them out in the 70’s!”

  “Probably because that’s when women started to drive.” Rachel said. “And back then petrol was so cheap, so I suppose the city planners thought they could cut costs since more people had their own transport.”

  “And earn money from charging us to park. Public transport is a huge cost to governments, which is why they hate spending money on it. The only reason we have any trains at all is because the train lines were built before the general population got cars. Look at where all the train lines go to – only to the suburbs built before 1950.”

  “But we pay the taxes, so the government should be building more train tracks for us. It’s our money!” Rachel was strident.

  “I’m just grateful we have the trains at all. The trams in the city are great, too. They really ‘make’ Melbourne now. I mean – you can get the train into town from virtually anywhere in the state – and once you are here, you have the trams to get you around the city. Even to the beach!”

  It was true. St Kilda was on a very pretty stretch of beach which gave the suburb a unique holiday-maker charm, so similar to Brighton in England. Port Phillip Bay was protected by headlands so that no surf made its way to the beach, but this lack of surf and the resultant calmer beaches merely accentuated the ‘grande dame’ element of the gorgeous old city.

  It was easy to see that the original city of Melbourne had been built during a period of sustained wealth. The government buildings of that time still dominated the cityscape; large, imposing and solid. The neighbouring modern insertions might tower above them but it was like standing a long-legged sprinter beside Napoleon: Height is no substitute for power, and the glassy skyscrapers looked insubstantial beside the older, stony edifices.

  The restaurant was on Fitzroy St, and overlooked Albert Park. They made their selections from the menu and spent the next couple of hours eating, chatting and laughing. Each course was delicious and wine was included so it was a relaxing lunch for the two adult women. Camille had a cranberry mocktail and the young waitress who served them sported a fantastic tattoo which she was happy to show off.

  Her name was Naomi and she was from New Zealand. “First, they do the blue outline,” she explained, showing Camille the full tattoo of a beautiful genie which extended down the length of her arm. “Next, they add detail in different shades, and the red goes on last.” It was a very pretty tattoo and clearly represented an investment of time and money for Naomi.

  When Naomi had moved away from their table, Camille leaned in to speak to her mother quietly. “You’re not considering getting a tattoo, are you, Mum?” she asked.

  Louise was surprised by the question. “Of course not, Camille!”

  “It’s just that you were so interested,” she explained.

  Louise shook her head, smiling. “I see so many kids Naomi’s age where I teach, with tattoos just like that, and I know that the kids who get them love attention – otherwise they wouldn’t do it,” she explained. “Tattoos are very eye-catching, and you can’t help but look at them, so why not do it out in the open? Otherwise you are trying to sneak a look and it can be embarrassing.”

  “Do you look at the tattoos your students have?” Camille was disbelieving.

  “Of course!” said Louise. “As soon as one of my students gets a new tattoo, I spend the first five minutes of that class talking about it with them in front of the class.”

  “What if it is in a place you can’t see?”

  Louise laughed. “That never happens,” she said. “If it is on their hip, they wear low-slung jeans. If it is on their chest, they wear low-cut shirts. If it is on their arm, they wear rolled up sleeves and if it is on their stomach they were midriff tops. People who get tattoos always make sure you can see them – otherwise what would be the point?”

  Camille laughed. “You’re right!” And Naomi appeared at that moment with their next course, so the girls changed the topic of conversation.

  The food was delicious and they were quiet as they ate. Then Louise turned to Rachel. “OK, I’ve been kept in suspense for long enough. Why do you need financial advice?”

  Rachel nodded and patted at her mouth with the napkin. “OK.” She swallowed her food and became serious. “I’ve been applying for a mortgage and none of the banks will lend me any money. I was hoping you could tell me where I should go.”

  Louise nodded thoughtfully. “Do you still have the $30,000 deposit you told me you had saved from the divorce settlement?”

  “Yep.”

  “Good. What the bank wants to know is that you can pay them back. Can you get a letter from someone saying you have worked for them for at least 6 months?”

  “Yes. I have been working for 6 months, part-time.”

  “Leave out the ‘part-time’ part. Just get a letter, on office letterhead, signed by your employer, saying that you have worked there. They will assume it is a full-time position.”

  “But I wouldn’t want to lie,” Rachel was frowning.

  Louise shrugged. “Do you want to be godmother to the bank manager’s first born child or do you want to be a home owner? You have to decide that right away. If you want to buy a home for your three daughters and yourself, I can tell you how to get a mortgage. And I wouldn’t think of it as lying; it’s more of a ‘helping them make the right decision’ thing.”

  Rachel blinked. Louise continued.

  “Look, Rachel, the sad fact is that there is no bank on Earth that wants to lend money to a single mother with three young kids who does not have a full-time, well-paid job. That’s just the way it is. So what you have to do, is decide if that is fine with you, or not. If not, then you have to take control of the situation. Have you ever had an unpaid debt?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “That’s what I thought. Can you repay a mortgage?”

  “Sure. From my wages, my pension and the child support, I can afford to repay $300 a week. In fact, the rent we pay now is more than that, and we get rent relief.”

  “Well, you won’t get rent relief for a mortgage. And the bank will not take child support into account because they know all too well that many non-custodial parents avoid paying child support altogether.”

  “Rob wouldn’t.”

  “I’m just telling you that the bank will deduct the child support from your income. So here is what you have to do:-“ and Louise counted the items off on her fingers. “One: Open a new bank account in your maiden name. Ask your mother to lend you $50,000 for 3 months, and put it into that account along with the $30,000 you already have. Two: Work full-time for three months and get your salary paid into that account. Your child-support will continue to go into your old account, under your married name, and the bank will have no knowledge of it.”

  Louise took a sip of her wine, and watched Rachel write down the points she had made.

  “Go on,” said
Rachel.

  “Three: Do not, under any circumstances, mention that you have children. The bank will deduct $8,000 for each child, so $24,000 from your available income if you do. Do not mention that you were married, or they will worry about debts Rob may have accumulated that you might be liable for.”

  “You are kidding!”

  “I’m quite, quite serious. This is what accountants do, Rachel – if I was the lending officer, I’d do it too!” Lou laughed. “I’m giving you all the inside-oil!”

  “Shit!” Rachel shook her head. “No wonder I couldn’t get a loan!”

  “No one helps single women older than 30, Rachel; and especially not older than 40 with three kids. We have to stick together!” And they clinked their glasses.

  *

  After lunch, as the three women tottered out the door and towards the tram stop, Rachel stopped them. “I can’t go home yet!” she announced.

  “Why not?” asked Louise.

  “Because this is the first day Rob has taken the girls in three weeks and I want to enjoy it!”

  “Well, I need to go for a gentle walk anyway,” said Louise. “I’ve just consumed a week’s worth of calories and if I don’t walk some of them off I won’t be able to sleep tonight.”

  So, they ambled down Fitzroy St, towards the esplanade. They were passing various shops and Rachel stopped them again at one of these.

  “Can we go in here?” she asked. “It is a vintage retro formalwear boutique.”

  “A what?”

  “You know – a second hand evening dress shop.”

  “Oh!” Louise looked at Camille, who was also eager. “Okay!”

  The man who ran the shop was there to greet them. He was thin and small, with red spikey hair and Yves St Laurent glasses. “Hello ladies, I’m Clarence. We have our items categorised by period,” he explained. “And within each period, the clothes are organised by size.”

  Clarence had evening clothes from the post-second world war 1940’s to the post-Vietnam war of the 1970’s. Rachel put on a dress that made her look like a Pan Am air hostess; Camille tried on a frock that made her look like Alice in Wonderland; and Louise found a full length bugle beaded gown in violet organza over violet satin. And it fitted her like a glove.