by Dale, Lindy
On the Friday when exams concluded for me, I was sitting cross-legged on the grass in the sunshine, feeling pleased with myself and contemplating the thought of having a very lazy holiday. A menthol cigarette burned in my left hand, while the right flicked through the newspaper. A cup of watery canteen coffee sat on the ground beside me. I’d made plans to see Dean that night, but only briefly. He had one more paper to write which meant another weekend apart and I didn’t want to disturb his routine too much.
My eyes skimmed the pages, stopping to read anything that appeared interesting, which seemed to be mostly the ads. A cat stuck in a drainpipe for three days didn’t count as earth shattering, even though it had made the front page. As a last resort, I turned to the sports pages. Sometimes there were perv-worthy photos if nothing else. Flipping to the back page, I took a drag of my cigarette, my eyes glancing at the headlines and photos. I could feel the crease form on my brow as I picked up the paper for a closer look, my heart shuddering in my chest. Right in the centre of the page, staring up at me in all his devastating glory was Ben. The paper fell to my knees, its newsprint scorching me. Holy shit. I had wanted to gaze at nice looking boys, but not him. It took every ounce of my energy, on a daily basis, to erase his face from my memory.
Lifting the sheets again, I folded them in half and tried to read the story above his picture. I couldn’t. My eyes were magnetized to that photo. Around his neck Ben wore a medallion that he had won for ‘Rookie of the Year’, and on his arm was a blonde girl, her body reminiscent of a Greek goddess. She looked familiar, and not from the day I had covered her shoes in spew, either. Natasha Potter had moved up in the world since then, or so the caption read.
A proud Ben James, talented young midfielder for the North Shore Cats, celebrates his win last night with partner Natasha Potter, international model.
Partner. I flinched as if an arrow had been shoved through my heart. Ben had taken me at my word. I had told him I couldn’t love him so he’d found love someone else and judging by the death defying grip his ‘friend’ Natasha had on his arm, they’d become something more than friends. She was holding on tight enough to give Super Glue a bad name.
Absently, my finger caressed his cheek. He was smiling that smile. His eyes were looking straight at me. His blond hair was shining. I could even see the little cleft in his chin.
“Oh Ben.”
It had been months. I’d told him not to call, to stay away but I’d never expected he’d keep his end of the bargain. I thought he’d come back, the way he always did. I wondered if he’d looked, when I’d tried to hide, or had I hidden too well. Sighing into the picture, I pondered what all this really meant. Then I knew. Ben hadn’t suffered. He was holding that Natasha. He had been lying all along. His words had never meant a thing. I was better off without him.
Angry now, I turned the polystyrene cup I’d been drinking from upside down, and placed it over his head but, determined to be seen, his face seemed transported to the page around it, to the grass, to the sky above. He was everywhere. It wasn’t fair. Every time I got my life back, Ben reappeared and ruined it all.
Well, not this time. Grabbing my backpack, I ran down the path towards Justin and Phil’s place, leaving them a note. This time I would kill his memory forever.
***
The afternoon was devoted to reinvention. What good was a new life without a new look and if I were no longer boring Bella, then I would no longer need Ben. All that stuff about promises and saving lives would be forgotten. The bond would be broken. Luckily Kirk, the guy who did my hair, was into the whole reinvention concept (rebirth, reincarnation re-anything really) and agreed to it at a moment’s notice.
“Oh Bella,” he babbled, as he sorted through the colour chart, “I love it when you come to the salon; my other clients are sooo Dullsville.”
“The only stipulation I have is that it has to be blonde, white blonde.” I pointed to a platinum shade. “That one.”
“Oh goodie.” Kirk clapped his hands with glee. He was like the kid who’s Mum, after bringing him up on a strict diet of organic food, had just given him free reign in the lolly shop, “And how about a little of this dark chocolate underneath, for contrast?”
“Definitely.”
While Kirk skipped off in his tight leather pants to the mix the colours, I sunk into the chair and a crazy thought crossed my mind. White blonde hair. Was I trying to channel Ben through my hair now? No, I decided. I wanted a change that was all. Mousey brown was boring.
Two hours of cutting, colouring and blow drying later, the result was a white blonde shaggy bob, longer at the front than the back with chocolate tips around the edges. The fringe, also tipped black on the ends, was chunky and hung over my brow and into my eyes. I looked in the mirror at the girl in front of me. She looked rather waifish and not like me. She looked different, cool. Like Debbie Harry.
“Oohh, tres glam-punk, darling! If you don’t score with this hair, I’ll dress in drag and run down Main Street,” cooed Kirk, flicking the final touch with his scissors.
“I love it, Kirk, you’re a genius.”
***
When I walked into the pub four hours later, I was happy, relaxed and ready for a good time. I was positive I had blitzed the exams; I had a new hairdo and a killer new outfit. I had sung ‘Borderline’ by Madonna at the top of my voice for an hour whilst getting ready, including a three minute hairbrush rendition into the mirror where I convinced myself I was the next Madonna. For the first time in as long as I could remember I felt completely at ease. My ghost was purged.
Stopping at the door, I looked for the boys who were not at their usual table or spot at the bar. Nick was there, though, pulling beers and looking as sexy as ever without even trying.
“Hi, Nick, where are my boys?”
He looked up, and smiled. “Hey, Cara, awesome hair,” he whistled, his eyes roaming appreciatively down my body, “as a matter of fact you look totally fuckable.” He leant over the bar, his face close to mine, his eyebrow raised. “How about it? Cool room? Five minutes?”
I gave him what I thought was a disgusted frown and said nothing.
“You’re blushing, Cara. I thought you were over that,” he smirked, wickedly.
“Well, you say those things… anyone could hear.”
“I know, that’s what makes it exciting. See you later?” he flirted. “We’ll see if I can make you blush all over.”
“Nick! No. I told you we couldn’t do it anymore. It’s not fair to Dean.”
“What about us? What’s fair to us? We are soooo good together.”
“There is no us, you know that, we play together.”
“Well, when can we play some more?”
“Never,” I smiled, taking my drink and heading for the eight ball table where I had spotted the boys, at last.
Behind the bar Nick had put his hand under his t-shirt and was pumping it over his heart. “Cara, come on, don’t be a tease, you’re breaking my heart.”
“You’re hand’s in the wrong spot, Nick, your heart’s in your pants.”
I walked around the table, pinching Coops on the bottom as I went past, and flashing him my cutest smile. “Hey, gorgeous.”
“Fuck me… when you said you had stuff to do… I, I thought you’d gone to the library or something. You look ….fuck.”
“Thanks.”
I liked my new clothes; a black over-dyed denim mini skirt and sleeveless black lace t-shirt that was just transparent enough to show a hint of skin. My legs were covered with black lacy stockings and my favourite calf length boots. My only adornment was the large diamante cross that Phil had given me for my birthday. To complete the look I’d rimmed my eyes with kohl and smudged it to give a smoky effect.
Phil nodded, “It’s very Madonna.”
Dean’s look was somber as I reached where he stood and wrapped my arms around him, waiting for his hug in return.
“Hey sweetie, I’ve missed you these past three weeks.”<
br />
His face slid into a moody grimace. “What the hell is with the hair and clothes?”
“Thanks Dean, it’s nice to see you too.”
“Don’t be sarcastic, it doesn’t suit you. You look like a drug addict.”
My temper bubbled. Was he blind? Couldn’t he see half the girls in the room were dressed the same way?
“Oh, well, bingo! That’s the look I was going for. Maybe I could lend you some kohl and we could be a matching pair? You know, like Sid and Nancy?”
He looked at me blankly.
“You know…Sex Pistols?”
The boys sniggered behind his back. In a war of wit, he could never win.
“You’re kidding, right? You want to look like a slut?”
I pressed my lips together, trying to hold my tongue. “No, I want to look like an idiot, so I can be just like you.”
“The whole bar is staring at you. Nick was drooling so much he needed a bib.”
I held my breath and counted to ten. “You should be happy that other men like the way I look if I’m you’re girlfriend. I certainly have no problems with other girls looking at you, not that they ever do because you look so extremely nerdish.”
“Well fuck you, too,” he said, slamming his glass to the table and making me jump.
“Hey. Dean. Man. Settle down,” Justin said, moving to our side of the table putting his hand onto the other boy’s shoulder.
“Stay out of it Justin, it’s got nothing to do with you.”
The bar had gone silent, everyone was looking at us. Even Nick had stopped wiping glasses.
“But it does. You’re upsetting Bella and you’re causing a scene,” Justin said.
Dean’s face was fiery. His hands were shaking. Taking my elbow, he tried to shove me towards the door. “Let’s go outside where we can talk.”
“I don’t want to talk. I’m quite happy with the way I look and I’m not going to be dictated to by you. If you don’t like it then I suggest you leave. In the words of the great scholar ‘fuck you!’ too. ”
I picked up my wine, my expression composed; ignoring the fact that Dean was standing beside me. The boys looked at each other and went back to their game of pool. Dean’s behaviour was embarrassing, but they weren’t about to point it out. From the look on his face, he already knew he’d behaved like a jerk.
“If that’s the way you feel, then, I guess I’ll go, I have more study to do anyway,” he said. “I might give you a call later.”
I shrugged and turned away as he walked out the door. Hopefully, hell would freeze over first.
After a couple of games, and a round of drinks, normality returned to our little group. Dean had gone. I was unsure if this meant the end of our relationship or if he was just in a bad mood. Either way, I sensed the end was around the corner. We couldn’t go on like this with him trying to mould me to his ways and me refusing to tow the line.
It was only minutes before Nick appeared, doing his best to soothe my frayed nerves by handing me a cocktail and enveloping me in his strong arms.
“It’s a Flaming Lover, Cara,” he grinned.
“Very funny.”
Nick squeezed me tight, a reassuring gesture as he went back to his work, “I told you he was a weasel. Make sure you blow that out before you drink it. We wouldn’t want you to scorch your pretty lips.”
Nursing my drink, I frowned. If I’d had known a new hairdo would cause this much trouble I would never have bothered.
“I don’t understand Dean at all,” I said.
Coops put down his cue. “He doesn’t like you flirting, Bel’. You walked in here tonight and every eye was on you. You flirted with Nick, you pinched my arse and you hardly gave Dean the time of day. He’s jealous. It has nothing to do with the new hair or clothes.”
“Am I really that bad?” I sat gloomily for a minute, my face pensive as I thought about what Coops had said. I’d never considered how other people viewed my behaviour. I was affectionate, but maybe others didn’t understand that. Ben had said I was a tease, it used to drive him crazy and both Nick and Coops had accused me of flirting and teasing on different occasions. I wanted to cry into my drink but it would have been such a waste.
“Who’s for a change of scenery?’ Justin asked, looping his arm around my shoulder. “Lush is playing at the Ocean Inn.”
My mood was instantly lightened. “Ooh yes…..I love that place! It’s like a dungeon.”
Phil snorted, “Humph. Beats me why anyone would want to stand around cramped like sardines in a can, listening to loud music and drinking till they fall over, but let’s get it over with.”
I shook my head, bemused. Sometimes it was so hard to tell when Phil was taking the piss.
***
It seemed the whole town had heard about Lush and it took a good twenty minutes for us to make out way to the front of the queue. The music in the main room was deafening rock so Coops and I headed straight for the dance floor, while Justin and Phil went to get the drinks. I waved them a fond farewell. From the look of the crowd at the bar they wouldn’t return until I had my degree.
Finally served, the boys squeezed their way through the heaving blackness, to a space up the front, near where Coops and I were dancing. It was a precarious balancing act, but they managed to set all the drinks on a thin shelf, without spilling a drop.
“Shit, it’s crowded,” Phil said.
It was an understatement, to say the least.
The floor, sagging after two hundred years of use, had a mind of it’s own and every one was bouncing up and down, though not intentionally. It wasn’t a good place to stand if you liked to drink your drink rather than wear it, but it was the closest spot to the dance floor.
“I swear this floor is getting worse every time we come here,” I laughed, “One night I’m gonna bounce right through it.”
“It’s excellent how you can just stand and do nothing yet look as if you’re dancing,” Coops yelled in my ear.
A familiar keyboard riff wafted through the air, as the band began a cover of The Doors classic ‘Light my Fire.’ The singer’s voice was gravelly, a ‘pack a day’ gravelly, but perfectly attuned to the sensuousness of the song. He sang as if he wanted every woman in the room.
“God, this band is awesome.”
“Good, aren’t they?”
I turned to face the stage, and that was when I saw him. The Lizard King. My eyes bulged. My mouth went dry. Involuntarily, I licked my lips. He was divine. His hair hung, blue black, in tiny matted dreadlocks around his face. His strong arrogant jaw was covered with a smattering of dark stubble and he wore a thong of leather knots at his throat. His lips were plump, as they kissed the microphone and I pondered how it would feel if they kissed me. But his eyes…his eyes were the darkest brown I had ever seen, almost black, and tinged with shadows underneath. They were magnetic.
“He was in my class at high school,” Coops nodded, noticing my attention.
“Could you introduce me?”
“Oh no. Not this time, he’s bad news. You stay away. Besides you promised us you’d go easy on the flirting. Remember?”
“I’m not going to flirt, I just want to say ‘hi’.” There was something about him, something raw and animalistic, that made me want to know more. I wanted to know if he was as dark as he seemed.
Justin slapped my shoulder. “Stop it, you’re drooling.”
“I’m not!”
“Yes, you are and I’m telling you now, we are not going down this road. Mark Griggs is not for you.”
“Okay” I smiled.
But it sounded like a challenge to me, and there was nothing I liked more than a challenge.
Chapter 17
YOU WEREN’T IN LOVE WITH ME
Blind Freddy knew that, a blind man could see
I was in love with you but you weren’t in love with me.
Billy Field
How did that song go again? Blind men could see, I was in love with you, but you weren’
t in love with me? It was a wonder Dean hadn’t guessed, they played the damn song constantly on the radio and I had never felt less in love in my life. If blind Freddy could see it why couldn’t Dean?
I was wistful, as I sat next to my family and Dean during Midnight Mass. The church was filled with candlelight, declaring the newborn king, and the choir was singing ‘Gloria,’ except for old Myrtle who had left her glasses at home and was lost somewhere in ‘Away in a Manger.’ It was Christmas. I had new shoes. I was meant to be happy.
The entrance procession began – altar boys with candles, the deacons and Father Don, the portly priest. The vow of poverty hasn’t extended to his stomach, I thought, as his paunch passed by me and he stepped onto the altar. He looked as if he’d indulged in one too many slices of Christmas pudding already that festive season.
Dean was holding my hand. I could feel the stability of his body as it rested against mine. He had got over his aversion to my new look and had apologised, again. In return, I had tried to be more attentive and not such a flirt but it was difficult to change the habits I had formed. I was only being myself. As the choir sang, my mind drifted. Last week, the results had been posted, and along with Dean and Justin, I had gone to the bar to celebrate.
Two higher distinctions, three credits and the rest of my subjects passed more than comfortably. It was as I had hoped, I had worked hard, but it wasn’t enough to send me into a joyous rapture. There was only one thing that could do that. Well, two, but one I wasn’t allowed and the other I’d given away like the fool I was.
I saw Dean watching from the corner of his eye and I tried to concentrate on the service. He squeezed my hand. Did he sense things weren’t the same? He felt more like a convenience than a boyfriend. If only he were exciting or spontaneous. More like Nick… or Ben. There. I’d thought about him without wanting to throw myself off a bridge. But I missed him. I had tried to fill the void in my heart but I couldn’t forget him and for some reason the ache was stronger that night than ever.
After mass, we arrived home and Dad put the John Denver Christmas album on. Every Christmas, it was a torture our family endured, as we sat with gritted teeth while the nasal tones of the man who looked more like a frog than a frog filled our lounge. One year Mum had hidden it and Dad had flown into an apoplectic rage. Such Christmas traditions were never to be tampered with.
