When her girlfriend had left, Cate and I went inside. We had another drink standing at the kitchen sink, then I said I needed to use the bathroom. ‘Come with me?’ I said. ‘Just to make sure no one barges in?’
‘Sure,’ Cate said, putting down her glass. She followed me down the hall. I didn’t use the toilet. In the doorway I took a step towards her, but she edged away, her back hitting the wall. She stared at me, her lip turned up, almost inquisitively, and for an awful moment I wondered if I had misread her—until she kissed me.
~
There were times I felt overwhelmed by love for Cate. I’d never experienced these feelings before: all that longing and all that lust. It was an aching sort of love which, whenever I have tried to trace it back, like trying to find the source of spring water, always takes me to that sticky dance floor, and thinking as those lights went on: You. I want you.
Ruby was the first friend I told about Cate. The morning after one of our early dates I met her for breakfast at Mr Tulk near the State Library and explained how I had met this girl and I really liked her.
I never thought Ruby would react badly to this news, but I was still incredibly nervous. But she just put down her cup and grinned. ‘So when can I meet her?’ she demanded. I was so relieved, so elated, that I was trembling. I don’t think I stopped smiling for the rest of breakfast.
It was the same with Liv, the same with Simone: unconditional happiness for me. But I wasn’t so lucky with others. When I told Marina over a coffee after work, she raised a hand and said, ‘Please, don’t feel like you need to give me any details.’
I was so stunned I didn’t know what to say, and we sat in silence for a while, gazing out the café’s window at the pedestrians on the street. Marina finished her coffee and said, rather primly, that she had to go. I waved her off a few minutes later, feeling sick and humiliated. I almost chased after her, to apologise, but for what?
Over the next few days Marina didn’t return my calls or answer my emails or text messages. At first this rejection felt unreal. Friends didn’t do this to each other. Friends talked about these kinds of things. I couldn’t understand why she was behaving like this. ‘What about our future?’ I wanted to shout at her. ‘What about those bloody sports cars you’re always going on about?’
I couldn’t sleep with worry. She must be revolted, I kept thinking. She must despise me. As the weeks went on with no contact, it began to feel like a wound, deep and nasty. Marina, it turned out, would never speak to me again.
After this reaction I decided not to say anything to Mum and Dad. I still needed more time to process everything in my own head, and I also wasn’t too sure how they would respond—I certainly wasn’t expecting the champagne to be popped, but I didn’t anticipate open hostility either. My parents were educators; they cared about social issues; Mum voted for the Greens. But one night at the dinner table it just worked its way out of me.
We’d been watching a segment on the news, something to do with gay rights, and a woman had come onscreen talking about her girlfriend. My mother looked at me and crossed her knife and fork. ‘She seems very worked up about her friend,’ she said.
‘Her girlfriend, Mum,’ I said.
‘Hmm?’
‘Her girlfriend.’
‘Why are you being so particular?’
I shrugged. ‘Because that’s who she is. There’s a difference.’
Mum smiled. ‘And I suppose you have a girlfriend, do you?’
I could see she wanted to take the words back as soon as they left her mouth. My mother has never been confrontational; it must have been playing on her mind for some time. Where, after all, had I been spending my weekends for so many months? Who was I speaking to on my mobile phone each night, in my bedroom with the door shut?
I set down my cutlery. ‘Actually,’ I said, ‘I do.’
Dad took a large gulp of wine. Mum laughed. Then, gradually understanding that I wasn’t joking, she began to pack away the empty plates, stacking the dishwater noisily. The television droned on, until Dad stood up and turned it off.
I stayed at the table, my heart beating hard. Still no one said anything. I had expected it to feel like a relief to say those words, but now I felt squeamish, like I had been caught doing something wrong.
~
A few weeks went by. I hadn’t mentioned Cate again, and my parents hadn’t asked about her either. Then it was my birthday, and Mum organised a home-cooked dinner to celebrate, inviting Archie’s girlfriend over for it. When I asked why Cate hadn’t been invited, Mum said, ‘But I didn’t think you’d want to bring anyone.’ A small smile played on her lips. ‘What?’ she said. ‘Have I done something wrong?’
I stared back. Mum has such a soft, kind face. But her eyes had hardened in a way I’d never seen before and for the first time I was afraid.
At dinner I sat across from my brother’s girlfriend, made small talk and drank too much. I didn’t want to be there, acting as though part of myself—my real self—didn’t exist. It made me feel sick.
A few days later, I scraped together enough courage to speak about it again with Mum. She was out in the garden, watering the orchids in pots. But she didn’t want to talk. ‘Not today, please,’ she said, turning her back on me.
‘Why not?’ I said. ‘It’s important that we discuss this.’
‘All right,’ she said, putting down the watering can. ‘If you really must know I think you’re making a huge mistake. Why are you doing this? You’ve had boyfriends before. Why don’t you want a boyfriend? What about Fraser? You liked Fraser, didn’t you?’
She was wearing her tortoiseshell sunglasses and her eyes were invisible behind the dark glass. But she was angry, I could tell from the rigid set of her jaw—more angry than I’d seen her in a long time.
I wasn’t prepared for this reaction and I felt stunned. ‘It’s not about having a boyfriend. It’s not about a choice,’ I said.
‘You’ll regret it,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘This is the thanks I get, I suppose.’
‘Why don’t you listen to me?’ I said, crying now. ‘Why aren’t you trying to understand?’
I thought my tears would worry her, maybe even shame her. But Mum spun around, her bloodless lips drawn across her teeth. ‘I don’t have to understand it,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, that’s just the way it is.’
~
Time stretched out, and still no one spoke about Cate—not me, or Mum or Dad. I tried not to worry about it. It was a lot to take in, I reasoned, I shouldn’t expect too much, too soon. I’d heard all kinds of stories about parents’ reactions to their children’s coming out. I’d heard of people being thrown out of home, beaten up, and in some cases taken to the family priest for quasi-exorcisms. I was lucky, in comparison, to have encountered such a muted resistance.
Since it was impossible to talk about it with Mum without causing an argument, it became easier not to talk about it at all. I didn’t talk much about my relationship outside the house, either—not to colleagues or old friends or anyone I met outside the safe environment of Cate and our circle of friends.
Eventually I decided to move out. Ruby and I had been talking about it for ages and now seemed the right time. We found a townhouse in Northcote overlooking a gym and an outdoor swimming pool, with parkland behind it. The house wasn’t much to look at—red brick with a low concrete fence and a few weeds sprouting from cracks in the front steps—but I loved it.
I loved living with Ruby, too. Most days we worked different hours—me nine to five at the magazine, her part time at a call centre. Ruby was also in a band that was starting to create a buzz. When she wasn’t playing, we’d hang out at home, and on warm evenings we threw open the glass doors and drank G&Ts on the balcony. Sometimes her boyfriend, Joe, came over, and when Cate was also staying the four of us had dinner together. It all felt, finally, grown up.
But things weren’t going so well between Cate and me. We weren’t seeing as much of each other; she blame
d this on her new job with a media company. She wasn’t happy there: the hours were long and her work repetitive. When we did catch up, she seemed distracted. For the first time we started to argue—real, protracted arguments—and I began to worry about whether our relationship would last.
The townhouse had a third bedroom and Ruby and I needed to find another housemate. Cate knew someone looking for a place. I’d met Alexis once, when she’d joined a bunch of us for drinks after work one evening; one of Cate’s friends fancied her. Alexis worked in a boutique in the city and had a boyfriend, though she also liked girls. ‘And don’t forget she doesn’t believe in monogamy,’ Cate had said about her, rolling her eyes.
Alexis came over to the house one evening for a glass of wine. She was still dressed in her work clothes. I felt nervous around her. She seemed very glamorous next to me in my tracksuit pants and T-shirt.
‘It’s a shame, isn’t it?’ I sighed as Ruby and I sat on the balcony after she’d gone. ‘I like it here with just the two of us.’
Ruby smiled. ‘Alexis seems cool, though,’ she said. ‘Don’t you think?’
‘Mmm.’
‘And quite pretty.’
I laughed. ‘Yeah, I suppose she is.’
Ruby laughed too. ‘Oh yeah?’
I put down my glass, shaking my head. ‘Oh no,’ I said. ‘No way. I wouldn’t go there.’
‘Well you do have a girlfriend.’
I stared at the flickering streetlight. I hadn’t seen Cate all week and her absence was starting to agitate me. What was she thinking? Did she miss me? I loved her so much, but I could feel myself drawing further and further away. Sometimes I’d catch myself imagining what it would be like to be with someone else—to kiss them, to sleep with them. Even to love them. How was I going to fix this?
~
Alexis took the room downstairs, next to the lounge. As I parked out the front, I saw the downstairs lights tinted pink against the venetian blinds. Inside the house smelt of vanilla.
Later I found her in the kitchen, dressed in a navy hoodie, cooking on the stove. She offered me some wine and we sat at the dining table.
‘To housemates,’ I said, raising a toast.
She laughed, clinking my glass. ‘You dag.’
It was an easy transition to a house of three. When we were all at home, we cooked together and ate at the dining table, serving up great goblets of wine. But with our similar hours I found myself spending more time in the house with Alexis than with Ruby.
She was easy to be around. Inquisitive, too, asking me all kinds of questions about my work, what I read, what I thought about simple, unexamined things. Often our conversation drifted towards relationships. She liked to ask about Cate. How we met, how we got along. Eventually I told her about the problems we were having and how I felt we were drifting apart.
I expected judgment. But Alexis only nodded, watching me thoughtfully. ‘Love is so complicated,’ she said. ‘Isn’t it?’
She’d met her boyfriend, Mike, in a film studies tutorial. He was older and wore suits with skinny black ties. I’d only seen him once at the house, and when I did I thought: Poor bloke. He’d come upstairs for a cup of tea and I watched the way he looked at her, with a kind of proud, worn-out longing.
One evening I heard them return late from dinner. It was impossible not to know when Alexis was in the house—her high heels always echoed around the cavernous downstairs living area. I waited in the kitchen, smiling when I heard her exclaim. That afternoon I had found a stray kitten mewling at our front door and while his owner arranged to collect him I’d set up a saucer of milk and tuna in the laundry.
I crept downstairs. Light from the car park glowed at the frosted window. Through the stairs’ railing I glimpsed Alexis, dressed in a skirt and a black trench coat, her dark hair spilling down her back. The kitten was coiled happily in her arms. I felt my face flood with unexpected colour. Ruby was right: she was very pretty.
~
A few weeks later we threw a housewarming party. I had been assigned to the kitchen, where I made ginger and lime cocktails and baked bruschetta. Alexis sat on the bench next to the oven, her heels banging against the cupboard. I don’t know if it was all the noise or the people, but she seemed nervous, almost skittish. She’d hardly spoken to anyone else, which was strange because most of the guests were her friends.
I drank another cocktail. They were getting stronger. When I asked Alexis if Mike was coming she shook her head. ‘We’re not together anymore,’ she said.
‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.’
She smiled. ‘Are you?’
We watch the others dance on the balcony until I asked if she’d like to look at my bookcase.
‘Okay,’ she said, smiling again.
I led her to my room and closed the door. Alexis sat on the edge of my bed while I stood next to the books. As I went to pull out the copy of Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca, about to explain how I was named after Maximilian’s first wife, I felt the swish of her dress against my leg.
I turned around and next we were kissing, stumbling back towards the bed. Alexis laughed, pulling me up, and we kissed again. We were still kissing when Mia, a friend of Cate’s, burst into the room.
She stood swaying in the doorway, a half-drunk cocktail in her hand. ‘I made a fool of myself in front of Ruby!’ she wailed. ‘I asked her to sing for me. Can you believe it?’
Mia looked from me to Alexis, hiccupped, and walked out of the room.
‘Phew,’ I said. ‘That was close.’
Alexis raised an eyebrow. ‘She saw, Bec,’ she said. ‘She just didn’t say anything.’
Later, when everyone had gone, I tucked Cate up in my bed, kissed her goodnight and went downstairs. In the shadowy lounge, Alexis was curled up on the couch. I sat beside her, and she took my hand and we kissed again. I thought about Cate upstairs and began to cry: great, racking sobs. How could I ever explain to her what had happened?
~
Cate must have sensed something the next morning. ‘Is everything okay?’ she asked after we’d eaten a fry-up with Ruby and Alexis.
‘Mmm,’ I said. ‘Yeah. Why?’
‘You seem a bit out of sorts.’ She kissed me on the mouth. ‘I love you.’
I despised myself. What a coward you are, I kept telling myself. How weak. But I just couldn’t muster the courage to tell Cate the truth. I didn’t want to hurt her, but more than that I didn’t want her to hate me. Thinking about confessing sent me into contortions of panic. Lying was so much easier, so much safer. I almost convinced myself that the deceit wasn’t real if I didn’t speak of it.
One night when Ruby was out I went down to Alexis’s room. We sat on her bed for hours, talking about this and that. I still didn’t know whether she liked me and I didn’t know her well enough to intuit her intentions. Maybe this was all a big game to her?
‘You have to break up with Cate,’ she said gently. ‘So we can be together.’
‘You want to be with me?’ I asked, hardly believing it.
She smiled and frowned at the same time. ‘Of course I do,’ she said.
But I never did tell Cate the truth.
Instead, when I sat her down a few nights later, prefacing the awful conversation with ‘We need to talk’, I told her I felt like we’d grown apart—that maybe we needed a break to know whether we really wanted to be together.
I started crying midway through and Cate asked in a small voice, ‘Have you cheated on me? Is that it?’
I looked up, my breath caught in my throat. Here was my opportunity, offered up so generously. But I still reeled from it. ‘No,’ I cried. ‘How could you ask me that?’
Cate found out anyway, a week later. Someone had heard something; the rumour had spread. ‘I give it three months,’ she seethed, confronting me one night after work. ‘See how much you enjoy your polygamous relationship with Alexis then.’
The friendships I’d made through Cate were over in an instant, a year and a h
alf of confidences at parties and dinners and nightclubs destroyed. My group of gay friends was gone forever. Alexis and I were both sent angry text messages and emails, informing us we’d been banished to the wilderness.
‘Oh well,’ Alexis said, tossing her phone aside. ‘Can’t really blame them. But don’t worry: we’ll make new friends.’
But she didn’t yet understand that she made friends far more easily than me; she didn’t understand how traumatic the demolition of this new and safe world felt.
~
I never forgot about Cate or what I had done. When I look back, I think some of the shame did seep into my new relationship, but in a perverse way it made it seem, from the beginning, much stronger. I still marvelled that Alexis wanted to be with me; she’d been so patient through it all, and as the old bruises began to fade, my feelings for her flourished.
We built a cocoon at home: cooking together, sharing a glass of wine, watching movies from our local video store. On the weekend we slept late, eventually dragging ourselves out of bed to read the paper and maybe go out for brunch. I drove us everywhere on my scooter: down to the beach, to the market, to the village around the corner with the Art Deco cinema and cocktail bar across the tram tracks.
I was very happy. We had a lot of fun together—Alexis made me laugh, mostly at myself. And we talked about everything. I think that is what I fell in love with first: her sharp intelligence, her argumentativeness. Her tastes were indiscriminate, and we often disagreed. When I remarked that Cate and I had hardly argued, Alexis said, ‘That’s because you didn’t love her like you love me.’
And I did feel loved. Alexis made me feel so very safe and secure during those first few months together. She was so confident in who she was and what she wanted. I remember walking down the street with her one morning, only a week or so into our relationship, and she had reached for my hand. I wasn’t used to this public affection and I recoiled from it, embarrassed. But she’d grabbed my hand again and held it tightly. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked. ‘I want to hold your hand. I’m proud to be your girlfriend.’
Bad Behaviour Page 14
