Apartment 255

by Bunty Avieson

  ‘That was the first time I ever saw you.’

  Kitty nibbled delicately at the pile of food. She extricated the beef expertly with her tongue, swallowed it and searched around for some more. When she had eaten up all the beef she sniffed at the noodles, trying to find something else of interest. The faint hint of beef juices mingled with soy was only slightly appealing. She sampled it then turned her noise up in disdain. She resumed cleaning her fur.

  Ginny raised her wine glass in a toast. ‘To the future … our future,’ she said, looking unseeingly through Kitty.

  *

  ‘If you play your cards right you can be my onion,’ Tom told Sarah when he came home, exhausted but happy. He’d spent the day with his father. They had ridden out to Kangaroo Valley, enjoyed a pub lunch, then taken the scenic route home.

  Sarah was standing in the centre of the lounge room wearing bicycle shorts and a singlet, a can of soup in each hand. She squatted on her heels, bringing the cans of soup to chest level, then lowered her arms and slowly straightened up.

  ‘What does that mean? What is an onion?’ she asked.

  ‘That’s what they call the bikers’ molls.’

  ‘An onion?’

  Tom nodded, following her face as it rose and fell with each squat.

  ‘Why an onion?’

  ‘They say it brings tears to your eyes when she takes off her clothes.’

  ‘What? That’s awful,’ said Sarah dropping the soup cans onto the carpet. She stared at Tom.

  ‘Yes, well, bikers’ molls aren’t known for their hygiene.’

  Sarah was feeling a little sensitive on the topic of body odour. In the past few days Tom had twice suggested she might like to shower before bed. He had never been so picky before about the way she smelled. He used to nuzzle into her neck and tell her he loved the way she smelled. She felt he was deliberately finding fault with her. Here he was having another dig about body odour. She felt the anger rise.

  ‘Tom, that’s terrible. One afternoon with a bunch of bikies and you’re talking like the club president of the Hell’s Angels. Is this what Hal is teaching you?’

  Immediately Tom felt contrite. He knew body odour had become a sensitive topic between them. He had tried to broach it carefully with Sarah but he had been clumsy. He wasn’t a particularly fastidious man but lately Sarah’s personal hygiene had caused him some concern. She hadn’t seemed to notice but, damn it, he had. They shared their lives, their dreams and their bodily fluids. He didn’t think it unreasonable to mention something so intimate with the woman who shared his life and his bed.

  He saw the defensiveness in Sarah’s eyes and reached out to her but she pushed him away. Scowling she lifted her left leg and placed it on the back of the couch. She leaned forward, placing her head on her knee.

  ‘Sarah, it wasn’t like that at all. I’m just teasing you. Hal is actually a very urbane guy. Anyway, you can decide for yourself. I’ve invited him for dinner next weekend.’

  Sarah lifted her head. ‘Hal’s coming here for dinner?’

  ‘Yes. Is that okay?’

  Sarah looked horrified. The sensitive topic of body odour was forgotten. The prospect of meeting Tom’s long-lost father was far more threatening.

  ‘Well, sure, of course it’s okay,’ she said, trying to conceal her feelings. ‘I just don’t know what I’m going to talk to him about. I don’t know anything about motorbikes.’

  Tom hugged her to him, trying not to react to the smell of her sweat.

  ‘Sarah, you will charm him. And he will charm you. Don’t worry about that. He is very laid-back. You will love him. Trust me.’

  Sarah smiled back weakly. She wasn’t so sure. She felt antsy and uptight. She wanted to get into a hot bath and not talk to anybody. And she wanted to get on her bike and ride and ride until the breath left her body. She wanted to do both right now.

  ‘You smell all greasy,’ she said to Tom. ‘Why don’t you have a shower while I make dinner? I planned a special night so be quick.’

  She actually didn’t feel so loving now. She felt cranky. She was spoiling for a fight and she knew it. She tried to remember her good intentions for a special dinner. It had seemed such a good idea this afternoon.

  ‘Go and have a shower, Tom,’ she said, forcing a gentle tone that she didn’t feel. ‘I’ll cook dinner.’

  As soon as the bathroom door shut she raced around, laying the table with a candle and flowers, then she flung off her clothes and dressed in the beautiful peach-coloured negligee and wrap. When Tom reappeared from the bathroom she was draped on the couch. Next to her on the table were two glasses and a bottle of French champagne in a wine bucket.

  ‘What have we here?’ he asked.

  Sarah rolled languidly over on the couch, allowing the wrap to slip seductively off one shoulder as she picked up the champagne.

  ‘Champagne, darling?’

  For a moment Tom thought he must have forgotten an anniversary.

  ‘What’s all this for?’ he said, sitting down, taking one of Sarah’s feet between his hands and gently massaging it.

  ‘This,’ said Sarah, handing him a glass of champagne, ‘is to say sorry for being such a brat lately. I know I have been really difficult to live with and I want to say I’m sorry. I’ve had some problems at work and I guess I’ve been taking them out on you. I’ve cooked a special dinner to say I love you and I am really sorry.’

  Sarah said it and meant it. She had been feeling so confused lately. She felt she was riding an emotional roller-coaster and her only point of reference was Tom. One minute she loved him, the next she hated him, but throughout it he was there, holding her tightly at night, stroking her hair and making a little chair for her to snuggle into.

  Tom smiled and raised his glass in a toast.

  ‘To my Sare Bear.’

  ‘So you forgive me then?’ asked Sarah. Her voice was genuine and pleading and Tom’s heart went out to her.

  ‘Nothing to forgive.’

  Sarah smiled, secure in his love. ‘I don’t know why you put up with me,’ she said. ‘You deserve a medal.’

  Tom looked at her thoughtfully. He didn’t want to break the mood or disturb the happy equilibrium but he was worried and this was obviously the best opportunity he had had to broach the subject.

  ‘Sarah,’ he said, gently massaging her foot. ‘You still throw up, don’t you?’

  Sarah looked at Tom, her eyes wide and round. ‘Darling, no,’ she said, her voice tinged with just the right shade of indignant disbelief. ‘I haven’t done that since, God, I don’t know when.’ Sarah ran her eyes along the ceiling as she tried to recall a time. ‘I haven’t done that since I last saw the doctor and what was that, six years ago? I have no need to now, darling. How can I convince you? I’m happy, I’m in control. My only problem is I don’t get to the gym as often as I should and that makes me ratty. I seem to have energy to burn so I’m going to try and get more exercise. How about running with me in the mornings?’

  Tom looked at her closely. He knew that she could lie. Bulimics could be devious when they were threatened. The behaviour of a bulimic was not rational. It came from a deep ache. And they would behave irrationally to feed that ache. To try to stop a bulimic, in the grip of the disease, from making themselves throw up was futile. They had to stop themselves. They had to beat that ache. It indicated a deep insecurity. Sarah was so confident on the outside but in so many ways she was terribly vulnerable, always worried she wasn’t measuring up. Tom looked at Sarah and wondered, again, what went on inside her head. It didn’t matter how much in love they might be, or how close, you could never really know what was going on inside someone else’s head.

  He had no way of knowing whether she was throwing up again. And if he did know, what did it matter? There was absolutely nothing he could do. That was the tragedy of loving a bulimic. They had been down this path before. He shrugged inwardly. She sounded convincing.

  ‘I’m turning over a new leaf, starting
tonight,’ continued Sarah. ‘No more temper tantrums, more exercise, more sleep and more of you …’

  Sarah knelt astride Tom, the peach negligee hitched up around her thighs. She pulled aside Tom’s dressing gown as she lowered herself onto his lap. She kissed him hard on the mouth. As her passion rose, she pinched his nipples hard. He cried out in pain and she suddenly thrust him inside her with one brutal movement. Sarah was ferocious and unrelenting, riding him like a wild animal, her face twisted and strained as if in pain. Tom tensed beneath her, then came in one long, shuddering climax. Sarah moaned and writhed violently, tears spilling onto her cheeks and landing softly on Tom’s chest. He opened his eyes and watched her contorted face as she threw herself off the edge and came with a wild, blood-curdling scream that filled the room, bouncing off the cream walls and out through the open balcony doors, losing its potency as it rolled across the bay.

  Tom looked at Sarah in amazement. Their lovemaking had never been quite like that. In fact he wasn’t sure that what they had just done had been lovemaking. It had been hard, urgent and ferocious. He felt as if he had been taken, albeit willingly, but it had been her show and he was just a passive partner. He thought again how completely unpredictable was this woman he loved. This was a side of her he hadn’t seen. But, he decided, he quite liked it.

  *

  Ginny lowered her binoculars. She sat in the darkened bedroom, rocking herself backwards and forwards as the scream reverberated around her walls. Her thin arms wrapped around her legs, holding them tightly against her thundering heart. She put her thumb in her mouth and sucked it, stroking the bridge of her nose with her index finger. Gradually her heart stopped its frantic beating and her muscles loosened. She stayed sitting there in the dark corner. The only sign she was alive was a tic beneath her wildly staring eyes.

  *

  Ginny couldn’t sleep. It was 4 am. The only sound was a distant, intermittent rumble. She turned up the volume switch on the amplifier that sat in the centre of her bedroom. It looked incongruous, a large shiny black box with wire mesh covering one side, dominating the room. Tom’s snores floated out of the speaker. They were deep and guttural, reassuring jungle sounds. With each intake of breath, Ginny’s bedroom seemed to swell and breathe. Then there was silence. Tom would breathe again and Ginny imagined the room stretching and growing, like a womb surrounding her, enveloping her, keeping her safe. Her breathing slowed to match his snores and she drifted off to sleep.

  *

  Sarah slowly opened her eyes. It was 4.02 am and Tom was snoring again. Too much champagne. He was lying on his back, his mouth wide open, one leg flung across Sarah. Sarah gently nudged him with her foot. He slept on. Sarah nudged him again, harder. Tom spluttered and rolled towards her, his face just millimetres from hers. Sarah stayed perfectly still, not wanting to wake him. The dark night was impenetrable but she could feel his breath on her face. It smelled of fermented alcohol and mint toothpaste. It was warm and sweet.

  Sarah pondered the notion that the air she was breathing was what he had just exhaled and, as she exhaled, he breathed in her air. It seemed almost unbearably intimate. She leaned forward in the darkness and kissed him gently on the lips. He grunted, then rolled away, turning his back to her. She looked through the darkness at him and waited. After a few moments he backed his bottom into her, grunting softly. Sarah smiled inwardly and wrapped herself around him, pushing her breasts into his back and circling an arm around his waist. Tom stroked her hand absently, making contented noises in his sleep.

  *

  Ginny put her bag down in the kitchen and saw the dead cockroach, lying where Kitty had finally abandoned it, with its feet pointed upwards, on the cold white linoleum floor. A mass of ants swarmed around its prone body, branching off in one neat line that disappeared under the dishwasher. As Ginny looked closer she noticed the ants passing each other in single file as if on an imaginary bridge. She watched in fascination as the cockroach trembled, then moved an almost imperceptible distance, lifted, tugged and pushed by dozens of ants. They were a fraction of its size, but a thousand times smarter and stronger. Ginny placed a teaspoon on the floor, beside the cockroach. She placed another below it, fixing its position. In the bedroom she looked at the speaker and listened. Someone was in Sarah and Tom’s kitchen. Saucepans clanked and cupboard doors opened and closed. Ginny cranked up the volume. She could hear Sarah chatting to herself. ‘Skim the cream from the top of the coconut milk,’ then ‘Oh shit.’

  Ginny unpacked her groceries.

  Sarah swore loudly again.

  Ginny smiled to herself.

  ‘Having a rough day, Sare Bear?’ she said loudly and laughed.

  Ginny stepped over the cockroach and the spoons, catching snatches of Tom’s voice.

  ‘What can I do to help?’ Tom was asking.

  ‘You can lay the table. I’ve bought new candles, the candlesticks are in the crystal cabinet and we’ll use the good crystal wine glasses.’

  Ginny could tell from Sarah’s tone she was stressed. They must be expecting company. Ginny felt a ripple of hurt that she hadn’t been invited.

  ‘It smells good. What are we having?’ asked Tom.

  ‘Don’t touch anything, Tom. It’s all delicately balanced,’ said Sarah. ‘It’s green chicken curry with jasmine rice and a tomato, cucumber and basil salad.’

  ‘Sounds great. What’s for dessert?’

  Ginny fed Kitty as she listened. There was silence. What’s for dessert, Sare Bear?

  ‘Oh Tom,’ said Sarah, sounding aghast.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I forgot dessert. I, I – oh no.’

  ‘Have we got any ice cream or chocolate or tinned fruit? Anything?’

  ‘Oh God. I was in such a flap over the chicken curry I completely forgot.’

  Ginny listened as Sarah slammed cupboard doors.

  ‘Nothing. Sorry, Tom. We’ll just have to skip dessert.’

  Ginny winced at Sarah’s whining tone.

  Then Tom spoke. ‘Sarah, how could you? You know how important this is to me. Don’t we even have any cheese?’

  Tom sounded tense. It wasn’t like him to be snappy. Ginny moved closer to the speaker to listen.

  ‘No, Tom, we don’t.’ Sarah’s voice had a steely edge to it. ‘Maybe if you did the supermarket shopping every now and then we might have the things you want but right now, no, we don’t happen to have any cheese. Or fruit. Or chocolate. Nothing. But don’t you dare give me a hard time. I’ve gone to a lot of trouble with this curry. You’ve done nothing towards this dinner for your father.’

  Ginny laughed. Of course, this was the night Tom’s father was coming for dinner. No wonder Sarah was in such a flap. And obviously Tom was stressed too.

  ‘I’ll go to the corner store and buy something. We can’t not have dessert.’

  ‘You can’t go out now.’ Sarah sounded on the verge of complete panic. ‘He’ll be here any minute. The table isn’t laid and it would be rude if you weren’t here to greet him.’

  ‘Bloody hell, Sarah. Was it too much to ask? You only had to cook dinner for three.’

  Ginny picked up the binoculars and watched as Tom came into view laying the table. He was standing almost directly under the microphone and she could hear his tense breathing.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ he muttered. ‘Why leave it to her? You’re an idiot, Tom. If you want something done, you’ve got to do it yourself. You know that.’

  Sarah continued to bang saucepans and cupboards loudly, angrily, in the kitchen.

  Ginny was suddenly in a tearing hurry. She carefully disconnected the telephone in her bedroom from the amplifier. Holding the mobile phone to her ear, she slipped quietly out of her flat.

  *

  They both jumped when the door buzzer rang. Tom dumped the last of the cutlery onto the table. Sarah dropped a saucepan lid, sending it crashing to the floor. She looked at Tom and he looked at her.

  ‘Well, answer it,’ hissed Sarah.

/>   Tom picked up the telephone intercom: ‘Take the lift to the second floor, Hal.’

  Tom hung up the telephone and looked around the room.

  ‘It’s Hal,’ he said. Sarah feigned shock.

  ‘Don’t we have any nuts or dips to have with a drink?’ asked Tom.

  ‘I don’t know, Tom. Do we? Did you buy any?’ replied Sarah archly.

  ‘I’ve had a busy week, Sarah. I left it for you to do.’

  ‘Well, I had a busy week too.’

  They stood glaring at each other.

  ‘Great. Just great,’ said Tom, turning away. ‘No appetisers, no dessert.’

  There was a knock at the door.

  Sarah stood by Tom’s side as he opened it.

  They stood together, smiling a united welcome. Hal walked through the door, greeting Sarah awkwardly with a kiss on her cheek. He handed Tom half-a-dozen stubbies of beer and a bottle of red wine and strode into the room.

  ‘What a lovely view,’ he said.

  ‘Sarah, show Hal the view while I fix us some drinks. Hal, beer?’

  ‘Thanks, mate, that would be fine.’

  Sarah led Hal onto the balcony. It was a warm and humid night. The air was thick and heavy and cloying. It sat on their bare skin like a warm, wet towel. The stars were hidden behind a layer of dense cloud.

  Hal was dressed simply in jeans, cowboy boots and a freshly ironed white shirt. Sarah was fascinated by him. He didn’t look like Tom but there was an expression on his face that was hauntingly like Tom. His eyes were the same vivid blue. His wide sensual mouth wasn’t really like Tom’s and yet the way he smiled definitely was Tom. She pointed out the various landmarks and Hal found his bearings.

  ‘How long have you lived in Sydney?’ she asked.

  Hal laughed. It was deep and resonant. Just like Tom’s laugh. Sarah tried not to stare. ‘About fourteen years. And I’ve never tired of it. It’s a breathtakingly beautiful city, or at least it is if you can afford a view. A fabulous view like this.’

  ‘Yes, but it’s not the real Sydney, is it?’ asked Sarah. ‘I mean, it’s the postcard view of Sydney Not what the majority of Sydneysiders live with, out there in the western suburbs. The harbour is what the tourists in the expensive hotels get to see as well as a handful of privileged Sydneysiders.’