'Boys!' she announced, damning an entire gender, and sounding, at that moment, uncomfortably like Aunt Pru – as if possessing a Y chromosome somehow led to a kind of congenital brain damage. 'If you were any more shallow, Jules Macaffrey, you'd be a salt lake.'
'I just meant that I know what you were doing, and I thought you'd have been talking to her, finding out stuff that I could –'
'We're girls, Einstein. We're Nature's great multitaskers. I know it's a difficult concept for you to understand, but we can actually do two things at once. Like move a chess-piece and have a conversation. Anyway, what is it you think you know I'm doing?'
When she gets into complex-question mode, I know I'm in for a long afternoon. Whatever I think, or say – or don't say – she's going to question exactly what I meant – or didn't mean – and I'm going to get more and more confused, and say more things that she can question, which will get me in deeper and deeper, until I end up giving up and not saying anything – which she will then interpret as a response about which to question me some more.
Luckily, my experience in a male-free zone (and a subscription to Foxtel), has given me some strategies – like the one that psychologists use to keep control of their patients. I saw it on Discovery Channel.
Answer a question with a question.
Questions steer the direction of the conversation, so never let the other person take the wheel.
'What do you think I think?' I replied, finally, playing my ace.
'I think you think that you can get out of answering my questions by asking questions of your own.'
Damn!
Don't you hate it when the person you're trying to manipulate watches the same psychology documentaries as you do?
'Okay,' I said. 'Truce! I'm totally sorry that I insulted your intelligence – and the intelligence of the entire female species – by assuming that I could possibly have any idea at all about what might be going on inside your, or anyone else's, head – or by implying that you can't do two or more things at the same time. Now can we get back to the important stuff, and fill me in on what you discovered?'
Sometimes, a strategic withdrawal is the most sensible course of action.
She smiled.
'Very good, Jules. There's hope for you yet.'
I bit my tongue on a smart reply, and waited.
'She learned chess by playing her mother, while they were waiting around at photo shoots and modelling assignments.'
'So, she's a model, then?'
A slight roll of the eyes. It was a question which wasn't worthy of a reply, and I could see her sizing it up – deciding whether she'd bother, or not.
No, she's a sheet-metal worker ...
No, her mother's the model – she just goes along to keep her company, because she's so ugly, no one wants to play with her ...
In the end, she must have decided it wasn't worth it.
'She's incredibly well adjusted. She doesn't put on the act, and she has a pretty sensible career plan. I don't think her parents are too keen on her doing the model/actress thing, though, so if she wants to follow it through, they've laid down some tough ground rules – about school and boys and stuff.'
That didn't sound too encouraging.
'What kind of rules?'
'The usual. Strict study times, not too many modelling gigs, especially around exams ...'
'And boys?'
'Look, but don't touch.'
Thinking about it for a moment, I reckoned I could handle that. After all, that was basically what I was doing already.
'I meant boyfriends ...'
'Not at the moment. A lot of friends who are boys, but ...'
'No boyfriends?'
Suzi smiled.
'One track mind,' she said – more to herself than to me – but I chose to answer her.
'With two days left, I don't exactly have a lot of choice. Any suggestions?'
A strange look ghosted across her face that I couldn't quite read – it was sort of somewhere between sadness and disappointment. Then it was gone.
'Just be yourself,' she said, forcing a smile. 'What more could she ask for? Just don't challenge her to a game of chess. She'll cream you, and it won't be pretty.'
I reached out and squeezed her hand.
'Thanks,' I said.
She drew her hand away and forced another smile.
'What are friends for?' she replied, but it wasn't a question that expected an answer.
Of course, in the end, all that preparation made absolutely no difference.
The Irish talk about Murphy's Law. You know:
Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong, and at the worst possible moment ...
Well I have Macaffrey's Law, which goes something like this:
Murphy was a raving optimist ...
Just when I'd raised the nerve (based mainly on Suzi's secret 'intelligence') to make my move, Jenna was suddenly nowhere to be seen.
I'd spent almost two weeks losing my nerve and hiding behind pot plants, and just when I was ready to take the plunge ...
I overheard her mother speaking poolside to one of the sunlounge septuagenarians.
'She woke up with a temperature this morning,' she confided, 'and the doctor recommended that she stay in bed for the day. A pity. It's not the way you'd like to end your holiday. But never mind, maybe she'll be better by tomorrow.'
A pity ...
Some people are the Mozarts of understatement ...
12
What's Not to Like?
THE WORLD ACCORDING TO SUZI
4.00 am. Okay I can't sleep, so shoot me ...
Something happened yesterday that shook me up – and I didn't expect it to.
What happened was ... I actually talked to Jenna Hamilton.
Of course, that wasn't any reason to feel shaken up – not in itself. What shook me up was my reaction to talking to her.
You see, I found myself liking her – which was something I hadn't really counted on, and in a strange, disturbing way, it made me angry.
Angry for the fact that I liked her.
And angry for the fact that I wasn't going to be able to walk away from the conversation with the selfish sense of satisfaction that would have come from proving – to myself – that although, to look at, she was everything I wasn't (tall, confident, gorgeous and elementally attractive to members of the opposite sex), she was, in fact, a vacant airhead, who had more in common with Paris Hilton than Paris, France – whose idea of high culture was a Van Gogh-print bikini and matching wrap.
I was angry, because, deep down where it hurts to admit it, I was jealous.
Of Jenna Hamilton – and how people looked at her.
And because, after talking to her, I could no longer feel superior to her.
Mainly because I wasn't.
Because I discovered that she's smart – in more than just her clothes sense. She can talk about things you can't learn by reading Dolly; she plays piano and writes her own songs; she can hold her own in a game of chess – and she even loves dogs.
What's not to like?
All that, and the fact that she didn't show a single trace of Wheelchair Aversion Syndrome. Not one. In fact, if she wasn't Jenna Bloody Hamilton, I could imagine us being really good friends.
So, why was it such a shock to discover that there was more to her than meets the eye (a fact which Jules, for one, would probably consider irrelevant – at least in the short-term)?
Because I realised that all this time I'd been kidding myself.
I hadn't started talking to her so I could set Jules up. I'd talked to her so that I could set her up – so I could show Jules that his goddess was standing on a very shaky pedestal – that one small push ...
But now I couldn't, because it wasn't true.
I'd judged her the way most people judged me – on what she looked like.
And that was the most shocking truth of all ...
10.00 am. Disregard the above – just the ravings of a
neurotic insomniac with cabin fever. I'm over it now.
Jules is in deep depression over the fact that the Angel of the A-Cup hasn't put in an appearance this morning – and might not for the rest of the day (or the cruise).
I should feel happy, but I don't – partly because I'd feel guilty feeling happy because someone else is feeling sick, but mainly because Jules' mood reminds me of last night and how I got things so badly backside about.
So, I've decided to cheer him up.
We're going to challenge the over-eighties Olympic shuffleboard team to a game.
I mean, how hard could it be ...?
11.40 am. Okay, so it's harder than it looks.
A whole lot harder.
We didn't win a single end. In fact, I'm not sure that we didn't create a new world record for shuffleboard annihilation – as the annihilated. The only good thing was that the old people were very sporting winners, and complimented us for having a go, and for spending time with them.
'The kids of today,' said one of them, 'don't usually bother to take the time. If they did, they'd realise that we can still teach them a thing or two.'
Looking at the shuffleboard score, I had to agree with him.
Adrian hasn't surfaced.
We were going to ask him how everything was going for tomorrow night, and Jules said he'd seen him working away on his laptop in the computer centre, but by the time we got there he'd already disappeared.
We even went down to the club room, but it was locked.
Clearly, the Great Houdini didn't want to be found.
After that, we played chess for a little while, but my mind wasn't in it – which is why, for the first (and last!) time, Jules managed to beat me.
And didn't he rub it in ...
The one worrying thing about the day, though, was that we didn't catch sight of Barry Barnes.
The worry wasn't that we missed the sight of his ugly face. Not at all.
It was that he might have discovered a way of hiding from us, so that he could ambush Jules when he wasn't expecting it.
With only a day and a half left before we docked back in Papeete, he must have been pretty desperate to make good on his threats, and as any good vet can tell you, desperation can make the beast far more dangerous.
Over the past couple of weeks, however, Jules had developed a sixth sense where Bone-Boy was concerned, and he was pretty sure there was no immediate threat.
'Maybe he came down with what your girlfriend's got,' I suggested, but he didn't bite. Instead, he shook his head and closed his eyes – as if he was a bloodhound testing the air.
'He's here somewhere. I can smell him.'
He was using a figure of speech, of course. If Barnes was really there, both of us would have been able to smell him. His filthy sneakers could melt paint at twenty metres.
When we hadn't spotted him by the end of the evening, I could feel my trouble radar working overtime, but in the end it remained silent, and we finished the second-last day of the cruise in one piece.
13
The Power-Shuffle
JULES' STORY
There's an old Tahitian saying that goes:
Never launch a canoe when the palm leaves are still.
It's supposed to warn you that there's always a period of unnatural calm just before the storm hits – and in a region where the ocean breeds cyclones that can swallow whole islands, it's pretty sound advice.
Which I wished I'd taken notice of before this particular storm hit.
And not just the gale that struck us on the evening before we were due to land back in Tahiti. That was only weather, and the ship was equipped to handle it.
I'm talking about Cyclone Barry – a force of Nature, twice as ugly as a mere weather pattern, and nowhere near as predictable.
It all started off so well, too ...
The last day of the cruise dawned clear and fine, and we went up for breakfast early. I wanted to load up on carbs before attempting the five-k marathon I'd promised Suzi I'd attempt before the end of the trip.
We were just finishing our food, when I looked up, and Jenna Hamilton was walking across the room – directly towards us.
I think I froze, because I heard Suzi whisper, 'Okay, Stud. Time's up. Nowhere to hide this time.'
'Can I join you?'
Jenna addressed the question to Suzi, of course, but she included me in the enquiry and smiled.
'Of course,' I said. It wasn't one of the opening lines I'd been practising in front of the mirror for the past thirteen days, but it worked.
She sat down opposite me, and reached out across the table. 'I'm Jenna.'
'I know,' I replied, without thinking. 'Er ... I mean, I'm Julius ... Jules.'
And I'm in love with you ...
For a moment, I had the awful feeling that I'd actually said the words out loud, but her expression didn't change, so I knew I was safe.
Get a hold of yourself ...
'Are you feeling better?' Suzi to the rescue. She pinched me under the table, as if to say, Calm down, klutz, and in spite of the pain, I was grateful to have her on my side.
'Much better,' Jenna replied.
I realised, suddenly, that for all my 'observation' and all my fantasising, I'd never really been close enough to hear her voice clearly. It was ... musical, with just a hint of a private school accent. It suited her.
'I think,' she went on, adjusting herself into the seat, 'I just ate something that didn't agree with me. It's easy to eat too much on one of these ships. Wall-to-wall food.'
I nodded – and barely escaped the embarrassment of recounting my rather ugly 'all-you-can-eat' experience on our first night out of Papeete, almost two weeks earlier.
Instead, I managed, 'Yeah, I learned my lesson on the first night,' and left it at that.
From there, it got easier. She was cool, and between the three of us, we managed a good half-hour of small talk, before Suzi switched tack.
'We were just going for a five-k on the running track,' she began, looking directly into Jenna's eyes. 'You game?'
'Five k?' Jenna replied, her forehead wrinkling slightly, as she considered it. 'I've been a bit slack since we started the cruise. Normally, I do three or four most mornings, but ... You know how it is on holidays. Still, if you don't mind me slowing you down ...'
And we were on.
Now I know, for most of you, running five-k in the hot sun half an hour after breakfast probably isn't your idea of the ideal first date, but what can I say?
If the world gives you lemons, make lemonade ...
If you don't mind me slowing you down ...
Who was she kidding?
I thought I had trouble keeping up with Suzi, but Jenna was fit ...
I pushed as hard as I could (and I'm not exactly a couch potato; I think we lapped most of the Spandex Olympians in the first ten minutes), but I ended up trailing behind her after the first k or so – which wasn't, by the way, the worst thing that ever happened to me. The view was truly spectacular.
Nearing the end of the five, I even found extra legs and sprinted to catch up, just as she was slowing down.
Suzi was waiting for us, having finished her work-out a few minutes earlier.
I was breathing like someone who'd just conquered Everest – without oxygen assistance – while neither of the girls was breathing particularly heavily.
'A bit out of condition.' I struggled to get the words out, and still sound in control. 'Soccer season hasn't started yet.'
'You play soccer?' Jenna asked. She actually sounded interested. 'What position?'
'Mid-field,' I managed, leaning forward with my hands on my knees to open up my aching lungs.
'Me too,' she replied. Then a slight cloud crossed her features. 'Until this year. My parents laid down the ultimatum – soccer or acting-lessons. I couldn't do both and still keep up my grades, what with Rep training, and –'
'You play Rep?' I was even more impressed – if that was possible.
'I did ... Still, life's about choices, and for me ... Well, I think I've always wanted to act. Modelling just gets so damned boring.'
'Oh, I know what you mean,' Suzi put in, but I don't think Jenna picked up on the irony. She leaned forward, like an undercover conspirator.
'Do you want to know a secret?'
'Of course,' said Suzi.
'Of course,' I said – at exactly the same time.
'I just auditioned for a lead in a new soap. Prime-time. It's top-secret, so you can't tell anyone yet, but they called me the day before we sailed. I got the part.'
I could recognise the familiar glint in her eyes. It was the same one Adrian had when they told him he got the Macleans commercial. I was a little surprised, though. A major audition that Adrian hadn't gone to ... That had to be a television first.
'Congratulations,' I said.
'Yeah,' Suzi added, 'congrats, Jenna. You'll be great.' She sounded enthusiastic enough, but I'd got to know her pretty well in the past couple of weeks, and there was something a little ... reserved about her enthusiasm.
'Anyway, guys ...' Jenna got up. 'I've got stuff to do, so if you'll excuse me ...'
A wave, and she was gone.
But not forgotten.
'I think that went rather well,' I began, but Suzi cut in.
'Yeah, great!' she said. 'Listen, you got what you wanted, so do you think we can please find something else to talk about, other than Jenna Bloody Hamilton?'
For the second time in a week, she rolled away at top speed, leaving me staring after her.
Sometimes, I wonder if anyone – even another woman – truly understands the female mind.
The thing about a cyclone is, it never strikes unannounced.
Even if you don't hear the storm warnings, you can see the build-up in the sky, and get prepared.
Other natural disasters – like earthquakes and Barry Barnes – give you a whole lot less notice.
I was standing there, watching Suzi disappear down the ramp and wondering if I was ever going to understand the first thing about anything to do with the gender gap, when I felt a hand grab my shoulder – hard.
'Your girlfriend not here to protect you this time, wimp?'
The voice was unmistakeable. This time there was nowhere to run – or hide. The fingers digging into my shoulder joint were like steel, and he hadn't even begun to put pressure on.
Cruisin' Page 8
