Sex, Lies and Bonsai

by Lisa Walker

  As the sun sets he catches a wave in to shore, lying on his board.

  I bite my lip, trying not to laugh as he heads for our trap.

  Dad reaches for his towel, falls in the hole with a scream and collapses onto the sand. ‘You got me good that time, Eddie,’ he says.

  My chest swells with pride — a job well done.

  Mum laughs and laughs. She flicks her hair back from her face and laughs some more.

  She is radiant.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Out of your vulnerabilities will come

  your strength.

  SIGMUND FREUD

  Sally rings that evening. ‘Can I come over?’

  Her tone is hard to read. She doesn’t sound like her usual self, but neither does she sound angry.

  ‘Sure.’ I don’t know if I should be worried or not. ‘What happened to you last night?’

  ‘Hmm,’ says Sal in a mysterious way. ‘What happened to you is more to the point, I think.’

  This sounds vaguely ominous. ‘Not much. Had a few drinks, chilled—’

  ‘Ha.’ Sal interrupts. ‘Ha and double ha.’

  ‘I have no idea what you mean.’

  Sally laughs. ‘See you soon.’ She hangs up.

  I am worried. Sally and I haven’t fought in a long time, but when we did in the past, it was nasty. In primary school she took offence at some imagined slight about her new school shoes and didn’t speak to me for a week. Not only did she not speak to me, she didn’t even see me. I’d sit next to her at lunchtime and she’d pretend I didn’t exist. We still swapped sandwiches, but she acted like my sandwich arrived in her lunchbox and hers in mine by an odd arrangement unconnected to ourselves. After seven days her pique wore off and we became inseparable again. I don’t like fighting with Sally and hope I’m not about to.

  Chocolate is needed to calm my nerves. I pick up ten dollars and head down to the shops. I am halfway there when I hear someone calling.

  ‘Hey, Edz.’

  Edz? No one calls me Edz. It is Tim. He waves to me from a nearby verandah.

  ‘Been gettin’ any?’ he asks.

  This is the first time anyone has ever asked me that; an historic moment. I smile. ‘Yeah, the odd one.’

  ‘Been pretty shit, huh?’

  ‘Wasn’t too bad at Darling Lefts on Friday.’ I am playing the traditional Darling Head ‘Should have been there yesterday’ game.

  ‘I was at Lefts. Didn’t see ya.’

  ‘I slept in.’ I take a punt that he is out of the water in time for school. ‘Waited for the tide to come in.’

  ‘Thought it might get better.’

  His mother appears behind him and I decide I’d better take off in case she knows my non-surfing history. ‘I’ll get that autograph to you soon,’ I call.

  Back home, I sit up in bed and eat my chocolate. If our house is a ship, my bedroom is the crow’s nest. I climb up steep steps to reach it and, like the rest of the house, it is triangular. From my bed I can look out across the sea to the horizon. After a little while music drifts through my window. Jay is on the verandah, playing his guitar.

  It is pleasant looking at the sea and hearing Jay play. I’d like to go down and listen to him more closely, but we haven’t spoken since the awkward bedroom incident. He draws me to him like a moth to light but I don’t know how to talk to him.

  We have had several moments that felt intimate. There was the hall floor, the surf club verandah, the waking up in bed together and probably the getting into bed together part, which I don’t remember. One would expect these moments to add up to something. Yet they don’t. Every time I see him, we have to start again. He is still a stranger. But then most people feel like that to me.

  This intimacy thing is so elusive, so divinely inviting, but it seems to recede as I approach. I wonder what it means to really know someone? I think it means you can let them see all of you — even the embarrassing bits you’ve never shown anyone else. And when they’ve seen all those scary, messy and just wrong parts they still accept you, even like you.

  I know I never had that with Daniel. I was always trying to be more polished, more assured, more socially gifted than I am. I’ve never had that with anyone really; except for Mum.

  You are my peapod buddy, Edie.

  There’s no you and no me.

  Only us.

  I wonder if Jay would understand what I meant about ‘the rain in Glenorchy’. That it wasn’t just about rain and it certainly had nothing to do with climate change. It was about the way you get when the cloud descends in your mind.

  My seven days in Glenorchy with Sal left a big impression on me. While Sally was off shagging Travis, the deer-hunting accountant, I spent a lot of time walking in the rain. In Glenorchy, clouds drift down the mountains like floating sheep. While the rain can be depressing, it is uplifting when it stops. Waterfalls stream off the hills. They spray up around you, blown backwards in the updraft. Without the cloudy days, when would we know it was sunny?

  Jay’s music makes me think he would understand this and, to be honest, the scars on his arms also suggest that he has had his share of cloudy days. What would it be like to go through life with that reminder of death; to have people judge you because of them?

  I think Jay is a ‘deeper meaning’ person. He is someone who understands that life is complex; that we don’t always get what we want and when the cloud descends all you can do is keep going and hope it’s going to lift sometime.

  I think I know why he is staying with us. Rochelle wants to keep an eye on him. A few other things are becoming clearer too. Dad and Rochelle’s conspiratorial glances, for instance. Were they hoping for something by throwing Jay and me together? Were they hoping we’d be friends?

  I flick through a magazine as I wait for Sally. Even though Jay doesn’t know I am here, it is like he is playing for me. And while I am not musical, I sense this would be a wonderful thing to do, to communicate this way. If you were a good enough musician, you might never have to talk at all. Or a good enough writer…

  This brings my mind back to the thing it has been avoiding — the crab sex story. And I suddenly remember something that has escaped me until now — Jay liked it.

  As I listen to his music, a small, warm glow spreads through me. He likes my writing. And even though I am as embarrassed as all hell that he knows this stuff about me, it is still a nice feeling. He has seen my dirty mind and he likes it. No one has ever known that part of me before. I have shed an onion layer. It is liberating. This feels as if it could be strangely addictive.

  I can hear Sally coming up the stairs. She stops on the verandah and talks to Jay. Their voices rise and fall in an easy rhythm. They laugh. Jay sounds different to how he is with me. With me, there are more silences than words. I think I have been kidding myself that we have any kind of understanding at all. I have turned three strange and awkward moments into a relationship which exists only in my mind. If I hadn’t got pissed and needed rescuing, I am certain that Sally and Jay would be an item.

  That is just so typical of you, says the bonsai.

  ‘Shut up. Or I’ll chop your branches off.’

  I hear Sally open the front door. ‘Ed-ie,’ she calls.

  ‘I’m hee-ya.’ I get up and walk downstairs.

  She comes in and spots me. ‘Hi, babe.’

  This sounds promising. She wouldn’t call me babe if she was mad at me, would she? ‘Hi babe.’ I sit down in the leather armchair.

  Sally prowls around the room like a cat, before lowering herself onto a couch and curling her legs beneath her. She seems to be containing a lot of energy. Her red-painted toenails wiggle like she wants to scratch the velour cushions. ‘What’s up?’ she asks.

  I wonder if she is toying with me. I feel like a mouse about to be mauled. ‘Not much. Had a slow day.’

  For no apparent reason, this makes her laugh. ‘I bet you had a fucking slow day, Ed. You were smashed, mate.’ She inclines her head towards the verand
ah and raises her eyebrows. ‘Essence of Heathcliff?’ she murmurs.

  I play dumb. I raise my eyebrows back in a neutral way.

  She frowns and gives me a double eyebrow flash and a chin lift.

  She wants to know if he’s still available, but I’m not going to make it easy for her. I give her a triple eyebrow flash back.

  ‘You two look like the Marx Brothers,’ says a voice from the verandah. ‘We didn’t make lurve, if that’s what the eyebrows are about.’

  ‘Hey, this is a private eyebrow flashing session,’ says Sal.

  Jay comes into the room, his guitar under his arm. ‘Not anymore.’ He gives an amazingly athletic quadruple eyebrow flash then collapses onto the floor.

  Sally giggles. ‘So, Ed. Why didn’t you tell us you had this thing for crabs?’

  ‘This extremely hot thing,’ says Jay. It is the first thing he has said to me since the bedroom incident. His voice is teasing. It sounds like forgiveness.

  ‘This outstandingly erotic and steamy thing,’ says Sal.

  ‘Oh, fuck off,’ I say.

  Sally and Jay raise their eyebrows in unison. They obviously have a strong connection going on.

  ‘And she hasn’t even been to Rio,’ says Sal to Jay. She leans over and strokes my leg. ‘It’s okay, Ed, I’m not mad. You wouldn’t believe what’s been happening.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Oh my God. My phone has been running hot.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The crab sex thing. Just after you went to the bar last night my phone started ringing and it hasn’t stopped since. I’ve been taking calls all day. You wouldn’t think it’s a Sunday. People just can’t wait.’

  ‘Huh?’ She’s lost me.

  ‘The flyer drop. It’s weird, people put together the crab sex with the life coaching and, well, I’ve now added a new string to my bow…’ Sally trails off.

  I still have no idea what she’s talking about.

  ‘Well, it’s not a new string or I would have to change the name to Motive 9, which doesn’t work at all. I’ve decided it’s an offshoot of relationship advice.’

  The penny drops. ‘You’re moving into sex counselling?’

  Sally nods.

  ‘Are you qualified to do that?’

  ‘Hey, I’m a psychologist. Anyway, it’s not serious stuff; it’s just, you know, spice up your love life with some steamy fantasies. You wouldn’t believe it. I’ve signed up ten couples already. Just wait until I get my website up.’

  ‘Anyone I know?’

  Sally rolls her eyes. ‘Yes, but I’m not saying.’

  ‘Give me a clue.’

  ‘People in long-term relationships which have become predictable.’

  I immediately think of Professor Brownlow. I feel slightly nauseous. ‘Have you… Started distributing. This…literature? Already?’

  ‘God yes,’ says Sally. ‘I’ve been flat out all day.’

  ‘But Sally, did I say you c—’

  ‘So, this is where you come in. I’ve got a fantastic proposition for you. You’re going to love it.’

  I always feel suspicious when Sally tells me I’m going to love something.

  ‘The fantasies — I need more of them. The crab sex is great, but for an ongoing relationship to keep the zest it needs more than just one fantasy.’

  ‘You want me to write erotic fantasies for you?’

  ‘I’ll pay you. And credit you as the author, if you want.’

  I shake my head vigorously. ‘You haven’t told anyone?’

  ‘No, darl, I haven’t told anyone. But if they were mine, I’d be shouting it from the rooftops. The men would come flocking.’

  ‘Really?’ I blush as my eyes flicker to Jay.

  ‘Totally,’ he says.

  The air between us vibrates again.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Where id was, there ego shall be.

  SIGMUND FREUD

  Monday: 51 days

  Pain level: 6 (a record low)

  Location: Throat

  Tips for self-improvement: Write more erotica

  Professor Brown flicked noislily through Edaline’s drawings. Today he seemed to be channelling some deeply repressed emotions. His usually sanguine air had been disturbed by something darker. Edaline sensed a build-up of tension, like a volcano on the brink.

  She worked at her illustration, her nerves on edge. What could have provoked the normally calm, good-natured Professor Brown?

  ‘Two plumose hairs?’

  Edaline jumped, her heart pounding. Professor Brown had materialised beside her.

  He held out a drawing. ‘Are you sure there are two plumose hairs here?’

  Edaline nodded, although she was not sure at all.

  Professor Brown gave a sharp intake of breath. He had a light in his eyes she had never seen before. A burning ember.

  Edaline felt a warm wind touch her cheek as he breathed out. An image flashed through her mind: she was climbing Vesuvius, the ground was shaking beneath her.

  And then Vesuvius erupted. Professor Brown grasped her by the shoulders. ‘You little minx,’ he said.

  She had never imagined he would use a word like minx, but this new Professor Brown seemed capable of anything.

  ‘You make it up as you go along, don’t you?’

  Edaline nodded. He had found her out. She’d always known he would.

  I ease my fingers off the keyboard and re-read what I have written. I’ve had to get up early this morning to work on my erotica as it is a crab larvae day and Sally is breathing down my neck for a new instalment. When am I going to start running? Not now, anyway. Perhaps running will be an evening thing for me.

  Hah, says the bonsai. I bet you never run.

  ‘Of course I’m going to run. I’m just very busy. You wouldn’t know what that’s like. All you do is sit there and criticise. Why don’t you say something nice for once?’

  Did I tell you that Daniel’s new girlfriend is an Olympic gymnast?

  ‘Former Olympic gymnast, you said.’

  I imagine she’s pretty fit, says the bonsai.

  ‘Well, I’d probably be pretty fit too if I only had to be a barrister and cook gourmet meals. She should try writing erotic fiction while holding down a job drawing crab larvae.’

  The bonsai laughs snidely.

  ‘Shut up. Who asked you anyway?’ I throw a rug over it. ‘And I’m going to run very soon.’

  I’ll believe it when I see it. The bonsai manages to exude smugness, even from under the rug.

  I glare at it. ‘Well, I bet I run before you do.’ It is a cheap shot, but the best I can do. ‘And please, be quiet will you? One of us has work to do here.’

  Work? the bonsai scoffs. Since when does writing pornography count as work?

  I ignore it and turn back to the keyboard. I’m not satisfied with the way this piece is panning out. How does one describe sex using the metaphor of the volcano? No doubt Professor Brown will at some stage erupt, but is Edaline a languid pool into which his lava flows? It’s tacky, but it could work. I press on.

  … Edaline felt herself to be a pool. Not a cool mountain pool, but a simmering hot pool such as those she had seen once on a trip to Rotorua. And in her pool, was a…

  A what? My fingers freeze on the keyboard. A volcanic plug? A thrusting, demanding volcanic plug? No. It’s no good. It just doesn’t work. I’m going to have to change metaphors.

  … Edaline felt her flower opening as Professor Brown’s mouth met hers. His touch was like a bee collecting pollen, delicate, yet purposeful. Her petals closed around his…

  Trunk?

  Branch?

  Woody vine?

  The phone rings. It is Sally. ‘Have you finished?’

  I gnaw at my fingernail. ‘I’m having a bit of trouble.’

  ‘What with? It’s just sex. You know how to do it; what’s the problem?’

  Sally has no understanding of the artist’s tortured soul. ‘It’s not t
hat easy. Doing it is one thing, writing about it is another.’

  ‘I’ve got clients lined up for this, Edie.’

  ‘They’re just going to have to wait.’

  Sally’s silence tells me I am sounding shrill. ‘It’s okay, Ed.’ If she was here, I’m pretty sure she would be backing away with her hands in the air. ‘Tomorrow will do.’

  ‘I’ve got to go to work now,’ I squeal.

  ‘Edie, this is a bit of a personal question, but as your life coach I think I need to ask — have you been getting any?’

  I know that Sally doesn’t mean waves. ‘No, not lately. Not since Daniel. Why?’

  ‘Freud said that the suppression of sexual desire could lead to hysteria in women. It was pretty radical at the time; no one had considered that women had sexual desires.’

  ‘Are you calling me hysterical?’

  ‘Hmm.’ The sound of paper-shuffling comes over the phone. ‘Do you have a tendency towards trouble-making, irritability, loss of appetite, insomnia or—’

  A sudden dread strikes me. ‘Sally, you’re not doing this line of coaching for Professor Brownlow, are you?’

  ‘Nervousness.’ Sally completes her sentence. ‘You know I can’t tell you that, Ed.’

  ‘But you have to. How am I supposed to face him if he’s been reading this stuff?’

  ‘People never recognise themselves in fiction.’

  I am so eager to be convinced, I buy this ridiculous line.

  ‘Tomorrow?’ asks Sal.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ I confirm. This is far enough away not to bother me. I am sure the perfect metaphor will arrive by then.

  ‘You know, Edie, I’ve been a bit deficient as your life coach.’ Sally sounds apologetic.

  I don’t like the sound of this. ‘No, you haven’t; you’ve been great. I’m making real progr—’

  ‘Your task for today is to smile at ten strangers.’

  I sigh with relief. That sounds relatively painless. ‘Okay.’

  ‘And you still haven’t mastered that talking to a stranger exercise,’ says Sal.

  I can already see where this is heading and I’m not going there. ‘Did so. I spoke to Jay. Like you told me to.’

  Sally coughs. It sounds a bit like did not.