What was most surprising about the ‘three things you would be surprised to learn about me’ subject was that I only had one: surviving a near fatal attack by a pack of rabid dogs in Brazil. Zach insisted there must be more and I wished there was. I had high expectations for Zach’s responses since he would not have asked the question unless he had something interesting to offer. I learned that he was a champion snowboarder as a teenager—more one-dimensional sporting activity. He had backpacked through Europe for a year after school—not surprising anymore—everyone does it. And he has an identical twin. That was one tick for Zach as twins are fascinating and I looked forward to meeting his other part, possibly—I was getting ahead of myself. He added a fourth then, just to show me up—he liked to do crossword puzzles. I almost laughed because it did not fit with the rest of his image, but it was at least more my style as crosswords can be done at home, in front of a television while drinking merlot. He then proceeded to tell me that he loved animals and I imagined trips to the zoo to pat koalas, and have photos taken in front of the penguin enclosure. He loved dogs especially, he said, and wished he could have one, but it would not be fair at this point in his life while busy with work and living in an apartment. I imagined Zach with a spiteful German Shepherd like the one from next door rather than the fluffy menace Kimba owned. Erin has a mischievous Jack Russell and he is almost likable of all the dogs I have known. Almost I said.
Whenever a course arrived, I posed a question of my own, on snowboarding or caving or anything similarly uninteresting so that I could focus on my food (and wine of course) without interruption. Zach was very talkative on the selective subjects, which is always valuable to know because there are always times in any relationship when one needs a diversion.
As the night progressed and the dessert wine trickled into droplets, the discussion shimmied onto the dinner taboo subject of sex, pre-planned I figured as a lead-in to the oyster-inspired après dinner. Ryan had told Zach that sex with older women was the best he had had because they give specific directions, do not fake, and will tell you when you have lost your way. He seemed to be looking for verification or perhaps evidence, and that is when the night ended, but not exactly for although curiosity does kill the cat, it does also have nine lives.
Chapter Thirty-three
I AM able to report, based on actual research, that younger men are eager to please and can receive instruction and execute well. I should qualify that since I have sampled just one so far, this is a rather sweeping generalization and possibly misguided too.
I made it back to my townhouse just before lunch on the Sunday morning after a busy night and active morning (more research). Several messages flashed red on my answering machine, all from Amber who was a woman of little patience if any. I ignored them as I knew she would call again having already jumped to conclusions regarding my overnight absence. I devised an array of Sunday morning activities to submit to her by way of explanation: I was at church with mother and Shannon; I went to the Victoria Markets for fresh produce; I was at the gym, all of which proved I have no capacity for fiction and as Oscar says, “Man can believe the impossible, but can never believe the improbable.”
I grabbed a coffee and stale muffin, freshened it up in the microwave, and sat down with my laptop ready for some project work while simultaneously checking my phone for messages from Zach, hoping not to receive, “Thx for last night,” which would make me feel like a prostitute.
I searched online for the next available Spanish class and found one just a week before commencement conveniently located in Malvern not too far from my townhouse. I enrolled then sent an email to Zach in case he was genuinely interested. I hoped so as otherwise I would have engaged a one-on-one tutor instead of exposing my people skills in a classroom setting.
Next, I was on the Tigers website to learn player names, the club song, results and successes (not many), and then it was onto the AFL website for the rules of the game and latest news.
I sent an email to Amber to say I had received her messages, thanks, and had only just arrived home after breakfast with mother and dad, and there was nothing to report on the previous night as it had ended early and was without points of note.
I flicked to the sports channel. There was no sign of the Tigers, but I had two games to watch: the Eagles v Kangaroos and the Cats v Crows—perhaps this was what Zach meant when he said he loved animals.
There was a knock on the door. It was Amber.
“I’ve left you messages all morning! We have a deal, remember?”
“I sent you an email.” I smiled to myself while making coffee.
“Mace, no one checks emails on the weekend, well normal people don’t—they’re busy doing stuff not sitting at a computer and watching TV.”
“I’ve been out all morning,” I said, offended. “I had breakfast with mum and dad.”
“So, how was your date? I want to know everything.”
“Nothing to tell I’m afraid. Boring night, ended early, but the food was great and he paid so the night was not a total loss.”
“So no sex then? Well that was a wasted trip over here,” she said. “Here, I bought you some magazines.”
“I’m making you coffee to go with a blueberry muffin so your trip wasn’t wasted at all. What magazines?”
“Fitness, body shaping—that sort of thing. I figured since you had a new man you would want to get in shape before spring this year.”
“How did you manage to get away from Jake so easily? Doesn’t he want you to spend the entire weekend with him?”
“He has his own friends, and that’s the key to a good relationship, Mace. If you love them, set them free.”
“You’ve broken up.”
“No, we have not.”
I shrugged all-knowingly. “Once Tweetie realizes the birdcage door is open, he will fly away and he won’t be coming back.” I laughed.
“You really are a demented individual. No wonder your date didn’t work out.”
“I’m good humored,” I said, and Amber laughed.
“So how come you’re in such a good mood today?”
“I’m just happy spending time with family and friends, Amber, that’s all. It’s the simple people in life.” I laughed some more. “Sorry, I meant to say, it’s the simple things in life. My apologies.”
“Are you sure you didn’t get a tune-up last night?”
“You’d be the first to know,” I replied.
We sat down on the sofa to flick through the magazines.
“Maybe I should think about some pre-daylight savings exercise,” I said.
“Look at these before and after pictures,” said Amber in disgust.
“It’s all contrived,” I added. “See how they’re standing flat-footed, face-on in the before shot, then in the after shot, their foot is perched upwards with the old pointed-toe trick making the leg look leaner and longer.”
“No tan in the before shot and tanned in the after,” said Amber.
“No smile before, smile after, daggy hair before, styled after and I think those teeth look whiter too.”
“And the top too,” Amber added. “The bikini top is loose in the before shot making her boobs look sad and saggy, and pulled up high in the after shot.”
“Shoulders stooped before and standing perfectly upright after,” I said. “It’s a sham, motivating people like that under false pretences. Well I for one will not fall for it!”
“Maybe that’s a topic for another book, Mace.”
“I’m having enough problems writing the two books I’ve already started.”
“Started?” Amber asked.
“Well I’ve sort of started. I have a plan and some notes for chapters, and research, lots of research.” I smiled.
“Maybe you should get some books on writing non-fiction, to give you a structure to follow.”
“That’s a good idea, Amber, and now is the time to do it since I’m feeling quite focused today.”
“We co
uld go down Chapel Street to the Jam Factory, go to the bookstore then have lunch.”
“Are you sure Jake hasn’t flown away? It’s not like you to have free time when you have a man in tow.”
“Are you sure you didn’t get tuned-up last night?”
“Let’s get some books!” I said.
On the drive to the Jam Factory, I received a text message from Zach. “Thx for last night,” it said. I slapped my forehead. Strike two.
Chapter Thirty-four
IT HAD been a month since I hooked up with Zach, with little time since to work on my books with snow skiing at Mount Bulla, kayaking on the Yarra River, and several times to the football not to mention the weekly Spanish classes, with homework. I was exhausted.
No one knew of Zach, and it was time to introduce him to my friends, and a more suitably-paced life during a weekend wine tasting in the Yarra Valley. That was a bad idea for many reasons I discovered all too late, and I can only blame myself. His induction should have been more gradual, knowing my friends and their partners as I do—they are not the shy, retiring types one might prefer. Zach did quite well under scrutiny though, and everyone thought he was a good match for me with some quiet optimism about the viability of the relationship.
Zach was attentive throughout that first day, bordering on subservient, which I am not opposed to, but it can be rather tiresome. As Oscar says, “How can a woman be expected to be happy with a man who insists on treating her as if she were a perfectly normal human being.”
It had been a very long time since we were a complete unit of ten, not since Ben was alive and Amber was married to her first husband, Samuel. Memories of then left me gloomy because those years were the time of my life, and while Zach was charming and a good companion, he was young and he would never be Ben.
Sophie and Adam were like never-weds, and wished they had separated years earlier, but with no mention or thanks to me for bringing about this new regime. They no longer discuss domestic or parenting issues unless both are in a conciliatory frame of mind and only then over a nice dinner with wine, which is a far cry from the public show-downs we used to endure. The success of the arrangement motivated me to once again focus on my book, as soon as I could find a way to immobilize Zach without admitting his lifestyle was too active for me.
As promised, Erin, and indirectly, the Bobmeister, sponsored the Saturday afternoon drinking session on the lawns of the Sebel Heritage with the wines we had bought during our winery bus adventures that morning. We were all in high spirits and it felt almost like the days of our youth. We toasted Erin again, for her two-book publishing deal, and for the drinks, and toasted me for my recent and successful two-week abstinence. Amber looked smug, which I did not appreciate for it was a beacon to my dishonesty. We exchanged glares.
Amber finally showed her true colors—it is always just a matter of time, asking Zach straight up about his age and I glared some more. Thirty-three he answered and I disguised my astonishment—he had told me thirty-two not so long ago and as far as I knew, there had been no birthday since. You might think a year between acquaintances is nothing, but I do not like mystery or intrigue so clarification would be required the moment his wallet was left unattended.
The day degenerated at that point as is usual when my friends and copious amounts of alcohol are united. The culprit though was not a known offender, but the Bobmeister, who for the purposes of male bonding I expect, asked Zach what team he followed.
“Same team as Mace,” he replied.
Inappropriate drunken laughter followed, and the Bobmeister, quite innocently said, “Mace? Mace doesn’t follow football.”
“She doesn’t even do sports,” Erin added, which was not necessary, as Zach had already worked this out for himself.
Zach flicked me a confused look, which gave way to a look of knowing, and I knew then that the balance of power between us had changed. This type of ruse had worked so well for Rudy on me, but in the hands of an amateur, one only comes away from the ploy looking like a desperado.
“She does go to the gym,” Kimba added.
“How are the books coming along, Mace?” Amber asked.
“You’re a writer?” Zack asked. “You never mentioned it.”
“Not a lot to say just yet, but I’m working on a couple of books,” I said and turned to face Amber head on. “Have you set a date for the wedding yet, Amber?”
“We have been waiting on your ‘anti-wedding ritual’ book, Mace, but since I don’t want to be walking down the aisle with a walking frame, we’ve decided to go ahead anyway.”
“That’s great news!” said Kimba.
“So what date should I put aside in my busy schedule?” I asked.
“Saturday fifteenth of March. That’s a daylight savings month, Mace, so you’ll be able to attend, and it’ll be a morning as well.”
“You’ll make a beautiful bride,” said Kimba.
“Again,” I said.
“What are you saying, Mace? Because you might want to be very nice to me or it might cost you, a lot.”
“I meant that in the nicest possible way, Amber. It’s no secret that you’ve been a beautiful bride once already.” I smiled, full of cunning.
She smiled back. “I’m starving—let’s eat!”
Zach was sleeping Sunday morning when I searched for, found, and flicked my way through the cards in his wallet, but he woke abruptly when I gasped. I stared at him and held up his driver’s license. Zach was not thirty-two or thirty-three—he was twenty-seven according to my math, and looked like a baby in his license photo. Strike three.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“How old are you?”
“What are you doing with my wallet?”
“Research. How old are you, Zachary Abel Mattia?”
“You know,” he said, falling back into the pillows to stare at the ceiling. “Why does it matter, Mace? We’re having fun aren’t we?”
“Why? Because you lied to me.”
“Oh, and you said you followed football, the Tigers specifically.”
“That wasn’t a lie…exactly. I did watch them play a couple of times and I liked their shirts.”
“That’s hardly the same as being a fan.”
He sat up and leaned on one elbow to face me. “So we’re even,” he said. “Come back to bed and I’ll show you why age doesn’t matter.”
Indeed, why did it matter—I was not planning to marry Zach or take him home to meet mother or Shannon. It was all quite harmless and directionless, and I did not need to spoil the last day of an otherwise idyllic weekend nor the day ahead at the De Bortoli winery. And I certainly did not need a discourse of the age saga with my friends and in the presence of Jake who would report back to Rudy, which would lead to yet another article featuring the vagaries of my life. I also needed a date for Lauren’s wedding which was just weeks away, and for Amber’s in March, should Zach still be around then. And he did have a nice body and was co-operative and energetic.
“Come on, Mace,” he said. “We’re having a good time together, nothing else should matter. Aren’t you having fun in Spanish classes?”
That was all very true—we were having a great time together and Spanish class would be much less fun without Zach.
“Me gustas mucho, Señora bonita,” he said, flicking back the white sheet.
“Hola, guapo,” I replied, dropping his wallet on the floor.
Chapter Thirty-five
THREE YEARS had passed since Ben died and as was customary, the memories, guilt and regret turned the day into a quagmire. No one bothers me on this day with sympathy or disgust because I cannot let it go, which is perfectly fine. I continue to wait for the time eraser, but for now, it is enough that time seems illusory for as Oscar says, “The great events of life often leave one unmoved; they pass out of consciousness and when one thinks of them, they become unreal. Even the scarlet flowers of passion seem to grow in the same meadow as the poppies of oblivion.”
&
nbsp; It is not just the day that Ben died that comes back to haunt me each year; it is the time we spent together when he was in hospital near the end, the funeral, the aftermath and every other memory that wishes to spring forth, good or bad, words said, a smile, a touch. I am not entirely sure why friends say I must let it go for I know Kimba will always remember the day Poppy died on the day she was born, and don’t we always remember the fallen soldiers every year, lest we forget. We remember the dead and the sufferings of war on ANZAC Day and Remembrance Day and this is supposed to strengthen our conviction for peace, but that seems just as futile for I can read the news and see a world on the verge of destruction, and I am familiar enough with failure to know it when I see it. It seems then that it is okay to remember, even though it brings pain and no hope of change, for that is what we must do.
As usual, I did not want to see anyone during my bereavement phase, so I ignored Zach’s calls and made no attempt to explain why. It is never a pretty scene, filled as it is with metaphorical beatings. Self-reproach is a luxury though for as Oscar says, when we blame ourselves, we deprive others of a right to blame us. Guilt is also good—it keeps me modest and real for I am a woman of many flaws, the least of which is that I like to be alone.
And there are always dreams of Ben, alive—that is the brutality of death. I dreamt that we had been shopping together and I had bought a crocodile skin handbag that still had the crocodile’s head attached as a flap. We were walking along a street I did not recognize and the bag came alive. The crocodile bit my arm off then scuttled away behind the bushes. I lay bleeding in the street while Ben held my head in his lap. Two girls walked past and asked what had happened and Ben relayed the story with no emotion as if he was explaining how to put together an Ikea bookcase. The girls strolled away and Ben looked down at me and said, “It’s your turn to die first.” The ambulance arrived, Ben said goodbye then went on his way.
Being Anti-Social Page 18
