Not Meeting Mr Right

by Anita Heiss

  'Liza, it's Alice. I'm sorting out my wedding plans, you busy?'

  'Not really, Al, just working on keeping a young fella out of Long Bay. I'm sure his case notes can wait – your pretend love-life is a case with far more importance.' Was she was being sarcastic or just joking?

  'So you're organising a wedding, are you? What about the groom?' she asked almost accusingly. As though I was breaking the law because I was trying to organise my wedding without having found a man first. Liza could be a real wet blanket sometimes.

  'Don't bother me with details, darling!' I said, sounding like some social butterfly and waving my free hand nonchalantly, as though I knew the hired help would fix the problem. I was glad Liza couldn't see me. I wished I could hire someone to find a groom for me. Hell, these days you could hire someone to find and buy your dream home for you, so why not your dream man? Anyway, I now had all the other elements of the big day organised – the only thing I needed to worry about was finding someone to fit into the suit. How difficult could it be?

  five

  I am deadly and desirable

  I was determined to prove to my family that I was not a lesbian, but there was no way I was going to succumb to the pressure and go on a date with Cliff to make two in-denial mothers happy. Instead I carried on with my project, my strategy for finding Mr Right. I had already feng shui-ed my flat; now it was time to get serious. I was ready for 'Phase I': blind dating. I thought hard about the mantra I would cite daily, playing with combinations of words. Finally, my new mantra for meeting Mr Right wrote itself: I am daring and dynamic, deadly and desirable.

  I launched Phase I at school. I strolled confidently into the staff room with a sense of hope. Surely some of my colleagues would have eligible brothers, uncles, exhusbands or sons who were open to a date with me, the newly crowned Ms Deadly and Desirable. Most of my own staff in the history department were middle-aged, married men with unattractive beards and bellies. There was nothing about them that suggested they would be at all helpful in my new quest, but as Peta had pointed out, teachers from other departments were bound to have single friends – connections to get me into 'The Club'. Conscious that some of the older staff members considered me a floozy simply because I was single, and that others probably thought I was a lesbian, because they'd never known me to have a relationship with a man, I was cautious about who I approached.

  I decided to follow the younger, more upbeat, notso- uptight teachers for a few days, and thought about how best I could befriend them. The head of the history department really should mingle more with the English and maths staff, I thought.

  I made my mate Mickey my pilot project. He was gay, and the only friends of his I'd ever met were batting for his team, but it was still worth a try. I often wondered why, as a straight person, I had lots of gay friends, but few of my gay friends had straight ones. When Mickey had dinner parties, I was always the only straight person there. His friends probably all thought I was a lesbian too. Shit, I really did need to get some dating happening – not just to meet Mr Right. Mickey was a well-dressed country boy who wore R.M.Williams gear with an Oxford Street sashay. He was gorgeous, single and looking for love, just like me, but was willing to take all the lust he could get along the way.

  Mickey knew a lot of other gorgeous guys seeking that ideal love, but none of them had proved right so far.

  I briefed him on my new mission and all he responded with was, 'Love, unless you're having a sex change, I can't help you. And should you actually be calling it a mission?'

  I'd been ranting about politics and history to Mickey over cocktails for years, so he knew quite a bit about the missions many Aboriginal people had lived on under the Protection Acts. He was right; for many Blackfellas it was a word that brought back a lot of bad memories. 'Goal' was definitely a better choice. It sounded more professional, too: 'I've set myself a life-goal of meeting Mr Right'.

  Later that day, however, Mickey grabbed me in the corridor and melodramatically mimed hitting himself in the head. He'd forgotten to tell me about his 'spunky cousin Daniel' – captain of a touch football team. 'He's single and hot.' Mickey admitted that Daniel was 'a lad's lad', but we both agreed that one date couldn't hurt. Mickey added, 'I'm sure he'd be great in bed too.' How Mickey knew this I wasn't quite sure, and I didn't want to know. He often slipped into graphic detail about his own sex life that made me feel uneasy.

  'What star sign is he?' I asked, more to change the direction of the conversation than anything else, but I was mentally going through my criteria for Mr Right at the same time.

  'God, I don't know. Does it matter?'

  'Yes.'

  'Well, probably Taurus – the bull.' And he made some disgusting thrusting gestures, just as the bell rang.

  I wasn't really worried at this stage about the star sign, and there was a spring in my step as I walked away. Mickey was already on the job. Perhaps finding Mr Right wasn't going to be that hard after all. I put on hold the prospect of harassing any of the other teachers for the time being.

  ***

  Having made minor progress towards my goal, I had some time to focus on my other job – my real job. That of teaching my Year 11 class about significant moments for women in Australian history.

  The students had done research for homework and had come up with some suggestions. We spent the class narrowing these down and identifying what the girls believed to be the most important moments. After half an hour or so, I faced the blackboard and started to write up our final list:

  1881 – Women are allowed to enrol in the same subjects as men at Sydney University for the first time. (Medicine is the only exception.)

  1901 – Women are granted the right to vote.

  'Miss Aigner, only white women got the vote in 1901. Aboriginal women didn't get it until the 1967 referendum.'

  In a class with only one Koori girl, Kerry, it was actually a non-Koori student, Bernardine, who had picked up on this fact. It made me proud. I'd once heard feminist Dale Spender say that if a man ever made a sexist remark in public, it was up to another man to correct him, not a woman, and I totally agreed. It was the same with race issues. Aboriginal people were always expected to challenge the ignorant whitefella when racist comments were made, when in fact it should be another whitefella doing it. Just as a man correcting a man packed a punch, so did a whitefella correcting a whitefella.

  'Good point, Bernardine.' I kept writing:

  1907 – Australia's first female architect, Florence Parsons, wins wide acclaim for the design of her houses.

  1943 – Senator Dorothy Tangney (Western Australia) and MP Edith Lyons (Tasmania) are the first women elected to Federal Parliament.

  1967 – Aboriginal women (and men) get the right to vote.

  1976 – Pat O'Shane is sworn in as Australia's first Aboriginal barrister.

  1992 – Women are ordained as priests in the Anglican Church.

  1996 – Jennie George becomes the first female president of the ACTU.

  2000 – Cathy Freeman wins gold at the Sydney Olympic Games.

  Looking at the blackboard, I realised that the moments we had chosen were all 'firsts'. As the first female head of department at St Christina's, black or white, I was almost tempted to add myself to the list. Humility was one thing we prided ourselves on at the school, though, so I resisted the temptation.

  The class had been a great success, and I'd enjoyed the girls' arguments. They had really gained a broad view of the contribution women had made to Australian history. Many had only ever mentioned male historians in previous classes, so today I was pleased to have heard the names of female historians for the first time – Beverley Kingston, Shirley Fitzgerald and Wendy Brady – women who had influenced my own understanding of Australian history and had even been my inspiration for teaching it.

  I was also pleased that the girls' debate and final list had included Aboriginal achievements, given that Australian and Aboriginal history were often treated as two separate su
bjects.

  No doubt about it: I'd taught them well. I was confident that my students were going to be valuable citizens once they got out into the big, wide world.

  My daydream was broken by an unexpected question from the back of the room. 'With equal rights came the right for women to ask men out – didn't it, Ms Aigner?'

  The discussion had apparently turned to questions of equity in relationships, etiquette and dating. I had no idea how it had happened; I'd been too busy indulging in thoughts of my own achievements.

  I tried to make a joke of it.

  'Did it? I thought women just got tired one day of waiting for men to work up their courage.'

  'What do you think about women asking men out on dates generally, Miss?' Bernardine asked.

  I was the last one to give advice. The last guy I'd asked out had almost taken out an AVO on me. I'd read in Cleo that men loved confident women who went after what they wanted; that men loved being asked out, because many of them were too shy to do it themselves as women grew more and more confident. And so I'd tried being that confident woman. I asked a man out. I sent him flowers. I sent emails and invitations to make it easier for him to ask out a daunting and desirable woman like me. None of it had worked. It turned him right off. I'd thought I was being assertive, but he saw it as harassment.

  I'd felt embarrassed and shamed, and since then I hadn't asked anyone out again. I'd gone from one extreme to another, as my brother Dillon would say. How could I tell my students that I hadn't had a real date for months, that men didn't ask me out, and I didn't ask them, and now my friends stayed up late workshopping the problem and my family all thought I was a lesbian?

  'Miss, have you ever asked a man out?'

  'I think we're getting too far off the topic, girls,' I said, and turned my back to them, hoping they wouldn't notice my wobbly hand as I cleaned the blackboard.

  'What about arranged marriages, Miss? What do you think of them?'

  I wouldn't be in my current predicament if I'd had an arranged marriage. Then again, I might just be married to my mum's friend Janet's gay son, Cliff, a right-wing hairdresser who secretly desired Keith Windschuttle.

  'Arranged marriages are often very successful, but they don't necessarily work for everyone.' The bell rang.

  'Class dismissed, and don't forget to read Chapter 6 of Butterfly Song by Terri Janke to discuss next week. It will be on the exams at the end of the year.'

  six

  Holmesy

  That night the phone rang as I finished the last of a bowl of two-minute noodles. I picked up, my mouth still full.

  'Hello?'

  'Hi, I'm Mickey's cousin, Daniel.'

  Mickey must have got to work on organising my blind date already. I was caught completely unaware. No script in front of me, no points to follow to keep the conversation going. I didn't have my 'Strategies for not meeting Mr Right' in front of me as a reference either.

  Daniel continued: 'Mickey told me you're interested in playing touch football?' I nearly choked. I couldn't run with a football even if there was a guarantee of a wedding ring and husband waiting at the end of the field. I'm simply not fit enough, and too top heavy, and I look ridiculous when I run. And ... And ... And ... what was Mickey thinking?

  'Orrright,' was all I could muster in response, sounding like a complete yob.

  'I thought you might like to come to a game on Thursday, meet the team and maybe have a drink afterwards.'

  Okay, so that's what Mickey was thinking – I could pretend to be interested in sport and have a casual drink. Sure, I could do that.

  'Sounds good.' I got the details from Daniel and hung up. I was so excited I jumped up and down like a teenager, running on the spot, singing a new mantra: I've got a date! I've got a date! The strategy was working, my plans were coming together, I would reach my goal! I walked down my hall and did a little side kick in the air like they do in the movies.

  ***

  Before the game I went shopping for some flattering sportswear and the sexiest sports bra I could find, then agonised over how to wear my hair: up or down or baseball cap? I called Dillon, because he was a sports fanatic. He just said, 'It doesn't really matter that much what you wear, Alice, just don't say anything stupid. You don't know anything about sport, so don't pretend you do. It won't help.' I'd planned on asking him to give me some pointers on the game itself, but it didn't seem the right time.

  ***

  I was looking very athletic when I met Daniel at the sideline before his game. We just said hello, as the starting buzzer was about to go. I did a quick check, and I looked just like every other sporty chick there. The others were on the field, though, or getting ready to play. I couldn't have run the length of the field if I tried and I made up some lame excuse about a bad ankle.

  I watched the game with as much interest as a nonfooty- kinda-girl could muster. I had no idea who was winning, what the score was, or even what the rules were, but I honestly didn't care. There was so much eye candy I could feel myself putting on weight just looking at the sweet, sweaty men.

  Then there was Daniel; stylish and agile, a pleasure to watch in action. I stood there wanting to sink my teeth into his thighs. People were screaming at him from the sideline, 'Go Holmesy, go Holmesy!' and I joined in. Everyone was rooting for him each time he got the ball. They knew – and he knew – that he was the best player on team; you could see why he was captain. He scored five tries which, apparently, is really good for touch football. Or any kind of football.

  When the game finished, he was panting and covered in sweat. His team had won and everyone walked in a group to the pub across the road to celebrate.

  As everyone sat around a table, I was the only one left standing. 'There doesn't appear to be anywhere left to sit,' I said awkwardly to no-one in particular.

  'Here, let me make some room for you,' Daniel said, and he mimed cleaning his face.

  It was the kind of comment I'd expect from a rugby league player, given all the bad press the code had had in recent years with players involved in assault claims and so on. He was disgusting, and clearly had no respect for women.

  'Don't worry, he's tried that line on every girl on the team,' one of his female team-mates said.

  'Yeah, he's nicknamed after John Holmes for a reason,' another added, rolling her eyes. 'The porn star, you know.'

  Daniel ignored them and gave me a sleazy grin. 'Mickey didn't tell me you were so gorgeous.'

  'Let's just say that Mickey doesn't really appreciate women the same way you do,' I said.

  'Nor did he say you were so ...' He looked at my double D's. 'It'd be great to watch you running on the field.' Oh god, was this fella for real?

  Even while he was trying to chat me up, he had one eye on another woman across the bar. He saw me see him checking her out.

  'Don't mind me, I've got a lazy eye. It wanders sometimes.' He must've thought I was an idiot to give me such a lie.

  'There doesn't seem to be anything lazy about your eyes at all, Daniel.'

  I wanted a one-woman man – make that one-Alice man – so I finished my drink, took Daniel's number – at his insistence – and left with no aspirations at all of joining the team.

  seven

  Mr Moonwalker

  Daniel didn't really count as a blind date, he was just a way to test the waters, to get out there and give it a go. The experience made it clear to me that Mickey wasn't the best person to ask for assistance in setting up blind dates with straight men. He just didn't know anyone suitable. Onto Phase I, Step II: blind dates with friends of friends.