Not Meeting Mr Right

by Anita Heiss

  I wrote it up in my journal when I got home: 'At least it was a night out with straight male company.' Yeah, but at what cost to my dignity and wallet?

  Aria had been right. I shouldn't have travelled so far from home. Somewhere between Coogee and Newtown I'd gone from having some dignity to almost none.

  ***

  On Monday I got a curt email from Dannie:

  Alice, sometimes I think you really are sabotaging your own happiness. There are decent men around you, kind, caring, faithful and funny; politically and environmentally sound. The way you treated Charlie on Saturday makes you seem, well, a bitch. And no-one wants to date a bitch. I know you're not really a bitch. But you don't even give men a chance to get to know you properly. That, my friend, is why you're single. And I say this out of love, you know that. Dannie

  I cringed with shame at the truth in her words. I didn't respond and Dannie and I never spoke about Charlie again. We actually didn't speak at all for a couple of weeks, which was odd for us. And I felt bad. Friendships like ours shouldn't be lost over bad skin – even if potential husbands could be.

  nine

  Looking via the mobile network

  Mickey, Gabrielle and Dannie had failed me, but Liza hung in there, trying desperately to palm me off on one of her relatives. Uncles, cousins, second cousins, third cousins, the suggestions never seemed to end. She came from a big Italian family and often joked about how it would be great if I married into it. They had huge weddings, if nothing else. On top of that, she reminded me, most of the men in her family were great cooks.

  Liza was adamant that I should meet her cousin Marco, who'd just returned from Italy and was working in an exporting business. (I wondered if he'd met Cliff at all.)

  'He's gorgeous, and I know he would love you. Just have a coffee with him. He fits most of the criteria you've got scribbled all over those bits of paper on your fridge. I just know you'll hit it off.'

  'I'm trying to give up coffee and I'm not interested in meeting Marco. I already have a strategy in place that I'm supposed to be following, remember?'

  'I don't recall not dating Liza's family being on that list.'

  'It is now!' After dating Dannie's cousin and the stress it had caused between us, I didn't want to risk it with Liza as well. I'd come across as abrupt, though, and hated myself for it. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt Liza's feelings when she was trying to help me meet my Mr Right, but she'd had years of dealing with me being gruff, and bounced back quickly.

  It was dusk. We were sitting at a table on the footpath outside Barzura, a restaurant overlooking Coogee Beach. Liza's phone beeped, interrupting our conversation. It was a text message from someone in her basketball team. She was the manager of a men's amateur team in the western suburbs, but didn't talk about it much. It was something she did out of obligation really, having started years ago when she'd had more time. She was too nice to just quit now. Didn't want to let anyone down, because that's the kind of girl Liza was. Several years ago she'd admitted to me that she first got involved so she could meet men, after being advised that the best way to a man's heart was through 'sport, stomach and sex', in that order. Liza claimed her experience proved that theory wrong: she said the more she got into sport, the hungrier she was, the more she ate and the more weight she put on, making her feel less attractive; she ended up having less sex rather than more.

  'That was Shaun.' Liza had a wicked look in her eye. 'And you know what? He might be a good date for you. Who knows, Mr Right even.'

  'Tell me more.' I could feel a wicked smile starting on my own face.

  'He's your age and single. A bit of a lad, but not like Mickey's cousin Daniel. He's actually very respectful and kind. He's the only one on the team who asks if I'd like a drink after the game. You should just send him a message for fun and see where it goes.'

  'What? You mean set up a date? You know I can't ask a bloke out, not straight up like that. I'm not that desperate.' Of course we both knew I was, but Liza let me pretend I was still the sought after, not the seeker.

  'So, it's okay for you not to seem desperate, but have your friends act desperate on your behalf? I just want to be clear about it!' Liza laughed and sipped her wine.

  'Well, yes.' It was completely ridiculous and, some might say, irrational. She knew it and so did I, but the whole blind date thing was bad enough without me actually having to ask out men I didn't even know.

  I suddenly wondered why Liza hadn't set me up with someone from the team before. There must've been at least a dozen men to choose from. Take the married ones and young ones out, and there'd still have to be at least a couple to choose from. Fit men. Tall men. Sydney men. Most likely straight men. Hot, sweaty, sexy men!

  'Come to think of it, Liza, why haven't you set me up with one of them before?' And why was she doing it now?

  'It would be unethical to use my position to suss out people's relationship information. I'd also have needed your consent to pass on your details to them as well.'

  'You have my consent now.'

  'I'll give him your number, then.' Liza looked around, trying to catch the waiter's eye.

  'Do it now,' I said.

  'What? Can't we order first?'

  'Do it now and do it often. That's the approach I'd like you to take when you're helping me with the strategy, okay?'

  'Except when it comes to my family, right?' Liza knew how to make her point strong and clear, but she did it without any drama. She didn't even look up at me when she spoke. She punched a few keys on her phone and sent a message.

  'That oughta do it. If I know him, he'll be back to you in no time. Can we order now?'

  The young Italian waiter took our orders, refreshed our glasses of verdelho and left a basket of bread on the table. We both lunged for a piece, starving.

  'Liza, why haven't you dated anyone on the team?' I was concerned that she'd set me up with a guy she wouldn't go out with herself.

  'Alice,' she explained patiently, 'I'm the manager, and it's just not kosher to date the team members. Anyway, this mightn't even end up in a date, you know, it's just to take your mind off all the womanisers and hula dancers you've dealt with so far, and to give you some fun. The whole thing seems to have become an obsession, and you need to lighten up.' She was right. It had become an obsession. Setting a deadline, developing a strategy, risking my friendships – and all in the name of finding myself a husband by my thirtieth birthday. Was it too much? I wasn't sure. But my thirtieth birthday was now only nineteen months and six days away.

  Another young waiter arrived – English this time, a backpacker, I assumed – and put our meals on the table: mine salmon and spinach, Liza's a massive bowl of pasta, which she dived into as though she hadn't eaten for a week. I'd always admired Liza's metabolism. She only had a small frame but she could pack it away, eating masses of carbs but never putting on weight, despite what she said.

  I noticed a good-looking guy at a table inside the restaurant. He looked familiar, but I couldn't place him. I must have seen him at the Cushion Bar. It was like seeing a Blackfella walking down the street, giving that nod or raised eyebrow in recognition of belonging to an exclusive club, even though you'd never met. Same for the regulars at Cushion. I smiled at him across the restaurant, hoping I didn't have any baby spinach in my teeth, assuming that he was also wondering why I looked familiar. He was wearing a funky navy and white Mambo shirt, and when he stood to greet someone, it accentuated his slim waist and broad shoulders. He was actually very, very sexy. Mental note to self: keep an eye out for Shirt Guy at the Cushion. Then my phone beeped. Checking, I saw an unfamiliar number: it was probably Shaun. Shirt Guy disappeared from my thoughts.

  Hello. Liza said I should contact you. Why?

  Shaun's first text message almost stumped me and then I remembered my mantra.

  Because I'm daunting and desirable.

  And clearly confident while under the influence of alcohol.

  The SMS dialogue between S
haun and I went back and forth for the next three hours. Liza and I ordered more food, more wine, dessert, coffees. I didn't even think about how much we were spending, or what my phone bill would look like either. Thank goodness I'd signed on for one of those capped plans and could spend up to $500 – I'd need it if my dating habits were going to be like this. I regarded the exchange as an investment in my future wedded happiness. As the night wore on, though, what started as innocent flirtation became somewhat sleazy. I asked Shaun what he was reading, a safe question, I thought, and the answer would give me some insight into his character. His response?

  The Karma Sutra!

  What was I supposed to do with that? 'Do you think he's serious?' I asked Liza, a little unnerved. I motioned for her to fill my glass again.

  'You're a puritan, Alice. It's a great answer.'

  Texting was a dangerous form of communication. Dillon had once told me that no matter what you said in a text message, a man would read it as meaning sex. 'Even if I just said "Do you want to see a movie?" ' 'Even if you sent the word fish,' was his answer. I thought I should be sensible and choose my words carefully.

  Good book?

  Was that the best I could come up with?

  Shaun didn't respond for some time, and I was grateful, as things were moving into territory I wasn't overly comfortable with. A couple of cocktails at Cushion Bar later that night helped me relax, though. I looked for Shirt Guy, but didn't see him. Maybe he wasn't a Cushion regular after all. But where did I know him from then? He had looked so familiar – and hot.

  I was home by eleven-thirty. At quarter to twelve I had one final SMS from Shaun, asking what my favourite sexual position was. Prudish Alice appeared immediately. I went to bed without texting him back, but actually thinking of my favourite position and, for some reason, Shirt Guy. God, had I kissed him drunk one night? Perhaps that's why he looked familiar. If so, where? When? I drifted into slumber with a smile on my face.

  ***

  The next day I hit Bondi Junction. My wardrobe was in need of a summer clothing injection. I bought a black dress with a slightly Spanish hemline, some black strappy heels, a black silk skirt and a red top. By five o'clock I was exhausted and so was my credit limit, so I decided to spend the evening in with a movie and some chocolate. No sooner had I settled in than my phone beeped with a message. It was him, the SMS guy, the basketballer, the Karma Sutra man, the STALKER!

  How are you, Al?

  He was being familiar, calling me Al. I panicked, not sure why he had sent me a message. It was over. Surely he knew that. I hadn't responded to his last text. That meant, at least in my books, hasta la vista, baby! We'd had a few hours of flirting and that was it. Why was he still contacting me? Weirdo. It was my fault. I'd started it. It was meant to just be a little bit of fun during dinner – maybe something that would help me find a husband, or maybe just a date. Now this guy thought I was a skanky ho who picked up blokes over SMS and just wanted a shag.

  What if he wanted to meet me? What if he was an axe-murderer? All of a sudden I was scared of a bloke who'd already been given a character reference by my dearest friend! Where was my commitment to my future happiness now? What about that wedding before my thirtieth birthday? Why was I panicking over a bloody text message from someone who'd never seen me and didn't know where I lived? He'd just asked how I was.

  I rang Liza and she laughed at me.

  'Shaun's harmless. What are you afraid of? Text him back or don't, but stop being so weird.' She was right. I was being weird. I wanted to date, she pointed out. I wanted to get laid. I wanted to get married. I'd asked her for her help. I'd made her contact this guy as part of my strategy. 'Do it now. Those were your exact words, Alice. Do it now and do it often. Do you remember?'

  Liza was in lawyer mode; it was her way of telling me that she was only just tolerating my pain-in-thearse behaviour. It gave me the shits, but I knew she was a good friend.

  After I'd spoken to Liza, I walked into the kitchen and looked at the lists on the fridge. Just as I thought, there it was, written in purple texta: 'BE OPEN TO ALL OPPORTUNITIES.' That included SMS-Shaun. But how could I tell my grandchildren I met their grandfather via a text message? It just didn't feel right; in fact, it felt really, really wrong, but I sent a reply anyway.

  Had a great day, staying in tonight, very tired.

  I was sure that would put him off ; he'd think I was a loser, staying in on Saturday night.

  Where's in?

  He wanted to know where I lived. He was a stalker! Shit!

  Eastern suburbs.

  That should be enough.

  I'm in Villawood.

  Did he mean in Villawood? Surely not. Liza hadn't mentioned anything about a refugee basketball team, but she had been doing pro bono work for some asylum seekers. Now I was being stupid – of course he didn't live in an immigration detention centre. I didn't respond. I was glad there was distance between Coogee and Villawood. Could westie meet waxhead ever work anyway? It seemed to be working out for Bianca and Ben. They were engaged, soon to be married, and seemed likely to live happily ever after, but I couldn't see it working for me. I turned my phone off for the night, and thought briefly about having the number changed.

  ten

  Possibly the worst date ever!

  Sunday morning was overcast and I was glad. It meant I could stay in bed and read, drink tea and enjoy the mellow sounds of Vika and Linda's Love is Mighty Close down low on my stereo. I couldn't help thinking that it wasn't close enough, because I was lying in bed alone. Still, I was happy. Life was pretty good. I stared out the window and looked at the choppy ocean and a few boardriders trying their luck. I smiled briefly as I imagined a couple of backpackers drowning in the whitewash, then slapped myself for enjoying such nasty thoughts.

  My mobile beeped and my heart skipped a beat, but it was just Peta wanting to know if I was laying around like a slug or if I might be up for a coastal walk. I got dressed straight away, and headed off to meet her.

  ***

  Peta was waiting for me near the Bali bombing memorial on the headland. I could feel the southerly coming up, already bringing summer heatwave relief. It didn't usually arrive until late afternoon. Peta's hair was flying all about the place. We paused at the memorial for a moment and looked out to sea.

  'I've got a surprise for you.' Peta was excited, and it was infectious. I like surprises.

  'What is it?'

  'I got some free tickets to that play you've been going on and on about.'

  'What? The one with Marcus Graham about interracial relationships?

  'That's the one,' said Peta.

  'The one where he gets completely in the nick? How? When? How much do I owe you?' The thought of seeing Marcus in the flesh was so exciting I nearly peed myself. 'I've always thought I'd make a great reconciliation project for Marcus,' I said.

  Peta laughed at me. 'You'd be doing it for the cause, right? Facilitating harmony between Black and white? That's what we need, a good Black woman like you with someone gorgeous like Marcus Graham.'

  I could breed with a Black man, but we needed to unite with the whiteman as well. It would help water down the white race.

  'It only takes one Black parent to make a few Black kids,' I said. 'I'd do it for my people. Anyway, how much do I owe you?'

  'You don't owe me anything. It's a gift from me to you. It's this Friday, are you free?'

  'Of course. Should we have dinner and a few bevvies first?'

  'Sorry darl, I can't go, but I've lined up someone to take you. Bit of help with the strategy.'