Not Meeting Mr Right

by Anita Heiss

  'Moornniinnng, Missy ... oops, didn't interrupt anything did I? I see you've got your lucky undies on. Should I come back?' she asked, knowing full well that I was there by myself – I wouldn't have answered the door otherwise.

  'Very funny Peta. What the hell are you doing up so early on Sunday morning? Piss the bed or what? And how did you know these were my lucky undies?'

  'Just went for a run and thought I'd bring a juice and some good news to my friend. I was with you when you did that big shop for sexy underwear when you thought that surfer-dude was 'the one', remember? What was his name? Julian?'

  'Jason.'

  'Yeah, Jason, the left boob guy.'

  'So what's your good news?'

  'Saw Pauly yesterday at the pub. Gave a rave 'bout you, told him how smart, sexy and staunch you are. Didn't even need to suggest you guys go on a date. He asked me for your number straight away. I gave him your mobile number. Is that okay?'

  'Absolutely! And here's cheers to someone else seeing this underwear in future.' My hangover seemed a little easier to manage all of a sudden.

  We sat there for an hour while I milked as much information out of her as possible about my soon-tobe blind date. We both giggled like teenagers and she said, 'I have a good feeling about this, Missy. If he's not Mr Right, he's gotta be Mr Almost-Right. We just have to face the fact that sometimes that's the best you're gonna get.'

  I was so excited about the prospect of the date with Mr Almost-Right that I smiled, inside and out, and sighed a big Sunday morning sigh.

  I'd just started thinking about what to wear and where to go as the phone rang. I motioned for Peta to answer it, but she ignored me, and went out to the sunroom to read the paper.

  It was Liza, naturally.

  'You piss the bed too, Liza? Thought you'd be in bed at least till lunchtime.'

  'No way, I've got loads to do around the house, and some case notes to write up. Working for the ALS is a twenty-four/seven job, you know. Just thought I'd see how you were feeling.'

  In a sudden flashback, I had a vision of me kissing someone on the dance floor, and blurted out, 'I think I kissed that boy last night, Liza.'

  'Yeah, you rocked his boat all right – and his mate's.'

  'What?' I was horrified. 'Tell me you're joking, please.'

  'What's the drama? You looked really sexy and you were having a great time dancing. Everyone wanted to be near you. Hell, half the girls wanted to kiss you too at one stage.'

  'I'm not a lesbian, Liza. You know that don't you?' She thought I was a lesbian too!

  'You're such a drama queen sometimes, Alice. Noone thinks you're a lesbian. And no-one cares you pashed two boys. You're allowed to let your hair down occasionally. But I don't know that your behaviour falls within the strategy, does it?'

  I went into self-punishment mode straight away. Two decades of Catholic upbringing and sexual suppression made it easy for me to torture myself about my uncouth behaviour. Sure it was all right to kiss a boy or two or five when you were a teen, and even if you're a bit older, you can get away with it on New Year's Eve. Surely when you reached your late twenties, though, and you were a teacher at a Catholic school, and were supposed to act as a role model, you shouldn't behave like that anymore. By twenty-eight, you should be more refined and dignified – or at least a little more discreet.

  'But Liza, that boy was about twelve.' I felt sick. 'You might have to defend me in court!'

  'He was twenty-one, and he thought he was king of the castle smooching with you. Don't know about his mate, but just think of it as your community service to youth.'

  My mantra for the day would have to be: Don't worry about what you might have done yesterday, focus on what you can do tomorrow.

  nineteen

  Waiting for Paul to call

  It was a long week waiting for Peta's mate Paul to call. He didn't. I didn't turn my mobile off at all, but left it on silent when in class and in bed. I spent every recess and lunchbreak in the staff room, and even arrived early and left late just in case he'd lost my number and tried calling the school. My attendance was commented on more than once, and while I mightn't have been a good role model for my students, the principal seemed to think I was setting a great example for the teachers. If only they knew the truth.

  All week, though, the phone was strangely silent, and I was fearful that it wasn't working, or that perhaps I was somehow out of range. Or, maybe, just maybe, Mr Almost-Right wasn't that right after all. I didn't want to seem anxious, so I didn't contact Peta, thinking I'd only mention it if she asked.

  With only a couple of weeks until Christmas it was time to put the tree up and attempt to put some fairy lights in the windows. I dragged my pathetic three-foot green plastic tree from my linen press and stood it atop my coffee table in the living room window, overlooking the foot of Arden Street. I really wanted a new tree, but with the costs of Bianca's wedding sapping my funds, I'd have to make do with the no-frills number for another year.

  I'd bought decorations at the clearance sales last year, so at least I had new shiny purple and silver balls. Enough balls and a bit of tinsel strategically positioned and I wouldn't even see the tree underneath.

  It took me all of ten minutes to dress the tree, but almost an hour to hang the lights in the window. I'd failed year after year to get it right. I refused to ask Dad to help me after Mum's comments about looking after myself and not relying on him. I was determined that this year I'd be blinking along with the rest of the neighbourhood without his help. It was moments like these that I made a mental list of all the things a husband would be useful for: hanging fairy lights, changing the oil in the car, killing spiders and all those kinds of boy jobs.

  I always emphasise that I don't need a man, but there are definite reasons for wanting one around anyway.

  I wrapped a few presents and put them under the tree to add some more Christmas cheer, but I knew I was really just trying to keep busy as I waited for Paulthe- Engineer to call. 'You're an idiot,' I mumbled to myself. He didn't even have my home number, so why or even how would he ring me here? Why was it that Simple Simon was smart enough to look in the phone book but Paul-the-Engineer couldn't manage it?

  I concluded that all men were basically emotional cripples or completely illogical or both. Even though they didn't think like we did, they could at least be considerate enough to think like each other, so that there was some consistency to their irrational behaviour. Santa would be coming in less than four weeks and it was unlikely that I'd get anything like a man in my stockings. Strange thing was, until I'd set myself the thirtieth birthday deadline to get married, I was fairly happy with my single life. Now I seemed to be disappointed a lot and either waiting by the phone for it to ring, or in Simple Simon's case, not ring.

  I put on my bikini but it didn't make me feel at all sexy. How could I? I had my period and had been bleeding heavily for twelve hours straight. I felt completely bloated, and needed some sun to perk up my mood. Grabbing Linda Jaivin's Dead Sexy from my bookcase, I headed for the Ladies' Baths, where I'd have a good chance of bumping into Peta and a slight chance of seeing Liza, if she wasn't swimming at her usual Bondi spot.

  Two hours later, I'd started going a golden brown and had read almost all of my book. At least I now knew the sex life I could be having. Sex with firemen, sex involving scarves, handcuff s, stilettos and so on. I planned on dragging out my stilettos and scarves when I got home, keeping them on hand for my next night of passion. Assuming I'd have one eventually. Mental note to self: be sure and put them somewhere not likely to gather dust too easily. Then I took a dip, needing to cool off in more ways than one. The water was chilly, and I didn't even go under, just wet myself and lay back down for a while.

  As time passed I grew tired, and decided to ease myself off the steps into the rock pool for one last paddle before heading home for a nap and a night in front of the telly. Wading in, I saw arms waving and flapping about in the water in front of me. It was Peta.
/>
  'Well hello there, Missy ... how's ya been?' Peta was so positive and energetic at times it could be almost depressing.

  'I'm great!' I lied, with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. 'What about you? Haven't seen you all week.'

  'Yeah sis, been out bush working on a community education model for the department. Just got back this morning.' Peta was always travelling, meeting interesting people and seeing a lot of countryside, but she made a point of saying 'It's all work,' trying to convince us that she never had time to shop or sightsee.

  'Right. So what are you up to tonight? Thought I might see if Dannie can escape the kids and Liza will stop working long enough to watch a movie and share some food. Might throw some roo in the wok.' My body was screaming out for red meat.

  'You doing that "fusion" thing again, Alice?' Peta did the inverted commas hand gesture. 'What is it this time? Roo curry? Sweet and sour roo? No, no, no, let me guess – Mongolian roo?' She fell back in the water, laughing at her own joke.

  'Very funny. On second thoughts I might make Chilli Con Kanga. Yeah, and we can have margaritas to start.'

  'Sounds good. I'll bring some tequila and corn chips and see you round eight.' She splashed off without even a mention of Paul-the-Engineer and I felt like bursting into tears. I decided I'd ask her later that night, and headed for home, where I'd have to take some vitamin B6. Maybe there was a message waiting for me on the machine, I thought, and upped my pace. There wasn't.

  ***

  At seven pm I started to cook. I laughed out loud as I got the roo mince out of the fridge, recalling a conversation I'd had with Gabrielle a few weeks before.

  'Oh, I don't think I could eat Skippy.' She'd frowned at me when I invited her over for some roo and bok choy.

  'But don't you eat pork, Gab?' I was surprised at her immediate and definite refusal to eat my cooking.

  'Yes, of course, I love it!'

  'Well pigs roll around in mud and eat their own shit, don't they? How could you possibly have a problem with kangaroo?' I said matter-of-factly.

  Gabrielle chuckled, and said I was disgusting. Eating different things really was just a state of mind wasn't it? I loved roo, hunted it three times a week at the supermarket: it was low in fat, high in protein and really cheap. I often wondered what the checkout chicks thought as I went through the register with roo kebabs, mince and steaks alongside Lindt chocolate, cottage cheese, strawberries, ice-cream, tampons and Pantene. Did they see that women of all colours are united by the need for beauty products, good chocolate and high-protein foods?

  Eight o'clock on the dot and Peta was on the buzzer, tequila, corn chips and bag of lemons in hand – a hangover waiting to happen just standing in my doorway. Dannie and Liza were trudging up the stairs right behind her.

  'Hi there Missy, picked up a movie too. The Way We Were with Redford,' Peta said.

  'And Streisand,' Dannie panted. 'Know it?' She handed me the DVD.

  'Know it? It's my all-time fave movie,' I said.

  'Perfect choice,' Liza added enthusiastically. It had been months since all four of us had been together. Meeting at my place seemed to be the only time we ever managed it. We were all so busy.

  We finished the chilli and corn chips and had a couple of potent margaritas as we went, then sat back and soothed our chilli mouths with bowls of French vanilla ice-cream while we watched our movie.

  On screen, Barbara tried to make her passion for politics mesh with Robert's passion for himself. I cried at the end: Barbara was still fighting for her political causes and Robert was happily off with a nice young wife. Sometimes true love was simply not enough.

  Dannie reckoned she could see me in Streisand's character, Katie, which didn't help. With all Katie's passion, she still ended up without her man.

  'Do you reckon you could sweep aside politics for the love of a good man, Al?' Liza asked. It was a fair question. Had I reached the point at which I could give up my passion for politics to keep the man I loved? I wasn't quite sure.

  'I'd only really know if I met someone as gorgeous as Robert Redford, I guess.'

  'Closest thing you'd get to that round here is Robert Redfern!' Dannie was in her funny-girl mood.

  I couldn't wait any longer to ask Peta about Paul. 'Your mate, what's-his-name, Rob, John, Jack, Sid? Anyway, he hasn't called.' I was trying to be as casual as possible.

  'Paul,' she said.

  'Paul, yes, I knew it was a one-syllable name.' Trying to act semi-uninterested.

  'Who's Paul?' Liza and Dannie chorused.

  'He's a friend of mine,' Peta told them, then looked back at me. 'Sorry, I forgot to tell you – his grandmother's dog died on Monday and he went back to Newcastle to stay with her for a few days. She was really upset about it. I think he mentioned something about buying her a new dog. You know, to keep her company at night. She's all alone up there. He told me to tell you he'd call when he got back, which is tomorrow I think.'

  'Sounds promising, Alice! Just don't be pushy,' Dannie said.

  Liza quickly followed her lead: 'And don't expect too much on the first meeting.'

  Peta looked slyly at Dannie, then me. 'And before you ask, he's gorgeous.' I wasn't even listening to them. Of course Paul was with his grandmother, because that's the kind of gentle, caring and considerate guy he was. That was what made him so ... right. So Mr Right.

  I smiled. I hadn't been rejected, and there were still two outcomes possible: that we lived happily ever after, or that I rejected him.

  ***

  'Call for you, Alice!' Mickey had answered my mobile in the staff room as I made a cup of tea. My heart was pounding – it had to be Paul. Why now, why lunchtime, when everyone is here and will hear me sound like a teenager being asked to the school dance?

  'Thanks, Mickey, who is it?' I said, as though I wasn't expecting a call.

  Mickey covered the mouthpiece. 'Don't know, but he sure sounds cute.' Everyone suddenly stopped talking. There had been rumours for months that Mickey was gay, and most of the nuns and male teachers weren't at all happy about it. The principal had given a lecture about 'inappropriate, non-Christian behaviour' at an all-staff meeting recently, staring at Mickey and me the entire time. She had used the words 'promiscuous' and 'alternative lifestyles' a lot. So much for Christian tolerance.

  I grabbed the phone, took a deep breath and said calmly, 'Alice Aigner.' Clear, non-warbled, confident. Nice work, I mentally congratulated myself.

  'Hi, it's Peta's friend, Paul.'

  'Oh, hi Paul. Peta told me about your grandmother losing her dog. I hope she's feeling brighter.' I was cruising through the conversation.

  'Yes thanks, she's fine. I bought her a little black Scottish terrier and she's happy as Larry, as they say. Anyway, I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner with me this Friday, if you're not already busy. I understand it's close to Christmas and you've probably got a million invitations—'

  'No I haven't,' I cut in, 'I mean, I have nothing on this Friday. I'd love to have dinner with you.'

  'Great, I'll call you Friday to organise where to pick you up and I'll book a table for eight o'clock. By the way, do you like seafood?'

  'I love seafood, Paul.'

  I spent the rest of the day analysing word by word, sentence by sentence, everything Paul-the-Engineer had said in our two-minute phone call. He'd bought his grandmother a black dog. Black rather than white, that was a good sign, I thought.

  He had invited me to dinner on a Friday night, too – it was a very positive sign. A lunch invitation is good, but a dinner invitation is much better. Dinner means a serious invite. A date on a Friday is a really serious date, much more serious than dinner on a Tuesday or Wednesday. He didn't say Thursday, because it's payday – not like Simple Simon. Yes, it was certainly looking good.