Avoiding Mr Right

by Anita Heiss

  'I am Erik,' he says, and kisses my hand, as if to say, We Viennese are very chivalrous. I want to ask if he's Viennese from Iluka but I can't speak, as the Ferris wheel is going around and around, and my head is spinning and the lights of the city are beautiful and Timmy-Erik leans into me, and I feel a hot rush, and he says 'I eat you,' which I think is incredibly forward even for a chivalrous Viennese, but not for a drummer.

  'Um, excuse me?' I'm not sure I've heard him correctly.

  'I eat you,' he repeats.

  'Oh,' I sigh, not sure if he means there and then or for dinner or later, and I must look confused, because he says, 'Is it wrong? When someone looks sweet enough to eat, you say, "I eat you", no?'

  'Where I come from that phrase means something very, um, personal.' And I can feel my face is hot and red – even for a Blackfella the blushing is noticeable.

  'Oh, I am sorry. Please, tell me what it means where you come from. I want to learn the cultures of other people.'

  I don't think cunnilingus is a word that he will know in English, and it's not the kind of word that comes out easily for me either, let alone with a complete stranger, but the situation needs some clarity, and it's only a dream, so I'm safe to do whatever I want. I lean in close to his ear and gently touch the lobe with my tongue and say, 'It means doing this . . .', and I grab his hand and slide it up my skirt, 'Down here.'

  'Oh,' he says, 'I like your meaning much better.'

  'Mmmmm, me too,' I moan.

  ♥

  Alice looked great, and there was only the tiniest bump on Dannie's belly. They both had huge fascinators on, and I couldn't help touching them constantly like a naughty child. At the racetrack we met up with Josie, who was frocked up like the prissiest girl I'd ever seen, and even Sylvia had traded the kohl eyes for spring colours. The boys were all decked out in suits and looked very handsome. I wore my soft pink silk dress and black hat with matching pink flowers.

  'You look like Rachel Berger,' George said.

  'Yes, apparently I do.' And as he walked off and I stood there watching a race, a woman came bouncing up.

  'Rachel? Rachel Berger?' I'd had just about enough of being mistaken for Rachel Berger. I'd never even heard of her before I moved to Melbourne. I watched Josie high five George like a bloke at hearing the comment, as if they were old mates, and so I just said, 'Yes, sorry, do we know each other?'

  'Oh no, I just love your work is all. I've read Whaddya Mean You're Allergic to Rubber?'

  'Oh, great, I hope you liked it,' I said, thinking that I had just made myself a comedian and an author in one fraudulent swoop, and that I was getting myself into some serious illegal shit.

  'Oh, my sister is going to be so disappointed she didn't get to meet you. But hey, I'll get my friends!' She went to turn around but I grabbed her as quickly as I could.

  'Actually, I'm trying to have a quiet day here with my friends watching the races.' I looked at Josie, who was motioning that the Berger fan was a hottie. Sylvia was just shaking her head in disbelief, and Dannie was busy fixing Alice's fascinator.

  'Of course, of course, I completely understand. Nice meeting you.'

  As she walked off the race began and the crowd went crazy. The boys and Sylvia started hollering. Alice and Dannie were jumping as high as their heels would allow them on the grass, and Josie was standing next to me trying to read the numbers on all her tickets and the numbers on the horses at the same time. She'd had too many already.

  'And coming round the bend is Chaotic Camilla followed closely by Chuck's Revenge, but closing in on both of them is Piccaninny.'

  'Did he just say Piccaninny?' I asked angrily.

  'I thought he said Truganini,' Josie slurred.

  'Don't be ridiculous – it's the Melbourne Cup, not the Tasmanian Cup.'

  'And Royal Rudd looks like he has taken out the honours today, ladies and gentleman, followed closely by Green Principles and Democratic Desires. As soon as Howard's End crosses the line, we'll have the photo finish to confirm the placings.'

  Some people were cheering and hugging each other, while others were throwing the losing tickets on the ground. The Rachel fan appeared again and said, 'I just wanted to say what an honour it was to watch the Melbourne Cup with Rachel Berger,' and shook my hand earnestly. When she walked off I felt incredibly guilty and said to Josie, 'I have to tell her, I can't let her think I'm Rachel Berger.'

  'You can't tell her now – she'll feel like a fool and you'll look like an utter bitch.'

  'But I am a bitch.'

  'Yes you are, but we like you. Let's go home. I've had enough, and it looks like you have too,' Josie said, linking arms with me in an attempt to keep us both balanced.

  'Are you hitting on me?'

  'No, I don't sleep with drunk women, it's highly unattractive.'

  'So I'm a bitch and unattractive.'

  'I don't know why you're worried about trying to be celibate or faithful or whatever it is you reckon you're doing. You're such hard work I reckon most men would give up on you pretty quickly anyway.'

  ♥

  Shelley was still out partying when I got home, but there was a note stuck to the fridge:

  Cousin Joe dropped in some croc-cakes. They're for the first drunken dame to find them. Hope you backed a winner! Shelley xxx

  As the first drunken dame home I had the croc-cakes for dinner. Microwaving bush tucker was a bit sacrilegious but it didn't stop me doing it, or enjoying Joe's gift.

  After eating I ran a hot bath, lit some candles and soaked my weary feet, unused to standing in expensive high shoes for any length of time. My calves were burning too, and by eight pm the hangover had begun to set in.

  While I soaked and listened to the sounds of Sharnee Fenwick singing 'Kiss That Boy', I thought about how nice it would be to kiss a boy right then, but I suddenly remembered what Josie had said about me being hard work, and started to think that perhaps no-one would ever want to kiss me again. Did James think I was hard work or high maintenance? Was that why he hadn't come down this weekend? Maybe I was hard work. I didn't think so, but I hadn't heard from Mike for some weeks, either, so perhaps I was too much hard work even as a friend.

  I lay there with my eyes closed and thought that perhaps I needed to make more of an effort. Since moving to Melbourne I'd become stressed, uptight and lost my sense of fun. Back at home I'd been a party girl without a care in the world, an easygoing, reliable friend. I made an effort to channel the old Peta, and sent James a text:

  Hi darl, did u hava win 2day. R U free 4 yarn? Px

  I waited for ten minutes and there was no response, which was unlike James, so I called and got his voicemail. I didn't leave a message – I didn't want to seem too desperate and I was convinced he'd hear a slur in my words, which wouldn't impress him.

  I sent a text to Mike next, just for the sake of it:

  Happy Melbin Cup. Did u hava win? Peta

  He texted back immediately:

  Back at ya. No gamblin means no losin. On duty, call u 2moro?

  I liked Mike's mantra about no losing. I sent a simple text back:

  Good motto. And OK.

  When I went to bed that night, James still hadn't responded to my message.

  thirty-eight

  A day at the Guggenheim

  and the gardens

  Mike called as promised and we met that afternoon at the NGV. It was a work day, but I'd decided to take the afternoon off and call it professional development: it was one of the perks of the job. As I walked down Collins Street I just couldn't figure Mike out. He was a cop with terrible pick-up lines, but he had a sense of culture too. There he was taking me to the Guggenheim exhibit and I hadn't even mentioned that I wanted to see it.

  I saw Mike standing at the information desk before he caught a glimpse of me. He had a proud stance about him, even when he wasn't in uniform.

  'Hi there, babycakes,' he said, planting a kiss on my cheek.

  'Peta will suffice, Constable Care.'
r />   'Oh, let's be formal then. Here's your ticket, Ms Tully.' He handed me my ticket and led me towards the gallery space.

  'But—'

  'But nothing, I think a friend can shout a friend to an exhibition.' He winked at me and I didn't have the heart to tell him I could get free entry because of my job.

  As I walked through the collection I found it increasingly difficult to justify the money spent on some aspects of the arts. One 'Untitled' piece was simply yellow and green fluorescent lights. Eight orange cubes stacked on and around each other were also 'Untitled'.

  'I've got a title for them,' Mike said, looking at the cubes.

  'Me too.'

  'Eight Cubes,' we both said simultaneously and roared with laughter until the security guard started to make his way over to us.

  The portable wooden shed sitting on a platform and titled Floating Room was better than any Blackfella demountable I'd ever seen, while Pink Corner Piece, with two pieces of pink elastic cord stretched across a corner of the room, had us both asking the question, 'Why?' It was obvious that Mike and I had the same opinion of some objects in the collection. It was fine for Mike as a policeman, but for someone working in arts policy it was a bit of a concern.

  'I'm over this, you hungry?' Mike asked, looking me straight in the eye and rubbing his belly.

  'Me too, and yes I am.'

  'Right, I've got it covered – my car's parked in the Botanical Gardens.' He ushered me out with his hand just under my elbow, like he was protecting me.

  Mike had a canary-yellow Ford Festiva that made me laugh out loud.

  'What? You don't like my little tulip? I love this car, so don't make fun of it.' He ran his hand along the length of it as if stroking a prized racehorse.

  'It's just that it's not the kind of car I expected the tall, rugged policeman would drive is all.'

  'Like I said, I love this car. It reminds me of my grandmother, she liked tulips. Now, I've packed us a picnic.' And he opened the boot to a picnic basket with breadsticks and utensils and an esky with cheeses, cold meats and light beers.

  'Wow! You're so organised – I'm impressed.'

  'Thanks – again, growing up with two sisters trained me well.'

  We sat and ate the food Mike had prepared, both hungry from looking at artwork we didn't understand. The afternoon sun was hot and I could feel sweat beading on my brow; not even the beer could cool me down. Mike took his shirt off and lay down next to me on the picnic rug. I immediately noticed a scar on his left shoulder.

  'It's a bullet wound,' he said, as if he knew what I was wondering.

  'Shit.'

  'Oh, it's nothing, no real damage. A bank hold-up gone wrong is all.' He was blasé about it.

  'Does it hurt?'

  'Nah, it's from five years ago. Don't really think about it any more. And you shouldn't either.'

  'I don't think I could date a guy who was at risk of being shot every day.'

  'Lucky we're "just friends", then.' He did the quotation signs with his fingers. 'Anyway, I've only been hurt twice on the job in five years. Once was this bullet, which didn't do any real damage, and the other was walking into a spider web that went in my eye and caused an infection. I had more time off work for the spider web incident than the bloody bullet. Most days it's just a few tumbles. The bad stuff is rare – that's why you see it on the news.'

  'Okay, if you say so.'

  'I should drive you home, I'm on night shift tonight. Come on, sweet pea.'

  'Can you not call me sweet pea, please? I really hate it.'

  'Why?'

  'I just don't like it. That's all.'

  'You're a strange one, but I like you, babycakes.'

  'No flowers or vegetables or other foods, okay? And especially not foods as fattening as cake! Peta will do fine.'

  He laughed as he offered me a hand to help me off the ground.

  ♥

  I thought about Mike too much that night and the thoughts became torturous. Was there a chance that I was just being love fickle because Mike was available and clearly dug me?

  The problem doing my head and heart in was that I was starting to like Mike, but I knew it simply couldn't go anywhere. I was in a relationship with James and would be going home soon. And at the end of the day Mike was still a cop, I was still a Blackfella. But at least I didn't feel that he was too cute for me. Not like the drummer. Mike had a different kind of look. He was a nice guy: casual and sexy rather than cute. I didn't think he'd be surrounded by bikini models or groupies. And he wasn't too laid-back or too cool either, he was completely the opposite. Right in your face Mike, with those ridiculously funny pick-up lines, who called when he said he would. Reliable Mike, that's who he was.

  thirty-nine

  The World Famous

  Fat Bastard Burger

  Mike called me twice the next day but I just let it go to voicemail. I was behaving appallingly, like a bastard guy, but even though I beat myself up for not taking his calls I didn't do anything to remedy the situation. What could I do anyway?

  He didn't call me the next day, or the next day. A week passed and we hadn't spoken.

  Then my period was late. I counted back to the last time I'd seen James and realised that I hadn't had sex since August. I'd had a period since so it was unlikely I was pregnant, but it wasn't impossible, and I started to think for the first time about children. The last time I'd checked I didn't want kids, but spending time with Maya and Will, I'd started wondering if it just might actually be nice to have a baby. Anyway, kids would look after me when I got old.

  I still wasn't convinced about marriage, but if I had kids I'd want to be married. Truth be known I had gained some inspiration from Alice's parents. I knew that a family structure was what kids needed. But with my genes, I'd end up a single mother on a bloody pension for sure, even though I'd never had a handout in my life. I decided it was pointless thinking about being pregnant, but for some reason convinced myself I was having cravings. That was one advantage of being pregnant, anyway: you could eat anything you wanted for nine months and not feel guilty.

  I took myself and my imaginary cravings to Greasy Joe's down at St Kilda and sat outside. I knew it wasn't morning sickness I felt – just a hangover from the two bottles of wine Shelley and I polished off watching videos the night before. I was tempted by everything on the menu, but ordered the 'World Famous Fat Bastard Burger' with triple cheese, triple beef and triple bacon. As I bit into it I imagined Sylvia totally freaking out at all the animals I was consuming with every chew. There was music blaring and it hurt my head, but I didn't say anything as I'd already been warned in the menu: 'If the music is too loud . . . tough!'

  I chewed slowly and watched a dog lapping water from a bowl at its owner's feet. I still couldn't understand why or how dogs had become part of Australian eating-out etiquette. I heard screams from the roller-coaster at Luna Park, and the caw-cawing of seagulls. I saw the street sign to Thomas's gallery and my heart sunk a little. I'd really stuffed up over the past nine months. Technically I'd been celibate, but James would be devastated if he knew how much time I'd spent with other men. I was starting to feel guilty about everything, even the massive burger I'd just ordered.