Avoiding Mr Right

by Anita Heiss

  'The waiter told me that guy's pissed off because his wife's having an affair with someone who used to work here – high drama for lunchtime, eh?' I said.

  'Really? Do you believe that?' Mike went back to reading the menu as if nothing had happened.

  'Yes, why wouldn't I?'

  'A man who just found out his wife was having an affair would have been in there looking for the man who was shagging his wife. Why was he yelling about drugs, that's what I want to know. I won't ruin your birthday lunch by following it up now. I've called his details into the station, so I can check out the claims he made later and write a report this afternoon.'

  'Can I get you a drink on the house, signorina?' The waiter was back, looking at my already empty glass.

  'Vino. Bianco, grazie.' All of a sudden I spoke Italian too and I could order wine. It arrived with our bruschetta napolitano and carpaccio della casa and our meal finally began.

  Just as our calamari was served four men in suits walked up to the entrance of the restaurant and my heart started to race – to my untrained eye they looked like drug dealers, the famous Melbourne's underworld, coming to eat lunch and make deals and plan cement shoes, right near my table.

  'Don't turn around,' I whispered, which of course made Mike turn around immediately, which I didn't think was policeman-like at all.

  'Oh my God, they're in black suits and everything. They must be,' and I lowered my voice, 'drug dealers.'

  'God, you make me laugh, the way you stereotype people. Haven't you noticed that everyone in Melbourne wears black, except you and me?' And he was right: Mike was always in blue jeans and a coloured shirt.

  I wasn't convinced they weren't bad guys but I let it go, as Mike started writing on the paper covering the table.

  'What are you doing?' I was giggly after just one drink.

  'I'm writing down the only phrase you'll need in Italian, for today anyway.'

  'How do you even know any Italian? Do they teach it at the police academy?'

  'I'm not sure if you're being a smart-arse so I'll ignore that last comment, okay?'

  'Okay.' I giggled some more.

  'Remember my tulip grandmother? The one my gorgeous yellow car reminds me of?'

  'Oh, how could I forget?'

  'Well, her second husband was Italian and he taught her and she taught me. We only ever spoke Italian when I visited there. I really miss her, she died a couple of years ago,' he said, without looking up from the paper tablecloth he was still writing on. 'So I like coming here just so I can practise. There.' Mike put his pen down and smiled broadly. I was gobsmacked. Constable Care was also bilingual.

  'Io sono Australiana e non parlo Italiano,' I read. 'Is that right? What's it mean?'

  'Have a guess,' Mike said.

  'I'm Australian and I don't speak Italian?'

  'Brava, signorina. You are correct.'

  I practised on the waiter when he returned. 'Io sono Australiana e non parlo Italiano.' Fabio was impressed.

  'That is very good Italian for someone who doesn't speak the language. What other Italian don't you speak, signorina?'

  'None!' I laughed.

  'That is such a shame! I could teach you Italian properly, and you know you could pass as Italian,' he said to me. 'Perhaps Sicilian.' He was flirting with me, but Mike just chuckled.

  'Are you interested, signorina?'

  What could I say? It would be rude to say no, and some Italian lessons would be great.

  'Here is your first lesson. You say sono interessata if you are interested. And non sono interessata if you are not interested. But I think you need to also learn to say interessante.'

  'Which means?'

  'It means you are interesting.' I liked Fabio.

  'Yes, she is,' Mike said, with a tone of ownership over the signorina. Fabio smiled and walked away, and we enjoyed the rest of our meal uninterrupted.

  ♥

  Cousin Joe had baked me a beautiful birthday cake with wattle seed cream in the middle and Aunt had decorated the kitchen with balloons and streamers, mainly for Will and Maya's benefit. They had so much fun blowing the candles out. We kept lighting and relighting them again and again, and by the time they were done the icing had just about melted. I couldn't recall ever having a party like this as I grew up. Mum never made me a birthday cake, it was always shop bought. Having photos with the kids and Aunt overwhelmed me a little – it was one of the most moving birthday moments I could remember ever having. I looked at my aunt: she was completely different to my mum and I wondered how they could be sisters.

  'Can I ask you something, Aunt?'

  'Of course, but I mightn't have the answer.'

  'Well, an opinion will do. When do you know you're supposed to get married?'

  'Oh, that's a hard one, daught, it's different for everyone. Sometimes you feel it in your belly, sometimes you know as soon as you meet the person. Sometimes it's just easier knowing who not to marry.' How much did she know, I wondered. I hadn't really talked to her about James at all during my stay in Melbourne and, unlike my mum the neighbourhood gossip, she never pried for information.

  'I tell you what I've come to know from looking at women around me, and not just my age but women of all ages, and that is that most women don't usually end up with the loves of their lives.'

  'Really? That's sad. I mean, isn't that the person you should marry?'

  'Yes, of course it is. But most women marry the man who will make a good husband and father and provide a lifestyle for them all. If you can find the man who can give you that and is also the love of your life, then you're one in a million.'

  'And what about marrying your soul mate?'

  'Well, if you meet your soul mate, dear girl, then you'll have the good husband and father and lifestyle because it will fall into place. And boy we will have a humdinger of a wedding. You can have it here in the backyard if you like.' I loved my aunt so much at that moment; she was so down to earth. No bullshit at all.

  'Oh, I've gotta go meet the girls, Aunt. Thanks so much for the cake and the words of wisdom. You should have a column in the Koori Mail so we could write in and you could solve our relationship woes.'

  'Oh, can't be givin' all my secrets away now, can I – I'll never get another date!'

  Joe kindly drove me to the Prince to meet Sylvia and Josie on his way to cater a function at Albert Park.

  ♥

  By seven o'clock we were all pretty trashy, but having a great time. It was my birthday and I would get drunk if I wanted to. I started talking to a couple of Koori musicians, Warren and Jason, and their manager Rob, a rather odd, snobby bloke. Rob's only conversation was the boys or talking about other bands. When he did attempt to make small talk it was a disaster.

  'So what do you do, love?' he asked me.

  'I'm the National Aboriginal Policy Manager for DOMSARIA,' I said reluctantly. I didn't want to talk shop on my birthday, but I needn't have worried because being a public servant didn't impress Rob at all. He just responded, 'Right,' and with that he turned around and started talking to Jason again.

  'Well, that was a conversation killer that one,' I said to Warren, who looked embarrassed at how rude his manager had been. 'What's his problem? Here's my card anyway, because there may actually be something that I can do for you fellas through my job.' Warren read it and nodded with approval. 'When I'm not here you might want to pass it on to your snobby boss.'

  'Yeah, sorry bout him, there's this bullshit A-circle in Melbourne.'

  'A-circle? Is that "A" for Aborigine?' I joked.

  'You wish. It's the A-list for top dogs, and we're not on it. I'm on the D-list for sure. But old Robbo there, he likes to think he's on it. Doesn't realise he's not, but we just let him go.'

  I liked Warren, he was cool. And tall, and hunky, and there, and James was in Dubai, and it was my birthday, and I was drunk, and time was moving on and I hadn't had a birthday pash, and knew I wouldn't be getting a birthday bonk, and it was my birthday, and a
t least he wasn't Mike the cop, so I just said, 'I think you should kiss me.'

  'Do you?'

  'Don't you want to?'

  Warren looked taken aback. 'Only since the minute you walked into the pub. But why would someone like you—' and he looked at my card again, 'want to kiss someone like me?'

  'It's my birthday!'

  'But . . .'

  'But what? It's just a birthday kiss! I didn't ask you to marry me. I would never ask that. Nothing personal, you know, it's just I never want to get married is all.'

  He leaned in and kissed me softly on the mouth.

  'Happy birthday.'

  'Thank you. It wasn't that traumatic, was it?'

  'No, it was lovely, but if you're expecting another one I really think we should do the family tree first.'

  'Are you serious? Really? I have never thought about doing that before I kissed someone.' I was from such a small family there was no way Warren and I could be related, and I knew the names of all the families I was related to.

  'Well, I'm a Tully from Coolangatta,' I said confidently and his face dropped.

  'I'm a McGrath from McLean and I'm pretty sure we're related,' he said seriously. My face dropped too. I knew the McGraths and he was probably right. Were there any of the Bundjalung mob actually left up north?

  'Ewwww,' I said wiping my mouth. 'No offence but I've gotta go.' And I grabbed Sylvia and Josie, who were standing at the bar in deep conversation.

  'Let's go to Mink, NOW!'

  Thank God it was just a flight of stairs away. I'd been out and about since breakfast with Shelley and wasn't in the best form, but it was my birthday, which gave me a sense of diplomatic immunity. But when I tried to get into the downstairs bar I was told it was full. I knew they didn't want to let me in because I was too trashy – Mink was a sophisticated, up-market sort of place.

  'Pull the race card,' Sylvia whispered in my ear.

  'Get her away,' I said to Josie, who had got a dose of the giggles.

  'I'm luscious, and sexy, and dark, just like your bar,' I said to the doorman, but he didn't respond. 'Don't you know who I yammmmmm?' I slurred. The girls were in hysterics, holding each other up like drunken teenagers.

  'Look at me, look at me hard. Or look hard at me, whichever is the most grammatically correct,' I said, and the doorman finally gave me a smile. 'Can't guess? I'll tell ya. I'm Rachel Berger. Now, I know I haven't been on telly for a while, so you can be excused for not knowing me straight away. I'll forgive you this time, just this once, but you have to let me and my gorgeous friends in, because in actual fact, it's my birthday.' And then I panicked. I had no idea how old Rachel Berger was. Should I be looking older or younger? But it didn't seem to matter as the doorman had changed his mind.

  'Of course, now I recognise you. And happy birthday. Of course you can come in and celebrate, but there's someone here who loves your work, so could you just wait one minute while I get them?'

  'Of course, anything for my fans.' The girls burst out laughing again. The doorman walked away and the three of us just stood there waiting for him to return with my 'fan'.

  'Ladies, I'd like to introduce you to Rachel Berger.' And there she was with the doorman, larger than life. 'This young lady is celebrating her birthday and just told me how much she admires your work, Rachel.'

  'Well, it's like looking in the mirror . . . but with a spray-on tan.' Rachel was really friendly, and very pretty, and funny, and so I was pleased people mistook me for her.

  'Peta – my name's Peta,' I said, ashamed.

  'Let me buy you a birthday drink, Peta, and your friends.' And we all went into Mink – for just one drink. The doorman smiled as we walked past him. 'Thank you,' I mouthed when I looked back.

  forty-two

  New Year resolutions

  It was December and the scorching Melbourne summer had set in. There was no way I was wearing black anything to anywhere. All of a sudden it wasn't the cold that bothered me, but the dry summer heat I had first arrived to earlier in the year. I missed Coogee more than ever – the smell of the ocean, the sound of waves and the afternoon southerlies. The countdown to returning to Sydney seemed manageable when I thought about swimming in the sea again.

  First, though, I was going home to Coolangatta for Christmas.

  James had been completely irrational when I finally found the courage to tell him I wasn't going to Sydney for Christmas. 'Are you punishing me for going away on your birthday? I knew it. I knew you were angry with me. I shouldn't have gone.'

  'Don't be so bloody ridiculous. I was never bothered by you going away, and I told you, I had a brilliant birthday with the girls in Melbourne anyway. I was happy for you to go to Dubai – in fact, I've been hoping you brought me something gorgeous back.'

  'I did, of course – I was going to give it to you when you came up for Christmas.' He was sulky and being too much hard work.

  'Well, you can give it to me a couple of days later, and it'll still be gorgeous, and we can still celebrate Christmas.' I sounded like a parent talking down to a child. 'I just want to see my family this year. It's been four years since I've had Christmas with them.'

  'I didn't know that.'

  'There's a lot of things you don't know about me, James, and that's okay, but right now I'm telling you that I want to be with my family on Christmas Day, like you'll be with yours.'

  He picked up on the stress in my voice. 'I'm sorry for being a sook, I just miss you.'

  'I know, but we'll do our own delayed Christmas dinner with pressies when I get to Sydney, okay? And it will be wonderful.'

  ♥

  I flew into Coolangatta airport on Christmas Eve and there were millions of people everywhere. Tourists heading to the Gold Coast for holidays, family members greeting loved ones, kids running around with what looked like presents already opened. Mum was waiting with a huge smile and hugged me like a mother who hadn't seen her daughter for four years. It was the best welcome I could've asked for.

  'The boys and Gis can't wait to see you,' Mum said, patting me on the thigh as she pulled out of the car park. 'And the kids have all made their aunty Christmas cards. It's so good to have you back, everyone's excited and looking forward to tomorrow. But tonight it's just you and me. I've got some prawns for us – I thought we could have some dinner, go and look at the houses all done up with lights and then go to midnight mass.'

  'I can't believe you still do that. Why? You don't go any other time of the year.'

  'There are some holy days that must be respected always, Peta.'

  I smiled as we pulled into the drive. The family home looked just the same, like the place was in a time warp. Mum's blonde brick house looked like every other house in our street – they were all exact replicas. I could smell the frangipani tree immediately, and Kyla the family dog came running up to me straight away, like she remembered who I was after all the time away. I took my case into my old room, which Mum had turned into her sewing room, and then we sat down with a cuppa.