by Ali Berg
Then Bea felt a soft squeeze on her shoulder. She jumped, turning around abruptly to greet the owner of the hand.
‘Bea, sorry! I shouldn’t have crept up on you like that,’ Dino said. He was wearing a shirt with someone else’s initials etched into the front pocket: AIK.
‘Dino, you made it!’ Bea stood, planting a quick kiss on his cheek.
Dino took an awkward step back.
‘Happy birthday!’ He handed her a small box.
She opened it before exclaiming ‘My Tamagotchi!’ remembering the competition she had entered for it while watching Les Miserables late one night.
‘I received it in the mail this morning and assumed it was one of your “prizes”. Wait, did you say Tamagotchi?’ Dino asked.
‘Yep, haven’t you heard? They’re making a comeback.’
Dino laughed and surveyed Bea’s empty glass. ‘Come, let me grab you another. Consider it your birthday present.’
At the bar, Dino ordered a pinot for Bea and a craft beer for himself. The barman slipped the drinks in front of them as Dino dug around in each of his pockets. ‘Shit, I must have left my wallet in the car,’ he sighed, dismissing Bea’s insistence that he could get the next round. ‘I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.’
He raced out the front door leaving Bea to make herself comfortable on the bar stool, relieved to have some reprieve from the constant conversation hiccups she found herself making. Taking a quick swig of her wine, she spotted her book, absently left behind on the counter. Guiltily, she pulled it towards her, flipped it open and pored over the words. Just one page, she told herself. Three lines in, a new annotation caught her eye:
keeper and maker of memories – i love you for both.
Bea tried to imagine who this Mystery Writer could be describing. She pictured a woman who had one of those faces that was instantly recognisable, even if you’d only met her once, in a fleeting second. Her favourite book would be The Jane Austen Book Club. But she’d probably tell people her favourite books were Jane Austen’s. Bea sighed, lost in thought, before continuing to read.
‘Bars and books? You might just be the woman of my dreams,’ a deep voice remarked.
Bea reluctantly pulled herself away from the page and looked up. It was one of the pint-holding men she had spotted earlier in the night. Up close, he was all hazel eyes and broad shoulders, with faint stubble trailing along his jawline. He towered over Bea. Bea shrunk into herself, wishing so desperately she had the unabashed confidence of Lizzie or Cass.
‘What are you reading?’ He managed to nod towards her book and simultaneously order another beer with a flick of his finger.
Bea closed the cover, pushing the book towards the man. He peered at it, grazing his arms against hers.
‘Meeting Oliver Bennett?’ he exclaimed, becoming less smooth and more bubbly in an instant. ‘Get out! I just gave my copy away to this cute little store over in the north. God, what was it called?’
Bea peered curiously at this seemingly well-read man with his crinkly smile and tousled, wavy hair. ‘It wouldn’t have been The Little Brunswick Street Bookstore?’
He clicked his fingers, his face lighting up. ‘That’s the one! They have that cool little second-hand section.’
‘I found this very book there just last week,’ she said cautiously. There’s no way he could be the person behind the scratchy ballpoint jottings, the scribbles she had come to relish more than the plot.
He looked back at her, stunned. A faint smile tugged at his lower lip. He moved the book towards him, flipping through the first few pages. He gaped at the book and back at Bea.
‘This is my book.’
Bea couldn’t believe what she was hearing. What were the chances of her bumping into the owner of the very book she had stumbled across just days ago? The stars were going berserk, falling into place around her.
‘I’m Zach, by the way.’
She shook his outstretched hand. ‘Bea.’
Bea downed another mouthful of wine. Her third for the night. ‘I just need to know what you were thinking when you first wrote all those annotations. I mean, they’re everywhere – all over the book! I’ve never seen anything like it. And how could you give something so personal away?’ Bea’s questions seemed to tumble out one after the other. ‘And the phone number, who does it belong to?’
Zach smiled, glancing over his shoulder. ‘Hey, I should get back to my buddy. Looks like things are falling apart without me.’ He gestured to his friend, who sat alone, skewering peanuts with darts and stuffing them into his mouth. ‘More book talk a little later on?’ he said, blushing slightly. Perhaps he was feeling a little exposed.
Bea jumped up and stumbled slightly. It was official, the last drink had gone straight to her head. Ignoring the clear social cues Zach was giving her, she asked needily, ‘Do you do it to all of your books?’ He had this easy way about him, almost as if he had been cut straight from the pages of a Maldives travel brochure. She could not let this sunny, tropical island man slip through her fingers. Not when they had only just found each other.
‘Only when the mood strikes. I haven’t done it in a little while now,’ Zach said as he started to back away.
‘How will I get your book back to you?’
‘It’s your book now.’ Zach replied with a wink.
‘Mmm hmm, yeah,’ Bea said, taking a step forward. ‘But like, if I were to desperately need to contact you ASAP about said book, like I had a burning question about—’
‘What if I accidentally spoiled the ending? I couldn’t live with myself!’
‘Um, yeah. That would obviously be a travesty. But I’ve become a very forgiving person of late. You know, on account of being older and wiser.’ Bea strung out the final R, trying to be seductive, but instead sounding more intoxicated.
Zach smiled. ‘You make a solid point. And I’ve always enjoyed a good book club for two.’ He glanced back at his friend, who was now attempting to stack as many peanut shells on his outstretched tongue as he could. ‘You’re right. Let’s make it official. Not take any more chances with fate.’ He pulled out his phone and extended it towards Bea. Gratified, she typed her number into the device, double-checking for typos while congratulating herself on her brazen move. Maybe she didn’t need Cassandra to act as her wing woman after all. ‘You enjoy your night, bookworm,’ he said, pushing his phone back into his pocket before turning to rejoin his game of darts.
‘Take that Tinder,’ Bea was mid-fist pump when Dino returned, flushed and just a touch out of breath.
‘Looks like you’ve found yourself a new drinking buddy.’ He nodded over to Zach, giving him the once over.
‘You made it,’ Bea slurred slightly, slapping her arm against Dino’s chest.
‘Mmm,’ was all Dino had to say.
‘Thirty isn’t looking so bad after all,’ Bea whooped. ‘I have more than just a new drinking buddy. I’ve got a date!’
‘Congratulations,’ Dino said. ‘You’re a regular charmer, Bea.’
‘You know, Dino, sometimes you just have to take life by the horns. Forge your own density.’
‘You mean destiny?’
‘Nobody likes a know-it-all, Dino.’
‘Come on, professor,’ Dino said, placing his cash on the counter and spinning Bea around. ‘Time to get back to your party.’
During their absence, the party had descended into slight mayhem. Lizzie was straddling one of the chairs taking selfies while Nick chased Lola, trying to grab her arm before she spilt the entire contents of her sippy cup onto her sister.
‘Bea.’ Maggie materialised before her eyes. ‘Where did you get to, love? We have been itching to hear all about the Melbourne Writers Festival. I read the other day that storybooks on Instagram are the new marketing frontier. Is that true?’
Bea giggled, then hiccuped, the force of it sending her staggering back a step. Dino broke her fall with a quick palm on her back, but Bea brushed him away and regained her compo
sure. Keep it together, Babbage.
‘Actually, it’s been a little more Colgate than Capote,’ Bea began. ‘But they say Rome wasn’t built in a day! It’s just a matter of time until that fat cat boss of mine realises my potential and fondness for all things paperback. Isn’t that right, Anika?’ Bea yelled to her coworker, who was wrapped up in what looked like a heated conversation with Martin. Anika cocked her head and raised her glass (and eyebrows) towards Bea in reply.
‘I’m just so proud of you for taking a chance on change. Aren’t you proud of her?’ Maggie turned to Dino, who had been sipping his drink, ready to catch the slowly swaying Bea. ‘Who are you again?’
‘My barista. Dino is my saintly barista!’ Bea gushed, lacing her arm around a rigid Dino.
‘That’s right, strong skinny latte over here works in the offices above my café.’
‘Oh, how sweet! Now tell me, how does one do “coffee art”?’ Maggie made air quotes.
‘I couldn’t tell you. I’m more of your basic rosetta kind of guy.’
‘Oh, Mum, Dino’s art is all in his quotes. He pops a new one on my takeaway coffee cup every day!’
Dino swatted her away. ‘Really, I’ve just been hoping that holding your daughter up with coffee cup graffiti might convince her to finally get a KeepCup.’
Maggie nodded along, impressed. ‘Sustainability is so woke right now.’
At close to 9.30pm, Bea found herself on the couch crammed between Anika and Ruby, a hand on each of their knees.
‘But how? How do you do it all? And all the while radiating such fiery passion for each other?’Bea had been talking for the past twenty-five minutes about the miracle of love and landing your (or her) dream job all at the same time.
Dino appeared in front of her. ‘I should get going,’ he said. ‘Those coffee beans won’t grind themselves.’
Bea laughed, almost hysterically, as Anika and Ruby scooped up their bags and coats and called their goodbyes as they raced out the door.
‘You going to be okay on your own?’ Dino asked.
Lizzie and her little entourage had departed just before Bea had hijacked Anika and Ruby, and her parents had left not long after. Sunday’s appearance had been fleeting; she had left not much longer after Dino had arrived.
‘I’m not on my own,’ Bea said, reclining on the couch, a small cocktail umbrella wedged behind her ear, and nodding over to the bartender. ‘Go, get out of here! You’ve got an early start.’
Dino bent down and kissed her quickly on the cheek. ‘Get home safe,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘And happy dirty thirty!’
Bea rested her head against the wall, debating getting another drink. Having moved back to espresso martinis she was too wired to go to bed. Eyes closed, she grabbed her bag from beside her and rummaged around for her wallet. One more drink, and then I’m out, she told herself, her head spinning.
‘Okay Bea,’ she said, eyes still shut. ‘Last round’s on me!’
‘That’s hardly fair,’ a deep voice replied. ‘I’m pretty sure it’s my turn.’
Bea squinted one eye open and stared up at a blurry silhouette. Dino?
‘You all right?’
Bea felt the couch sag, her head swimming from the movement. Maybe another drink isn’t such a good idea after all. Bea peeled open her other eye.
‘It’s Zach. Second-hand book, Zach.’
Bea must have been frowning.
‘How about I get you an Uber? Might be time to call it a night.’
‘You’re pretty,’ Bea mumbled. She stretched out her hand and patted Zach’s face. ‘And you like to read.’
Zach pulled away with a laugh. ‘Come on, Gone with the Gin. Up and at ’em!’ He laced a hand under her arm and heaved her to her feet.
Bea laughed. ‘Dino would hate that pun.’
Zach smiled, obviously not understanding. ‘You had quite the eclectic clan here tonight.’
‘Have you been spying on me?’
‘If by “spying” you meant “checking you out”, then yes, I guess I was spying just a little.’
Zach steered Bea out the door and onto the street. He pulled out his phone and swiped at the screen until he found his Uber app. Once Bea remembered where she lived, after going blank for a full five minutes, a car was ordered. All the while, Bea stood stock-still, leaning into Zach’s solid embrace while she squinted at this unexpected and rather appealing man: a man of effortless charm, no-fuss good looks and a mighty good handle on his prose.
After an eight-minute wait (bless the Uber gods), Zach bundled Bea into the back of a grey SUV and slid in next to her.
‘Zach?’
‘Yes, Bea?’
‘How old are you?’
‘Twenty-eight.’
‘Twenty-eight? I turned thirty today! Does that make me a MILF?’
‘I don’t know, how many children do you have?’
‘Oh, well, now you sound just like my mother!’ Bea pulled away in disgust.
‘No, sorry.’ Zach scooted towards Bea, his seatbelt tugging against his shoulder. ‘I think the term you’re after is “cougar”.’
Bea looked at him suspiciously. ‘You’re too young for me.’
‘Did I say twenty-eight? I meant twenty-eight and three quarters. Plus, I own at least one sweater vest and I just finished reading A Man Called Ove so I regularly find myself cursing at “hooligans” and ranting about the good old days before Kindles were invented.’ Then Zach leaned in, put his lips to her ears and whispered, ‘Age is just a number, baby.’
Goosebumps, on goosebumps, on goosebumps.
Who is this guy?
And then his lips were on hers. He tasted of lemon and cola and felt like new beginnings.
Dear Ramona,
Nice to ‘meet’ you!
Hope you found the key okay. Thanks again for this weekly clean for the year. This is such a luxury for me, you have no idea. I’m so relieved I could transfer this prize from Perth to Melbourne!
Oh, and sorry about the mess. I stumbled home last night, intoxicated by wine and a sneaky kiss with this guy Zach. He’s all ruffled hair, hazel eyes, cute dimples. A total hunk of spunk. And I, perpetually awkward Bea Babbage, kissed the living daylight out of him. And he loved it! I think. Everything’s a little bit hazy right now. Anyway, what I was saying was, after I got home I opened up a cold roast chicken I had in the fridge, and I annihilated it. I tried to clean up as much as possible, but there may be a few bones and grease stains lying around.
Yours truly,
Bea Boozy Babbage
Oh, PS My friend Sunday is going to swing by today to pick up an Ottolenghi recipe book I said she could borrow. You don’t mind letting her in, do you? Thanks!
Bea,
All cleaning is done. I let your friend in and she picked up the book.
Congratulations on the man. He sound handsome. Also, competition only have nine months left, not year.
I be back next week.
Ramona
Bea could only manage to read one page of Meeting Oliver Bennett on her tram ride to work. Even on the short journey from her apartment in Windsor to South Yarra, every bump and bend made her feel like she was about to throw up. Thump. Jump. Rattle. But the one page she did manage to read made her mind tick. She liked imagining 1940s Britain through the eyes of the strapping Oliver Bennett and learning how he navigated young love with a fiery passion. Yet it was the words hastily scribbled on the page that sat open like an offering on her knees, that Bea couldn’t drag her thoughts away from.
Nor could she drag them from the author of each note. Zach.
His name rolled off her tongue. Ever since coming close to flunking her Year 9 philosophy class, Bea had stopped believing in the fanciful notion of fate (especially after Cassandra vehemently insisted that such nonsense was ‘kids’ stuff’ when they were only eleven years old). But there was something about her chance encounter with the beautiful bronzed man who had written the inscriptions she was obsessing
over. And, well, fate seemed to be the first and only word to make any sense.
Bea ran the tips of her fingers across her lips, fantasising about the impromptu and slightly out-of-character kiss they had shared. Bea wasn’t one to kiss strangers. She liked to be particular about with whom she shared her saliva (‘You never know who you can contract herpes from,’ her dad used to say before she left the house). But it felt like she already knew him. The spontaneous annotations dotted among the pages of the book had gotten to her. The frivolous way they were written and the carefreeness of the curves, slopes and ink had trickled right under her skin.
She loved kissing the man behind the pen, and she wanted to do it again. Soon.
But will he want to? Bea leaned her head against the train window and closed her eyes. She could feel the grumble of the carriage vibrate up her heels, through her jeans and white linen shirt. Please don’t let him be like the rest of them, she silently prayed. Flashes of disappointing dates, unreturned phone calls and Sleazy Shane – her on-again, off-again friend with benefits – flooded her mind. Please let Zach be different, please let him live up to the annotations! She picked up her battered copy of Meeting Oliver Bennett and held it close to her face, inhaling its scent. The woody smell of the pages briefly lifted her from her hangover, and she smiled, pressing the pages closer to her face. She let herself dream of apt thoughts and floods of words and scribbles and dimples and broad shoulders, and lemon and cola and Zach, Zach, Zach.
‘Get a room!’ the school boy beside her huffed, flicking the book with his finger.
