Art Ache (17 page)

Then I realise what I’m doing. I’m checking off some mental list. Weighing up his pros and cons. I remind myself to breathe. To take the pressure off and stay in the moment. This is about meeting new people, being sociable and extending your circle. This is not about making a lifelong commitment.

We go to a bar before the movie and he has a couple of drinks. I have a mineral water. It’s what I prefer, notwithstanding writing myself off once a year in a very public and embarrassing way. Generally speaking, I go for mineral water. I like the taste. It’s refreshing. Bloody hell, I could be reading an ad!

We finish our mezze platter and make our way over to the cinema.

He seems nervous. He sits bolt upright in the cinema and eats his Jaffas one at a time. I tuck into my choc top ice-cream straight away and he picks up the chocolate flakes when they fall off. I ask him if he’d like a bite, but he just seems to want to clean up after me. To each his own. We chat, watch the movie with interest and then he drives me home. When he drops me off, I ask him in for coffee and he declines. I don’t take it personally, because he seemed to have a genuinely good time and he’s already asked me out again. Besides, I don’t want to have a late night. I want to get up early and take Jack to the markets before I drop him at Boofhead’s for a sleepover.

Patrick’s cute. And spending time with him is easy. So easy. I think a second date would be fun.

I suggest we try something from
my
world. Shakespeare. Steven Berkoff is in town and I figure if he can handle some Shakespeare with a Berkoff twist then we might even make it to a third date.

He sounds keen.

PATRICK

Sure. Probably won’t understand most of it but I’ll give it a red-hot crack.

So the following week we front up for Berkoff’s interpretation of all of Shakespeare’s male characters.

It’s heavy going, but Patrick seems to enjoy it. He’s thrilled to read in the program that Berkoff was in a James Bond film.

PATRICK

Played a baddy. How cool is that?

The play flies by. Patrick has a hoot and I’m suitably impressed.

After the play, we make our way out of the theatre and Patrick suggests we go for a drink.

ME

How about a walk instead?

He looks at me like I’ve escaped from the zoo.

PATRICK

A walk?

ME

Yeah, I thought it would be nice. We could walk over the new bridge.

PATRICK

Sure. I’m up for anything.

We walk over the new bridge and along the river. It’s just gone dark and the river is beautiful. It’s at its best at night. During the day, it’s an unattractive shade of brown as the bottom of the river is churned up from all the dredging. At night, it comes to life. Meandering and weaving through the city, lights shimmer off its surface and tall, bushy trees are reflected in its quiet, calm water. The surrounding buildings are tall enough so you recognise you’re in a city but not so tall that you feel overpowered. It feels like a village city, a boutique city. Small enough to enjoy.

Patrick quotes lines from the play and seems to have had a really good time. I have too. I feel comfortable with him. I tell him about the thrill of performing and working in theatre and he tells me about the thrill of surfing.

PATRICK

It’s more than a thrill. It’s like . . . I don’t know . . . like a meditation or something. I mean, I haven’t meditated really, but it’s kind of Zen when you surf. Really simple. Just you, the board and the wave. You know; wet, free, a feeling of floating and flying and freedom and exhilaration. It’s really fresh. I feel alive when I surf. Controlled falling. You should try it.

ME

I’d love to.

PATRICK

What’s it like when you’re up there, like he was tonight?

ME

I’ve never done anything on that scale, but the things I have done . . . amazing. When it’s going well, that is. There’s no better place when everything’s on song and no worse place when the wheels fall off.

PATRICK

But what does it feel like?

ME

A bit like surfing, I guess. You’re in the zone. You can turn up at the theatre with a raging headache but once you step on stage and get into that zone, it goes away. Then you step off stage and it’s back again. You’re in the moment, literally. Very present. And you’re having this amazing, intimate relationship with the audience. Although it doesn’t feel like a full audience, it feels like you’re communicating with one person. It’s very intimate.

PATRICK

Right.

ME

And addictive. I’ve never needed drugs because you get such a high when you’re on stage. It’s like nothing else.

PATRICK

I was in a band once, it was a bit like that. Although not as intense. Except the time I busted my knee jumping around like Peter Garrett.

ME

Yikes. That’d hurt.

PATRICK

It killed.

ME

This is a nice walk. The bridge is great.

PATRICK

Glad I’ve given it a go.

He walks a little closer to me and in this moment, he seems like a small boy. Vulnerable. I think he’s going to kiss me. It feels very awkward.

He doesn’t. He just asks me very politely if it’s okay if he holds my hand. This melts my heart. He’s nervous. Not little boy nervous, but grown man nervous. He wants to get it right. And so do I.

ME

That’d be lovely.

He gently takes my hand and we walk across the bridge in silence. The night is still and warm and we are two lost souls reaching out to each other. I have a stupid grin on my face. I am delighted.

When we get back to my place, I ask him in and he says yes this time. Jack’s at Tom’s so we have the house to ourselves. I make him a cup of tea and as we sit on the couch and drink it, I’m convinced he’s going to kiss me.

He drinks his tea very quickly and then tells me he’d better go. I walk him to the door and as I’m saying goodbye, he grabs me mid-sentence and plants a big, solid kiss right on my mouth. I respond and as it comes to a natural end, he heaves a great sigh of relief and says:

PATRICK

Thank God! I’ve wanted to do that for ages, but you make me so nervous . . .

ME

Nervous?

PATRICK

You’re way out of my league, but I really like you.

He obviously doesn’t know about Bandana Bloke. He doesn’t know I’m a half-bogan. Half-bogans are not way out of anyone’s league.

We kiss again. This time he traces the outside of my torso and waist with his hands.

PATRICK

You are so gorgeous. I can’t believe I’m kissing you.

ME

We’re in the doorway. My neighbours will be having a field day.

PATRICK

Who cares. This is bliss.

The radio plays in the background and we kiss for the entire duration of The Doors, The End. Even though this might well be the beginning. He’s sweet and kind and gentle and a great kisser. And it’s a very long song. I’m happy.

PATRICK

I’d better go. Can I take you out again?

ME

Sure.

PATRICK

I’ve had a great night.

ME

Me too.

PATRICK

I’ll call you tomorrow.

I feel the cool night air on my cheeks as he walks to his car. My lips feel alive and happy. And so do I. There is life after Boofhead . . . and after Bandana Bloke.

Chapter 19

Friday night. Patrick’s house.

“A forest bird never wants a cage.” Henrik Ibsen.

Patrick is funny. We chat, we laugh, we eat, we share fantasies about turning into old, fat people who eat whatever they want, whenever they want.

PATRICK

It’d be great.

ME

I know.

PATRICK

Just lard, lard, lard.

ME

Hold the lard, I’ll take the cakes.

PATRICK

I’m a biscuit man myself.

I drive him back to his house. We’ve been on our third date. He asks me in and I agree. His house is neat. Very neat. A place for everything and everything in its place.

While we’re sitting on the couch, he kisses me and it feels good, but I don’t want to sleep with him. All jokes aside about being a half-bogan, I can’t possibly go from having a husband I don’t do it for anymore, and not having sex for close to four years, to romping around with two different men in the space of a month. I decide to fess up.

I blurt it out.

ME

I don’t want to sleep with you.

PATRICK

Ever?

ME

Not straight away. I don’t do casual.

PATRICK

Me neither.

ME

Well, apart from recently. I did casual then. Well, I nearly did casual. And I didn’t like it. It was out of character, actually.

I’m over-sharing, but I want to tell the truth. It’s important to start as you intend to proceed. Much better than it coming out down the track. Put the cards on the table and then if he thinks I’m a full-bogan, half-bogan, semi-bogan, then that’s okay. At least he’s making an informed decision about me.

ME

“If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last . . . but in the onset come. So shall I taste at first the very worst of fortune’s might.”

PATRICK

Pardon?

ME

Shakespeare.

PATRICK

I don’t get it.

ME

In short, it’s better to know the worst upfront rather than have any nasty surprises later on. So I think it’s important that you know that I’m not interested in anything casual. I don’t sleep around. Even though the recent incident although not sleeping with someone, it was close and . . . well . . . it was after my birthday party actually . . .

Awkward pause.

PATRICK

Ah . . .

ME

I went home with someone . . .

PATRICK

The guy with the thing on his head?

ME

Yeah, Bandana bloke. Daggy.

PATRICK

He seemed pretty interested in you. I actually thought you were probably dating. Although you’re way out of his league. Lucky bastard.

He’s taking this very well.

ME

Anyway . . . I just wanted to put it on the table. Like I said, it’s out of character and it wasn’t the full ‘thing,’ but it’s still slightly bogan. It’s . . .

PATRICK

Oh well. We all make mistakes. I once dated a girl who used my razor to shave her mo, so a slip up with a bloke in a bandana is nothing. Thanks for telling me, though.

ME

Really?

PATRICK

Yeah.

I heave a huge sigh of relief.

ME

I’m not sure of the rules of dating anymore. The last time I dated, I was twenty- something. The world’s a very different place now.

PATRICK

Know what you mean.

I laugh.

ME

Anything you need to confess?

I throw this line away casually, but a look flashes across his face. I can’t quite name it.

PATRICK

Nah . . . I’m pretty straightforward.

ME

You don’t do casual?

PATRICK

Nah.

ME

Great. Good. That’s great.

Pause.

PATRICK

You can still stay, though. If you want. No compulsory shagging, I promise.

I laugh. I like his sense of humour.

PATRICK

I’d like it. I like you.

ME

So would I. I think.

PATRICK

Jesus, you don’t give a guy much confidence.

ME

Sorry. I’m nervous.

PATRICK

Me too.

He stretches out his hand.

PATRICK

Stay.

ME

Okay.

Pause.

PATRICK

We’re talking in rhyme.

ME

We are?

PATRICK

How bizarre.

ME

This talking in rhyme.

PATRICK

You’re sublime.

We both laugh like children. And continue our rhyming game while we finish our drinks. Then I do, it’s true. I stay. And play.

And yes, we do sleep together, even though we both agreed staying over didn’t mean we had to. It wasn’t compulsory. It was voluntary and it was great! No thinking of Shirley MacLaine movies. We were compatible. And my possibly too high vagina still works!

But now, the following morning, I just want to go home. I miss Jack. I always miss Jack. I realise I need a life, but when I’m not being a half-bogan, I’m more than half-Amish. Although I don’t make my own buttons or wear a headscarf and a pinafore, I do crave that wholesome, family life. I
had
that wholesome family life. Well, a version of it anyway.

ME

I’ve got to go.

PATRICK

It’s Saturday.

ME

Jack.

PATRICK

Cute kid. You’ve brought him into work a few times.

ME

He’s a treasure.

PATRICK

Looks like you.

ME

You think?

PATRICK

He’s got your eyes.

I blush.

PATRICK

You’re gorgeous. You know that?

I let out a snort-laugh.

ME

Thanks.

PATRICK

You’re very polite.

ME

I’m part-Amish.

PATRICK

(teasing)

When you’re not being part-bogan.

I laugh again. He’s disarming me. I feel he gets me. I don’t know if I want someone to get me.

PATRICK

Can we . . . can I . . . take you out for dinner this week?

ME

Um . . .

Awkward pause.

PATRICK

It’s cool if you don’t want to. I can handle it.

ME

I do. I just . . . I’m trying to work out how to work it.

PATRICK

Jack?

ME

Yes. Um . . . if we do something early, like straight after work, he could have dinner with my parents while I have dinner with you.

PATRICK

Sounds like a plan. I’ll pick you up.

ME

I’ll meet you. Just text me the restaurant details.

PATRICK

Sure. Wednesday?

ME

That’d be great.

He kisses me.

PATRICK

Cool. And I guess I’ll just have to book you for some voice-over sessions before then.

ME

I could only do them at lunchtime.

PATRICK

No rest for the wicked.

ME

It’s crazy when I’m in rehearsal. I race off each lunchtime to record voice-overs so I don’t lose my regular clients and then race back to the rehearsal room.

PATRICK

Cool. What’s the play about?

ME

It’s a narrative play with music about a couple of female friends dealing with the fallout from war.

PATRICK

Sounds heavy.

ME

Not at all. It’s moving and beautiful and funny. And the music’s great.

PATRICK

Cool.

He kisses me. I literally go weak at the knees.

PATRICK

So in the meantime, I’ll write some scripts that require that sexy, smooth read you do so well.

I launch into my ‘sexy’ ad read.

ME

“This has got to be the supreme indulgence.”

PATRICK

That’s the one!

He kisses me again.

PATRICK

Hey, that was awesome.

ME

I agree.

PATRICK

I’ll call you.

ME

Really?

PATRICK

Yep. We’re not all bastards.

But part of me thinks he won’t. Part of me thinks the dinner invitation was just a ruse and he’ll actually never call me again.

Have I stopped trusting men? Persephone’s mum, Demeter, gave her the name Kore, meaning ‘maiden’ at birth. She wanted Persephone/Kore to remain a virgin goddess because she didn’t trust men, immortal or otherwise. Maybe the myth is rubbing off in more ways than I realise. Maybe it’s becoming my destiny.

I grab my things, get to my car and by the time I’ve backed out of his driveway, my mobile is ringing. It’s Patrick.

PATRICK

Told you I’d call you.

I laugh and feel very happy.