Dessi's Romance (19 page)

He doesn’t answer.

‘Anyway, Emma asked me to
phone you to see what’s up. What’ll I say?’

He frowns slightly. ‘You
going to tell her I’m seeing you?’

‘Course not. She’ll never
forgive me.’

‘Stop panicking. I’ll think
of something.’ We head inside the restaurant. A waiter shows us to a table.

‘Want me to order?’

I nod. He studies the menu
and I study him. My heart feels like melting wax. He’s so gorgeous no wonder
I’m prepared to risk everything for him.

‘What else is new?’

I hit my head. ‘I nearly
forgot. Pearl’s invited me to go OS with her next summer.’

‘Lucky you. Who’s Pearl?’

‘Pearl’s my father’s
mother.’

‘You mean she’s your grandmother.
Like my grandfather.’

I recall the old gentleman
with the infectious smile. ‘Mr Malouf is really nice.’

‘He is, he is. But when I
was little I used to wish the others were around.’

‘Haven’t you got enough
rellies? You really want more?’

‘Wouldn’t mind a younger
brother,’ he drawls. ‘Might take some of the heat off me.’

‘Families!’ I shake my
head. ‘They’re okay when you’re little, but when you’re older you pray for them
to leave you alone.’

The waiter brings us our
food. Abdul selects a tasty piece of lamb and holds it up to my lips. ‘Try
this.’ I close my eyes and open my mouth. Right now I’d swallow poison if Abdul
offered it to me.

‘What happened to your
other grandparents?’

‘Mum’s were killed when
their village was bombed. Grandfather was lucky to survive.’

‘What about old Mr Malouf’s
wife?’

‘She died when our village
was shelled by the Israelis.’

I gulp. Most Israelis are
Jewish. But with Jewish great-grandparents, aren’t I one eighth Jewish? Does
that turn me into an enemy? I wake up to his saying, ‘ … parents were forced to
take refuge in displaced persons’ camps and leave everything behind.’ He pauses
before lightly adding, ‘Something like a fifth of Lebanon’s population fled
from their homes.’

‘That’s terrible,’ I
murmur. ‘How did your lot get here?’

He shrugs. ‘Oz has been
taking Christian Lebanese since forever. Only it was lots harder for us Muslims.
It was only after the 1975 civil war broke out, that some of us were allowed
into Italy and then over here. My dad had worked with a Christian Lebanese, and
he sponsored our family. Then it took ages before the Australian authorities
allowed us to build mosques or Muslim schools.’

I frown. ‘How come we were
so mean?’

He laughs. ‘You think we’ll
have too many wives. Still, something like fourteen thousand Lebos did turn
up.’

‘Guess your parents must
feel you have to make it up to them.’

‘Yes. My dad says now it’s
up to Ahmed and me to give their new lives meaning.’

‘Must be tough.’ I pause as
the waiter brings our food.

‘What about your folks?’ he
asks. ‘When did they get here?’

‘My great, great, greats
came for the gold rush. Our family did very well, owned lots of houses, then
lost everything apart from the house we’re now in.’

‘That’d be about right.’

We laugh. A couple at the
next table argue loudly about the bill. Apart from a conspiratorial grin, we
ignore them.

I ask, ‘What about school?
Tell me what it was like for you?’

He tries to shrug this off.
‘Oh, that’s not very interesting.’

‘But I’m interested.’

‘When I got to Prep, turned
out I spoke the wrong language.’

‘You mean you only learnt
English at school?’

He smiles faintly. ‘Kids
pick up pretty quickly.’

‘And later? After?’

‘Guess it didn’t make much
difference. I was still a Lebo who lived above a shop. Kids used to call us
‘Kebab’ and ‘Mossies’. There was lots of aggro for us to deal with. It’s been
the same story for every new group. Look at what’s happening to the Somalis.’

I shudder. ‘I’m starting to
realise how lucky I am to be an old time Skip.’

‘Maybe you’re lucky,’ he
says wryly. ‘But in a way it
is
character forming.’

Sensing a story, I ask,
‘How come?’

He sighs. ‘I don’t know
what it’s like for a girl, but for boys it’s a matter of proving you’re tougher
than other kids, particularly if you have one or two brains. Real life begins
and ends in the playground.’

‘You mean you had to fight
other kids all the time.’

He nods. ‘All the time.’

‘So how come you weren’t
sent to a Muslim school?’

‘Oh, they’re too
conservative, even for my lot. Your family sounds a bit like Antler’s. Real
name,’ at my enquiring glance, ‘Warren Reginald Smith. We went through school
together. You’ll meet him soon.’

‘Why’s he called Antler?’

Abdul’s teeth gleam when he
smiles. I take careful notes of how his eyes crinkle, his nose narrows, his
nostrils flare. But there is still so much I don’t know - hectares to be filled
in about smell, feel, texture, mind…

‘...calls himself Antler,
because he’s got antler tats all over him.’

‘Why antlers?’

‘Says they’re phallic,
sexy. His lady’s name is Doe.’

I giggle. ‘What’s her real
name?’

‘Guess.’

‘Chloe?’

‘Actually, it’s Mona, and
they’ve got a baby girl called...’

‘…I know, Faun.’

We burst into laughter.
People at a far table look around and stare. I note that his gaze stays on me,
that he isn’t distracted, doesn’t swerve. Does this mean that he’s as equally
hot for me as I am for him? I say, ‘I’d love to meet your friends.’

He smiles into my eyes.
‘Sure, only not for a while. Things got a bit heated for Antler. They’re in
Perth for six weeks.’

While hearing about the
most unusual and most tolerant – at least on Abdul’s side, friendship, I
notice his two smiles: the polite one when his eyes remain serious, another
less self-conscious one when the laugh comes from somewhere inside his belly.

I half expect him to drive
into a parking lot so we can resume where we left off. This time I’m determined
to go all the way. But he drives me home saying, ‘I wanted us to spend the
evening together, but there’s this old guy who’s got stuff he wants to sell and
he’ll only see me tonight.’ When I don’t bother hiding my disappointment, he
adds, ‘You know what some wrinklies are like…’

‘That’s fine.’ I put on a
brave face. ‘Maybe tomorrow?’

‘Busy tomorrow. Maybe later
in the week,’ he says lightly as he helps me out of the van. ‘I’ll call.’ He
kisses my cheek and takes off back down the path.

I wait for him to start the
van and drive off. I’m confused. One moment he seems equally involved. Another
he’s drawing back as if only mildly interested. These quick changes of mood
should cool my passion. Interesting how they only serve to further entangle me.
What can be so captivating? I wish I knew. Even in the midst of this drama, I
recognise that what I’m feeling is such a rush others might label it as infatuation.

Inside Graham has left me a
message saying, ‘Call Leila.’

If I’m hoping she has news
about Abdul, I’m quickly put right. ‘Nothing so far.’

I shrug away my
disappointment.

‘So what else is new?’

‘Not much,’ I confess.

‘Heard from anyone at
Schoolies?’

I fill her in. Then somehow
the conversation drifts to Leila’s new boyfriend and then her parents and how
they won’t let her see Harry without her brother Naiz being there. ‘They’ve
been here so long, but they’ll only mix with Lebos. You should hear Dad if he
thinks I’m showing too much skin, or my hijab slips, or I’m not being respectful
enough.’

With the Maloufs’ negative
attitude in mind, I ask, ‘Don’t they like Anglos?’

She laughs. ‘They hardly
know any. No, it’s more that staying with the familiar is best. If they trade
with other Lebos or visit anyone they knew back home, they know what to expect.
You Skips are too different.’

I ask in some surprise.
‘Don’t you see yourself as Aussie?’

‘Course I do. I’m half a
Lebo and half an Aussie.’ She sighs. ‘Sometimes that makes it hard.’

‘I’ll bet. What if you’d
brought an Anglo home instead of your guy?’

‘Guess they’d do everything
they can to force me to give him up.’

‘Even being outride rude?’

‘Absolutely. I hate to
think how far they’ll go.’

I gulp and change the
subject.

It’s after 3 a.m., and I’m in bed.
Something wakes me. I lie there, staring into the dark, remembering the time
two best friends played ‘chicken’.

Travelling into the city,
we’d stop off in the department stores. There, while Emma dowsed herself with
perfume, I’d wander through ‘cosmetics’ or ‘jewellery’. Booty in pocket, eyes
straight ahead, trying not to giggle, we stepped outside. Not that we ever took
anything expensive. What we stole didn’t matter. What counted was the thrill.

The fourth time we tried
it, outside the main doors, a man in a beige raincoat accosted me. ‘I think you
forgot to pay.’

‘What...?’

‘Those earrings.’ He
pointed to my school parka. ‘I’ll have to ask you to come along with me.’

‘I don’t have to.’

His eyebrows shot up. ‘I’m
afraid you do. You see, we have a video of you putting them in your pocket.’

Emma ran over. ‘What’s
going on?’

He said, ‘Your friend’s
taken something without paying for it, so she’s coming with me. I think you’d
better come, too.’

He led us into a rear
office where he asked us to empty our pockets. Then he told me to write down my
name and address.

‘What about me?’ Emma
fiercely asked.

‘You haven’t taken anything
without paying for it.’

‘How do you know we weren’t
in this together?’

‘Whatever you say.’ He
pushed the pad in front of her.

Later, long after Hannah
came to collect us, and we were in the car giggling with nerves, I whispered,
‘You didn’t have to say you’d done it.’

‘Course I did. Couldn’t let
you get in trouble.’

‘Next time you girls
shoplift,’ Hannah almost spat. ‘I’ll let them throw the book at you.’ And when
neither of us stopped giggling, she drily added, ‘Very nice… very nice indeed.’

‘Sacha seems very nice,’ says Laura
after dropping the others in their apartment and driving me home.

I wonder what she’d say if
she knew only two days ago, Sacha believed he was gay? Or if I mention that
last night, we had sex?

I still don’t know how I
feel about that. Not that Sash wasn’t a good lover – sweet and caring and
asking what I’d like him to do and stuff like that. But I want Abdul, and
anyway sex gets in the way of any longterm friendship. If I think back to Sam
and Danny, I’m ashamed of myself. Now I’ll tell anyone who comes onto me in a
selfish way to get lost. Even Abdul, though I’m sure he wouldn’t. But then, he
didn’t turn up to take me to the airport, did he?

If only I didn’t have that
overwhelming need for love and acceptance. No wonder Dessi never feels lost.
She’s always had her family’s support while I have no one to care for me,
except Julie who needs lots of looking after herself. Still…I’ll never choose
Sacha as a lover. No, if I want to keep him as a special friend. I just
wouldn’t dare let sex mess things up.

Laura pulls up outside the
house. Inside, I wander into that wonderful bedroom that could be mine if only
I could make up my mind about staying, and change into a bikini. Laura joins me
in the pool. I decide to ask her something that’s been bothering me ever since
I turned up. ‘How come you can afford all this? Personal Assistants don’t earn
that
much, do they?’

Laura rolls over and floats
on her back. ‘Whatever made you think I was a PA?’

I feel myself flush. ‘Just
assumed. What were you?’

Laura smiles. ‘I was in
charge of corporate events. Seminars, meetings, interstate conferences.’

I look at her with new
respect, dying to ask what salary she’d earned.

‘I’d hit the glass
ceiling,’ she continues, ‘reached a certain level in my company and couldn’t
seem to get any further. I could see where I wanted to be, but somehow I wasn’t
allowed to get there. It’s a bloke thing, I reckon.’

‘I thought women have equal
opportunities.’

‘That’s the theory,’ she
says brightly.

We both laugh. To my
astonishment I find myself almost liking Laura, almost understanding why Dad
left Mum for her. I sigh aloud and get a quizzical look. ‘Thought any more
about your Dad’s offer, Emma?’