Dessi's Romance (3 page)

One night I went
with this guy I’d only just met. In his car with him pawing me with his left
hand, his right hand handling the steering wheel, it suddenly struck me that I
hated where I was at. I gave him Dessi’s address, pushed him away promising
‘We’ll do it soon as we get home.’ The guy drove like a maniac. But soon as we
stopped outside the Cowan’s, I shot out of his car and raced around the side of
the house. I hoisted myself up the drain pipe, climbed into Dessi’s open window
and fell inside.

The guy charged
after me.

‘Don’t let him
in,’ I yelled.

Quick-thinking
Dessi slammed the window-frame on the guy’s fingers and cried, ‘If you don’t go
away, I’ll get my dad.’

The guy did a
wheelie and took off. I collapsed on the bed and threw up. But Dessi was
terrific. She crept downstairs to make me a strong coffee, changed the bed
linen, and then listened. From her dismayed face, I knew she hadn’t realised
the half of it. But all she did was sponge my filthy face, and tuck me into her
own bed.

I hardly
remember falling asleep. But next day I promised Dessi I’d change. And in some
ways I have. No more drinking or party drugs or going with dangerous strangers.
But since, there’s been Sam and Danny. Both guys were great to start with. Then
Sam only ever contacted me when he wanted sex. Danny was ‘nice’ on the surface,
but then I found out he was reporting everything we did to his mates.

Dessi kept saying, ‘Why be
with a guy who treats you like shit?’ But I refused to listen. I really
believed that if I hung in with Danny, that he’d finally recognise how much I
loved him. So when he dropped me for Skye, I got so depressed I stayed in my
room where I drew Picasso-cubist women with knives sticking into them, and
Hansel and Gretel-fairytale victims with frail limbs, bloated stomachs and
immense hollow eyes. Though Mum and Hannah and Dessi panicked, all I could say
was, ‘That’s how I feel.’ It took me weeks to snap out of it.

I sigh aloud.
Guess Dessi is right when she insists that ‘falling for sleaze-bags is all to
do with hardly ever hearing from your dad.’ So I don’t want to weaken. I want a
proper romantic relationship where I can totally depend on my guy. I want him
to love me as much as I love Dessi. But then… is Abdul going to drop me
because I won’t come across? Looking into those wonderful eyes like pools of
midnight water, his face is impassive. I have no idea what’s going through his
head.

‘We better go,’
is all he says, ‘if you want to visit your friend.’

And though he’s
remembered my request, I can’t help feeling a pang…well, I guess it’s a pang of
regret.

As I wait for Emma to turn up with her
new guy, my cell phone buzzes.

‘Leila here,
Dessi. How are you?’

‘Okay, I
guess… well, getting better,’ I hurriedly add in case she thinks I’m whining.

Leila’s
father is an importer and she helps out in his office. Her parents are strict
Muslims, and she’s never allowed to travel without a male relative. Leila is
my only friend who isn’t also close friends with Emma. Those two don’t get
along. Not that there’s any real reason why. Maybe it comes down to Emma’s need
to be exclusive. She prefers me to only hang around with mutual friends like
Kaz, Jodie and Sacha.  

Leila and I
settle in for a decent chat, mostly centred on how annoyed we are being stuck
at home while the others will be up north having fun. While we talk, I picture
her long dark hair, berry-black eyes, and lovely olive skin. Leila’s most
attractive feature is her unusually full lips which give her a sensual air she
probably isn’t aware of.   

We talk a
while before I say, ‘You never did tell me much about flying OS in the midyear
break.’

Leila’s
infectious giggle before, ‘I’ve never seen my parents so excited. They’d been
planning this, like forever.’

‘How old
were you when you left?’

‘I was born
here. But my parents were just married when they ran away. They were dying to
show me their village. I knew all our rellies’ names, but I think they were a
bit disappointed.’

‘How do you
mean?’

‘They view
us as the lucky ones, those that got away, and think we’re mean for not sending
them more money. They don’t realise how much it costs us to live. My parents
were so relieved to have escaped all the conflicts and be back here. Soon as we
returned, they applied for their naturalisation papers.’ A truck revs down her
street. We wait for the noise to die down before Leila says, ‘All the same, my
folks’d be appalled if I brought a non-Muslim guy home. And god knows what’d
happen if we were serious…like living together and having kids. I reckon my
Dad’d go for Sharia Law.’

I frown into the receiver.
‘How come they’re so strict?’

A long pause before she
says, ‘You see… it was so hard for my parents… like leaving everything they
knew, then having to learn Aussie ways. They all say we’ll lose our language
and religion if we partner out. They want their great-grandchildren to remember
we’re Lebanese-Aussies and remain Muslim. They say we can lose all that in one
generation if we’re not careful.’

I consider this. ‘Do you
think that way too?’

‘Look, I really don’t know.
Actually,’ her sigh drifts down the line,’ I don’t know what I’d do if I met
someone who isn’t Muslim
...
’

I’m about to mention the
coincidence of Emma’s new guy also being Lebanese, only the doorbell
interrupts. After promising to ring back, I know another brief wave of nausea
– bloody painkillers, will I ever get free of them? – before I get
myself together enough to crutch down the passage. The sun leaves red and
green patches on the floor. On the other side of the glass, Emma’s outline bobs
up and down.

Emma. Plus an unknown male.

My friend looks a billion
dollars and I’m suddenly aware that I’m still in a shabby track-suit, my hair
caught in messy bunches. Though annoyed with myself for being such a slob, I’m
distracted by Emma turning her entrance into a song and dance act. ‘Dah dah!’
she cries, flinging out an arm. ‘Dessi Cowan… Meet Abdul Malouf.’

‘Hi,’ he says and smiles.

‘Hi.’ A shock through me
though I’m sure we’ve never met before. It’s as if this meeting has some
significance I’ve yet to understand…

Emma’s other arm is
cradling a bundle of grey fur. ‘Look what I brought you.’

‘Chagall… great.’ I lean on
my crutches and stroke him. Chagall’s response is to nip my finger. ‘Ouch!’ I
yelp.

Emma taps the kitten’s nose
and tucks him firmly under her arm. I giggle. When people first meet Emma,
they see a diminutive, almost fragile girl. But the clue to Emma’s real
personality is her loud contralto and that cleft chin which hints at how
strong, smart and stubborn she is.

‘Abdul drove me home so I could
change,’ she explains. ‘I was dying to show him the kittens.’

I wait for some response
from Abdul. He merely nods. What is going through his mind? ‘Come inside.’ I
beckon them into the living room with its round bay window, high ceilings and
carved wooden architraves. One wall is hidden behind a wall of cartons. I point
to some armchairs and murmur, ‘Excuse the mess.’

‘Great space.’ Abdul
gestures at the sixties gas heater. ‘Shame they took out the old fireplace.’

For a moment I wonder what
he means. Then say dryly, ‘Still plenty of old stuff around here.’

His intense gaze leaves me
feeling that he knows how much I hate this house. He says, ‘Lots of this ‘old
stuff’ is a vast improvement on anything new. Better design and finish.
Weekends, I buy them up at garage sales, then sell my finds to dealers.’

I settle into the old
leather couch squashed inside the bay window and point them to the others. Emma
places Chagall on my lap, kneels beside me, and strokes the kitten.

Abdul prowls, pausing to
examine a photo pinned to the wall at eye level, of the great-aunts Lilbet and
Ella taken when they were still quite young. There’s an awkward silence. I turn
to Emma to ask, ‘You finish that painting?’ Her latest work is a reduction of
the view outside her bedroom window.

Emma jumps up so quickly,
her thick beige hair rises like a curtain and then settles back. ‘Too busy in
the supermarket-from-hell. Heard from Kaz?’

‘Yes.’ I picture Kaz’s
cropped hair, slim body and sharp features.
‘
Called in yesterday, told me all about
the Formal.’

‘I’ll bet. Some of the
clothes were,’ Emma’s eyes roll, ‘gross. Jodie should never wear skin-tight
satin with frills.’

I wrinkle my nose and
laugh.

‘All our teachers sent
their love.’ Emma sits next to me. ‘Did Kaz mention Jack’s speech? He said how
sorry everyone was you weren’t there.’

‘Yes.’ Tears start to my
eyes. ‘Shows you can never tell with guys.’

Abdul has settled into the
opposite chair. He crosses his legs. I realise we’re excluding him. As I feel
his gaze rest on me, I know another jolt. Again there’s the curious sensation
that we’ve met before and that he can log into my thoughts…

‘Never tell what?’ he asks.

‘Guess we never expect you
males to be super sensitive.’ My tone is extra tart in an attempt to avert that
intense and embarrassing gaze.

Mock-innocent eyes widen.
‘Why ever not?’

I feel myself redden. I’m
saved by Emma launching into a description of her last school day ‘…spread
flour through the staff rooms; the deputy was livid. He’s such a jerk, isn’t he
Dessi?’

I grin. ‘Maybe he isn’t so
bad…’

‘Not so bad?’ While Emma
launches into a description of how bad hairy gremlins can be, I watch Abdul. As
a third year uni student, he’s intelligent and worldly. So how come he’s keen
on Emma? Surely he meets more interesting women...

Banishing the thought as
disloyal, I stroke Chagall, and continue to observe. Emma is right. Abdul
is
gorgeous. But I’m wary of eye-candy.
Didn’t Jon McKenna’s blond hair, baby-blue eyes, bronzed skin and great body
hide an ignorant bully? Will Abdul browbeat Emma for sex like Jon did me?
Somehow I doubt it. Listening to him laugh, I wish I’d met him first. But then,
who’d go for someone laid up on crutches…

‘...so he turned me off
history. But you did okay, Dessi, didn’t you?’

Brought back to the
conversation, I cross my fingers and nod. As Emma chatters on, Abdul’s smile
becomes strained…

My friend

why must you always

work so hard

to seek a guy’s affection?

You’re better than all…

Yes, better than all these men put
together.

I wait for a break to ask, ‘Abdul,
what’s your major?’

He slowly sits up. ‘Applied
Maths.’

‘What’s that like?’

‘Maths can explain why you
got hurt in that accident and the other two were ok. It’s Chaos Theory.’

Emma asks, ‘What’s Chaos
Theory?’

If we half expect him to
mock our ignorance, he says seriously, ‘Chaos Theory suggests that real life is
a series of incidents in which one event may change those that follow and make
them unpredictable.’

I consider this. ‘Does that
mean even if we’re careful we can’t prevent an accident?’

‘Not really. In your case,
the driver was stupid. What Chaos Theory suggests is that life can never be
like a scientific experiment where you can predict every factor.’ He breaks
off. ‘Now I’m boring you…’

‘Not at all,’ I say
hurriedly.

‘No way…’ Emma echoes. She
chatters on about school and what she expects the holiday to be like. Abdul
openly examines me. I look away. Outside, the wind rises and knocks a branch
against the window. Shadows flicker. My heart gives a sudden jolt. I have a
premonition of things falling apart… falling away…and only wake up to Emma’s,
‘…one of Mum’s friends injured herself so badly she’s suing her gym.’

He says, ‘Thought all gyms
had a personal responsibility clause,’

‘Maybe,’ Emma says slowly.
‘We’re joining up soon.’

‘Why not now?’ he asks.

She glances at me. ‘We’re
waiting for Dessi’s ankle to heal. I really want to use that setting to show
how they can fill some people’s lives.’

‘Like Degas and his ballet
dancers,’ I boast for her. ‘Great idea, isn’t it?’

‘Great idea,’ he says
smiling. ‘Personally, gyms aren’t my thing. Between lifting and shifting, I
keep pretty fit.’ Then comes an unexpected ‘Dessi, how about coming with us
tonight?’

There’s a nanosecond
hesitation before Emma cries, ‘Great idea, Dessi. Do you good to get out.’

I shake my head. No way
will I be a third wheel when it comes to Emma’s men. ‘Too hard with this
ankle.’