Dessi's Romance (7 page)

‘No more than ten K’s an
hour. Promise…’

His tone is so wheedling I
can’t help giggling. ‘Make it twenty and I’ll come.’

What will Emma say? But
didn’t she ask Abdul to visit. Isn’t she having a good time? Surely I deserve
a little fun, too.

‘Done,’ he says. ‘Pick you
up midday.’

Midday, I’m wakened by the
sound of Jodie chucking up in the bathroom. I make myself a coffee and take it
out onto the balcony where Kaz, in a string bikini, is sipping orange juice. No
sign of Bodie-dreadlocks.

‘I’ve been
shopping,’ Kaz tells me. ‘Milk, cornflakes, bread, margarine, Vegemite and a
six pack. You owe me twenty-one dollars, okay?

‘Okay.’ The retching
now interspersed with audible groans. ‘Is Jodie all right?’

‘She will be
when she’s finished regurgitating. Want a beer?’

‘Yes please,
after I down this coffee.’ Though I’d promised myself to be careful about how
much I drink… what the hell! I’m on vacation, aren’t I?

‘Great start to
our week. Not!’ Kaz says sourly. ‘God knows what she got hold of last night.
Anyway,’ reaching for her glass, ‘I want to go to
Shooters
tonight. Free entry if
you’re there before ten. And they have great prizes too. Loads of freebies.’

‘Won’t we have
trouble getting Jodie in?’

‘Oh god!’ She
staggers out onto the balcony clutching a sodden bath towel. ‘I’m dying.’

‘Have an orange
juice,’ Kaz suggests. ‘Without vodka this time, eh?’

‘Aaargh!’ Jodie
reels back into the unit.  

I stare after
her impatiently. How can Jodie be so immature? ‘What are you doing today?’ I
ask Kaz, not ready to discuss my plan to contact my father, though Kaz, having
divorced parents herself, would probably understand.

Kaz shrugs. ‘Can
I shower in your bathroom seeing ours is polluted?’

‘Sure,’ I say.
‘I’m just going to check out the shops. I really want to look over Circle on
Cavill.’ Last night I’d noticed some bargains and I want to get back to them.
‘Catch you later, Kaz.’

‘Don’t forget
Sash is coming over,’ she calls after me.

Rather than use
up my SIM-card, first thing I do is find a public phone. Having Dessi up here
to support me would make things so much easier. Even though I know Dad’s number
by heart, I look him up on my cell phone ‘contact’ list. My stomach clenches
and I almost don’t phone. What if his ‘bimbo bitch slut of a home-breaker’ answers?
What will she say? I feed coins into the slot and hit the numbers. My heart
hammers. My mouth is dry.

‘Hi. You have called Robert
and Laura Simpson. Please leave your name and number and we’ll get back to you
asap.’ The voice is light, pleasant, clear.

I don’t know
what to say. Then my brain kicks in. ‘Hi. This is me, Emma. I’m here…on the
Coast. Uh… staying at Broadbeach Towers and…‘

Click
.
Whirr
.
Buzz
.

I’m out of time.
Somehow this is comforting, as I can now leave it up to fate. I’ve made
contact. Now it’s up to them, isn’t it?

Time for some
serious shopping.

Three hours later and four
hundred dollars lighter, I’m back at our unit. I find Kaz and Sacha sprawled on
the balcony, both gleaming with suntan oil. But the sun is almost down. Sacha
is in a black g-string, and Kaz has changed into a red bikini. Though they form
a pleasing picture, instead of inspiring me to sketch them I feel mildly
annoyed. How come? Then I realise it’s because Dessi isn’t here. If Dessi was
with me we’d exchange a knowing grin. ‘No sun,’ I say pointing out the obvious.
‘Why not go down to the beach?’

Kaz crinkles her
nose. ‘All that sand goes up my bum.’

‘And we have
cold drinks here,’ Sacha says with a grin. ‘Very convenient.’

‘What’d you buy,
Emma?’ Kaz asks.

I spread my
acquisitions on the table. Sacha nods approvingly. Recently he’s been working
on sketches of stylised women wearing glamorous clothes. ‘Hmmm, like that,’
says Kaz pointing to a silvery metallic halter-neck.

‘Want a beer?’
Sacha gets up to go into the kitchen.

Kaz beckons me
over. ‘He needs a favour,’ she whispers. ‘Can he stay here with us? He loathes
it where he is.’       

‘Where’s he
going to sleep?’

‘You’ve an extra
bed in your room.’

‘Uh, I don’t
know if I want to share with a guy, Kaz.’ Another reason for missing Dessi. I
have a sudden memory of the many times we’ve shared rooms, the total intimacy.
Can I have this with a guy… even if it’s only Sacha?

‘…okay,’ Kaz is
saying, ‘I’ll take your room and you share with Jodie.’

Share with
Jodie? No way.

‘Is it okay?’
Sacha comes back with two beers.

‘Well?’ Kaz
stares at me.    

‘Oh, okay I
suppose,’ I say, knowing I could sound more welcoming.

‘You’re the
best, Em,’ says Sacha. ‘I’ll go get my stuff,’ which I note, is already neatly
stacked in a corner. He gathers his bags and heads for the bedroom.

At the same
moment, Jodie emerges from her room looking marginally better.

‘What’s going
on?’

‘Ask Kaz,’ I
say, suddenly cross as Picasso’s
Woman in a Hat
. This holiday is not going the way I’d
hoped. Just then the intercom buzzes. Jodie hands it to me. ‘There’s someone
down in the foyer to see you,’ she says, eyeing me curiously.

My stomach
lurches. ‘Tell them I’ll be down in a minute.’

It must be my
dad. I go to the door.

I answer the door to Abdul. I’ve worked
on my hair and make-up and changed into a colourful top and cut offs. From his
admiring glance, I must look okay.

He doesn’t have to bend to
kiss my cheek. I remember him as being taller. He’s also in denim cut-offs and
a skin-tight blue T-shirt. His eyes are black as ebony, his olive skin somewhat
sallow, but the hair in the cleft of his chin and his head is
pitch-black, collar-length and falls in tight ringlets over his high forehead. Only
his nose, curved like a bird of prey, stops him having a certain ‘choirboy’ look
I’m sure is misleading.

‘Mum, meet Abdul, Emma’s
new friend,’ I tell Hannah.

Abdul smiles politely but a
second later his face is impassive.

Hannah’s greeting is
friendly if a little bemused. I openly scowl. I just know she’s thinking, ‘Nice
boy. Shame he’s Lebanese...‘

With some difficulty Abdul
helps me into the van, makes sure my other leg is also safely inside, and we
move down the street. Now we’re actually together and alone, I’m tongue-tied.
The car dodges in and out of traffic. I watch the real world rush past. Each
time Abdul glances my way, I feel my pulse quicken. He says, ‘Anywhere you’d
like to go?’

‘Not really.’

‘Everyone heads for
Sorrento and Portsea. Let’s go the other way. How about we drive to Flinders?’

Didn’t great-aunt Ella
paint watercolours of Flinders?

Or is it just some

damn fool attraction?

We drive past the Casino. Desperate to
break this silence with anything, no matter how stupid, I ask, ‘You into
pokies?’

He grins slightly. ‘No way.
They’re programmed to make you lose.’

How come he knows? Maths,
of course! I slyly watch him. Though he’s not really all that handsome, he has
an air of gravity I really admire. His wide shoulders, well-muscled arms and
slender waist suggest litheness and strength. I like his older-guy manner, his
exotic background, admire that he intends to be a professional mathematician;
it takes him out of the ordinary. My breathing quickens…

Watch it Dessi, I warn
myself, you may be walking into something you can’t handle.

My thoughts swing to Emma.
Remembering everything we’ve shared – kindergarten, school, netball,
swimming, inseparable almost every weekend, I grow pensive. People sometimes
mistake us for sisters, even though I’m tall and dark and Emma is short and
fair.

Yet in some ways I consider
her closer than any sister. Don’t real sisters bicker? But not us. Not in the
past. Lately however, when I reflect on Emma and men, I groan in despair. Not
that we don’t have endless conversations on that topic. Isn’t that what best
friends are for? But for me there’s never that desperate edge to finding the
right guy… like I’ve always known that if one doesn’t work out, there’ll always
be another. Though I understand Emma’s greater need for affection, what with
her father leaving, and having lovely if hopeless Julie as her mum, how much
sympathy can a close friend have? Sometimes I wonder if she’s used up all mine?
Right now I have to remind myself of how devoted she was when I was in
hospital… how caring…how old our friendship... how much we love each other…

Yet even these memories can
be sullied.

A fortnight before our
finals, we took time off to visit the local pool. I intended swimming laps, but
Emma fancied one of the lifesavers and tried everything to grab his attention.

‘Chill out,’ I muttered,
totally embarrassed.

Violet eyes mocked me.
‘Lighten up will you?’

‘Do you have to be with a
guy to feel whole?’

She laughed. ‘Lose your
precious cherry and you’ll soon find out.’

‘That’s not what I’m on
about…’

‘No? Then why get uptight?’

Even the memory makes me
cross. But it’s hardly my fault Mr Right hasn’t come along, is it? Not that I
don’t get offers. I acknowledge that still being a virgin at eighteen might be
unusual. But shouldn’t I be extra keen on the guy before we have sex? The rest
of that day, though outwardly polite, we both fumed. A chasm loomed between us.
If only she wouldn’t keep on about how many guys are onto her. Though she’s
unusually pretty, I reckon I‘m passable, even if I don’t measure up to her sexy
cuteness. Yet sometimes, like when she’s raving about all the guys who fancy
her, I feel like Dracula’s daughter. What if it’s only that accident still
sticky-taping us together? What if this friendship needs to be called off?

I’m tempted to call things
off. I’m scared of how I’ll feel when I see my father. What if I make a
complete idiot of myself? I have a sudden memory of him carrying me… recall his
smell, his high forehead, the rough feel of his cheeks, how he’d call me ‘his
princess’. But if he loved me that much, why didn’t he contact me more often?
What was it I couldn’t give him?

In the end I
leave it too late and the lift doors open.

‘Hello Emma.’

My stomach turns
over. Surely it’s not her. Not Laura. My face flames.

She smiles
nervously. ‘Your dad’s doing a cruise today and… and he asked me to pick you
up. He can’t wait to see you.’

‘Can’t he?’ I
refuse to make this easy. Unsaid is, if he’s so keen why did he send you? ‘I
have other arrangements I’m afraid…’ I say, turning back towards the lift.

Laura catches my
arm. ‘Emma,’ she says softly. ‘I so hoped we could be friends.’

Friends? Is this woman
mad? I hate her guts. But there’s enough uncertainty in her voice to make me
pause.

‘Please,’ Laura
continues. ‘Come home with me. Rob… uh, your dad, will be so disappointed if
you don’t come. He’s been looking forward to this visit so much.’

To my astonishment, I find
myself following her outside to a blue Jeep Wrangler parked just outside. Laura
is exactly twelve years older than me. Trouble is, she’s not at all what I
pictured. Julie always described her as ‘…that cheap little slut.’ But Laura is
slim and neat. Certainly not sluttish. If anything Julie might once have looked
somewhat like her. I ask, ‘What am I supposed to call you?’

‘How about
Laura?’ she says brightly.

How about
bitch-face?

‘Here we are,’
Laura says as we swerve into a broad driveway. She pulls up under a carport
surrounded by hibiscus, opens the front door and ushers me in.

My jaw drops as
I take in white leather sofas, glass topped tables, an enormous TV, a bookcase
filled with pigs of all shapes and sizes.

Pigs! Who
collects pigs?

Meanwhile Laura
is opening a bar fridge. ‘Would you like a cool drink? You might like a dip in
the pool.’

Pool? Following
Laura outside, I stifle a gasp. The back yard could model for a David Hockney.
A massive pergola, a huge barbecue, sun lounges and an aquamarine pool which,
by some trick of the eye, has water spilling towards a tropical rainforest.