Grease Monkey Jive (47 page)

“You and Scott got invited to dance as part of the show while the judges do their thing,” he checked.

“No. You and me.”

Dan smiled and he looked more like the old Dan, the one who loved to listen to her. He said, “You and me?” and it was forced out on a laugh that might have hidden shock or ridicule. The flag of courage that got her this far was a tattered rag now, flapping fitfully at the edge of her resolve. Once she thought she understood Dan, now she was so unsure.

“Is that so surprising?”

“Shit yeah.”

He knew he’d reacted wrongly somehow. His words came out on a hard exhalation and in the tiny space it sounded mocking and sarcastic. Dan saw it register in Alex’s face with a flinch of her lip and a rapid blink. She rocked forward from the built-in bench seat and her face was so close he could smell the perfume of her shampoo and see her pupils contract.

“Obviously you wouldn’t want to do it, but I thought you should know. I’ll go now.”

He put his hand out to block the door. “Wait.” And, God, that was wrong too, now he’d made her feel trapped. “You can dance the routine with Scott?”

She hesitated, seemed to consider that. “Yes.”

He couldn’t care less about the competition, but he didn’t want her to leave. He hadn’t sorted out all the things he’d learned from Katie yet. It was too soon to know how to talk to Alex, but he wanted to keep her here.

“How are you?”

“I’m fine, thanks.” She was teacher Alex, polite and crisp like clean white paper, showing nothing. He was brain numbed and his vocabulary had narrowed down to almost nothing.

“Uni?”

“Fine.”

“The comp?” Had she already told him about that? She was looking at him oddly and then she reached out and rubbed her hand across the short bristle of his hair.

“You look different.”

Dan closed his eyes and sucked in a breath that she interpreted as annoyance. She snatched her hand back. He caught it and they looked at each other across the table, both of them straining to understand how to deal with this moment. Her hand was cold in his, small and rigid, an unwilling prisoner. He released it and she dropped her eyes to the table unable to meet his gaze any longer.

“I’m sorry, Dan. I shouldn’t have done that. I know you’re with someone else. I know you’ve moved on, quit work, so it was the right thing for us to break up.”

Dan’s head was pounding, the headache ring-fencing in his ability to think clearly and react effectively. “I’m not with anyone. Did you think...?”

“I don’t need to know. You’ve worked out what makes you happy.” Alex glanced around the Kombi. “You’re needs are so much simpler than mine.” The natural end to that sentence was, ‘I’m happy for you’, but she didn’t say it.

“Alex, we should talk. I should explain.”

“There’s no need. You were right, it’s done. I came to tell you about the invitational – I thought you might get a kick out of that – and to say goodbye.”

Goodbye, she was saying goodbye. “Have you met someone new?

“I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

He almost used a Katie line, but bit his tongue in time to stop the words, ‘it’s my business, because I love you’, coming out of his mouth. He’d fucked up and there was no fixing this. It was too late. Every bad notion about himself he’d wanted her to believe, she’d learned by heart and he had no one to blame but himself.

“We’re done Dan. You knew it. You were right.”

Before he was ready, she slid the door open and stepped out. He followed her, stumbling out of the van, shivering in the wind, in shock from the speed with which his life was unravelling again.

“Alex.”

She put her hand to his face, traced her thumb in the dip under his eye. “Look after yourself, Dan.”

She didn’t wait for a reply and she didn’t look back.

He wasn’t a regular and Dan did a double take as he passed him at the shoreline. He was usually dressed in fitted dance gear, brand name street wear, or his elegantly smart-casual work clothing. In a wetsuit, with his hair mussed, he was well camouflaged. He looked all surfer boy. The fact that he had a board under his arm also gave the game away.

“You bastard. You surf.”

“How else do you think I survived growing up in this neighbourhood?” Scott pulled the Velcro on his leg rope apart, the tearing sound satisfyingly aggressive, like his idea of coming here. “It was either learn to walk on water or get used to being beaten to a pulp by guys like you. Never did like pulp.”

“I suppose you’ll tell me you can do a computer update on an engine too.”

“Oh no! That’s all yours, caveman.”

Dan laughed and bent to fasten his leg rope. “You drop in on my wave out there, I’ll wipe you out.”

Scott was already moving when he said, “I’d expect nothing less.”

Out beyond the break in the line-up they floated. Dan waited for Scott to drop the other shoe. He had no idea if it would be the dead bounce of a rubber flipper or the patter of a dance shoe. He just knew Scott wasn’t accidently on Bondi in a wetsuit. On his fourth paddle back, he also knew Scott wasn’t intending to catch any waves. He looked the part, but he was a buoy, just happy to bob around.

“How long since you’ve been on a board?”

“I had to borrow it.”

Dan slapped the water with an open hand. He had Scott in his comfort zone now, and it was both amusing and discomforting. “What are you doing here?”

“I want to talk to you.”

“I take appointments on dry land. You didn’t need to come out here.”

“Yes. I did. I can surf. I just haven’t done it for a while.”

Dan waited. He’d let Scott do what he came to do though this floating about was making him anxious. He caught another wave in and when he padded back the purpose of Scott’s water mission was revealed.

“Why won’t you dance in the invitational?”

Was this a trick question? Dan squinted at Scott, “Because you are.”

“Only because you said no.”

“I didn’t say no. I didn’t...” Dan thought back to that conversation with Alex. “Ah, she said no for me.”

“Oh. I might have thought of that.”

“What am I missing?”

“You’re missing her, Dan. Why haven’t you come after her?”

“Because I fucked up and I’ve had my chance. She’s decided it’s over now. She said goodbye.”

“Then she cried for another week.”

That was hard to hear. Dan let the current carry his board away from Scott’s and caught the next wave in. On the paddle back it was no clearer what he should do. Life wasn’t a video game where you got multiple chances. There was no second chance for the people Jimmy killed. There’d been no second chance for his mother.

“Does she know you’re here?”

“She doesn’t even know I own a wetsuit.”

“What do you want from me, Scott?”

“Alex is my best friend. Some days I think she’s my only friend. I can be hard to get along with. You might have noticed that I don’t play well with others. I want what’s best for her.”

“I get that.” Scott was Alex’s Mitch, Fluke, and Ant rolled into one neat, competent, sharp-edged package.

“I thought you really were a Neanderthal. I thought she’d chew you up and spit you out like overripe fruit. But you’re more like fungus. You grew on me. I could see you were good for her. I hoped you could save her from being this corporate horror story, all calculation and no soul, just what her Mommy Dearest wants. But then you flaked out on me, so now I don’t know what to make of you. Except what you did for us both, standing in for me, was truly exceptional, so I figure I owe you the benefit of the doubt.”

“You came out here to get me to do something for you.”

“I came out here to get you do something for you. Dance with her. Dance with her one last time, and if you don’t see that it’s not over, that she wants you in her life despite what she says, I’ll give it up.”

They floated over the chubby swell. Gulls screamed and wheeled, other surfers found waves juicy enough to ride. Neither the sets coming at them or the pinking horizon had the answer Dan needed. The idea of dancing with Alex again, of holding her in his arms, was tantalising. He’d give almost anything to feel that blue bolt of electricity, that perfect thrill of her body, that pull of her eyes, smiling not wary, just once more, even if she was acting the part.

The line up was thinning as dusk came on; the regular crew of surfers taking off to chow down. Dan paddled his board closer to Scott. “Can you win?”

“Probably not. We’re sitting in third place. But who knows? Someone could break an ankle.”

“The prize money only covers first place, right?”

“Yes. It’s just honour and glory for the rest of us.”

“What happens if you don’t win?”

“To me, nothing. For Alex, the money made a difference. I was going to give her my share anyway. I wondered if you would too.”

Dan nodded. He’d never had any intention of taking his cut.

“Who said there’s no honour among grease monkeys?”

“Honour, but not stupidity, Scott. I can’t do it. I’d be lucky to remember the routine anyway, and I don’t want to re-open this for her. That would be too painful. She decided this. She said goodbye. She doesn’t want me there.”

“Don’t say no now. Think about it. Saturday night. What’s the worst that can happen?”

The worst had already happened. He’d tried to protect Alex and ended up denying her a voice, being a bully who took away her choice. For a moment, just a slim slice of time, he’d hoped he might fix it, but the damage was hard baked and crusted over. She’d made the decision now. He could no sooner take that away from her than he could get back all the time he’d wasted cowering from Jimmy’s shadow.

The worst was the loss of her and the defeat of the part of himself that was better because of her. And the best was the knowledge he could be strong enough to leave her alone to heal. There was a whole car yard of other emotions in between those two states, but none of them justified hurting her again. He didn’t think he could see her again and not fall at her feet and beg for another chance he didn’t deserve.

Dan watched Scott surf a wave to shore. He was stiff and awkward, but he held and didn’t eat it till the backwash hit him. It was a respectable ride from an old timer who’d lost his surfing mojo, and it said a lot about Scott that he would put himself out so much for Alex.

It was surprisingly easy for Dan to track Barry Barton down: a website with some amusing photographs of him from twenty years ago, bad suits, no gut, more hair, and, presumably, no dad jokes in his repertoire.

An email, a phone call, and a cash transfer made it official. He was his mother’s son, after all. The Janelle Maddox prize would be added to the competition allowing second and third placed couples to take prize money home, twenty thousand dollars for second place and ten thousand for third.

If Alex and Scott came in second, Alex would get almost as much money as she’d originally banked on sharing with Scott. If they came in third, the ten thousand would be better than nothing.

It was the only way he could think of to finish what he’d started.

It broke him. He had nothing left in savings now. The loans were covered by the rent and his profit share from the garage, but he needed to crawl back into his old job to cover his own rent and food. McMurty would take it out of him by giving him all the worst jobs and shifts going, but if that gave Alex what she needed it was worth every grease and oil change, every tire rotation, every impossible to find rattle ever imagined.

Every element of Alex’s body was fried, her skin dry and crisp, her bones brittle, her organs sluggish, and her blood congealed and stuttering in her veins. Every synapse was short-circuited. Her motions were clumsy, heavy, and odd, her thoughts slow and stale and weary. She felt old and faded and worn through.

All around her in the arena the vibrant pinks and clashing greens, the glowing reds and sharp yellows of the competitor’s costumes and the stage lighting fought for ascendency. Music blared and, under its current, excited chatter bubbled, but to Alex it was all irrelevant, not worth fighting the anchor of fatigue to track.

Now, after their final performance, she didn’t have to fake a smile, stay in character, or hold a pose. If they’d done enough to win, they would, and no amount of paying attention or pretending to care would make any difference. Now there was just keeping it together long enough to dance the invitational and not embarrass Scott. And then she could succumb. Collapse inward, pander to sorrow, and cry the tears she’d held off by hoping he would still come.

It was a descent to a private hell. No one else saw catastrophe in absence, the end of shy optimism. At least, she didn’t think they did, until an age-spotted hand reached for hers and held on tight.

“It’s not the end, my darling.”

“Yes, I think it is. It has to be.”

“No. There could be lots of reasons.”

“That’s true. But still, it’s a deliberate choice and you’re just a romantic.”

“I am and you’re making assumptions.”

“It’s what we do. Make assumptions, based on what we see. It’s reasonable.”

“What is it you see?”

“I see the end.” Alex made her uncooperative body move, turn to look at her grandmother. “Don’t worry, I’ll survive. I’m just feeling this sadness right now. It’ll pass.”

“You’ve gone very pale.”

“I feel very pale. But I don’t want the whole world knowing. I’ll get it together in a minute. That was the last couple in the heat. The judges are getting ready. I have to change. We have to dance again.”

“You did dance beautifully, you and Scott. It made your mother cry.”

“Did it?”

Gran lowered her voice, “Don’t say anything. She’ll be embarrassed.”

A remembered reflex hitched Alex’s lips, ticked them into a smile, and it was a tiny piece of light to fight the drag of dark fatigue.

“At least you got her to smile.” Scott sat, the phone in his hand no lifeline. It was a dumb terminal shouting silence.

Pretending with Scott would take too much effort. There was no need to speculate; it oozed out of his pores and poured from his eyes. “You tried.”