Sydney's Song (15 page)

“Twenty three. And you?”

A few hours later Pete asked, “Shall we talk about the big elephant in the room?”

I started.

We had dined on the back veranda and were now watching an American sitcom on the lounge-room TV. I supposed it was a funny show, but I found it hard to concentrate. Ridiculous. Since when did watching a comedy require concentration? But my heart was hammering. My hands felt clammy. And I had been fidgeting.

There was a very big elephant in the room.

I threw a glance at him. And quickly looked away.

This long summer day I had been so ecstatic to spend time with him. Sitting across the table at dinner had felt so good. Chatting with him had been very, very pleasant. I had savoured our closeness and a sense of deep connection.

But never mind the laughter from the TV now. The silence was simply too loud. There was a very big elephant in the room.

Was he going to ask for sex? In this time of ours, when it was commonplace, would you label me outdated for feeling petrified?

“Sydney, don't be scared.”

I glued my eyes on the idiot box.

“We're not gonna sleep together.”

Oh.

He chuckled. “Sydney, look at me.”

Shrivelling in fear, I turned to him warily. We were sitting on the same sofa. He was in the middle of it. And I had taken the farthest possible place to his right without toppling over.

He smiled his breathtaking smile at me. His wide, perfectly sculpted mouth was bracketed by slight dimples. Sparkling eyes looked into mine with fondness and understanding.

“I have a strong belief that this connection between us is true and gonna last for always,” he said gently. How I loved his charming, unhurried way of speaking. “No one's gonna take it away from us.Ever. Someday we're gonna be together in every way. But that someday isn't today.”

I breathed a sigh of relief.

“You aren't ready, Sydney. Everything is too new. I don't know what your problems are. I hope you're gonna open up to me and let me give you a hug or a shoulder to cry on. But I sense there are too many complications in your life at the moment. I feel that sleeping together will only add to the confusion, making things worse for you.”

I nodded.

“One day I hope you'll agree to marry me. ‘Cause I'm crazy for you. You and only you. But I'm not gonna shock you now. We'll talk about this again someday. When you'll be—what? A proper grownup?”

I looked at him dumbly.

“What d'you say?” he asked, one very beautiful eyebrow lifted.

I shook my head. “I don't know what to say. Except… how intuitive you are!”

He smiled shyly.

“Some years from now you're gonna be mine, sweetheart. Mine to cherish, night and day. I'll be yours and you'll be mine. I never doubt it. For now, I want your company because I feel good whenever you're around. But let's take it easy, okay? One step each day. Now, don't hesitate to talk about anything with me. Or question me. Or ask for my time or my help. Whenever. I'm all yours.”

“All these weeks…” I wondered. “I've tried to ignore you. Really I tried.” He smirked at this, but I plunged on, “What a waste of time.”

“No. You're too young.” He readily excused me. “You needed time to get used to the idea and the feelings. But man, did it take you so long! What a relief it was to read your little note today. My heart stopped beating. Then it went racing. I thought, at last…” He took out the little note from his shirt pocket and kissed it, holding my gaze.

“I'll treasure this always.”

And he moved back. Just when I thought he was about to kiss me.

“I shouldn't touch you when we're all alone like this,” he smiled ruefully, as if reading my thoughts. “I won't be able to stop.”

He was tempted? I grinned at this. “A teacher in high school told us kids to only go on a date to places that are bright and crowded.”

“Very wise.”

So Pete was cautious. It made me realise he valued me as a person, not just a sex object. Despite his heated gaze, he only kissed the tip of my nose when he said goodbye. Trying to control his passion instead of being governed by it.

“I'll wake you up in the morning,” he promised. “No need to set your alarm clock. When you hear the phone ring twice, that will be me waking you. You don't have to pick it up.”

“And if it rings thrice,” I looked into his eyes, challenging, “I'll pick it up.”

“Yes,” he grinned, eyes dancing, “It means I wanna speak with you.”

I could tell you about euphoria.

It was walking in the clouds. It was happiness so engulfing, elation so joyous. It was sunshine in your soul, brightening every corner of your heart. It was a supreme delight when your love was smiling into your eyes. Or simply when he was saying “G'day,” trying to imitate your Australian accent.

I could tell you about love.

Love was squirming with fear that you might not look your best for a date. Worried to the bone when he was late (well, what could I say, he was catching CityRail—for God's sake). And babbling like an idiot when the perfect Adonis showing up at your door robbed you of speech. Love was feeling cherished when he was cooking your dinner.

I was now acutely aware of my surroundings. If I had been a zombie in November, half-awake in December, all my senses were tingling with life this January.

The world was suddenly a vibrant place to live in.

At the office I noticed Valerya's eyes were the lightest shade of blue, instead of just any light colour. I noticed there were four types of greens in the enormous bowl of plants by the entry door. I noticed my newly married boss, previously impeccably dressed, now came with her business suit dishevelled.

I noticed many callers were actually very pleasant to talk with.

There was this sweet Russian grandmother in Liverpool. A humorous Rose Bay lady who wished Newcastle trains provided sandwiches. An elderly Neutral Bay gentleman with the wickedest way of spelling his name. A was for Awful. S was for Shocking. Gwas for Gross. E was for Evil. I was for Irresistible. R was for Risky.H was for Horrid. V was for Vile. N was for Naughty.

And many other witty callers.

On Your Say I dealt with more angry customers.

“The Premier would do Sydney commuters a favour by jumping from the top of Sydney Harbour Bridge! We're all paying customers here. You must lift your game.” A guy whose bus did not show up had to ask his very sick wife to drive him to work. As she was suffering from a terminal illness, he felt like a cad. Me too. You wouldn't believe how heavy my heart was each time a floor manager forced me to tell callers:

“The Radio Room has just confirmed, there are no reported delays.”

They said I shouldn't feel bad. That I wasn't lying. Because that was exactly what our centre was told.

“Look at other world cities! Their public transport shames Sydney any day. We all pay tax as they do. Why the hell can't we get a credible service too?” A famous journo yelled and yelled in raging fury. “Sydney's public transport is run by a bunch of spoiled kids of low IQ with a total lack of vision and commitment! The transport ministry is peopled by inconsiderate selfish morons who lack the intelligence to know what they're doing! By continuously delivering poor services, the NSW government insults thousands of commuters who have paid their taxes for years!”

But this public figure turned out to be decent, pushed to anger only by valid reasons. After venting his ire, he calmed down and became a very pleasant bloke. We had a bit of a chat. He ended by telling me the best place to buy coffee in Sydney.

A retired ex-serviceman of Kensington rang. Cheerful and pleasant, he was positively a happy person who viewed his blessed long life a wonderful experience. A regular, he had very kind words for everyone. He rang to compliment agents, bus drivers, taxi radio-rooms, and everybody else he happened to get in touch with.Including me.

Those weeks before Australia Day flew with incredible speed.Before, Pete just stayed nearby. After my gesture of surrender he was in my life with full force.

He even talked more.

After that first morning he had woken me up, the phone always rang thrice. And I would snatch it immediately.

We would laugh and say good mornings and start the day saying I-love-yous. We talked about our plans for the day. About our feelings.About the kookaburra perching on my window sill. Once he asked me not to cut my hair. And we hung up, knowing we would soon meet to spend the day together.

He would ring again at night, both of us very sad to be separated until the morning call. Saying goodbye was always extremely hard.Once I timed it, and it took us 70 minutes.

I loved listening to him. In my job, few callers had very pleasant voices and were great to talk with. Pete eclipsed them all. Some people would say his tenor voice was very sexy, except that he never steered near risqué conversation.

He told me his Dad, Clive, was a professor at Massachusetts Institute of Technology, teaching Civil Engineering, specifically bridges: “I saw him marking his students' exam papers very hard. He said they must be careful because public safety was involved.”

His Mom, Emmanuella, was a piano teacher at a Catholic girls'high school in Boston.

He had a sister, Eve, 6 years older, an Oracle database-administrator, recently married to a family lawyer.

He had a brother, Lance, 6 years younger, who used to dream of joining Boston's Red Sox, but was now more interested in playing drums for his high school band.

“Just happened, my parents said. They didn't plan to have a child every six years.”

“So you didn't have anyone to fight with, growing up?”

“Plenty. Eve used to think I was a real pest, being much younger.One of my first memories was her screaming after I
helped
her doing her school homework—she obviously didn't appreciate the handwriting of a two-year old.”

And he talked about his dreams. “My travels inspire me to help others. When I settle down, I'm gonna volunteer part of my time—and whatever else I can give—to ease some of the suffering around us. And I wanna have a life partner with whom I don't fight, so that together we can spend our energy and resources in caring for others.I believe, to glorify God means to have a good relationship with all of His creations.”

God? He believed in God? Because I had no knowledge on this topic, I saved this line of conversation for later, planning to ask him someday.

When Pete came to my house, which was now every day after work, he taught me how to cook my favourite dishes.

“Can't you just accept me as I am?” I asked him while chopping some thyme. Pete himself cut a lot of things with scissors instead of a knife. “Why fatten me up?”

“Sydney, to be 80 pounds when you are five-seven can't be healthy. ‘Course I accept you no matter what, but you'll be much happier healthy.” He combined the herbs and spices and looked at me, his clear, earnest eyes marred with concern. I knew what he was thinking. That my depression and anorexia had been clinical but I had not bothered to get any help. Nobody had bothered—until now.His gentle voice called to my stubborn heart. “I worry about you.”

“Aaargh! Your eyes… Like Dimity's. When she asks for something that I can't refuse…” I turned away from those mesmerising eyes.“Now, how long should I cut these fillets?”

“Satay cubes. One inch.” His eyes gleamed with mischief. “It has to be exactly two point five four centimetres.”

“Why?”

“It'll taste better.”

“Pete!” I elbowed him.

“Darling,” he laughed. “Don't worry so much.”

So we marinated chicken satays for dinner and Pete said to leave it for an hour. It was still the bright daylight of summer. I took out cold juice and colourful tall glasses, green and blue. Pete poured the drink and offered me the blue.

“No,” I objected. “The green's mine.”

He lifted an eyebrow.

“Because it tastes better!”

“Right,” he winked. “And you always sit closer to the window because the food is tastier there.”

“You've got it. That's why it's my favourite chair.”

As he sat to my right, I rhapsodised about Auntie Kate's satay sauce which was tastier than in any restaurant.

“So we call her.”

“No Pete, that's the most useless thing to do! Kate just throws in her ingredients without any particular measurements. And somehow it turns out great. But I'd be lost.”

“She sounds great. We'll figure out the measurements.”

I had the feeling that he was curious to get to know somebody from my life, and I did not discourage him. So we had Kate on the line. On speaker.

“Darling,” she gushed. “I saw you on the 501 from Railway Square a few days ago.” Kate now worked as an ABC journo in Pyrmont.“What were you doing out there? I was about to catch that bus, but I arrived late, just in time for the impatient driver to slam the doors in my face! Then I saw you on it. But you didn't see me. I doubt that you could've known other people existed anyway. You were with this most gorgeous specimen and had eyes only for him. So darling, how's the love affair?”