Not Meeting Mr Right Page 25

'So I guess dinner and a spa is out of the question, then?'

  'Have you got thick skin, or are you just thick?' I was quicker than usual, and gave myself the big thumbs up for that response, but it elicited nothing from Jack.

  'Right, well, I'm putting the phone down now mate, and it's the only thing that'll be going down between me and you!' I hung up – and so ended my final attempt at meeting Mr Right.

  I'd reached the end of my list of strategies and failed in every effort I'd made to find a man. I didn't feel deadly or desirable, loved or lovable – just over it. It was time to go back to the SWOT analysis and remind myself of Peta's arguments against married life. If I was going to be single forever, I might as well enjoy it.

  thirty-one

  Love yourself and you will be loved

  On Melbourne Cup Day, the sun rose over Wedding Cake Island, the waves crashed on the shore of Coogee Beach, joggers made their way up and down Arden Street, and life continued as it had for the past months, years, decades. Nothing had changed. I was still single, even though I'd spent the past year dragging myself through disastrous dates.

  I was all dated, researched and strategied out. Men were now merely objects to be observed, researched and reviewed; specimens to be dissected and studied, analysed and taken apart bit by bit in an effort to understand them. All I wanted to know was why they made it so damned hard to like them, love them, be with them or marry them – why it was so hard to find one worthy to be called Mr Right.

  Liza had invited Peta and I to a Melbourne Cup luncheon at the Park Hyatt. She had finally let go of Luke – not organised enough for her – and she'd been dating a sales rep for Moët & Chandon, who smuggled us in. Peta had rung in sick, and my history students were all away on retreat, so I wouldn't be missed at school. Even Liza was playing hooky, a rare thing for our legal eagle to do.

  Sitting with Peta, looking around at the crowd, I thought I'd try to summarise my findings for her. 'You know what I reckon?' I said as I adjusted my fascinator.

  'What d'ya reckon, Missy?' Peta fidgeted with her hands. I could see she was desperate for a cigarette.

  'I reckon that the really nice men are dingo ugly, the hot men are not that nice, and the hot and nice men 99.9 per cent of the time are gay. The hot, nice and straight men are mostly married; the men who aren't that hot, but are nice, have no financial security; while the men who aren't so hot, but are nice, with financial security, think I am only after their security—' I took a breath and Peta jumped in.

  'And the hot men without security are after your security, right?'

  'That's right, but I wasn't finished ... The hot men who are not so nice and are straight don't think I'm beautiful enough, and the men who think I'm beautiful, who are straight, and nice enough, usually have financial security but are cowards.'

  'Missy, you're fucken depressing me.' Peta didn't want to hear any more.

  I kept going anyway. 'Aaaaand the men who are the slightest bit hot, generally nice and have adequate financial security and happen to be straight are usually too fucken shy to make the first move! Farkkkkkk!!!!! To make it harder, the men who never make the first move automatically lose interest if I take the initiative. And that's about all I understand about men.' Glad that I'd got it all off my chest, I poured us both another glass.

  'I'll drink to that.' Peta tipped her glass to mine.

  Scanning the room I noticed an inordinate number of couples. 'Paul and I came here on our first date,' I said, and felt tears well.

  'Oh god, don't start on about Paul, Missy, he's history.'

  'I know, but I always wanted to have my wedding reception here. Your company is requested at the wedding of Mr and Mrs Right at the Park Hyatt ... It should have been splashed across hundreds of invitations and mailed out to all corners of the globe by now.'

  'Let it go, Alice, for both our sakes.' Peta looked straight at me and her tone said I'm over it.

  'A string quartet would be playing as guests made small talk and sipped fine wines. Mr Right and I would be swanning around and having our photos taken while passers-by ooohed and aaaahed at the sight of us.'

  'Alice, this really isn't healthy.' Peta was getting annoyed.

  'Just humour me, please. Let me finish. I promise it'll be the end of it.

  'I'd be wearing my Tiff any ring and a tiara and Mr Right would be the happiest man in the world. Life would be complete. We'd take the honeymoon to Venice and Paris, have a couple of kids, I'd end up principal at St Christina's, and we'd live where Wedding Cake Island couldn't be seen and would never need to be mentioned ever, ever again. We would live happily ever after.' I wiped a single tear from my cheek with as much dignity as I could.

  'And that's the end of it, Alice. No more.' Peta stood up and walked away.

  No more, Alice. No more.

  ***

  By half-past-five the ballroom was a flurry of gorgeous women and men, TV cameras and Sydney socialites, bubbles being poured to the left, right and centre of me. I'd already had way too much champagne, but it didn't stop me holding out my glass every time a waiter went past. I hadn't had a win and I couldn't even remember what horse I'd backed ten minutes after the race had been run, but the eye candy was incredible – even the waiters looked promising. It was a reminder that being single meant you could do all the guilt-free perving you wanted.

  Liza had spent hours schmoozing with the mob from Moët, and why not? It was a big change from her clients at the ALS. It was funny to see her so posh. Her new man seemed like a dream, and unlike Luke, could show her affection without putting her in a headlock. I took a photo of Liza and me together on my mobile phone and sent it to Dannie, who'd watched the race at the school with the kids.

  I spied Peta across the room, talking endlessly with a group of women who all looked suitably impressed. She had always been an engaging storyteller, or should I say bullshit artist. Rather than go into the whole Indigenous education issue on Melbourne Cup Day, my guess was she was spinning some yarn about being the interior designer of the ballroom we were in, or perhaps she was someone's agent, or had just patented some great invention.

  I tried to saunter as goddess-like as possible out to the balcony for some space to myself and fresh air. I put my shades on to shield the glare off the harbour, and smiled at the warmth of the afternoon sun on my face. Leaning over the railing, I closed my eyes and just enjoyed being there, trying hard not to drift off to the wedding that never was. No more, Alice. No more. I didn't know how long I'd been there when Peta arrived.

  'What're you doing out here?' she asked as she handed me another glass of bubbles.

  'Just thinking.' I took a careful sip – I was trying to sober up. 'Not about weddings, so don't worry.' I didn't want her walking away again. She smiled her broad white smile.

  'Life's not bad, eh?' Peta was cheerful, not drunk cheerful, just happy-with-her-lot cheerful. As I looked at how content Peta was, and where we were, and how gorgeous we both looked, it happened. I had an epiphany.

  'You know what Peta? You're right. Life isn't bad at all, is it?'

  'Not at all,' she agreed.

  'Being single isn't the end of the world.'

  'Not even close to it.' Peta was looking through her glass at the Opera House.

  'I could go back in there and flirt, or score, if I wanted to – right now.'

  'You could.' Peta shifted her champagne eye-glass to the Quay.

  'Or I could just go home, crawl into my pyjamas and eat toast for dinner, without worrying about a man or kids.'

  'Or you, Liza and I could just drink bubbly for the rest of the night.' She touched her glass to mine.

  'I mean, when you think about the men who've been on offer over the past year in Sydney, I'm clearly better off single anyway.'

  'God, I wish Dannie could hear this.' I could see the glimmer of victory in Peta's eye as she recalled their SWOT analysis.

  'Leave Dannie out of this, Peta, it's about me.' I leapt to my feet and proclaimed, ' I love
my life!'

  'Thank god you're back! I missed you!' Peta stood up, too, excited. 'I'll go grab some more bubbles, and Liza, and we'll drink to your reclaimed singledom.' She spun around and her mass of hair followed as she headed back into the ballroom. I sat down on the stool and closed my eyes, smiling with a sense of resolution.

  Beside me, I heard someone say, 'It's a beautiful spot, don't you think?' I wasn't sure if the comment was meant for me, so I didn't open my eyes, but waited. Nothing further was said. Peering over the top of my sunnies, I saw the most luxurious hair, a rounded olive face, hypnotising green eyes. Oh yes, I really, really loved my life.

  Could I possibly speak? Could I say something without making a complete gig of myself? The vision spoke again. 'Sorry, I didn't mean to bother you. I've been standing here for a while, but since you came out the view is twice as beautiful.' I guessed he was pretty pissed too.

  I love my life, I love my life, I love my life.

  'So did you back a winner?' I had to say something; it was all I could think of.

  'Actually, I missed the race, was caught up at work. Dead loss in the office sweep too.' He had the sexiest voice. I was sure he was younger than me, but I was giving it a go, and every minute he hung around the more points he got. Of course he was staying; the view was twice as beautiful since I'd arrived.

  What he said next surprised me.

  'I was meant to be at a wedding here this month, but it was called off. The guy was a cad – lucky she found out sooner rather than later, eh?'

  That sobered me up pretty quickly.

  'I was meant to come to a wedding here once, too. It's not happening now either.' I sounded positive, not whiny or moany at all. 'There's probably enough Moët functions to keep this place busy, though, I'm sure. Do you work for Moët?' I was trying to see where he fit in, and whether or not he was a mate of Liza's new man.

  'No, I run an importing agency. I'm a ring-in here today. I'm Mark.' He extended his hand and smiled broadly.

  'I'm Alice, and I'm a gatecrasher too – probably best we hide ourselves out here, don't you think?' He laughed and so did I.

  The party seemed to be breaking up inside. Mark asked for my number. I gave it to him, but without expectations, just as Peta and Liza came looking for me on the balcony. It was eight pm and Liza was hungry. 'So, Alice, I see you've finally met my cousin Marco. Didn't take you long to find the most gorgeous woman in the room, did it, Marco?'

  I was dumbfounded, and so was he.

  'You're Marco?'

  'You're that Alice?'

  Liza's new man walked out with a bottle of Moët and topped up our glasses. I made a toast, 'To not meeting Mr Right—'

  'Until the time is right!' Liza added.

  Marco turned to me. 'So, Liza said you weren't interested in dating any of her family.'

  'Other members of her family, Marco. I didn't mean the good-looking ones.'

  'Would you like to have dinner, then?'

  'Sure. When?'

  'Tonight?'

  Liza grabbed my arm and pulled me aside.

  'I told you so.'

  'You did, and I will never not listen to you again! Thank you!'

  Epilogue

  Spending time with Marco gave me faith in men again. He proved to me that there were men out there who were charming and honest and kind, and with no specific agendas or baggage (well, noticeable baggage that is).

  The only problem was, without alcohol, we had no real chemistry. We partied and got on well as mates, but soon realised we were never going to be anything more than that. We both agreed that chemistry isn't something that will develop over time, like companionship or conversation, and that sex is actually a very important part of a relationship, especially a young one.

  Liza was pleased that we'd at least given it a try, and I enjoyed hanging out with a straight, single male for a while, but Marco and I didn't last long. I was on my own again.

  ***

  The week before Christmas I was still looking for gifts, even though St Christina's broke up weeks before the state schools. I just didn't seem to have the energy to spend days on end shopping among the growing crowds of Bondi Junction after a long year as full-time department head and husband seeker. I needed to relax a bit and take it slowly, which is why I hadn't finished any Christmas shopping. The upside was that I was loving my single life. Marco had helped me find a comfortable space between serial dater, husband hunter, female friend and satisfied single. I was truly content for the first time in ages.

  I roamed a busy bookstore in Bondi Junction until I'd found the right book for Larissa. It had become a joke between us, giving self-help books. I'd moved on, and was standing in the history section when I saw him: Gary-the-Garbo, only a metre from me in the same aisle. He caught me staring.

  'Alice, fancy meeting you here!' Gary-the-Garbo sounded surprised, but looked pleased to see me.

  'Why do you seem so surprised? You think I can't read?'

  'Its just that I've only ever seen you on the street in your pyjamas and at Cushion. I thought you only slept and drank.' Gary-the-Garbo had a sense of humour. I liked that.

  'Reaaaallly? I could say the same for you, mate.' The banter was flowing easily.

  'I only go to Cushion to see you, surely you know that.' He turned to put a book back on the shelf, so I couldn't see his eyes. I couldn't tell if he was serious or not. I hoped he was, but I kept it light.

  'And I thought it was for the happy hour prices!' My mouth was dry and my palms sweaty. The silence that followed was awkward. We both turned to the shelves.

  'So, looking for something specific?' I asked, not wanting the conversation to end.

  'Yeah, I'm supposed to be getting something for my father, but I always end up here buying something for myself. I'm a bit of a history buff.'

  'What a coincidence. I'm a history teacher at St Christina's.' We had more than bins and booze in common.

  'Maybe you could recommend a book, then. I'm looking for something on the first Gulf War – I'm trying to understand the link between the US involvement in the Middle East then and today.' Wow, he was a reader of history with an interest in world politics as well. Gary-the-Garbo was interesting. Mental note to self: stop referring to him as Gary-the-Garbo. World wars weren't my area of expertise, so I couldn't really suggest anything, but I did help him scan the shelves briefly. Neither of us was really concentrating on books anyway.

  'What about you?' Gary took Larissa's Christmas present out of my hand and read the title out loud: Women Who Think Too Much. He looked back at me with a smile. 'Interesting. For you?'

  I half-heartedly snatched it back. 'It's not for me.' I didn't want him to think that I was the over-analysing, paranoid type, even if I had been known to be. 'It's for my brother's girlfriend – kind of a joke.' He didn't need to know that I had planned on reading it as well, later.

  Then it was awkward again. The kind of awkwardness two people feel when they like each other but are both too nervous to do anything about it. Fear of rejection is often more powerful than desire for happiness. It had been ten months since I was with Paul and even though I'd had other dates, the scars had not completely healed. I wasn't going to be making the first move with a man for a while, not after a year of disastrous dates and failed relationships. I'd see him around again, I always did, so there was no need to push it.

  I dug into my bag for my purse. 'I best be off, got Christmas lights to struggle with. It's a tradition of mine. The annual light-hanging nightmare, I like to call it.'