Paris Dreaming Read online

  Her lawyerly way of viewing the world – everything was either right or wrong, fact or fiction – worked in my world also. We were similar in many ways, despite the seven-year age gap. Apart from being helpful with a whole range of legal advice, Caro’s singledom meant that she and I hung out more now also, and we often ‘observed’ the married motherly women who’d let themselves go.

  ‘Shoot me if I wear Crocs and leggings to the shops, ever!’ she said to me one day.

  ‘Absolutely, having kids doesn’t mean you can’t dress properly.’

  As I lay in bed that night, I thought about how different Lauren and I were when it came to men and relationships. I never sought love, ever. And I’d only been really close to two men, the first when I was eighteen and back in Moree. I hadn’t wanted to mention that relationship to the girls earlier, because it still hurt too much.

  His name was Peter, and he was known as the ‘Dark Dreamboat’ around town. He was the ‘nice guy’ and hotter than all the other Moree men put together. He was the only good-looking fella I wasn’t related to, so I was lucky when he first took me as his woman to the National Aboriginal Islander Day Observance Committee barbecue at Chocker’s house. It was a statement to the mob that we were together.

  All the girls were jealous, especially Jodi Upton – whom everyone called Uptown – the self-defined Princess of Moree who all the boys wanted and most eventually had. Everyone knew she fancied Peter, but even Jodi knew he was mine.

  Peter and I did everything together – we played pool, we went to karaoke on Thursday nights at the Amaroo, dinner at the RSL, we went out for Chinese, watched the Moree Boomerangs play footy on Sunday, drove over to Walgett on weekends to see some of his family.

  I was his woman and he was my man. He said we’d be together forever and I had no reason not to believe him. I was happy with Peter in Moree just like my mum and dad had been at our age.

  Peter told me he loved me all the time. But the last time he said it was when I loaned him fifty dollars for petrol to drive to Grafton to see Archie Roach play. I couldn’t go because I worked Saturdays at Jeanswest. I missed him the minute his purple Commodore pulled out of my street, but he didn’t get a chance to miss me because Jodi cadged a ride with him to Grafton and that was that. I didn’t stand a chance.

  Jodi had legs that went up to her armpits, and a pout that made even married men drool. I had the boobs and the blue eyes, but I also had the skinny ankles and flat bum. Jodi didn’t have either. She had normal ankles and a booty to shake, which she did, all the time. She had no shame, and there were rumours that she had gone so far as to tease the local priest.

  I heard about Peter and Jodi hooking up before the concert had even started in Grafton. The Koori grapevine is fast, especially when there’s drama involved, and girls can be bitchy. I didn’t have a mobile then, none of my friends did, and I had to wait for Peter to come back to confront him. I didn’t sleep that night wondering if my Dark Dreamboat was really with Jodi Long-Legs and if so, how could he be if he loved me?

  When he finally showed up at my place on Sunday night with lovebites on his neck, I threw up straight after I threw him out. We didn’t even argue. I just told him to leave. I felt betrayed and that was it. No turning back. I felt absolutely gutted and couldn’t breathe. I cried like a girl whose favourite doll had gone missing.

  Mum cried with me. She wanted Dark Dreamboat grandkids. She used to brag to her friends at linedancing that I had scooped the best-looking fella in town. But I knew that wasn’t why she was upset. She hated to see me suffering.

  ‘I think I loved him,’ I sobbed into her shoulder. ‘He said we’d be together forever. Like you and Dad were.’ I sniffed hard. ‘Until he died, that is. Another man who didn’t keep up his end of the deal.’ Mum ignored the remark.

  ‘Men don’t think with their heads or their hearts, Libby, they think from down there.’ Mum looked towards her lap. ‘It doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. It just means he’s weak. But you know you can’t be with him anymore. I didn’t raise my daughter to be treated like that. That Jodi’s mother is just the same too.’

  Mum would say what needed to be said, or so she thought, to make me feel better.

  ‘I don’t want to be with him!’ I yelled and stood up. ‘I’m never having another boyfriend: ever, ever, ever.’

  I blew my nose and Mum hugged me once more before going to get tea ready. I was determined I would never cry over a man again. Jodi Loose-Legs could have the Dark Dud.

  The truth was I’d never really gotten over Peter. He was, after all, my first boyfriend. ‘You never forget your first love,’ Mum used to say, and she was just lucky that Dad was hers.

  I couldn’t imagine ever having a second love, even though Andy appeared some years later in Melbourne. But that experience was something better pushed to the darkest recesses of my mind as well.

  I don’t remember ever having true romance in my life. I’d never received roses or chocolates or celebrated anniversaries. None of it interested me. I didn’t rate relationship props anyway. If you needed ‘things’ to show you loved someone, then to me it probably wasn’t love.

  Lauren was at the other end of the spectrum. She was the eternal romantic, preferring to suffer heartache than go without the possibility of love and all its trappings. I was prepared to avoid heartache at all costs and find my fulfilment and happiness in my work.

  It was the one thing I had complete control over and it never betrayed me.

  The following week at work was hectic as I went through the draft of an educational program we were about to implement, including a new set of teachers’ notes for school groups.

  I met with the consultant for the package and compiled all the feedback from Emma, Lauren and the head of marketing. There were still some amendments to be made to the materials before we could sign-off and send them to the designer and printer. I was excited about the direction my job had taken while Lauren had been away and liked having much more authority and control.

  However, come the weekend I was exhausted and grateful for a sleep-in before catching up with the girls. After my morning run around Lake Burley Griffin, I met Caro at the National Multicultural Festival in the city, strolled around Garema Place and checked out the stalls in City Walk and Petrie Plaza. The sun was so hot I wore the hemp hat I’d bought at the Dreaming Festival the previous June and had 30+ slathered on my face and shoulders.

  It was cool seeing local Aboriginal performers in Civic, but I found new inspiration from the international acts: Brazilian, Bosnian, Celtic, Latin, Punjabi, Japanese and Spanish cultures in all forms filled the centre of the city with life from around the globe. I walked through, grooving to the music.

  Caro had to leave at 1 pm to meet her mum but I hung around a little longer. ‘You going to be okay?’ she asked, acting like a big sister.

  ‘Of course, I love my solitude, remember?’

  ‘Anyway, you’re not really alone, are you?’ Caro scanned the space, acknowledging what we both recognised was an extraordinary number of good-looking men for the political city.

  I hadn’t been consumed by thoughts of meeting the love of my life or the One, but I didn’t ignore the fact that handsome men made welcome eye-candy, noticeably the flamenco dancers and the Greek guy serving souvlaki, as well as the Chinese drummer.

  I may have been on a man-fast but I was still human. I would allow myself to at least look at the menu but I knew I’d worked myself into a corner with Denise and Lauren regarding my attitude of disinterest towards men. It wasn’t so much a corner as a lifestyle choice.

  My concerns over maintaining my stand against men were forgotten as my stomach grumbled. I was often so buried in work that I was only reminded to eat when my stomach spoke. It was another reason I was glad Lauren was home: meals and good food were never neglected when she was around.

  I walked the stalls, tossing up between Indian, Vietnamese, Lebanese and Mongolian. I found myself lured to the French crêp
e stall. I ordered a savoury crêpe and salad, sat down and indulged in fast food so delicious it took my mind off men altogether.

  As I ate and watched people go by, I wondered how bastardised the foods, the dresses, the dances and music had become by the time they reached me in Canberra. I thought back to my time in New York with Lauren and the mix of cultures I experienced there just walking down the street in Chelsea and around Grand Central Station.

  People from across the globe made their home in New York, New York. I could’ve too, it was such an amazingly welcoming city. I loved the energy there. Millions of people, millions more lights, thousands of yellow cabs, bars, cafés, tour guides, the smell of donuts and pretzels and bad American coffee.

  I closed my eyes and remembered the pulse of Times Square, the freezing cold day walking through Central Park, partying at The Australian Hotel, the cocktail up Trump Tower and shopping. I loved those few days in New York and the white Christmas. But the city where dreams are made of was a galaxy away from Canberra, even if the festival was trying to bring some of the world to the ACT.

  Before I knew it, it was 4 pm and I was meeting the girls in three hours for drinks and dinner. I usually had a nap on Saturday afternoon following a massive working week, but for some reason the adrenalin was pumping from a day in the sun and my pseudo-world trip via my day at the fair.

  Our newest meeting spot was an upmarket wine bar in Acton called The Parlour which was known for its extensive Spanish wine list and tapas. We sipped cocktails: a Japanese Slipper for Denise, a Mojito for Lauren and my latest fave, a Bellini, for me. As we settled in for a night of catching up, I was inexplicably edgy on my seat as I scanned the boutique environs and older crowd.

  ‘I can’t believe all these old ANU buildings now look so …’

  ‘So … much better,’ Denise finished Lauren’s sentence.

  A lot had changed while Lauren was in Manhattan and a whole new precinct had been redeveloped where the Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies used to be. It was fitting that it was now our new meeting place.

  ‘I think it’s a bit odd to have a Victorian-like parlour in Canberra,’ Lauren said, scanning the room.

  ‘I’m just glad it’s smoke-free in Canberra now.’ I watched the smokers huddle outside.

  I was also glad that none of my tiddas ever felt the need to light up. I never tried smoking as a teenager when all my friends were doing it after school and every chance they got. Dad dying of lung cancer made me hate it, and almost anyone who did it. I had never kissed a man who smoked, because to me anyone who sucked on cancer sticks didn’t respect their health.

  I never understood why Dad smoked and, being a kid, I guess I wasn’t expected to. Mum hated Dad’s habit but didn’t nag him too much, even though she never let him puff in the house. I remember he always went out onto the back porch. I used to sit there with him and wave the smoke away with my little hands. It was the only time I ever had him to myself.

  And then watching him die was the worst thing I could ever imagine and I cried for what seemed like forever as a child. When my brothers started smoking I cried more, because I thought they would die too.

  As I got older, we’d just argue and have screaming matches. Two of my brothers, Ray and Ronald, both smoke rollies. I’m sure they’ve got spots on their lungs already and they’ll be abandoning their own kids soon enough. Idiots, both of them. And Dad.

  Lauren’s and Denise’s phones beeped with messages almost simultaneously. They looked at their gadgets, smiled at each other and then looked at me.

  ‘Sorry, rude, turning it off,’ Denise said. As an experienced teacher, she knew what behaviour was acceptable in what forums. ‘Phones are not allowed in classrooms either.’

  ‘And you?’ I asked Lauren.

  ‘Sorry, it’s Wyatt, he’s out with Dave tonight,’ she threw a warm glance at Denise, ‘just telling me all’s cool, having an awesome time.’

  ‘Great.’

  I was happy for Wyatt and Dave and Lauren and Denise, but I felt slightly out of the loop with no simultaneous text messages or man to add to the boys’ night out.

  It never bothered me in the past but now it was the three amigas and their two amigos, and Caro when she wasn’t travelling for work, which was almost more often than not. Being the Pacific representative for Indigenous Intellectual Property Rights meant in any week she could be in Samoa, Noumea or the Solomons. I loved her lifestyle. I joked about tagging along on her exotic island trips, but never did anything about it.

  The voices in my head were taken over by loud rumblings in my stomach that everyone could hear.

  ‘Oops, any chance we can go next door to Flint for dinner? I’m starving, in case you couldn’t tell.’

  ‘Me too, I haven’t eaten much lately what with the stress dealing with kids on the playground and some bullying that still has my mind in knots.’

  Denise didn’t talk about work much but we knew the rise of bullying, even at her Catholic primary school, was something to be concerned about.

  ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ Lauren asked.

  ‘Thanks but no, we had a major staff meeting after school yesterday, and there’s new strategies being adopted. It just makes me scared for kids who are fragile. And makes me think I don’t want to have kids myself who then go to school and get bullied. Oh god, I’m already talking about it, aren’t I? Sorry, that’s it.’

  ‘Don’t be sorry, are you all right?’ I was concerned.

  ‘I’m good, let’s go eat.’ Denise was up and almost out the door before Lauren and I had a chance to get our frocks out of our undies.

  We walked the few steps to the restaurant and amongst conversation with our friendly waitress, we consumed salami, pancetta and ham wood-fired pizza and a locally produced Alinga merlot.

  ‘I think I’ve been bitten by the travel bug,’ I said.

  ‘Really? When, how, where?’ Lauren asked enthusiastically.

  ‘I want to see more of what I got a taste of in Manhattan and then today at the festival. Culture, history, food, arts and crafts. Oh, and probably some shopping too, because I did have fun doing that in New York and I don’t have enough pairs of shoes, not if I’m going to maintain my Carrie Bradshaw role in our group.’

  ‘More like Koori Bradshaw,’ Lauren said and we all laughed.

  ‘I’m thinking of ways I can weave in some professional development if I can. Or maybe do some volunteer work overseas.’

  I did want to travel and I was inspired to see the world, but I increasingly felt the need to prove it was okay to be single and that a woman could still lead a complete life, in Canberra or abroad.

  ‘I want my own international adventure. A journey of learning.’ I continued to justify my new idea.

  ‘And on the journey, you may just find your own Wyatt.’ Lauren looked hopeful.

  It was painfully and drunkenly clear that my friends were only going to be happy if I admitted that I too needed a Wyatt or a Dave. I felt somewhat defeated by my gorgeous girlfriends who both thought I was desperate for what they had to be completely happy.

  ‘Okay, I might even find my own Wyatt,’ I shook my head at having given in, ‘but …’

  ‘Because there is always a “but”,’ Denise said.

  ‘But,’ I glared at her, ‘that’s not why I’m going, remember?’ I waved the waitress over and did the international sign for ‘bill, please’.

  The night was sultry and the sky was a blanket of stars as we walked into Civic to enjoy the carnival. Our arms were linked and our heels clicked on the bitumen.

  ‘You need a plan,’ Lauren said, ‘a “how-to” thingy.’

  ‘You know me, I’m the list lady. I’ve already got them in my head. I’ll start writing them down tomorrow and do some research online.’

  ‘What will you research, pacifically?’ Denise said. When she’d been drinking she couldn’t say ‘specifically’. She was also wobbly on her feet and Lauren and I we
re keeping her steady.

  ‘You should do some research about where the best lovers in the world are. There’s whole surveys done on that stuff, apparently. I’ve never participated in one, but I heard something on the radio once.’ Denise was rambling. ‘I can dig them up for you if you like; actually, I’d be happy to do that.’ She went over on her ankle.

  ‘Ouch!’ she squealed. ‘I hate these shoes, you can have them for your collection, they’re too high for me anyway.’

  She took them both off and walked barefoot. Denise’s stumble allowed me to move away from her ramblings. As Lauren and I gripped our friend tighter around the waist, we all walked in time with each other – left, right, left, right – and I took control of the conversation.

  ‘I want to blaze my own trail, so to speak. I want a challenge, a non-English speaking country so I can really push myself and get immersed in a truly different culture. I loved New York, New York,’ I said, trying to high kick while walking, ‘but it was easy to get around on the subway and cabs, the food was similar – although not as good as here of course – and we’re so flooded with their media that it was like being on a movie set the whole time. I loved it, really, but it wasn’t challenging to me at all. Not after multicultural Melbourne.’

  ‘So where are you blazing to then? Which continent? Europe? Asia?’ Lauren asked her questions in time with our steps.

  ‘I want to do something useful – work if I can. But it’s not like a fellowship is going to drop in my lap like it did for you, Loz.’ I leaned forward, looked past Denise over to Lauren and smiled.

  ‘I know what you mean. That was the greatest opportunity of my life, no doubt.’

  It had taken some convincing for Lauren to finally realise that the chance to go to Manhattan and work at the Smithsonian was the best professional gift she was ever going to get. At the time, part of me wanted her to go so that I could visit her. We both won on that front.