Not Meeting Mr Right Read online

  'What? I can't go with a bloke and perv on Marcus at the same time. That's just not right. I do have some ethics, you know.'

  'You asked for my help, didn't you?' Of course she was right, but there seemed to be something very sad about my friends now going out of their way to help me find a bloke. Did they actually feel sorry for me?

  'Okay then, so who is it?' I didn't even think about asking what he looked like.

  'A guy I worked with last year on the new state government policy for education and the arts. His name's Jim Akee. He's from the Torres Strait. He'll meet you at the theatre bar at six pm.'

  ***

  Friday arrived. I checked with Aria to see if she had any advice re my date with Jim from the Torres Strait. She said: 'Don't get carried away with expectations today Leo. Remember, no expectations, no disappointments, no regrets.' No expectations, no disappointments, no regrets became my mantra for my date with Jim.

  I wore a black jersey dress and looked pretty hot. I had no expectations but I reckoned that if Mr Torres Strait Islands didn't work out, I might just hang round to see what else was in the offing. I arrived at the bar, looking casually around for 'a person of Islander appearance', (a description that could have come straight out of The Daily Terror). I spotted him immediately he walked through the door. Hair in a bun, theatrically camp, sauntering towards me with a self-assured air. I knew he was an actor straight away. Peta hadn't told me: she knew I'd never go out with an actor (except Marcus Graham), because they are so damned precious.

  'Hi, I'm Jim. You must be Alice.'

  'That's right, nice to meet you.' I put out my hand to shake but he didn't respond, not even with an air kiss to the cheek.

  'Yeah, hey, I've just spotted someone I know on the other side of the bar, I must go speak to them. I'll be back in a second.' And he just walked off. I waited, downing a couple of glasses of the house bubbly to fill in the time until it was curtain call. Jim only came back to see me because I had the tickets – I knew it and he knew I knew it. I was already pissed off and the date hadn't even really started.

  As we climbed the stairs to the theatre, Jim told me about himself, his acting, his career. We took our seats and he kept right on till the curtain went up. He didn't bother to ask me anything about anything – work, leisure, how I knew Peta. Nothing.

  The play itself was brilliant. Marcus Graham was gorgeous and, although the script needed serious editing, no woman would ever complain at seeing him forced to be on stage longer than necessary. It was a bonus for the audience.

  However, while the actors were taking their bows, my date just up and left. I was furious. I decided to go to the after party without him.

  ***

  'It was possibly the worst date I have ever been on, Peta, what were you thinking? Was it payback for something I've done to you I don't know about?' I had to ask. Surely she knew Jim could never love anyone but himself.

  'Don't be ridiculous, Alice. I'd tell you if I were upset with you about anything. What happened? I know he's good-looking, so it couldn't have been that.' Peta tried to look shocked for me, but she was busy shovelling pancakes into her mouth. We'd planned to meet at Barzura for breakfast and a debriefing. I was nursing a hangover from the glasses of cheap bubbles I'd lost count of the night before.

  'To cut a long and hideous night short, he pissed off five seconds after he met me, came back only because I had the tickets, talked about nothing but himself right up until the show started, didn't ask me one thing about what I did, and walked out before the audience had even finished applauding at the end.'

  'What? Did you speak to him at the after party? You did go, didn't you?' She wiped some maple syrup from the side of her mouth.

  'Oh I went all right, and as soon as I was surrounded by other blokes your mate' – I felt the need to give her ownership of the jerk – 'butted in, trying to make small talk, acting like he was my fucken date. He was only cramping my style by then, so I told him in front of everyone that he was the worst date I had ever had.' Both Peta and I knew that was a blatant lie, but we were both prone to dramatics at times, so she nodded, agreeing with me like sistas of similar temperaments do. 'By the time I finished with him he was ready to get back in his canoe and paddle home!' We both laughed and ordered more coffee.

  eleven

  Mr Dick Fiddler

  Having forgiven me for the Charlie episode, and still determined to prove Peta wrong on the whole SWOT analysis, Dannie made a second attempt to set me up. She invited me to a dinner party at her place with George, another couple and a blind date for me named Philip.

  I liked Philip at first glance, although I was trying hard not to be a lookist. His clothes were from the twentyfirst century; he had a decent hairdo; no hat; and dress shoes on. And his skin was flawless. He was also polite, extending his right hand to shake mine. 'Great to meet you, Alice. Dannie's told me a lot about you.' He had a pleasant smile and obviously didn't smoke: his teeth were bright white. He drove a car. I felt quite confident he wouldn't ask me for milk money or start moonwalking in the middle of dinner. I was glad I'd made an effort to look good, and not only to show Dannie that I appreciated her latest attempt to help me find Mr Right.

  I was seated next to him at dinner. We had a starter of orange and port soup. Philip complimented Dannie, impressing me again with his manners, but then he began rummaging furtively in his lap. I tried to look away, but I was curious: what was he doing? My god! Was he trying to hide a hard-on?

  I'd never had a penis myself, so I wasn't completely sure that what he was doing was anything out of the ordinary. I cut him a little slack, assuming that he was possibly horny as hell sitting next to me. I was, after all, deadly and desirable.

  We started chatting again, and soon I forgot all about it. Dinner was lovely. Dannie had prepared a delicious roast, something a single girl always appreciates – no point doing a roast for one person. It was a treat to be able to enjoy a grown-up meal.

  ***

  'Let's have coffee and dessert in the lounge room,' Dannie said, clearing the table and ushering us out at the same time. It was all going smoothly, I thought, until I noticed that Philip was standing by the door firmly grasping his penis in his left hand. No-one else seemed perturbed by it; they all walked ahead, but I couldn't take my eyes off his left hand. Grasp, pinch, pull, fiddle ... he was very busy as he made his way into the next room. He accepted a port that George offered him, and then stood there with a drink in one hand and his dick in the other. Was I the only one who noticed?

  I checked out the other men to see where their hands were. Was touching one's genitals in public now acceptable, given that research had shown that ninetyfive per cent of men masturbated and the other five per cent lied about it anyway? Was sex with oneself not only the safest form of sex in the twenty-first century, but something that was now considered an after-dinner activity? Was it the male equivalent of a woman telling me she had sore nipples? He's probably just adjusting himself, I thought. Yes, that was it. Then he switched hands: drink in the left, penis in the right. Something was definitely wrong.

  He made eye contact. 'I've really enjoyed talking to you tonight, Alice,' he said. 'If you're free sometime soon, I'd love to meet up again – would you mind giving me your card?' Not having one, it was easy to ask him for his instead, even though I had no intention of calling him. God knows what sex would have been like. How the hell was I going to get anything when he was all over himself all the time?

  I walked into the kitchen to help Dannie with clearing up and organising dessert and handed her Philip's card.

  'I'm not calling him,' I whispered as I put some plates in the dishwasher.

  'Why not? What's wrong with this one? He hasn't stopped talking to you all night. He's obviously interested.' She was scrubbing at the baking dish in the kitchen sink.

  'There was one little thing that bothered me.'

  'Only one?' She was being sarcastic, but it was a fair question, I suppose – she knew about
my long list of expectations.

  'What do you think it means when a guy touches himself a lot?'

  'Touches himself where?' she asked as she rinsed the good crystal glasses that couldn't go into the dishwasher.

  'You know, down there.' I pointed to my groin.

  'What do you mean? He exposed himself? When? I'll kill him!' She turned off the taps and grabbed a tea towel, violently drying her hands.

  'No, calm down, he didn't do anything that dramatic. I just noticed he touched himself ... a lot. It's weird.'

  'It's boys, Alice, they do it all the time. Have to adjust themselves, you know. Get short'n'curlies caught under their bags.' Dannie was sounding like Peta and it really didn't suit her at all.

  'You're disgusting sometimes, Dannie. A simple "It's normal" would have sufficed.' Just then, George came in for the coffees.

  'Philip suggested we all do a bridge climb sometime, what do you reckon?'

  'No way. I'm frightened of heights, but you fellas go.' It would be difficult for Philip to grip the rail and his dick at the same time, I thought. Nup, Mr Dick Fiddler was not in the running at all.

  twelve

  Mr Committaphobe

  Liza didn't know much about Tufu, she said, except that he was gentle and shy and was interested in meeting some people locally. He'd only just moved to Coogee to play football and didn't have many friends. She'd met him at a fundraiser organised by the ALS. He was a friend of one of her clients: the only reason she wasn't going out with him on a date herself. 'Conflict of interest, Alice. But I'm happy for you to go out with him.'He sounded perfect, too good to be true. Tufu lived in Coogee like me; he was thirty, single, employed, gorgeous and brown. Samoan brown. It was a little odd that he was single; there are nine single women to every straight bloke in Sydney, so he'd either not been looking or not trying at all. Or perhaps he was just waiting for Ms Right. I chose to believe the latter.

  Liza had given him my number instantly, telling him I was a Blackfella who lived round the corner and could introduce him to some of the local Indigenous community. He called within the week and invited me to his 'tiny and not always tidy little flat on Beach Street'. He had the sexiest voice I'd ever heard and I couldn't wait to meet him. I felt like I was on a hat-trick; he was single, he was brown, he lived almost next door. Mr Right might also have been Mr Right-Under-My-Nose.

  I rocked up at Tufu's flat at dusk, hoping he was cooking me a Samoan feast. There was a pile of rubbish stashed in the hallway outside his door. Empty chip packets, pizza boxes and a pile of newspapers and comics in the corner next to a box of empty wine bottles. All the signs of singledom. It wasn't a very good look. He hadn't gone to much effort to impress his potential Ms Right. Did he need a man to take out the garbage, just like me? Maybe he'd been too busy. I knocked on the door.

  'Hi Alice, come in.' Our eyes locked momentarily at the threshold, then I followed him into his crowded flat. The walls were covered in family photos and actions shots of him playing rugby.

  'Coogee Wombats,' he said, assuming I was going to ask him the name of the team. I didn't let on that I'd spent many of my younger days hanging out at the local Rugby Club and knew the green and white uniform well, even if I didn't necessarily appreciate the game.

  Tufu stood there in a lava-lava, his huge, muscly thighs hidden underneath. I looked from him standing in front of me to the photo of him in full flight in the green and white jersey, trying to make the link between the two. Pacific reggae played on the small radio as I did a very discreet scan of the room and saw his Randwick Council shirt hanging on his bedroom doorknob. I turned to hand him the bottle of wine I'd brought with me and caught him checking out my cleavage. We both instantly stepped back, trying to find a place to stand without touching each other in the tiny space of his flat, and he cracked a nervous smile. His shyness was attractive.

  'I haven't actually prepared anything, Alice. I thought we could get takeaway and that way we could just relax and talk. I hope that's okay? We can sit on the balcony, there's a great view of the beach.' Even though I had a good view of the beach from my own flat, it would be different looking at it with this hunk of a man.

  'That'd be lovely.'

  We sat on plastic chairs and talked, with a glass of wine each to keep our hands busy. His shyness soon disappeared and we laughed about the backpackers we could see skylarking on the beach. He'd had his share of them, too, down at the Coogee Bay beer garden. They generally stayed out of his way, though, because of his size, no doubt.

  Sitting there watching him, imagining his thighs under the loose cotton, I couldn't believe Tufu was single. He must have had women just sliding off him all the time, everywhere he went. Surely the Rugby Club would have provided a bevy of women for him to choose from. He was just too gorgeous. But he told me he'd never actually had a girlfriend. Was he really waiting for Ms Right? Had someone broken his heart? Was he perhaps really not interested in girls? Was he a closet gay? Did he know Cliff, who only lived one beach north? I hoped he wasn't gay; it would be a terrible loss to the heterosexual single women's community of Coogee. Surely he wouldn't last long in a rugby team if he were? Ian Roberts hadn't really paved the way for many others to come out – not yet, anyway.

  By the time our delivery Indian arrived, we were completely relaxed and swapping stories about the Festival of Pacific Arts held in Samoa in 1996. We'd both been there. We discovered a whole range of coincidences and common links. He knew some of the people I'd met there and we were sure we'd been at the same events. Destiny was screaming at me, 'Tufu's the one'. He seemed too good to be true. The conversation too easy. The mood too right. Had Tufu been the one I was looking for all along? Thoughts of an island wedding flooded my love-struck mind. I had considered Fiji or the Cooks a little earlier, but perhaps it was always going to be Samoa. I was already thinking about having a family. Genetically, the Samoans were large people. I'd be squeezing out a bruiser of a baby. That'd hurt. But there'd be a great story in it for sure to tell everyone at the next reunion.

  'I'm really glad you're here, Alice, I've been looking forward to meeting you since we spoke.'

  'Me too!' He slid his hand on mine, sealing my future. Sealing our future. I was sure of it. I looked out into the distance as the last light of day fell on Wedding Cake Island, the rocky outcrop just off Coogee's shoreline. The view of it was much better when the sun came up over the bay, but sunset on Tufu's balcony wasn't bad either.

  'I bet it's beautiful here in the morning with the sun rising over Wedding Cake Island.' I hadn't meant to say it out loud.

  'You can find out for yourself if you like.' He leaned in and kissed me. It was a swift move, and it was all happening fast, but it honestly felt perfect. Suddenly Peta appeared in my head: 'Don't do the deed on the first date.' Tufu's hand made its way along the side of my breast. Don't do the deed on the first date. Don't do the deed on the first date. Against all my instincts, I leaned back and took a deep breath, but I couldn't stifle a moan of pleasure.

  'Tell me what you're thinking,' Tufu whispered in my ear, and I could hear the smile in his voice. He knew what I was thinking. Could I admit to him that I was contemplating ripping that lava-lava off him and crawling over him in a frenzy of sexual need? I couldn't say it. A woman had to have a little more mystery about her than that.

  'I was just thinking about Wedding Cake Island and hoping I'd have a wedding cake one day.'

  Hell, had I said that out loud too? Clearly I had, and he backed right off, taking his arm from around my shoulders. All of a sudden the shy lava-lava lad became Jack-the-lad, all calm and collected and looking like a real player, with a sly grin on his face. 'Really, Alice? You don't strike me as the kind of girl to get tied up with just one bloke.' What the hell did that mean? Was he calling me a slut? Did he mean I wasn't marriage material? Or was this really about him? Either way, I didn't feel at all comfortable now sitting on his crappy plastic chairs on his tiny little balcony anymore. All I could do was throw the sam
e back at him.

  'You don't strike me as the kind of guy who would commit himself either.'

  'I'm not. I like my life the way it is. My independence. Not having to be responsible to one person.'