No Sex in the City (18 page)

I’m getting frustrated, to say the least, because it has now been forty-five minutes and he hasn’t asked me a single question about myself. For crying out loud, he still has no idea what I do for a living. Naturally, I’ve asked him about his job as a doctor, the usual banal questions to cover an initially awkward silence. That keeps him going for a long while too. And when he gets to the stop sign, the point at which you’d ask the other person about their job, he takes a sip of his drink and stops, like he’s developed some kind of verbal constipation and is waiting on me to administer a laxative with another question about
him
.

So I hook him some bait. Because maybe he’s just socially inept and needs a little nudge in the manners department (which begs the question why I’m bothering, but I banish the question from my mind).

‘Growing up, I couldn’t stand the ads on TV. If I saw one more commercial associating a woman’s happiness with a clean tabletop, I thought I’d go crazy! So I did a marketing degree. I had to take human resources as part of the course. I loved it and decided to go into recruitment. So that’s what I do now. My clients are mainly pharmacies.’

‘I always knew I wanted to be a doctor. Ever since I was a child ...’

Cue another monologue. And cue me zoning out, offering the occasional nod or ‘hmm’ while I look around our garden and make a mental note to remind Dad that his flowers need watering.

‘We have been accepted!’ Faraj announces when he walks into class.

We all know exactly what he means and instantly jump up to congratulate him. Sonny lets out a whoop and the others cheer loudly.

I quickly whip out my phone and hold it up in front of him. ‘Let’s record,’ I say with a laugh. ‘Actually, here, Christina, you can be the interviewer.’ I pass her the phone and she grabs it, giggling. She immediately falls into character.

‘Okay, everybody, please be sitting down for the interview,’ she commands and the others sit down on the tables.

Faraj pretends to fix up his collar and spikes up his hair with his fingers. He clears his throat and then tries to give Christina a solemn, distinguished look, failing miserably. We all laugh at him.

‘Okay,’ Christina starts, holding up the phone and pressing record. ‘Faraj, welcoming you to television and please be telling us the news you have today.’

Faraj clears his throat again. ‘We be accepted in Australia and now having a new home.’

‘And please be telling us where you are born?’

‘I born Iraq.’

‘Can you telling us about Iraq?’

Faraj gives her a cheeky grin. ‘Since the war, Iraq is being full of ice cream and parks.’ He becomes animated, throwing his hands about and walking around so that Christina has to follow him. ‘
Every day
is visiting the beach!’

‘Oh yes, I knowing all about that!’ she exclaims. ‘Cinema ... and parties in the street!’

I look at Sonny, Miriam and Ahmed, who are watching with delight. Christina turns the phone to them. ‘What about your countries? What can be telling us? Is it being the same?’

Miriam and Ahmed giggle. ‘Too much peace and quiet,’ Ahmed declares with a fake pout. He folds his arms dramatically and stares at the phone. ‘We getting bored with so much peace and quiet.’ He pretends to yawn, then buckles with laughter.

Christina laughs and turns to Sonny. ‘And you, Sonny? Tell us what’s so special about Australia to you?’

Sonny grins at her. ‘Nothing special. There is no war. Is that not being enough?’

‘My brother’s way younger than me, right? And my dad wants him in the family business. He’s grown up working weekends for Dad, just like I used to, but I’ve told him he’s not allowed to quit school.’

Alex, Ruby and I are having a coffee at the café around the corner from the oval before class starts. Alex is offering an extra Saturday morning session and it starts later than the Monday classes.

To Ruby’s delight, we walked into the café to order and found Alex sitting at a table, bent over some paperwork. We went up to him and started chatting; one thing led to another and he pulled out two seats and asked us to join him.

‘Does he want to quit school?’ Ruby asks.

‘He thinks he’ll make more money if he starts young. But I’ve told him he’ll have to answer to me if he drops out. I don’t want him to make the same mistakes I made, you know?

‘Anyway, enough about me and my boring family story. I need you guys awake before class.’ He grins at us. The waiter comes and takes our order and Alex insists that coffee’s on him.

Ruby’s lips are curled in a smile. When Alex finishes ordering he turns to face us. I can tell from his body language that something is going on with him too. As we talk, I notice the way he steals a glance at her and then quickly turns his gaze onto something else; the way he pays her special attention until he remembers I’m there too; the way his eyes seek out her approval.

His phone beeps and he checks his text messages.

‘Some people are so persistent, hey?’ One leg keeps jiggling as he talks. Full of energy, he can’t sit still. The enthusiasm and vibrancy he brings to his workouts is evident when he talks as well. ‘This real estate agent keeps hassling me about an apartment he showed me in Parramatta. It’s a shithole, yeah? You can’t even imagine how bad it is.’

‘Try us,’ Ruby says with a grin.

Alex holds her gaze, grinning back. ‘Okay, they’ve got a small balcony,’ he says. ‘They covered it with fake plastic grass.’ We burst out laughing. ‘Wait,’ he says, holding his hand up to stop us, ‘there’s more. I called one room the “tetanus room”. I told the agent I was probably gonna need to get a shot on my way home, that’s how bad it was. Nails sticking out of the floor and walls. Just randomly. The kitchen is so small that if the microwave door’s open you can’t open the fridge. The taps were installed back to front but they never bothered to change them over, so you’re basically gonna be scalded at least once a day.’

‘Oh come on,’ Ruby teases. ‘It’s about having a little vision. Some imagination.’

‘Hey, I got plenty of imagination,’ he says. ‘You don’t get into the fitness industry without seeing people’s potential. I can work with fat. I can work with the skinny guy who’s got the body mass of a toddler. But I can’t work with plastic grass. Come on, Ruby, cut me some slack. There was so much floral wallpaper in the place, I felt like I was gonna get hayfever.’

Ruby’s eyes sparkle. She keeps on teasing him and they flirt and banter naturally, forgetting I’m there, which is fine with me.

Despite the obvious chemistry between Ruby and Alex, I can’t help but wonder if things would work out between them, mainly because I know Ruby’s family and I just can’t see them accepting somebody with Alex’s background. Ruby has always had it drilled into her that education and social status are non-negotiable qualities in a partner. And try as she might to defy her parents, until now she has conveniently fallen for guys who ticked all the right boxes. Her two boyfriends at university were both law students; one of them was a member of the Greek Club too. And so Ruby’s parents have never had their expectations challenged, because Ruby’s never liked anybody who’s fallen short. Nor has she tried to rewrite the rules. And that’s what she would need to do if she were to have any hope of Alex ever being accepted by her family.

Of course, I’m jumping the gun here, and if either Alex or Ruby knew what was going through my mind they’d probably think I was an idiot. But there’s no denying the electric charge in the atmosphere, and that I’m witnessing two people beginning to fall for each other.

Nothing like starting the morning screening résumés to put a smile on my face. Into the slosh pile go all the résumés for ‘farmacist positions’. I’m also not persuaded by candidates who ‘have conviction this job was made just for me and I will fit into it like a hand into a glove’.

Veronica and I have a habit of sending each other ‘the worst offender’ emails (she receives applications from people ‘who believe that no matter how disgusting a job is cleaning up an old person they deserve to be treated with less harm than young people’).

Veronica sends me an email:

A candidate just called – Carla Wayne – and when I asked her to spell her surname she said, ‘W for wrist ...’ I’m not sure if she’s very clever, or very stupid. Beat that?

I’m in the process of sending Veronica back a line with my contender (‘I was born to dispense pills’), when I receive an email from Danny, who isn’t in the office as yet.

Esma, I need your advice. I’m at the shops now. You’re always telling me I’m not nice enough to my wife. I want to get her something to make her feel sexy again. You know how she’s been since she put on weight. What kind of lingerie do women like? Bra and undies set, or a corset type? I don’t trust this sales lady (she wants to sell me everything). Black or red? Please help!

I’m tempted to forward his email to Veronica, but I’ve never spoken openly about my problems with Danny to anybody in the office. You just never know whether others will turn the situation around and blame it all on you. If Veronica or anybody else thinks that Danny pays particular attention to me, then any time I get credit for something they’ll assume it’s because he’s playing favourites.

I feel sick. I couldn’t care less what Danny gets up to with his wife. I don’t reply.

I’m in my office at lunch. The door is closed and I’m eating a sushi roll as I read the newspaper. But I’m too distracted to concentrate. I take a bite of my roll and instantly feel nausea in the pit of my stomach.

This mess with Danny can’t go on. It’s affecting my mood, my sleep, my appetite.

I receive another email from Danny. The subject line?
Promotion Documents
.

Dear Esma,

Please find attached documentation and self-assessment forms for completion. I confirm you are a candidate for a promotion and pay rise as of the end of this financial year and these documents will be used to assess your suitability for this senior role. As we discussed, I am more than happy with your work, and feedback from our clients certainly justifies your progression to a more senior role in the agency, with a pay rise of $20,000 per annum plus bonuses. Please endeavour to return the documents to me within two weeks and we will then start the process.

I look forward to working more closely with you and to developing the agency to its full potential.

Kind regards, Danny BlagojevicDirectorRecruitRight

A twenty-thousand-dollar pay rise.

Twenty thousand dollars?! What the hell is going on?

My mind is in overdrive. Is he trying to buy me off by dangling a career carrot in front of me? And how much will I compromise if I take the carrot? Is he going to think I’m excusing his behaviour? Giving him permission to continue because I’m not kicking up a fuss?

I decide to play it safe.

Thanks, Danny. I’ll start working on the paperwork asap.

I press send. Short and not sweet enough. I’m sure I’ve blown it. But almost immediately I get an email back.

My pleasure, Esma.

So what colour, black or red?

Black
, I reply. I press the send button and lose the moral high ground for good.

My mum calls me, adopting her breezy ‘I’m so happy and you’d better be too’ tone of voice as she informs me that Metin is interested in meeting up with me again. I know from her opening line (‘The tall doctor wants to get to know you better!’) that she’s desperately hoping I’m going to squeal with joy. She knows it didn’t go too well last time, but if her forced excited tone is anything to go by, she’s pretending to have no idea.

So I make it easier for her.

‘I’m not interested,’ I say bluntly.

She switches instantly. ‘What do you mean you’re not interested?’ she demands in a shrill voice. ‘You complain that you haven’t met anybody and then this guy arrives and he’s a doctor, tall, educated, successful, very nice-looking, talkative, polite, and you don’t want him? What is wrong with you?’

‘Mum, if I thought he was suitable I’d give him a chance. But he’s totally self-absorbed. He didn’t ask a single question about
me
.’

‘Esma!’ she shouts. ‘You need to stop this ridiculous fussiness. You can’t tell someone’s personality from one meeting. You’re being unfair on yourself, rejecting people after meeting them once. What can you tell after two hours? He didn’t repulse you, he was nice enough, he deserves a chance.’

He didn’t repulse me. Wonderful. A new threshold for eligibility.

‘You’re wrong, Mum,’ I say angrily. ‘He had two hours to show some remote interest in me as a human being, let alone someone he might potentially want to spend the rest of his life with, and he failed!’

‘Sometimes people get nervous on their first meeting. Maybe he’s insecure and felt he had to talk a lot about himself to try and win you over.’

I let out a laugh. ‘Oh, come on, Mum! I’m not an idiot. I can tell the difference. This guy just wanted an audience.’

‘Esma, you can’t judge a person after two hours.’

‘Why not? Whatever happened to first impressions counting?’

‘Not when you’re almost thirty! You can’t afford for first impressions to count!’

Ah. So that’s it.

‘Thanks a lot, Mum,’ I say, my voice suddenly thickening with tears. ‘My own mother is basically telling me I’m approaching a use-by date. Is that what I am to you? A can of tomatoes?’

‘Esma,’ she pleads. ‘That’s not what I meant.’

‘Well, I’m not a can of tomatoes, I’m a vintage cheese, and I’m only going to get better with age!’

‘Cheese? What on earth are you talking about? What do tomatoes and cheese have to do with giving this guy a chance?’

‘I won’t force myself to settle just to satisfy some arbitrary time limit. I’d rather die single than be unhappily married!’

‘Oh, stop being so dramatic, Esma,’ she sighs.

I try very hard not to burst into tears. The pressure feels so intense; there is no hope on the horizon and now I feel like cheese all right – not vintage but a low-calorie cottage cheese with fuzzy mould on the top.