No Sex in the City (19 page)

The online attempt has been a total failure, just as I’d expected. Every match to date has been a disaster. So should I be accepting the possibility that my destiny is to be single? To die a virgin? (What a chilling thought!) Childless? Loveless? To watch my younger sister grow old with her husband and attend
their
children’s first day at kindergarten,
their
children’s graduation?

I start conjuring up more horrid details in my self-pitying projection. I’ll be fat – because nobody will be seeing me naked so I may as well have a cottage-cheese arse. And I’ll probably be hairy – I mean, really, there’ll be nobody to complain about spiky legs. The more I imagine, the more ridiculous and irrational my projection becomes. In reality, I’m one of those people who genuinely believe in looking after yourself
for yourself
, so deep down I know I won’t really gorge on chocolate Hob Nobs for the next fifty years just because I don’t have a man beside me, but right now I’m too upset to acknowledge that. I can feel the onset of a major hysterical sob-fest. Pathetic.

‘Esma ...? Esma!’

Oh. Mum’s still on the line. ‘Mmm,’ I manage.

‘Please calm down,’ she pleads.

‘Mmm,’ I manage again and hiccup.

‘Let’s talk when you get home.’

Oh no. No more talking. I’d rather rip off my nails one by one with pliers than talk about this topic again. I take a deep breath and mumble, ‘Okay, one more chance. Give him my number then.’

Ruby texts me while she’s at a wedding.

Alex is here! ARGHHHHH

Here where?

Effie’s wedding!

How does he know Effie?

Greek community degrees-of-separation thing.

Have you spoken to him?

No answer.

When I text her again later that night to ask how things are going she doesn’t respond. It’s only the following night at our No Sex in the City dinner that she fills me and the girls in.

‘It could just be a classic case of opposites attracting,’ Lisa muses as we sit around a sushi train.

‘I think the whole opposites-attract thing is dangerous in the long-term,’ Nirvana says.

Ruby has just described her evening at the wedding. She spent almost the entire night dancing with Alex. If Ruby was in any doubt that there was something between them, being thrown together (in a situation where, Ruby reminds us, she was not in sweaty sports gear but dressed up and looking hot!) eliminated any such doubts.

Whenever one of us goes through the ‘girl meets boy’ experience, the first part of the mandatory quizzing session covers the superficial – and, given our No Sex in the City lifestyle, G-rated details: what was he wearing? What were you wearing? What were his friends like? Is he a good dancer? What did you talk about?

We’ve moved on from that and are now in the ‘I like him, what’s the next step?’ PG-rated phase. Nirvana is playing the role of devil’s advocate. Being in a relationship sometimes makes people think they’re suddenly an authority on love. It’s not that Nirvana’s being supercilious or self-righteous. She’s just jumped ship.

‘You need some common interests or you’ll just grow apart once the lust factor and the initial euphoria is over. I see Neela and Sunil and they’re living on parallel train tracks. It’s sad, really. I don’t think they have anything in common.’

‘Having common interests is overrated,’ Ruby scoffs. ‘I know plenty of couples who get a kick out of the same movies but who have completely different views on life. I’d rather compatibility where it matters: values, goals, sex.’

‘Politics.’ Lisa is emphatic. ‘That’s a must. I couldn’t be with a climate change sceptic or an anti-feminist.’ She shudders.

‘It’s all one big gamble anyway,’ I say cynically, poking my tempura prawn with the end of my chopstick. ‘Some things you won’t know about until you actually get into the relationship. Like sexual compatibility.’

‘With your whole no-touching-before-marriage policy,’ Ruby says, ‘you won’t find out until it’s too late.’

I shrug, grinning at her. ‘One of my mum’s friends told me marriage is like a watermelon. You don’t know if it’s a bad one until you look inside.’

That sends us all into a fit of giggles.

‘Oh my God, I hate fruit proverbs,’ Lisa says breathlessly. ‘I’ll never forget my mum telling me about the virtues of virginity:
Nobody wants a peach that’s been bitten into.
’

That sends us into another round of hysterics.

‘Back to Alex,’ Nirvana says when we’ve finally calmed down. ‘I kind of agree with you, Ruby. But intellectual compatibility is important. I’ve never met Alex so I can’t judge, but don’t let your attraction to him make you forget that. Especially somebody like you. I’m not saying you need the same IQ. But what will you and Alex talk about? How will he get along with your family?’

‘Nirvana!’ Ruby groans. ‘I couldn’t care less if Alex is able to maintain a conversation with my dad about aeronautical engineering or with my brothers about the dispensation of pills! That’s their problem. Ambition isn’t the property of the middle class only.’

Lisa grins. ‘Wow, Ruby, if I didn’t know better I’d say you’ve changed for the better.’

‘There’s a tenderness to him,’ Ruby says. ‘A genuine passion for helping people. Not just because it’s good for his business, but because he wants to help people transform themselves. And he’s down to earth and funny and completely unpretentious. I know my parents are cerebral snobs and they’ll have a fit if I bring home a high school drop-out. Never mind that he’s built himself a successful business. He doesn’t have a HECS debt so he isn’t good enough. But I like him. A lot.’

‘So are you a couple?’ Nirvana asks.

Ruby’s face flushes. ‘Well, er ... no. I’ve gone out for coffee with him a couple of times. And we’ve spoken on the phone. I’ve stayed behind after class and spoken to him for ages too.’ She quickly pops a piece of sushi into her mouth.

‘Ruby, this is a teeny weeny bit crazy,’ Lisa says.

‘What is?’

‘You and Alex aren’t going out. And yet you’re locked in some kind of pre-emptive-strike mindset – you’re expecting trouble and conflict before anything’s happened. If you have to work this hard to figure out if somebody is the right person for you when there’s nothing even between you yet, that should be ringing alarm bells for you.’

‘I’m just trying to be as upfront with myself as possible. I read a self-help book by a trade practices lawyer who said that you should never go into a relationship guilty of misleading and deceptive conduct.’

The three of us groan but Ruby’s unperturbed. ‘You have to be honest – completely honest – and get it all out there from the start.’

‘Love is a commercial transaction, is it?’ I say. ‘On sale?’

‘You have to let each other know exactly what you’re getting into.’

‘How romantic,’ I groan.

‘Even if that’s true,’ Lisa says, ‘you’re not getting into anything yet. You said so yourself. You’re not a couple.’

Ruby throws down her napkin, leans back in her chair and folds her hands behind her head. ‘Okay. We had a moment. At least I think we did ... I’m sure we did.’

‘When?’

‘Where?’

‘What happened?’

Ruby raises her hand to silence us, giving a calm-down-before-you-burst-a-blood-vessel shake of her head. She then goes on to explain that at the wedding they went outside for some fresh air. They sat alone together and talked and talked.

‘I don’t know how to explain it,’ she says with a smile. ‘I didn’t have to pretend to be somebody else. I felt uninhibited, real. With some guys it’s all an act. You’re both on your best behaviour, like you’re auditioning, playing a role that you’ll tweak once you get the part. Before the wedding I thought the differences between us might have been insurmountable, but that all fell away because we clicked in so many other ways.’

‘Did he kiss you?’ Lisa asks.

‘No. But we were
so
close. He wanted to. I could sense it. And I wanted to kiss him too, but I wasn’t going to make the first move. When the moment came I felt something was holding him back. I don’t know what it was. Maybe nerves, although he’s one of the most confident guys I know, so I’m not sure it was that ... I don’t know ...’

‘You should see a psychic,’ Nirvana says.

I burst out laughing. ‘Nirvana! That is so random. And so – so – nuts!’

Ruby’s face breaks into a wide grin. ‘I wouldn’t mind that actually. It’s been a while.’

‘I’ve got an appointment tomorrow at eleven,’ Nirvana says. ‘I need advice on my mother-in-law. Let’s all go together!’

Lisa shakes her head. ‘I’m
crushed
not to be able to join you, given my
high
opinion of psychics, but I’ve got a presentation tomorrow.’

Nirvana turns to me. ‘What about you, Esma?’

‘Surely after all these years you know me better than that?’

‘Yes, I know, I know. You’re a nonbeliever. I get it. You don’t have to actually get her advice. I just want you there.’

‘You’ll have Ruby.’

‘Oh, come on,’ she pouts. ‘Come along to support your misguided best friends.’

‘It’ll be fun,’ Ruby says.

I fix my eyes on Ruby. ‘I cannot understand how you of all people can believe in these things.’

‘Oh, Esma, don’t be such a cynic.’

‘Ruby,’ I cry, ‘you’re the biggest cynic out of the four of us. You’re just not the type to see a psychic.’

Ruby groans and throws a look at Lisa. ‘Please shoot me if I ever become predictable enough to be a
type
.’

‘So you’ll come?’ Nirvana presses.

‘I mean, give me your hands,’ I say. ‘I’ll read your palms. I’ll know as much as any psychic would.’

‘Tomorrow? Eleven o’ clock. I’ll pick you both up?’

‘Not to mention most of the time they state the bloody obvious. “I’m sensing you have a mother and a father. I’m sensing the presence of a male in your life. Once upon a time you were a child ...”’

‘Esma!’ Nirvana snaps.

I raise my hands in the air in mock submission. ‘Okay, fine.’ Their faces light up. ‘But I’m not talking to her. I’m just going along to make sure she doesn’t take advantage of my two idiotic friends.’

‘Such a sweetie, you are.’

I get home late. The house is eerily silent. The kitchen is spotless, as usual. Mum’s cardinal rule is to never go to bed without the dishes done and the worktops smelling pine fresh. I’m about to go upstairs when I hear movement in the lounge room.

‘Is that you, Dad?’ I whisper.

‘Yes, darling.’

I hover at the lounge-room door. Dad’s sitting in his armchair, smoking in the dark.

‘Do you want the light on?’

‘No. Thank you.’

‘Okay ...’

‘Fun night?’

‘Yep.’

‘Are your friends well?’

‘Yes. They’re all good, Dad. Are you sure you don’t want the light on?’

‘Yes, I’m sure. I like it like this.’

‘How was work?’

‘Good. I’m just going to have one last smoke then I’ll go to bed. Goodnight, darling.’

I walk over to him and kiss him on the head. He pats my hand.

I trudge upstairs, my heart heavy. It’s not the first time I’ve found Dad awake in the middle of the night, just sitting, smoking and staring into the darkness. The cigarette butts are heaped up, falling out of the ashtray. They’re always gone in the morning. The lounge room has been aired and there’s no trace of him.

‘Okay, Esma, suspension of disbelief,’ Nirvana says.

‘She’d better suspend her disbelief,’ Ruby threatens in a low growl, ‘or her negative vibes are going to affect the reading.’

We’re waiting in the reception of a small terrace in Newtown. Apart from the overpowering scent of burning incense, the place seems pretty normal, not dark and creepy as I expected. On a small pine table to my left is a flyer. Printed in bold letters is the name
Patricia Whiting
, underneath a photograph of a woman with grey eyes and a splendid smile. I read the words at the bottom of the flyer:
Can you handle the truth? I’m a psychic who will tell you what you need to hear!

I roll my eyes. Nirvana and Ruby chatter excitedly. I wish Lisa were here. I’m going to be ganged up on, I just know it.

‘So how much are you paying Patricia Whiting to tell you what you
need
to hear?’ I ask in a droll tone.

‘One hundred dollars an hour.’ The voice comes from my right and I turn my head to see that it belongs to Patricia Whiting. She’s very overweight, much bigger than in her photograph (wonder if she saw that coming?), almost unrecognisable save for those grey eyes that fix on me. She smiles briefly.

‘We have a nonbeliever,’ she says. There’s no hint of rebuke in it. Just a statement of fact.

‘Yep,’ I say, unapologetically. ‘I’m just here as support.’

‘Are you still willing to see the two of us for a discount?’ Nirvana pipes up, hopeful.

‘Yes, for an hour,’ Patricia replies. She nods in my direction. ‘And will your friend be sitting in?’

I shrug lightly. ‘I’m happy to wait out here.’ I pick up a magazine and flip through it, opening it at a random page. ‘I’ll just catch up on my Sidereal Astrology,’ I say, reading a headline aloud. Ruby frowns but Nirvana lets out a light laugh.

‘If your friends don’t mind, you’re welcome to accompany them,’ Patricia offers.

‘Of course she’s joining us,’ Ruby says breezily, jumping up and grabbing my arm. ‘I didn’t haul you along so you could look at magazines. Come on.’

I don’t bother resisting. Anyway, it will be an interesting exercise, listening to Patricia pretend to know the future.

We’re ushered into a small front room. Patricia takes a seat behind a table draped with purple crushed velvet and whips out her wallet. ‘I’ll just take payment from you now if you don’t mind,’ she says.

I raise an eyebrow. I’m tempted to ask her if she has a refund policy, but I’m pretty sure Ruby and Nirvana will kill me if I do. Anyway, they’re paying and I don’t want to interfere with their experience. They believe in this stuff and I should respect that (even if I think they’re stark raving mad). I try my best not to give off any bad vibes in case Patricia confuses my energy with theirs and predicts they’re going to be hit by a bus on the way home.