No Sex in the City (20 page)

After Ruby and Nirvana have paid, Patricia flicks on a desk lamp and takes Ruby’s hands, turning them upwards to examine her palms.

‘The distance between your pinky and its neighbour indicates you’re not lonely. You might, however, become senile later in life, so you need to work on keeping those friends, having a network of support.’

It takes all my willpower not to burst out laughing. I fix my eyes on the scratches and blotches on the floorboards.

‘You have a very messy love line. I’m sensing there is a male Scorpio in your life. And there will be a male Aries or Aquarius.’ She scrunches up her nose. ‘I’m getting a strong feeling about a star sign that starts with the letter A.’

Oh boy. The harder I try not to laugh, the harder it is to remain composed. ‘Oh my God!’ Ruby exclaims. ‘Alex is an Aries!’

I clear my throat.

‘Is he an accountant or financial planner?’ Patricia asks solemnly. ‘I have a strong feeling he deals with money and numbers.’

I bite the inside of my mouth.

‘He’s a personal trainer.’

‘Successful?’

‘Yes, very.’

‘There you go then.’

‘I’m sorry?’ I interrupt before I can stop myself. ‘I’m not making the connection between personal training and accountancy.’

Ruby rolls her eyes at me as though I’m hopelessly infantile and too dim to understand. ‘He makes heaps of money as a successful personal trainer,’ she explains.

‘Oh,’ I say and shut my mouth.

‘I sense you’re confused about something,’ Patricia goes on. ‘That you’re preoccupied and that it has something to do with this man Alex.’

I’m tempted to remind her that she didn’t know about Alex until Ruby mentioned him, but who am I to tell her how to do her job.

‘Are you confused?’ Patricia asks.

‘Well, yes. I’m not sure if I’m reading him correctly ... if he has feelings for me ... Also, if he does, I’m wondering if we’re a good match, given we have very different jobs ... are in two different worlds really.’

‘The man you’re destined to marry is ruled by Venus, and so he has a soft, creative element, but he may not be as committed and motivated as you,’ Patricia says soberly. ‘He’s also very inflexible. Where you have a capacity for broad-mindedness, the man you will marry does not.’

‘Is that man Alex?’

‘I’m sorry, I can’t answer that. I can tell you that you have a very long lifeline. And I see daughters in your future, but no sons.’

When it’s Nirvana’s turn, Ruby moves her chair to the side and sits quietly, lost in her own thoughts. Patricia takes Nirvana’s hands.

‘Is there a wedding on the horizon?’ she asks.

‘OH MY GOD!’ Nirvana and Ruby simultaneously exclaim.

I don’t bother reminding them that Nirvana’s wearing her engagement ring.

‘Yes!’ Nirvana says breathlessly. ‘We haven’t set a date yet, though. We’re planning the engagement party.’

‘You’re marrying the man of your destiny.’

Nirvana is positively beaming.

‘He is a good man. But I see conflict. I can’t see where it is coming from and who is responsible, but there will be challenges.’

Really? What a revelation. Marriage will be challenging.

‘Well, there is conflict at the moment.’

‘Is it with a female?’

‘Yes!’

She had a fifty per cent chance of getting that one right.

‘I don’t see the conflict resolving any time soon.’

Oh my God, get me out of here.

‘Should I confront this woman?’

Nirvana’s not revealing who it is. She explained to me on the way here that she prefers to give away as little as possible so that she doesn’t lead the psychic. Ruby’s too impatient and open to be constrained in the same way.

‘Before you confront her you need to assess how that will impact on your relationship with your fiancé. Is it going to resolve the conflict? And if confrontation resolves the conflict between you and the woman, will it create new conflict between you and your fiancé? These are the kinds of questions you need to keep in your mind.’

Nirvana could have paid me instead. I’ve been telling her the same thing all along.

When Patricia has finished reading Nirvana’s palms and moved on to tarot cards, she turns to me.

‘Would you like a quick reading?’ she asks.

I smile at her. ‘No thanks.’

‘That’s okay. Can I just ask you: have you had a lot of bad luck lately?’

‘No.’

‘Hmm ...’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I say tersely.

‘Well, it’s just that I have a sense that somebody may have used some negative occult practices on you.’

‘
Excuse me?
’

‘You mean black magic?’ Ruby cries with a shudder.

Patricia just arches an eyebrow. ‘I could offer you some protective charms,’ she says.

I laugh. ‘No offence, but save the psychic spiel for people who believe in it.’

‘Are you always this sceptical? Because I’m sensing a lot of negativity in your life.’

‘Actually, I’m an extremely optimistic person and I don’t need to be analysed by somebody who makes a living out of stating the obvious and passing it off as psychic inspiration.’ I grab my bag off the floor. ‘Ready, girls?’ I say with affected cheeriness.

Ruby and Nirvana jump up and follow me.

‘I’m sorry about that,’ Ruby says as we walk towards the car. ‘I’m
really
sorry. That whole black magic thing was totally out of line.’

‘Yeah, she had no right to say that,’ Nirvana adds. ‘Cheerful optimism, that’s your trademark. How else can you explain your positive attitude even after you’ve gone on dates with guys who have worn bumbags?’

‘Vinyl pants.’

‘Gold chains.’

‘Exactly,’ Ruby says, with a decisive nod. ‘Don’t pay any attention to her.’

‘I’m not,’ I assure them. We walk silently to the car. Ruby’s driving and I climb into the back seat, leaving the passenger seat for Nirvana.

‘Do you think I give off negative vibes?’ I ask.

‘No!’ they both respond.

‘She doesn’t know what she’s talking about,’ Nirvana says with exaggerated conviction. ‘I mean, come to think of it, I’m wearing my engagement ring. Of course there’s a wedding on the horizon!’

We all laugh and I try to banish Patricia Whiting from my mind.

I’ve resolved to give Metin another try. Ha! It’s as though he’s a pair of jeans that didn’t fit last week and I’m going to try squeezing into them today.

As much as I think Patricia Whiting was an opportunistic phoney, what she said is nonetheless bugging me. A lot. Not because I secretly think I’m a negative person – I know I’m not. I really do approach every new meeting with a guy with honest-to-God optimism that this time
could be it
. Why else would I have agreed to meeting so many guys? I’ve got cousins and friends who have long since given up on the arranged dates. I’m a trooper, thank you very much.

But what Patricia said got me thinking. Not only about how two people as intelligent as Nirvana and Ruby could fall for that kind of crap, but how maybe, despite how optimistic I feel on the inside, I’m somehow not projecting my positive feelings. She certainly read me completely wrong.

So it’s all very well for me to go into a date feeling hopeful that I’m about to meet the man of my dreams, but what if I don’t realise that I’ve got a wall up? That what I feel on the inside isn’t translating to the outside?

Maybe ... it hurts to admit this ... my mum IS RIGHT.

Maybe I’m being unfair to myself.

Maybe I’m being unfair to others.

So tonight, as I’m driving to Leichhardt to meet Metin for coffee, I resolve to forget our last meeting. I’m going to give Metin the benefit of the doubt and well and truly open my heart and mind to the experience.

I see him standing on Norton Street in front of the restaurant. Once again my respiratory function is compromised. I notice some girls pass him and look back and giggle to themselves.
That’s right, girls
, I think, as I walk up to him,
he’s the stuff of dreams (on the outside), and he’s
my
date tonight
. Sure, he’ll probably spend two hours talking about himself, but at least he’ll be eye candy.

‘Hi, Esma.’ He smiles and I notice he still has his dimple. Not that there was any danger of it disappearing. Oh my. This is what must happen if you date people for their looks. Rapidly Declining Brain Cell Activity.

He looks me up and down with those big probing hazel eyes – stop it! I must remember I have a brain and it is incumbent on me to use it – and says, in a deep, masculine, sexy – SHUT UP – voice, ‘You look great.’

‘Thanks,’ I say, and giggle like a schoolkid.

‘It’s good to see you again,’ he says when we’re sitting down.

‘How’s your week been?’ I ask.

‘Oh, not too bad,’ he says, pouring me a glass of water. ‘Removed a couple of toe warts and looked down the barrel of a lot of sore throats. A pretty average week, actually.’

I laugh. ‘All in a day’s work for you, hey?’

‘That’s right. How’s your week been?’

Yay!!! He has spontaneously asked me a question.

‘Pretty interesting actually. My friends dragged me along to see a psychic. Then one of my clients caught a graduate I’d placed at his pharmacy stealing prescription drugs from behind the counter so her brother could sell them at school.’

‘Hmm, that is an interesting week. Even beats toe warts ... So, are you hungry?’

‘I’m okay, thanks. A coffee is fine.’

‘Oh, come on. We can have coffee later. How about we get a pizza?’

‘But I just had dinner.’

‘We can go halves if you like.’

I give in and he opens the menu and rubs his hands together, grinning at me. ‘You know this is a critical moment.’

I look at him coyly. ‘How so?’

‘People can be very particular about their choice of pizza toppings. I’ve known friendships to hang in the balance over a disagreement about pineapples and anchovies.’

‘No anchovies,’ I say. ‘And pineapples are a must.’

‘And what are your feelings on the subject of mushrooms and chilli peppers?’

‘What’s a pizza without them?’

‘Seafood or chicken?’

I tap a finger on the corner of my mouth. ‘Now let’s see,’ I say in a voice that suggests I am pondering some important spiritual proposition. ‘I like both,’ I eventually declare.

He nods slowly, his face serious and contemplative as he pretends to be deep in thought. Then he flashes me a smile. ‘You’ve passed the test. Thank God you’re not an anchovy person.’

We order a chicken pizza with extra pineapple and Metin talks to me about his first impressions of Australia when he moved here from Germany. Unfortunately, he wasn’t immune to stereotypes about deadly spiders and cuddly koalas.

‘Please don’t tell me you expected to see kangaroos waiting at traffic lights and koalas on every street corner?’

‘No, I wasn’t that bad,’ he insists.

He laughs. There’s a bit of a silence then. I’m resisting asking him another question to keep the conversation going. I can’t keep rescuing us, especially when he still hasn’t asked me anything about my life. I feel like I know him quite well. I know about where he went to school in Germany, his relationship with his family, his travel experience, his motivation for studying medicine. But I’m still a closed book to him. So I just take the plunge. There is absolutely no point in being shy or disingenuous.

‘Metin, don’t you want to know about me?’

He looks up from his cup, surprise crossing his face. ‘What do you mean?’

I clear my throat, speak kindly. ‘It’s just that you haven’t asked me anything about my life. That’s why we’re here, isn’t it? To get to know each other?’

‘Yes, of course,’ he fumbles. ‘So tell me about yourself.’

I bite my lip. ‘How about you ask me what you want to know and I’ll answer.’

He looks bewildered. I wonder if I’ve blown it. Am I being completely high maintenance? Overanalytical? Have I turned him off?

My panicked thoughts are interrupted by the waiter delivering our pizza. The smell of basil makes my stomach rumble, which is evidence that I’m being plain greedy given that I ate a bowl of pasta only two hours ago.

‘Yum.’ Metin cuts me a large slice and puts it on my plate. ‘So what do you do?’ he asks. He takes a bite, cheese dangling down his chin until he realises and breaks it off.

I cut him some slack. When I resolved to start afresh, I meant it. So I’m going to pretend I haven’t already told him what I do and explain all over again.

‘That’s interesting ... Oh, is that what you meant when you said a girl was stealing from the pharmacy? You’d recruited her?’

So he had no idea what I meant before and didn’t bother to ask me to clarify? I take a bite of my pizza to delay responding. I’m a bit annoyed. But, in the spirit of BEING POSITIVE, I’m going to let that go too.

‘Yes,’ I say after I’ve finished chewing. ‘I’d recruited her for one of my clients and then she ended up being a thief. Needless to say, the client wasn’t too happy. Nor was my boss.’

‘I once hired a receptionist I thought was honest and conscientious. Until I found out she’ d been stealing patients’ credit card details to buy things online.’

‘Mmm,’ I say, my voice tapering off as I fix my eyes on the couple at the table next to us.

He puts down his glass. ‘Did I say something wrong?’ he asks warily.

I lock eyes with him and smile gently. ‘I just get a sense ...’

‘Yeah?’

‘I feel that when I talk, you’re not interested.’

‘But I am!’

How, then, do I tell him that he’s clearly hopeless at the rules of conversation? ‘I don’t know how to explain myself ...’

‘Try me,’ he says. There’s genuine concern in his eyes, a boyish willingness to make it right. Maybe he really just doesn’t get it.

‘Okay, so I’m telling you I basically had a bad day with my client and boss. Instead of asking me what happened, you cut through with your own story. Either you don’t care what happened to me or you weren’t paying attention. It’s just that a conversation ... well, it’s give and take. You talk, I ask you questions. I talk, you ask me questions. With you it’s feeling ... kind of one-sided.’ I sit back in my chair. There, I’ve said it. Let’s get the bill and get out of here. The night is clearly over.