No Sex in the City

  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.

  Twenty-Seven

  ‘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.

  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.

  Twenty-Eight

  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?’