The Outing, page 3
Chapter 4
Robert let his eyes wander around Johnny’s apartment, pleased at how neat and clean everything was. He’d had a moment on the drive over when it occurred to him that Johnny might be slovenly, and he’d felt queasy until the door opened on Johnny’s smile.
Now after explaining in more detail what he and Duncan had discussed about the references and coaching and the need to appear convincingly straight, they got to work.
“Can you get out some videos?” Robert asked.
“Sure,” Johnny’s head tilted slightly giving his profile more prominence.
“That’s it,” Robert mimicked the tilt. “See? A straight guy wouldn’t do that. We’ll watch some leading men, and pause the video so you can repeat the gestures,” said Robert.
Johnny flicked through some videos, “There’s not many.”
“Doesn’t matter, anything will do. Have you got a mirror? A full length one?”
Johnny shook his head.
“See if you can get one. Maybe from K-Mart or something. Not expensive.”
“Marnie will have one I can borrow,” said Johnny. “I suppose that’s so I can practice without you here telling me what I’m doing wrong.”
Robert’s smile muted, “I haven’t seen her in ages.” Then he took a purposeful breath in, “But, that’s not why we’re here. Come on let’s get to work. We’ll do some ad-lib scenes first eh?”
Robert felt a triumphant flush when Johnny gripped him by the shoulder and said, “Later. OK mate? Let’s take ten minutes, have a drink, and then get on with the paperwork.”
“Excellent,” said Robert. “You’ll be great. Keep practicing though. And it’s probably a good idea if we do a few more sessions.”
They'd been working at Johnny's dining table for about half an hour when Robert checked his watch and started packing and arranging the notes for Johnny’s character witnesses, “I’ve been thinking,” he said, “maybe we could-”
“I've got plenty of time,” Johnny interrupted.
“This,” said Robert, “is exactly what I mean. I know it's unconscious but-”
“What?” Johnny jaw lifted to the side.
Robert replayed the manoeuvre, with pointed exaggeration.
“I get it,” Johnny ran his hand through his hair. “But it's not going to be that easy.”
“Get into character. And stay there. Don't come out.”
“Well, you'd know about that,” Johnny’s mutter was barely audible, and he quickly changed his posture. “Hold on. OK. How's this?” He grabbed the back of the chair with both hands, leaned forward, and in excellent macho said, “I understand perfectly well what you said, mate. But that's not what I meant.”
Robert’s features fell back into place.
“I meant us,” said Johnny, “spending all this time together now. What about us?”
“What about us? We’re friends, Johnny. We’ve always been friends. That’s not going to change because I’m your lawyer,” Robert kept his tone even. “I was going to say, let’s meet up and go running again. I really miss that. When this is all finished and done with.”
Johnny looked at Robert, his eyes probing, and then they blanked, “Look, I have to get to ready for work.”
“I thought you said-” Robert stopped.
Johnny picked up their coffee mugs and Robert pasted a smile on his face and stood up, “OK. Of course. Monday. Can you come into the office. First thing. I keep it free.”
Chapter 5
Stop-start traffic shunting itself into the commute stream heading home over the Story Bridge wasn't the distraction Robert was hoping for. And it was hot. At the next intersection he detoured back to a beer garden he'd just passed not far from Johnny's.
Beer in hand he found a table under the shady canopy of red flowers and briefly wondered what sort of mess they'd make when they'd tired of the tree. A mushy red carpet. He’d slipped on one. Come around a corner too fast and Johnny had helped him, limping back to the car. He’d been hesitant when Johnny suggested they run together. The only sound he liked to hear were his own feet hitting the ground, but the feeling of a race certainly hadn’t hurt his times even though, at least in that instance it had hurt his pride.
He took a sip of his beer absently watching the start of the mess as a handful of red petals fluttered groundward in the welcome breeze, remembered himself saying, ‘Don’t you feel great after?’ And Johnny gasping, and grasping his knees quipping, ‘After a beer I will.’
They’d sat on the aging wooden bench, and Johnny had suggested a drive to the coast so they could swim afterwards and then he’d asked if Johnny was going to change his mind and add a teaching diploma to his course.
“Shit, I dunno,” Johnny took a greedy swig from his stubby, eyes fixed on the view, “I didn't sign up for acting and theatre to teach it in schools. I mean, I've got nothing against kids. I like them-”
“But, you don't want to spend your days in a classroom.”
“I don't know what I want to do yet,” Johnny's voice idled. Then, “Are we still going to see The Chant of Jimmy Blacksmith?”
Robert shrugged, “OK. I've heard good things.”
“So now you’re a film buff?”
“Hah. I've always liked movies. You know that. What made you say that?” he’d bumped his shoulder playfully against Johnny's, as if they were kids. “It's… well… I never liked going by myself and…”
“Robert?” Johnny had turned his face away as Robert turned towards him. “Doesn't matter… I'm- doesn’t matter.”
Sitting now with his beer, Robert contemplated for a few minutes. He’d been so full of himself in those days. Insecurity. He never even asked Johnny about things.
A man sat down too close nodding hello. He nodded back, wondering why the person had picked right here when the beer garden was practically empty and if they'd ever heard of personal space. To prove his point, he looked around and was mildly put out to find it had been filling up while his mind was elsewhere.
“You come here often?” his table mate wore a sleeveless body builder t-shirt.
“Actually no. First time. Usually still in the office now,” Robert patted his briefcase, glad he'd inadvertently brought it along. “Brought it with me though,” he said hoping the hint would be taken.
“Live close by?”
Robert pretended the words weren't for him and pulled the case closer.
“Hey, I said do you live close by?” There was an edge to the iteration.
“Me? I-ahh, no. No. Cooling off. Better here than stuck in traffic, eh?”
“Why here then?”
“What? Why not here? Good a place as any. No other pubs close by,” Robert resurrected his pasted-on smile. “Anyway, I suppose,” he swallowed some beer and was about to add he'd be off, but he'd hardly touched the drink. It would seem weird. He looked around noticing two men were watching them.
They came over, giving the muscle-guy a reverse head-nod and said to Robert, “Oh good, you made it,” as if they'd been expecting him or he'd been expecting them.
“Maybe later then?” Muscles stood. “I'll be at the bar.”
“I'd stay away from him if I were you,” his new tablemates sat. “Name's Pete, this is Jimbo. Haven't seen you here before. You-ahh,” Pete’s head swivelled, and he half-closed one eye briefly, “looking for something?”
“What? No. Beer. That's all. Hi. Robert.” Robert raised his glass, and rescued himself with, “You come here often?”
“It's our local.”
“So you live here in Kangaroo Point?”
“Close by. Another?” Pete nodded at Robert's almost empty glass.
Robert looked at it, surprised at his unconscious hurrying him along, except there was no need to rush now, and there was a relaxed buzz to the place. Or maybe it was the beer. In the midst of saying no, “Thanks,” emerged, and he smiled, bemused at its arrival.
“Not a bad place, eh?” The excess beer foam lazed towards the coaster.
“Thanks mate. Jimbo, right?” Robert raised his glass and the two raised eyebrows at each other.
“No worries. Mate,” they unisoned, smiling like he'd made a joke, and pretended to high-five.
A younger man, athletic but slight and wearing a black singlet, its cut-off end nuzzling the waistband of faded flared jeans headed their way. Feeling beerily expansive, Robert smiled, “Pull up a pew, mate,” he shifted his briefcase to make room.
“Coming to the show Friday night?” the newcomer addressed Pete and Jimbo.
“Tank here, does a drag show at the Wickham.”
Robert coughed.
They laughed.
“Really?” Robert asked recovering a fragment of composure.
“I'm quite famous in some circles,” Tank lightly touched his chest, looked Robert up and down, smiled, and slugged his beer. After sitting down he turned to Jimbo and Pete, and launched into a conversation about people Robert didn't know from Adam.
Robert gazed around. It slowly dawned, that he'd found himself in a gay bar, and then he realised his long gazes were attracting attention. He turned back to the conversation he hadn't been following and finished his beer, in a hurry again now to leave.
“Hey, thanks,” he said into a lull in the conversation, his empty glass idled on the soppy coaster. “Let me buy you one before I leave.”
“All good, mate. Next time.”
Tank sent him an air-kiss, “You'll have to come and see my show, Lovey.”
“Will do,” Robert nodded with apparent enthusiasm.
Tank's smile said 'yeah right', but graciously.
“Thanks again. For the beer,” Robert converted his formal hand extension to a more appropriate half-wave.
“See you around Mate,” Jimbo and Pete high-fived again.
Tank laughed at them and called out to Robert's disappearing back, “Don't forget Lovey. Fridays. The Wickham.”
Robert turned to acknowledge him and bumped into someone.
Muscle snarled, “Watch where you're going. Fucking poofter. You spilled my beer.” He waved his almost full beer at Robert who suddenly felt sick. “Oh, it's you,” the face changed, “looking for some action?”
“Sorry mate,” Robert wasn't sure what for, and looked around self-consciously, noticing two men at the end of the bar watching him and Muscle, and looking distinctly out of place. One tallish with eyes that looked like they'd forgotten what a smile was. The other one, unsuccessfully trying to keep a cream and hairy mountain of belly from escaping past the straining buttons of his public service style, short-sleeved white shirt.
Relieved to be exiting onto the verandah, Robert spotted a tall redhead polishing glasses from inside an alcove doorway. He'd no doubt seen the beer-spilling side-show.
Crossing the carpark in the afternoon sun, Robert shivered. And after a few gulps of warmish stale air inside the car, he shivered again.
A thump on the car roof startled him. The sick feeling returned and he swallowed the bile.
The creeps from the bar.
He wavered, debating whether to ask what they wanted, or tell them to shove off. Stopping here no longer seemed like such a good idea. Something was off. Were they cops, nabbing people for drink-driving? But they'd be in uniform. Anyway, two beers… he'd be well under. There'd been no sign of a badge. Maybe they were after something else.
This time he shuddered, and staring straight ahead, started the car. Inching forward.
Nothing happened.
He marginally increased the pressure on the accelerator. Another thud on the roof. He flinched.
At the curb, he remembered to indicate. Glancing to the rear-view mirror, he was surprised not to see a flashing blue light.
***
“You should've gone straight to the nearest station,” Lauren's cheeks wore pink highlights, and she finished drying her hands roughly on the tea-towel before plonking it down on the kitchen benchtop. “They're probably looking up your licence plate now. What were you thinking?”
“Shit. I don't know. It was all so weird,” he'd left out most of it though, including it was a gay bar.
“Go now. I don't want any unexpected knocks on the door.”
“What should I tell them?”
“Seriously, Robert? You're the lawyer.”
He ran through the abbreviated story finishing with “…then I thought what if they were police, and wanted to breathalyse me, so I drove straight here.”
“Good. I'll get the kids ready for bed.”
“You should be a lawyer. Honestly, you think like one.” He turned to go, “Hey, thanks.”
*
“False alarm,” he was back home in under an hour. “No cops there. I took a leaf out of your ‘be-thorough’ book though. Insisted on a breath test.”
Lauren nodded, “You know, I've been thinking… what you said earlier, about I should be a lawyer. I'm inclined to give it a go. I mean, I like my job at the Assistance Centre, but let's face it, it's not going anywhere.”
“Really? You've got a lot on. Honestly, I don't know how you manage as it is.”
“Yeah, you're right. I have, haven't I?” Enthusiasm ebbed from her voice.
Robert noticed, “It wouldn't hurt to check it out. Maybe part-time?”
“God, that would be what? Eight years. The kids'd be in high-school.”
“No. It wouldn't. You've got a degree already. It could be lots less. Promise you'll look into it. I can do more at home and except for work, I don't go anywhere. Well, not usually. And you could pick my brain, and Mum could,” he faltered. “You could do it.”
“What made you such a kind and thoughtful person?” she smiled at him, and he found something on the cupboard to wipe. “I feel so lucky, and at the same time I feel, I don't know, like there's something missing. That I'm missing something or missing out on something. Then I wonder what's wrong with me. I should be happy with what I've got. And I am, mostly. It's just-”
“Normal,” he said. “It's normal. And I don't know about kind and thoughtful. Though nice of you to say.”
“Are you happy Robert?”
“What?” Did she mean with her, with life in general, with his career, or the whole package? Was she picking up on his recent lapses in concentration and moments of melancholy? “Of course.”
Her scrutiny demanded an explanation.
“I have the most gorgeous children, a fantastic job, prospects, one day we'll even own this house. My parents have learned to hide the burden of their disappointment reasonably well, and I sometimes think they love me. A bit. Despite me choosing law instead of politics. Against all expectation she'd say bugger off, I married the most beautiful woman in Brisbane and- What?” he asked when her head tilted. “Everyone says you are. And, even if she's a bit over-ambitious and tells me what to do, that doesn't change the undying gratitude I have bursting out of my heart every moment of the day,” he finished with a hand on his heart.
Lauren wrinkled one side of her mouth into a dubious question-mark-half-smile, “Nice speech. Glass of wine?”
He nodded, “Seriously, I'm happy too. Mostly.”
“That's it though, isn't it?” she said, filling the glass from the box in the fridge. She'd been standing in its open door when the speech started, “Something in me knows there's more. I just don't know what it is. And that makes it even harder, doesn't it? How are you supposed to get what you don't even know you're looking for?”
Robert forced the edges of his mouth up, “I don’t know,” he said. And taking the glass, “Cheers.”
Chapter 6
“Hey, I’m sorry about the other day,” Johnny said, passing an envelope over the desk to Robert. “I’ve brought these for you. The references.”
As he started to sit in the visitor chair, Anna came back through the open door with a tray and tea and put it on the sofa table.
Robert caught the question mark on Johnny’s face, “I’m still a bit clumsy. I don’t like cups and liquids near my desk. Can’t trust myself.”
“I meant isn’t this a bit fancy?”
Robert shrugged, “Come on, we’ll sit over there. Safer.”
As soon as they were sitting together Robert wondered why he’d asked Anna for tea. Even with the distraction of pouring and sugaring, his thoughts were zinging all over the place, just like his nerves. He distracted himself looking at Johnny’s references and then flailed, wondering whether to get up and put them back on the desk. He stood and knocked the edge of the tray. Johnny reached to stop his cup rattling on its saucer.
“I’ll put these,” Robert waved the envelope towards his desk in lieu of finishing the sentence. I should never have let myself be talked into this.
“Are you going to sit down?” Johnny said looking up from the sofa at Robert standing mid-room, “Or should I,” he started to get up.
“Yeah. Yeah.” Robert moved and lowered himself, picking up his cup, “We’ll go over procedure, a kind of run through, familiarize you with what they might ask, and prepare your answers,” Robert’s voice was even but his heartbeat wasn’t, “so that you’re comfortable, or as comfortable as you can be, at the hearing.”
Robert put his cup down and then picked it up again, and glanced over to his desk. Lauren looking back at him from inside the silver frame and his conversation with her; her question, ‘are you happy?’ repeating itself and then Johnny was asking him something, “Sorry. What did you say?”
“I said, the other day… I’m not really sorry,” said Johnny, “and I asked you, are you happy?”
Robert forced his eyes away from the photograph and replayed the question again, and then again. Are you happy Robert? Are you happy? And the answer wasn’t coming. He forcefully reframed it, am I happy? and in the brief collection of moments between the threat of tears and the first fleeting need to blink, a kaleidoscope of emotions converged into a flash of recognition.
