Sydney's Song, page 11
He was tempted? I grinned at this. “A teacher in high school told us kids to only go on a date to places that are bright and crowded.”
“Very wise.”
So Pete was cautious. It made me realise he valued me as a person, not just a sex object. Despite his heated gaze, he only kissed the tip of my nose when he said goodbye. Trying to control his passion instead of being governed by it.
“I’ll wake you up in the morning,” he promised. “No need to set your alarm clock. When you hear the phone ring twice, that will be me waking you. You don’t have to pick it up.”
“And if it rings thrice,” I looked into his eyes, challenging, “I’ll pick it up.”
“Yes,” he grinned, eyes dancing, “It means I wanna speak with you.”
I Changed Her Nappies!
I could tell you about euphoria.
It was walking in the clouds. It was happiness so engulfing, elation so joyous. It was sunshine in your soul, brightening every corner of your heart. It was a supreme delight when your love was smiling into your eyes. Or simply when he was saying “G’day,” trying to imitate your Australian accent.
I could tell you about love.
Love was squirming with fear that you might not look your best for a date. Worried to the bone when he was late (well, what could I say, he was catching CityRail—for God’s sake). And babbling like an idiot when the perfect Adonis showing up at your door robbed you of speech. Love was feeling cherished when he was cooking your dinner.
I was now acutely aware of my surroundings. If I had been a zombie in November, half-awake in December, all my senses were tingling with life this January.
The world was suddenly a vibrant place to live in.
At the office I noticed Valerya’s eyes were the lightest shade of blue, instead of just any light colour. I noticed there were four types of greens in the enormous bowl of plants by the entry door. I noticed my newly married boss, previously impeccably dressed, now came with her business suit dishevelled.
I noticed many callers were actually very pleasant to talk with.
There was this sweet Russian grandmother in Liverpool. A humorous Rose Bay lady who wished Newcastle trains provided sandwiches. An elderly Neutral Bay gentleman with the wickedest way of spelling his name. A was for Awful. S was for Shocking. Gwas for Gross. E was for Evil. I was for Irresistible. R was for Risky.H was for Horrid. V was for Vile. N was for Naughty.
And many other witty callers.
On Your Say I dealt with more angry customers.
“The Premier would do Sydney commuters a favour by jumping from the top of Sydney Harbour Bridge! We’re all paying customers here. You must lift your game.” A guy whose bus did not show up had to ask his very sick wife to drive him to work. As she was suffering from a terminal illness, he felt like a cad. Me too. You wouldn’t believe how heavy my heart was each time a floor manager forced me to tell callers:
“The Radio Room has just confirmed, there are no reported delays.”
They said I shouldn’t feel bad. That I wasn’t lying. Because that was exactly what our centre was told.
“Look at other world cities! Their public transport shames Sydney any day. We all pay tax as they do. Why the hell can’t we get a credible service too?” A famous journo yelled and yelled in raging fury. “Sydney’s public transport is run by a bunch of spoiled kids of low IQ with a total lack of vision and commitment! The transport ministry is peopled by inconsiderate selfish morons who lack the intelligence to know what they’re doing! By continuously delivering poor services, the NSW government insults thousands of commuters who have paid their taxes for years!”
But this public figure turned out to be decent, pushed to anger only by valid reasons. After venting his ire, he calmed down and became a very pleasant bloke. We had a bit of a chat. He ended by telling me the best place to buy coffee in Sydney.
A retired ex-serviceman of Kensington rang. Cheerful and pleasant, he was positively a happy person who viewed his blessed long life a wonderful experience. A regular, he had very kind words for everyone. He rang to compliment agents, bus drivers, taxi radio-rooms, and everybody else he happened to get in touch with.Including me.
Those weeks before Australia Day flew with incredible speed.Before, Pete just stayed nearby. After my gesture of surrender he was in my life with full force.
He even talked more.
After that first morning he had woken me up, the phone always rang thrice. And I would snatch it immediately.
We would laugh and say good mornings and start the day saying I-love-yous. We talked about our plans for the day. About our feelings.About the kookaburra perching on my window sill. Once he asked me not to cut my hair. And we hung up, knowing we would soon meet to spend the day together.
He would ring again at night, both of us very sad to be separated until the morning call. Saying goodbye was always extremely hard.Once I timed it, and it took us 70 minutes.
I loved listening to him. In my job, few callers had very pleasant voices and were great to talk with. Pete eclipsed them all. Some people would say his tenor voice was very sexy, except that he never steered near risqué conversation.
He told me his Dad, Clive, was a professor at Massachusetts Institute of Technology, teaching Civil Engineering, specifically bridges: “I saw him marking his students’ exam papers very hard. He said they must be careful because public safety was involved.”
His Mom, Emmanuella, was a piano teacher at a Catholic girls’high school in Boston.
He had a sister, Eve, 6 years older, an Oracle database-administrator, recently married to a family lawyer.
He had a brother, Lance, 6 years younger, who used to dream of joining Boston’s Red Sox, but was now more interested in playing drums for his high school band.
“Just happened, my parents said. They didn’t plan to have a child every six years.”
“So you didn’t have anyone to fight with, growing up?”
“Plenty. Eve used to think I was a real pest, being much younger.One of my first memories was her screaming after I helped her doing her school homework—she obviously didn’t appreciate the handwriting of a two-year old.”
And he talked about his dreams. “My travels inspire me to help others. When I settle down, I’m gonna volunteer part of my time—and whatever else I can give—to ease some of the suffering around us. And I wanna have a life partner with whom I don’t fight, so that together we can spend our energy and resources in caring for others.I believe, to glorify God means to have a good relationship with all of His creations.”
God? He believed in God? Because I had no knowledge on this topic, I saved this line of conversation for later, planning to ask him someday.
When Pete came to my house, which was now every day after work, he taught me how to cook my favourite dishes.
“Can’t you just accept me as I am?” I asked him while chopping some thyme. Pete himself cut a lot of things with scissors instead of a knife. “Why fatten me up?”
“Sydney, to be 80 pounds when you are five-seven can’t be healthy. ‘Course I accept you no matter what, but you’ll be much happier healthy.” He combined the herbs and spices and looked at me, his clear, earnest eyes marred with concern. I knew what he was thinking. That my depression and anorexia had been clinical but I had not bothered to get any help. Nobody had bothered—until now.His gentle voice called to my stubborn heart. “I worry about you.”
“Aaargh! Your eyes… Like Dimity’s. When she asks for something that I can’t refuse…” I turned away from those mesmerising eyes.“Now, how long should I cut these fillets?”
“Satay cubes. One inch.” His eyes gleamed with mischief. “It has to be exactly two point five four centimetres.”
“Why?”
“It’ll taste better.”
“Pete!” I elbowed him.
“Darling,” he laughed. “Don’t worry so much.”
So we marinated chicken satays for dinner and Pete said to leave it for an hour. It was still the bright daylight of summer. I took out cold juice and colourful tall glasses, green and blue. Pete poured the drink and offered me the blue.
“No,” I objected. “The green’s mine.”
He lifted an eyebrow.
“Because it tastes better!”
“Right,” he winked. “And you always sit closer to the window because the food is tastier there.”
“You’ve got it. That’s why it’s my favourite chair.”
As he sat to my right, I rhapsodised about Auntie Kate’s satay sauce which was tastier than in any restaurant.
“So we call her.”
“No Pete, that’s the most useless thing to do! Kate just throws in her ingredients without any particular measurements. And somehow it turns out great. But I’d be lost.”
“She sounds great. We’ll figure out the measurements.”
I had the feeling that he was curious to get to know somebody from my life, and I did not discourage him. So we had Kate on the line. On speaker.
“Darling,” she gushed. “I saw you on the 501 from Railway Square a few days ago.” Kate now worked as an ABC journo in Pyrmont.“What were you doing out there? I was about to catch that bus, but I arrived late, just in time for the impatient driver to slam the doors in my face! Then I saw you on it. But you didn’t see me. I doubt that you could’ve known other people existed anyway. You were with this most gorgeous specimen and had eyes only for him. So darling, how’s the love affair?”
“Kate, you’re embarrassing me. The gorgeous specimen is here, listening. The other day we took the 501 to the Fish Market. Had lunch there. He’s been on a mission to feed me.”
“Good on him! Darling, I’m so happy to hear this. In Broulee I was so shocked to see how much weight you’ve lost since—since… you know.”
“Yes Kate—life happened… So, Pete here wants to speak with you.About recipes.” I nodded at Pete. “Over.”
“Hi Kate, how do you do? It’s Pete here. I’m sitting in Sydney’s kitchen. And she’s been going on about your wonderful cooking.Could you please help us with recipes?”
“An American!” Kate’s voice was laced with disappointment. Oh dear, this must bring back the memories of her American dancer.“What are you doing here? Are you going to hurt my Sydney?”
“Kate!” I protested.
“I’m her second mother,” Kate insisted. “I love her! Are you going to be good to her?”
“Aw Kate—,” I began, but Pete caught my hand and squeezed it in reassurance.
“I’m planning to live here,” he informed her calmly. “If you love Sydney, we’re on the same ground. You’ve known her longer—”
“All her life! I changed her nappies.”
I choked.
“Super,” Pete was smiling at me. “Tell me all I should know.Starting with tonite’s recipe.”
Kate told him two for satay sauce: the proper one and the cheating one. The cheating one was from ingredients easily available in most houses and easily accomplished within two minutes. Soon she proceeded to grill Pete again.
“Kate,” I protested, “I’m not yet 18. There’s no need for serious talk.”
“Do you know anything about contraception?”
“KAAATE!”
“Don’t get knocked up,” she was unrelenting. “Some Americans can be too charming. I should know.”
I looked at Pete in mortification. His eyes were dancing with merriment.
Diplomatically he put Kate’s concern to rest and she let us go after extracting a promise that we would dine at her place. We were to have a big dinner. She and Pete together would stage a many-course culinary feast.
Pete and I grilled our satays in the backyard, with Dimity looking on with weary eyes.
“She hasn’t touched her dinner at all,” Pete commented. “Reckon she’s sick?”
We knelt down and checked her. Nothing seemed to be wrong at first, except those very old, tired eyes. Had I neglected my one true friend while falling head over heels? Had I stopped to really look at her while I thrived and basked in the glow of Pete’s love? I looked up in fear—and mortification.
“She can’t get sick!” She couldn’t die! “I won’t have it!”
Pete gave me an assessing look.
“Best take her to the vet,” he pulled me up. “After dinner.”
That beautiful summer evening, during the interminable wait while the vet was conducting blood tests and biopsying a small lump he found on Dimity’s thyroid, I finally told Pete about my parents’divorce and how it affected me.
“I can’t lose Dimity,” stupid tears threatened to spill out of my eyes. “She’s been the only constant in my life.”
“I can’t be your past, honey. But I love you. I will always love you.Forever.” He squeezed my hands in comfort. “And forever is never over.”
The vet appeared. He told us Dimity suffered from a virulent form of cancer.
“It’s my fault,” I anguished, sobbing now. “I’ve been so self-absorbed. Should’ve brought her to you earlier… Should’ve noticed the lump…”
“There’s nothing you could’ve done,” the vet gently advised. “It would be the same outcome whether you’d come three weeks or three months ago. Dimity is over 16, which is a good age for any dog her size. The cancer she has developed is particularly aggressive, and will spread rapidly. It’s actually amazing that she has remained as active for as long as she has. No doubt due to your special bond.”
In a kind tone he told me I would save my lifelong companion a lot of pain if I surrendered her to a lethal injection. It would put her to sleep in peace, never to wake up again. “It doesn’t have to be right away. If you want to keep her several more days, I can prescribe some pain killers.”
“But she’s in pain without it?”
“Yes.”
I felt so bad. Dimity had been in pain all these months and I had not known it. I had attributed her fatigue to old age, her sad looks as deference to my own sadness. What a selfish and stupid dog owner I had been.
“No,” I decided. “You—you can have her tonight. I don’t want her to suffer.”
I turned my face into Pete’s strong shoulder and crumpled, sobbing uncontrollably, beyond caring about what he thought of me slobbering.
Like in a bad dream numbness returned as I stroked and cuddled my thin, beautiful Dimity for the last time. I held her as the vet gave her the injection. She looked at me with her trusting eyes and did not make a whimper as she slowly closed them and became limp.Vaguely I remember Pete helping the vet prise her out of my arms and speaking in hushed tones about cremation for my beloved dog.
Pete must have called Kate. She and Mum always had each other’s house keys and she was at my home, waiting. She took me into her arms and stayed the whole night, even after she knocked me out with a sedative.
Mum was on the phone the next morning. She was in Firenze. She had picked up some pretty things and perfumes for me in Paris.Would I like anything else?
As if material things could replace the love of your life.
My American Pete had a fight with our American boss about me.She told him it didn’t matter whether it was your parent who died, to be fair with all of your co-workers, if you could not attend your shift, you would still lose your Attendance bonus.
“But she’s a very good agent,” he protested forcefully into the phone, his gorgeous eyes flashing green fire. I felt touched that he would fight for me. Privately, I had sometimes thought this particular boss had no flaming idea about how Aussies worked. Pete listened some more, shaking his head.
He had arrived early bringing fresh bread from the bakery, saying,“Next time we’ll do proper baking, honey. This morning is a short cut.” Its heavenly aroma now wafted to my nose. The coffee was ready and he brought it to the table. We were sitting in the sunny kitchen, with the French doors open to the back veranda. A pair of lorikeets hopped on the floor, green and happy.
Pete sat to my right and practically hand-fed me, taking his self-imposed mission to fatten me up in earnest. He and Kate seemed to have a seamless phase of introduction. No, they agreed, we were not going to have the planned elaborate dinner, but both of them would come here and whip me up the traditional Aussie casserole.
Thus Pete and Kate—who never counted (or mentioned) how much they gave—held my hands as I grieved for Dimity.
Do You Tell That To Your Customers?
“Sinead, please swap our days off,” Pete asked.
“Or?” Sinead teased. She was eating lunch while checking her emails at the office internet café. Her long hair was tamed into a simple ponytail and three tiny stud-earrings winked on her left ear.
“Or else!”
“Ooh, I love this,” she swivelled her chair to face us. “Sydney has Tuesday off? You two are going out on a date?” she beamed. “This is all my doing. I brought you together. I should get a commission! You owe me ten-thousand dollars.”
“Swap days off?” Pete passed her the shift-swap form.
“How much will you pay me?” She scribbled her signature. “That’s another ten-thousand dollars.”
“Keep counting.”
Sinead had this huge grin and toasted me with her water bottle as we left.
“She claims we’re an item because of her?”
“Let her think so,” Pete winked. “Easier to get her to swap shifts to suit us.”
I smiled. Although I ached inside for my Dimity, it was easier to bear having a gorgeous, undemanding man looking after me. Feeling safe and sunnier with him around, I knew I was not going to fall into that pit of despair again.
“Shall we take the L90 tomorrow?” he asked.
“Surf boards and all?” The bus driver would only permit it when the space was available.
“It’s not gonna be peak hour, honey. The bus won’t be crowded.”
Breeze lessened the heat of summer on Tuesday. We lunched by the blue water of Newport Arms. The food was superb. And above all else the company was excellent. Pete could discern what ingredients there were in each dish, making me shake my head in wonder.
