THAT WOULD BE ME
Chapter Two
in which our heroine claws for a hold, discovers more allies and reveals a weakness - a compulsion
The two girls crashed into the dorm, one was sobbing very loudly.
She turned over to see what was going on.
The comforter glanced across at her and said, 'Poor Lisbeth, she just broke up with her boyfriend. He was gay.'
Lisbeth wailed.
'She'd only known him a little time,' her comforter felt obliged to explain further.
They were both drunk and probably eccied.
The sobbing continued and comments like 'he should have told you', 'at least you haven't known him long', 'he was cute so don't blame yourself you didn't do nothing wrong' and 'at least you didn't sleep with him .... did you? You could've got Aids' came across to her turned back.
She heard the Japanese girl get up and later the door opened and closed.
She decided to flee the scene too. As she left, the comforter looked up from her ministrations and shrugged. The sobs were subsiding.
Michiyo was in the bathroom putting the finishing touches to her make-up. 'Good morning. How are you?'
'Very well thank you, despite ... And how are you?'
'I am very well. I am going out to get a job.'
'Really? Where?'
'Japanese restaurant of course, English not good yet for Australian restaurant.'
She caught up with Michiyo again at breakfast. Michiyo was dressed as a girl who was going to get a job in a restaurant. 'You look perfect,' she said.
'Japanese girl always tries to look perfect. Is hard when no - not many clothes. At home, easy.'
'Amy has stopped crying. She's asleep. Lisbeth is too. She's snoring. I want to change the room.'
Michiyo said English girls were very loud and then looked taken aback by her own words. 'Sorry. You English girl. Some English girls very quiet, you are very quiet, very nice. Sorry but those girls are ... make much noise.'
'They're stupid,' she said. 'That was the first time Lisbeth went out - had been out with that guy, Derwent. They were going to a club in Oxford Street. Amy was going too, I don't think Derwent ... thought they were on a date.'
Michiyo shrugged. 'All boys in Sydney are gay. Is good. I like.'
'Do you? Why?'
'Just dance, talk, laugh, go to cinema, no pressure. My English teacher is gay, I love him.'
'Why?'
'He teach me well, take class to restaurant, to club, to beach, to Australian theatre. I love.' She shrugged, 'Japanese teachers stupid, always book and tape, book and tape. My Australian teacher take us out and we talk. Talk and then write and then talk about where we go. Very good method, I think.'
'Oh. And what will you do with your English? Back home in ... do you come from Tokyo?'
'Kyoto, old capital. I do not know, maybe nothing. I get married. But I think I will become a business woman. I want this very much. I tell my parents when they choose husband.'
'What sort of business?'
'Tourist. Kyoto has many tourists, may beautiful temples to look at and gardens and castle. I copy my teacher and take tourists out to look and then we discuss with video and Powerpoint. I sell videos, tapes, cards, books, take to restaurant, to Noh theatre. You know Noh?'
It was still early. She had no plans for the day. She walked with Michiyo to the bus and then swung away down to the park. It was a very big park, lapping the harbour so she followed it right around until she could gaze right down and out towards Sydney Heads. She looked at the North Shore, saw Taronga Zoo, knew that over that hill was Balmoral. Though she had had no system, in two weeks she had developed a keen sense of Sydney. The others in the hostel had not, they were using their stay in the city as a staging post on their ways to Byron Bay or to Uluru or Darwin and Kakadu. They were going to get to now Sydney well when they came back in summer. Summer in Sydney was the goal, leading up to Mardi Gras. Imagine being south of the equator and not having done the Sydney Mardi Gras! A boy had told her Christmas Day at Bondi was the thing, that Mardi Gras was for poofs and dykes ... and had looked at her uncertainly before saying, 'Want to come with me?'
She had grasped every opportunity to venture forth, to orient herself.
She asked a woman who was feebly throwing a stick for a dog what the dog's name was. It was Stella and then the woman told her Nicole Kidman lived in that house, there, when she was in Sydney.
She drifted back towards Kings Cross and came across a cafe which was emptying of its breakfast patrons. A newspaper lay in disarray on the bench seat so she went in.
She looked up from the paper. A young woman, her age, was rushing down the steps of a block of flats opposite, talking frantically into a mobile, pulling at her skirt which was stretched tight across her beam, her hair was wet and she dashed her free hand at the side of her bob, pulling it straight, her handbag swinging madly over her elbow. She flailed at a taxi which already had a passenger. She gazed frantically up and down the street. She bailed the next taxi up, slammed the door violently behind her as she flung herself across the back seat. She saw the driver turn and snarl at the young woman. 'I could do it better,' she thought. 'Whatever she does.'
She asked the waiter if she could borrow her pen and began to jot jobs and contact numbers from the newspaper on a card she had taken from a rack. She heard the waiter say to the cook, 'I'm enrolling in the university. Information Sciences. That is, if I get in.'
She gazed at the block of flats the young woman had catapulted from. It was old, it reminded her of London but was ... more tropical, she decided. Then she remembered what she had written in an exam for her A levels - The table could be adorned with an arrangement of tropical flowers to complement the spicy nature of the dishes served. Australian banksia would be suitable as they are long lasting and can be arranged almost horizontally so as not to impede the flow of conversation during the dinner party. They do not have an obtrusive scent. The wine could also be an Australian one. I suggest a spicy Traminer Riesling. They are reasonably priced and so suitable for a luncheon given by the bridesmaids.
She smiled. How ridiculous. But it had worked.
She crossed the road to assess the atmosphere of the block of flats. It had bevelled glass set in the doors, a beautiful pair of worn brass door handles. She noticed a note taped on the glass so that it faced out into the street.
It was type written and offered a room to rent for single female. Phone.
She went back to the cafe and borrowed the pen again.
When she returned it she said to the waiter, 'Excuse me, I heard you mention the university. Where is that exactly?'
Back at the hostel she phoned the number. A deep, irritated female voice answered.
She responded sweetly to some questions and arranged to be interviewed tomorrow afternoon.
Then she set out for the university.
She took it as a sign that it was so easy to find.
She asked at Information and was soon roving a floor. She found a door open. A woman was harrying a computer. She moved on. The next open office revealed a man reading.
'Excuse me.'
He offered to help her fill the enrolment form in but she'd have to get it downstairs, at Information.
She spent an hour in the university library filling it in and scanning the handbook. Now she had to write a one page statement why she wanted to do Information Sciences at the university. It flowed into her head. Soon she was translating it onto screen and printing it out.
She discovered that she was no longer satisfied with her ambition to be a primary school teacher, that she had come to understand during her first year as a student of Education that she was deeply - no, too ... something - insincere - very interested in training, vocational training and she wanted to produce vocational training videos. To do that properly she would need a wide ranging understanding of communication, especially as online learning was potentially the better option for vocational learning in some areas, costs which were at present prohibitive were almost certain to be reduced in the next decade ...
She had met a Korean boy on the train to the Blue Mountains. He to Sydney to study I T. His ambition was to set up online training programs in Korea. He foresaw a huge future and fortune in it. She had spent the day with him and had had dinner with him at his college a few days later. She was going to see him again even though she could see he did not have what it would take to realise the extent of his ambitions. He was very handsome and she wondered what it would be like sleeping with a Korean.
She found herself wondering what she should wear for her interview tomorrow. She really needed a dress. Her skirt and blouse would have to do.
Things were going quite well. She decided it was not too late to go into the city and have a look around.
She bought a cheap red skirt and slipped a quite nice white blouse under it as she dallied towards the door.
All the way to Martin Place she expected the heavy hand of a store detective to fall on her shoulder.
Back at the hostel she discovered the blouse was prettier than she had expected. She was getting better and better at this. And Australians were pushovers. The English girls were so ... brain washed, really. What did they care if a lass made off with a bit of merchandise? Weren't we all in it together? But no, they felt the need to protect their exploiters' interests.
She had a little rest to calm down.
She woke to some discreet coughing. It was Michiyo. Did she want to go out for dinner? To a very nice restaurant?
She did.
She pressed her old skirt, put on the blouse and her new shoes. She really needed a new handbag to go with them.
Michiyo was dressed in a very dark blue silk dress as a business woman going out on a business dinner. Her hair looked as though it had been put up professionally.
'Oh Michiyo! I can't go. You look ... Where are we going? I thought we were just going to some sushi bar.'
'Nearby. Nice Japanese restaurant. Mr Yamada and Mr Kakaburi invite us. Very nice gentlemen.'
They waited in the foyer of the hostel. Everyone stopped to exclaim over Michiyo. She carried an exquisite handbag shaped like a shell. It was just large enough to suggest serviceability.
Mr Yamada and Mr Kakaburi, Michiyo explained, wanted to practise their English so had asked her to invite Australian girl.
She was picturing middle aged, smiling, bowing businessmen but they turned out to be young, in fabulous suits. Mr Kakaburi wore amazingly elegant glasses and was radiant. In the restaurant, taking a cue from the careful way Michiyo and Mr Yamada humoured him, she realised he was coked.
They got special attention. Mr Yamada and Mr Kakaburi plied her with sake but she followed Michiyo, discreetly nibbling and pretending to sip.
They went for coffee and at a certain point Michiyo decided it was over. Bowings, thank yous, being put in a taxi although the hostel was only just around the corner.
She thanked Michiyo.
'That is O K. I think Mr Kakaburi like you very much.'
At two o'clock the next afternoon she mounted the steps of the block of flats in Elizabeth Bay and pushed the buzzer. The voice sounded even more angry.
She was ushered into a small downstairs flat at the back. It had a peculiar synthetic floral smell, as did the breath of its mistress.
She perched on the edge of a sofa in the neat lounge room and introduced herself as Michelle. She was staying with an aunt in Summer Hill.
Therese Sullivan was a frantically preserved late sixties/early seventies. She smoked and was nervy. Her voice rasped. After a preliminary interrogation she decided to make a cup of tea.
Michelle followed her out to the kitchen whereupon Therese swung round and declared she would show her the bathroom and the little - other bedroom after they'd had their cup of tea. She made the tea carelessly with tea bags in mugs and they trooped back to the lounge room. It was a smallish and dark but very neat, decorated with careful, dull taste.
'You have no idea the types who have turned up - you don't take drugs, do you? Have you got a boyfriend? I mean I don't mind the occasional visit but I don't want some man hanging about all the time.'
'I wouldn't be in much.' She thought this might be a mistake. 'I'll have some night classes and I have my job.'
'Oh, I thought you said you were a student.'
'Yes. But I have a part-time job.'
'Oh yes? Doing what?'
'Dress making. In a workshop out at Camperdown. Fashion garments mainly.'
'I used to sew.'
'Did you?'
'Yes. I've still got the machine. A good Singer. I was never professional of course, just used to run something up every now and again. You could set it up in the sunroom if you like, every now and again. I wouldn't want it there permanently.'
They took their tea to stare at the sunroom. It was an enclosed balcony, an alcove off the lounge room.
Back in the lounge room Therese said, 'What do you sew?'
'Um, clothes - depending on the season. In England we did a lot of coats - they're very difficult, out here mainly frocks, though some of those new fabrics - you know the rumpled silks ... and things are a challenge. But I enjoy it.'
Therese contemplated this then stood up. 'Come and I'll show you your bedroom.'
It was a closet. A built-in wardrobe took up one wall. To deal with being dismayed, she walked boldly across and slid back the door of the wardrobe. On the top shelf was a huge case.
'I could get rid of that,' Therese almost blurted it. 'You could fit a desk - a small table beside the bed, maybe. I was going to put in a bedside table with a lamp on it. For you. Up against the wall.’
They went back to their mugs of tea.
Therese named the rent. It was accurate for such a room in such an area. Then she lost it a little, 'You seem suitable. You've got a job and we wouldn't be in one another's way and you haven't got a boyfriend - you haven't got a boyfriend have you?'
Michelle claimed the prude expression of the girl in the lingerie department in Cairns for herself. To her delight she carried it off perfectly. The girl in Cairns had forgotten to suck in the cheeks as she pursed the lips. It felt fifties, she was back in the fifties, before the pill and proper abortions and when people got engaged and wore stiff hair and stiff skirts.
Therese mirrored the expression.
'Some of the types,' she was beyond shuddering but inhaled and sighed. 'Chinesey ones. Short hair, I can't stand lesbians.' This thought gave her a new purchase - she was doing the interviewing. She cast Michelle a challenging glare.
'I've never met one,' she said. 'Someone told me a girl at school - '
'You wouldn't want to. But at least in my day they kept to themselves and went to men's barbers and drove laundry trucks.'
Michelle bestirred herself and went to look at the alcove of a sunroom again. Then she began to collect herself for conclusions. 'Is there a laundry?'
There was. A beautiful one on the roof with a clothesline if she didn't want to wreck her delicates in the dryers. And you could see the fireworks from there.
At the door Therese asked when she thought she could move in because there were others very keen ...
'Could I ring you on Thursday?'
'Yes. But I wouldn't leave it any longer than that.' Therese slammed the door of her flat.
She read the Building Company notices in a beautiful old notice board just near the front door. The newest notice said something about fire order upgrade.
The waiter in the cafe opposite explained what that was. So Therese was probably desperate for money to cover these expenses.
Michiyo was getting ready to go to work. She was dressed in her beautiful frock again. She was very happy. 'I have new job. Mr Yamada help me. Very good restaurant, businessman give big tip.'
Rachel/Michelle lay down to think about Therese and the rent and the evident difficulties of the situation and enrolling in the university and how to get it all together until she could get a foot in.
She was awoken by one of the girls who worked at the reception desk. 'The police are here, they want to see you.'
Her heart began to pound and she thought desperately about hiding the white blouse and then turned to the girl, 'Tell them I'll be out in a moment. I hope it's not bad news from home.'
She lay the blouse under the mattress and carefully smoothed the bed clothes. Then she slipped into her old skirt, her new shoes and checked herself in the mirror, ran a comb through her hair and braced herself.
She approached the police - young man and an officious looking young woman. The woman officer pronounced her name.
Out of the corner of her eye she noticed someone passing through Reception lingering to listen with the girl on the desk. 'Yes?'
The policewoman also noted their presence. 'Have you got a room with a bit of privacy?'
They were shown into the manager's office.
The policewoman picked up the phone on the desk, 'Don't you think you should ring home?'
She rang.
'Hullo?' her sister's sleepy alarmed voice came through.
'Hello Lainie, it's me. I'm in Australia - Sydney. It's lovely. How is everyone, I've just ... '
'Where've you been? Mum's been worried. Lyntie rang us and said you'd run off. Mum's really worried. Dad says he's going to thrash you when you get home. You'll never get anyone as good as him again. What's it like? - It's her, she's in Australia, she sounds funny. - Here's Mum. She's making breakfast.'
She focused on her mother, shifted her voice back. 'Hullo Mum. How are you? I broke up with Lynton, I didn't want to worry you, I was going to tell you when I wrote. I haven't had much time. I was going to write a big letter. How's Dad?'
Her mother told her her father hadn't had much luck lately ... Just as long as you're all right dear. Lynton was worried, he made a scene on the phone and your Dad ...
When she hung up she burst into tears and kept her head bowed.
She felt a hand on her shoulder.
'You all right?' It was the woman police officer. 'When you're ready we'll get them to get you a cup of tea.' She heard her go out.
The policeman said, 'Broke up with your boyfriend did you?'
She nodded. And composed herself. 'I'm sorry about this. It hasn't been long, I was going to write and tell them. I don't want to speak to him after what he did to me.'
'Don't worry about him, he's in Queensland. If he turns up you can get an AVO. You know what that is?'
She broke down again and shook her head, pulled herself together as the officer went on about the procedure for obtaining an anti-violence order against someone. 'I don't know how a nice girl like you could get mixed up with a bloke like that. I'll never understand it.'
There was an embarrassed silence so he went to see where Robbie, me mate had got to.
They left her with the cup of tea. As she sipped she went through the desk drawers, slipped a receipt book into her shorts and a couple of engraved envelopes.
She handed the teacup to the receptionist who asked if everything was all right.
'Yes. Just some sad news.' She burst into tears again and hurried towards the room she was now sharing with Michiyo.
She hid the receipt book and the envelopes in her pack and lay down on the bed. Despair drew over her like a leaden cover. She sat up. Stood up. She had to get out of here. They were always going out and taking drugs and coming back at dawn. She wanted ... She wished she'd got Mr Kakaburi's number from Michiyo. Where could she get some coke or ecstasy? Someone out there was bound to have some dope. She could ring her Korean friend at the university, he was bound to have something. She made for the bathroom.
As she passed through to the recreation area, the receptionist called to her, 'I told Tom. He said not to worry about the phone call.'
She was feeling better already. As she entered she saw word had got around. Good.
After she was settled Derwent came up to her and asked her if she was O K, people had heard she'd had some bad news from home.
'I'm dealing with it. Some marijuana would help. Do you know anyone who can spare enough for a joint? I haven't got much money and I might have to fly back.'
Derwent looked around, turned back to her and shrugged. 'But leave it with me.'
He knocked on her door later and waved a smallish joint. Behind him was Paul, a boy from Sarajevo.
They smoked it in a syringe scattered lane at the back of the hostel.
Instantly her head cleared. 'I cannot go back into that awful hostel. That Amy and Lisbeth are just dying to hear all about it, I can't bear vulgar curiosity.'
Derwent splattered with laughter. Tried to apologise but broke up again.
Paul shrugged at him and proffered the joint to her.
'Thank you,' she said and took a tiny puff.
They were going out for dinner.
She just had to dash inside and change, she couldn't go like this.
'What about Amy and Lisbeth?' Derwent asked and laughed again.
She collapsed into his inanity and Paul did too.
She felt much better in her new shoes and blouse. She liked the red skirt but it was a pity she had paid for it.
As she joined the boys waiting outside her room she said, 'Do you feel sometimes you have to pay for something to get ... well ... along?'
Derwent did. Paul wanted more information.
They had dinner in a Thai restaurant in Oxford Street and then went to a pub to see some drag queens.
She had watched them with some indifference on t v but found their presence hypnotic. She gazed at and into their costume, accoutrements, make-up. She watched them move, detailed the way they were and were not. Why were they so flagrantly what they were not? But then they were flagrantly what they were. She was clapping and began cheering amongst the cheering, the clapping, the whistling and jeering. It was an act. Of course. That was it. That was the point.
Paul was friends with one so they went back to a tiny dressing room.
The drag queens were changing so they shrieked and hissed at her and ostentatiously turned their backs to slip out of one thing and into another. They had noted her captured face amongst the crowd of mainly amused and indifferent faces. Sequins flashed and feathers flew so she said she had just had to come back with Wentie and Paul to tell them how much better they were than the girls in England, much.
Paul's friend said, 'We must have a drink. In the bar. Give me a minute to change. No, you stay,' s/he said to Paul.
Derwent and she danced. Her mind was on the drag queens. If they wanted to be women why were they so masculine? Why did they screech and flounce? Why did they give it away? No man could be like a woman she thought, with those thick necks and biceps. She thought of Lynton. Then her truck driver and Ronnie, her Korean friend. It could be done, she thought but it wouldn't be like this. It mustn't be an act. That's it. Of course. She remembered.
She was aware again of being on the pub's dance floor surrounded by faces and rolling shoulders, red and yellow flashes everywhere. Derwent was soon approximately dancing with a selection of others so she allowed her gaze to flow too. Then Paul joined them and after a while artfully undid his shirt.
They danced on and had a drink with Hedda Gobbla and danced again.
She found herself dancing with a short square platinum blond. They giggled over a drink and followed Wentie and Paul and Hedda now Graeme onto a club and danced some more. The square platinum girl gave her a kiss and left so she decided to go and Wentie said he'd walk back with her.
On the way he said Paul was in love with Hedda/Graeme and it would never work out and he was in love with Paul and they were going to go to Cairns together.
She said she hoped she saw that girl again. Then wondered if she had hallucinated her. 'Did you know the one I mean?' But Derwent was talking about once he'd got Paul away from that Hedda, she was just a hairdresser - so typical, isn't it?
She said yes.
She crept in so as not to wake Michiyo but Michiyo wasn't in yet.
She lay in bed, her head aswirl with ideas and schemes and reflections. She wanted to sleep but couldn't stop thinking. She decided to ring Therese on Friday.
Michiyo came in.
She said, 'Don't worry, I've just got in too. I can't sleep.'
Michiyo said, 'Very good night. Do you want a job? Mr Iriye is a very good boss. He wants Australian girl to work.'
'Why? To do what?'
'Japanese customers want to practise their English. I tell him you are English, speak English better than Australian girl, very clear, very respectable accent, like Queen.' She giggled.
'It's good we're both drunk,' she thought, 'only I'm drugged too. What if those constables saw us in the lane? I would've been thrown out of the country.' And she felt despair cast over her again. She said, 'Let's talk about it in the morning, I do want the job.'
Michiyo taught her how to bow and said, 'Just laugh like this.' She tittered behind her hand and swayed her head a little.
'Really? Won't they think I'm making fun of them?'
'No way.' Then she said, 'You need nice dress and shoes with stiletto ...'
'Heels?'
'Wear lot of slap.'
God. How? She would have to give Therese a bond and maybe a month's rent in advance.
'I don't think I have enough money.'
Michiyo took her to a second hand clothing shop not far away. There was an Issey Miyake, all she'd have to do would be unpick the bodice and take it in a bit, or maybe it was meant to be worn like that.
Michiyo found a locally designed one which she thought would be much more appropriate.
It was more expensive than the Miyake.
She said she'd think about it and they went into the city.
The despair was creeping up on her again and she felt she couldn't think properly, had a headache coming on.
'Maybe Mr Kakaburi buy you present,' Michiyo said as she handed some expensive shoes back to the sales assistant.
She turned to Michiyo.
'Or lend you money. Just till you get started.'
She wondered at the expression from her friend's lips. 'Let's have tea,' she said, 'I have a headache, too much sake last night.' Michiyo seemed to like it when she gestured at being Japanese.
Michiyo liked this sort of thing.
She called Mr Kakaburi.
'Hai!' she said at the end of a not very long conversation and snapped her tiny mobile shut.
She thought she would use 'hai!'
'He will come and see you tomorrow. See Mr Iriye tonight.'
'What in? What will I wear?'
'Australian dress. New shoes. Handbag.'
They bought the shoes. Her heart was pounding, they cost half her fare home. She said she had a handbag.
She said she'd go and get the Australian dress, she'd just get some make-up - slap - first. Her mind was reeling.
She bought some - lip gloss, the colour the girl in Cairns had advised.
Michiyo approved.
They went back to the second hand shop.
She was possessed by a fierce determination. She could hardly talk to Michiyo.
'I'd like to try this on again,' she said, bearing the Miyake to the assistant.
She came out in it and took out the shoes. 'Do you think it will go with these?'
The assistant thought they would look really good.
She slipped the shoes on and turned to Michiyo and turned immediately back to the assistant. 'Have you got any shoes in a colour which would go better?' The assistant glanced at her feet and said, 'Over here.'
The idea of second hand shows made her sick but she followed and agreed to try on the ones the assistant was proffering.
How could she do this?
'Let's see, I'm not sure ...'
'If you were thinking of buying the shoes with the dress - they really belong together - we might be able to take a bit off.'
'About how much would they both be?'
She could see Michiyo studying her watch. God, they were running out of time.
She wanted the Australian dress. It really needed taking up a bit but ...
Michiyo moved towards the door. 'This nice one,' she said, 'it's ... what size this?'
As the assistant moved to see she swept back towards the dressing room, snatched the Australian dress and the bag with her new shoes in it and disappeared behind the curtains. She stuffed the dress under the shoe box and then pushed the bag out again.
'I won't be long,' she called, 'I'll just try the shoes on with my skirt.'
She emerged carrying the second hand shoes and the Miyake, took up her bag and carried them all past the assistant. She put the shoes and Miyake on the counter. 'How much for the shoes and the Miyake?'
She was told.
'Is that cash?'
'Car waiting,' Michiyo said.
'I haven't got it on me right now and I think my card is over so I'll have to come back. Will you keep them for me?'
The assistant said yes but only until Friday.
Back at the hostel, she took the dress out somewhat anxiously. 'I got the Australian dress,' she said turning to show it to Michiyo.
'It suit you. Mr Iriye will like ... appreciate.'
Mr Iriye was an amazingly elegant and seemingly benign middle-aged man.
She bowed.
Soon she was in a private room helping four Japanese businessmen choose an Australian wine. Under her tutelage they chose an expensive one. She felt quite confident. She had read Jancis Robinson and watched her devotedly on TV. The waiter brought it and opened it. She poured it for the businessman she thought most senior. He tasted it and bowed. The waiter poured it for the others.
She could hardly believe she was doing this. They had not even discussed how much she would be paid.
When she saw the men were all sipping the wine happily she excused herself and withdrew.
Mr Iriye got a waiter to hand her a plate and took her to a table where he introduced her. She bowed and put the plate down, asked the Japanese couples how they were enjoying Australia. She got them to laugh, glanced at Mr Iriye, saw him looking pleased and accepted the glass a waiter had placed on the table for the Japanese man to offer whisky in.
By the end of the evening she was exhausted with the tedium of providing cues and responses for sallies into English. She had responded with subdued excited surprise to several how are you going mates. Michiyo joined her as she lingered outside the kitchen as the last customers left. 'We wash face,' she said. In the toilet she said, 'We wait for Mr Iriye now.'
Mr Iriye approached with envelopes. She revived at the plumpness of hers. All the way back to the hostel in the taxi with Michiyo she stroked its plumpness, wondering if it contained tens, twenties, maybe even some fifties.
It was a very satisfying amount. If she could keep on making that much every night, say five nights a week for a month she would be out of her present trouble.
She was too high to sleep and tossed, tormented by the ordeal she had to face with Therese. And her university course would cost nine thousand. What was she doing? There had to be an easier way. Couldn't she just work and share a place, maybe with some students in say, Marrickville?
'Is good to make a fair bit of money,' Michiyo's voice came across the room to her.
For a moment she wondered if the Japanese girl was talking in her sleep.
'Yes,' she said, 'only I need to make more. For a while.'
'Of course. Get guests to drink whisky.' Then there was a silence. 'Japanese businessman expect to pay a lot for special service.'
The next day she rang Therese. She went around with her money.
Therese was shaking. 'You haven't got much stuff have you? I haven't got a lot of room here. I don't want the place cluttered up.'
She said her aunt in Summer Hill said she could store some things in her garage. She didn't have much in any case. She handed some money over to Therese as a bond. Therese's eyes fell on it with an avidity which was reassuring.
She said she'd move in on Monday or Tuesday. She'd pay a month's rent then. 'Can I have the key?'
Therese's money softened eyes went hard at this.
She met them with a blank stare.
'When you've paid the rent. I've got to get some cut. I forgot. I might need my spare. You have to go to the managing agent's to get the front door ones, they're special. I'll have to charge you for them.'
'Well I'll need my own keys, Therese. What time do you think you can have them?'
Therese struggled with this and said she'd give her a receipt - for the front door keys, she wouldn't be needing a receipt for the rent would she?
She walked away quite happily. Therese was more desperate than she.
Back a the hostel there was a message from Mr Kakaburi. She returned his call.
Mr Kakaburi was really in Sydney for the Australian Rules. Did she like it?
At the game she said she would get them a coke. This confused him. she could see he was torn between getting her something to drink and having his game interrupted so she explained Australian girls often went to get drinks during football game.
She took as long as she could. What was she doing here? She hated football, her father screaming and stamping in front of the TV and coming in foul or elated, in either case, drunk and shouting, after a match. She had always tried to be out when football was on. increasingly, she had tried to be always out.
While she was at school the council library had been her refuge. She had absorbed an assortment of books about pets and gardening, cooking, fashion and art. She had worked on her French and her English literature. Most of the librarians were so nice and looked so interesting. They recommended cassettes and C D's. At home she transported herself by plugging into Restoration comedy and operas. She had become obsessed by Pelléas et Mélissande. When Lainie demanded, accusingly, in front of their parents. to know why she played it over and over again, she had offered the excuse it helped her with her French and ‘It’s the atmosphere, it’s so … relaxing.’
'It's the atmosphere, it's so ... relaxing.'
Her sister had responded by warbling in imitation of a diva.
'That rubbish will do you no good,' her father had said, 'you need to concentrate on your dressmaking. You need to think about getting a job. And you - ' he turned on Lainie, 'ought to get your mind on something other than boys and that rubbish you listen to on the radio. You see that she does her homework!' he ordered their mother, 'I don't want her getting a reputation. You've a long way to go before you're married and off my hands.'
'Relaxing,' Lainie had said, 'what have you got to relax from? You don't do nothing.'
Mr Kakaburi asked if she would like to go out clubbing after working in the restaurant. Mr Yamada wanted to see Australian club.
She said she didn't know, she didn't really have a proper purse.
She had noted Michiyo's averted glance from the straw handbag she had bought in Chiang Mai. She had hoped it would pass as chic in the restaurant. Mr Iriye had also glanced away from it. She had decided that in future not good enough was not good enough.
Mr Kakaburi pressed something into her hand as she got out of the car at the hostel, 'For purse,' he said.
Michiyo was coming clubbing too.
She led them up the stairs to an expensive cocktail bar in an Oxford Street hotel. The noise downstairs had been deafening, upstairs wasn't much better. She was glad, the strain of making conversation was taking its toll.
She waved, smiled above the mad cocktail she had chosen. Good, they were still looking around, intrigued. Michiyo appeared impressed by her choice of bar.
After they had had their drink Mr Yamada consulted with Mr Kakaburi who then spoke to Michiyo.
Michiyo said, 'Mr Yamada thinks maybe too noisy.'
So they all stood up and left the bar.
Mr Kakaburi invited them all to his place.
It was a serviced apartment in the heart of the city. He went to a black glass cabinet and poured them all a whisky. He touched a few buttons on a minimal C D player. Very cool jazz blew through the room. After a while Mr Yamada bowed an exit.
Mr Kakaburi excused himself and began chopping at some cocaine. He pressed it into three lines. He rolled a hundred dollar bill and snorted one. Another and handed it to Michiyo who giggled and pretended she didn't know how and left the hundred dollar tube to unfurl slightly on the table. Mr Kakaburi rolled another hundred dollar tube and handed it to her.
She decided not to giggle, she wouldn't do it well. She would just inhale a bit and carelessly leave the tube as Michiyo had done. But she inhaled nearly all the line.
Mr Kakaburi looked radiant at this and said something in Japanese at which Michiyo laughed and clapped her hands.
She was monitoring her reaction. She had had speed and hated it and was dreading that this would have the same effect - anxiety. Nothing. Good. It obviously had no effect on her except for that bitter taste now drifting down the back of her mouth and into her throat. She hoped she'd be able to sleep.
She began talking. They couldn't understand her but what the fuck they had got her into this so they could listen. She told them everything that had happened to her since she had come to Sydney and that Michiyo was the best friend she had ever had, she loved Michiyo and how kind of you Mr Kakaburi to take me to the football. I am going to get the most lovely purse, it had been excruciating carrying that ghastly thing a donkey wouldn't eat but all that was all over, yes siree as I am sure someone would say. As a matter of fact a lot of things were all over now. Michiyo, I am moving out of that hostel on Tuesday, I've found this place down in Elizabeth Bay, the woman is absolutely ghastly but I think I can handle her in any case what the fuck I can always go somewhere else. I can manage. You both must come tomorrow and help me choose the purse, you have such gorgeous, exquisite taste, Europeans are so coarse. Will you do that?
Michiyo nodded. Mr Kakaburi got up and started to dance. Michiyo seemed astonished.
She watched, genuinely entranced. He helped her up and they danced. It was fabulous. She had never danced to this sort of music but if you really listened you could. It required something new. Let the body feel into it.
Michiyo made excuses.
They took her down to a taxi.
She took Mr Kakaburi's arm as they returned past the staring concierge in his black marble case.
By the time she got back up to Mr Kakaburi's apartment she wished she had gone with Michiyo.
She said she wanted a drink of water. As she sipped it she noticed Michiyo had taken her hundred dollars.
Mr Kakaburi put an arm around her.
She thought she had better go through with this although she wasn't sure. 'Let me think about this,' she said, moving along the couch. She remembered what she had decided about doubts and not good enough. She needed to think about this.
Mr Kakaburi let her.
Well she couldn't sleep so she may as well. And there was sure to be a bonus in it. She could probably sleep after. His bedroom was probably black and cool grey, like his living room. She hoped it didn't have one of those third rate paintings like that one here. She really couldn't stand bad taste and bad art … she couldn’t exist in its presence. She started to laugh.
Mr Kakaburi looked pleased and puzzled.
She began to tell him the story about Oscar Wilde and the wallpaper - and stopped when she realised the punch line was 'One of us has to go'.
'I'll stay,' she told Mr Kakaburi and took his hand. At once she realised this was the gesture of a prostitute so she dropped it again and looked down as if covered with confusion and embarrassment.
Mr Kakaburi was terribly touched by this, she realised.
She had never perceived or thought more clearly.
To her horror there was a painting of sky in the bedroom which itself featured a sky blue wall.
Mr Kakaburi himself was entirely elegant though; he had flung a Japanese bathrobe around himself. He smelt strange and rather unpleasant, a combination of green tea, seaweed and cocaine, she decided.
The caresses grew delicious but she remained dry. The drug. She focused on being a Japanese prostitute in a country inn with a samurai who was really a runaway prince - no count, the Japanese have counts. She was so wonderfully naked, like nature itself against his court wrapped sophistication. He was in her and jabbing. 'Slow, slow,' she murmured, deciding she must learn some Japanese. It was awful. Why had she allowed herself to get into this situation?
'Slow?' he asked.
'Slow and gentle.'
'Japanese girl like fast, hard.'
Like hell they do. 'Oh. This Australian girl like slow at first. Especially after cocaine.'
He understood that.
But he was never going to come and she was beginning to feel raw. She had to put a stop to this but what about the hundred dollars? And the purse?
She extracted herself from beneath him and slid down the sheet. She glanced up and saw that he was almost alarmed but curious.
She slid the condom off. What was she doing - what about Aids? The aroma of latex wafted up and steeled her to efficiency. But her mouth was a bit dry. No, she might develop a lesion that way, she must get water. She was in the bathroom, rolling it around her mouth, letting it gush over her tongue and roll back to trickle down her throat.
She checked the bathroom cabinet for anything lubricant. Moisturiser? - ah, a lubricant.
She rolled her tongue around his penis and slipped it into her hand, she sucked his balls. In a moment she knew he was hers. His gasp turned to a sigh which intensified and he squirted as she bent in concentration over her task. She found herself gasping and cooing as he came. She gave him thirty seconds before getting a towel and wiping him off.
As she lay beside him she realised she had to go, immediately.
He watched in curiosity, dismay and then resignation as she came out of the bathroom and got her clothes. Her mind was fixed on getting her hundred dollars and superficially toyed over the graces of such a departure. She felt she was a natural, it would all come to her.
She returned dressed, her hundred dollars secured. 'Don't get up,' she said. At the bedroom door she turned and blew him a kiss. She watched herself perform the gesture; she was like a real whore.
'Good night,' she said to the concierge with such brisk pleasantness that he was forced to let his reproving, professional expression go and bid her good night.
As she walked away to find a cab she thought she should have got him to call her one, hand her into it.
In the taxi she thought about how she would get her purse. Would she ring Mr Kakaburi and thank him for the night out? Hardly. She would ask Michiyo.
Michiyo was in bed.
She climbed into hers and immediately fell asleep.
She woke being surprised about that.
She sipped tea in the hostel café. Michiyo came in, looking lovely and fresh, she thought.
Michiyo came towards her carrying a community mug so hideous she wondered how her Japanese aesthetic could bear it. Michiyo dunked a teabag of green tea a few times and slurped. 'When are we going with Mr Kakaburi to buy purse - the purse?'
'I don't know, I forgot - I didn't know how to make the arrangement.'
Michiyo considered this confession. 'I will ring him and tell him this afternoon. Two o'clock.'
They went for a walk and she showed Michiyo the block of flats she was going to move into. They passed a Catholic church and she took Michiyo in. Michiyo thought it was wonderful. A priest in a white robe was wandering around. He lit some incense and a few candles. Michiyo also lit some candles and returned to the pew where she fell into a trance.
She tried to follow suit but her meditation only revealed the strength of the thump in her head, the dryness affecting her everywhere and her careering mind. But she persisted, focussing on her breathing which sounded like a racket to her.
Michiyo stirred and they went out.
In the dazzling sunshine, the cool breeze blowing the air transparent, the Japanese girl took a deep breath and said, 'Everything very good. Do not become anxious.'
Mr Kakaburi came to pick them up and they showed him their room, told him that she was moving out on Tuesday.
She was almost completely guided by Michyo's choice.
Mr Kakaburi approved the bags they had lined up on the counter for comparison then removed himself to a discreet distance ready to return when they had made the final decision.
'I think this suit Mr Iriye's restaurant,' Michiyo said arranging one in front of the other three finalists. It was smart rather than dainty, black with discreet piping in a sensational mauve.
She picked it up and turned it over. It didn't have a price tag. Her mouth became completely arid again and the dryness rushed down her throat. She nodded. She felt confused and anxious, she barely knew what she was doing.
Michiyo turned slightly towards Mr Kakaburi who casually made himself available.
Michiyo led her to look at some scarves while the transaction was made. 'Don't worry, will be all right,' she murmured.
Over coffee, she found Michiyo looking at her significantly and then her eyes drifted sideways.
She excused herself. In the ladies she scrutinised herself for any betrayal of her friend's subtlety. Then she berated herself for her awkwardness - the Japanese must think she's a complete klutz. Then she felt furious with Michiyo and M Kakaburi – how dare they trap her in this mad charade? What role was she supposed to be playing?
She arrived back at the table and
found herself suggesting an action film which had just opened. Michiyo and Mr
Kakaburi responded happily to the idea. They seemed delighted when she stepped
forward at the ticket box to buy the tickets, though they went through the motions
of protesting against this puny act of reciprocation.
The film gave her the chance for
more contemplation of the situation. She decided to get Michiyo a bottle of
perfume and Mr Kakaburi .... something, later, when she knew him better.
In their room she discovered, in
Michiyo's presence, that Mr Kakaburi had placed a fold of notes in the new
purse.
She showed Michiyo who looked
satisfied with the amount. 'Japanese custom,' she said.
Overcoming misgivings about buying
something so personal and so insignificant, she bought Michiyo some lavender
cologne. Michiyo seemed genuinely pleased.
