Art Ache (15 page)

JACK

I’m going to show my daddy on Sunday how fast I can run from the front door to the letterbox. I bet I beat him.

Kel reads the look on my face.

KEL

That’s ages away, mate. Why don’t you race mum to the car right now? She looks like she’d be pretty fast, but I reckon you could beat her.

Kel squeezes my arm. I flex my muscles, just so he doesn’t experience a full tuck-shop lady arm. Oh, vanity. Does it ever go away?

KEL

Hang in there.

ME

You need to get your bag first, Jacko.

KEL

It’s at the door. Race back and get it, mate. Ready, set . . . go!

Jack runs back to the door, while I stay and finish with Kel.

ME

Tom’s not coming on Sunday. What sort of childhood is this?

KEL

A bloody good one. I’ve been in this job for thirty years and I tell you, Jack is a gorgeous little boy. You have absolutely nothing to worry about. So, you’re a bit late sometimes. If you were living in a developing country, you’d be tickled pink to have somewhere to send your kid while you went about your business. Don’t worry.

ME

Thank you.

As Jack races back to where Kel and I are standing, his face and body full of the delight of running fast, my mobile rings. It’s Witchypoo. I’m tempted to let it go to message. If this is a rejection phone call from the audition I just did, then I don’t want to hear it.

I’m about to divert the call to message, when I decide to be brave. To claim this space. This moment. This part of myself.

ME

Hello?

WITCHYPOO

You got it, but they want you to take some singing lessons. You need to learn harmonies.

ME

What?

WITCHYPOO

And have your hearing checked, darling. I said . . .

ME

I heard you. I just can’t believe it.

WITCHYPOO

Don’t stuff it up. Get onto the lessons pronto. The last time they did this show, it was a box office and critical success. People will be watching closely.

She hangs up.

ME

I got it!

I’m agog. Jack crashes into my legs, his bag on his back.

JACK

Let’s race to the car.

ME

Okay!

JACK

Ready, set . . .

KEL

A role?

JACK

Go!

ME

Yes!

As Jack and I race off, I call out to Kel.

ME

A good role! A lead role! A well-paid lead role! I’ll need to book Jack in for some extra days!

KEL

There’s always room for Jacky boy. Congratulations! You deserve it!

ME

Thanks!

We arrive at the car.

JACK

I beat you! I won!

ME

(pretending to pant)

You’re so fast. High- five!

JACK

Can we have meatballs for dinner?

ME

I’ve got an even better idea. Let’s go out for dinner!

JACK

Cool! Where to?

ME

To our favourite Italian restaurant, young man. Table for two.

JACK

You’re the best mummy ever!

Jack talks the whole way to the restaurant, the whole way through the meal, and falls asleep mid-sentence in the car on the way home. I sniff his gorgeous soft, blond hair as I carry him into his bed. He is so innocent and whole and pure. His soul is so clean. I wish it could stay this way forever.

Chapter 17

A week later. In a department store looking for a birthday outfit.

“The greatest wisdom is to realise one’s lack of it.” Constantin Stanislavski.

He doesn’t answer his phone when I ring, so I leave a message. I try to sound very casual, like it’s absolutely no big deal.

ME

Hi, Persephone here. No, I’m not calling about work; I’m actually calling because it’s my birthday. Yes, happy birthday to me! Anyway, I’m having drinks with work friends and friend friends and . . . anyway if you want to come, just let me know. It’s on Saturday the twenty-first. Although it’s not my twenty-first I’m celebrating. Ha ha. Anyway . . . talk soon. Bye.

I always try too hard. What’s with the
happy birthday to me
? The
not my twenty-first
? Oh dear. I have an overwhelming need to make myself appear likeable and easy to connect with. Stay true to your SELF, Pers.

I continue walking through the ladies’ wear section of David Jones, deciding if I need to utilise Jennifer Aniston as my style guide or go for a more corporate look. I opt for jeans I already have, a basic black top, and decide to purchase a cool, Jennifer-type Marcs jacket. It’s the most expensive piece of clothing I’ve ever bought, but hey, if you can’t treat yourself when you’ve been dumped by your husband, when can you? Or maybe I should wear a flighty little dress. Decisions, decisions. The luxury of First World problems.

I’m at the checkout, swiping my card when Patrick returns my call.

PATRICK

Patrick here.

ME

Hey, that was quick.

PATRICK

I’d love to.

ME

Really?

PATRICK

Yeah.

ME

That’s great. Feel free to bring your girlfriend, wife or whatever.

PATRICK

I would if I had one.

So he’s single. Nice.

PATRICK

Where is it?

I give him the details. A cool bar on the other side of the river. Relaxed, fun, he’ll know a few people there.

When the party day arrives, I ditch Jennifer Anniston and manage to squeeze into a very cool little dress I wore in a play before I had Jack. It was some designer brand and I bought it for ten bucks after the show ended. That’s what usually happens with wardrobe pieces from plays. The company doesn’t want to keep them and instead of just throwing them out, they sell them off to the actors at ridiculously cheap prices. Fine by me. My hair looks good and I have to admit I feel great! I get my mum and dad to drop me off and we drop Jack at Tom’s on the way. Tom looks pleasantly surprised when he sees me. A little taken aback even.

BOOFHEAD

Where are you off to?

ME

Birthday party.

BOOFHEAD

Got a date?

ME

Maybe.

JACK

Daddy! I’ve got my Shrek pyjamas and mum said I can have one chocolate biscuit after dinner if I’m really, really good.

BOOFHEAD

Sure, mate.

ME

Have fun, sweetheart, and get your dad to ring me if you get upset. I’ll keep my phone on. Love you.

JACK

Bye, Mum. Happy birthday!

Mum and Dad both give me warm looks and fifty bucks when they drop me off. I float into the venue feeling young, happy, excited and free. Maybe I’m through the worst. I’m starting to feel stronger. I can walk into a space without feeling like I’m on stage, feeling that everyone’s looking at me. That everyone knows I’m a reject. I’ve mainly invited people I work with through voice-overs. At the moment, the theatre world is a confusing place for me and I don’t want people to feel uncomfortable or that they have to choose between Boofhead or me. If they go to my party, are they somehow betraying him? If they don’t go to my party, are they somehow betraying me? I removed the dilemma from the table by not inviting them.

I see Patrick across the room. He’s there. He smiles at me.

A glass of bubbly is shoved into my hand. My sister grins.

SISTER

Happy birthday.

ME

Right back at you.

SISTER

Let your hair down and make sure your lips are wrapped around some gorgeous guy by the end of the night.

ME

I’ll do my best. Cheers.

SISTER

Cheers, big ears! It’s been a tough time for you but you’re one of the classiest people I know. All jokes aside, you’ve handled it really well.

ME

Thanks.

SISTER

I love you.

ME

God help us, you’re already pissed.

SISTER

No I’m not.

ME

If you’re telling me you love me, you’re pissed. Slow down. “I love you” is usually my domain.

Patrick comes over.

SISTER

Don’t let me stand in the way.

ME

Happy birthday.

SISTER

Right back at you, gorgeous.

My sister gives me a slurred smile and a wink and then teeters off.

ME

You came.

PATRICK

Of course. Who was that?

ME

My sister. Our birthdays are a day apart. We often do the joint party thing.

PATRICK

Cool. I brought my mate, hope that’s okay.

ME

Totally.

Patrick gestures to his friend, who I must admit looks very uncomfortable.

PATRICK

This is Darren. Darren, this is Persephone.

DARREN

Hi.

ME

Nice to meet you.

PATRICK

Game of pool?

ME

Sure, but I’m hopeless.

PATRICK

Then we’ll be evenly matched.

DARREN

I’ll get some drinks. Bubbly for you?

He doesn’t use my name. Probably can’t remember it.

ME

That’d be great.

Patrick and I walk off together towards the pool tables, while Darren gets the drinks.

Two entertaining games of pool and three drinks later, my head is spinning.

I’ve managed to catch up with everyone I know and keep an eye on my sister, but now I seem to have eight eyes and three heads when I look at myself in the ladies’ room mirror. Maybe it’s more than three drinks later? I feel like I’ve been drinking anything and everything that’s been put in my hand. I probably have. Now, as I try to re-apply my lipstick in the public toilet, I find myself sliding down the wall. The main door creeps open. It’s my sister. She’s fully drunk now, but she holds her alcohol a lot better than I do.

SISTER

What the hell are you doing?

ME

Putting my lipstick on.

SISTER

You’re on the floor.

ME

Not yet.

SISTER

You’re a complete mess.

ME

I think I look pretty good.

SISTER

You always look good, but you’re drunk.

ME

Tipsy.

SISTER

Tipsy was about two hours ago.

ME

Oh no. Have I disgraced myself?

SISTER

Not yet.

ME

Well, let’s get going!

I jauntily stagger up from the floor and promptly lose my balance.

ME

Oopsy!

SISTER

You need to go home.

ME

No I don’t. Where’s Patrick?

SISTER

He’s waiting outside.

ME

Gotta go!

SISTER

I’m getting a cab. I strongly suggest you come home with me.

ME

I’ll be fine.

I manage to swan past my sister, out the door and pretend I’m sober as I chat with Patrick.

PATRICK

You okay?

ME

I’m great!

PATRICK

Good. I just wanted to check on you before I head off.

ME

Are you going?

Way too shrill!

PATRICK

Yeah. But I’ve had a fun night.

ME

Me too.

PATRICK

We should catch up some time.

ME

That’d be nice.

PATRICK

A movie, or dinner or something.

ME

Call me! Have you got my number?

PATRICK

At work.

ME

Nah . . . you need it at your home! Have you got your mobile?

PATRICK

Sure.

I grab it from him and start confidently pressing numbers. He seems wryly amused by my inebriated state.

ME

My number is now in your phone. Call me!

PATRICK

Really?

ME

Yeah, it’d be great.

PATRICK

I think you’re drunk. You’ll forget you said this tomorrow.

I tap my nose conspiratorially and wink.

ME

Oh, I’ll remember.

PATRICK

Will you be okay to get home?

ME

I’ll be fine.

PATRICK

Take care tonight. I’ll call you.

I watch him as he walks down the stairs and for the second time that night, I slide down a wall. This time I have a ridiculous grin on my face. He’s going to call me. A man is going to call me! A nice man. A cute man. Even though I’m pissed and smudged and have been dumped and don’t do it for my ex-husband anymore, this guy is going to call me!

But right now . . . oh dear. I think I’m going to throw up.