Girl Defective (14 page)

Was I imagining it, or did she look at Dad? She laughed to cover it up. “Where do you get these questions?”

Gully tweaked his snout. “That's classified information.”

“Agent Gully.”

“Yes, Agent Eve.”

“Can I ask you something? We had a call from an elderly resident on Robe Street reporting, ah, stalker-like activity from a youth in a pig mask. Know anything about that?”

“It was probably from my stakeout.”

“Right. Why Robe Street?”

“Just following a lead,” Gully said. “It's okay.”

“Actually, it's not.” Eve looked at Dad for backup, but he was beery and streets behind the conversation.

“Just don't do it,” Dad said. “Whatever it is.”

“Well, I will,” Gully retorted. “I have to.”

He flapped his hand, wrote something in the air, and then proceeded to work his way under the table in small slips. Once he was well under, I said to Eve, “He'll be there for a while now.”

“Sorry—I didn't mean to —”

“It's not your fault,” Dad said roughly. He aimed his voice under the table. “Someone's just being a bit of a sook.”

Gully responded by biting Dad's leg. While Dad sucked his teeth, Gully slunk and cowered.

“Come out,” Dad hissed. “This minute.”

“NO!” Gully's voice had gone up an octave.

I could see Dad trying to keep it together in front of Eve. He eyeballed me again and I felt my shoulders tighten. I could hear Gully's breathing coming fast and
hard. I waited until it slowed and then crouched down. I didn't try to touch him or meet his eye. “Agent Gully,” I whispered. “Evacuate!” He nodded sharply and then backed out and away to the safety of the living room.

Don't say anything,
I mouthed to Dad, and he nodded and put his hands together in a silent thank-you. It made me feel peevish. I pictured myself shaking my head, saying,
This is what happens when you bring a new person into the mix.
But the trouble with that was I
liked
Eve. I figured she was worth some minor regressions, as long as that was all they were.

I sat with Gully through
Monkey Swallows the Universe.
In the episode, two crazed cannibals called Golden Horn and Silver Horn were on a rampage, eating the souls of holy men to steal their power. They captured Monkey, made him a miniature, and put him in a magic bottle. Things looked dire for a while, but with the help of Pigsy et al, Monkey managed to escape and annihilate the deadly duo. The TV was a balm, and soon enough Gully was all smiles again. We went on to the next episode as the smell of coffee and the sounds of laughter wafted across from the kitchen. I was amazed that Eve could move Dad on from the bottle. Maybe that was her superpower.

“What do you think?” I whispered to Gully.

“I like her,” he whispered back. “She has moxie.”

Halfway through the episode the picture turned to
snow; then it went black and then we were looking at Mum pre–Galaxy Strobe. She had filmed herself—she must have been experimenting. Her face came close and went far-away. She stood back and belted out a song; then baby Gully wandered past crying, and the last thing we saw was Mum rolling her eyes. I jumped up and turned the TV off. Gully's face was reflected on the black screen. Under the snout his mouth turned down. A few seconds crawled by.

Then:

“What was she like?” He used to ask this all the time. It was sort of a game between us, but now when Gully asked, his voice had an edge to it.

“You know,” I said.

“I don't remember. Give me the specs.”

“Let's see . . . she never smiled in photos; she always paused before speaking, as if she was talking to a TV audience and not just the guy from the fruit shop; and she used to reapply her lipstick every hour on the hour—”

“Enemy Red by Max Factor.” Gully sighed so deep I could feel it in my vertebrae. He pushed his snout back up and showed me his face. “Will we ever see her again?”

I ruffled his hair. “Sure. In dreams. On YouTube.”

He nodded. He looked like a little old man. Like Dad put through a way-back machine, minus the beard and black jeans and Residents T-shirt.

More laughter from the kitchen brought us back to Eve and Dad.

Gully wrote something in the air. He said, “Do you think Dad's in love?”

“He's definitely excited.”

“Constable Eve Brennan is exciting,” Gully affirmed. Then he yawned and pushed his snout into sleeping state, loose around his neck.

We crashed on the couch. I woke up just as Eve was leaving. It was
late
late. I could hear Eve and Dad making their way down the stairs, sounding merry. I padded over to the window and peeked out from the curtain. I saw Dad open Eve's car door for her, and then they merged into a kiss. I watched them, holding my breath, then creeped back to the couch. When Dad came back, I pretended to be asleep. I heard him open the fridge. I heard the twist top of beer. He put on an Al Green record and crooned along. Dad was hopeless. He was so happy he had to have a drink. For a few seconds I was annoyed with him, and then I fell back to sleep and dreamed of Mohawks swarmed by honeybees.

Profile:
Eve Brennan

Constable, St. Kilda Police Department

Date
: Wednesday, December 10

Agent:
Seagull Martin

The subject is approximately five foot seven inches and weighs around 140 pounds (approx.). She is Caucasian, of Scottish descent, but admits to having possible gypsy on her grandmother's side. She was born and bred in Bundaberg but moved to Melbourne at age sixteen after emancipating herself from her parents. She worked for a record company as a secretary and went around in mohair jumpers and holey tights. The subject said that when she was a child, she dreamed of robbing big corporations to give the money to the poor. The subject is a pool shark. She likes cats and has a ginger tabby called Alvin Purple. The subject is a known associate of Agent Bill Martin. She worked as a barmaid at the Paradise Theater and has allowed that Agent
Bill Martin used to wait around to walk her home. She said sometimes he would fall asleep waiting. The subject still has family in Bundaberg—she went back in the noughties after a relationship breakup, and began doing the community work which ultimately led to her current employment at SKPD. The subject's favorite food is enchiladas and Lindt dark chocolate. She believes that people are inherently good and that public transport should be free. She has no plans for Christmas.

ACTION

Agent Bill, ask her already!

O
LD PEOPLE WORK FAST.
Dad took Eve to the Berlin Bar party. Clothes came out of mothballs: second-generation stovepipe pants and pointy-toed boots, a shiny black jacket with leopard-skin lapels. Dad shaved his beard and pomped his hair and twist-toed down the stairs, snarling like Lux Interior. Vesna came over to babysit me and Gully. She found the Dunlops and poured Dad a long one. After he left, she looked wistful. She moved over to the window and watched Dad getting into Eve's car. She swirled the liquid in her glass. I could hear the soft rattle of her twenty-a-day habit.

“What's this one like?” she asked.

“Eve? She's nice. They're old friends. She's a cop.”

Vesna's skimpy eyebrows went up so high they almost disappeared. She came back from the window and started straightening up, first herself, then the living room, then the kitchen. Finally she turned her attention to me. “You're getting pretty. You've got your dad's eyes. Have you got a boyfriend yet?”

I shook my head, but a smile snuck out. Vesna caught it.

“Who is he?”

“No one.”

She grabbed my hands in a gesture of girlish community. “Ask me something. I've been around the block, but no one ever asks me anything.”

“Okay. How do you know if a guy likes you?”

I'd asked Nancy the same question. She'd said if a guy liked you, his pupils would dilate. “When a dude gets those black marble eyes, he either wants to fuck you or he's stoned.” She'd laughed her donkey-honk laugh. “Or both.”

Vesna had a different take. She spoke to me with a scientist's precision. “A guy who likes you pays attention. You'll say something, and to you it'll just be a blip—inconsequential—but he'll take it and make it part of his woo.”

“His woo?”

“Correct. I'm talking about his tools of seduction. Some guys use alcohol, some guys use flowers. Jimmy Irish used to take me to the dog track and let me pick, even though I always lost all his money. This guy—what's it like when you're alone together? Does he look at you? Talk to you?”

“He looks, but he's pretty quiet.”

“He could be shy. Shy boys need a firm hand. Also—the element of surprise.” Vesna patted my arm. “Oh, you look so worried. Don't be. Boys are like buses; if you miss one, another one will come along.” Vesna stopped.
I could see her working backward, trying to figure out if she'd gotten the saying right. “Oh, what the hell. Boys are like buses, and if you get on the wrong one, you can always pull the cord.”

The phone rang. I picked up.

“
Moshi moshi
, Sky!”

It was Mum.
“Moshi moshi,”
I echoed, moving up the stairs.

She launched into “Happy Birthday,” giving it her best performance brass. I let her get all the way to the trilly end before stating, “My birthday's on Sunday.”

There was an awesome trans-Pacific pause, and then she laughed lightly. “I knew that.”

Mum's boyfriend, Yanni, joined in, “Hullo, Sky.”

I was on speakerphone. I hated that.

Yanni talked like he'd learned English from a tape. “Galaxy's going to the Biennale. It's so exciting. We are all hammers and kettledrums.”

Yanni was shiny-bald, but his back looked like a flokati rug. I witnessed his dodgy hair distro on our “family holiday,” a year to the day after Mum first left. Japan was too expensive, so we met them in Penang. At the airport I said to Dad, “What if she kidnaps us?”

He looked stricken for a second. Then: “It's highly unlikely.”

Polaroids from Penang: There was nothing to do but eat
gado gado
, and swim in the pool, and get laughed
at by the busboys because I wore shorts instead of a bikini. Yanni spent the whole week on the phone, making deals. And then on the last night he loosened up. He gave me my first beer (vomit) and said girls who wear men's clothes are “like the sleeping hibiscus, they never unfurl” (vomit). At the karaoke club Mum made like Yoko Ono and nearly cleared the joint. An American boy named Chas Cheroot asked me to duet on “Somethin' Stupid”—and we lost Gully, only to find him back in the hotel room sorting through his collection of cocktail umbrellas. He had amassed four hundred in seven days, and had a major meltdown when Mum wouldn't let him take them home.

“How's school going?” Mum started on her list.

“Okay.”

“How's Seagull?”

“He's still wearing the snout, if that's what you're asking.”

She laughed. “I'd forgotten all about it.”

“It's not funny. He wears it everywhere.”

“What does he want for Christmas?”

“Night vision goggles.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

Mum exhaled audibly. I pictured her in her blue
yukata
, smoking a poser cigarillo.

“So what are you doing for your birthday? Who are your friends, Sky? Have you found your people?”

Mum was always asking me if I'd found my people.

Yanni chimed in. “How's she supposed to know her people? She's only fifteen.”

“Fifteen is
it
, Yanni,” Mum cried. “Fifteen is when the world opens its
doors
.”

“Does he have to listen in?” I complained.

There was silence. Then a click.

“Sky, what is going on? I'm hearing attitude.” This was Mum trying to be perceptive. Trying. “Is this about a boy?”

“No.”

“Is it about a girl?”

“Mum!”

“It's perfectly normal. It's nice to explore these things. . . .” She laughed again, a tinkly bell. I waited for wisdom, but none came. Mum started talking about her new performance and the catsuits and the whirly-winds. Blah blah blah.

I interrupted her. “Dad's got a new girlfriend. She looks like Ann-Margret.”

“Oh, Sky, no one looks like Ann-Margret except Ann-Margret.” I heard the click of her lighter. The sharp inhale. “Has he spoken to you about the shop?”

“No.” My body tensed like it knew something bad was about to happen.

“I've sold it,” Mum said.

Just like that. I nearly dropped the phone. My mouth fell open.