The Near Miss (21 page)

Anthea Schulberg stepped forward to interrupt. The crew exhaled as one, turning away to check mobile phones, whisper among themselves and gaze longingly in the direction of the network canteen. Hair man leapt towards Melody's dreads and waited on alert.

Anthea smiled. ‘Okay, we'll have a go on-camera now. See how you look in the great eye. Try using your hands a bit, maybe even pointing your finger for emphasis. Not aggressively, but just like you're persuading, or making a point. Like you really mean it.'

Melody nodded. This was one of the more surreal experiences of her life.
Round Up
had sent a limousine to bring her to the audition. Which was lucky, because she was short of cash to refill her train card and had calculated a ninety-minute walk to the studio.

‘Like I really mean it. Sure.' There was something about Anthea she warmed to, despite everything. The woman had a golden, slightly fizzy aura, and the spiritual path before her gleamed. She had great karma; much bounty would fall on that gleaming destiny, and she would share her gifts with everyone around her, Melody sensed. The crew members watched the producer pass respectfully, as if they felt it, too, waiting there beside cameras and microphones. Hair man reluctantly stepped back, adjusted his bow tie and stroked his own wing of hair, as if reassuring a small animal.

‘Lights. Three, two, one . . .'

Anthea lowered her arm towards Melody like she was casting a spell, and Melody slid her
eyes to the camera. She felt calm. Playing the spiritual seer was not difficult. In truth, it just meant going to her happy place and taking a deep breath. These were not her horoscopes, but then this was just an audition. If she did get the gig, she would write authentic horoscopes; precise divinations of the constellations with the power to help thousands of television watchers. Maybe
this
was what the universe meant her to do. Maybe this was why it had brought her to Melbourne and dragged her through the muck of televisual and kindergarten-mother ignominy. She took a deep breath.

‘Let me remind you
not
to look outside yourself by taking on the victim role or pointing the finger of blame. Take
full
responsibility for your own actions and thoughts.' She read from the teleprompter and stared into the eye of the camera, drawing the unmanifested deep from within that black pool and, as Anthea had asked, spreading her open hand towards the viewer.
Come
. She would imagine someone. Grace maybe, who had been so grumpy that morning, and claimed she was weak from not eating meat. Who said she was fed up with legumes and couldn't think of a single idea for a vegetarian meal that interested her. Who said children living without television would miss out on valuable cultural socialising experiences, and be isolated by their peers, and that she, personally, was sick of having to go down the road to Anna's house to watch
Farmer Needs A Wife.

Now, Melody imagined Grace before her, and summoned all her inner forgiveness and love. ‘Continue to delegate your tasks if you have the opportunity to do so in your workplace,' she told her friend. ‘This will free up an
immense
amount of time and give you a chance to do what you do best. If you're at home, you need to
put
your foot
down
and
demand
that others play their part in contributing to the household chores.' Who had written this atrocity? Since when did the stars mediate over whose turn it was to take the rubbish out? But she held the gaze of the camera's eye,
as if pressing a loving question to the sulky Grace. Off to the side, Anthea nodded enthusiastically, raising her fist in a silent cheer. She was nailing it. Hair man templed his fingertips together as if in prayer, and whispered to makeup lady. Makeup raised her eyebrows and nodded, her expression saying
Although I generally think you're a fool, hair man, you've got an indisputable point there
. They beamed at her. Maybe they all had jobs riding on this. Obviously the Grace thing was working, so Melody stuck with it. She leaned forward and focused on her invisible friend, talking to her as if she were handing down the tablet of Moses from the Mount.

‘Leo. You have forgotten some of your best talents and
what it is
that made you great,' she admonished, lowering her voice a little to sound mysterious. Husky. Wild waves of approval from Anthea; hair man turned away helplessly and touched his fingertips to his forehead, as if she were just too divine for human eyes. Makeup lady smiled smugly as if watching her own best work. This was an absolute hoot. Melody experimented with another hand gesture, this one a sort of opening and spreading of both hands, as if to invite Grace inwards. She was owning this studio; there was not a soul in it escaping her spell. ‘Think back to a time when your power was at its peak. If you're run-down, low in spirits or even diminished in self-confidence, recollecting the past will be of
great value
to you today.'

God, Skip would go crazy when he saw this. Was the universe really going to dump a telly job right in her lap?

But Melody already knew the answer to that, even as she kept reading. ‘. . . Taurus, you feel confronted by challenge, but rest assured,
you can do it
. You will be amazed at your own strength . . .' She glanced over at Anthea's triumphant face. When the take was finished, and the bright lights were turned off, the crew burst into spontaneous and genuine applause, a slow clap, and Melody blushed and arranged her face into a disingenuous question: So, how did I go? But she didn't need
a horoscope to tell her what was coming her way. A big, fat gift from the universe, bless its complicated and generous soul.

Eddy sat in a city restaurant, and watched the world go by down on Swanston Street. Outside his first-floor window pigeons wheeled around a canyon between city buildings, as if marking out territory. They flew at the height of his window, sometimes so close he could see the black gleam of an eye, and hear the swish of feathers.

Eddy sliced his kofta, speared a piece on his fork and patted it in eggplant chutney. His dahl and scented rice awaited him, as did a lassie. He raised the kofta, chewed and swallowed, and felt so full he put down his cutlery and rubbed his stomach. He was reminded of a post-birth friend who said she ate one lifesaver during a twenty-four-hour labour, and felt like she had stuffed in a three-course meal.

Full. Full of that mouthful, and full of thoughts of Laura. Two nights it had been; the first night an Italian restaurant, the second night Mexican. They had not touched, just talked. They were meeting again that night — French. He grew dreamy in the sun. He sipped his lassie and felt more peaceful than he had for weeks, as if his whole body was relaxing for the first time, letting go of all its traumas. He was still so young. There was so much life ahead.

His phone rang and he reached for it, pressing the green handset button before checking who it was, hoping it was her.

‘It's me.' A woman's voice. A sad, quiet, disappointed voice. Not Laura.

‘Romy?' He held the phone back quickly and stared at the little screen in disbelief.
Romymobile
, it said. Oh God, he should have checked. The second call in two weeks. ‘What's wrong?'

‘I'm in trouble. Can I talk to you?'

In his newly relaxed state, she seemed like a stranger. Did he really have a diamond ring
somewhere at home, with this woman's name figuratively on it? He was getting over her, he realised. Over her enough to be kind.

‘Is this to tell me again how I did everything wrong, how it was my fault for being too caring?'

‘No.'

‘Okay.'

‘I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that.'

‘No. Well.'

‘Things are shit, Eddy. Absolutely shit.'

‘Really?'

‘I miss you.'

The birds flew past again, their circling suddenly seeming frenzied and deranged. ‘How's Van?'

She started to cry and Eddy silently consulted his watch. His leisurely lunch break was almost over, and he either had to wrap this up within three minutes or be late for a meeting with clients.

‘Please can I come over when you finish work? I need to talk.'

‘Really? You're not out robbing a 7/11, or trafficking drugs, or zooming off into the sunset on your motorbike?'

‘No,' she whispered. ‘I'm not.'

‘I have a date tonight. I'm going out for dinner.'

‘Oh. With a . . . woman?'

‘Yes.'

‘Who?'

‘No one you know. So, you said you needed to talk? Because I have to get back to work now.'

‘Oh. Sorry. Could I meet you straight after work, just for a drink? Before you go out for dinner. We could meet at four-thirty, at that little bar with the weird lights?'

Eddy slapped a fifty-dollar bill on the counter of the restaurant and nodded to them as he left, the phone still held to his ear. She knew he didn't finish at four-thirty, never before five-thirty.

‘Five,' he said sullenly. ‘And I can't stay long.' He felt resentful.

‘Thanks so much, Eddy.'

He slapped the phone shut and walked off down the city streets. Above him now, the birds flew their mad laps, while around him people walked theirs, up and down, to work, from work. None of us ever really get off our merry-go-round, he reflected. We just have moments, glorious moments, where we think that we do.

Romy sidled into the bar wearing a sunhat and glasses, combined oddly with a woolen scarf and an overcoat. She walked too casually around the premises, staring at patches of nothing on the wall, and casting quick, fierce glances at other patrons. She finally wandered close to Eddy and then sat in his booth.

‘Are you in disguise?' Eddy said.

‘Shh!'

‘No one's listening.'

‘The cops are after me.'

‘Oh?' said Eddy. Romy had always loved a bit of drama. However, he had to admit, she
may have a point. Just yesterday she and Van had featured in a
Crimestoppers
item.
Have you seen these people?

Romy slid off her glasses and impatiently unwound the scarf. She left the hat on and gazed at Eddy.

She appeared to have put back the weight she had lost earlier that year, during her incarnation as a criminal. Her face was thinner, her shoulders sharper, and yet the rest of her looked fatter, under a loose top. Large, even. Eddy's mother was a big woman and, to Eddy, real women had curves and bulges. Bits moved when they walked, flesh yielded to touch. They took up space.

‘You look well.'

‘I'm not well,' she hissed angrily. ‘I am permanently stressed. The police raided the squat where Van and I were staying. We only just got out the back door in the nick of time, and then we spent three hours hiding in bushes under a bridge while the police searched for us. Everywhere I go, I feel like people are watching me. There's a
reward
out. Did you know that?'

‘No,' he lied. He stroked one finger down the frosted beer glass before him.

‘Can you imagine how frightening it is to be pursued, all day, every day?'

Her breathing was ragged, her eyes looked bloodshot and scared. Faint sympathy washed over him, despite himself.

‘Probably pretty terrifying to be a kid working in a shop and have someone hold a gun at you.' He tore open a foil packet of nuts.

‘I know.' Romy wept silently for a couple of minutes. Eddy passed her a serviette. She wiped her eyes. ‘I can't believe what I've become this year. It was fun at first. It felt daring, adventurous. But I feel so sorry now for these frightened people. And Van . . . when he's the one
holding the gun, I'm scared he's going to lose it and hurt someone.'

‘Well.' He was hearing all this as if it were coming from far away. ‘You could stop. Turn yourself in.'

She stirred the peanuts with her fingertips and stared down at them for a moment. ‘I'm pregnant.'

Eddy was just lifting his beer to his mouth and her words forced his eyes back to her face. Was she joking? His beer was suddenly jolted back to the floor of the glass, from whence it returned like a small tidal wave and flooded his nostrils. He coughed, he spluttered, he put down the glass and wiped his face with a serviette.

‘What?'

‘I'm pregnant.'

He was stabbed with a ridiculous wild hope and terror, before he realised.

‘To who?' Not to him. Not to him.

‘To Van.' She let her coat fall open and he saw her belly; she was huge.

‘You're having a child with Van?' His stomach felt horribly empty, and yet he might need to throw up.

‘Well,
I'm
having a child. I don't think Van's that interested in it.'

‘Why not?'

‘He's got other things on his mind. Like staying out of jail.' She started to cry. ‘Oh, Eddy, I don't want to go to jail. I would . . . I can't . . .'

Eddy looked around the bar. A group of women a few years younger than Romy had just floated in, slim and cool, casting their eyes over the various tables to find spare seats. One wall of the bar was filled with tiny canvases; some local artist's exhibition. Tiny squares featuring simple
moments. A quarter of a face, one smiling eye. The moon, through a window frame. A plate, with knife and fork neatly paired in the middle. A fat baby's hand, reaching for an adult finger.

‘So how far pregnant are you?'

‘Maybe eight months. Maybe less. It's a bit unclear. What with hiding out all the time, I sort of lost track of things.'

He stared for a full minute at a sign, which advertised the bar's upcoming karaoke night.

‘Are you going to say anything?' she whispered.

‘When's it due?' It was November, but he was too shocked for simple calculations. The incident with the truckie and Romy the bunny, three or four months ago — had she looked different then? Larger? Not that he had noticed.

‘December. Next month.'

Eddy tapped his fingers on the table and checked his watch. He felt like someone had told him about the death of a beloved friend, and yet he no longer had any right to grieve. Thirty minutes and he would leave to meet Laura. Could he still face her? He felt like crawling under a rock. ‘Well. Thanks for telling me.'

She reached out for his hand, her face suddenly tense. ‘I made a huge mistake, Eddy.'

‘You did?'

‘I should have stayed with you. This should have been your baby.' She was pale, her eyes abnormally large. ‘I don't know if you've ever made a mistake this big, Eddy, if you've ever felt regret so strong that it has you writhing in your bed at night, thinking about the way things could have been. But that's how I feel.'

Something about the words focused Eddy. It was as if, for the first time since she had sat down before him, he could see Romy clearly. Thoughts of Laura fell away. ‘What do you want?'

‘I want to come back.'

‘I don't think I can forgive you.'

She sighed heavily and leaned back, her hand on her belly. ‘I want to come home.'

‘Home?'

‘We chose that house together, Eddy.'

It was in his name and all the loan repayments had come from his salary. But that was nitpicking, he knew. Both in his own moral world, and in a court of law. They had lived together for over two years, what was his was hers, too.

‘You were so insistent on a fireplace, do you remember?'

She smiled. ‘And we hardly had any fires after all, did we?'

‘We
never
had one.' He had never trusted the chimney.

‘We could now.'

‘It's nearly summer.'

‘I know.'

He glanced at his watch again. ‘Do you need somewhere to live? Is that it?'

‘I do. But I also want you. I want us to get back together.'

‘Well.' He rubbed his forehead and got wearily to his feet. ‘I'm seeing someone. A woman.'

She nodded. ‘For how long?'

He wasn't going to say only two dates. It had been two of the most intense, intimate, revealing two nights of his life, and they hadn't even touched. ‘For a while.'

‘How long is a while?'

He shook his head. ‘Romy,' he said gently, ‘it's no longer any of your business.'

She exhaled sharply, and her eyes filled with tears.

‘I don't mean to hurt you,' he said. ‘And I understand that you're in trouble. Listen, if you want to come stay for a while, you can sleep in the spare room. Just until you work out something permanent. But one week, that's all. I'll help you look for a place.'

‘Oh.' She dropped her gaze to the table top. ‘I see.'

‘Do you still have your key?'

‘I do.'

‘Is that okay?'

‘That's great. Thank you so much. Just for a week, Ed. Until I find my feet. Find a place to stay, get some Centrelink payments happening.'

Of course. No money left, after her little stint holding up shops. Couldn't she have saved a bit for a rainy day? He would not offer her money. He would not.

‘Do you need money?'

She shook her head bravely. ‘I've got a bit.'

‘When do you think you'll move in?'

‘Is tonight okay?'

He blinked. He had had visions of bringing Laura back that night, but maybe they could go to her place instead. ‘Fine,' he said, just as he remembered that Laura lived with her parents.
Damn
.

‘Thanks.'

He hesitated, but pulled a couple of fifties from his wallet, and laid them before her. ‘Don't go hungry,' he said. He knew he shouldn't. But he had loved her, once.