CHAPTER 11
LITTLE BY LITTLE, and without my noticing, Bee has seemingly transferred her entire wardrobe to William’s house in recent weeks.
Now she’s transferred it all back all at once.
Piles of blacks, whites, light and dark colours sit waiting in line for the washer-dryer that is going so hard it is shaking on the ground.
The problem with this is that our washer-dryer is situated in the kitchen. Which I can no longer enter.
‘Bee!’ I yell.
Bee emerges from her room, holding her phone up to her mouth. ‘Hang on, Mum,’ she says to the phone. ‘What?’ she says to me.
‘The kitchen looks like a bombsite.’
‘Sorry, Gertrude. William is away for work this week, so I thought I’d take the chance to do a little washing.’
Oh, is Gertrude there? A tinny voice comes through the phone.
‘Yes Mum, she lives here.’
I thought you’d said she’s moved in with a boy.
‘No, Mum, that was El. Gertrude and I have lived together for ages.’ I met Bee’s mum, Vera, for the first time over a decade ago.
And then we met for the first time thousands of times since.
Each and every time we meet she reaches out a hand to introduce herself.
The first few times, I ran with it. Then after Bee corrected her mother one time, I started timidly saying, ‘We’ve met, actually.
’ Poor Vera was mortified each time (not mortified enough to remember it later though) and cursed her ‘face blindness’ to the skies.
But then one time I ran into Bee and Vera at the IGA and Vera thanked the girl at the checkout for helping her find the lightbulbs the previous week.
Exclusive face blindness? Face blindness save for service relationships of one interaction’s duration?
Presumably Bee has to specify ‘Gertrude…my housemate?’ every time they speak. If I ever come up.
Have you told her about the party?
‘Not yet; she just got home.’ I have been home for two hours. Playing on my computer with my headphones in, but still.
‘What party?’ I ask obediently.
‘William’s friend is having his fortieth at Rannalla Upstairs this Saturday.’
Divine, Vera adds. Everything is divine to Vera. The oysters are to die for.
‘Are we working it?’
‘He asked me to go with him!’
He’s clearly very serious about you, darling.
Bee says that being in your late twenties–early thirties is kind of like being a tween again.
Shots. Then a wedding. Dancing all night.
Attending a baby shower. Wearing platform high heels.
Going to an up-market fortieth birthday party at a restaurant where you’re paying for the beach views more than the food.
I’ve never really felt like that applied to me, but I suppose I’ve gone from a twenty-second birthday to a fortieth in the space of a few weeks, so maybe I’m a normal twenty-something now.
Just in time to turn thirty. It probably leans down the lower end of the age scale to realise that I’m a plus two to the fortieth birthday of someone I’ve never met, invited by someone I hardly know.
‘Are you sure it’s okay that I’m coming?’ I yell down the hallway as I zip up my old formal dress and thank whatever deity that it still fits. The dress code is black tie: masquerade.
‘Of course it is!’ Bee yells back.
‘Did William actually ask the birthday boy if it’s okay, or are you just telling me it’s okay?’ We should probably learn the birthday boy’s (man’s?) name sometime before we crash his party and eat his fancy canapes.
‘He asked! Don’t worry!’
‘Do you actually know that, or are you just telling me that to shut me up?’
Bee responds in garbled mouthwash speak that I can’t understand. The bell goes, and Bee shouts, suddenly clear-mouthed, ‘Can you get that? I’m almost ready.’
I greet William, looking sharp in a bottle-green suit, and he follows me to the living room. I think this might be the first time we’ve been alone together. ‘Can I get you something to drink?’ I ask. ‘The wait could be either two minutes or twenty, so up to you.’
‘Do you have any scotch?’ he asks. I wander over to our bar cart, and pick up an ancient bottle of discount label-free whisky from that time we tried to get into whisky sours.
William scrunches up his nose. ‘I’ll just have a water, thanks.’ I get myself one too, and we sit there for a few minutes, opposite each other, silently sipping water.
‘So, how’s work?’ I ask finally.
‘End of month is always hectic,’ he replies.
I nod like I know what that means. ‘That must be really stressful.’
‘Yeah.’
A door closes in the hallway, and William’s head turns… and his mouth drops. And I fully respect that reaction.
Bee’s long hair has been slicked back into a tight ponytail, not a single wispy stray out of place.
Her black lace mask is already in place across her heavily lined eyes.
The dress—must be new because I’ve never seen it—looks painted on.
Black satin flows down, skating over her hips and down her legs, ending just before her red-wine painted toes.
Bee smiles shyly at William’s gaping face and slowly turns in a circle, showing off the low braless back of the dress. When she turns back to look at him, he gets up and walks over to her. He reaches out to grab her hips, and she puts up a hand to stop him. ‘Don’t crinkle it,’ she says, laughing.
‘You look…amazing,’ he says. Words have seemingly failed him. His mind can only process black satin and exposed skin. ‘Can I kiss you?’ he asks.
With a matte red lip, William? Really? But Bee considers it for a moment, then drags a finger down her throat to the spot where her neck and shoulder meet. ‘Here,’ she whispers.
Do they know I’m still here?
I get up and leave unnoticed as he leans over her like a super-tanned vampire.
My own mask is a cardboard and elastic string number from the local party shop, and it bends slightly at the edge when I pick it up alongside my bag. Oh well. At least no one will know it’s me anyway (not so much the mask as the fact that, as far as I can tell, I’m a gatecrasher).
‘Uber’s here, Gertrude!’ Bee says, and there’s no more time to worry about my invite status.
I make nice conversation with the driver in the front seat while Bee and William whisper sweet nothings in the back.
She is lying as flat as she can, determined not to get those wrinkle lines across her hips on the journey.
The driver is a young man working ride share in addition to his full-time job in preparation for the arrival of his and his wife’s first child in four months.
He offers me some Minties while we drive, then rushes to assure me that it isn’t because he thinks my breath smells.
I take three, and make a mental note to ensure William tips the young man generously after the ride.
At the top of an austere concrete staircase, the technicolour splendour of a Melbourne sunset over the harbour threatens to burn out my retinas.
There are so many people in expensive evening wear that I feel an urge to grab an apron and start taking drink orders.
When instead a drink is offered to me from a tray of champagne glasses, I nearly expire from the thrill.
Would it be tacky to take two? Probably.
‘Babe, come on. I want to introduce you to my friends.’ I turn to see William leading Bianca away. They don’t look back at me. Now I really wish I’d taken that second glass.
My shiny blue dress feels like too much.
It’s drawing people’s eyes, inviting them to stare, a big polyester sign that I’m here all alone.
They must know that I’m not meant to be here.
That this dress is ten years old. That this mask came from the two-dollar shop.
I scan the room and find a nice corner by the window with a little ledge and a great view—of both outside and inside.
William has a hand at Bee’s back, grazing the spot where the dress ends and the smooth skin of her back begins.
She is chatting animatedly with another couple, who are laughing politely back.
Over the course of fifteen minutes, five different canapes and a refill of bubbles, I watch William steer Bee around the room by that hand on her back.
Cheek-kisses, hands reached out to compliment dresses, earrings, makeup.
You look stunning! Oh, thank you! That dress is gorgeous; where is it from?
I take a sip as a couple excuses themselves from Bee and William in search of drinks.
He uses that same hand to move her towards him, planting a soft kiss on her cheek.
She blushes. He’s tucking a nonexistent stray hair behind her ears and whispering in it.
I can imagine what he’s saying. You impressed them, baby.
They love you, I knew they would. He’s like a kid absolutely crushing it at show-and-tell.
An elbow suddenly digs into my back and some of the sparkling wine spills out of my glass, dotting my dress with dark spots.
‘I’m so sorry!’ the elbow owner says. She’s a seventies goddess, from the pink velvet wrap dress with bell sleeves to the disco-ball mask.
‘Oh gosh, you’re wearing your champagne.
Mish, go get her a fresh glass.’ The man I assume is Elbow’s partner nods and wanders away.
She takes the cocktail napkin in her hand and starts dabbing at my boobs, and it’s the most action I’ve had in like a year.
She then leans back to inspect her work.
‘Lucky you’re wearing dark blue. You can hardly notice it, I promise. ’
‘It’s totally fine!’ I say, but it comes out so peppy that it can’t possibly sound sincere. ‘Accidents happen.’ Mish returns with a fresh glass for me and a white wine for Elbow.
He holds out his glass and we all clink in the middle before taking a drink.
‘I’m Rani,’ Elbow says, extending a hand.
‘Gertie,’ I say, shaking it.
‘How do you know Ben?’ Mish asks.