CHAPTER 10
IT ISN’T A coincidence that the next several activities don’t go higher than the first floor of a building.
I’m kind enough not to say anything about it, because that’s what friends do.
Nonetheless it’s something of a learning exercise for all involved across several packed, but highly budgeted, weeks.
The commute is not enjoyable. Parking is also not enjoyable. Six-fifty an hour, who are they kidding? I should be getting a tax rebate for supporting local businesses.
Bold call from Bee, since I’m the one who pays for the parking.
It turns out that Bee and William have this antipathy in common.
When we arrive on the first floor of the almost-missable boardgame bar, he is perched delicately on the edge of his seat, as though unwilling to allow his beige chinos or crisp white shirt (meticulously cuffed three times to the forearm) to touch the surfaces lest they be tainted by Greens-supporter energy or something.
‘It’s rustic!’ Arthur exclaims, nudging William as if to knock some frivolity into him.
‘This is Melbourne’s premier gaming destination!
They’ve got a whole two-player section if you guys wanna get canoodly.
Or you can try the Guitar Hero!’ I raise a singular eyebrow, which he clocks immediately out of the corner of his eye. ‘What?’
‘That was so creepy,’ I say. ‘You just went from regular person to cheesy secondhand car salesman in two seconds flat. It was so easy to see where you stopped and the spin began. Is that what you’re like at work?
Do you use phrases like “circle back” and “value add”?
’ He’s silent for a minute, and I realise that this was a dickhead thing to say, no matter how true.
I go to apologise, but he grins and gestures towards the bar.
A few minutes later, after William has wandered over to where Bee is exploring the options, Arthur puts down a pint in front of me and asks if I’ve ever played chess.
I was, in fact, my primary school’s chess club champion once upon a time, but the achievement doesn’t seem worthy of mention.
Arthur brags that he got super into playing online after watching Queen’s Gambit, as though the entire world hadn’t decided they were chess prodigies around the same time.
When I win our third game within about twenty minutes, he starts accusing me of hustling him, but there is no bite to it.
And I honestly don’t think I did—he is just really, really bad.
I offer to buy the next round to soothe his wounded ego, but when I return and place the dewy glass in front of him, he doesn’t even turn to glance at me.
What has him so transfixed? Bee is attempting to play Mario Kart.
Attempting is a truly generous word; Princess Peach has just sailed off the edge of the track.
And it looks like William hasn’t set it up on easy mode with the bumpers up.
Frustrated, Bee tosses the controller onto the table in front of her and angrily finishes the rest of her gin and tonic.
I watch as William is spurred into action, abandons his inspection of the fourteen boxes of Settlers of Catan populating one shelf and pulls a stool up to sit behind her.
He reaches around her to grab the controller (unharmed by the violence), lips brushing her neck. She giggles, all tension evaporating.
He sets up a new race, then asks her to take the controller.
He wraps both arms around her and places his hands on top of hers.
His face is tucked into her shoulder, and they press start.
Then there are the logistics of two hands pressing the buttons.
How will that even work? Won’t it make their reaction times slower?
Will their mood be destroyed if he pulls this and they still lose?
Bee and William don’t appear bothered.
They finish fourth, but they defeat Wario, and this is apparently more important, and is celebrated by the two of them proceeding to try to eat one another’s faces. It’s time to look away now; the looking is getting weird.
‘Okay,’ Arthur says, approaching me with full arms. I haven’t even noticed him getting up, transfixed as I was by the technicolour mating ritual across the room.
‘I have a sneaking suspicion that you are really good at board games, so we are going to try all of the classics until we find one I can beat you at.’
He doesn’t.
It ends when we get into a pint-fuelled argument about the rules of Monopoly, soundtracked by Bee and William’s attempts to serenade each other at the Guitar Hero station.
In contrast to the Mario Kart display, this disagreement isn’t sexy at all.
Arthur is required to have four houses before he can purchase the hotel.
He can’t just skip straight to the hotel, everyone knows that.
And when he lands on my evil green corner of hotels I can’t give him rent relief in exchange for discounted rent on his properties; if I did, we could both just sail around the board never paying rent.
Yes, that’s the point. But it’s against the rules.
Spit flies from his mouth. There is no rule forbidding it.
I knock my almost-empty drink over, sloshing beer everywhere.
There is no rule allowing it. His hair has come a little loose from the perfectly gelled thing he had arranged before he got here.
It’s a little cute when the curl falls over his eye.
Even cuter when it gets him even more flustered as he tries to push it back.
What are the rules on getting out of jail, anyway? He slams a fist on the table.
Maybe we aren’t able to remain friends and play Monopoly together. That’s the first thing we’ve agreed on in about an hour.
It turns out that William is hot-girl fit, as we learn on a perfectly free and geographically suitable running (fast walking?) date around Albert Park Lake.
I’m tempted to ask what the purpose of the date is—what does it say about me if I enjoy or do not enjoy walking?
Maybe Arthur just wants to avoid any semblance of competition between us; I have a feeling that though these experiences were ostensibly about my character development, he has discovered some things about himself over colourful bits of cardboard and plastic that he doesn’t necessarily like.
But we get so caught up in discussing the nuances of Gillian Anderson’s filmography I forget to ask, and then it completely derails into catty running commentary on William’s experience of the day.
‘I think he has a stitch.’
‘I think he thinks his appendix has burst.’
‘Or perhaps that his entire torso is going to explode.’
‘Oh look, Bee is running back to help him.’ My voice suggests sweetness, but Arthur bends over pretending to hurl. Also not an inaccurate prediction of William’s immediate future, so it works on a few levels.
‘Well, he is entirely keeled over at this point; she’d be a bit shit to just ditch him.’
‘Like us?’
‘No! We haven’t ditched him. We’re just not actively helping.’
‘I’d say we’re hurting more than helping with this line of inquiry.’
‘Probably.’
‘Aww, she’s helping him onto the grass so they can sit together!’
Arthur still doesn’t think it deserves an aww, or any comment at all as I hand him my drink bottle, knowing that he neglected to bring one.
‘Does she even sweat at all?’ he asks, taking a long sip before passing it back. ‘We’ve walked five kilometres in the sun and she looks like she just ducked down to the shops.’
‘So you finally understand my pain.’
‘I really do. Now they’re holding hands?’
‘Well, she’s definitely sweaty now. He’s dripping all over her.’
Whether it be from a lack of ideas or a desire to combine our social outings with his daily routine, Arthur gets on a bit of a roll with sports-like activity. But there’s a limit. And as I approach the latest location, I realise that the limit is located at the doorstep of a Spin studio.
‘No,’ I say, halting in my tracks, preparing to turn around and go back the way I came.
I hear him chasing after me. ‘Come on, Gertie! William and Bianca will be here any minute!’
‘I’m not doing this,’ I say.
‘But you look so good!’
Yeah, thanks for rubbing it in that I wasted a brand-new activewear set that inexplicably cost three hundred dollars on this non-starter. ‘Don’t try to sweet-talk me!’
‘You won’t even try?’ Oh, he’s giving me the puppy-dog eyes again.
They are my weakness, and I know he knows they’re my weakness, because sometimes he sends me dog gifs when he really wants me to do something.
However, today, he has overestimated his puppy-dog powers, because my hatred of bikes outweighs his adorable face by a considerable margin.
‘I don’t need to try. I already know that I would loathe every minute spent inside that godforsaken place, and I do not need to actually go in there to understand that about myself.’
‘You might like it!’
‘My butt hurts just thinking about putting it on one of those seats. A very damaged person designed those torture devices. Definitely a man.’
‘You’re always so dramatic. It’s an endearing quality.’
Don’t try to sweet-talk me, buddy. ‘And you have some deep issues to address in therapy if you think a Spin class will ever be a net positive experience. I’m going to get brunch.’ I turn to walk away.
‘What about Bianca and William?’
‘What about them? I might miss him collapsing off the bike in exhaustion and then his hair getting caught up in the revolving spokes, but that’s a chance I’m willing to take.
I need bacon. Bye.’ I turn away again, but I can hear him following me.
He acts super casual when he catches up and falls into step with me. Like we’ve made a new plan together.
‘What, you think I’m going to third-wheel that shit? Knowing them, they’d turn the bike into a sex chair.’