Grease Monkey Jive (3 page)

Scott sighed. “I don’t hate her. That would require a certain amount of energy I’m simply not willing to expend on her. I just think she has a serious case of living her life through you, and you have a serious case of thinking that’s ok.”

It was possible that Scott had a point. “Since when did you graduate with a psychology degree?”

“Doesn’t take an official qualification to work out you have separation issues to deal with.”

“I don’t think I like you anymore.”

“Oh, such tough talk from such a little bitty girl.”

Alex put her hand over Scott’s face and gave him a little shove. “Now tell me about your day.”

He shifted back away from her hand. “Oh yes, let’s make it all about me – that’s much more interesting. I had a spectacular day. I have a new client and he’s a complete dish and I think I’m in lust with him.”

“Your new client?” Scott was often in a state of lust so that wasn’t surprising, but he usually kept lust and his graphic design work separate.

“Yes. Well, I can dream, can’t I?”

“What does he want?”

“A new logo, a new website, some brochure ware. It’s all very exciting.”

“Does he know you’re in lust with him?”

“Oooh, I should certainly hope not. That would take all the fun out of it. He’s very married and kids by the look of him and I’m not about to corrupt him. I just like looking at him.”

“You’re so easily pleased.” Alex ruffled Scott’s blonde hair, thick with product to keep it sleek and unruffled.

He dodged out from under her hand. “I am not. Don’t let anyone tell you anything different. Are we going to rehearse?”

Alex nodded and got to her feet. Scott sashayed to the CD player singing a lyric from Sneaky Sound System’s
We Love
. “Keep it under cover, don’t tell your mother, can’t have mine, have to get another.”

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you?”

Scott grinned, “That shoe so fits, girlfriend,” and executed two super quick jump pirouettes before catching Alex’s hand and leading her into the opening steps of their new routine.

They had a week to get this routine perfected before the first heat of the upcoming Australasian Dance Theatre Championship and that meant rehearsing every day between here and there. Not that Alex minded, it was term break and getting her head out of her books would be as good as taking a holiday.

As she concentrated on the sequence of steps and the feel of Scott’s strong hands at her waist and shoulders, she started to relax. It was only two points, it was still a high mark, and her mother could suck it up. And, while she was at it, she could suck up the fact that Alex was competing again as well.

“Oh Alex, two points,” huffed Sylvia.

“But a Distinction, that’s excellent, darling,” said Gwen, vision switching from daughter to granddaughter, trying to read the wind and keep out of the draft.

“It is excellent, Gran. You know lots of people have to repeat Stats, Mum,” said Alex laying heavy emphasis on the word ‘repeat’.

Sylvia sighed. She turned to look out the window at something less disappointing. Alex knew she was already imaging the worst. Those missing points were going to make the difference between a job and a career; that at twenty-four, Alex needed to quit dreaming and get serious.

So the next piece of news was really going to go down well.

“Oh Mum. I’m competing again this year with Scott.”

Sylvia wheeled around. “Competing again? But you said last year was the last time.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Oh, I think that’s lovely, darling. He is such a nice boy, that Scott,” said Gwen, keeping her eyes on her book to avoid Sylvia’s warning look.

“Alex, do you think that’s wise?”

“You think it’s stupid and a huge distraction, don’t you, Mum?”

“Well, yes I do. I think you’ve grown out of all that now, haven’t you?”

“Apparently not.”

The only sound was Gwen using a licked index finger to turn a page. She was re-reading Emily Bronte’s
Wuthering Heights
.

“Alexandra, really!” said Sylvia.

“Oh, she must be mad, Gran. She’s dragging out the full name.”

Gwen pursed her lips, looked as if she were going to say something in response, but Alex got in first.

“Look Mum, this year we have a real chance of winning and the prize money has gone up to fifty thousand dollars, that’s twenty-five thousand dollars each. I could buy us a better car with that and have money for books and uni expenses.”

“There is nothing wrong with the Mazda.”

“It’s almost as old as me, Mum. It’s a clunker. We barely got it registered last time.”

“We could do with a better car, Syl,” said Gwen.

“I’d rather get the bus than have you wasting time on this stupidity.”

“Don’t worry; you might still have that privilege. But we’re going to try and I don’t want to hear another thing about it.”

“Really, Alexandra!” Sylvia shook her head in distress and retreated to the kitchen.

“Really, Ally?” echoed Gwen. She abandoned her book. “I think you can win, darling.” She sat forward, contemplating the sewing machine in the corner. “What am I going to make you to wear?”

Dan sat on his board well away from the other early bird surfers in the line up. It was warm enough for a shorty wetsuit and the paddle out had cleared his head.

Not that he’d had too much to drink, not that it’d been too late a night. She’d been fun, Ms Pink Dress. Vanessa, she was a radiologist, a smart girl, a liberated girl. He smiled at the memory of how very liberated, but when he’d looked at her across the gear stick of the Kombie van as he drove her home before hitting the beach, he knew he was in trouble. She was liberated, but she was also husband hunting in a big way, and Maddox men weren’t made of husband material. There was a track record to prove that.

Uncle Max – divorced, twice. Uncle Fred – separated from wife number three. Uncle Kev – still a playboy in his fifties, a master of online dates and revolving girlfriends. Dad – convinced that all women were evil trollops, bent on extracting a toll in blood, sweat, and alimony. So yeah, the Maddox men were probably under a car hood somewhere when the marrying gene was being handed out. Hell, they’d missed out on the relationship gene as well and taken a double dose of the ‘I’m alright just as I am, Jack’ gene instead.

So he wouldn’t be seeing Vanessa again. It kept things simple and simple meant he could focus on work, mates, surfing, and generally enjoying himself. And what was wrong with that?

Mitch was the first of the boys to paddle out to him, yawning and rubbing his eyes. As he drew level, Dan said, “Have a good time?”

“Yeah.” Mitch looked a bit green. Nothing that a good surf wouldn’t fix though.

“You?”

“Struck out.” Mitch yawned again and Dan felt a moment of pain for him. He knew Mitch had seen Belinda and she was with some buzz cut military type, probably just a weekend soldier with the army reserve, but a big bloke and it put Mitch off his game.

The two of them floated quietly through a set of sloppy, over full waves, a flock of seagulls screaming as they wheeled above them.

After they’d flapped past, Dan said, “It’s getting old, isn’t it?” He meant the whole going out, getting drunk, picking up random women, and the casual sex thing, and he knew Mitch would know exactly what he meant.

“What else is there?”

“There should be something else.”

“There’s sunshine and cold beer and warm chicks. What else can we want?”

Dan laughed. He could see a good wave building out the back. He lay forward on the board and paddled hard towards it, Mitch taking off a beat behind him. Maybe this was what it was all about, sunshine and surf, good mates and the occasional hot girl in your arms. So why did he feel like he was just drifting aimlessly? Why did the thought he might be just like his old man or any one of his ratbag uncles scare him near witless?

When the wave was on top of him and he could feel the power of its drag, he turned his board and paddled back toward the shore, feeling the swell beneath him until he was riding it. Well before it broke into angry curling foam he was standing, goofy footed, arms open for balance, flying on the crest of untold litres of irritated sea. As it broke, he skipped the board sideways to avoid the churn of the foam and then did it again, the wave bringing him closer to the shore. When it started to close out he flipped the board around so the remainder of the now flattened wave passed underneath him, a near perfect ride.

Maybe this was as good as it got. He stepped off the back of the board and plunged into the water then pulled his body back up onto it, laying face down to begin the long paddle back out to where he’d started.

Ant was there when he arrived, sitting beside Mitch. Ant looked puffy, like he’d been drinking sea water, and he had dark circles under his eyes.

“You alright, mate? You look snookered.”

Ant growled, “New job is a bitch.” The new job was with a stockbroking firm, an entry level position that Ant would have to work hard to hold on to. Right now the only advantage to make up for the early starts and late nights was the money. More money than he’d ever seen in a monthly pay packet and lots more where it came from, if he could crack the formula. He frowned at Dan, still not happy about losing that fifty. It wasn’t the money; it was the principle of the thing. “You already knew that girl from last night?”

“Nope,” said Dan with a flick of his head that swept his tangled hair back off his forehead. “Ah, you think I took your money under false pretences?”

“Yup.”

“Are we talking about Ms Shrink-wrap?” said Fluke, paddling up beside them. “What was her name, Dan?”

“Vanessa.”

“Veronica,” said Fluke and Dan spun to look at him.

“Really?”

“Shit!” said Ant. If Dan didn’t know the bird’s name he probably had won fair and square.

“Yep, the boyfriend arrived looking for her after you left, wasn’t too impressed,” said Fluke.

“Veronica,” laughed Dan. “I knew it was something starting with a vee. Nice girl.”

“Dickhead,” said Mitch, glaring at Dan. “Why can’t I do that?” He dropped forward on his board and started paddling hard towards a coming break.

Dan and Fluke went after him, but Ant sat it out. He wasn’t feeling it this morning, or rather he was feeling it, too little sleep, too much to drink.

He wondered if he was going to outgrow these mates. A mechanic, a builder, and a school teacher. He’d make more money in a year than Fluke would see in ten once he got his feet under the desk properly. He wasn’t sure he wanted to outgrow them, even Fluke who could be a little pest at times.

He watched Mitch come up on the wave. He had the sulks over Belinda good and proper, needed to get her out of his system. Dan was up too, trailing Mitch, flicking the nose of his board from side to side to urge it forward. Competitive bugger, he was trying to catch Mitch. Fluke just wiped out, poor sod, getting pummelled under and jerked about by his leg rope.

Nah, he wasn’t going to outgrow these blokes. He was going to keep them close to keep himself grounded, especially Dan. There was something about Dan; they all knew it. He was like a force of nature. Everything he touched was gold; everyone who knew him raved about him. He was the best listener Ant had ever met. Better even than Nona Maria and that woman was a listener – she had all the Gambese family secrets locked away inside that wizened little black-covered body of hers. But Dan could look at you and you found yourself telling him stuff, sometimes stuff you’d never told anyone else, stuff that was deep and embarrassing and you never felt judged, you just felt better, happier, even if Dan didn’t say much in return.

Ant floated over a swell of water and watched Fluke paddle back to him. Mitch and Dan were back towards the beach now, both riding that last wave to its flattened limit.

“I need food,” he said to Fluke, eyeing the horizon for a lift back to shore.

Fluke, eyes on the building set, said, “Behind this one.”

Ten minutes later they were all back on shore, unzipping wetsuits and shaking out towels, then it was their regular table in their regular café and eggs, bacon, tomatoes, mushrooms, buttery toast, and hot drinks – he had an espresso, Fluke, a pot of tea, and Dan and Mitch, cappuccinos.

He chucked a sugar tube at Fluke. “How’d you do last night?”

Fluke made a jet fighter of his hand and crash landed it on the steel tabletop, the action complete with sound effects. “Same as.”

Dan laughed. “She’s out there, you know. Don’t lose the faith.” Fluke gave him a hang dog look and Mitch said, “The Master has spoken so it must be true, Flukey.”

Ant signalled for a second round of coffees. He had to go in ten, he had work to do, reports to read, markets to analyse, worlds to storm. He knew Dan would be off soon as well; he usually worked half a day on Saturday. Meanwhile he was chatting up their waitress. Typical.

She was giving him some sob story about her car being broken into and, there you go, Dan was volunteering to fix the lock for her. Of course he was. She was way too old for those pigtails and already wrinkled from too much sun. When she left the table, Ant said, “You’re not going to, are you?”

“What?”

“Tap her?”

“Ant, I’m going to fix the girl’s lock.”

“Is that what they call it now?” said Mitch.

“Jesus, you guys,” said Dan. “Can’t I do something nice for some chick without you assuming the worst?” He was looking for support and not even Fluke was there for him. “Christ, we need to change.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Mitch.

“It means we need to change how we relate to women.”

“Did you hit your fat head?” said Ant.

“No, I didn’t hit my head. But I’ve been wondering about my life lately. I don’t have a single female friend. I have you blokes and, much as I love you all, you’re more of the same.”

“What’s that mean?” said Mitch.

“I’m just...ah I dunno. I grew up with Dad and the Uncles and no women who stuck around longer than breakfast. The only women in my life are Katie,” he said, acknowledging Fluke’s younger sister, “and chicks I hook up with and we all know how long that lasts.”