“YOU LOOK NICE by the way.”
“Why thank you.” I’m feeling my face flush uncontrollably with pride of knowledge and the compliment from such a beautiful woman. A woman I have been thinking about more often lately than any single thing I’ve ever thought about in my entire life. I smile in the knowledge that what she speaks is true and more so because I’m feeling she speaks it because she also thinks that it is true.
Despite my musings on my life the other night in Kensington I seem to still be carrying baggage from a previous life – in fact it may even be my current life. Maybe I’m hoping Leilani can change all of that. Wipe the slate clean. Lead me back to the path before it forked and walk with me down the other track so long forgotten in my past. Lofty thoughts for an evening of delicate surrender indeed.
“And may I say you look every bit as beautiful as when I first saw you in that club…the…”
“At the Lounge. And you can cool it on the flattery. You and I both know that flattery will get you nowhere.” Leilani’s manner is sharp and almost biting and yet she seems to enjoy playing in her power, teasing it out in small measures to see where the lines are drawn. Gauging to see where a connection may be.
“Ah but Leilani I’ve heard otherwise. I’ve heard that flattery will get you everywhere.” I’m putting on my most charming smile, letting her see that there is more within these eyes than what she may merely believe. For no one knows me like me. And the same goes for her. Everyone has a mystery they’re hiding from everyone else. Some even have a mystery they hide from their own selves. Lately its seeming more and more like I am one of those people. Adding in filler to fill in the blanks. Acting more often than being real.
“Have you decided what you’re eating yet?” Leilani’s catching my gaze as I bring myself back down to earth. Too many reverie’s lately, too many thoughts and deeper processes bubbling away just beneath the surface.
“I’m wondering why all these kinds of restaurants insist on these types of menus – the latest in modern cuisine-art. London SoHo culture meets a taste of the orient culminating in a taste sensation that is distinctly L.A. – capital L, capital A. Why?”
“The art of the pretence. In a way I like to see it as reflecting the art of the liaison, the rendezvous. Your food preference and choice of locale are all part of the grand ruse designed to reflect your level of wealth, intellect and taste. It all happens unconsciously – no one is aware of it and yet if you don’t stand up and take notice, you find yourself ensnared. For example, if I, the fine young lady that I am, didn’t have my wits about me, I would gauge you to be a mid-thirties, enterprising gentleman. Successful – hence the lack of fear and monetary concern in taking a lady to a dining establishment such as this,” Leilani spreads her hands out wide taking in a panoramic display of the restaurant section around us. “I would discern you also have very fine taste – for there are many wealthy men out there but only a few care to spend their money so carefully on such matters of fine quality.”
“And the intellectual element?” I’m half-smiling at this discourse. Someone trying to peg my character through the sheer essence of any one thing, particularly my choice in a restaurant, always concerns me.
“The intellectual element in this restaurant is reflected in the menu. A lot of the menu is a multi-lingual smorgasbord. One needs a brain to make the right choice of meal. Also the volume of the restaurant is comparatively quiet thus enabling keener, more private, discussions to take place. I’m also estimating that you chose this as the make-or-break kind of date – spare no expense, choose intimate surroundings – if we’re going to connect then you may as well find out sooner rather than later – and god knows how many men romance their women in all manner of ways and yet never get to spend an intimate quiet moment in conversation together until it is really too late in the proceedings to see if they click.”
“I’m impressed. You’ve put a lot of thought into this little didactic bit.”
“No. Not really. I just like to observe – up close or from a distance it doesn’t matter. But just to observe. Work people out. I’m fascinated by it. But back to the subject, before we move off and onto other less pretentious points. Am I right? This is the big date. Designed to show me the real Richard Caan. Behind the façade – behind the concrete and steel big-city corporate mentality – look there’s a trace of humanity there after all and given enough money maybe you can grow to love it too. Just like you do. Am I right Richard?”
I’m feeling like a fish out of water. Although not what I was quite expecting, I’m enjoying myself. The challenge. The chase. Justify myself to you. Okay then.
“You’re dead right Leilani. In fact you’re in the wrong line of work. Why, with analytical skills like those you could have been Australia’s premier psychologist. Well done. The glove has been slapped squarely across my cheek.”
I’m thinking Leilani sees a hurt expression lurking around the corner of my eyes. She reels back, slightly worried the hurt may still be lingering. She softens her tone and looks me square in the eye and says: “Oh I am sorry Richard. Sometimes I blurt things out that are supposed to be funny or clever but are usually just downright mean or fucking cynical. I’m sorry. I’m a bitch.” She balls up her wine-red napkin nervously and rolls it back and forth.
“Please Leilani - no offence taken. Just as none was intended. In all honesty I’d shut off from a lot of that. Escape-pod mechanism. Beautiful woman insulting me – shut down all sensory equipment.” I’m smiling despite myself. She hurls the screwed up ball at me.
“Enough of those jokes Richard. I’m not sure if anyone has told you this before but…” She leans in and is beckoning me to follow suit, which I do.
“Yes?”
“You’re not funny.” She smiles daggers and then laughter. I feign a hurt in my heart and laugh inconsequentially.
“Now that is plain cheesy.” She’s saying now stretching back in the chair. She looks around then back at me. “We haven’t ordered yet have we?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Then let’s get out of here. I hate this place – don’t get me wrong-” She holds up her hands in defense, “I like this place – I really do. Very… very thoughtful but I think you probably bring all your yet-to-be-conquests here and I’m determined to break some moulds here if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind at all.” And I’m telling the truth. I’ve been bringing girls here for longer than I can remember. Each dancing delicately around the rim before effortlessly falling into my car and then home. Just another part of the cliché that is my life. The life of Richard.
I place a tip onto the table out of courtesy and after checking out our coats we head out the great glass swinging doors and out into the balmy summery evening.
* * * * *
“Lately I feel that I’m living a slow death. It’s hard to explain but my entire life feels like this giant trap that is slowly swallowing me up. And I’m doing all I can to dig myself out and change it all around but a lot of the time I find I don’t have the strength to change. Or the will power. And a lot of other times I feel I don’t know what it is that needs to change if any of it were possible anyway. Shit. It’s hard to explain and I’m probably boring you but can you understand anything about what I’m saying. Shit I’m drunk and I’m sorry.”
“Ah alcohol - the perpetual truth serum. Imbibing of the drink of the gods will get you that my dear friend.” Leilani slumps down against one of the wooden columns supporting the pier. “And don’t be.”
“Don’t be what?”
“Sorry. I know what you’re saying. I understand it.” She’s smiling at me and I get lost in the smile for a moment and an eternity.
We’d ended up eating greasy kebabs from a vendor on the wharf front just down from the Channel Seven building. I picked up a six-pack of Crown lagers – Leilani’s preference, not mine, and now we were ensconced on the edge of the pier at the very far end where it breaks away into metal fence work and ‘keep out’ signs. Away from the sound of the lonely tram that’s making its meandering way back into the city along its Collins Street route. Away from the neon buzz of the Channel Seven sign, fifteen feet high and flecked with all the red and yellow colors you can bear. And away from the buzz of people, the rollerbladers, the yachting enthusiasts out for an evening stroll with their wives and their poodles with yellowing fur on their feet and around their mouths, and away from all the others.
“It’s quiet here.” Leilani muses.
“It is. I’ve been coming here a lot lately. I walk down here from my place in North Melbourne. There’s a track that leads all the way down to the docklands and eventually to the wharf. This is my favorite spot though. I just sit and watch the boats come in and out, mooring up and casting off, the people coming and going. I like to watch the traffic over on the West Gate Bridge merging and clanging and grinding gears. I imagine all the noise and fury of the rat race up there and rejoice that I am as close to it and yet as far away from it as one can get here. And for a few minutes I feel as though I have escaped.”
“Escaped? What do you mean? What do you need to escape from Richard? You’ve got it all – as we were saying earlier – anyone looking down at your life from somewhere above would believe that you’ve got it all – the great job, the great house-”
“You haven’t seen my house yet.”
“Oh right – yeah – sorry. And am I to presume it’s not all that I’m expecting? A dilapidated squat in Footscray perhaps? Oh no – it can’t possibly be because you live in North Melbourne, you work for GQ, you drive a Saab convertible. Come on Richard – we both know you’re a walking advertisement for all of life’s modern conveniences. You said so yourself that night at The Lounge.”
“Exactly. You’re not listening Leilani. That’s what my life has become. Fuck I don’t even know why I’m telling you this – I’m supposed to be trying to get you into bed – but that’s just what I’m feeling. I feel that its all bullshit. It’s not making me happy anymore. I don’t even know if it ever did. It all a big fucking lie. And fuck please tell me why am I telling you all this again?”
“Because you think that just maybe I’m that one special person who might be able to understand you completely. 100%. No questions asked. Accept who you are and know it and then break it all down.”
“And?”
“I can’t Richard! That’s what you still don’t understand. I can get to know you and I mean we’re drunk so I’ll admit that I even like you already but no one can change who you are except yourself. You need to do that for you. Do yourself a favor. Do the world a favor. Shit I don’t know. What do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know. I’m just ranting and it feels good to be able to share all this with someone else. You don’t know how many times I’ve sat right here, in this very spot, thinking these things, realizing these truths, and despite all of that, just wishing that I could share them with someone else. And fuck I’ve got to say that right now, talking like we are now, I feel fucking great and thank you for just being here with me, just at this particular moment for whatever it is worth.”
I turn to her and she stares into my eyes and for once I feel like there was no wall there between me and someone else. For once I feel naked, exposed. She reaches her hand up and wipes away a tear that was streaking its way down my face and she replaces it with a kiss. She then reaches up and kisses me, gentle and caring up on the lips, the merest of whispers which I barely feel yet it sends fires of heat and warmth into my chest and heart and I feel good. I feel good and whole. I smile back at her and pull her into my arms and we lean back against the post behind me and watch one of the ships come into the harbor. Its lights blazing out of the portholes and on the aft and stern pilot lights flicker intermittently, casting unusual green and reddish reflections on the water around it. The water bubbles and churns in its wake and we watch as tiny waves begin to break against the pier below us. I lean my head against Leilani’s and close my eyes, lost in the reverie of magic and beauty of the moment.
“Why thank you.” I’m feeling my face flush uncontrollably with pride of knowledge and the compliment from such a beautiful woman. A woman I have been thinking about more often lately than any single thing I’ve ever thought about in my entire life. I smile in the knowledge that what she speaks is true and more so because I’m feeling she speaks it because she also thinks that it is true.
Despite my musings on my life the other night in Kensington I seem to still be carrying baggage from a previous life – in fact it may even be my current life. Maybe I’m hoping Leilani can change all of that. Wipe the slate clean. Lead me back to the path before it forked and walk with me down the other track so long forgotten in my past. Lofty thoughts for an evening of delicate surrender indeed.
“And may I say you look every bit as beautiful as when I first saw you in that club…the…”
“At the Lounge. And you can cool it on the flattery. You and I both know that flattery will get you nowhere.” Leilani’s manner is sharp and almost biting and yet she seems to enjoy playing in her power, teasing it out in small measures to see where the lines are drawn. Gauging to see where a connection may be.
“Ah but Leilani I’ve heard otherwise. I’ve heard that flattery will get you everywhere.” I’m putting on my most charming smile, letting her see that there is more within these eyes than what she may merely believe. For no one knows me like me. And the same goes for her. Everyone has a mystery they’re hiding from everyone else. Some even have a mystery they hide from their own selves. Lately its seeming more and more like I am one of those people. Adding in filler to fill in the blanks. Acting more often than being real.
“Have you decided what you’re eating yet?” Leilani’s catching my gaze as I bring myself back down to earth. Too many reverie’s lately, too many thoughts and deeper processes bubbling away just beneath the surface.
“I’m wondering why all these kinds of restaurants insist on these types of menus – the latest in modern cuisine-art. London SoHo culture meets a taste of the orient culminating in a taste sensation that is distinctly L.A. – capital L, capital A. Why?”
“The art of the pretence. In a way I like to see it as reflecting the art of the liaison, the rendezvous. Your food preference and choice of locale are all part of the grand ruse designed to reflect your level of wealth, intellect and taste. It all happens unconsciously – no one is aware of it and yet if you don’t stand up and take notice, you find yourself ensnared. For example, if I, the fine young lady that I am, didn’t have my wits about me, I would gauge you to be a mid-thirties, enterprising gentleman. Successful – hence the lack of fear and monetary concern in taking a lady to a dining establishment such as this,” Leilani spreads her hands out wide taking in a panoramic display of the restaurant section around us. “I would discern you also have very fine taste – for there are many wealthy men out there but only a few care to spend their money so carefully on such matters of fine quality.”
“And the intellectual element?” I’m half-smiling at this discourse. Someone trying to peg my character through the sheer essence of any one thing, particularly my choice in a restaurant, always concerns me.
“The intellectual element in this restaurant is reflected in the menu. A lot of the menu is a multi-lingual smorgasbord. One needs a brain to make the right choice of meal. Also the volume of the restaurant is comparatively quiet thus enabling keener, more private, discussions to take place. I’m also estimating that you chose this as the make-or-break kind of date – spare no expense, choose intimate surroundings – if we’re going to connect then you may as well find out sooner rather than later – and god knows how many men romance their women in all manner of ways and yet never get to spend an intimate quiet moment in conversation together until it is really too late in the proceedings to see if they click.”
“I’m impressed. You’ve put a lot of thought into this little didactic bit.”
“No. Not really. I just like to observe – up close or from a distance it doesn’t matter. But just to observe. Work people out. I’m fascinated by it. But back to the subject, before we move off and onto other less pretentious points. Am I right? This is the big date. Designed to show me the real Richard Caan. Behind the façade – behind the concrete and steel big-city corporate mentality – look there’s a trace of humanity there after all and given enough money maybe you can grow to love it too. Just like you do. Am I right Richard?”
I’m feeling like a fish out of water. Although not what I was quite expecting, I’m enjoying myself. The challenge. The chase. Justify myself to you. Okay then.
“You’re dead right Leilani. In fact you’re in the wrong line of work. Why, with analytical skills like those you could have been Australia’s premier psychologist. Well done. The glove has been slapped squarely across my cheek.”
I’m thinking Leilani sees a hurt expression lurking around the corner of my eyes. She reels back, slightly worried the hurt may still be lingering. She softens her tone and looks me square in the eye and says: “Oh I am sorry Richard. Sometimes I blurt things out that are supposed to be funny or clever but are usually just downright mean or fucking cynical. I’m sorry. I’m a bitch.” She balls up her wine-red napkin nervously and rolls it back and forth.
“Please Leilani - no offence taken. Just as none was intended. In all honesty I’d shut off from a lot of that. Escape-pod mechanism. Beautiful woman insulting me – shut down all sensory equipment.” I’m smiling despite myself. She hurls the screwed up ball at me.
“Enough of those jokes Richard. I’m not sure if anyone has told you this before but…” She leans in and is beckoning me to follow suit, which I do.
“Yes?”
“You’re not funny.” She smiles daggers and then laughter. I feign a hurt in my heart and laugh inconsequentially.
“Now that is plain cheesy.” She’s saying now stretching back in the chair. She looks around then back at me. “We haven’t ordered yet have we?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Then let’s get out of here. I hate this place – don’t get me wrong-” She holds up her hands in defense, “I like this place – I really do. Very… very thoughtful but I think you probably bring all your yet-to-be-conquests here and I’m determined to break some moulds here if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind at all.” And I’m telling the truth. I’ve been bringing girls here for longer than I can remember. Each dancing delicately around the rim before effortlessly falling into my car and then home. Just another part of the cliché that is my life. The life of Richard.
I place a tip onto the table out of courtesy and after checking out our coats we head out the great glass swinging doors and out into the balmy summery evening.
* * * * *
“Lately I feel that I’m living a slow death. It’s hard to explain but my entire life feels like this giant trap that is slowly swallowing me up. And I’m doing all I can to dig myself out and change it all around but a lot of the time I find I don’t have the strength to change. Or the will power. And a lot of other times I feel I don’t know what it is that needs to change if any of it were possible anyway. Shit. It’s hard to explain and I’m probably boring you but can you understand anything about what I’m saying. Shit I’m drunk and I’m sorry.”
“Ah alcohol - the perpetual truth serum. Imbibing of the drink of the gods will get you that my dear friend.” Leilani slumps down against one of the wooden columns supporting the pier. “And don’t be.”
“Don’t be what?”
“Sorry. I know what you’re saying. I understand it.” She’s smiling at me and I get lost in the smile for a moment and an eternity.
We’d ended up eating greasy kebabs from a vendor on the wharf front just down from the Channel Seven building. I picked up a six-pack of Crown lagers – Leilani’s preference, not mine, and now we were ensconced on the edge of the pier at the very far end where it breaks away into metal fence work and ‘keep out’ signs. Away from the sound of the lonely tram that’s making its meandering way back into the city along its Collins Street route. Away from the neon buzz of the Channel Seven sign, fifteen feet high and flecked with all the red and yellow colors you can bear. And away from the buzz of people, the rollerbladers, the yachting enthusiasts out for an evening stroll with their wives and their poodles with yellowing fur on their feet and around their mouths, and away from all the others.
“It’s quiet here.” Leilani muses.
“It is. I’ve been coming here a lot lately. I walk down here from my place in North Melbourne. There’s a track that leads all the way down to the docklands and eventually to the wharf. This is my favorite spot though. I just sit and watch the boats come in and out, mooring up and casting off, the people coming and going. I like to watch the traffic over on the West Gate Bridge merging and clanging and grinding gears. I imagine all the noise and fury of the rat race up there and rejoice that I am as close to it and yet as far away from it as one can get here. And for a few minutes I feel as though I have escaped.”
“Escaped? What do you mean? What do you need to escape from Richard? You’ve got it all – as we were saying earlier – anyone looking down at your life from somewhere above would believe that you’ve got it all – the great job, the great house-”
“You haven’t seen my house yet.”
“Oh right – yeah – sorry. And am I to presume it’s not all that I’m expecting? A dilapidated squat in Footscray perhaps? Oh no – it can’t possibly be because you live in North Melbourne, you work for GQ, you drive a Saab convertible. Come on Richard – we both know you’re a walking advertisement for all of life’s modern conveniences. You said so yourself that night at The Lounge.”
“Exactly. You’re not listening Leilani. That’s what my life has become. Fuck I don’t even know why I’m telling you this – I’m supposed to be trying to get you into bed – but that’s just what I’m feeling. I feel that its all bullshit. It’s not making me happy anymore. I don’t even know if it ever did. It all a big fucking lie. And fuck please tell me why am I telling you all this again?”
“Because you think that just maybe I’m that one special person who might be able to understand you completely. 100%. No questions asked. Accept who you are and know it and then break it all down.”
“And?”
“I can’t Richard! That’s what you still don’t understand. I can get to know you and I mean we’re drunk so I’ll admit that I even like you already but no one can change who you are except yourself. You need to do that for you. Do yourself a favor. Do the world a favor. Shit I don’t know. What do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know. I’m just ranting and it feels good to be able to share all this with someone else. You don’t know how many times I’ve sat right here, in this very spot, thinking these things, realizing these truths, and despite all of that, just wishing that I could share them with someone else. And fuck I’ve got to say that right now, talking like we are now, I feel fucking great and thank you for just being here with me, just at this particular moment for whatever it is worth.”
I turn to her and she stares into my eyes and for once I feel like there was no wall there between me and someone else. For once I feel naked, exposed. She reaches her hand up and wipes away a tear that was streaking its way down my face and she replaces it with a kiss. She then reaches up and kisses me, gentle and caring up on the lips, the merest of whispers which I barely feel yet it sends fires of heat and warmth into my chest and heart and I feel good. I feel good and whole. I smile back at her and pull her into my arms and we lean back against the post behind me and watch one of the ships come into the harbor. Its lights blazing out of the portholes and on the aft and stern pilot lights flicker intermittently, casting unusual green and reddish reflections on the water around it. The water bubbles and churns in its wake and we watch as tiny waves begin to break against the pier below us. I lean my head against Leilani’s and close my eyes, lost in the reverie of magic and beauty of the moment.
[extract from the novella The Subversion of Richard by Charles Lidgard, published 2002 by Trouser Books -e-book: http://pulpbits.com under General Fiction]
Image sourced from: http://www.artline.com/galleries/haslem/treisman/1985/DinnerDate093DIN1.jpg
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