‘You’ve all been perfectly wonderful,’ Gayle said, drawing the cork on a bottle of Margaret River Shiraz. ‘Time to knock off now – anything else can wait for another day.’
‘One more minute,’ Frank said from the top of the ladder, ‘and this will be completely finished.’
‘I am totally and utterly stuffed,’ Sonya said, sinking down onto Gayle’s cream sofa. ‘I can’t believe how exhausting it is even when you have proper removalists doing the heavy stuff. All that unpacking, cutlery, crockery, books . . .’
‘Now, if you’d just swim regularly, Sonya . . .’ Oliver began, sitting down beside her.
‘One more word about that, Oliver, and you’re a dead man. Today’s labour was your punishment for making me go swimming.’
‘Now, now, children,’ Frank said, stepping down from the ladder, ‘no fighting. And if Oliver was being punished for making you go swimming, what was I being punished for?’
‘I don’t know,’ Sonya said. ‘But give me a minute and I’ll think of something.’
‘I’m hanging out for this,’ Oliver said, taking a glass of wine from Gayle.
‘I’d still be surrounded by unpacked boxes without you guys,’ Gayle said. ‘The curtains would still be packed instead of hanging, and without you, Frank, I’d have no shelves and no pictures on the walls.’
‘There’s nothing like a man with a power tool,’ Sonya said. ‘You should take note, Oliver, get Frank to give you some lessons with the drill. It could improve your chances with women.’
‘It’s never done me much good,’ Frank said, sitting on the floor. ‘We’re a couple of burnt-out cases, Oliver, you and I, totally uncool and past our use-by date.’
‘I fear so,’ Oliver said, joining him on the floor. ‘But you never know; where there’s life, there’s hope. Some woman with insight may one day toss us a glance and recognise our true worth.’
‘Looking at you both sitting there with a patina of dust, sawdust and sweat, I’d say it’s pretty unlikely,’ Sonya said.
‘In the meantime,’ Gayle said, ‘we could think about ordering some food.’
‘And then,’ Oliver said, a couple of hours, two family size pizzas and a few bottles of wine later, ‘you have to do this lunge thing – it’s called a corte – followed by a quebrada – where the woman thrusts her pelvis forward and leans back and you lunge over, as though you’re going to ravish her.’ He straightened up rather precariously. ‘No daylight should be seen between the two bodies. Not easy, and pretty – well, pretty . . .’
‘Pretty raunchy,’ Sonya interjected. ‘This seems so out of character, Oliver, this twice-a-week ravishing at the community centre.’
‘It’s not actual ravishing, Sonya,’ Oliver said, looking around for his glass and treading on a pizza box. ‘Oh dear, I don’t think I was supposed to do that. No, we don’t exactly ravish anyone, we just lunge.’ He pushed his glasses further up his nose and wished the room would keep still.
‘You practise being raunchy.’
‘That’s what I need,’ Frank said. ‘Practice.’
‘It’s difficult to explain, really,’ Oliver said. ‘I think I may have had too much wine.’
‘Perhaps you could just dance it for us, Oliver,’ Gayle suggested, smothering the laughter that was threatening to erupt. ‘Rather than just talking us through it, I mean.’
‘I’d need music . . .’
‘I’ve got music,’ she said. ‘I’ve got tango music, and you’ve already connected the stereo.’ She scrambled to her feet and looked through the stack of CDs she’d rescued from the house. ‘Here,’ she said triumphantly, ‘Los Reyes del Tango.’
‘I’ll need a partner,’ Oliver said, searching for the correct button on the stereo. ‘Sonya?’
‘No way, darl.’
‘You did a rather good jive with me at Angie’s wedding, if I remember right.’
‘But I’ve never attempted the tango.’
‘Well . . . er . . . Gayle, perhaps?’
Gayle held up both hands. ‘Not me, I’ve never danced the tango in my life.’
Oliver sighed. ‘That’s pretty disappointing. I thought this might help me meet people, but no one will dance with me.’
‘You don’t need to meet us, Oliver, you already know us.’
‘I can tango,’ Frank said. ‘In fact, in my heyday I used to be shit hot on the dance floor.’
Sonya clapped her hands. ‘Brilliant. There, you see, Oliver, perfect. Keep doing the tango and you’ll meet people like Frank.’
‘I meant women, actually.’
‘Yes, but in the absence of them, Frank can partner you. I take it you were volunteering, Frank?’
‘Yes,’ Gayle joined in. ‘Come on, Frank, let’s see what you’re made of.’
‘I don’t know . . .’ Oliver began.
‘Come on, Oliver,’ Frank said, getting to his feet and smoothing down his shirt. ‘These dames need to see how it’s done. I’m your man. Will you ravish or will I?’
‘I definitely want to be the man,’ Oliver said, grasping Frank’s hand. ‘I haven’t got those steps right yet so there’s no way I’m going to try doing it all backwards. So okay, Frank, remember: slow, intense, passionate. Now, this is how Ramon counts it – “Walk, Walk, Tan – Go – Close”, so we’ll start on a promenade. I’m leading with the right foot. Ready? On three. One, two, three . . .’
Side by side on the sofa, Gayle and Sonya, smothering their laughter, watched as the two men, shoulders square and torsos upright, executed an elegant promenade across the room, finishing with a spectacular corte and quebrada as the music ended.
It’s surprising the effect that one unexpected and sober person can have on a room full of people who’ve drunk too much. Marissa’s slow handclap startled them. ‘That was quite extraordinary,’ she said from the doorway. ‘The sort of thing one sees only once in a lifetime.’
‘No, no,’ Oliver protested, in the swing of it now. ‘We’re just getting started. We can do it for you again if you like.’
‘No,’ Frank said firmly. ‘No we can’t.’
‘I think you were both fabulous,’ Sonya said, clapping. ‘So what are you doing here, Marissa? Aren’t you supposed to be performing at the wedding?’
Marissa dropped her keys on the coffee table. ‘I was, but I finished earlier than I expected, so I thought I’d pop over and see how you were getting on. I rang the bell but you didn’t seem to hear and the door wasn’t locked, so I . . .’
‘It’s great that you’re here,’ Gayle said, handing her a glass of wine. “There’s some leftover pizza – can I warm it up for you?’
Marissa shook her head. ‘I’m fine, thanks. Cheers, everyone – looks as though you’ve all done a great job with the moving.’
Oliver extended his hand. ‘We haven’t met but I’m Oliver,’ he said. ‘Can you tango?’
Marissa grinned and glanced at Frank, who was poised awkwardly on the arm of the sofa. ‘I can but –’
‘Splendid. Put the music on again, Gayle,’ Oliver cut in.
‘Another time maybe, Oliver,’ she said, ‘not this evening. This is just a flying visit, I’m not stopping.’
‘You have to come and see how lovely the bedroom looks,’ Gayle said, and she led Marissa off upstairs.
‘I think I’ll call it a day,’ Frank said, collecting up his tools.
‘It’s early,’ Oliver said. ‘The night is young.’
‘You don’t have to leave just because Marissa’s come,’ Sonya whispered. ‘Have another drink.’
He put up his hand to stop her. ‘I’ve had enough, thanks, Sonya. I want to get off early tomorrow, be in Yallingup before lunch. Good to meet you, Oliver, happy to tango with you anytime.’ He felt ridiculous. His pleasure in the camaraderie of the day and the relaxed, boozy evening had been destroyed by Marissa’s unexpected arrival. If there were one person in the world he’d rather not have seen him dancing with another bloke, especially that particular move in the tango, it was Marissa. Oliver helped him carry his tools out to the car and as they came back up the path, Frank saw Gayle through the kitchen window stuffing pizza boxes into a rubbish bag.
‘Just came to say goodnight,’ he said, putting his hand on her shoulder.
She turned and hugged him. ‘Thank you, Frank, for everything.’
‘Even the tango?’
‘Most especially the tango. And, Frank, about Marissa –’
He held up his hand. ‘A lost cause, Gayle, I know that.’
‘Don’t be so quick to write it off.’
He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. ‘I know when I’m beaten,’ he said, ‘and I’m dealing with it.’
‘Are you really?’
‘Sure!’ He smiled. ‘Off on holiday tomorrow. I’ll see you when I get back.’
Walking to the car he paused briefly alongside the Harley, running his hand over the black leather seat.
‘Have you ever ridden one?’
He jumped and swung round. Marissa was standing right behind him.
‘Years ago,’ he said. ‘But not a Harley. Goodnight, Marissa.’
‘You shouldn’t drive, Frank,’ she said. ‘You’ve had a lot to drink.’
He bowed slightly. ‘You’re right, your honour, but I’m going to drive anyway.’
‘That’s pretty stupid. I thought you had better judgement.’
He fished his keys out of his pocket. ‘Judgement? Me? No, Marissa, I have lousy judgement. You of all people should know that.’
‘Frank, leave the car here. I’ll run you home. I’ve got a second helmet.’
‘I’ll be fine.’
‘You’re way over the limit.’
‘Story of my life.’
‘Why don’t you cut the cliches,’ she said, unlocking the top box behind the pillion and taking out a second helmet. ‘Just lock your car and put the helmet on.’
Frank hesitated and then flicked the remote control to lock his vehicle.
‘How long since you rode pillion?’ Marissa asked.
‘Decades, and never on a Harley.’
‘Okay, well, it’s the same thing. Nice and loose, like a sack of potatoes, but try to remember that Harleys don’t like sharp corners. Don’t start anticipating the turns.’
It was quiet for a Saturday night, and as they reached the top of the hill ahead of them, the booze bus was waiting. Marissa slowed and followed the traffic officer’s direction into the left hand lane and they sat, engine idling, waiting for their turn. Frank’s embarrassment grew. He’d be on his way for a urine sample by now if she hadn’t persuaded him not to drive. He felt awkward sitting behind her on the bike, and the delay made it worse. She already thought him crass and insensitive, and tonight’s little performance would have convinced her that he was stupid and drank too much as well. This Good Samaritan business of getting him home must be really pissing her off.
‘Thanks,’ he said, getting off the Harley outside his house and removing his helmet. ‘You saved me from a very embarrassing incident.’
Marissa switched off the engine. ‘Can we talk?’
He shrugged. ‘Here? Now?’
‘You could ask me in,’ she said, taking off her helmet. ‘If it’s not too late.’
Gayle turned off the lights and stood listening to the unfamiliar night-time silence of her new home.
‘It’s very different, very much cosier,’ Trisha had said that afternoon as she unpacked crockery. ‘I can see that it’s much more you than the old house ever was.’ She’d hugged Gayle as she hurried off to go to a family dinner with Graham. ‘I really admire you, Gayle. I thought you’d be stuck in that house and that marriage forever. Now look at you starting again, a new woman with a new life.’
Starting again, becoming a single woman at this time of life, would have its challenges, but all Gayle could feel now was a sense of joyful anticipation. She remembered the night of the first belly dancing class, the sudden and surprising sense of competence, and the feeling of her body loosening and extending, feelings that had strengthened each time she danced.
She went upstairs in the darkness and looked down onto the street below, where Frank’s car stood. She wondered what was happening right now between him and Marissa, who had disappeared as suddenly as she had arrived. And then she wondered about Sonya and Oliver, whose cars were also lined up on the street after sharing a taxi home, and she smiled to herself at the thought of Oliver, the anxious, cautious man whom she’d known for so long now shedding skins and actually developing some sex appeal. Gayle closed the blinds in the bedroom, slipped out of her jeans and T-shirt and wandered into the bathroom, wondering, rather wistfully, about Sonya, and what she really felt about Oliver and whether she realised that he was so obviously in love with her.
Getting out of the taxi, Sonya leaned back inside and kissed Oliver on the cheek. “night, Oliver. Thanks for all you did. And, by the way, that tango? Better than power tools, I reckon.’
He grasped her hand and kissed it. ‘Thank you, Sonya, for grabbing me by the throat and shaking me into doing something about myself.’
She let herself in, dropped her bag on the floor, walked through to the bathroom and switched on the light. ‘Grabbed by the throat – it makes you sound so powerful,’ she said to her reflection in the mirror. ‘So how come you’re the only one who hasn’t changed? Letting your family see who you are for once is such a drop in the ocean compared to what’s happening around you. And, anyway, what good did it do?’
She thought about Marissa and Frank and wondered what they were doing right now, and about the new Oliver, astonishing them with his humour and the tango. And she thought about Gayle, who had gained so much strength and revealed so much wisdom, and she wondered what Gayle really thought about Oliver, and whether she realised that he was so obviously in love with her.
Oliver stood in his front garden and stared up at the stars. He picked out the Southern Cross and Orion, which were the only two constellations he knew, and breathed in the honeysuckle-scented night air. He wondered what had caused the unease between Frank and Marissa. Gayle and Sonya obviously hadn’t told him the full story. He thought about himself and how thrilling it was to tangle with the shifting demands and messages of head, heart and gut, instead of responding just to his head. And alone in the front garden he clasped an imaginary partner and for the second time that night executed a slow and sensuous promenade finishing with a lunge at the front door.