Paulina

I give up on historical investigations. What follows are the unbiased, unemotional journalistic observations of what went wrong between Paulina Gifford and Cody Calabria during an afternoon together at the Petanu River.

It has today been revealed that Paulina Gifford and her love interest, beau, new companion, close personal friend, boyfriend of almost a week, Cody Calabria, have had what some might call ‘a falling out’. Others might call it ‘a difference of opinion’. Still others may apply to it the term ‘stinking huge barney’.

The journalist reporting the events will refer to it simply as ‘the incident’.

The day of ‘the incident’ began pleasantly. It was swelteringly hot, even by Balinese standards, and Ms Gifford had spent considerable time obsessing deliberating over her outfit. She wished to remain sensitive to the cultural and religious mores of the society she was visiting and yet, conversely, she did not wish to be saturated in perspiration, as she feared that Mr Calabria may find this unattractive (and somewhat smelly).

Ms Gifford was vacillating between cultural sensitivity and her keen desire not to gross out offend Mr Calabria’s olfactory senses when her friend travelling companion, Zee Blue, offered her assistance as a personal fashion advisor.

Ms Blue advised Ms Gifford to wear light colours and natural fibres; advice she had gleaned from reading the dissertations of supermodels on what to wear in humid climates. Unfortunately all of Ms Gifford’s travelling attire was either dark in hue or a synthetic fabric. Thankfully, Ms Blue had some garments that (almost) fit Ms Gifford, and adhered to supermodel prescriptions. As a result, when Ms Gifford met Mr Calabria by the banks of the Petanu River she was wearing a skimpy ensemble (by Ms Gifford’s standards) consisting of a (very) tight beige cotton T-shirt, a knee-length caramel linen skirt and a pair of Ms Blue’s cork wedge sandals.

When Mr Calabria sighted Ms Gifford, Mr Calabria’s eyes nearly popped out became slightly enlarged and distended and, it is alleged, he made the following comment.

‘You look . . . gorgeous.’

Eyewitness accounts have asserted that Ms Gifford ‘blushed as though the choc-chip cookie of her face had turned into a red velvet cupcake’. It is believed her reply of ‘mfggghhrrthhmff’, translates from the language of Embarrassment to mean ‘Thank you’.

The afternoon progressed pleasantly and productively for Mr Calabria and Ms Gifford. They enjoyed each other’s company immensely: holding hands; discussing plans for Mr Calabria’s documentary-making; arguing over who was the greatest authority on post-colonial Indian history, and simply enjoying the beautiful Balinese day – the cool river breeze, and the pretty dappled light that shone through the fronds of the palm trees.

The day was becoming excessively humid so they found a shallow area of the river to paddle in. Ms Calabria lifted Ms Gifford up as though she were as light as a rag doll, and threatened to drop her in the water, causing Ms Gifford to squeal in a manner of which she had not thought herself capable. Eventually, the two grew weary of splashing and larking about, so they came ashore and found a patch of ground by the river on which to sit and rest and dry their clothes. It was a secluded spot, in a grove of trees, and for a while it seemed as though they had found their own private piece of the world.

They sat, Mr Calabria’s arm around Ms Gifford’s shoulder, enjoying the silence and the beauty of the scene in front of them. Every so often, Mr Calabria would gently kiss the top of Ms Gifford’s head, or Ms Gifford would stroke the back of Mr Calabria’s neck.

Eventually, the kissing grew somewhat more intense. Clearly, Ms Gifford was not entirely comfortable with this turn of events, as she turned her head away, putting an abrupt end to proceedings. What follows is a transcript of the conversation between Ms Gifford and Mr Calabria after this sudden kissing-cessation occurred:

Ms Gifford: I’m sorry, Cody. I really don’t think I can do this. Mr Calabria: No. No, I’m sorry, Paulina. Was I going too fast?

Ms G: Yes. No. I don’t know, Cody. How fast is too fast? In four days, I’ll be going back to Tassie, and you’ll keep on travelling. This is our pivotal moment. This is our only . . . our only time. Our only chance. This is the point in the history of you and me where . . . I don’t know.

Mr C: What do you mean ‘the history of you and me?’ This isn’t history. This is now. Why can’t it just be now?

Ms G: It is, Cody. I just don’t know what I want. If I’m even ready for this. For you. I am sick of feeling pressured to do stuff.

Mr C: Do you feel I’m pressuring you?

Ms G: No. (sighing) Yes. No. I don’t know. It’s hard to explain. I just feel like maybe this IS our only chance.

Mr C: Maybe not.

Ms G: What do you mean? We don’t have a long term, Cody. We only have four days, so maybe . . . maybe we should just . . .

Mr C: What? Call it off?

Ms G: You want to call it off? Because I stopped kissing?

Mr C: That’s not what I meant. I . . . I was suggesting we don’t call it off . . .

Ms G: Until the end of the holiday, you mean? So you get another chance to . . . to . . . to . . . fornicate with me?

Mr C: Fornicate? Who says fornicate?

Ms G: I say fornicate! And I say sleazebag! And user! And fake!

Mr C: But . . . Hang on . . . sleazebag? What? Hey. No. Hang on. I thought . . .

Ms G: Yeah, well, so did I. I ‘thought’ a lot of things about you. I THOUGHT you had integrity. More integrity than you have shown me today.

At this point, Ms Gifford jumped to her feet and collected her belongings. Tears welled in her eyes, and her cheeks were flushed again, but from anger and frustration now, not pleasure.

Mr Calabria was flushed, too, and his thick brows were pushed together. His forehead was wrinkled with confusion and anger.

Mr C: Paulina, wait!

Ms G: For what? What should I wait for? For you? No, Cody. If this trip has taught me anything it’s that I don’t want to wait anymore for my life to start. It’s starting now and . . . and it looks like you’re not part of it.

As the sky darkened over the Petanu River, Ms Gifford ran through the acacia trees, leaving Mr Calabria sitting by himself by the river with his head in his hands.

Ms Gifford ran and ran and ran, and she did not cry. Instead, she planned. She planned to become a successful journalist. She planned to become famous all over Australia, and possibly even develop a cult following in parts of Europe on cable television. She planned to get a syndicated column in the more highbrow weekend papers. One day, when his documentary-film-making career had (hopefully) stalled, Mr Calabria would see her on the television or read her column in the papers, and he would feel a pain in his heart for what he could have had, and had lost.

Paulina Gifford, Journalist-in-training