Holding the Man Page 4

  An Italian boy with well-cut glossy black hair and lots of style strolled through the door. He was very sophisticated and elegant, but not the boy I was waiting for. Then he walked in, the boy with the amazing eyelashes, and sat a couple of desks in front of me. John Caleo was in A-stream.

  ‘If you have a population problem that causes difficulties, like the diseases that come with overcrowding, what can you do?’ Father Kelly was giving one of his famous talks on aid to India in Thursday morning religious instruction.

  ‘Couldn’t you make an exception about contraception?’ suggested Biscuit, so named because he was one short of a packet.

  ‘There are other methods, methods recognised by the Church.’

  ‘The rhythm method,’ offered Neil, one of thirteen children.

  ‘That can have its problems too.’ Distracted by two boys talking, Father Kelly watched them until they became aware of his gaze. One of them was John Caleo. ‘Perhaps you’ve got some insight into this dilemma?’

  The class erupted into gibes and applause. Father Kelly was stunned by the reaction. ‘It’s John Caleo, Father,’ Patrick Barrett, one of the stirrers, was stirring. ‘He never gets into trouble.’

  ‘But deserves to?’

  ‘No. He never does anything wrong.’

  ‘A Goody Two-shoes?’ I could see that John was blushing.

  ‘No, he’s a good bloke.’

  Father Kelly sighed. ‘John, sounds to me like you have a lot of respect among your mates and that’s why they’re taking a rise out of you.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘I’ll never understand you lot. Back to our dilemma.’

  Patrick leant over and gave John a friendly punch in the arm. John looked quite shaken. I wanted to put my arms around him. Just to hold him.

  Terry

  Outdoor rock concerts had a culture of their own. Two types of kids went to them. There were the sharpies, a kind of skinhead peculiar to Melbourne. Boys and girls alike had their hair shorn with clippers, except for a set of rats’ tails at the back. They wore high-waisted baggies, platform shoes, and short striped cardigans.

  We were the surfies: baggies and striped oversized T-shirts under silky Hawaiian shirts. Our shoes, known as treads, had soles made of car tyres, and uppers of woven suede in contrasting colours. We wore a silver marijuana leaf or a shark’s tooth around our necks on a piece of leather thong. We kept a hand up to our mouths as though we were biting a fingernail.

  This particular concert at the Myer Music Bowl, a fundraiser for the famine in Bangladesh, was a mixture of glam bands like Hush, heavy rock like Lobby Lloyd, and folk-singers like Jeannie Lewis. After interval my friends said they were going home. I wanted to stay for Little River Band.

  ‘Admit it. You want to stay for Sherbet. See you at school tomorrow. Give our love to Darryl.’

  The sun setting over the Melbourne skyline, the cold night air descending and Little River Band playing gave me some thinking space. I became aware of the bass player. He looked like Biscuit at school. I never thought Biscuit was good-looking. Maybe he’s his brother. The bass player had a beautiful smile and his bum looked nice in his satin baggies. I wonder if he’s gay? He looks like he could be. I can’t imagine him with a girlfriend. I sat there fantasising about him and what it would be like to be his boyfriend. I would feel safe, protected. I floated on these ideas for the whole set.

  They finished and I figured I should go. I couldn’t handle the thought of anyone catching me watching Sherbet. On the way to the station, on the platform, and then sitting in the carriage, all I could think of was the bass player. What do the other band members think of him being gay? What would it be like to have sex with him? I was in love.

  The carriage was empty. The breeze coming off the Yarra made the windows rattle, and every so often there would be a whirring clink-clank-clunk as the engines turned over. Suddenly, the door slid open with a crash and in stepped a young guy of about eighteen with short hair, Clark Kent glasses and a purple quilted parka. Must’ve missed the sixties.

  He checked out the whole carriage and then came and sat opposite me. I kept catching him looking at me. He gestured at the poster I was carrying. ‘Good concert? Who played?’

  As I named the bands and rated them he looked nervously around him, one foot tapping furiously. Perhaps he’s a spy using me as his cover. I reached into my bag and pulled out Asimov’s I, Robot. The minute I opened it he started chatting.

  ‘What school do you go to?’ I told him. ‘Where’s that?’ In Kew. ‘Yet you live down this way? What sort of school is it? Catholic? No girls? Just lots of frustrated boys, I bet.’

  He introduced himself as Terry and asked my name. ‘I should give you some of my magazines, Tim. Show them to your frustrated friends. You’d probably be shocked, being a Catholic.’ I realised he was testing my reactions. ‘You think you’d be shocked?’ I shrugged. ‘These are pretty different. They’re not just boys and girls.’ His eyes were fixed on my forehead. ‘Some of them are boys and boys.’ I tried to look unfazed. ‘So you wouldn’t be shocked?’

  ‘No.’ I was nearly choking. ‘I’m bi.’

  His leg gently worked its way towards mine and our knees touched. We were pulling into Elsternwick, his stop. ‘What station do you get off at?’ he asked.

  ‘Brighton Beach.’

  ‘I think I’ll stay on. Is that okay?’

  I nodded nervously. His knee was pressing against mine. We didn’t say much until we pulled into Brighton Beach, then he asked, ‘Do you know where we can go?’

  ‘There’s a footy oval across the road.’

  ‘You lead the way.’

  And I did. On this cold autumn Sunday night there was not a soul around. He grabbed my hand, indicating the door to the change-rooms, which had a brick screen in front of it. He leant against the door, reached down and grabbed my crutch. I took his lead and did the same to him. He started to unzip me and I did likewise. We stood in the cold with our pants around our knees, tugging at each other’s cocks. I wanted more, wanted to feel him against me. My hands went up under his shirt and jumper and into the warm protection of his back and I pressed my cock and balls against his. He was probably only a couple of years older than me but his cock was so much bigger than mine. I rubbed up against him, like I was fucking the T-shirt in my bed, and before I knew it I’d come on his leg. He grabbed my hand and put it on his balls, spat into his own hand and pulled himself off holding my still-hard dick. As he came his whole body nearly collapsed. He groaned, his eyes shut, and spoofed over the ground. We let go of each other. He reached into his parka pocket, pulled out a handkerchief and wiped off his leg. He offered to walk me part of the way home.

  ‘How do you think your school mates would react if they knew you were bi?’ He had opened a floodgate. At last, here was someone to whom I could blurt out all the feelings that had been trapped in my head for three years. I asked if his family knew he was gay. He didn’t live at home anymore.

  ‘What about the people you live with?’

  ‘I think my boyfriend is okay about it.’

  I was shocked. ‘You’ve just cheated on him.’

  ‘We have a deal. As long as we don’t bring people home.’

  ‘I would never do that if I had a boyfriend.’

  ‘Is there anyone you like at school?’

  I smiled and nodded.

  ‘What’s he like?’

  ‘He’s shy but really good-looking. I don’t think he’s gay. He’s captain of the Under Sixteens.’

  ‘Doesn’t mean a thing.’

  ‘You’d better stop here. This is my block.’

  ‘I’ll give you my phone number in case you want to catch up again.’ He wrote on the back of his train ticket, handed it to me and shook my hand.

  When I got home I headed straight for the shower and thought about what had happened. It was nothing like what I’d imagined. He didn’t even kiss me. The boy in the blue jocks kisses me. I drifted off thinking about what it would be like to ki
ss John.

  The next afternoon I snuck into Mum and Dad’s bedroom and pulled out the well-fingered train ticket from the coin pocket of my school pants. I’d taken it to school in case Mum found it in my room. I dialled and the number rang and rang. Maybe no one’s home. Maybe he gave me a false number. Then a man answered.

  ‘Terry?’ I faltered.

  ‘I’ll just get him for you.’ He put the receiver down. ‘Terry? I think it’s the kid from last night.’

  ‘Hi, Tim.’ Terry’s cheerful voice. ‘I didn’t think you’d call.’

  ‘Um … sort of ringing to say that we’d better leave it here. I just think it’s too risky.’

  ‘We don’t have to do anything. Just talk if you want.’

  ‘I don’t think I should.’

  ‘Are you worried you might blab to your folks?’

  ‘No. I just don’t think we should see each other. But thanks. Bye.’

  I hung up. My heart was pounding and blood had rushed to my face. I felt bad.

  Berry

  Carolyn lived across the road. We had been friends since we were seven. We’d been through puberty together and she was the first person I showed my first pair of jumbo-cord flares to. She burst into tears once when I gave her a birthday card that said, ‘Rah rah, sis-boom-bah, nobody else could fill your bra.’ Her room was wallpapered in pages from fashion magazines.

  The Easter of my first year at high school I spent in a small country town called Maldon, near Castlemaine, with Carolyn and a friend of hers called Kelly. The highlight of the weekend was to be the annual bush dance at the nearby town of Burringup. Kelly had someone she wanted me to meet.

  The dance was in a weatherboard hall decked in crêpe bunting which came together at an oil painting of the Queen. The Burringup Bushrangers, three old men and an even older woman, were setting up the drum kit, piano and music stands. Kelly led over a young girl wearing a cloth driving-cap and a blue V-neck jumper tucked into the top of her baggies. She had extraordinary dark brown eyes and glossy chestnut hair. Her breasts were really big for a girl of her age – fourteen or so.

  ‘This is Berry,’ said Kelly.

  Barry? She could see the confusion on my face. ‘Berry, short for Berenice.’ I blushed.

  ‘I get it all the time. Do you dance?’

  ‘Not to this sort of stuff.’

  Berry dragged me into the throng on the dancefloor. It was weird to be in the hands of someone I had just met. But I was picking up the steps and began to feel I knew what I was doing. The music began to slow down and the band leader told us to ‘bring the little lady back to earth.’ Berry twirled herself under my arm. ‘See! You can dance.’

  The bandleader announced a jazz waltz and off we went. I was a little more confident about this one, having been shown how to waltz by other kids and Dad. I was feeling quite good until one of my left feet caught the hem of an older woman’s skirt. She stumbled and landed on all fours. Berry and I tried to help her up but she gave me a look that could have fried eggs. Angrily she left the dancefloor.

  ‘She deserves it. She’s so pretentious. Let’s sit this one out.’ Berry took my hand and led me off the floor, but not to where Kelly and Carolyn were. Without looking at me Berry said, ‘You have amazing eyes.’ As we got to the edge of the dancefloor she turned and looked at me. ‘An unusual green. Very clear. Nice.’ I started to feel that this was some TV show I was watching.

  ‘You have nice eyes too.’ She was very beautiful.

  ‘Did you notice if there were clouds tonight?’ She took my hand and dragged me towards the door. We walked out into the autumn air. ‘Just look at the stars!’ She spun with her arms out. ‘You don’t see these in the city, do you?’

  ‘No. They’re amazing.’ We stood looking up at the night sky, then stretched out on the ground with our arms behind our heads. We spent ages talking about the universe. Was there life on other planets? Did we believe in God? Then we talked about ourselves. She was the daughter of a headmaster, she sang on television every now and then, and she was going to be a lawyer.

  Towards the end of the dance all four of us joined in the Pride of Erin, then the hokey-pokey, almost falling over with laughter and exhaustion. I felt I had made a new friend in Berry, but I wondered what it would be like to have a boy treat me like this. That thought felt right. Nice.

  As I was getting dressed on Sunday morning I saw Berry arrive with a basket full of Easter eggs. She gave the girls an egg and a kiss then turned to me. She handed me a card and kissed me. Snoopy lay on his kennel with Woodstock sitting on his chest under the words ‘Happiness is a new friend’. Inside Berry had written, ‘It was really nice to meet you last night and I hope we can stay in touch. Here is my address if you’d like to be my penfriend.’ She handed me an Easter egg.

  We spent the morning making and eating an enormous country breakfast, playing Monopoly and creating ways to smash our Easter eggs – headbutting them, throwing them against the wall or jumping on them. We then made ourselves truly sick by making and eating honeycomb and drowning it in mint chocolate milkshakes.

  Fading into a sugary haze we succumbed in front of the television to a cartoon about a bunch of furry animals witnessing the crucifixion. Kelly had fallen asleep over the arm of the couch. Carolyn dozed off with her head in Kelly’s lap.

  The midday movie was The Greatest Story Ever Told. Berry said that should be fun for a good Catholic boy like me. We smiled at each other and sat in silence for a while. She’s really pretty. I almost think I could go with her. I wonder what that’d be like? It feels sort of different. I don’t know.

  We started chatting. Did I believe contraception was a sin? Did she like Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon? What did I think 2001: A Space Odyssey was about?

  The three family dogs were asleep in a pile in front of the television. ‘God,’ I moaned, ‘a household full of sleeping animals. Last night Buster pissed on my bag.’ Buster the beagle lifted his head to see who had called his name and Max the mongrel stood up. The two of them started playing in front of the television. As Moses parted the Red Sea, Max tried to mount Buster. Berry and I pretended not to notice, until I couldn’t stop myself smirking and both of us burst into laughter. By now Max had succeeded in his plan and was bumming off Buster. We were hysterical. Carolyn woke up. ‘What’s so funny?’ She saw what we were laughing at. ‘How disgusting,’ she said and went back to sleep.

  I couldn’t stop laughing. ‘How embarrassing.’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’ said Berry. ‘They do it all the time. They’re boyfriends. I think it’s really sweet.’ I could feel the blood rushing to my face. ‘You’re blushing.’

  ‘Always happens when I laugh. I’ve got to go to the toilet.’ Trying to look relaxed, I walked slowly out into the hall. I went into the bathroom and sat on the edge of the bath, angry. Why do I blush? Can she tell? I don’t think she’d mind. I know she likes me. Perhaps I should ask her out. I really like her. I don’t know. What if she wants more from me?

  I went back to the living-room. Before I could stop myself I asked Berry if she wanted to go round with me. She looked curiously amused, leant over and kissed me gently on the cheek. ‘How sweet.’ For the rest of the day we held hands. It was nice, but I was very conscious of what the others must be thinking.

  Dear Tim,

  I’ve got some good news. I was singing at the Maldon Fête yesterday and a woman said how much she liked my singing. She works for … drum roll … The Ernie Sigley Show and she wants me to call her to talk about singing on the show. Wouldn’t that be a gas? I’m going to ring this woman now. I was writing to you hoping to get some courage.

  Berry

  PS: Snoopy says hello.

  Dear Berry,

  That’s good news about Ernie Sigley. It means you’ll be coming to Melbourne and we can see each other. Life is going pretty well, although I’m finding school a bit boring. Better go now. Maths homework!!!!

  Your friend,

  Timr />
  ‘Hello, Berry … That’s good, Tim will be pleased … Yes, of course. We’ve got a spare bed in the front sunroom … Dick will pick you up from the station … I’ll get Tim.’ As she handed me the phone Mum said with a satisfied smile, ‘She has lovely manners.’

  We had won the Saturday morning basketball match against the Protestants. I was in my gear, waiting for Berry with Dad. I pointed to a young woman in a large denim coat with a wing collar, her hair under a red crocheted beanie. She looked much older than fourteen.

  ‘Son, she’s beautiful,’ he said under his breath. Of course she is. You think I’d go round with an uggo?

  At lunch, Dad was almost embarrassing. ‘Berry, sit here. What would you like to drink with your lunch, perhaps some wine?’ When Dad and I were in the kitchen making the coffee he confided, ‘Son, she is very beautiful. And intelligent.’ He put his arm around my shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

  Berry and I headed for the beach after lunch, walking hand in hand. We sat on the sea wall with our arms around each other, watching boys riding waves beside the Brighton baths. ‘I didn’t think you could get waves in a bay,’ Berry said.

  ‘Whenever there’s a westerly there’s a bit of a swell.’ This was well known to the surfies in surrounding suburbs. I often went down to watch them getting in and out of their wetsuits. Once a boy with straight sandy hair asked me to unzip him from the back because his zipper had jammed. I recalled the slow revelation of tanned smooth skin speckled with moles. There had been another boy spearing a stingray off the sea wall whose shorts had ripped at the crutch, revealing his red jocks.

  That night was the Third Form social, the first chance to wear my new baggies with the side pockets. I tucked my blue and white striped T-shirt into the top of my baggies and climbed onto the toilet to check myself out in the mirror. I donned my ox-blood platform shoes and I was ready.