Tigers on the Beach Page 9

  ‘The old guy?’ I say.

  ‘He’s only forty,’ says Sam.

  ‘But forty is ancient.’ I’m speaking too loudly.

  ‘Try eighty-seven,’ says one of the old ladies within earshot. ‘I’m older than the pyramids.’

  ‘Are those two guys gay?’ I ask, inclining my head in the direction of the horn player and the clarinet player.

  ‘They’re Oscar and Felix,’ says Sam. ‘Yes, they’re gay. How can you tell? Is it because they’re dressed well? You shouldn’t think in clichés.’

  ‘They’re holding hands and they just kissed. It kind of gives it away.’

  While Oscar is holding Felix’s hand, it looks as though Felix would rather he wasn’t. Maybe Felix is worried about scaring the old ladies? He doesn’t need to be concerned. The ladies are far too busy eating cake to notice there is some gayness going on in their general area. Even if they do notice, I suspect they aren’t bothered and it’s nothing new for them. After all, I notice that Park Lake has cable television, which means they probably watch HBO where everyone is gay.

  I try to hold Sam’s hand, but Sam lets go because she wants to talk, and she can’t talk without using her hands. How come Oscar and Felix are better at holding hands than we are? I wonder if I may be a complete failure as a heterosexual.

  ‘We played badly,’ Sam says.

  ‘I thought you were great,’ I say.

  ‘Trisha kept missing her cues during “The Entrance of the Queen of Sheba”.’

  ‘No one noticed,’ I say. ‘And your flute sounded amazing.’

  Sam is flattered. ‘Really?’

  ‘You are a brilliant flauntist,’ I say.

  I’ve been waiting to use this word, having learned from Wikipedia the technical name for someone who plays the flute.

  ‘Flautist,’ says Sam. ‘Not flauntist. But it’s nice that you looked up the word.’

  Now that the function is over, Rico asks Oscar and Felix if they could stack the chairs. Rico can’t do it because he has made Trisha cry and feels bad. I offer to help the boys, but Oscar tells me that he and Felix can manage without my assistance. He says it in a voice that implies I am prejudiced for believing that gay people are incapable of stacking chairs unaided. However, Felix tells Oscar to take a chill pill.

  ‘Thanks for offering,’ Felix says. ‘It would be great if you could help us.’

  I can see why Oscar fell in love with Felix. If I were gay, I would too.

  The three of us stack chairs while Sam packs up her flute. As she wipes her instrument, she watches us and smiles. I’m happy that I have become a part of Sam’s life, even if it is not yet a major part.

  Sam and I are biking back to her place after the concert. A big blue-tongue lizard is sunning himself in the middle of the road, oblivious to the danger. I can’t leave the blue-tongue lying on the road where a car might run over it. I tell Sam we have to stop. We leave our bikes in the spinifex alongside the road. Sam watches as I creep up on the blue-tongue. I know the correct way to move them. You grab them, not too tightly, just behind the earholes. They always hiss but you shouldn’t be afraid, because they can’t bite you when you hold them like this. I pick up the lizard. He’s a real beauty, more than thirty centimetres long. Carefully, I move him away from the road, and place him in a sunny patch of spinifex, well out of the way of cars. I’ve probably saved the lizard’s life but he just hisses at me ungratefully.

  Sam looks at me with real admiration.

  ‘That was brave.’

  ‘Not really. Grandpa taught me how to do it,’ I say.

  Sam moves forward and reaches out, like she wants to hold me. Two seconds later we are kissing. Seriously kissing. It’s the best feeling in the world. I slide one hand under the back of Sam’s shirt and enjoy the smoothness of her warm skin. She doesn’t explore under my shirt, but she holds me tighter. We are holding each other as close as possible without morphing. I love the way Sam smells, a mix of home-made chocolate biscuit and cherry lip-balm. It’s like pashing a Cherry Ripe. I’m intoxicated. I wonder what it would be like if we both collapsed into the long grass, out of view. Now seems a good time, provided we don’t collapse onto a blue-tongue.

  Just as I’m holding and kissing and trying to collapse with Sam, I hear a car pulling up. Sam and I rapidly let each other go. I recognise the red car immediately. It’s Stanley Krongold, who has interrupted this incredible, unexpected, Cherry-Ripe–infused moment. He steps out of the car and pats down his slicked black hair. What the hell does he want? He’s a real-estate agent. What right does he have to stand in the way of our teenage urges? He’s got three sons of his own. They are all stupid and one is a bully. Why can’t he go and stand in the way of their teenage urges?

  ‘Adam, I was just speaking to a customer,’ he calls, striding towards us and pretending he hasn’t seen anything. Sam and I do our best to look calm and collected, not that we should feel otherwise. Then I realise my fly is undone and I rapidly zip it closed. I figure I need to offer some kind of explanation for why we are standing in the long grass on the side of the road, in the middle of nowhere, pulling our shirts down.

  ‘I was just saving a blue-tongue lizard,’ I say.

  ‘It’s lucky he did,’ says Sam. ‘Otherwise you might have run over it, you were driving so fast.’

  Sam doesn’t disguise her dislike of the newcomer.

  ‘Oh, I don’t think that would have happened,’ says Mr Krongold, smiling in a way that is meant to be friendly but isn’t, especially with his orange head. ‘I’m very observant when I drive.’

  This seems to be a reference to our roadside interlude. He steps around our abandoned bikes and soon he is so close that I can smell the acrid aftershave he wears.

  ‘This is quite a coincidence,’ he says, holding up his mobile phone. ‘I was just speaking to my client in Dubai.’

  ‘You mean Macau,’ I say.

  ‘He moves around a lot.’

  Mr Krongold continues, undaunted. ‘He’s just made the most extraordinary offer for The Ponderosa. Your parents would be mad not to take it. Will you get them to contact me?’

  ‘Why don’t you ring them yourself?’

  It sounds rude but it washes over Mr Krongold.

  ‘Your parents are busy people, Adam. I don’t want to ring them at the wrong time. I’m sure I can trust you to raise the matter with them at an appropriate moment.’

  ‘I’ll tell them,’ I say, without enthusiasm.

  ‘How’s your grandmother?’ he asks, in a way I don’t like.

  ‘Good,’ I say.

  ‘Not being too much of a bother?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I suppose she must be causing some arguments between your parents.’

  ‘No, my mum and dad are getting along better than ever.’

  ‘I’m glad your grandma is staying with you,’ says Mr Krongold. ‘It’s probably the best thing. Well, I won’t take any more of your time.’

  He struts off and climbs into the car. He revs it and hits the road as though he is needed elsewhere, for an emergency property valuation.

  ‘We should probably head for home,’ says Sam.

  ‘Sure,’ I say.

  We pick up the bikes.

  ‘I like how you saved the lizard,’ says Sam.

  ‘I’m good with lizards,’ I say.

  ‘What about snakes?’

  ‘They don’t frighten me,’ I say.

  Of course, I want us to collapse into the long grass again, but Stanley Krongold spoiled the moment and now Sam has other things on her mind.

  ‘I have to go home. You know how Mum gets when I’m late.’

  ‘Sam, can we talk about what just happened?’

  ‘I don’t think I’m ready for that,’ says Sam.

  ‘Not ready to talk about it or –’

  ‘I’m sorry, Adam. I didn’t mean for us to go as far as we did.’

  ‘But we didn’t go anywhere. We didn’t even go into the grass. We just
had this really amazing, fantastic kiss.’

  ‘It seems too soon. I like you, but –’

  I don’t want Sam to finish this question. ‘But you do admit that the kiss was amazing?’ I say.

  ‘Sure. It was good.’

  My heart sinks. ‘If Mr Krongold hadn’t turned up, do you think we would have gone any further?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Is it because I’m ugly?’

  ‘Of course not. I think you’re handsome.’

  ‘Even without a sixpack?’

  ‘Even without a sixpack.’

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want to lie down in the grass again?’

  ‘I have allergies,’ says Sam.

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Joke,’ she says.

  But I’m not so sure. I want to know exactly what I mean to Sam.

  ‘Sam, is there a possibility that some time in the near future we might lie in the grass, which is kind of where I

  thought we were headed anyway?’

  ‘You’re very cute,’ she says.

  Cute is a terrible word. Toy tigers are cute. Troll dolls are cute. I hate cute.

  ‘And thanks for coming to the concert,’ she says.

  ‘I probably looked stupid dancing with that lady.’

  ‘I liked it when you did that. I think she did too.’

  If I don’t say something now, I know I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.

  ‘Do you reckon we should go around together? I could be your exclusive boyfriend and you could be my exclusive girlfriend. Wouldn’t that be great?’

  But Sam goes enigmatic on me.

  ‘Let me think about it,’ she says.

  ‘Okay.’ I’m completely deflated. ‘How much time do you need?’

  ‘You’re cute.’

  ‘You said that.’

  ‘Handsome, even.’

  ‘And you are so gorgeous that I can’t stop thinking about you.’ The words tumble out. ‘I know that some people think redheads are unattractive, but they are so wrong.’

  ‘But I’m worried that you might be a bit . . . immature,’ says Sam.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  Sam looks awkward, as though she doesn’t want to have this conversation but feels she must.

  ‘That movie we saw. You thought it was hilarious.’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘You were laughing your head off.’

  ‘Only because everyone else was.’

  ‘Then there was the email about the exploding toilet. It was a bit . . . juvenile.’

  ‘Yeah. It was. Sorry.’

  ‘Adam, you don’t need to apologise.’

  ‘What sort of jokes do you like?’ I say. ‘I’ll learn to like them too.’

  I’m relieved when Sam chuckles at this.

  ‘I’m serious,’ I say. ‘What makes you laugh?’

  ‘Well . . . I like cartoons from The New Yorker,’ says Sam.

  ‘What’s The New Yorker?’

  ‘A magazine. My dad subscribes to it.’

  ‘Is it like Mad?’

  ‘Sort of. Only for adults.’

  ‘Oh.’ I never realised Mad was for kids only, especially as Dad and I both went through a stage of loving the magazine.

  ‘Do you remember that tiger cartoon I sent?’

  ‘The two tigers on the beach?’

  ‘That’s from The New Yorker.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘You don’t think it’s funny, do you?’

  ‘I’m sure it’s really hilarious. I probably need to look at it again and get back to you.’

  ‘And I’ll get back to you,’ says Sam. ‘When I’ve thought things over.’

  Sam kisses me goodbye. It’s . . . nice. That’s all. It’s not a proper deeply-in-love kiss. Not yet. I wonder if Sam and I really are right for each other.

  Mum and Dad seem solemn when I return. I notice that the poster of the laughing chimpanzees has been taken down. Dad smiles at me, but it’s one of his hospitality smiles and not genuine.

  ‘How was the concert?’ he asks.

  ‘Okay,’ I say.

  ‘I’m looking forward to meeting Sam,’ says Mum.

  ‘You’re not worried about bringing her to The Ponderosa, are you?’ Dad asks.

  ‘Why should I be worried?’ I say.

  ‘Well, things have been a bit tense lately,’ Mum says.

  ‘We’d hate for you to feel that you can’t bring your girlfriend home,’ Dad says.

  ‘Sam isn’t really my girlfriend,’ I say. ‘But if a miracle happens and she starts loving me, I’ll bring her round. Although it would help . . .’

  Mum and Dad are hanging on my words, so I might as well come out and say it.

  ‘I need my own bedroom. I’ve earned it. It’s criminal that I don’t have my own bedroom.’

  Mum hugs me. ‘Yes darling. We’ve been selfish. We’re so sorry, Adam.’

  Mum is being far too intense for four o’clock in the afternoon. I back away.

  ‘Why are you guys behaving like this? Has something else gone wrong?’

  ‘We spoke with your grandmother this afternoon,’ says Dad.

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Tomorrow we are going to scatter your grandfather’s ashes,’ Dad says.

  ‘It’s time he was let go,’ says Mum.

  ‘It’s the right thing,’ says Dad. ‘Your grandmother wants to do it. And we must all be there for her.’

  Even though it’s a sad moment, I feel relieved, as though letting Grandpa out of the cremation urn will somehow make everything better. It’s important that the ashes of a dead person are sprinkled in the right place. Grandma has chosen The Escarpment with its perfect view of the bay and Herring Island.

  Tomorrow at noon we will properly farewell Grandpa. I notice that Dad has trimmed his bushy eyebrows, so that they no longer point in different directions.

  ‘Your mother thought it was a good idea,’ Dad says.

  ‘But your eyebrows were great,’ I say.

  ‘They were unprofessional,’ says Mum.

  That night I lie in bed thinking of tights and how I might be going off them. Xander is asleep. Even his beetles are asleep. All is quiet and dark.

  ‘Do you mind if I sit on the verandah with you?’ asks Grandpa.

  ‘Of course not,’ I say.

  ‘Samantha is a beautiful name,’ says Grandpa. ‘Why do you call her Sam?’

  ‘She prefers it,’ I say.

  ‘Doris will call her Samantha. She likes to call people by their whole names.’

  ‘I know. Xander hates it.’

  ‘He’ll probably get used to it.’

  ‘Not Xander.’

  ‘I got used to being called Reginald.’

  ‘We miss you like crazy,’ I say. ‘Everyone does. Did you see how many people came to your funeral?’

  ‘Xander peed on the memorial lawn.’ Grandpa chuckles. ‘That was pretty funny, wasn’t it? Why aren’t you laughing?’

  ‘You know why.’

  ‘So let’s talk about Sam.’

  ‘She thinks I’m juvenile.’

  ‘You probably are, having silly dreams like this.’

  ‘Why am I in love with her? Is it just because of how she looks?’

  ‘Think hard and tell me what else you like about her.’

  ‘She’s a good flute player. She likes animals. Just like you. She knows heaps of stuff. I really enjoy talking with her. Except . . .’

  ‘Except what?’

  ‘Sometimes I think she doesn’t admire me that much.’

  ‘And you want to be admired?’

  ‘Well, I’d like her to think I am a pretty good guy. Not just handsome. She thinks I’m handsome, by the way. Isn’t that crazy?’

  ‘Unbelievable.’

  I smile. ‘It’s good to talk to you. Even if it’s only a dream.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You’re mostly welcome,’ I say.

  Grand
pa smiles. ‘Your grandma always groaned when I said that.’

  ‘I bet she dreams about you all the time.’

  ‘She does. It’s good that you’re scattering my ashes tomorrow.’

  ‘That won’t stop her dreaming about you. It won’t stop any of us. And it doesn’t solve my problem about Sam.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that. That was quite some kiss she gave you.’

  ‘Till Stanley Krongold arrived.’

  ‘Why do you think she kissed you like that?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Did you do anything special, before you kissed?’

  ‘I saved a lizard from being run over, the way you taught me.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘I went to a concert and I danced with an old lady. I think most girls would have thought I was stupid, but Sam said she liked that.’

  ‘So she does admire you.’

  ‘I guess maybe she does.’

  ‘And she was giving a concert at a nursing home. So that makes her kind. Like you were, when you saved the lizard and danced with the lady.’

  ‘I didn’t think of that.’

  ‘Of course you did. This is your dream. I’m just helping you see the obvious.’

  ‘So I do love Sam. I mean, I really love her.’

  ‘Yes. And not just for her tights. Although the tights are excellent.’

  ‘But what if she doesn’t love me back? She said she’s only thinking about having a relationship with me.’

  Our conversation is suddenly blocked out by the sound of a helicopter landing.

  I wake up to my clock radio blaring. I turn it off when I’m sure that Xander is also awake. I decide not to tell him how I dreamed about Grandpa. If Xander starts describing his dreams he’ll become even more unbearable. Nathan and I attend to possum duty again. The possums have become builders. Each morning there is a whole township of little poo buildings in the driveway. Nathan is reluctant to sweep the buildings away because as a naturalist he thinks the phenomenon is fascinating. Dad tells Nathan that none of our guests are naturalists and they’ll probably think it’s disgusting. I squat next to Nathan, and help him to remove the possums’ architecture.

  ‘Have you told Marika that you fancy her yet?’ I ask.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Come on, Nathan. What have you got to lose?’

  ‘Please, Adam. I don’t like taking advice from juveniles.’