Look to His Like

Chapter Fourteen

Nonplussed and speechless, I could only gape at him.

Doolan crossed his arms above his belly and shook his head at me as if I was a recalcitrant child.

"Your biological clock is ticking so loudly you can't ignore it, can you?" he said, the humourous sparkle in his eyes belying the harshness of his taunt.

I found my tongue.

"What??" I shrieked in horror. In her basket, Suzette lifted her head from her paws and began to yap in fury until Doolan tossed her another peppermint. Undaunted, he continued with his examination of my motives.

"Yep, you want to have a baby, and such is your conditioning that sub-consciously you've recognised that first you have to marry its father. But, you see giving into such biological needs as a sign of feminine weakness, so you've advertised this other - more acceptable - reason for netting a husband. Tch, tch," he said and dealt me a self-satisfied smirk.

"What crap," I said, bristling, struggling for calm. "How then do you explain, oh Wise One, my wish not to have sex? I can hardly have a baby without having sex." It was my turn to smirk, but I watched him warily, waiting for - and dreading - his response.

"Not necessarily," Doolan said thoughtfully. "But we'll let that go through to the keeper for now. Yep, your reason for not wanting sex - and the love that may come from it - is at odds with your reason for wanting to get married. That's why you are experiencing such dire inner conflict right now, and why you are sitting across from me looking like an embattled zombie!"

"Listen here," I said, annoyed. "I pay a shrink $300 an hour for analyzing me, so there's no need for you to do the same. Let's talk about something else, eh?" I took several swigs of Smirnoff, hoping he would drop the subject.

Doolan was not to be thwarted.

"Have you seen this shrink since you drew up that List?"

"No, but -."

"Well, I'm saving you a lot of money then!" He chuckled, his belly wobbling with mirth. "Now, let's see - your reason for not wanting love in this marriage is an easy one. You're afraid to love! Perhaps you see it as another sign of weakness, or perhaps there is some other reason which will come to me - "

I spluttered over a mammoth swallow of my drink.

"That's ridiculous!" I yelped. Doolan held up his hand, silencing me.

"And you know something else?" he forged on. "I think this Mega-Shaggable is everything that deep down you really want - that's why you're drawn to him! Your body wants to have his baby, and your heart wants ---."

I sprang to my feet with a cry of outrage - and at once I swayed as my world spun. I slumped back to my seat, blinking away angry tears. To my relief, Doolan looked guilty.

"Of course, you could just want to fuck him like there's no tomorrow," he mumbled, backtracking like mad. "And you know, even though I've always fancied myself as a bit of an expert in character study, I'm probably having a lend of myself here - I'm sure I'm way off track, so just forget all about it."

"You are off track," I muttered, although my voice carried no conviction. "I have forgotten about it." I knew I lied.

As the tension abated, we finished our drinks, and I eagerly accepted another one. Our conversation turned to safer subjects of current affairs, particularly those with a legal slant. I soon felt imbued with enough Dutch courage to tentatively raise the earlier subject of my marriage.

"Even though your earlier theories about my marriage are so wrong as to be funny," I began, stretching my mouth into a stiff smile, "If they were right, what would your advice be?"

Doolan looked thoughtful.

"Do you want to hear my philosophy on life, Wonder Woman?" he said, obscurely. When I nodded, he said, "It's 'Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die'."

"Oh, I agree!" I said. "That's why this promotion is all that matters to me - when I'm made partner, I can live it up before the big wipe-out!"

"How do you propose to live it up?"

"Well -." I floundered. Would my life really change with my promotion, apart from a fleeting satisfaction that I had made my parents proud of me? All I had intended to do was carry on my life as I had always done. Troubled, I finished my drink while Doolan studied me intently across the desk. He nodded as if something had been proved to him. He rested his elbows on the desk and closed his hands around his bottle.

"My advice to you, Barbie Doll," he said, "is to quit planning for the distant future, live in the here and now, have some fun! Even enjoy a love affair, if that's the way things turn out, because believe you me, they ain't all that scary - I should know, I've been having one for thirty years."

"So what you're saying is --."

"Carpe diem, Luscious Lady! Seize the day, or in this case - seize Mega-Shaggable!" He chortled at his own joke. "If you knew you were going to die tomorrow, isn't that what you would do?"

I didn't meet his eyes. "Well, I'm not going to die tomorrow, am I?" I said airily. "And thinking about it, those philosophies - 'eat, drink and be merry,' and 'carpe diem' - they're just excuses for irresponsibility and laziness!"

"Not at all," Doolan rejoined instantly. "They're about not wasting life's opportunities when we are presented with them." Clearly he was a killer debater. I wondered what he was doing frittering away his talents in an evidently struggling sole practice. He had a bit of a drink problem - that was evident - but that wasn't uncommon in the legal profession.

I don't like to lose an argument, so I decided to leave that discussion at deuce - even though I had the sneaking suspicion it had been game, set and match to Doolan.

"How do you know Harry?" I blurted out, wondering if the trouble Harry had helped Doolan with had hampered his career in some way. "Did he set you up with Doreen?"

Doolan shook his head.

"No, Doreen and I were childhood sweethearts, we've been married since we were nineteen," he said to my surprise. "She's the great love affair I mentioned. Harry Jarup," he added, "saved my hide."

***

It seemed a year ago, after a night with friends at the Bourbon and Beefsteak in King's Cross, muggers in Fitzroy Gardens had set upon Doolan. Considerably inebriated and not at peak fitness, he had not stood a chance against three much younger men, intent on harm and theft.

"They had me in the ground, and one of them had kicked the shit out of me - when all of a sudden, they just stepped away from me," said Doolan. "I looked up and saw this huge silhouette of a man in a kaftan standing against a streetlight - just standing there, not saying anything, not moving. The thugs yelped and hightailed it out of there. It was Harry," he added. "He didn't have to hit them or say something. Hitting isn't Harry's way, in any event. These blokes were Aboriginal, so likely they knew him - Harry's a bit of a hero to the indigenous folk. Whatever the reason, Harry saved me from a pretty awful beating, not to mention the loss of my wallet. I figured I owed him big time, so after I got to know him better and he mentioned his tribe and the native title claim, I was more than happy to take a look. I did what I could for him, without being paid - and then Doreen put her foot down, said we had bills to pay like everyone else. To Harry's credit, he was more than understanding - and very grateful for what I had managed to do. Still - I felt uncomfortable about not being able to do more, especially as I thought the claim was a good one. So, I'm grateful you turned up."

"How would you like to work with Gilden Hawke on the case?" I said impulsively. "You've obviously got a good handle on it, so you'd be helpful."

Doolan shrugged. "I assume Gilden Hawke will have the same problem I envisioned in getting paid - so, as Doreen would say: what's the point? I'd like to do it from an intellectual viewpoint, but Doreen would be mad as hell."

He had raised what I had foreseen as an insurmountable barrier to Gilden Hawke taking on the case. The firm could afford not to be paid for it, but the partners had always sniffed disdainfully at pro bono work, and I could see no reason why they would regard the Jabujawarra case any differently. As I sunk into troubled, hazy thoughts about that issue, Doolan offered me a bed for the night, citing my apparent fatigue and the alcohol I had consumed as reason not to drive. Deciding Wolf would be fine after his midday meal and toilet, I accepted gratefully, and Doolan disappeared to tell Doreen. Suzette seized upon the opportunity of having me alone to rise from her basket and sidle over to me, growling and snapping. She also let off a silent fart - and let me tell you, something awful had happened to the peppermint aroma as it passed through her gut.

"Get lost, you genetically-engineered rat," I muttered after I had recovered from gagging, fanning the air in agitation. As the door opened again, Suzette drew her skinny haunches beneath her and was sitting meekly with wagging tail when Doolan entered.

"Doreen's getting your room ready," he said. I hoped to goodness he didn't think the smell emanated from me; however, he appeared unaware of it, adding on seeing us, "Oh, good, you're friends!" As he moved to the window to close the curtains, behind his back, Suzette and I cast each other sidelong glances, our lips curling in identical snarls - enemies forever.

-----

Despite the surfeit of numbing alcohol I had consumed, I did not sleep at all. Lying in the single bed, in the small spare room allocated to me, I closed my eyes, yet my brain refused to slow down, my awareness hovering always on the surface of oblivion. Relieved when the darkness gave way to the silver of first light, I rose from my bed and dressed. It was the dawning of another working day for me, and I had to get home first.

As I stepped into the hallway, the muffled sound of frantic yapping gave me pause. A closed door at the end of the hallway opened, and Doolan emerged dressed in striped cotton pyjamas, Suzette tucked beneath his arm. He closed the door quietly behind him before the two of them spoiled the effort at consideration by trumpeting their clearing-throat chorus.

"You off then?" Doolan murmured when he'd recovered. He approached me, stroking a soothing hand over Suzette's back. While eyeing the Chihuahua, I mentioned I had to get ready for work. This morning, Suzette was dressed in a pink, filmy number, which I assumed was her nightgown, and a white cotton nightcap edged in lace and tied beneath her chin. I didn't know whether to laugh or shudder, and decided impassiveness was the best course when her top lip lifted to show her teeth and her eyes held a spiteful gleam.

While Doolan fetched Harry's box from his office, I cast a curious eye around his living room, noticing there were no portraits of possible children or grandchildren, although several silver-framed photos of different Chihuahuas stood on the sideboard. I grudgingly acknowledged that maybe these dodgy dogs had a worthy use after all, if they could compensate a couple in their childlessness; and while I was being charitable, perhaps one could excuse bad-temper in any non-human creature thrust into that role.

My day's work was taken up with a hearing in the District Court. Fortunately, for my acumen was sluggish, all I was required to do was sit beside my client's barrister at the bench, take notes and hand him the appropriate materials at the appropriate time; equally fortunately, the case was tied up by mid afternoon. By that time, my head ached from lack of fresh air and sleep, and my stomach churned alarmingly. I rang my secretary, Lisa, to tell her I was going home rather than returning to work, and dragged myself onto the first bus I saw going in the Darlinghurst direction.

At home, an Alka Seltzer settled my stomach a margin and eased the pounding in my head. I dragged myself up the stairs and ran the water in my Jacuzzi, adding some lavender and rosemary bath oil, figuring a relaxing bath was also in order.

I certainly felt much better some minutes later, almost completely submerged in warm scented, bubbly water. My muscles unknotted under the further influence of Mozart's Serenade for Winds on continual playback on the CD player …ahhh, God talking through Wolfgang Amadeus! Consumed by sensual delights, one hand drifted to my thighs - however, as Wolf sat just inside my door, watching me unwaveringly, I put aside the masturbation inclination - he had become perverted enough in recent times to risk his further corruption, and his stare unnerved me.

Sometimes when Wolf stared at me, as he was then - unmoving, unblinking, sphinx-like - I would gain the distinct impression that he was insinuating messages into my head. Certainly, I would find myself straight afterwards doing some strange things - like haring off to the fish markets to buy him a fresh John Dory fillet for his dinner; or, letting him outside, only to be rewarded within minutes of an offering of some mangled creature - a cockroach, mouse, or - as on one startling occasion - a young snake; or, rushing to change whatever music playing on my stereo for Chopin's The Cat Valse or Liszt's The Cat's Fugue. In retrospect I can see that this occasion was no different - although at first I thought the clear images of Drake in my head had been summoned as a result of my penchant for sexual release seconds before.

Without stopping to question my actions, I rose from the bath and wrapped a large white towel around myself. In my bedroom, my underwear drawer drew me like a magnet - or did some intangible feline force propel me there? Whatever the cause, I opened the drawer and my fingers found unwaveringly the piece of notepad on which I had scrawled Drake's phone number. I sat on the side of the bed, staring at the digits - and jumped, startled, when I lifted my head to see Wolf now sitting directly in front of me, as if he had materialised out of nowhere. His staring golden eyes glowed, and his sleek form exuded tension in utter, focused motionlessness.

"Okay, okay," I muttered, picking up the phone. "Alright, already! Stop staring at me, you fink - there, see! I'm punching in the numbers, satisfied?"

Wolf slinked away only when a female answered my call. Then, reality hit me with a blast and struck me mute.

"Hello? Hello!" said the voice in rising irritation. "Is anyone there?"

"Yes," I croaked, and cleared my voice. "I'm sorry - I must have the wrong number."

"Who are you after?" said the female. The voice was youngish, clear and refined.

"Um - Adam Drake. I'm sorry, I thought this was his number."

"No, it's mine - but Adam's here," came the surprising answer. " Hang on though, I'll see if he can come to the phone."

In the background, I heard several voices, somewhat echoing as if spoken in a cavernous space, and the woman I had spoken to saying "Adam! Call for you!" I discerned more inaudible conversation, then the sound of approaching footsteps. My heart in my mouth, I nearly slammed the phone down, and was on the brink of doing so when Drake's smooth, deep voice sounded in my ear. "Hello?"

I cleared my throat again. "Hi," I managed to squeak out.

"Jo?"

"Yep." Further words were beyond me. I drew a deep breath, which sounded shaky even to my ears, and followed it with a false, nervous laugh.

I heard footsteps and the background voices fading, as if Drake had moved away. "Well, nice to hear from you," he said, sounding pleased and restoring my confidence. I relaxed, my tongue no longer seeming that it did not belong to me, my heartbeat becoming steadier. "Where are you?"

"At home…I was just having a bath, and started thinking about you," I blurted out before I could stop myself. Shit, good one, Jo. There's nothing like playing hard to get, is there?

I heard a long exhaled breath. "Hope you were having fun with it," Drake murmured meaningfully.

"Nuh, I wasn't this time," I said regretfully. "Wolf was watching and giving me the creeps."

Drake laughed. "Maybe I should thank him - I can do without thoughts of you masturbating right now. I'm at rehearsal," he added. "Hey, why don't you come on down? We'll go for a drink afterwards - or something."

Or something. "Oh!" I said breathlessly, everything below my waist starting to tingle with anticipation. "I guess I could. Whereabouts are you?"

He gave me the address of the Rubicon theatre in Surrey Hills and I promised I would be there soon.

After we had rung off, I sat stunned for several minutes. Wolf bounded onto the bed and rubbed himself - hard - against my back - a nudge to get going if there ever was one. I stood up, the towel tumbling to the ground, and floated in a daze to my wardrobe.

I figured by Wolf's contented sigh and comforting purrs some minutes later that he was happy with the outfit I chose - a short denim skirt, white tie-front halter top and ultra-chic silver sandal thongs by Jeannot with a front transparent flower at the toe juncture made of beads. Not daring to stop for a second to assess my impulse to meet Drake, I threw some essentials into a purse, blew Wolf a kiss goodbye and, with wings on my feet, departed my house.

"'Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die,'" I muttered, as I hailed a taxi on the street. "'Carpe diem'."

I uttered Doolan's philosophies like a mantra as the taxi weaved its way through the city traffic, bringing me closer to Drake. The heady anticipation of seeing him and hopefully experiencing the delights he could provide emptied my head of everything else - not once did I remember my need for a promotion, the husband-hunting, or the List.