Look to His Like

Chapter Seventeen

Author's Note:

Definition of terms: dilly dallying - loitering, delaying; esky: ice chest.

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At the Registry office, on the fringes of Chinatown, Drake and I spent three quarters of an hour on the paper work we needed to complete before we could be married. Twice, I had to rush off to the bathroom, as my churning stomach - induced no doubt by my traumatic week - wreaked its final ultimate vengeance.

A safari-suited public servant called Willard hummed and haa-ed over our application for an early marriage, smoothing long greasy strands of hair over his baldpate with an agitated hand. He then waddled off, murmuring that he would "natter with my manager over this", leaving Drake and I alone in a small, stuffy meeting room. The room became stuffier by the minute after Drake locked the door and we proceeded to allow ourselves some intimate pleasure with locked lips and our hands down each other's trousers. We jumped, feeling like school children caught at truanting, when the door was tried and we heard a puzzled exclamation outside. We hurriedly restored our clothing to order, and Drake opened the door, all wide-eyed and innocent.

"The door must have locked of its own accord when I went out," Willard fussed, while I turned away, hiding a grin - I'd leave the innocent act to Drake. "Well, not to worry," said Willard, "I have good news, peoples! You're going to get married today!"

I turned around at once, this time unable to hide my smile. Willard looked flushed and proud at his achievement; Drake met my eyes, grinned and winked, and held out his hand to me.

"What are we waiting for? Let's go do it," he said.

The act of marriage itself was accomplished in under five minutes and there was nothing really remarkable about it except the pronounced lisp and overwhelming body odour of the celebrant. I made a concerted effort to inhale through my mouth (which made saying the required vows pretty difficult), and Drake's own words were often muffled as he masked his face with his hand although clearly trying not to look too obvious about it. I also didn't dare look at Drake, for fear I'd see laughter in his eyes, and dissolve into hysterical giggles myself.

Afterwards, Drake and I treated ourselves to yum cha at the Marigold. After another mad dash to the bathroom on my part, the crucial time was upon me - seeing Drake's new abode. Drake had that morning picked up the keys and had apparently purchased a few furniture items that were going to have to tide us over until we had organised the rest of the furnishings. Tonight, after we had packed, fed my fish and picked up Wolf, we would take up permanent residence at our new address. I knew I had to go along with the plan, for I had agreed to it the day before in the Rubicon's fire exit - and I am not one to go back on my word - but nevertheless I dreaded the moment on first seeing what Drake had thrown his money away on. Drake sensed my trepidation, I suspect, for in the taxi ride to Circular Quay, he sat in a distant silence, while a new tension throbbed between us.

I had figured we were going to catch a bus to some destination; my first surprise came when Drake took my hand and led me to the ferry terminals.

I looked at him curiously after he had purchased two tickets and proceeded to direct me to a wharf where one of Sydney's ancient green ferries wallowed in the churning harbour. "Where are we going?"

"Told you - it's a surprise."

"This ferry only goes to the Zoo, then comes back," I noticed.

"Yep. I know."

One more suspicious look at Drake's closed face indicated I was going to get no further with my questioning, so I sighed in frustration as we took our seats on the outer deck. Soon the ferry rumbled away from the wharf and burst from the shadows of the city skyscrapers into the harbour. It churned its way northward, throwing up light spray that provided pleasant refreshment from the heat and humidity of the day.

The ferry stopped at Zoo Wharf as predicted. As there was nowhere else to journey to, unless one was making the circular trip for the pleasure of it (an excursion not unheard of for Sydney folk, actually), I was not surprised when Drake rose with the rest of the passengers and headed for the gang plank. What did surprise me was when we stepped off the wharf and he veered away from the direction of the Zoo, heading along a pathway that weaved its way eastwards along the foreshore through shadowy woodland of a pretty stretch of Sydney Harbour National Park.

I caught up with him, my heart beginning a nervous tripping. In a new companionable silence, we followed the pathway in dappled sunlight, while the kookaburras cackled overhead in the bangalays and red bloodwoods, and blue-black plumaged brush turkeys scuttled out of our way into the rich understorey of shrubs.

As with many parts of the National Park, this stretch was not without its history. Drake pointed out to me some carvings on a large flat rock on the side of the path. I bent over to take a close look at the carvings of land animals - kangaroos and emus, mainly - that had been made by Aboriginals before European settlement, according to the small sign beside it. Below these carvings, and more startling, was another - an engraved crude image of a sailing ship with tall masts and huge sails - depicting one of the earliest encounters between Australia's indigenous people and the Europeans.

It was warm, close and still beneath the trees - and somehow sexy. I found my gaze drawn often downward, to Drake's thighs, the splendid shape of them revealed now that he had removed his jacket. I also intercepted a few CFM looks from Drake, indicating he too had detected the simmering sexual atmosphere.

"A few more of those and I will," I muttered under my breath.

"You will - what?"

"Fuck you," I blurted out, and felt the heat of embarrassment in my cheeks. I waved my hand in the direction of his eyes, when he blinked in amused puzzlement. "You have what my friends call CFM eyes - 'Come you-know-what Me'."

He laughed. "You may as well say the word, Jo. I've heard it enough from you recently."

I blushed deeper in mortification. "You must bring out the worst in me."

He took my hand and raised it to his lips for a kiss. "No, I bring out the best in you," he corrected, adding, "There's nothing wrong with the word in the right context. It's very sexy, don't you think?"

I had to agree - and not only about the word. I rather suspected Drake did bring the best out in me, in so many ways.

Drake didn't release my hand, entwining his fingers with mine. When he took a narrow path leading off the main thoroughfare, I concluded he was going to look at the view from the cliff of the city skyline and harbour, and I accompanied him readily enough. We burst out into the sunshine, and paused at a small lookout, equipped with a park bench and water fountain.

I absorbed the sight of sparkling blue water and city skyline, stark against the vivid, cloudless arc of endless sky. Realising how lucky I was to live in such a beautiful and vibrant city, I glanced at Drake, wondering if he felt the same. To my further surprise, he was not looking at the view southward as I was; instead, he stood relaxed and still, and gazing east and down - at a tiny, sandy and secluded cove - one of the many hugging Sydney Harbour.

Sensing my attention, he looked at me, and jerked his head in the direction of the cove.

"There it is," he said casually.

"There is what?" I said. I saw about five large properties on the small beachfront, each one sporting a large house, terraced gardens and a boat dock.

"My house."

I reeled.

"What?!" I whispered in shock.

"The sandstone one at the end," Drake remarked. "I just wanted to show you the view from here. C'mon, let's go down." He released my hand and turned to retrace his steps.

My astounded attention switched from the elegant, ivy clad mellow walls of the three storey house at the end of the cove below, back to Drake, who was now leaving me rooted to the spot. I found my tongue.

"Now hang on a doggone second!" I burst out. Drake turned around, giving me the wide-eyed innocent look. My fists thumped to my hips and I glared at him. "Are you bullshitting me? Is that really your house?"

"Yes, it's really my house," Drake said with a shrug. "Quit dilly dallying and come and see it!"

"Now look here, Adam Drake," I bit out angrily, my fists curling tighter on my hips on growing tension. "I'm not stupid. Houses like that on the harbour cost a friggin' fortune. You win lotto or something?" I asked witheringly, oblivious to the fact than it really wasn't any of my business.

Drake sighed. "No, I bought it outright - I told you, I had the money sitting in the bank, and property in Sydney is a good investment right now, particularly these sorts of properties."

"You bought it outright." I stared at him, shaking my head in disbelief, trying to get my thoughts in order.

"Yeah …my parents raised me to be frugal, so I've never needed much to live on, and most of whatever I earned just accumulated in the bank. I don't know what my parents will think of this extravagance," he mused, ruefully glancing back at his house. "Hmm, I guess you'll have to meet them sometime soon now that we're married," he added in reflection.

"Oh, God, you'll have to meet mine too!" I said in sudden trepidation. We looked at each other in deepest sympathy, and then I shook away the thought and frowned darkly at him. "Don't change the subject," I said. "Just what sort of work have you been doing exactly? And don't give me vague answers, or I'm going to turn around and leave! And then I'll just go and Google you." I was beginning to believe the internet search engine would throw up at least several pages on Adam Drake!

"Okay, okay!" Drake raised his palms in defence and sighed again. "Where do you want me to start?"

"What work were you doing in England all these years?"

"I started off doing a lot of Shakespeare," Drake said patiently but with evident reluctance. "Coriolanus, King Lear, Macbeth, Hamlet - a few others. Then I got my big break, in a play on the West End opposite Sir Anthony Hopkins --.'

"Sir Anthony --?"

"Well, he wasn't 'Sir' back then, but it was still a thrill for me…"

"Of course! Then what?"

Another long sigh from Drake as he shifted in discomfort. "Another big break came my way - I was chosen to be Marius in the West End production of Les Miserables. That was followed by a role in Chess, then Cats …then 42nd Street --."

"They're musicals! You can sing?"

"Well, yeah," said Drake lifting his shoulders in another shrug. "We got a broad training in most things at college. After 42nd Street, I did Raoul in The Phantom of the Opera and had a stint as Jim in a production of The Glass Menagerie, Stanley in Streetcar, a couple of original stage productions, and in between I was lucky to have a few guest TV roles - in Eastenders and The Bill --."

"Hang on!" I waved him to a stop, something vital occurring to me. "42nd Street - you can dance?"

"Yeah, a bit. I told you, my training --."

I held up my hands, cutting him off. "Show me?" I pleaded.

"What?"

"Show me how you can dance - please?" I clasped my damp palms together in the time-honoured begging fashion, my heart beating with excited anticipation.

Drake looked at me askance. "Right here?" When I nodded eagerly, he narrowed his eyes in suspicion before exhaling noisily in a resigned fashion. He tossed his jacket to me; while he rolled up his sleeves, he watched me warily. I waited, trembling in eagerness.

Drake half lifted his arms out to the side of his body which had suddenly adopted a sexy, relaxed posture. Then, while I watched with dropping jaw, he did a little tap dance number and a few Fred Astaire type moves and turns, ending with a grin and a flourish two feet before me.

Damien, eat your heart out. The wanton hips of doom had a new name, and it was Adam Drake.

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