[2012] The Seven Steps to Closure Read online

  I looked up. The girls were watching me, obviously expecting some sort of outburst. The arrival of my coffee broke the tension. I relaxed as I took my first sip, feeling rather proud that the social pages no longer had the power to hurt me. When Jake first left me I had used it as a kind of obscure torture. On Sundays I would crawl under the doona with the paper and a box of tissues. It was a good week when he and Tash hadn’t made it. Then, I could find the strength to get up and do some housework. But if they were there, I would spend the rest of the day in bed going over the events leading up to him leaving, wondering how I could have prevented it.

  Everybody was still watching me. It was, to be frank, a little unnerving.

  ‘It’s just a wine tasting,’ I finally said.

  Elaine sighed. A look of sadness in her green eyes, she reached over and touched me on the arm. ‘Honey, have another look.’

  I picked up the paper and studied the picture, gasping when I saw the huge, glittery rock on her left hand. I couldn’t believe I had missed it the first time.

  ‘There’s more,’ said Elaine, pointing at the caption.

  More than an engagement? More than the two of them getting married? More than him never, ever being mine? Slowly I read the caption unable to make sense of the words that were jumbling around inside my head.

  Jake Wellington with his fiancée, the fabulous Natasha Rawson, on the eve he announces his intent to run for Lord Mayor.

  What? Surely they had got the captions wrong?

  ‘He’s running for Lord Mayor? I don’t understand,’ I muttered.

  ‘He’s decided to run for councillor, but as an independent attached to no parties, he can also run for Lord Mayor. There’s an article on page 14.’

  I flipped to the page and read the short but succinct article. Jake was running for Lord Mayor and Uncle Edward was financing the campaign as part of the happy couple’s engagement present. It just made me want to put my fingers down my throat and puke.

  I looked at the photo again, zeroing in so I could see just his face.

  I remember when I first met Jake. I remember every single detail. I remember it was a soft, balmy November evening. Nat and I had just finished our degrees and I had gone to her graduation ball with her. The University had booked out a bar and restaurant overlooking Darling Harbour for the event and lawyers from different firms had been there, romancing the new graduates.

  There was a soft breeze blowing off the water and I was standing on the balcony enjoying the feel of it ruffling my hair and moving my dress against my skin. That was when I first saw him. He was inside at the bar, staring past me to the reflection of the sunset on the clouds over the harbour. He was tall – much taller than me – and had olive skin and dark brown, almost black hair. I stared into his chocolate brown eyes and studied his ruggedly handsome face and felt something uncurling inside me. It made me catch my breath and I swear, when he moved his eyes from the sunset to my face, that my heart skipped a beat. He smiled slowly – a confident smile, before swivelling back to the bar. I remembered turning away deflated, surprised by his sudden appearance as he offered me a glass of champagne. I smiled shyly and sipped while we chatted, feeling gorgeous and special.

  Later we danced; slow and heated, swaying to the music, our bodies moving in sync as we entwined ourselves on the dance floor. And later still, back on the balcony we kissed; the kiss developing slowly, painfully. Our faces moving closer and closer, until finally I could feel the heat of his breath on my mouth, and then the softest brush, the gentle tug of skin on skin as our lips met and our tongues touched for the briefest of moments, the movements so slow and sensual I could feel my blood heating and rushing around my body.

  We stayed for hours whispering and hugging; kissing slowly and shyly. Finally I realised it was not the sunset we were witnessing but the sunrise, and that the rising sun was washing away the magic of the night. I was torn between wanting to stay and wanting to rush away before I appeared not sexy and glamorous, but smudged and tired.

  We exchanged phone numbers and Nat (who had spent the evening dancing with one of Jake’s mates) and I left. I remember turning to look at him as we neared the exit, to make sure he was no dream, or phantom of my imagination. He was watching me, and when he saw me turn, lifted his first two fingers to his mouth and blew me a kiss.

  ‘Earth to Tara, Earth to Tara.’ I snapped my eyes back into focus. Dinah was waving her hand in front of my face.

  ‘I’ve always felt guilty about you hooking up with Jake,’ said Nat.

  ‘Why would you feel guilty?’

  ‘I just wish you had met someone nicer that night.’

  I could feel the heat in my face. ‘What do you mean nicer?’

  The girls shared a look before Nat bravely pushed on. ‘Well he wasn’t always that supportive of your career.’

  ‘I chose to work as his PA – he didn’t make me.’

  ‘Sometimes he didn’t treat you very well,’ she said.

  Flashes of arguments we’d had flickered before my eyes like a slide show. I shut them tight and shook my head.

  ‘What about the pregnancy?’ she asked.

  I looked at her in disbelief; tears threatening to overflow.

  ‘I’m just trying to highlight that he wasn’t very nice,’ she said, sounding guilty.

  ‘He was just scared,’ I said.

  ‘Will you please stop defending him,’ Nat said in exasperation.

  Elaine clapped her hands, breaking up our argument, and Benny, who had his head stuck out of her bag, barked in response. ‘Enough of the self-pity,’ she said. ‘You’ve had a year to get over this and you haven’t managed.’ She pulled a tatty old magazine from her handbag. It had Dinah’s practice stamp on the front.

  ‘Hey,’ Dinah protested, reaching out a hand to grab it.

  ‘Oh come on. It’s two years old, like you even missed it.’ Elaine moved it out of her reach. ‘You know you really should update your magazine collection sometime,’ she said, flicking through the pages. ‘Give me something decent to read while I’m waiting for you to finish work. Ahh here it is.’ She handed me the magazine, tapping a perfectly manicured nail onto an article. ‘Go on, read it.’

  I flipped back to the cover of the magazine. ‘Cosmo?’ I asked incredulously, looking between Dinah and Elaine.

  ‘It’s a reputable magazine,’ said Dinah defensively.

  ‘It’s not where it came from, it’s what you can get from it,’ said Elaine. ‘Now read it out aloud.’

  ‘Yes Mum,’ I grumbled.

  CLOSURE IN SEVEN EASY STEPS.

  Hey girlfriend had your heart broken? Having trouble moving on from the bad boy that broke it?

  I looked at Elaine who made read-on-shushing-hand-motions at me. Rolling my eyes I continued.

  Well, have I got a treat for you. Seven easy steps to closure – guaranteed to mend your broken heart and get you back out there where the wild animals roam.

  ‘Oh please. Elaine,’ I said in a whiny voice.

  ‘Just keep reading,’ she replied from between clenched teeth. Sometimes Elaine can be a little scary.

  Follow these steps in order – we promise that by the end you will be so over him, you won’t even remember his name.

  ‘Well I doubt I’ll forget that – what with the election and everything.’

  ‘Tara. Just read the damned article,’ Elaine said, running her hands through her shoulder length hair in frustration.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Nat. ‘What are the seven steps?’

  ‘Seriously?’ I looked at her.

  ‘What have you got to lose? Last night you were sitting on the floor of a grungy public toilet crying your eyes out. How can this be any worse?’

  ‘Point taken, but surely there has to be a better way than this.’

  ‘If there is, you’d think you might have tried it by now,’ said Dinah as she reached over and snatched the magazine out of my hands. She concentrated on the page, taking up where I had finished
.

  Step number one – Get a new hairdo.

  The girls looked at me, their eyes critical as they viewed my long, brown hair I had scraped back into a pony-tail.

  ‘She has had that haircut for a long time,’ said Dinah to Nat.

  ‘Hell, she’s had that haircut for as long as I’ve known her,’ said Elaine, flipping open her phone and hitting speed dial.

  ‘Hi Tristan darling it’s me. Have an emergency. You know my friend Tara? …………Yes that is her ex running for Lord Mayor.…………Yes he is rather dreamy…………. Anyway look, she needs a new do. Can you fit her in this week? ………… Yep, that would be perfect. You’re a love. Talk to you soon.’

  Blowing some kisses down the phone, she hung up. ’12 o’clock next Saturday,’ she informed me.

  ‘I’m working Saturday,’ I said, attempting to extricate myself from this crazy ride I seemed to be on.

  ‘No you’re not.’

  I stared at Dinah, unable to believe that she had dobbed me in. Damn, it sucked when your boss was one of your best friends. I pulled a face at her and she had the nerve to look all innocent.

  ‘But you’re not working,’ she said, picking up the magazine to continue.

  Step number two – Get a new wardrobe – clothes and shoes.

  More scrutiny from my friends.

  ‘Hey,’ I protested, ‘I like my clothes.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Elaine, ‘but they’re not very feminine.’

  ‘Well that’s just me. Whoever I end up with is going to have to like me the way I am.’

  ‘That’s not the point,’ said Nat, shaking her head. ‘This is about changing the energy in your life, allowing you to move on and embrace new experiences.’

  ‘Have you been helping yourself to my self-help book collection?’ I asked, causing her to burst out laughing.

  I noticed Elaine look at her suspiciously, before beckoning Dinah to keep reading.

  Step number three – Get a new hobby.

  ‘Oh perfect,’ said Elaine, as if unaware of the contents of the article, ‘I know just the thing. I’ll organise it and then surprise you.’

  ‘It says it has to be done in order,’ I protested.

  ‘Oh don’t you worry about the fine print, it’ll be done in order. Go on Dinah.’

  Dinah cleared her throat nervously.

  Step number four – Have meaningless sex.

  I let out a yelp.

  ‘You have to have sex again sometime,’ said Nat reasonably.

  ‘I know that. I just don’t want to be rushed into it.’

  ‘It’s been a year,’ said Elaine, digging around in her handbag. She flicked open her wallet and handed me a card.

  ‘Jesus, what the hell is this?’ I squeaked. ‘The phone number of a gigolo?’

  Elaine laughed. ‘No, it’s the details of your new web-dating profile. Don’t worry I’ll set up the dates. You just have to sleep with one of them.’

  ‘You are a machine,’ Nat said admiringly.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You just have to sleep with one of them.’ I mimicked Elaine while screwing up my face. I was beginning to feel outnumbered.

  Step number five – Travel to an exotic destination.

  They looked at me.

  ‘Well,’ I admitted, ‘I haven’t been on a holiday for a while. That might be nice. And if I have to have sex first, at least I’ll have earned it. All right,’ I said to Dinah, ‘give it to me, what’s number six.’

  ‘You’re not going to like it.’

  ‘What can be worse than meaningless sex?’

  ‘Meaningful sex.’

  What?’ I yelled, trying to grab the magazine from her.

  ‘Shhhh, people are looking,’ said Dinah. ‘It says right here.’ She flicked the magazine around so I could see it.

  Step number six – Have meaningful sex.

  ‘I can’t see that happening anytime soon,’ I grumbled.

  ‘Well it has to happen one day or you’re going to spend the rest of your life alone,’ said Dinah.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Nat airily, ‘who says meaningless sex can’t become meaningful sex?’

  Elaine looked at her intently for a long time while I wondered what was going on. Had I become so self-centred, that I had missed something in one of my best friend’s life? Then she finished her scrutiny of Nat and turning to me, asked, ‘What, you’d rather spend the rest of your life with that foul mouthed cockatiel your mother gave you?’

  I squirmed in my chair and muttered, ‘Bird’s gone.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘The bird’s gone,’ I said a little louder.

  ‘What? How?’ asked Nat.

  ‘I set him free this morning. I couldn’t take it any more.’

  ‘What are you going to tell your Mum?’

  ‘That I woke up this morning and he was dead.’

  ‘Don’t forget to mention that you fed him last night and he seemed happy. Otherwise she may think he died of starvation,’ said Nat.

  ‘I’ll tell her he sat on my shoulder while I watched TV and that I gave him a special treat to keep him occupied while I was gone. You know one of those cuttlefish thingies.’

  ‘Christ,’ said Elaine, ‘this is why you have to have meaningful sex.’

  I stuck my tongue out at her. ‘All right, so what happens after I have meaningful sex?’

  Step number seven – Obtain closure.

  ‘What?’ I asked. ‘How?’

  ‘I’m not sure about that part,’ admitted Elaine. ‘But I have faith that if you follow all the other steps, it will just happen naturally.’

  ‘You just want me to have sex.’

  ‘Yes I do dear, and the sooner the better.’

  * * *

  By the time I arrived home it was late afternoon and my hangover had morphed into a general tiredness. Cocky’s cage – which I had placed on the sidewalk – was no longer there. I felt a momentary sadness, quickly followed by relief, and then by guilt that I hadn’t returned the cage to Mum. Oh well, I would just have to buy her a new one if she wanted it back.

  I rang Mum, relieved to get the answering machine, and left an over-detailed message about Cocky’s death. I would see her tomorrow at my family birthday lunch; for now I just wanted to be alone to think. I hung up hoping she wouldn’t smell a rat, and went to run a bath.

  I love my apartment. Lily – my sister – and I had each inherited one from our great Aunt Bertha, who had died a couple of years ago. We had been overwhelmed at the generosity of the dear old lady who had spent most of her later life travelling overseas. They are in an old, red-brick building in Woollahra, which is an inner suburb of Sydney.

  Lily’s flat – which she rents out – is right next to mine. She has six children, and is expecting her seventh, so there’s no way they could live there. When Jake and I split I had suppressed my sorrow by renovating – taking my apartment from its 1970’s interior of brown and orange to a bright, modern flat.

  My favourite room is the bathroom, which is large enough to fit a two metre-long spa bath. I spent a large portion of last year in that bath; initially crying, but later reading books or drinking wine – always by myself. I had hopes that one day it might be used for something more romantic – certainly not where I wanted to have my meaningless sex encounter, but meaningful sex? Well that was another thing entirely.

  I dropped in a bath bomb scented with orange and lime and watched it start to fizz. Once it had finished, I followed it in – sinking into the hot water and sighing with pleasure. But just as I was starting to relax the magazine article popped into my head. I harrumphed in annoyance. Seven Easy Steps to Closure indeed. Was I really going to do this? I had to admit, it did seem like fun: my friends and I on a secret quest to find closure, but I didn’t really like the idea of the internet dating, or the meaningless sex.

  Had I ever had meaningless sex? I started sifting through my memories, sorting the few sexual encounters I’d had as meaningl
ess or meaningful. The time I lost my virginity – definitely meaningful. Then about 8 months later I’d had what I thought was meaningful sex, but had turned out to be meaningless when the young man in question never contacted me again. That had taught me a big lesson. The time after that was definitely meaningless. It had been ego-driven sex – the need to be found attractive again after the previous gut wrenching experience. It had been fun, but not very rewarding and I had gone off meaningless sex after that. And then of course there was Jake. The memory flooded into my mind, shocking me with its intensity.

  I managed to hold off sleeping with him until our fifth date, when the urge to feel his naked chest rubbing against mine became overwhelming. I spent the entire dinner staring into his deep brown eyes, engaging him in what I hoped was witty conversation. The whole time, all I could think about was unbuttoning his shirt and running my hands over the hardness of his stomach. During the entrée – a mouth-watering chilli mud crab which we shared, I imagined him gently teasing my bra straps off with his teeth. While we ate the main – a mixed hot and cold seafood buffet for two, I pictured him slowly sliding my skirt up my legs. By the time dessert was served – we shared a mixture of sorbets, I was visualising him throwing me onto the bed and ripping off my blouse before ravishing me with his mouth and hands.

  I may have been able to resist if it weren’t for the sorbet incident, which occurred after some dripped off the spoon I was offering Jake and onto his chin.

  ‘Lemon,’ I said, reaching out and wiping it off. Gently taking hold of my hand, he sucked the sorbet off my finger while staring into my eyes. Then he ran his tongue around my finger in a circular motion. If I hadn’t been sitting, my knees would have given way.

  (I have to admit at this point that I have a toe and finger sucking fetish. I just love having my digits sucked. It’s not something I tell everyone – I am a little embarrassed by it. I put it down to my first boyfriend, when I was 15 and as innocent as a baby, sucking on my fingers while we watched a movie. He had stared straight ahead at the screen as if nothing was happening while I squirmed in my seat, experiencing feelings and emotions I had not known I was capable of.