My Heals Clip Clopped on the Deserted Footpath

I hate this time of year, well, perhaps hate is too strong. It was dark already as I walked through the gardens to the Richmond train station, on my way to Lauri’s, my ex’s dinner.

It is my bit for the world environment, besides, if you go to the south side, by the time you find parking, it is just as quick to go by train, one stop, two stops from Richmond station.

I listened to Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On. The park was gorgeous, really, the muted hues of autumn, but it was essentially night time. I don’t mind the dark, really, but I prefer the sun.

Off to Clara Street, Peter (Lauri’s ex, one before me) is away. I gathered Pete was somewhere between Shanghai and Seoul, nobody was quite sure. What was he doing there? Nobody was quite sure? Someone joked he was working for the peace process. I thought he was a painter, a successful painter. (perhaps he could paint the fat orange one and the insane fat one) Lauri and Leroy are house sitting. It’s a nice house. Peter has lived there for years, well, ever since I have known him, and that is longer than I care to think about. Pete has always lived there.

I walked from South Yarra Station to Peter’s. In my mind, it was a short walk, but I wasn’t 100 per cent sure. I didn’t want to be early, I didn’t want to be late, I wanted to arrive at 6.10pm, for a 6pm dinner, it was a dinner after all, couldn’t be a fashionable half an hour, that is too cruel on the cook.

Funny thing was that Lauri kept giving me directions to Pete’s, when I have been there 100 times, always with Lauri, granted it was a few years ago, more than I care to think about.

I got there about 6.10pm. I was the first one there. We drank wine. Lauri told me about his latest treatment.

Sebastian, Adriana, Miss Chris, duly arrived by Uber. Sebastian had just moved into Miss Chris’s place, (the two people with the most challenged sense of arriving on time, are now living together) and Adriana lives near by, so, of course, they Uber’d it together. They arrived late, of course, there could be no other out come. Not Adrianna, she’s not a late one. Johnny, (I wish I fucked Johnny when he was young) arrived, by tram, on his own, and Matt arrived last. Matt and I came by train, the others by Uber, nobody drove.

So, yay for our carbon footprint. Oh? No, not really, hey, a lot of the transport was internal combustion engines. Yay for me, Matt and Johnny.

Leroy cooked. The broccolini and asparagus were over cooked, with some charred nuts of undetermined origin. There was pork that was just slightly over cooked, so close, fennel and orange cut up and thrown in a bowl, and a cake bought from a shop. (grimace) The food was ordinary. This is from a man whose main claim to financial security is from restaurants. All I could think was that I was glad, or not glad (evil grin), Sam wasn’t eating it, he would have said something afterwards. He’s not diplomatic when it comes to food, either. People all fall for Sam’s charms and think he is the sweet one. “Oh, really, Sam’s not coming?” They are a pack of bitches.

Shit food is an exception. You see, Sebastian usually cooks, but he’d spent the weekend moving.

We drank wine and smoked pot. We laughed as if twenty five years hadn’t passed at all.

We all left about 10.30pm, all except Matt. All at once. One left, we all left. Sebastian, Chris, and Adrianna got their Uber and Johnny’s Uber mixed up and there was much confusion in the street. Well, the Uber drivers weren’t stoned, they could have sorted it out, I ask you. I must admit, I stood back and rocked on my feet and enjoyed the moment. It was a bit like herding cats though, to be truthful. And then they were gone and I was left standing in the middle of Clara Street on my own. I’d worn black shoes, my heals clip clopped on the deserted footpath as I walked towards Toorak Road, echoing in the thin, cold air.

I caught a taxi in Toorak Road. A nice Shri Lankan driver was behind the wheel. I laughed to myself about the time I, spaced out on pot, having had a night with Adriana, we’d had cookies and bongs, I told a taxi driver that he’d have a really nice cock. It just came out, it was a moment when my filters were at zero capacity. I couldn’t believe what I’d said. It was truly a did-I-just-say-that-out-loud moment? He squirmed and told me that he was a happily married man. We didn’t speak for the rest of the trip. I didn’t because I clearly couldn’t trust myself. It was lucky the taxi was dark and that he couldn’t see my head blushed red, for various reasons, I grant you. I don’t know why he didn’t say anything else? Not even when I paid the fare. I looked at the metre and gave him the nearest note to cover it. And stumbled out the door. I chuckled to myself at the memory.

I didn’t speak as we turned up Punt Road and steadily accelerated.