Part 4
With very small time left until the commencement of yet another year, Paul and I wandered the streets of Sydney city, trying to find a relatively quiet place to sit and watch the fireworks display over the harbour. We were setting our hopes too high � there was never a quiet place in Sydney, particularly during New Year�s Eve. There was no use trying to find a taxi; every mode of transportation was in use, with little to no room for any others. Eventually we settled on visiting a pub, a fair distance from the park where I�d originally started the evening. This venue was a little less crowded than the one in which we�d first met, and much nicer staff; this was probably because nightclubs were so impersonal while pubs had a friendly, make-yourself-at-home atmosphere. It was little wonder pubs were so frequented. Paul and I made ourselves comfortable at a table situated in a corner, allowing us a fair amount of privacy while still having a clear view of the television screen towards the bar. Live coverage of the harbour was being shown, and since we both decided that this was as close to the harbour as we were going to get, given the time limit we had, we ordered two beers and watched the screen. Our discussion turned to what almost everyone spoke about on this occasion � New Year�s Resolutions.
"I never used to make them," Paul confessed, lighting another cigarette. "I always regarded them as being silly. If you�re going to resolve to do something, why only make the resolution on one day of your entire year?"
"I see where you�re coming from," I said, "but I still like to do it anyway. In some aspects, it�s become a tradition."
"I started making them just a couple of years ago." He flashed me a smile. "It kills time between sober and drunk...So, what�s your resolution for this year?"
I hadn�t had time to consider possible resolutions until that moment. As he brought his beer bottle to his lips, briefly toying with the outside of his nose as though it were tingling or just numb, I drummed my fingers in an irregular rhythm on the wooden table as I pondered. What was something about myself or my life that I really wanted to improve on? There were plenty of things, but none that immediately stood out in my mind.
"I haven�t really picked one thing yet," I finally replied, shrugging my shoulders. "There are lots of things I want to do. Find a better job, go on a housecleaning spree, get myself in shape, try to be kinder to my mother, even though she can really test your nerves at times..." Tez popped up in my mind and I smiled. "...and drop my boyfriend!"
"You have a boyfriend?"
"Well, no, not exactly." I explained the story of Tez posing me as his boyfriend so I could gain access to the nightclub, and how awkward his friend made me feel � being careful to leave out my reasons for wanting to get in. By the time I�d reached the end, Paul and I were both laughing � if it were being told by anyone else, it wouldn�t have been anything out-of-the-ordinary, but since I didn�t usually become involved in things like that it was amusing.
"If only we�d met beforehand," Paul said, flicking ashes from his cigarette into the ashtray supplied by the pub on the table. "I could�ve gotten you in without any trouble."
I shook my head. "I wouldn�t want to seem like one of the groupies. I�m not like that."
"So," Paul sat his cigarette in a concavity on the ashtray and traced a circle around the mouth of the bottle with his fingertip, avoiding my eyes, "if this Tez guy isn�t your boyfriend, then who is?"
"I don�t have a boyfriend."
"Really? Any particular reason?"
"I don�t know. I guess I just haven�t seen anyone I�ve fancied lately."
"Oh..." Paul looked away, turning his head to a nearby wall adorned with plaques as he crossed one leg over the other. "When we were leaving the club, I was half-expecting you to be inviting someone else with us. I didn�t think you�d be there alone."
"Tez was with me initially, but I guess the crowd just swallowed him up � once he gets into the party spirit, it�s almost impossible to break him out of it."
"Do you think Tez would mind you leaving him in the club?"
"Nah, he won�t mind. He�s often trying to get me out to nightclubs, trying to make me a little less boring!"
"He thinks you�re boring?"
I took a swig of my beer. "Well, he hasn�t said it to my face. But if you compare my life to those of my friends, he doesn�t need to say it."
"Boring by whose standards, though? Your own or your friends�?" He reclaimed his cigarette, dangling it between his fingers.
I shrugged. "I don�t know."
I would�ve gone on to say more, but the coverage of the harbour was beginning its ten-second countdown to the culmination of 1998. Those hovering near the bar counted out loud, and once it hit zero the assembly began to cheer and applaud, raising their beer bottles and tossing party favours into the air. Paul and I were showered with confetti, multicoloured particles falling onto our hair and shoulders. We giggled and unsuccessfully attempted to brush the confetti from our hair as the crowd broke into an off-key, considerably drunken rendition of 'Aud Lang Syne'.
"Come on!" Paul brightened up, jumping to his feet and outstretching his hand to me. "We�re not going to sit here and be antisocial!"
"What are we doing?" I asked, letting him pull me to a stand.
To answer my question, Paul stepped up to a middle-aged man with a large potbelly, shook his hand warmly and said, "Happy New Year!" As he began to move on to the next person, I gently clutched his forearm and protested in his ear, "Paul, we don�t know these people!"
"There are no strangers here � just friends you haven�t met yet!" Paul replied, and spun me around to face a group of four women in their mid-20s, dressed to the nines and sharing a group hug. I waited until they broke their hug before offering my hand and saying, "Happy New Year!"
For the next minute or so Paul and I made our way around the crowd gathered near the bar, saying �Happy New Year� and hearing those words from others numerous times. It was an automatic phrase that was spoken between everybody, no matter whether they were longtime friends or complete strangers. The fireworks display was being televised by then, and conversation ceased while this was happening. Everyone in the pub turned their attention to the screens, clutching their drinks and ignoring the molehills of confetti on their shoulders. By the time the last boom had sounded, I looked to my right to see Paul standing beside me, marveling at the pyrotechnics being aired. I could see the cocaine making its effects on Paul � the smile on his face was growing wider each time I saw him. Not too long ago, he had been sobbing in a bathroom stall, hiding himself from the eyes of others, even people he knew � now he was mingling and chatting with people he didn�t know as though they�d been friends forever. He could�ve been making a genuine effort to lighten his mood, seeing as he and I hadn�t met in a very pleasant situation, and it was New Year�s Eve after all. But being a friend of frequent cocaine users, I was familiar with the effects and could identify them in almost anyone.
It dawned on me that I hadn�t yet bid Paul a Happy New Year, so I turned to face him fully, held out my hand and did so. He shook it enthusiastically and returned the verbal gesture, both of our hands warm and slightly sweaty from the dozens of hands we�d already shaken. Briefly looking back on the previous New Year�s Eve celebrations I�d attended, this had been the first time that I�d spent the evening with people that I didn�t know � Paul was only an exception because I�d met him before we�d made our way to the pub. He made me feel as though I�d known him for much longer than that, though.
After talking to other pub-dwellers for a few minutes more, Paul and I returned to our tables and finished off our beers while the staff fired up the karaoke machine on the small stage near the bar. We sat back and observed in amusement as people who had poured too many pints of alcohol down their throats lunged for the microphone and slurred the lyrics to songs of old and new.
Finally I had enough of hearing them, turned to Paul and asked with a hopeful smile, "Why don�t you treat us to a song, Paul?"
"Me? Why me?"
"Anything�s got to be better than this � come on!" I encouraged him, already on my feet. He was in too much of a good mood to protest, so he allowed me to pull him out of his seat and lead him to the stage. As I held the microphone to him with mock formality, he turned it back in my direction.
"Why don�t you sing something for us, eh?" he challenged, raising his eyebrows with a teasing smile. As people sat in their seats patiently, a few people recognized Paul as being a local singer and began to shout their encouragement.
"Because they want you, not me," I replied. "Besides, I can�t sing for shit � if you get a microphone anywhere near me you�ll hear dogs howling from blocks away!"
Paul laughed at this and climbed onto the stage as I switched on the microphone and began to imitate the language and behaviour of an emcee.
"Ladies and gentlemen, you�re getting a very special treat tonight," I said. Those who recognized Paul cheered again. "For one night only, please put your hands together for the one and only Paul McDermott!"
The audience broke into applause and whistling as I handed the microphone to Paul and turned to the karaoke machine to choose a song. While I scanned the list, Paul kept the audience amused by seductively swinging the microphone by his side and hurling quips at people seated nearest to the stage. He was a natural at improvisation, being able to dish it out to others and work with what other people flung back at him with the blink of an eye.
"You�d better not pick anything from the disco era, Tricky Ricky!" he said, swivelling to me and pointing a finger at me as he tried to keep a straight face.
"Tricky Ricky?" I mouthed to him, giggling at the nickname he�d christened me with. I then said aloud so that the audience could hear, "Is that a dare?"
Before he could come up with a retort, I picked a song and pressed Play, then turned to face Paul and folded my arms, grinning as the first bars were heard through the speakers. Paul recognized the song immediately and mouthed, "Fuck!" at the audience with his eyes widened, who responded with laughter.
"I�m going to kill you for this!" he said to me, shaking his head and chuckling as he did a short pace back and forth in front of the microphone stand. When the intro was over, Paul placed the microphone in the stand and gave me a wink before beginning to sing.
"Want some whiskey in your water, sugar in your tea?
What's all these crazy questions they�re askin' me?
This is the craziest party there could ever be
Don't turn on the lights, 'cause I don't want to see
Mama told me not to come
Mama told me not to come
That ain't the way to have fun, son
Open up the window, let some air into this room
I think I'm almost chokin' from the smell of stale perfume
And that cigarette you're smoking 'bout scared me half to death
Open up the window, sucker, let me catch my breath
Mama told me not to come
Mama told me not to come
She said, that ain't the way to have fun, son
That ain't the way to have fun..."
By now the audience were on their feet, clapping and dancing to Paul�s song. As he did at the park concert, he absolutely exploded onstage, and not one person in the pub could drag their eyes away from him. People were being lured in from the street outside with his singing, and once they were inside they didn�t want to leave. I watched every movement of his body, from his lips to his feet, and it was almost electrifying. This was where he really came alive � and the cocaine made a fair contribution to this. It intensified the heat and made him free from inhibition. I knew that drugs were a horrible thing to get messed up in, but I had to admit to myself, it made him even more alluring than he was to begin with. He could attract thousands upon thousands of people without any effort. I found myself wondering what it would be like to make love to him � would it be as powerful and heightened as it was to simply watch him onstage? What would it feel like to have his arms around me, his lips pressed against mine, hearing him murmur and moan? What would it feel like to have him inside me, receiving pleasure from him and having him experience the same pleasure? Although I hadn�t known him for very long, I wanted to find out.
My thoughts were interrupted by a hand clapping down on my shoulder.
Part 5