DIARY – LOVE AT CUMBERSOME CORNER – GAMBLING – PT 16

By Bruce Williams

Ever since lesson-one at ballet school, at age eight, Michelle has been serious about posture. She settles, knees first, onto her imported, German office chair, which, according to the instruction manual, provides superior sitness.

The TV in the next room hasn’t changed channels for a full minute, so clearly Frank is not watching TV. He might be on the balcony watching the stars. Or, in the absence of stars, looking for one.

Michelle types ‘craigslist’ into her browser’s address bar, then clicks ‘Sydney’ ‘ and ‘ ‘Men seeking women’.

Lifting herself out of her Aspire wheelchair, suspending her full weight with those muscular arms, Heavy Helen is in full flight.

‘Drive on now! Drive her on! Sweet as Honey! Go you good thing. Go you sweet thing. Drive her home now. Go. Go Goooo!’

And there it is, Sweet as Honey, home by half a length in the Beenleigh Farm Supplies Pace ‘ at Parklands on the Gold Coast, paying a handy $11.70.

‘Oo!’ Helen returns to our table, tossing back her black curls, ‘It brings colour to a girl’s cheeks!’

Her Fugazi T-shirt is ripped from throat to navel, and held loosely in place by a pair of maxi safety pins. She drinks from the long glass of water from our table, then sucks the slice of lemon that was floating in it.

Passing our table at the Viceroy, on her way to the pokies, is Lilli Lin.

‘See!’ says Helen, checking out Lilli’s ass as she walks by, ‘Gambling is a victory for multiculturalism. Before pokies, when would you see a middle-aged Chinese woman walk into a pub by herself!’

And Lilli does – not every night, but close to it.

Tonight she’s wearing gold slippers, red spandex pants and a white blouse, over which is a pink, short-sleaved jacket with a hood. Her hair is neat as neat in a bun, held by a red scrunchie. She carries in both hands before her, like an offering, a shiny, gold lame clutch bag with rhinestone highlights. On her way to bury her wealth in the tomb of ‘Queen of the Nile’ – possibly the most popular poker machine in the world. In two hours she’ll leave, and in half an hour more she’ll be back. Once I saw her hit on a stranger at the pool table for $20. The bar staff asked her to leave then, and I’ve not seen her do it since.

She climbs onto the bar stool now, with no back support required – because you’re always leaning forward.

Michelle has moved from Craigslist to RSVP – just looking. She is 32. And feels old. In another two years, she thinks, her virtual age of 25 just won’t wash.

What is it that makes a perfect boyfriend a lousy husband’

Frank has the deepest, warmest kiss imaginable. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. He would neither hurt, nor notice one. His jobs have always come and gone. But, increasingly, they take longer to come than to go. And the excuse cycle goes around and around: she’s a bitch; he’s an idiot; it could have happened to anyone; life’s too short for that shit.

‘I’m a bitch,’ Michelle mutters, clicking on ‘register’. ‘He’s an idiot,’ watching her computer fill out the form, incorrectly, by itself.

Michelle knows that she only ever looks at profiles that contain a photograph. She’s not a risk-taker. She’s not going to leave Frank without somewhere to go: actually 32 is not virtually 25, and she knows it and she feels it. But if he finds out’ If someone sees her there and spills the beans’

Michelle clicks ‘upload’. And there she is – herself. Wearing the same smile she wore to her wedding – but a better cleavage.

Her kneeling-chair is designed to keep her back straight and her neck upright at all times.

She leans forward and clicks: ‘Submit’.