Silver

Chapter 38 - then

We ventured down to the bay to the right. There were wooden rotundas on the beach with sheer white curtains swaying in the soft breeze. We walked up the steps of one rotunda and sat on large cream satin cushions. A waitress asked if we'd like to have a drink. Jarvis ordered a beer and I ordered a lemon, lime and bitters. She didn't ask for an identity card.

'Can you drink as much as you want here?' I asked.

'Sure can,' he said. 'They don't have the same rules and regulations as Australia.' I couldn't believe it. What a place of freedom.

'So how's the honeymoon?' he asked.

'Possibly the worst honeymoon in history.'

'I thought I was in the running for that,' he replied.

'Arranged?'

He nodded. 'You too?'

'Yep.' It was clear we were of a similar class. Arranged marriages defined us.

'So does it get better?' I asked.

'Depends who you ask. I would say not.'

Our drinks arrived and we sipped them slowly, feeling the romanticism of the setting, of this unscripted dataless meeting. The sea was two tones of blue, the breeze carried a tropical scent, and palm trees hedged the shoreline. I could hardly look at Jarvis, I found him so handsome. That hair. If only Alistair had that hair, I could almost bear him.

'Here's cheers,' Jarvis said, raising his glass.

'Cheers,' I said, and we clinked. I accidentally looked at him and lilac swarmed my vision. So this was my colour for love, not silver. Silver is for marriage, for the paperwork that makes a couple's tie together official. Marriage is silver, like a chain. Love is lilac, soft as the breeze, lush as a field of lavender.

I felt dizzy. My eyes couldn't focus for a moment, there was too much colour.

'Are you all right?' he asked. 'You're not coming down with it too?'

I blinked and the feeling passed. 'I'm fine.'

'Good. For a moment I thought you were going to be sick too and I'd have to spend the day by myself. And that would be a real shame.'

We watched as a young couple walked past holding hands, the girl two steps ahead, like she was dragging the boy.

'You still in school?' he asked.

'Yeah.'

'What are you hoping to do afterwards? I mean, apart from being the perfect housewife.'

'Ha,' I liked his humour, the mix of cynicism and hopefulness. 'Architecture hopefully. If it all goes well. How about you? What do you do?'

'I'm a sculptor. Well, at the moment I'm more like an apprentice to Van Darger, you heard of him?'

I shook my head.

'Well he's really well known in Sydney. I'm his assistant. But I'm learning all his tricks, so I can have my own practice one day.'

'Are you doing your own pieces too?'

'Sure. When I get time. He lets me use his studio after work. He's a really top guy. Old school. He likes to mentor the young. I feel blessed every day to be working for him.'

'So what kind of art do you make?' I asked.

'I work with steel mostly. Large scale. I've got a thing for portraits at the moment. I want to make 50 steel posts that are cemented in the ground and when they're viewed from a certain angle you see a beautiful portrait. But from any other angle you see nothing. Just shapes. It's about how we often don't see people properly. We think we do. But we're just looking right through them.'

I felt like I was about to have a cardiac arrest. He was so god damn amazing. I'd been delivered the perfect boy on a tropical island. He had perfect interests and perfect hair. Green eyes. He was thoughtful, sincere and modest. He was a practical joke. I'd just gotten married and then I met the guy of my dreams.

He told me he assisted with moulding casts for Van Darger's works. Then they cracked them open like an egg.

'One mould can take three months to create, yet the cast takes only seconds to break.'

'What happens to the mould?' I asked.

'It's thrown away.'

'But isn't it art?'

'That's the age-old question, isn't it?'

Happiness flung a feather boa over my shoulder and pressed awake on the alarm.

'Do you want to go for a boat ride?' he asked. I could hardly find the word for yes, but I nodded.

On the way to the pier, we checked in on our betrothed. Both of them were lying awake on the banana lounges, but incommunicado. We offered them drinks and food. They both declined, with non-verbal gestures. Alistair started making retching sounds. Jarvis and I backed away down to the pier and hopped in a boat together.

We paddled around the island to a deserted beach. He continued being charming and gorgeous and even when he went for a swim and his hair was bedraggled on his forehead, I was seeing an aura of faint purple around him.

We lay on our towels on the deserted beach facing each other, propped up on our elbows. I was feeling excited, like something wonderful was about to happen, like I couldn't wait another minute for this thing. Our talking faded. I found us just looking at each other. Him in his boot-leg black bathers and me in my red and white striped bikini. I hadn't even been this intimate with my own husband yet.

Finally he leant in and kissed me. My eyes were open, but I was stunned by the colour lilac. I could feel the sensation of his tongue in my mouth. I didn't know how to kiss. I might have been married, but I didn't know what it was like to kiss someone with passion. I improvised the kiss, like an understudy who knew the lines but hadn't been given her time on stage yet. Then, when she found herself on stage, she knew exactly how to perform.

The kiss lead to touching, his fingers were assured, touching with intention. My own fingers read the braille of his body, the indentations, the rises and falls, the summits and caverns, his desires. We pressed together, feeling like we were floating in space, like lips and fingers were elevation devices, deep kissing a high-rise, a caress a sunrise. Here on this tropical island I discovered the third world of the sacred heart, as I ran across bases, experiencing new sensations, only just stopping, before we went all the way.