Read Online Good Oil by Laura Buzo - Free Book Online

by patriarchy, not feminism?’
    ‘I don’t know. But before feminism at least she wouldn’t have had to do everything.
    ’ ‘Just the kids and the housework.’
    ‘Yeah. If she’d lived in the fifties, at least she could have had her Bex and her lie-down in peace once the kids were at school. She could have had a moment to read the paper and have a coffee in the courtyard. In the sunshine. Maybe even see her friends. Go for swim. All she’d have to worry about was how to work the latest “vacuum-cleaning machine”.’
    ‘Down with feminism!’ Chris raises his beer in a toast.
    ‘Down with feminism!’ I laugh and do the same.
    ‘Seriously though,’ says Chris, gesturing for me to wipe some mozzarella off my chin. ‘The Stepford Wife thing would suck near totally if that was your whole life. It’s not The Way. Let’s not blame poor Betty for the sexual division of labour in your household. Speaking of which, where does your dad fit into all of this?’
    ‘My dad.’ I stop chewing. ‘I’ll tell you about him another time. I’m exhausted after all that—’ ‘Ranting.’
    ‘Right.’
    ‘Grade-A ranting.’
    ‘Whatever. So what about you, Brutae?’
    ‘What about me?’ He raises one eyebrow, all film noir.
    ‘What do you hate?’
    ‘Well, I hate, you know . . . stuff.’
    ‘Stuff. I just bared my soul and you hate “stuff ”.’
    ‘Betty Friedan and a dislike of smoking is your soul?’
    ‘Cough up.’
    ‘Right now, youngster, you remind me of a mosquito buzzing over what she thinks is a nice, normal, juicy vein, angling to swoop down, stick in the old proboscis and suck up some blood to take back to the kids. Little does she know that she’s hovering over an artery and when she sticks it in, she will be exploded by a backdraft of arterial spray.’
    On the formica lies the now empty pizza tray. My mouth burns from the spicy pepperoni. I am sipping my second beer and Chris is finishing his third. My watch says it is 11 p.m. On a school night.
    ‘Whillikers! It’s almost pumpkin time,’ says Chris, gesturing to Rino for the bill. ‘You better drink up so I can walk you home, youngster.’
    ‘I’m fine to go by myself. I do it every night after work.’
    ‘Can’t have you walking home alone at this time of night.You shall be escorted.’
    ‘Righto.’
    I am getting nostalgic about this night and it hasn’t even finished yet.
    Outside there are chilly gusts of wind – winter is coming on fast. We walk through the dark, still streets, our footfalls and voices the only sounds.
    ‘Will your parents be up?’ asks Chris. ‘Should I prepare to field questions as to why I’ve had their prize-scholar daughter out on a school night?’
    ‘Definitely not Mum. Dad might still be up, but he won’t ask any questions. You don’t have to come with me to the door.’
    For a while we walk in silence. Then with slightly lubricated daring, I ask, ‘So who’s the girl?’
    ‘Girl is Michaela. She went to my uni for a semester.’
    ‘And what’s so great about her?’ The darkness hides my pout.
    ‘It’s not something I can easily explain, youngster.’
    ‘ Pourquoi pas ?’
    ‘Well, we just . . . I . . .’ he gropes around for words. ‘Look. Tell me to bugger off if this is getting too personal, but you’ve never had sex have you?’
    I gape in the dark. Should I lie? Would I score points? Would he see right through it? Maybe it would put me in with a fighting chance if he thought I had!
    ‘I . . . no.’ Truthful old Amelia.
    ‘Well, depending on who you’re doing it with, you can go to this whole other place. Michaela and I went there. I haven’t been able to get back.’
    We walk in silence. Whole other place?
    ‘Why’d you break up?’
    ‘She went back to Perth. From whence she came.’
    ‘And it was just over? What about the long distance thing? My friend Penny’s mum came over from the UK to be with her dad.’
    ‘She got back together with her boyfriend over there,’