"Wog" = Australian slang for Greeks and other Southern Europeans. It used to be a racist insult, but it's been almost entirely reclaimed, and these days it's mostly used self-referentially by Australians of Mediterranean ancestry.
*
I didn't see Phoebe again before she went back to Sydney. She was doing family stuff. I was racking up overtime fixing a few more glitches in the company website, logging every minute of it, and wondering whether Phoebe thought of me as often as I thought of her. She sent me a happy-Christmas text on Christmas Day, and I sent one back.
Then I spent the next couple of days fretting over whether and when to call her. I over-think these things: what if I call at the exact wrong moment? What if I miss calling at the right moment? What if I call in the middle of a performance and her phone goes off and it wrecks the entire day? And so on. I'm sure it sounds neurotic — well, okay, it
is
neurotic — but in my defence, if you'd dated some of my exes you'd be twitchy about these things too. I'd go into details but trust me on this, you're better off without them.
Some people deal with this sort of dilemma by resorting to alcohol for courage. Me, I outsourced:
"Aleks, should I call her today? Or leave it a bit longer?"
His eyes were more bloodshot than usual. He'd gone to a Christmas shindig organised by like-minded souls, and hadn't come home for two days. Now he was working through an epic hangover.
"Just give her damn call already. Today just as bloody good as tomorrow. But if you call today you don't ask me same damn question tomorrow."
"Fair enough." Not quite Plato, but it was the answer I wanted to hear and that's usually good enough for me. I slunk back to my room and dialled before I could change my mind
but what if she's hoping you won't call —
"Hello?"
"Hi Phoebe, it's Yvonne."
"Oh, I was just wondering when I'd hear from you! How was your Christmas?"
"Oh, pretty good. No family dramas. And yours?"
"Living the wog stereotype. We'll be eating the leftovers until Easter."
"Santa bring you anything fun?"
"Couple of books, gift voucher to get my bow re-haired."
"Is that good?"
"Oh yeah. Mine needs it badly, and that's a hundred dollars right there for a cello. And here I was thinking I'd be on the naughty list for sure."
I was trying to come up with a witty response when I heard a tap-tap-tap at Phoebe's end, and she grumbled. "One o'clock already? Sorry. Didn't notice the time, that'll be my student at the door. Look, I've got rehearsals tonight, can I call you back some other time?"
"Sure. Bye!"
"Bye, Yvonne!"
She called back two days later, and we chatted about this and that: work, rehearsals, books we'd read. I wanted to say more, tell her that I wanted to go to bed with her again, but somehow the conversation never drifted in that direction — was she avoiding the subject? — and I didn't want to force it.
At midnight on New Year's Eve, having heard nothing further from her, I sent her a message:
Happy New Year. Wish you were here! Y.
And to you too! All the best - Phoebe.
And that was that. I wanted to ask her:
Do you still think about me? Do you remember my touch and my taste? Should I just take a hint and leave you alone, straight girl?
But without the courage to force things to a resolution I held off, hoping things would resolve themselves some other way.
On January 3, I went back to work. Things were pretty dead there with most of the staff still on holiday, and I needed something to take my mind off Phoebe. So I used the time to do some housekeeping. When I'd first arrived at RJC I'd soon discovered that my predecessor hadn't believed in little things like documenting key systems. Maybe that was his idea of job security — they can't fire you if they can't replace you — but it offends my professional pride, and I was glad to have a chance to get stuck into doco without being interrupted every five seconds.
Next morning Susan called me into her office. My probation still had two weeks to run, but since she was going to be on holiday over that time we agreed to get the discussion and the paperwork out of the way. It was short and painless; she was happy with my work, and had no reservations about recommending I stay on. I thanked her, and was about to get up and go back to my work when she stopped me.
"But this isn't a one-way discussion, Yvonne. I'm happy to have you working here, but are
you
happy to stay? Is this a job you want to be doing?"
I screwed up my face trying to answer that one. "Um... not sure? Look, it's interesting work here, even if sometimes I feel like I'm out of my depth. But I still don't, I don't feel like I really fit in with the people here, do you know what I mean?"
She nodded briskly. "Look, Yvonne, I won't lie, I've been here sixteen years and I'm still not a full member of the boys' club. I took time off when I had Zara, and I wasn't sure whether I wanted to come back. But it's better than it used to be. And you might not see it, but you're making progress here; when people come to you with a problem, they know you're going to solve it, not just make excuses for why it can't be done. That gets you a long way."
"Really?"
"Yvonne, if you want my advice? Hang in another six months and see how you feel then. If you're still not comfortable then, go ahead and look elsewhere, and I'll give you a good reference. If you think you can stand six months here?"
"Yes. I can do that." Chalk up another victory for Susan's sales technique.
"Good. Now, while we're here... professional development. I've been looking over what you've sent me and I hadn't realised quite how much time you're spending on the website. I agree, if it's generating that much work, it makes sense to get you some training for that. Any thoughts?"
"Well. I've looked at a few different options. Let me show you..." I borrowed her keyboard and pulled up a couple of webpages. "These guys are good, but kinda pricey." I might not be a salesman, but one thing I knew, it's easier to convince people they're getting a good deal if you start with a more expensive option. "They do have a cheaper two-day option, but it's too basic. Now, these guys... they have a five-day option for twenty-five hundred, and that looks like it covers everything I need."
Susan put on her bifocals and looked at the screen. "Melbourne, Melbourne... February. Hmm. I think I can persuade Peter to authorise the money, but it'll be difficult having you away for a whole week." We had a service agreement with an external provider in case of real emergencies but unless RJC wanted to pay exorbitant callout fees, minor stuff would have to wait until I got back.
"Yeah. About that, I was thinking... the one in Sydney is in two weeks. It should still be pretty quiet here, and I've been meaning to visit Sydney for a while." Or at least since last week. "I can cover airfare, and I've got an aunt I can stay with."
She shook her head, tut-tutting me like a benevolent schoolteacher correcting my homework. "Oh, Yvonne, it's a good thing you're not in sales. Ask for what you want and don't bargain yourself down, that's
my
job. Now, if you're staying with your aunt, I think we can cover airfare. It's still cheaper than having you away in February."
So we pencilled in arrangements. After that the conversation drifted to friendly chit-chat, and eventually I thought to ask: "So, how's Zara doing?"
"Better, I think? Still not sure how her friends are going to react if she comes out to them, but she seems more relaxed since school hols started. We're going camping next week and I hope she'll unwind a bit more then."
