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I’ll be waiting
THIRTY-SEVEN
Sadie stayed in bed most of the morning. Ada was in the kitchen when she heard the toilet flush and she headed back into their room to finish the conversation from the night before. She had no ideas yet on how to resolve it, she only knew that she wasn’t giving Stuart up and Sadie presumably wasn’t giving up Miss Ealing Journalist. But she was sure Sadie would want to clarify things further or fight, maybe.
But Sadie was packing a backpack when she got in there and she said hi without looking up. Ada watched Sadie fold a pair of underwear and put it into the bag then grab her deodorant from the top of the drawers and drop that on top. Sadie looked serious and affected in a way Ada wasn’t used to and she remembered a morning about a week before she left for Florida.
Ada had woken up to Mel’s alarm, made the tea and come back to bed and looked at Sadie, lying flat on her back, her breathing even, her eyes closed. It had been hot the night before so they’d taken the duvet out of its cover and were using the cover as a sort of top sheet. They’d agreed that this country needed to learn about top sheets and Sadie had said, ‘It makes me feel kind of dirty sleeping under just a doona,’ and Ada had said, ‘Duveeeeet,’ and Sadie had said, ‘Don’t you My Fair Lady me.’
So Ada had looked at Sadie in a quiet early light, the duvet cover bunched around her knees where it had fallen when Ada got up. Her breasts sat neatly, straight up, not slipping sideways like Ada’s did when she lay on her back. When Ada looked closely, she could see the slightest wrinkling at the centre of her chest, where the hard met the soft. Sun damage right there felt like home to Ada, like every woman she had loved in any capacity.
No expression passed over Sadie’s face, there was an absence that Ada felt, just then, that she might try to fill for the rest of her life. Her want made a fool of her. This flatpack woman didn’t need her intervention. But she was selfish so she would offer it anyway.
Ada had climbed onto the bed, pulled the duvet cover further down and rolled Sadie’s leg slightly out. She kissed the inside of Sadie’s thigh and felt Sadie shift slightly, opening herself up more fully, her eyes still closed. Ada kissed her again and the humid morning funk of Sadie hit her and she wanted to climb inside her and sweat it out. But she paused, raised her head, saw Sadie looking at her through half-opened eyes. She lowered her mouth and kissed her one more time and then she left her mouth there, barely touching.
There was silence and though Ada didn’t move at all, she felt Sadie’s body wake up. She felt she could hear every bit of water inside her rushing towards the point Ada hovered over and she wanted to keep Sadie like this forever, wanting, for once, wanting her. And then Sadie said, ‘Ada … please,’ and Ada couldn’t bear to leave her for one more minute and she climbed desperately between her legs and pushed her tongue into her and Sadie said, ‘Ada, please,’ again and again. Ada tried to pull back but found that she couldn’t. When Sadie came, she laughed so hard that the tremors of pleasure mixed with some other kind of primal shaking and then Ada laughed too.
She was still laughing when Sadie reached down and sat her up so they were both seated and facing each other. Sadie was still giggling, breathless, and she traced a finger down Ada’s ribs and said, ‘Does that tickle?’ And Ada giggled too and then Sadie reached lower and tickled her some more. And then after they had been inside and around each other, Ada had got out of bed to shower and as she did Sadie had taken her wrist and held it for a moment before letting her go.
And Ada thought about that now as Sadie packed with her eyes averted and Ada wondered why she hadn’t stayed in bed that day. And all she could think, when she assessed herself clearly – as she prided herself on doing, who knew her better than her? – all she could think was that she didn’t feel that Sadie’s want was as real as hers. How could it be when she slept so neatly and Ada watched her so desperately? Sadie was only fully there in moments and trying to stretch them out was pathetic and it was better for them both that Ada not humiliate herself further. Or maybe she had simply been thinking of something else, somewhere she needed to be later that day and this overlay was fiction. Ada found her own motives unusually obscure and she thought about asking Sadie what she thought but Sadie probably wasn’t in the mood.
So instead, she asked, ‘Are you moving out?’ and Sadie said, ‘Do you want me to?’ and Ada said no and it was true. She had told Stuart she would talk to Sadie but in this moment, Stuart had nothing to do with either of them and she wished she could explain that to Sadie. She realised she didn’t want him in her room, particularly, because it didn’t feel like her own any more. But that would change, maybe fast if Sadie packed a bigger bag.
Sadie said, ‘I might not be back tonight,’ and Ada said, ‘I have my gig tonight anyway so we couldn’t have hung out,’ and Sadie looked at her like this piece of information was so irrelevant. Sadie passed the bed and Ada reached out for her wrist, a mirror of her memory, and Sadie waited until she released it. So Ada had been right and there was no fight in either of them after all. She said, ‘Have fun in Ealing, if that is a thing you can do in Ealing,’ and Sadie was halfway out the door and said, ‘Hope the gig goes well,’ and then she was all the way out the door. Ada lay back on the bed, diagonal, and then she messaged Stuart and waited for the panic to subside.
Ada arrived at the pub at seven for sound check and her weekly burger. She climbed onto a bar stool and waved to Clem who nodded at her then turned to send an order for a veggie burger into the kitchen. Ada realised that if she was eating meat again, Clem would be the person she’d have to tell first and decided it wasn’t worth disrupting their easy flow. A regular might not be a regular if their order changes. The veggie burger was OK, after all. Clem brought Ada a glass of house white and without saying hello said, ‘I want to talk to you about something.’
Normally Ada would welcome the extra attention but an exhaustion was creeping over her bones, too early in the night, she needed to get on stage soon, so she reached into her well and said, ‘Something good?’ She remembered that Clem had snapped at her the last time she was there which felt like a different time, a different, sparklier Ada. She hoped Clem wouldn’t snap again, unsure if their relationship could survive a meltdown at the bar.
Clem leaned over the bar and explained. Ada was right – ‘I’m always right, Clem,’ she replied, but without much vigour. The theatre space wasn’t making enough money, it was empty five nights a week sometimes. Clem had spoken to the owners about it while Ada was in Florida and they agreed that they didn’t want to convert it to just another bar but they didn’t know what to do. Ada had a brief moment of resignation at yet another revenue stream shutting her out but then – ‘So I told them I’d find someone to programme it,’ Clem said and Ada said, ‘Wait, do you mean me?’ and Clem said, ‘I don’t know that many people who do what you do,’ and then, ‘and I figure you could use the work.’
Ada sensed then that Clem was protective of her, maybe worried about her, and she knew to use that to her advantage. They discussed what the role would be – programming, running the shows, whatever needed doing to get people to come watch stuff – and what the pay would be – minimum wage for three days a week of full-time work and a cut of the door. Clem said that she actually needed another person behind the bar but she could use that money to pay Ada ‘but only if you think this will work’. Ada said, ‘I’ve never done anything like this, I can’t believe you’d offer me this,’ and Clem said, ‘I kind of thought you were asking for the job when you gave me shit about the space being empty.’ Ada said, ‘You credit me with a lot of … guile,’ and Clem said, ‘You’re all guile. Anyway, you should take this job.’
The best opportunities always came to Ada when she wasn’t looking for them and she was proud of this, proud of the way things turned up for her. Whenever things were dire something turned up but when she said that to Mel it didn’t sound as whimsical as she’d hoped. In fact Mel had said, ‘I think you’re describing privilege,’ and then, ‘But hey, whatever works,’ and Ada had mostly kept the thought to herself since then.
Of course, the worst opportunities showed up in exactly the same way but Ada thought that was true for everyone. People didn’t go looking for something bad to happen to them, mostly anyway, but they looked for something good. And she didn’t have to. And here it was happening again. It was a skill, she was sure, she just didn’t know how she’d acquired it.
Ada told Clem she thought it might work and Clem said she’d take it to the owners and see what they said. Ada said, ‘I appreciate you going to bat for me,’ and Clem said, ‘You’re always here on time and people seem to like you and you were bitching about that temp job you had for months so I figure you can do basic shit.’ And Ada felt protected and looked around the dark sticky bar and considered that it might be home.
The bill that night was mostly new acts who brought along a tonne of their friends, kids with deliberately bad haircuts only a few years younger than Ada who got drunk and cheered loudly. There were also always some older acts who were there to try new material and Ada loved being the bridge between the new and afraid and the old and resigned. She threw in more crowd work than usual, starting a conversation between sets with two people in the front row who turned out to be on a first date, the woman more eager to talk than the man. It felt easy enough to keep the audience warm and she knew the newbies would appreciate her efforts.
There was a girl with a ukulele, as there was most nights, and she had dyed red hair and a voice like Zooey Deschanel while she was singing and a voice like Essex when she wasn’t. Ada placed her at maybe twenty-two or twenty-three and she claimed to be nervous at the start of her set then showed no signs of those nerves after that, a trick Ada knew would only work while she was this young. Ada found her attractive but felt idle about it, figuring that striking the kind older woman role for a few weeks might eventually lead somewhere.
The night ended and Ada went down to the bar to drink with quiet Steven, realising as they chatted that he might be the simplest relationship she had. People who saw photos of him found him handsome but in person he directed his good looks so entirely inward as to almost disappear. So he and Ada had an easy friendship and he enjoyed catching up on the Sadie-and-Stuart saga every week after their gig.
She told him she and Sadie had fought, sort of, and he said, ‘Oh love, I’m sure you’ll make up,’ and she didn’t know how to explain that she wasn’t sure if they were apart, even. Clem poured them drinks and then one of the older comics offered Ada a line and she did it, with no goal in mind, and they drank some more. She wondered if she’d be able to do this if she was actually working at the bar and later when she was walking back from the station she considered saying no to the job offer. But she’d need to discuss it with Mel first. Mel would know what to do.
When Ada let herself in, she heard voices in the kitchen and came in to see Mel and Will – it took her a moment to place him as the same contained man she’d met at the party – eating stuffed pasta with peas and cheese grated over the top. Ada said, ‘Well, hello, you two!’ and Will jumped up and hugged her and she realised he was less contained and pretty drunk. Mel said, ‘Oh no! I thought you’d be out at your gig!’ and Ada said, ‘I was, it’s like midnight,’ and Mel said, ‘Is it? Noooooooooo.’
She went back to her bowl, throwing three pieces of pasta in her mouth at once. Ada said, ‘What have you been up to?’ and Will explained in a rambling way that they had gone to the theatre. It was a 7 p.m. show and they hadn’t eaten first and then it was nearly three hours long and they’d had drinks before and drinks during. ‘And then we came back here but the Overground wasn’t running and then Mel cooked!’
Ada said, ‘Would we say this was cooking?’ and Mel said, ‘I ate this meal three nights a week before you moved in.’ Will finished his last piece and said, ‘There’s mushroom in this pasta you know, and Mel added peas. That’s two of our five a day!’ And he and Mel started laughing and Ada said good night.
Her room was empty and Ada realised a part of her had been assuming it wouldn’t be. Sadie had said she might be out tonight but they hadn’t finished talking, had they? The bottle of bourbon and two glasses from the night before were there and Ada picked up the one that had been Sadie’s. She poured some bourbon in, drank it and sat on the floor with the bottle. She was wearing a black corseted taffeta dress that laced up at the back and she allowed herself to imagine Sadie unlacing it for her then decided to stop. She undid the dress herself, she was practised at it, and continued drinking with it unlaced and flopping forwards over her legs.
Ada had read about a phenomenon where people were so tired but they stayed up late anyway because it was the only time of the day where they had control of their lives. They weren’t accountable to their boss or their partner or their kids or the bus timetable or meal planning or a neighbour who didn’t like accepting their packages. There were hours between midnight and 2 a.m. when they were only accountable to themselves and so they stayed up even though they knew they’d be tired the next day.
Ada, in practice, had many hours in her day without accountability but she felt recently that she had been stretching her energy thin. Her room was tidier than usual because Sadie was there and she kept her stuff neat and so Ada tried to as well. But Sadie was gone now and Ada stood up and walked to her hanging shirts and grabbed a sleeve. She considered pulling it off the hanger and throwing it on the floor or putting it on and rolling around in the bed. But it wouldn’t fit her and anyway, they were actions done in anger.
