It's Not You It's Me (14 page)

L
ate, we hurry to meet Shane, who thankfully manages to distract us as he swaps tales of Hofbräu tent madness with the few wiggy Beer-drinking Society people who are waiting to walk back to the hotel. By the time we get back to our room I’m completely exhausted. Really exhausted after the day I’ve had. I worry for a second that I’m getting sick again, but then decide I’m being ridiculous. I’m just tired. I flop down on my bed.

‘Going to have a quick shower,’ Jas says, heading in to the bathroom.

There’s a knock on the door.

‘It’s OK.’ I get up. ‘I’ll get it. You have your shower.’

I go over and open the door to find that it’s room service—the guy’s holding a silver bucket filled with ice and a bottle of champagne.

‘There must be a mistake,’ I say. ‘We didn’t order any champagne.’

‘Room 213?’

I nod.

‘Yes.’ He nods, checking a piece of paper that he’s holding in his hand. He nods again, then comes in and puts the bucket on the table.

‘But we didn’t order any champagne,’ I repeat.

He shrugs and shows me the piece of paper. He’s right—it does say ‘Room 213’. I look up at him again and shrug too. He goes then, closing the door behind him. I watch him leave, thinking he must be all of seventeen or eighteen and realise that if his bit of paper says ‘Room 213’ he’s going to take whatever he’s got to room 213 and leave it there. It’s up to me to sort it out from here. I don’t think he’s exactly viewing this as a career job.

‘Who was it?’ Jas yells from the bathroom over the noise of the shower.

‘Room service with a bottle of champagne,’ I yell back. ‘You didn’t order any, did you?’

‘Nope.’

‘I didn’t think so. It’s a mistake. I’m going to go downstairs and check it out, OK?’

‘Yeah.’

I grab my wallet and head downstairs to the front desk.

‘Hi,’ I say to the girl who’s manning the desk when I get there. I don’t think I’ve seen the same girl twice the whole time we’ve been here. They must be making them out in the back.

She eyes me warily, knowing that I want something but not having heard what it is yet.

‘We’ve just been sent a bottle of champagne. Room 213. It must be a mistake, though, because we didn’t order any.’

She clickety-clacks on the computer for a few moments.

‘No. It’s right. A gift.’ She’s American.

‘A gift?’ I look at her. ‘From who?’

‘I can’t say.’

‘Why ever not?’

She eyes me.

I lean on the counter then. ‘Please?’

Nothing. But then I remember—she’s American. Tipping time. I pull out fifteen euros. That should do it. I hope. I slip it to her over the counter.

She gives me a quick smile then. ‘It’s from Shane. Your tour guide.’

Shane? I try for one more bit of information. ‘Do you know where he is?’

‘I think I saw him in the bar a while ago.’

‘Thanks.’ Amazing what fifteen euros will buy you these days, isn’t it?

I make my way across the lobby and over to the bar. I haven’t been in there yet, and as I walk in I remember why. I glanced inside yesterday night as we walked past, but was hardly drawn in by the decor. Not that I’m that picky when it comes to bar decor, but it really is pretty dingy. The kind of place that hasn’t been modernised since it was fitted out with green and black carpet and a green vinyl bar in the sixties. God only knows how many cigarettes have been stubbed out on the carpet and how many spilt beers are helping to keep the green colour fresh.

I spot Shane at the end of the bar, chatting to the barman, and start towards him. ‘Hey,’ I say when I get there. I hoist myself up onto the bar stool next to him.

‘Hey, yourself,’ he says. ‘Want a drink?’

‘Um, OK. Scotch and dry, thanks.’

‘You heard the lady, my good man,’ Shane says to the barman.

I decide it’s best to get straight down to business. ‘You sent us a bottle of champagne?’

Shane nods, taking a sip of his beer.

‘Whatever for?’

He moves his eyes over to meet mine. ‘I thought you needed a helping hand.’

I don’t understand. ‘A what?’

‘You know. A little social lubricant.’

‘What for?’

He turns on his stool to face me properly. ‘What for? For you and Jas. You know, romance and everything.’ He says ‘romance’ as if it’s a dirty word.

‘Oh,’ I say as the barman gives me my drink. I go to pay him, but Shane waves him away, motioning for him to put it on his tab. I take a big gulp of that drink. ‘I wasn’t lying before, you know. Jas and I…we’re not—not together,’ I stutter. I wonder if I should convince him by explaining Jas is gay, but I can’t really, can I? That should be the kind of thing he tells people himself, not me.

‘Right,’ Shane says then. ‘I just thought you were being cagey about it because of the Zamiel thing…’

‘We used to live together. For a year or so. That’s all. But we haven’t seen each other for a while. We’re just friends. Really.’

‘Oh, so there was never…?’ He trails off again.

I pause just a second too long.

‘Aha.’ He points now, smiling. ‘I knew there was something. But it’s all over?’

I snort. ‘Oh, yes. It’s definitely over.’ I take a sip of my drink. ‘You could say it wilted and died.’

‘Right…’ Shane gives me strange look.

‘We met up again by accident. He wasn’t even booked on this trip until two days ago.’

‘I see.’

Something catches my eye then, behind us. It’s Sharon,
hovering in the background. ‘What’s she want?’ I lean over nearer to Shane.

He lowers his voice accordingly, now he’s in non-ocker mode. ‘She’s been wondering where Jas is. She doesn’t know, though—about the Zamiel connection, that is. Just thinks he’s a bit of all right at the moment. I’ve been trying to keep her off the scent.’

‘Thanks.’

‘I, um, wanted to ask. Seeing as you’re in Byron Bay and all, and I live on the Gold Coast, maybe we could get together some time when we’re both back home?’

I pull back, surprised. So I
was
right earlier today. I wasn’t imagining things. I laugh, remembering my first impression of Shane—how I thought I’d rather kiss a dead possum. But now I think I rather like Shane and his Aussie act.

‘You don’t have to laugh about it,’ he says.

‘No, sorry about that.’ I wave a hand. ‘I was just remembering when I first met you. I couldn’t have ever seen us going on a date. But I’d love to. Really.’

‘Great.’

I grab a pen off the barman and write my home phone number and e-mail address on a coaster. ‘There you go.’ I hand the piece of cardboard over to him.

‘Yeah. Yeah—thanks for that, mate.’ Shane slaps me on the back as he takes the coaster from me and I cough. But then I turn and see Sharon and a few other people from the bus standing a bit closer than before. They could probably hear us if they tried hard enough.

I stand up and push my bar stool in. ‘Um, thanks for the drink,’ I whisper. ‘And the champagne, of course.’

‘No problemo.’ He winks as the Beer-drinking Society start to envelop him, chatting away.

I feel his eyes follow me all the way across the room.

When I come in the door, Jas turns the TV off.

I go over, lift the champagne out of the bucket and stare at it thoughtfully.

‘So…?’ Jas says.

‘Hmmm? Oh, sorry. The champagne—it was a mistake. We can keep it, though. Want to open it up?’

‘You sure? That’s a pretty big mistake for room service. My guess is it’s probably from somebody.’

‘Beats me,’ I lie.

‘OK. Fine. I’ll just get changed.’ He’s wearing one of the hotel bathrobes.

I put the bottle back in the bucket and go to lie down on my bed. ‘I’ve had it.’

‘Yeah?’

I turn my head. ‘Remember, I got up hours earlier than you did.’

Jas grabs some jeans and a T-shirt and heads for the bathroom. ‘Just be a minute.’

But when he emerges again I’m already dozing off. ‘You still want the champagne?’ he asks.

‘Mmmm. Just going to have a little nap,’ I say, pulling up the covers.

I sleep straight through the night.

My going to bed at six p.m. means, once again, that I’m up way too early. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. When I’ve run through the few things I have to do, I sit on the end of Jas’s bed and start jumping. Softly at first. Then a bit harder. Then harder again.

He rolls over and groans. ‘If you don’t get off my bed right now, I’ll have to kill you.’

I bounce a tad harder.

‘Isn’t there anything on TV?’

‘The news and cartoons. But I don’t even understand the cartoons. They talk too fast.’

‘What’s there not to understand about a cartoon?’

I stop bouncing then, and get up. But I’m back in less than ten seconds. I wave the room service menu in Jas’s face. ‘What do you want for breakfast?’

‘Too early for breakfast.’ Roll. Another groan.

‘No, it’s not. It’s already been on for an hour.’

‘That means it’s only seven o’clock. Damn. I’m awake now.’ Jas pushes himself up and yawns. ‘You’re a pain in the butt, Charlotte.’

‘Don’t call me that,
Jasper
.’ I point at him with the menu.

‘What’re we doing today?’

‘You know something?’ I go over and sit on my own bed again. I have a quick bounce. ‘Your bed’s definitely softer.’

‘Great. We’ll swap tonight. Don’t care. How can you have this much energy in the morning? You on something, or what?’

I stop bouncing. ‘I thought I was getting sick the last couple of days. But I’m not—when I woke up this morning I felt great. So now I’m chirpy, all right? I’m high on life.’

‘You been watching the Christian channel? Fine. I’m happy for you. Happy that you’re not sick. Now, what are we doing today?’

‘I thought we should probably have a quick whip around the festival one more time—you know, take some pictures, buy some souvenirs. Then we can skip this afternoon and tomorrow and have a scout around Munich instead. Some real culture. How about that?’

‘Sounds great. One condition.’

‘What’s that?’

‘You stay up late tonight. No bed experiments tomorrow morning.’

I wave a hand. ‘No problem there. We’re going out tonight with the group, remember? The night out on the town? I think we’re going to some funky karaoke place.’

‘Funky karaoke?’

‘Mmmm.’

‘Aren’t they mutually exclusive words?’

‘Just because you don’t need the backing tape and the little white ball…’

Jas grins. ‘I guess I am kinda good.’

I throw a pillow at him.

On purpose, we sneakily leave the hotel half an hour after the rest of the group’s already gone. We take our time wandering towards the Oktoberfest grounds, ditching room service and stopping for breakfast and a coffee on the way. When we get there, we decide that, along with the photos and souvenirs, we’ll brave the Hofbräu tent, despite Shane’s warnings—though as Australian citizens we should technically be OK. I buy a beer stein for Mark, a calendar for Kath and a couple of T-shirts for the twins. Unfortunately they don’t have the ‘My auntie went to Oktoberfest and all we got were these stupid matching T-shirts because we’re twins’ variety. That done, we head on over to see some hard-core Oktoberfest-style partying.

People are spilling in and out of the Hofbräu tent at a seriously high rate as we make our way through the entrance. It’s much busier inside than the other tents seem at this hour. The smell, however, is the same—sweat, beer, sausages.

The first thing I notice is that the Hofbräu tent is an every beer-drinker to himself kind of event. It’s not like the other tents, where you have to be seated to get a beer. Here you can drink wherever you want. It’s complete chaos, but when I think about it a bit harder I realise it’s probably the only
way. A riot squad would have a hard time getting this crowd to sit down and form some kind of order. It’d be like asking people nicely to be seated and quiet while they’re fighting for air in a soccer stadium crush. The second thing I notice is that everyone’s suddenly speaking English. Most of them with an Australian or New Zealand accent. I look up at Jas.

‘OK?’ he says.

I nod. So far. But then I see the expression on Jas’s face and look back down again. He’s staring at something in the distance in utter disbelief. I follow his gaze through the crowd and see it immediately.

It’s Damien. President Damien.

President Damien who is now absolutely starkers, standing in the middle of a ring of red, white and blue people. The members of the Beer-drinking Society. Mainly red, white and blue because they’re covered in Australian flags. Flags draped around their shoulders. Fake tattoo flags on their arms. Painted flag faces. I remember Shane’s words then—today is ‘flag day’. Damien himself is downing stein after stein of beer, not even stopping for a breath.

‘Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, oi, oi, oi!’ the ring start yelling in unison.

He downs another stein.

I’m wondering how many litres of beer a stomach can physically hold before lunchtime when Shane appears as if from nowhere. He tackles Damien, grabs his flag off the ground, wraps it around him and drags the guy off in one swift movement. Quite balletic, really. Everyone watches them go. Shane is heading for the men’s, Damien’s head under one arm, flag trailing. As they pass by, Jas yells at Shane, ‘Need a hand, mate?’

Shane shakes his head. ‘No, thanks. All in the job de
scription.’ Damien struggles then, and Shane tightens his grasp. ‘Come on, fella. If you struggle it’ll just make it harder for both of us.’ They keep going.

I keep right on standing in the same spot, watching Damien, naked as the day he was born now that the flag’s fallen off again. Expression: disbelief.

‘Don’t look.’ Jas reaches over to cover my eyes with one hand. ‘A sight like that could put you off your beer for ever.’

When he lets his hand fall, I glance up. ‘You’d think he’d know better than to do that in autumn,’ I say.

Jas cranes his head and guesses what I’m hinting at. ‘Shrinkage. Never a good look for a little Aussie battler, is it?’

‘No, not really. Especially when it seems he wasn’t exactly gifted to start with.’