Outer Space / Carry On | Michael Clifford AU

23.

"Want some help picking up the food for tonight?" Dad, who was clearly distracted, didn't answer. I strummed my fingers on the bench top loudly.

He was having his annual end-of-financial-year client party tonight. It was basically just an excuse to get everyone drunk and happy so that Dad could guarantee another year of their business. Boozing and schmoozing made the corporate world go round, I guess.

Last year I hid in my room the whole time. I stayed up there with my tea and my paints, pretending the party wasn't happening. Pretending Joan wasn't pregnant and my Mum wasn't dead. 

This year, I was mildly excited because the Cliffords were coming, which meant Michael would be coming and everyone would be too busy socialising and getting drunk to notice what we were up to.

I let out a sigh and Dad finally looked up from his computer, his fingers still hovering over the keyboard. "You mean, you won't be hiding in your room like last year?"

"Not if you ordered the stuffed mushrooms that we had at Christmas." As if I was going to tell him that Michael was the reason I wasn't dreading this party.

Before going to the caterers, I swiped a bottle of champagne from the box that had been delivered early this morning and took it up to my room. I slid it under my pillow and did a stocktake of my bedroom. Michael had never been in my room before. There wasn't anything weird or embarrassing in it, but it was shamefully dull, I'd decided after being in his room.

I wondered what Dad and Joan would say if I asked to paint all over the purple walls. It scared me a little, to think that they would say yes, because what could I paint?

The contents of the lowest shelf above my desk had grown significantly over the last few months. The Best Day Ever Jar sat there proudly alongside a few of Michael's drawings, and some of my lists ripped out of my notebook and just recently, a teeny white porcelain cat that I think Michael had pocketed from the quirky bakery last week.

I wondered what Mum would make of Michael. I wondered if he could have brought some colour to her life. Then I reminded myself that you can't colour away a mental illness. No more than you can colour away cancer or dementia.

The more time I spent with Michael, and the longer my creative drought went on, the more I envied Michael's creativity and considered just giving up all together. Maybe art wasn't for me. Maybe I was supposed to be a nurse or a florist or something.

Michael could make art out of anything. Chalk drawings on the pavement, painted words on his walls, watercolour portraits and acrylic abstracts. He was one of the great ones. Like David Bowie or Andy Warhol.

All I could do was count the hours until I was in his technicolour presence again.

-

I think Dad was suspicious that I was wearing a dress. And that I brushed my hair, and added a little braid into the front. He didn't outright accuse me of anything, but he kept smiling and nudging Joan with comments like: Doesn't Alice look nice? Don't you think Alice should wear her hair like that more often? Etc, etc, etc. (I rolled my eyes but was secretly happy they thought I looked nice.)

Usually they dressed up for occasions like this and I got away with wearing the most casual clothes I could. Tonight I actually looked like I was a part of their family.

I was overdressed or anything. It was a simple red shift dress with black sleeves. Even Jagger had on he most dressed-up onesie tonight. so I couldn't let myself be showed up by a baby. "You do look wonderful, Alice." Joan said when Dad got up to answer the door to the first group of party guests. "Looking forward to seeing anyone in particular tonight?"

"No," I smiled. My damn face. It gave me away every time. "Not really."

Our house quickly filled up with Dad's clients. Most of them brought their wives or their assistants-slash-mistresses. Only a few brought their kids. Some of those faces I recognised from school but no one I knew well enough to talk to.

I took up a spot by the door, casually sipping on champagne and politely saying hello while keeping my eye on the newcomers, waiting to see the blue hair I knew so well.

Eloise's grandparents stopped by my spot to say hello. And I saw one of Dad's oldest clients, Mr Runken, checking out the serving staff as he was offered various plates of hors d'oeuvres. And Mrs Runken was just as obvious, talking to a younger waiter holding a tray of champagne glasses, her expression permanently neutral after her latest round of botox.

Regardless of what came next, if I became an artist or a nurse or a florist, I promised myself I wouldn't let myself get stuck in this world. I could handle being like Dad and Joan, but not the people I'd have to suck up to in order to further my social status or career.

"Hey you." A hand grabbed my hip, and I spun around so quickly I wobbled slightly in my small heels. Michael's hands moved quickly to grasp my elbows and steady me. "Jeez, how much champagne have you had?"

His voice was light and playful, which contradicted the darkness in his eyes. He looked tired, muted. I'd never seen him like that. I actually felt myself deflate like a popped balloon. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he tugged on the black collared shirt which I guessed he was made to wear. "I just hate these things, you know?"

Yeah, I knew. "Come on," I told him, and hand in hand, we slipped through the crowd to my room. 

Michael sat down on the bed, his eyes scanning my room. "Very nice."

My hand slipped under the pillow to retrieve the bottle of champagne. It wasn't ice-cold anymore. "It's not exactly a wonderland," I said, pointing the bottle to the closed door and popping the cork. I took a large mouthful and then handed the bottle to Michael.

"Sometimes nice is better." He pulled the bottle to his lips.

"Would you help me paint the walls?"

"What colour do you want them?"

"I don't want them any particular colour. I just want them... alive. The way your art is."

"You want me all over your walls?" His head fell to the side. I got the feeling he was noticing how this dress hugged my body. I climbed onto his lap and relaxed a little. I already felt safe here.

"I want you everywhere."

My eyes closed as I kissed him and I imagined that when they opened again, his eyes would be bright and beautiful again.