The Mechanic's Daughter

The Mechanic's Daughter Part 16 : Disarmed

In the Italian restaurant, Andrew has to lean forward over the table to get his face on the level with mine. The place was cheery, with red-checked tablecloths and candles in old wine bottles. We were here with a group of people, including Barbara and Carl, most of them arguing politics, but Andrew and I might as well be alone. Neither of us was paying attention to anyone else. He was telling me why feminists should be left-wing – that the patriarchal system that keeps the working class in place is the same one that oppresses women. I studied the curved edge of upper lip as he speaks, waiting for the smile. He had strong eyebrows, grey eyes, a lean face.

"I like things to be fair. The only way for ordinary people to have power is to organize in some way. That's why I decided I like party politics. Also feminism."

"Do you think there are similarities?" I asked.

"Only in the sense that a group of people are setting some goals. It only takes a small number of people standing up for what's right for things to start to change. And then everyone ends up better off."

"Is your family involved in politics?"

"My dad is a Liberal. It drove him nuts that I joined the New Democrats. That alone makes it worthwhile."

"What is he like?"

"The only thing he believes in is expediency. And holding onto power. Really, it's so cynical, that kind of politics." At odds with his Dad, then.

"But you want to be a lawyer too."

"Labour law, not family law. It's quite different."

"Any women in that?"

"Probably not, but hey, I'm all for things being equal. Who wants to work just with old white men when you can be surrounded by women of every race."

"Nora thinks the only thing that will work is some kind of quota system for new hiring." Nora was on council with Andrew and he was familiar with her strong views.

When Andrew argued with council friends, he slowly demolished them, pushing them to concede points one at a time. He threw in obscure history or points of law. He tried to fit everything into a system, to dissect the basic motivation. He was an idealist. I didn't accept things as so clearcut and unshaded, in politics or feminism. I argued using detail, personal experience, the gradations of morality. None of it was serious, it was argument for the joy of hearing one another.

"She's making all kinds of enemies with that talk."

"Don't you like her?" I could imagine Nora rubbing a lot of people the wrong way.

"Sure I do. It's the faculty can't stand the idea. I like feminist women – for one thing they don't get bored by talk about politics. Some women just fall asleep as soon as I start going on about wage and price controls."

I put my head down on the table and pretended to snooze.

Andrew, laughing obligingly, continued. "Feminists are used to the process, how it bogs down in details. They're willing to hang in there." He grabbed a strand of my hair and threatened to dip it in his water glass. I sat up to rescue it.

"You don't find getting on with women harder because of feminism?" Barbara's contention was that most people were going to resent the changes that come with women being liberated.

"No, I figured this out. If you say 'woman' instead of 'girl', they figure you're already on their side. And if you compliment a feminist – don't tell her how she looks. She'll think that's too sexist. Instead, tell her what she's like. And now you know all my tricks for manipulating women."

He ran his hand up my arm to the elbow. The Collins wit disappeared somewhere. I seemed to be incapable of arguing when he was touching me. Our friends were getting ready to leave the restaurant. Disarmed by that hand, I went home with him.

We lay on the floor of his living room, kissing but mainly listening to the voices like instrumentals in Close to the Edge. The apartment was nearly empty – a stereo on the floor, a desk and a bookcase of bricks and boards. We snuggled against each other on some large cushions. Andrew stopped kissing me to listen to the music from time to time; a lot of his favourite parts are the same as mine. He tasted of ginger ale, the last thing he was drinking. His chest was firm against my hand, where I'd undone the buttons. I rubbed my face against it. I liked the scent of his skin. He laughed. 

"Are you a virgin?" he asked.

"No, I'm not."

"Until you did that, I thought you might be."

"Why?"

"You're so...," he was looking for a word and I was hoping it wasn't "sweet" or "innocent." "Restrained."

I've been successful then, in concealing the response I've had to him, since we got up on the dance floor together.

He got up to turn over the album. "I am a sensitive, modern man. I know foreplay always has to last the length of an LP." I laughed, liking his ability to puncture tension with humour. He touched me and I was not at all restrained.

He smiled. "Let's see what else you like."  He pulled me up and into the bedroom.

It was a long time since Paul and I've allowed no one else to get this close to me. I thought of what Cheryl told me – that every time was like jumping into unknown waters. You knew it was dangerous, but you were thrilled at your own daring. Afterwards, I lay with my head on his shoulder, a leg thrown over him. Andrew was trying to talk me into staying all night. Then he asked: "Are you on the pill?"

"Yes. A fine time to ask."

"Well, if you'd got pregnant you could have an abortion."
"Gee, thanks."

"I would have made you. Nothing can get in the way right now. I have to get into law school."

"Talk sweet nothings to me, Andrew. You warm my heart." I rolled away from him, but he grabbed my leg, pulling me back on top of him.

"You have a very wicked tongue. It's one of the things about you that turns me on."

Andrew's carelessness made me wary. I stayed another half an hour, but there was no question now of staying overnight. Andrew made me feel better as I got up to go by asking when he can see me again. He dressed and walked me out to Magda, kissing me goodbye with one hand tangled in my hair. In the rearview mirror, I could see him standing shivering on the curb, his hands in his pockets, before he turned to go inside. I shivered in sympathy, my body having made every decision about him it wants to make. It would far rather be inside, keeping him warm.