thought of him as
a sort of nocturnal animal, which had, for reasons of its own, decided to bring her into its world.
He saw her for an hour or so after work each day and always delivered her home in time. Never laid a hand on her, apart from
her shoulder or the base of her spine when they walked in or out of a door. She didn’t know what he wanted of her. Suspense
grew. She sensed it was a breaking-in process and couldn’t help admiring his cool.
What did she know of him? Sometimes she told him anecdotes about her day at work when he picked her up. He listened benevolently,
without comment. He drove serenely, uninterested in small talk. The smile he gave her when she got into the car was enough
to warm her through the journey. Why? Because he only ever smiled if he wanted to. It seemedto signal some deep, mysterious approval that carried her past the strangeness between them.
He wasn’t afraid of silence. It was as if he said, it’s enough I’ve chosen you. I have made a decision.
Christmas went by, but she applied to keep working at Boans. The Leaving results came out, she’d passed respectably. She’d
been going to stay with some classmates on Rottnest, but she had no interest in this now, nor in the backyard parties – punchbowls,
coloured lights, hired music – that broke out all over the suburbs by the river. She stopped returning phone calls. Soon nobody
called her anymore. It was as if she’d moved to another city.
She didn’t know if she liked Cy Fisher or not, she couldn’t think about it. All she knew was that these little sorties with
him had a charm for her. With him, her life was suddenly exotic. In bed at home, this secret life, the places he took her
to, the people she met, seemed like a fairytale.
Cy Fisher was not someone she could talk about to any of the girls she knew. Unlike them, she had no close friendships. This
was not just because she was reserved by nature. Beauty isolated her. By some genetic design, all her inherited features had
harmoniously come together, her father’s olive colouring, her mother’s fine bones, to create its own fresh, perfect form.
At seventeen she was like a new star rising in the firmament, gazed upon with wonder all over her small world. Wherever she
went she attracted attention. There was a hush about her if she came into a room. Old people smiled at her. It was said that
she looked like Natalie Wood, that she could be a cover girl for
Seventeen
.
Girls gazed at her in class, wondering how one creature could be so blessed. They kept their distance. Face to face with some
of them, it seemed to her that their eyes swam withsomething secret, some suspicion they were keeping to themselves. She sensed that they were on the lookout for any signs that
she was pleased with herself. She had to work hard to compensate, be extra modest and nice, just to prove that she was the
same as everybody else. This created tension inside her. She felt isolated, unreal, a fake. There was something unexpressed
in her relationships with other girls, even those who included her. When they talked, daily, about appearances, their own
or other people’s, Toni had to stay silent.
And all the time she knew she was no vainer than they were. She took her beauty for granted, it had always been there, it
was part of her, she enjoyed it unthinkingly, carelessly, as someone who has never been ill enjoys a healthy body.
Boys, on the other hand, were always in favour of her. In fact, the cooller she was, the more they seemed to like it. Only
the confident or very daring approached her and asked her out. But this too was unreal. She felt their eyes didn’t really
see her when they looked at her. They didn’t listen to what she said. They liked her whatever she thought or did. She lost
respect for them and was bored.
In her own family, beauty was a word that was never mentioned. Her older sister Karen, with the ordinary good looks of
a sort of nocturnal animal, which had, for reasons of its own, decided to bring her into its world.
He saw her for an hour or so after work each day and always delivered her home in time. Never laid a hand on her, apart from
her shoulder or the base of her spine when they walked in or out of a door. She didn’t know what he wanted of her. Suspense
grew. She sensed it was a breaking-in process and couldn’t help admiring his cool.
What did she know of him? Sometimes she told him anecdotes about her day at work when he picked her up. He listened benevolently,
without comment. He drove serenely, uninterested in small talk. The smile he gave her when she got into the car was enough
to warm her through the journey. Why? Because he only ever smiled if he wanted to. It seemedto signal some deep, mysterious approval that carried her past the strangeness between them.
He wasn’t afraid of silence. It was as if he said, it’s enough I’ve chosen you. I have made a decision.
Christmas went by, but she applied to keep working at Boans. The Leaving results came out, she’d passed respectably. She’d
been going to stay with some classmates on Rottnest, but she had no interest in this now, nor in the backyard parties – punchbowls,
coloured lights, hired music – that broke out all over the suburbs by the river. She stopped returning phone calls. Soon nobody
called her anymore. It was as if she’d moved to another city.
She didn’t know if she liked Cy Fisher or not, she couldn’t think about it. All she knew was that these little sorties with
him had a charm for her. With him, her life was suddenly exotic. In bed at home, this secret life, the places he took her
to, the people she met, seemed like a fairytale.
Cy Fisher was not someone she could talk about to any of the girls she knew. Unlike them, she had no close friendships. This
was not just because she was reserved by nature. Beauty isolated her. By some genetic design, all her inherited features had
harmoniously come together, her father’s olive colouring, her mother’s fine bones, to create its own fresh, perfect form.
At seventeen she was like a new star rising in the firmament, gazed upon with wonder all over her small world. Wherever she
went she attracted attention. There was a hush about her if she came into a room. Old people smiled at her. It was said that
she looked like Natalie Wood, that she could be a cover girl for
Seventeen
.
Girls gazed at her in class, wondering how one creature could be so blessed. They kept their distance. Face to face with some
of them, it seemed to her that their eyes swam withsomething secret, some suspicion they were keeping to themselves. She sensed that they were on the lookout for any signs that
she was pleased with herself. She had to work hard to compensate, be extra modest and nice, just to prove that she was the
same as everybody else. This created tension inside her. She felt isolated, unreal, a fake. There was something unexpressed
in her relationships with other girls, even those who included her. When they talked, daily, about appearances, their own
or other people’s, Toni had to stay silent.
And all the time she knew she was no vainer than they were. She took her beauty for granted, it had always been there, it
was part of her, she enjoyed it unthinkingly, carelessly, as someone who has never been ill enjoys a healthy body.
Boys, on the other hand, were always in favour of her. In fact, the cooller she was, the more they seemed to like it. Only
the confident or very daring approached her and asked her out. But this too was unreal. She felt their eyes didn’t really
see her when they looked at her. They didn’t listen to what she said. They liked her whatever she thought or did. She lost
respect for them and was bored.
In her own family, beauty was a word that was never mentioned. Her older sister Karen, with the ordinary good looks of
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