To young male eyes, nothing compares to a stunning nubile. My college provided opportunities to see sensuality concentrated—young women full of impudent clout: sultry looks and coy brushing against an arm or a leg.
Nubile allure triggers Balthus' painting, Thérèse Dreaming. The artwork reminds me of how I pictured Coral at college.
Her short designer skirts and great legs. The same canvas reminds me of Ruby's confident drive to lure my best friend. The pixie, a perpetual flirt. Balthus' painting depicts a girl seated, her head tilted, and her eyes closed. Any innocence in the image ends here because the young model has one leg raised. Her white knicker slit unchastely revealed.
Coral curved, agreeable to the eye in her favourite dress. A creamy yellow inspiration that blended into her wavy, honey-toned hair.
The dream girl of my teenage years.
The golden girl made light of my more than friendship interest in her. Coral trusted me as her sidekick. She equated her future as attached to Josh. Then everything changed.
I waited for Coral inside her family's boathouse in early December 1974. Moored on the Yarra River, it embodied a Coral and 'me' space that Josh and Ruby only graced for special events.
The spare key lay secure under a nearby small rock. I arrived early; Coral agreed to two o'clock, 'girl speak, meet you at three.' In my excited rush to the boathouse, I hoped she might do the unpredictable.
Plonking myself on the old sofa, I drummed my fingers. A loose thread where the velvet lounge arm frayed occupied time. The strand extended as I tugged and left it scruffy.
Tedium hit, and I jumped off the sofa and looked out the small window. I picked at the flaking paint on the sill and recalled the morning's events.
Coral rang me mid-morning and asked me to meet her at the boathouse. She focused on making sure I would be there.
A short us chat was rare.
I assumed the purpose of our get-together was to reunite Josh and her. Still, I fancied my chance to charm Coral.
My finger pressed into a rot spot on the windowsill—water damage, where the putty puckered and cracked.
Holed up waiting, I summoned the events as I left home at about midday. As I dashed through the front door, my brother James shouted. Josh was on the phone from Ballarat.
I listened; the phone on my ear, a hand on my hip, my foot tapping.
Josh tumbled words at me faster than the line could carry them. He travelled to Ballarat the day after talking to me at table tennis.
Christ almighty, did my mate unload!
Work-life shaped as terrific under his uncle's supervision in the motor workshop. His engine knowledge impressed his Uncle Bob.
Next, Josh, mumbling indecision, started focusing on Coral.
He said, "My uncle spotted it, how I sparked lively under an auto hood yet moped on breaks. In Bob's phrase, 'in the dumps' when unoccupied."
Josh admitted, "I loafed against a wall, rubbing grease off my hands."
After a deep breath, he added, " Pressed by my uncle's plea, 'what's troubling you.' I confessed to cheating on my jaw-dropping girlfriend."
Gaining confidence in his voice, Josh said, "My uncle cheered me with, who might help you, side with you, to win Coral back?"
I glanced at our hallway clock; the seconds ticked.
Josh paused, anticipating my support.
I hovered, poking my tongue into my cheek.
Finally, he said, "Mate!"
Voices distracted me. I heard my mother, indistinct, talking in the kitchen to my sister. Beyond the open front door, silver birches swayed in the breeze. Frangipani in the vase on the hall stand wafted. My fingertip traced the receiver, and my mouth parched.
Josh pleaded, "Help me. Should I ring her?"
Around the receiver, like a carousel, my finger spun. Again, I watched the clock tick.
Wishing it speed dialled to two o'clock.
Short and steady, I said, "It's too late."
"Are you sure?"
Josh slowed.
"I'm certain," I babbled fast.
I pressed my shoulders to the hallway wall, but they slumped.
"Coral told you?"
His voice broke apart like static through a line. Josh trusted me as his true-blue chum. He awaited the blow.
"Yes," I clipped as a moist sheen drowned my forehead.
I convinced myself I told Josh what Coral would say to me later in the afternoon. Yet, I dropped my chin to my chest.
"Gosh," his voice died as I informed him what he projected.
He finished, "We'll keep in touch, and I'll stay appreciative and thankful you encouraged Coral in my direction. I'll make the most of my future in the countryside."
Immediately, I launched straight to goodbyes.
Dropping the phone, I bolted, banging through the front door. Racing down our garden path, I hurtled to the boathouse.
A wood splinter on the sill pricked my finger.
I drifted and drooped on the sofa, impatient for Coral's arrival. My eyes closed as my mind flitted to when our troupe skylarked at the boathouse: Halloween, October '74.
Sandy, Coral's mother, originally lived in Seattle. She brought and maintained American traditions in her new homeland.
Coral, as per usual, rallied permission to use the boathouse. Every year, she adorned the ideal Halloween location. We decorated using boxes of prankish, ghoulish items stored there. The regular favourites included the electric jack-o'-lanterns.
The golden girl relished hanging black bats from the ceiling beams. This year, her preferred balloons were orange and black. Our primary task on Halloween afternoon involved spreading crêpe paper streamers. Coral delighted in ghoulish swathes of crêpe hanging ragged on the walls. She insisted white sheets cover anything out of place to fit her theme. Crazy, zany and tacky, yet she always made it gel.
Ruby swayed the course of the decorating afternoon. As Josh and I inflated endless balloons, the brunette schemed.
"What are you wearing to the party tonight, sweet pea?"
Ruby asked Coral, passing another purple swathe of crêpe paper. Standing on a kitchen table chair, Coral pushed in her soft white shoes to tack the crêpe. I suspected the brunette was angling to wear a matching outfit.
"Oh, you know, my red imp dress, nothing new," the golden girl responded.
Her hands and eyes flashed occupied as she spread the crêpe. She twisted cute mulberry curls.
As she contemplated where to stick the decoration, she paused.
Ruby pushed in her signature devil-may-care way, "Nah, it's time for something a tad more grown-up. A little risque?"
Coral pressed the edge of the crêpe streamer to the wall using sticky tape—since she was a child, she liked dark, spooky effects.
She ignored Ruby; twirling crêpe is tricky work; twist, hold, and stick are three joint actions.
"Okay, sweetie, if you don't make the call, I will: we dress as pirates."
Coral sported an ear-to-ear grin as she turned and refuted, "Don't have one; besides, boyish, don't you think?"
"Exactly," Ruby said, "There is stuff here; let's try it!"
"Where?"
A line creased Coral's forehead in raw curiosity.
"In your storage room. I noticed the pile of old costumes. When I got the jack-o'-lanterns."
Coral's memory triggered her parents wearing those matching costumes years ago. That back room was a treasure trove — piles of junk amidst gems of fun paraphernalia. The room had generous space when changing for sunbathing by the riverbank.
After stirring her girlfriend's memory, Ruby hyped up and was in charge. Coral abandoned a crêpe streamer; it dangled, half-hung.
The brunette doled her instructions. The girls would try the pirate costumes as the little minx consigned us guys to outrageous zombie nurse outfits. The pixie's sharp eye spied these costumes slung in the storeroom.
"Baloney, I'm not dressing as a girl," said Josh.
Ruby squashed boyish objections; "This is fun, you guys! You can wear a brassiere and fishnets. Come on!"
The crafty brunette added, "Ladies first."
This sounded fine to Josh and me since we were blowing ruddy balloons.
"Yeah, ladies, as in ladies' costumes. Off you go, guys, dress well; entertain us!"
The brunette's standard Halloween costume was a witch—a black dress, wig and pointed hat. Ruby shooed us into the storage space.
Josh and I embraced the nonsense. As we dressed, we balled and stuffed our t-shirts in the nurse uniform bra cups, creating a crazy effect.
Together, we chose fishnet stockings and wore the short, fake, blood-splotched white dresses. We wobbled into the longue in outrageous outfits, including white heels. The girls hooted and hollered at our appearance.
" Love ambisexual," said Ruby, squeezing Coral's fingers on the sofa.
Before my bestie could voice her opinion, Ruby hauled my bestie's hand and rushed her into the storage room.
They returned fast for girls dressing up.
Perfectly described how Ruby dressed them. A stunning combination of black satin pants and open white puffy-sleeved shirts. The pair wore fetching eye-catching red sashes.
A twirling Coral accepted a rare brunette fashion lead.
Josh gave his girlfriend's costume the thumbs up. Coral hugged her boy and agreed on the costumes for the evening.
"Okay, let's get changed, and this time, ladies first, eh guys?"
The brunette was in control as her ponytail swished. The girls took forever to change. Fed up with waiting, we continued blowing balloons. We finished and glanced; the storeroom door remained closed.
Next, we loafed on the white-sheeted couch for a while, self-conscious in fishnet-covered legs. Crossing them dawned as ridiculous; leaving them open left us vulnerable. Josh tugged his t-shirt out of the costume and scrunched it.
The storeroom door flung open; Coral exited in a dazed stomp. Her cheeks blazed valentine red as she slammed the door behind her. She shuffled to the four-pane window, her hands smoothing her jade dress.
Ruby sauntered out a minute later, clicking the store door behind her. Thumbs stuffed in her jeans pockets, she did not explain the situation—typical Ruby.
Her ponytail bounced as she said, "Urgent shopping for tonight."
Then she bailed the boathouse, requiring no response from anyone.
Coral ignored Ruby's exit, leaning and gazing out a boathouse window. The tiny panes offered a view of the river.
As Ruby dashed, I nudged Josh. I urged him to approach Coral, who tapped at the glass rapidly.
Josh preferred his girlfriend's emotions to be light and transparent. He struggled to connect to her complex moods. He lodged on the sofa, stretching his t-shirt, in preference to engaging her current disconnect.
I elbowed him to support her.
Josh stumbled across, still in high heels, out of his depth, to check.
He tried the tentative, "Coral, are you okay?"
Her stiffened body as he spoke closed him off more than her brief response.
"I'm fine."
I heard the warble in her voice as she stared through the window.
My mate spread his open palms at me.
I sensed Coral sought alone. I signalled to Josh, pointing at the storeroom. In the storage space, we stripped uniforms and fishnets fast.
As we belted our pants and returned to the lounge, Coral's mum arrived. Sandy complimented her daughter on the decorations. Then, spread late afternoon snacks on the table, including Josh's favourite lamingtons. My mate and I gorged as wolves.
Coral ate nothing, including tempting slices of devil cake, a regular troupe pleaser at her home. Aside and muffled, she requested her mum to take her home. Her excuse was to ready her hair for tonight.
Josh and I grabbed a Halloween sugar cookie as we skedaddled the boathouse.
The evening unfurled, tame and self-restrained. Our troupe modelled perfect teenager behaviour as Coral's parents supervised whilst mixing amongst adult friends. We danced as a group, and everyone in costumes smoothed the afternoon's knotty events.
At Coral's suggestion, we boys wore the pirate suits; the girls wore their usual imp and witch set.
I bided time for my best friend to unload the secrets of the storeroom. Coral's eventual revelation surfaced at an art exhibition many years later. Prompted by a Balthus' artwork, she divulged Ruby's sapphic Halloween shenanigans.