Every Friday night for three months David's Mustang would pull up in front of the college and he would emerge, immaculately dressed, with a bouquet of flowers on his arm. He never honked the horn or yelled up at the windows; he always came to greet Ash, sometimes sneaking up to her room unannounced. He always complimented her on the way she looked, always stopped to chat with her friends, and almost always whisked her off to dinner or the movies, or both. Occasionally he would surprise her with tickets to the theatre, opera, or ballet. Occasionally she would bring him to a college function or social outing organised by her circle of peers. And occasionally they would play it by ear and let the night take them where it would.
"Charming?" said her father over the phone. "Like the prince?"
"No Daddy! Carmen! Like the opera."
He always paid for everything, brought generous gifts, made sure she was always home before midnight and never demanded anything more. Night after night she'd climb the stairs, touch her unblemished lips and foolishly wonder why she even bothered putting on make-up in the first place if it wasn't going to be ruined.
"Don't you want to kiss him?"
"Oh Allie, I do! I just don't know how to ..."
"Maybe he's waiting for you to make the first move. He's a gentleman; he'd never do anything you didn't want to do."
"Maybe."
As an experiment, when they were standing in the college foyer after an evening at the cinema, she slipped her arms around his neck and planted her lips squarely on his. It was a very satisfactory kiss, she reflected as they parted; he was just as enthusiastic as she. He did not press her for a reprise when she said goodnight. However, the next time they met, he transferred his customary peck on the cheek to a passionate smooch on the mouth. He tasted like apricot nectar and he had just shaved; his skin was warm and soft like a down pillow.
She wondered what the rest of him was like.
"Do you ever talk about ... you know ..."
"Sex? Um ... no. The subject just never comes up."
"But do you want to ...?"
Did she want to? It took Ash only a week to decide. And, encouraged by her oscular experience, she managed to let David know, by roundabout ways, that she was interested. He, displaying that rare brainpower of the male species, correctly interpreted these signs and conjured up a vision of an evening during which her desire could be fulfilled:
"Dinner. My place. Candles, a mosquito net and Italian cotton sheets. I'll spoil you. Pick you up at six?"
She dreamed about him all week. How he'd look, how he'd feel, how he'd taste. The candles, the net, the sheets. She wondered briefly if she should have mentioned that she was a virgin but he was always so perfect, it probably wouldn't matter. She went out shopping and bought a cherry satin nightgown with spaghetti straps and a low curving v-neck, and a dark blue sleeveless dress overlaid with shimmering black crepe. She planned what jewellery she'd wear (not too dangly, easily removed), what make-up (could she get away with none?), and what to pack in her overnight bag. She didn't tell anyone about their Friday night date and was so subdued Belle asked if she was ill.
But Friday night did not go quite according to plan. First of all, it rained. Ash was waiting in the foyer at five to six, shivering a little every time the front doors opened because she was too stubborn to cover her goose-pimpled shoulders. The minutes ticked by. She looked at her watch and it was 6:30. Half an hour was more than the usual grace period. Back in her room there was a voice message saying something unexpected had come up, he had to work late and he was sorry; he'd pick her up at seven-thirty.
She didn't go down to the foyer; she let him come to her. And when he arrived, he didn't have his jacket, his tie was undone and his chin was covered in a thin layer of stubble that she tried hard to ignore when he kissed her gently and told her again how sorry he was. There was unexpected traffic in the drive out to Pyrmont and they waited for what seemed like hours as the rain came bucketing down, the cars inched along the city blocks and he came as close to cursing as she had ever heard. It was eight o'clock and she was hungry; he suggested they go to a restaurant. They settled for takeaway gourmet pizza, and waited for another half an hour while their dinner baked in a woodfire oven and emerged as Thai beef instead of Tandoori chicken. The mistake was not noted until they were safely sheltered in David's sixth-floor harbourside black and silver apartment; by then it wasn't worth braving the weather to go back and complain.
Just as they were sitting down to eat, the intercom buzzed. It was David's brother, Jon, asking to stay the night because his girlfriend had kicked him out. Of course he couldn't be refused. He was soaked through and hungry, dressed in torn black jeans, a singlet, a bomber jacket and a nose ring. He lit up a cigarette as soon as he sat down and started scoffing down pizza, talking nonstop - what a bitch his girlfriend was, what a slut, cheating on him behind his back, and now he was gone, she'd sell all his stuff; all he had was his bike. He didn't take any notice of his brother or Ash, except to pause and give Ash a thorough once-over with a glint in his eye and a curling lip. David chose not to see; Ash clenched her fists on her lap and wished she had brought something else to wear. After an hour and a half of listening to Jon's rambling, David gently suggested he take her home. He hurried her away to the underground carpark, the Mustang and finally, the college.
The rain had slackened off. They climbed the stairs to her room. It was almost ten-thirty. Ash tossed her overnight bag into the corner. Allie and Belle popped by to say hi, then discreetly left again when they saw something was wrong. She and David sat on her bed, listening to Fiona Apple, holding hands. He apologised; she said it was okay. He put his arm around her and she leaned into his body and tried to shake off her disappointment. The intimate candlelit dinner - the bed with its mosquito net and smooth white sheets - disappeared like a bursting bubble. Downstairs someone was playing Metallica at high volume and having a very loud party in their room. In the hallway people called to each other, doors slammed and pipes squealed in the effort to spit out late-night showers.
It doesn't matter, she thought. I want him; if not there, why not here?
And so she reached up and met his lips with hers and they kissed for a long while, her fingers fumbling with the buttons on his business shirt, then slipping inside to caress him. They came up for air. He smiled at her. She pushed him down onto the bed and curled up beside him, undoing the rest of his buttons and exposing him from the waist up.
The door burst open.
"Ash? Could I borrow your -" Elise's eyes widened and she started backing out of the room. "Oh! Sorry ..."
The door closed. Ash sighed. She clambered off the bed and straightened her dress. It just didn't feel right. She glanced back at him and he was sitting up, buttoning his shirt. He smiled at her but his smile was sad, as if he understood something that she was only just beginning to realise.
"David-," she started and then stopped, looking at him.
He was just the same, only a little more rumpled and worn. The same good looks, the same engaging smile, the same courtly manners and kindness that had initially won her over. But somehow, now, they had lost their power to attract; the midnight spell had broken. He sat there, a twenty-something young man in a creased business suit, a undone tie and argyle socks.
She felt nothing.
He rose and came to her, kissed her gently on the cheek.
"Call me. Maybe we'll try it again. Properly."
And then he was gone.
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