When they walk into the bright, modern lecture theatre, a thousand times removed from the dusty, uncomfortable one Claire was stuck in this morning, she follows Mia to a seat in a middle-back row. Mia tosses her bag on the seat next to her and throws her long legs over the back of the chair in front as if she’s staking out her territory. She whips out a notepad and barely stops scribbling for the whole hour.
Claire parks herself in the seat next to her and watches the other students trickle in. She treats the whole thing like an anthropological exercise. This is where all those ambitious, nerdy kids from her high school ended up, she realises. She recognises the type but not the faces. If she’d known they were potentially as fun as Mia under all that geekdom, she might have made more of an effort back then.
The lecture is strangely entertaining. Claire’s not sure if it’s the hangover or the random otherness of it all, but it doesn’t matter that she doesn’t understand any of it. The gross bits of video, the lecture slides, and the unnaturally excited man delivering the lecture make it kind of interesting.
When the video shows the first scalpel cut into flesh, Claire grimaces at Mia, completely grossed out. Mia grins right back and returns to her note taking. Later, when they start slicing into whatever they’ve removed from the body, Claire grabs the pen out of Mia’s hand and scrawls in the margin of her notebook. What the hell is that, anyway?
Mia grabs the pen back. Kidney.
Claire pulls a face and takes the pen again. That is freaking disgusting.
Mia smiles. Claire hands her the pen and sits back to watch the rest, enthralled. When the hour is up, they walk out of the lecture theatre, blinking into the sunshine.
“I have no idea what that dude was talking about, but that was weird and gross and kind of awesome.”
“Told you.”
“Does my kidney look like that?”
“Yep, probably. Both of them.” Then Mia tips her head to the side. “Well, maybe a little younger.”
Claire wrinkles her nose. The less she thinks about that one, the better. “What do you do now? Go cut one up yourself?”
“Nope.” Mia shakes her head. “I get free coffee from work, if the boss isn’t there, and then go to another class in an hour. Come? For a coffee I mean, not another class. I don’t think you’ll go unnoticed in the labs.” She squints at Claire. “One of the boys is likely to spot the odd girl out, even if we found you a white coat.”
“Coffee, yes.” Claire nods and follows Mia across the campus.
They go to her café and drink free lattes, and the remains of Claire’s hangover ebbs with the second round of caffeine.
Mia tells her about the first dissection she ever did, and Claire teaches her how to say “That’s the worse pick-up line I’ve ever heard” in French. Mia learns it quickly, but her accent is awful.
“Just curious, if you don’t really want to do anything with your French, what do you want to, you know, do later?”
“I really don’t know. Everything I think of doing, I see the endgame, the career, and I go meh.” Claire pushes away her empty coffee cup. “See, Mia, I have lots of potential, but I lack direction. I lack ambition.”
“Said all your teachers, right?”
“Oh, no, they didn’t really notice. Said my mother.”
“What does she want you to do?”
“Be a lawyer, like her. And my dad, and his dad,” Claire recites. “Oh yeah, and my uncle-in-law. And my brother’s godfather.”
“Wow, that’s some family line.”
“I know.” Claire rests her chin in her hands. “Hence why I kind of don’t want to be a lawyer.”
And Mia nods as if she gets it.
When the hour is done, they traipse out of the café.
“That was fun,” Mia tells her outside as she once again hauls her elephantine bag onto her shoulder. “Hey, are you coming to Robbie’s show next week?”
“Don’t know.” Claire slides on her sunglasses. She doesn’t know anything about it. Besides, she doesn’t even know if Robbie really likes her that much, let alone if he would want her to come to something.
“It’s with a few other students from his photography class. They’re doing this group exhibition thing at a gallery near here. His stuff is amazing. Here.” She digs in the side pocket of her bag and pulls out a flier. “Here’s the invite. You and Nina should come.”
“Maybe.” Claire takes the paper and reads it. “But it’s on a Thursday, Mia. I thought you said you don’t go out on weeknights?”
“It’s for Robbie. I make exceptions for Robbie.” She rolls her eyes but smiles at the same time. “I make too many exceptions for Robbie.”
Claire checks her watch. It’s not that long until she has to get ready for work. “I better go. Uh, thanks for a strangely fun and educational afternoon.”
Mia grins, hand on hip. “So you want to switch to medicine now?”
“Not a chance.” Claire screws up her face. “I can barely commit to my two classes. If I had to go to a lab right now, I’d be pissed. See you.”
She gives Mia a wave and strolls off down the street in the direction of Nina’s apartment. Nina’s not even at the bar tonight, but she won’t mind if Claire shows up there to change before work. She hurries through the congested traffic, across the road, and down a small side street. It’s lined with listing trees, heavy with their burden of crimson bottlebrush flowers. Even though the afternoon is fading, the sun gives a kind of offhand, casual warmth. It’s as though it’s trying to convince people that they imagined the last rainy, dull months of Melbourne winter, that it’s always been like this.
All around her, people slow to a stroll as they soak in the gentle heat on their way home from work. A couple of passersby catch her eye and smile, a sudden generosity born of this turn in the weather. And Claire smiles back. Because why not? It turned out to be a pretty good day considering the start she had. It’s weird. She spent the afternoon with a virtual stranger and had more fun than she’s had with any of her friends, aside from Nina, in ages. That’s it, she decides. Nina doesn’t know it yet, but Claire’s going to make her go to this exhibition with her next week.
* * *
It’s near the end of her shift, and the bar has emptied out. Claire cleans the last of the glasses as she waits until it is time to lock the door. Andrew is in his office, pretending to count money or something. Really, he’s avoiding the work of closing up. Claire doesn’t mind though. His extra hands would mean listening to his boring stories. And she’s heard them all a gazillion times already.
Hearing the squeak of the door opening, she sighs, frowns, and looks up.
“Hello to you too” Robbie says, echoing Mia’s exact words of earlier.
Claire really needs to work on her greetings, it seems. “Sorry,” she mutters. “I thought it was more customers, and I’m about to close.”
He ignores her comment and lets out a whistle. “Ooh, I like the hair! It’s super hot.”
“Thanks.” She throws a glance at the office door before reaching for the tequila bottle. She grabs a couple of glasses, quickly pours two shots, and passes one to him.
They silently clink glasses and drink them down. Hair of the dog, Claire tells herself as the hot burn of the tequila recalls last night. She reaches into the tip jar, counts out enough to cover his, and throws the money in the register.
“Where’s Neen?” He rests his arms on the bar.
“Sick,” Claire says loudly as she glances at the office door and then whispers, “Working at another bar.”
Robbie nods. He pulls a clump of papers out of his pocket. “I just dropped in to give you guys an invite to my exhibition next week.” He holds one out.
Claire pulls out the one Mia gave her earlier and dangles it in front of him. “Snap,” she says.
“Where’d you get that?”
“Mia.”
“Where’d you see her?”
“At uni.”
“Oh. God, I love that girl. So, will you come? Free drinks. Cheap, nasty champagne. But, like I said, free.”
“Shouldn’t your art be the selling point?” Claire puts their empty glasses into the last rack.
“Let’s not kid ourselves, woman. People come for the alcohol. Then they look at the photos and moan that they’d love to buy one. Of course, they can’t afford it because they can’t even afford decent alcohol.” He rolls his eyes. “Such is the story of my artistic life.”
Claire smiles sympathetically and picks up her polishing rag.
“Will you be there?”
“Sure.” Claire plays nonchalant, but secretly she is pleased that he cares if she comes or not.
Robbie slaps his hands on the bar. “Great. And you’ll tell Nina, yeah?”
“Of course.”
“Great, see you next week, if not before.” He runs a hand through his unruly blond curls. “Besides, there’s something you’ll want to see.” And then he is gone.
