Willow

"You seem to have gathered quite a bit of information about her," I said, trying to control my temper.

"I didn't have to go to much trouble to get information about her, everybody in the street is speculating about her."

"That's about it," I replied, "Speculation, and knowing some of the people you mix with I've no doubt they've put the worst possible spin on the little they do know about Willow."

"My God you've got some gall talking about my friends like that while you sniff around her as if she's a bitch on heat and..."

"That'll do," I retorted, "Willow is..."

"Then you better go to your Willow and fuck her because you're not fucking me anymore."

With that she stormed off leaving me confused and unfortunately horny. I made my way home and had to go to my bedroom to give myself some hand relief. Afterwards I felt guilty.

It was true that Betty was the sort of girl up whose skirt men put their hands; several guys had enjoyed the experience before I ever got to her, but I had to admit that all I'd been doing was using her, but then, I'd used other girls before Betty.

It was also true that at times I had started by being infatuated with them, thinking myself to be in love, but it never lasted. Betty was the sort of buxom girl I liked and she had always seemed ready for a sexual frolic. Now, if Betty stuck to her words about me not fucking her again I was without a sexual partner and would have to go on the hunt again.

Contemplating my situation, and not at that moment thinking too highly of myself, I began to ask myself, "What would Willow think if she knew how I used girls?"

I admonished myself sharply, but this only led to a back and forth argument raging in my head like two demonic beings:

"What does it matter what Willow thinks?"

"You want her to think well of you, don't you?"

"Yes, but that doesn't mean she can control how I behave?"

"Doesn't it; then answer this, suppose you learned that she was using men the way you use girls, how would you feel?"

"She wouldn't behave like that."

"Oh, so you admit your behaviour is bad."

"Yes...no...no...everybody does it."

"Do they; so Willow does it as well?"

"No, I said she's not that sort of woman."

"How do you know, you don't know much about her and she might be having a different man visiting her every night."

"She wouldn't...and anyway, why should I care?"

"That's a good question, so explain why you felt jealous at the mere thought that her tennis partner might have been a man."

"I didn't feel..."

"Yes you did so don't make a hypocrite of yourself as well as a philanderer."

"I'm not a..."

"Yes you are and you know it, but now you've been slammed up against a reality you've not experienced before. She's not a bit like the women you usually go for yet you find her attractive; she's always cropping up in your thoughts and..."

"She's older than I am and she's got a child so why...?"

"So why are you attracted? Well Ross, apart from her being one of the loveliest women you've ever seen - and don't forget you said yourself that she's not the type to let men put their hands up her skirt – she's not the sort of woman you're used to mixing with."

"No she's not."

"That's better Ross, now we're getting somewhere. Admit it, you'd like to fall in love with her...no, that's wrong, if you once let down the barrier you've set up inside you, it wouldn't be the old familiar five minute infatuation you usually engage in, would it?"

"No...I don't know...I er..."

"Come on Ross, this is the moment of truth. You've used that silly analogy of being infected by Willow, so let's admit it, you are now totally contaminated by her. Once you let yourself go you will love her, and even if that love is not returned she'll always be the bench mark against which you'll measure other women. You've done plenty of philandering and now at last you're up against something different and it's got you floundering, just like you floundered on the tennis court because you couldn't keep your eyes off Willow."

The debate seemed to end and I knew that it's outcome had the ring of truth. I did want to love Willow but felt it would be an unrequited love. I might have started another argument with myself, but at that moment mother yelled for me to come and eat, so the subject was held on abeyance.

Chapter 5I Am Cautioned

It did not stay in abeyance for long. Willow came to occupy my thoughts and dreams constantly. I no longer avoided her house, but made a point of passing it as often as I could in the hope of seeing her. I wondered how I could approach her about playing a game of tennis with me, but felt that the suggestion had to come from her.

A few times I did see her and we talked, but the conversation was friendly rather than seductive. However, my relationship with Penny had advanced, and I could pat and stroke her without being attacked and indeed, she frequently invited me to fondle her by rolling over on her back with tail wagging.

With Ann also I had progressed at least to the point where she no longer hid behind her mother in my presence. I had never been much interested in children but somehow, because she was Willow's child, and in addition showed promise of being yet another elfish creature, I found myself trying to engage her in some form of minimal conversation, but with little success. I think I lacked the right vocabulary, so I decided to let Ann make the advances if and when she was ready.

It did occur to me that what I was doing with Ann was precisely what I was doing with Willow, waiting for her to make the approaches. I suppose it was cowardly of me and it was certainly contrary to my usual dealing with girls, but as I had freely admitted to myself, Willow was different. As one of my demons had said, she had become for me the bench mark against which I was doomed to measure all other women.

Unable to say the things to Willow I wanted to say, I became the very epitome of the love-lorn male. I wasn't eating or sleeping properly; Willow was always in my thoughts, and the mere sight of her was like an oasis to a man dying of thirst in the desert. I had heard people say of someone, "He's got it bad;" I had got it very bad.

There was no mention of tennis but one glorious day Willow made a suggestion that I at first could not believe. It was when I was passing her house and she came running out to me.

"Ross, I wonder if you'd come with me to an art exhibition?"

I must have stood like an open mouthed idiot for several moments before managing to reply.

"B-b-but Willow, I don't know anything about art?"

She laughed and said, "Well, perhaps you can learn something about it, but what I'm asking is if you'll come with me."

Here was the break I had been waiting for and I almost blew it; "But why me, Willow?"

She looked a trifle disappointed at my response. "I thought as we are friends – and after all you were the first person in the street I spoke to – and you've been very kind and helpful, that you might like to come with me."

I'd had a few moments to recover my wits and said, "Of course I'd like to come with you, I was just a bit surprised that you asked me; when is it?"

"It's on Friday evening; it's not the opening of the exhibition, that's tonight, but what I want to do is see if there are any pictures I might want to buy."

As far as I knew when someone wanted to buy a picture they went to one of the shops around town and bought one. My only knowledge of art I had imbibed from my mother, who always said, "I like a picture of a tree to look like a tree," and long before I was born she had chosen the pictures that adorned our walls.

Willow's invitation to join her in a viewing of pictures made me conscious of the fact that although the pictures my mother had chosen were still hanging on our walls, I hadn't seen them for years. I don't mean literally not seen them, but they just didn't register with me any more.

Having agreed to accompany Willow to the exhibition an unexpected thought occurred to me. "Er, if we are going on Friday night, will Ann be coming with us?"

Willow seemed to be as surprised at my concern as I was, but she said cautiously, "Well, that's a difficulty. I'm rather strict about her bedtime but if I have to take her I will, but I did wonder, if I offered to pay her, whether your mother would come and baby sit?"

I suppose I tend to always put the worst connotations on things, and I thought, "So that's why she's asked me to go with her; she wants me to persuade mother to baby sit." My base thought was almost immediately squashed when Willow said, "I'll come and see her now, wait for me while I get Ann."

I rebuked myself severely; "Shame on you, Clements, for such a thought."

Mother, who is the clucky sort, said she'd be only too happy to baby sit Ann and refused the offer of money, but after Willow had left she had a few words with me.

"Why has she asked you to go with her, Ross?"

"I don't really know, she just said she'd like me to go with her out of friendship."

Mother took on a very serious parental look. "Ross you're not getting entangled with her are you? I mean, there's nothing going on between you, is there?"

"What makes you think that, mother?"

"Well, you do see quite a bit of her and she's very grateful for your help, so I just wondered if..."

"She's just being friendly, mother, and I don't see her all that much."

"Perhaps she is just being friendly, but what about you, Ross? She's very attractive and...and well, you don't seem to be seeing anything of Betty now."

"We've broken up."

"Oh, why's that?"

I wasn't going to add to mother's suspicions by telling her that Willow had been the cause of my break with Betty, so I mumbled something about Betty and me not being suited.

Mother seemed to be satisfied with my explanation but went on, "Just be careful Ross; Willow is very pretty but she's older than you and has a child, and what do we really know about her?"

"Not very much," I had to admit, but added, "She does seem to be a very nice person."

"Yes she does, and all I'm saying is, don't start getting ideas about her. My guess is she's come from a pretty well-off background, we don't know if there's still a husband around somewhere – if there ever was one – and you're only at the start of your career and your father and I don't want to see you getting ideas about someone like Willow; stick to girls like Betty."

I decided that I'd better not tell mother that I already had "ideas" about Willow, even though I believed them to be unpromising ideas. I had been slightly amused at mother's suggestion that I "stick to girls like Betty." She had never liked Betty and had been quite upset when I first started to date her. Being something of a realist where things like that were concerned she had said, "I don't know why you want to associate with her, everyone knows she's the local slut and you'll end up catching something nasty from her."

To be fair, I could have pointed out that Betty might just as easily have caught something nasty from me given that I had been somewhat promiscuous. Fortunately we didn't give each other something nasty, but looking back now I can see that this was more luck than the result of good judgement.

Mother's mini-lecture came to an end with me once more trying to assure her that Willow and I were just "good friends." That was true up to a point, but I failed to add that I'd like us to be something more than that.

Chapter 6A Clod's Progress

Why was it that everything Willow wore seemed to be so tasteful and just right and at the same time provocative? And why was I noticing what she wore since I had hardly taken any notice of what the other girls I had associated with wore; my only concern had been to get their clothes off.

For me Willow seemed to exist in a halo of light. She was the perfect woman, the centre of the universe, everything I could ever want, and yet far beyond my reach. To be with her was delightful agony; to be apart from her was misery. It was not as if Willow said or did anything provocative, she just was provocative by virtue of her existence.

When I called for her on the Friday night she came to the door clad in a soft flowing mid-calf dress in a mixture of soft brown and delicate green. It was not tight fitting, but as she moved the dress seemed to cling to her figure, first emphasising one aspect, then another. My own white denim suit seemed brash and unfit to be seen alongside such graceful loveliness.

She boosted my ego by saying, "My goodness, you look very handsome Ross."

I took and chance and replied, "And you look absolutely lovely."

She did not respond to my remark and so having both declared our mutual admiration we set off for the exhibition. I had avoided taking my own somewhat battered Datsun by being invited to travel in Willow's car. It was not one of the outrageously expensive vehicles, but a top of the range Toyota.

As we drove to the gallery Willow explained that there were three artists exhibiting, two locals and one from what she called, "The Mine City School." I had never heard of The Mine City School, and nearly made an idiot of myself by asking was it a primary or high school.

I was saved from this embarrassment because Willow went on to talk about "The Riverside School," and "The Harvester School." From this I gathered that "School" indicated a certain style of painting produced by artists who tended to live and work in particular locations.

When we entered the gallery there were a few people drifting around and looking at the paintings. Perhaps more accurately they were posing in front of paintings almost as if it was the paintings that were looking at them.

Nearly everybody seemed to be carrying a glass of wine that was handed out free as a sort of standard piece of equipment. I made some comment about this and Willow chuckled softly and said, "Its cheap cask wine; they only hand out the champagne on the opening night of the exhibition. I think they believe it helps loosen up the viewer's purse strings."

We decided to forgo the purse string loosener and set about looking at paintings. Inexpert though I was I quickly saw the difference between the works of the three painters.

The paintings occupied three separate rooms, each room being given over to the work of a single artist. The first room we entered had paintings with pink and white predominating, and were sugary and slightly bilious. To my surprise quite a few of the works had a little notice attached announcing "sold." Willow commented that "These sorts of paintings are all the rage at the moment." We spent little time looking at these.

The next room contained paintings of a very different kind. The colours were dark and threatening and seemed to be made up of small pyramids, arrows and disembodied hands, eyes, arms and legs. One painting in particular fascinated me in a repulsive sort of way, and consisted of a nose that had a corkscrew being screwed up its left nostril. There were not so many "sold" signs on this painter's works.

The third room contained the works of the Mine City painter. These I could understand and appreciate. They were all landscapes, and having visited Mine City I could recognise the arid country around the city, yet at the same time the painter seemed to make me see it in a way I had not seen it before.

What I had seen as a dry plain, its vegetation being mainly blue and salt bush, with distant equally dry hills, took on a beauty I had not experienced when looking at the original.

For some time Willow stood before a painting that had the viewer standing on some high elevation, looking down at and across a wide red plain with its sparse bushes and even sparser stunted trees. In the distance were lines of old gum trees that followed the line of creek beds that probably only contained water once every few years. Beyond were dry fawn coloured hills rising to more distant blue/grey hills. The scene was both harsh and beautiful but the central point to which my eyes were drawn was an eagle soaring high above. The painting was called, "The Soul's Flight."

I found myself drawn into the scene as if I was part of it, and Willow said, "Yes, that's it, isn't it, our souls can fly above a world that can be both lovely and cruel at the same time."

She had said this with such great feeling I glanced down at her and there seemed to be the suspicion of tears in her green eyes.

There was no sold sign on the painting but there was the price tag. As I have said, my ideas about paintings had come from my mother and with it the sort of money you paid for a painting. Actually I'd never had anything to do with originals, our pictures at home all being cheap reproductions. When I saw the money being asked for "The Soul's Flight" I thought they must have put one zero too many on the end. At that price you could buy a couple of dozen reproductions in one of the city's big stores.

Willow appeared to recover from her reverie and said, "I'm going to buy it."

I almost disgraced myself again by protesting that it was a rip-off, but choked the words back just in time. We went to a desk where there was a man who looked as if he was addressing us from another and superior planet. Willow wrote out a cheque and a day and time for delivery was arranged. That ended our visit to the gallery.

During the drive home Willow asked me what I thought of her purchase, and I tried to explain how I'd been to that part of the country but that the Mine City artist's pictures had made me see it in a new way.

"Yes," she said, "That's one of the things a good artist can do, help us see things in a new way, in ways that we couldn't see them without their work. It's the same with good writers and musicians; they let us see the world from a new perspective."

I spent the rest of the short drive trying to digest this.

On arrival Willow said, "Are you coming in for a drink? I'll show you where I'm thinking of hanging the picture."

I could hardly believe my luck; an evening out with Willow and now an invitation to have a drink, and no mention of fuses or toilets that had gone wrong. Mother was there on Ann guard duty; on our arrival she soon left, but when she learned I was staying for a while she gave me quizzical and disapproving glance as if to say, "Behave your self."

As with paintings, so with drinks; I wasn't well up on them. I'd shared a few beers and some spirits that to us high school kids had seemed exotic, but when asked what I'd like I got around it by saying, "I'll have what you're having." It turned out to be a brandy and dry, which combination I had not tasted before.

Willow put on a CD of some music, and it was certainly my evening for new experiences. My idea of music until then was rock bands turned up to full volume; this music was quiet and flowing and seemed to be played by a string band.

I was shown an expanse of wall on which Willow intended to hang the painting and was asked what I thought. I must say I was feeling somewhat crass.

Everything about Willow was low-key; her beauty, her clothing, house and furniture; even her perfume was subtle, unlike my girl friends who seemed to soak themselves in perfume or deodorant. I felt like an elephant that had barged into a glassware shop.

Yet at the same time I had a feeling of wanting to protect and care for this little woman; to be there to fix the toilet and fuses; to dig the garden and..."Bloody hell, Clements, what's happening to you, this woman is transforming you."

I managed to reply to Willow's query as to what I thought about the location for the picture by ducking and saying, "I think it'll look great there," not knowing whether it would or wouldn't.

Confused though I was about myself and Willow my ears pricked up when Willow said, "Perhaps we could make a date to play tennis next week?"