Sasha

Sasha Orlov has schizophrenia. She works at Modern Records in St Kilda, the best record store in Australia, especially because now it’s all downloads and IPod and MP3, but Modern Records still rocks. She’s pretty wild when she gets psychotic. She can’t let go of things easily. Her boyfriend, Dom, looks out for her but sometimes it gets too much for even him. She flies off the handle and it comes out like an exploding volcano and you better duck for cover. It takes her ages to settle down.

Dom had to call the CAT team once because she was so out of control and they made her go to hospital for what was supposed to be two days, only it turned into ten days. When she got out she said to Dom, If you ever call those pricks again or put me into that pysch ward again I will kill you. Then she kissed him and dragged him into the bedroom for one of their kinky sex sessions.

Dom met her at Modern Records nearly two years ago when he was searching for a vinyl record of The Call’s The Walls Came Down. His first impression was that she was an Adalita-type rock chick who would say, Who the hell are you talking about? But she had a little Chrissie Hynde in her too and she knew the record, didn’t have it, but searched for it and got it for Dom and of course he had to come in every day to check whether she had it or not. He was gone on her. Dom is thirty-five and Sasha is twenty-two.

Their flat or unit, whatever you want to call it, is stuffed full of bookshelves and DVDs and CDs and vinyl records and it hits you. Everyone who goes there, which is not that many, it is the first comment they make—about the books and DVDs and CDs and records. They hang out together a lot, mostly just the two of them because Sasha doesn’t trust many people. Oh and St Kilda is pretty much a very cool place, it’s near the beach and Luna Park and there’s a million cafes and pubs and restaurants but it has hookers and drug addicts too and it all comes together somehow, all over the top of each other, like some crazy urban experiment that would never work if someone had planned it. But St Kilda doesn’t have laneways, not fashionable ones like in the centre of Melbourne. Melbourne is sort of forced cool. You know, look at our laneways that we made even cooler (read ruined) by stuffing them full of cafes and fake graffiti by fake street artists and we also have pop-up bars and aren’t we just European-styled and New York-influenced. Give Sasha and Dom Victoria Street, Darlinghurst, or Norton Street, Leichhardt, any day of the week. Somehow they like Sydney better even though they live in Melbourne, or do they just like stirring the pot?

Sasha did have one bad incident at work but she’s so damn good at her job her boss, Angelo, let it pass by. She nearly killed this Goth guy who bad-mouthed her. He didn’t call the cops because the owner told him he’d tell the cops he made the whole thing up. Are you getting the picture about Sasha?

Dom walks in and she’s just putting the records back into their correct place after people have put them in the wrong place. She’s wearing a tartan skirt, black T-shirt and a black leather bikie jacket with zips all over it and these long, black, criss-cross, lace-up boots that finish just above her knee. Dom smiles at her and notices she has these black leather wrist bands on.

“What’s with the leather bracelets?”

“Oh it just complements the whole kinky bondage vibe I have going on today.” Dom laughs but then he realises she’s serious and backs up a few paces; she sees his reaction and likes the fear factor and asks him, “Can you run out and get me a banana muffin and coffee? I’m starving.”

“Yeah, um, I’ll do it in a few minutes. There’s a party tonight at Wilson’s house. We should go. I know what you’re going to say but c’mon, one party; one night. For me, babe.”

She looks at him and says, “Get the muffin and coffee and after I’ve eaten I’ll say yes because I’m so much nicer after I’ve eaten.”

“So, that’s a yes.”

“Get the muff-in and coff-ee.”

He walks out onto Carlisle Street and goes next door straight into the Galleon cafe and the girl at the counter smiles at him and says, “The coffee boy is here.”

Dom takes a deep breath and orders. Now, I don’t want to give you the wrong impression about Dom. He’s not a weak man; he just does pretty much whatever Sasha wants, but not all the time. He sees she lives with a condition that makes life very difficult for her a lot of the time and if he can ease that, then well and good. Sometimes just going into a coffee shop can be difficult for her. And the counter girl making fun of him? He thinks she secretly digs him and he’s right but Sasha would murder them both.

Dom walks back into Modern Records. He’s slim and has neatly combed brown hair. It’s long though, like, Davy Jones from the Monkees or David Cassidy from the Partridge Family, which doesn’t really suit the image he likes to cultivate. Mr Thirty-Five-Year-Old who still gets it. Not out of touch, and Sasha makes fun of him because of it. Neither of them really likes pubs or going to see bands that much because Sasha gets paranoid and the night can get very heated although they make an exception for the Prince Band Room on Fitzroy Street. For some reason she feels good there. Sasha has hair as black as a crow and deep milky brown eyes and she’s nearly as tall as Dom.

Sasha eats while Dom walks through the aisles of the record store and looks at old album covers and can’t help but think that the arrival of the CD pretty much screwed up that whole alternative market for cool album covers. Tubular Bells for instance. He turns to Sasha and says, “What should I be looking for? What’s the best new stuff you’ve got? What are we listening to right now in fact?”

Sasha shakes her head and says, while still munching on the muffin, “You think you’re up with it, don’t you? This is a guy called Toro Y Moi, from Texas but he lives in LA now. He’s kind of king of the chilled out music genre but he does a little house music too. Do you like it?”

“Um, yeah, what’s with his name, is it French or something?”

“I thought it might be Japanese or maybe Vietnamese. Hang on, I’ll Google him.” Dom really concentrates on the music now and he really does like it. He can imagine himself at home, sitting in his big armchair and just listening to it, not reading, not doing anything else, just chilling to it. And then Sasha yells out, “It’s half Spanish half French. Toro is Spanish for Bull and Y is and in Spanish and of course Moi is French for me but he looks kind of Asian, maybe Filipino.”

“I can’t afford to buy it; can you download it to your laptop and bring it home?”

“Your wish is my command but now you have to go. I need to be alone because I have to do stock-taking this afternoon. Pick me up at seven.”

And Dom says, “You’re so loving and emotional and affectionate. It’s why I go out with you.”

“Seven.”

Dom pulls up right outside the store at seven. His old 1970 black Valiant sedan fits snugly into the space. They could afford a new car but Sasha won’t hear of it. The first time they fucked (her word) was in the back seat and since then it has been the front passenger seat, the driver’s seat (not easy), the roof, on top of the boot and sprawled across the bonnet at two o’clock one morning. You don’t sell memories like that.

She opens the door and gets in, leans across him and kisses his face and slams the door all in one movement and asks, “Why do you call him Wilson? He has a first name and Tom is a nice name. Is it an old boys’ thing? You know you ex-private school wankers, always using your surnames at school and not letting go of it and all that crap?”

“I don’t know. I call everyone else by their first name and in fact everyone else calls him Tom.”

“But he’s your best buddy and you want a special name for him.”

“Are you going to be like this all night?”

“Yes.” And Sasha puts her hand in his lap and squeezes gently and says, “Any complaints?” Dom just smiles and shakes his head. What can you do?

Wilson lives in Richmond and Dom’s not sure what the crowd is going to be like. He usually sees Wilson on his own, at a cafe or a pub or at his place during the day when his girlfriend is at work. Wilson is a screenwriter, and unusually he’s a screenwriter in Australia who makes a good living. He’s done everything from Neighbours to indie films that two people saw at the Valhalla in Glebe. America wanted him after he got nominated for a writer’s award at Sundance but he didn’t go, said he was a freaking writer, he could submit his work from right here in Richmond, Victoria, Australia, and he has done it, mostly. And Dom is jealous as hell because he still works in a call centre and occasionally gets published in small literary magazines and he hates the question: the What do you do? question. Sasha couldn’t care less. And that’s another thing, he always has her safety, her care, in the back of his mind.

They drive along Punt Road not talking and then turn right into Swan Street and Sasha looks out the window and says, “They’ve started gutting Dimmey’s for the new apartments.”

“You know my thoughts on that.” And Sasha smiles because it’s one of Dom’s hobby horses. He says to her all the time, fucking Dimmey’s, all these pseudo hipsters talking about its demise like it matters to them, like they shopped there once a week or something when the truth is they once, maybe ten years ago, bought a pair of cheap black jeans they thought looked like Levis and the truth is that Dimmey’s was crap unlike Gowings in Sydney, which Dom reckons was the coolest department store in the world. Now closed.

They turn left into Church Street and turn off further along on the right into Brougham Street and park outside the newish apartment block. Dom looks at Sasha and she’s taking deep short breaths and he knows she’s feeling anxious and says, “There’s only five or so people coming and you know the rules, if you’re feeling bad just tell me and I’ll take you home. You like Wilson, he’s a good guy, just remember that.”

They walk down the path and up the stairs and Dom knocks on the door. Wilson answers and Dom smiles and man-hugs him and Wilson hugs him back, then steps to one side and Sasha kisses him lightly on the cheek and says, “Hey, Tom.”

They walk into the big living area with the huge black leather sofa and matching armchairs and it’s minimalist city. Just a small powerful stereo and CD stackers, no books, no anything else and the room runs into a smaller dining room with a table and four chairs and further into the gleaming steel kitchen with all the accessories a successful writer should have. A man and a woman walk into the room from the hallway.

Wilson smiles and says, “Dom, this is Luke and Sharon Wright, they’re producing my new screenplay if everything falls into place.” And Wilson opens his arms wide towards them and Dom walks across and shakes Luke’s hand. Luke introduces himself and Sasha hangs back and Dom reaches for her but she avoids his hand and walks towards Sharon who backs up a little because of what Sasha is wearing and she also has this awful hard look on her face.

Dom says quickly, “This is my girlfriend, Sasha.” And Sasha finally smiles and they all shake hands and kiss and take seats, Luke and Sharon on the couch and Dom in one of the armchairs with Sasha sitting on the floor, her back pressed up against the chair Dom is sitting in.

Tom Wilson sits in the other armchair and says, “Monty is coming over later but that’s it.” Dom nods and Luke asks him the question. Dom smiles nicely and tells him about the writing first and the call centre second and contrary to what he thought might happen, Luke and Sharon laugh and say something along the lines of been there done that. They ask Sasha what she does but Sasha’s clammed up, she’s not talking, and Dom has to answer for her, which he knows she hates, and he looks at her face, which is darkening by the minute.

The talk continues and Monty arrives and the drinks start to flow and Sasha can’t find a way into the conversations and it’s frustrating her and Dom can feel it but the more he tries to include her the further away she gets and she’s getting paranoid now. Dom doesn’t know it but she’s taken a dislike to Luke and she doesn’t know why he’s talking like that, making out that she’s stupid, and she’s feeling really hot now and a joint comes around and she knows she shouldn’t but she can feel all eyes on her and takes two little drags, but it’s strong gear and five to ten minutes on she begins to feel it and it’s all bad. That pretty boy, Luke, and his gorgeous girlfriend making out that they worked in a call centre being all nice to Dom when they don’t know shit and she goes to the bathroom and splashes her face again and again with cold water and rubs her face and feels sort of worthless and she doesn’t want to go back in there.

Dom knocks on the door and says, “Are you alright?”

And it makes it worse and she walks out straight past him and says to him, “I’m just going for a walk. I’ll be alright once I get out into the cool air. Stay there, don’t come, I’ll be back soon.” And she all but rushes out the front door.

Dom smiles at Wilson and says, “It’s alright, she’s just getting some air. Everything’s cool.” It’s not cool. Only for once Dom is letting her go, letting her find her own way. Sasha walks down the stairs and out into the street and it is lovely and cool and there’s a light rain and she walks up to Church Street and turns right and stops outside The Vine Hotel and it looks nice and quiet in there. She could just find a quiet table and have a drink, compose herself and go back.

Back at Wilson’s place, Sharon passes another joint to Dom and she’s flirting a little with him and he laughs and gestures wildly to Tom Wilson and says, “Who is this girl, she’s great!”

Sasha walks into the pub, looks around, gets a look from a drunk propped at the bar, so she goes around to the other bar. The harness racing and greyhounds are on the ten screens around the bar but there’s only one guy, a gambling desperado, in the bar. She goes to the bar, starting to feel more anxious; the effects of the joint are still getting into the screwed-up wires in her brain, distorting the truth. She orders a beer and sits quietly in the corner and settles a little bit. She picks out a horse in the harness race for fun and watches it come in second and a greyhound race from Dapto is next and she picks the yellow dog and it wins and she feels better but her mind is still playing dirty tricks on her and the desperado comes up to her and she flinches as he leans his face down and she jerks away and the desperado moves away. This girl could be trouble.

Sharon tells Dom she has connections with Fremantle Media and maybe if he gave her some of his short stories she could pass them on. She heard about another girl she sort of knows doing the same thing and getting a gig writing for Neighbours and Dom tells her yeah, no problem, and Wilson hands him another beer and he thinks for a second about Sasha but the beer and dope have absolved him of all responsibility. He’s having a good time. She can sit in the car.

Milo walks into The Vine, orders a beer, speed in his veins, making him king of the world, but it’s Monday night and he has no outlet for his aggressive mood. He puts twenty bucks on the red dog in the race on the screen and watches it lose. Sasha has her MP3 player on, sipping the cold beer and watching the screen. She’ll go back now.

Milo sees her. How did he miss her? He walks over and says, “Hey little girl, watcha doing here?” Sasha smiles at him and points to the headphones and mimes, I can’t hear you. Milo pulls the left headphone out of her ear. She darkens.

Milo starts talking some rubbish and grabs her arm and says, “I like you.”

Sasha pulls her arm away from him and says, “Get lost, loser.” She looks for the barman but she can’t see him, this little corner is dark, that’s why Milo missed her when he first walked in.

Wilson says to Dom, “Hey, Dom, maybe you should go check on Sasha.” And Dom looks up quickly and then checks the time on his phone. She’s been gone nearly three-quarters of an hour.

He takes another sip on his beer and decides it can wait and says, “I’ll just finish this beer.”

Milo doesn’t take instructions very well and he snarls at Sasha and says, “Don’t fucking call me a loser!” The speed in his system is firing up, making him aggro. He grabs Sasha by the arm tightly, she feels scared, her brain sizzles and yells at her to get out. He is going to harm you! Get away! She can’t free her arm and he sneers at her and she reaches for her beer glass and when she smashes it into his face it shatters and cuts him clean through, slicing open his cheek and pieces of glass fly into his eyes and he screams and Sasha gets up and walks quickly out of the side door onto Bridge Road and then turns the corner left back to Church Street and walks back towards Wilson’s flat. She feels no pain for the idiot she just glassed in the pub but she’s shaking, scared of what she finds herself capable of. Dom finishes his beer and walks out to the car and sees Sasha’s not there but looks up to find her walking towards him and he smiles, everything’s OK.