16. The Forum
Blake wasn’t kidding. There may have been 50 boys in there. There may have been more. For a kid that lacked what by all accounts were book smarts, he certainly had organising skills. One of the Fourth Year common rooms was filled to capacity with boys from first to sixth year, all of whom broke into thunderous applause when he and Blake entered the room. There was a moment of introspection, and the comically bizarre, and then Michael took a solid, messy, loud bite from his apple. The applause died.
‘What can I do for you cunts?’ he asked, smiling, between chews. His free form, cavalier use of the c-bomb left many of them dumbstruck.
Burgess again stepped up to the plate.
‘Curtin, we all want to hear what you have to say about it.’
Truly bizarre.
‘OK. I can give you some pointers, but I’d prefer it if Chris Sampson wasn’t here. Don’t want to add anything to that boy’s masturbatory reservoir.’
‘He’s not. Another detention.’
‘Good. Right. Where to begin..?’
He looked around the room. It had taken him a long time to get to the point in his life where he was, emotionally speaking. He knew how to talk to women, he knew how to interact with them. He knew the genuine ones, he knew the phonies, he knew how things worked. He understood, respected and liked women most of all. One would invariably lead to the next. He had at this point in time and space, somehow stumbled upon a unique opportunity to impart wisdom. He felt a rush of pride and purpose. It was just so funny that one small, comparatively innocent tryst between two teenagers behind a gymnasium could trigger such a response. These poor lads were so bewildered by the opposite sex, he could have told them that girls were all from Poland and manufactured out of almond meal and used pinball machine parts. That they had on and off switches and you couldn’t expose them to direct sunlight.
He breathed in, and began. The room was tamped by a blanketing hush.
‘All right. Fellas, listen. I’ve been hanging out in the library for most of the year, and joining the senior debate team and not being all that matey with any of you for a while now, not because I think I’m in any way better than you, but because of a simple fact: most of you talk utter horseshit, most of the time. None of you know a fucking thing about how the world works, and the stuff you talk about with supposed expertise? Not to put it too finely, it does my head in. But I want to use this forum, if you call it that, to tell you a few things that won’t just make it easier for you to meet and get to know women, girls, but in the long term, it’ll be good for you as a person.’
The boys all seemed to appreciate these hard truths. At a place like Wellings, it was seldom the occasion where your lack of knowledge was not held above you like the Sword of Damocles.
‘OK. First of all, you don’t want to pick up chicks. You don’t want to score, you don’t want to win, or tap them, or trick them, or have a handful of pick-up lines or expressions that are going to somehow convince them that you are worth their time of day.’
Scuttlebutt and murmur. They seemed to have been sold a bill of goods.
‘Women are not trophies or prizes for you to win. We’re beyond that. It’s the 80s, after all,’ he said with a touch of irony.
They were all practically bursting with questions. Few knew how to word them.
‘OK. Burgess. Do you know how to talk to girls?’
He shook his head. ‘No.’
‘Right. So why do you think that is?’
‘I don’t know what to say to them.’
‘Why not?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Fine.’
He motioned for Burgess to join him at the front of the room. Eager eyes were fixated on this practical aspect of the lesson.
‘So, imagine that you are at a party. And there’s music and drinks and food. You know some of the people there, and others, and there are adults and kids alike, and it’s a good time.’
Burgess nodded. The room of smelly teenage boys were collectively captivated.
‘This is a hypothetical, so you’ll need to do some pretending. Use your imagination.’
He nodded again. Michael motioned for Blake to join them at the front of the room.
‘Now, pretend that you and Blake have never met. He goes to a different school, lives in Bondi Junction or something.’
Blake looked at him. Role play was a scary thought. Michael could sense his apprehension and felt the need to ease his mind.
‘It’s alright, Blake. Just be yourself. The two of you get introduced. What do you say to each other?’
Blake and Burgess looked at each other, paused for a second and began their awkward improvisation.
‘G’day,’ said Burgess.
‘How you doing?’ Blake responded.
‘Right, good,’ said Michael. ‘Then what do you talk about?’
‘I don’t know. Where do you live?’ asked Burgess.
‘Um, Bondi Junction. What about you?’
‘Brighton le Sands.’
‘Right.’
They looked to Michael. He nodded for them to continue.
‘So,’ Blake continued. ‘You like footy?’
‘Yeah,’ Burgess replied. ‘I go for the Sea Eagles. What about you?’
‘Eels. Sea Eagles suck.’
‘Eels suck.’
Michael smiled and interrupted.
‘I think we’re getting away from the point here, but right there you can see how it unfolds, you’re just having a conversation. Now, Blake, pretend Burgess is a girl.’
The boy laughed. There were giggles in the room. Someone farted. There were jeers.
‘Piss off!’ Burgess yelled.
‘It’s just pretend, you’re not really a girl,’ Michael said.
‘Do I have to put on a voice?’
‘No. Just be yourself.’
‘OK.’
The two boys looked at each other, and giggled.
‘Go on…’ Michael offered.
Burgess cleared his throat. Blake did the same.
‘Hi,’ Blake said.
‘Hi,’ replied Burgess.
Then they stopped. They looked to Michael for guidance.
‘…where you live…’
They looked back at each other, stifling their laughs.
‘So. Where do you live?’
‘Bondi Junction.’
‘Do you like football?’
‘Yep, I like the Eels,’ said Blake.
Exacerbated, Burgess looked at Michael.
‘I don’t get this, why am I a girl?’
‘Because someone has to be, and I want to show you all something.’ He turned his attention to the room.
‘You’ve been fed this line of bullshit for so long by other boys, maybe brothers, friends, cousins, the media, Penthouse magazine, whatever, that girls and women are something to be overcome, to be impressed, to be wooed, to be seduced, charmed and won over. And it’s not true. I want to tell you all now, right here, what nobody ever told me,’ he said, omitting ‘when I was your age’.
‘Girls, women? They’re people. Just like you and me, but they’re different in that they’re not constantly trying to figure us out, impress or woo us.’
There was a moment’s silence. His classmate Appleby ventured a question.
‘So what was the thing before with Blake and Burgess?’
‘You always see guys like that, like you, wanting to know a good pick-up line. The truth is, there are no good pick-up lines. Not the way you know them. Any girl who is impressed by you telling her that you hope it didn’t hurt when she fell from heaven? She’s not worth the energy, at least on an intellectual level.
‘Pick-up lines are designed to trick a girl into thinking that you’re witty or clever, or that you’re someone you’re not. You don’t want to trick a girl into that because she’ll find out the truth one way or another. They’re not stupid. You want to know a good way to get to know a girl? You want to know how to talk to a girl? You want to know THE best opening line when meeting a girl?’
Bated breath gripped the room. A pin could have dropped. They all leaned forward.
‘Hello.’
This word generated a solid response of nothing.
‘Hello. Say ‘hello’ to a girl and you’re on your way. Start a conversation with her. Get things moving by saying hello, being polite. Greet her as you would greet a neighbour, a friend, good lord – a guy. Ask her what her name is, ask her where she lives, what school she goes to, what music she likes. Ask her questions. Listen to her answers.’
An older boy, beset by acne, a bad haircut and squared off steel rimmed glasses, ventured a thought.
‘They’re impressed by that?’
‘Again, mate, you don’t want them to be impressed. You don’t want to approach a girl as some kind of puzzle to be solved. Women,’ he corrected himself, forgetting his place in the world, ‘… um, girls, aren’t there to be impressed by you. If you present yourself well, if you engage them like, I don’t know, human beings, maybe they’ll be impressed. Maybe they won’t.’
This was all entirely new to the Wellings boys.
‘If you’re confident and articulate, and nice, they should be impressed, and if they aren’t, well then you shouldn’t be impressed, and there are two and a half billion female humans in the world. And you can try talking to another one.’
Another boy, Reese, volunteered a question.
‘But what if they reject you?’
Michael turned to him. ‘Is that what worries you? That’s the thing that’s been holding you back?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Don’t let it worry you. There’s nothing at stake.’
‘What do you mean?’
Michael motioned for Blake and Burgess to take their seats. Obediently, they did.
‘Look, say you need 20 cents for a phone call, right? And you’re out of change, so what do you do? You ask someone. What’s the worst thing that can happen if you do that?’
Reese looked for the trick in the question. There was none.
‘Go ahead, mate.’
‘They say no?’
‘That’s exactly it. They just say no. You’ve not lost anything, they haven’t hurt you, and you still need 20 cents, coz you still have to make the phone call. So you ask someone else.’
The boys all took it in, letting the weight of the argument make the necessary impression.
‘Look, don’t get me wrong, it’s great when you’re interested in a girl, and it turns out that she’s interested in you, even if it’s just for a few brief moments. But you won’t get anywhere if you think that the ball’s in their court 100% of the time. You want them to be impressed with you, but at the same time you don’t seem to want them to be impressive to you. Are you impressed by the ‘what’ and ‘who’ they are, aside from what they have on offer in terms of looks and their bodies. It’s like all that matters is that they’re in a dress and have a pair of boobs for you to ogle at. But what’s underneath the surface? If you talk to them, get to know them, learn about who they are and what they have to offer the world, you can figure out if they’re actually someone you want to get to know better.’
They all nodded slightly, the way that signifies that the information was weighty, but was taking hold.
‘There’s more to every woman than just what she looks like. Just like there’s more to you than your hair, your clothes, your voice or your shoe size. You aren’t just what I can see, you’re more complex than that. For some reason, we’re never keeping the fact in mind that women and girls are the same.
‘As far as I can tell, there’s nothing a woman worth her salt finds less impressive than a man going out of his way to impress her. If you feel good about yourself, if you have confidence in who you are, and you know what it is you’re offering the world, potentially her, then let her be impressed by that. You know you’re worthy of her time, and really, it’s up to you to figure out if she’s worthy of yours.’
The room had taken the form of a collective heartbeat, and the pulse of blood flowing to the collective consciousness to process this mountain of, and mountainous information.
‘So,’ Burgess ventured, ‘it’s us that needs to be impressed? We’re the ones they should be seducing?’
‘Nobody’s seducing anyone at your … at our age. We all just have to let things happen, treat everyone as equals, let what you have be your selling point, let that be discovered. Let her find out that you’re worthy of her time and then maybe you can at the same time discover that she’s worthy of yours.’
Michael hadn’t spent a lot of time with the short, skinny redhead named Benjamin Hawkins, but Hawkins himself seemed more than engaged enough to keen the line of inquiry going.
‘How’s about…’
All eyes turned to him, Michael’s included. He stammered for a bit, fidgeted with his cheap digital watch, and nervously continued.
‘There’s this girl, she’s in year 12, also goes to Archer, right? And she’s so good looking, like, model material. I think she was in a Grace Brothers catalogue or something. Anyhow she’s on my bus in the afternoon?’
The boy was, as per the custom of kids his age, making statements in the form of a question.
‘And I see her and she always has all these friends around her, and I can never get anywhere near close enough to talk to her, even if I did know what to talk about to her. I mean, she’s completely out of my league.’
Michael had his own theories and experiences of this very idea.
‘She’s not,’ he said.
Inquisitive looks were cast in his direction.
‘She’s pretty hot,’ Hawkins added.
‘I wouldn’t doubt it.’
‘So I’m not, like, hot or anything. How is she not out of my league?’
‘Well, the fact is that when you get down to it, nobody is out of anybody’s league.’
This one had the boys stumped.
‘Getting to know someone, finding yourself drawn to them, whatever motivates that is one thing. But we’re all human, we all want to eventually be happy, one way or another, and by thinking that way we realise the truth – that there is nobody who is out of anybody’s league.’
Doubt flooded the room like a vapour, more powerful than the veneer of body odour and Brut 33 currently filling the air.
Michael thought for a second, then relayed an experience of his own as though it was second hand.
‘I have a brother,’ he lied, ‘Who works in the music business,’ substituting his own career for rock ‘n’ roll, ‘and he meets a lot of famous people.’
They were hooked.
‘So my brother was at a party once, and he sees someone there who is a famous model and actress who occasionally puts out pop records, right?’
‘Who was it?’ one of the senior boys asked.
‘Doesn’t matter. Reasonably famous, very attractive, not really all that talented. Records are shit.’
The boys laughed.
‘So my brother, he’s a lot older than me. And he does OK with the ladies, he’s had some nice experiences, but most importantly, he’s confident in himself, in who he is. He’s been around the block a few times and knows that what he has to offer someone, who he is, is worth their attention and any effort. So he likes the look of this woman and decides that he’s going to go and talk to her.
‘Now, he’s told me this a few times, that when it comes to the famous and popular, most of them just want to be treated like a normal person. Someone comes up to them and is fawning on them and doing nothing but praising them, it’ll be nice and they’ll nod and smile and then turn away.
‘So my brother, Dan,’ taking his own character’s name from Clues, ‘he sees this famous model-singer and approaches her, and he starts talking to her. And she’s seen him around and recognises him, but she’s looking for someone more important and famous than him at this party and doesn’t really have any time for someone who isn’t, like, Michael Hutchence or something.’
The boys were following. INXS were very big.
‘So once there’s a gap in the conversation, and she’s not really engaging, Dan says to her, ‘Would you like to get a drink somewhere less crowded?’, and she looks at him with contempt and sneers at him.
‘She says, ‘Don’t you think I’m a little out of your league?’’
Michael recalled the moment fondly. The next words came to him with perfect timing.
‘And Dan says, ‘Honey, you say something like that to me, it makes me realise that I’m the one who’s out of your league.’ And he turns on his heel and walks away from her.’
It was as if a cool breeze wafted through the room. The boys were impressed, astonished and motivated. There were stragglers, however.
‘How does he figure that?’ the older boy in the back asked.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Why is her saying she’s out of his league make him out of hers?’
‘Well,’ Michael said, smiling, ‘Think about it. Who says something like that? ‘You’re out of my league’? What a shitty thing to say to someone! You might as well say, ‘We can’t date each other because we’re not part of the same species. That’s how much better I am than you’.’
Burgess at the front was smiling. A few boys around the room had been wise enough to bring note books.
‘Fucking horrible thing to say to someone.’
‘OK,’ one boy chimed in, playing devil’s advocate. He was big for his age, a forward in the Rugby firsts, but still keen to find out the key points of Michael’s dissertation.
‘I like Elle MacPherson. Are you saying that she’s not out of my league?’
The room grumbled in agreement. The Body was a collective fantasy not only in that room, but around the nation and the world.
‘Well, sure. You set your sights on someone like her, you’re in for some leg work, I can tell you. But the simple truth is: no. You’re not unworthy of her. She is attractive and famous and all that, but she is not, by any stretch of the imagination, out of your league.’
The Rugby kid shook his head in disbelief.
‘I mean, sure,’ Michael continued. ‘You’ve got some real challenges ahead of you. She doesn’t travel in your immediate social circle, so you have to look broader than that. And she doesn’t spend much time in Sydney, or Australia for that matter. There’s a problem. She works a lot, I presume, so you’d have to fit into that schedule. And she’s probably surrounded by staff, and an entourage, and agents, and managers, and lawyers and all that. And bodyguards. And then there’s the fact that she’s probably, like, 15 years older than you. And probably married or something, I really don’t know. So there’s all the practicalities of the fact that it’d be really, really hard for you to gain the kind of traction you would need to be in the same physical space as her, much less close enough to actually speak to her, then connect on that emotional level that might lead to a kind of romantic or sexual chemistry. And then there’s the fact that one of the world’s most beautiful and sought-after women is most probably not likely to look at a, what, seventeen year old boy as a potential suitor? And, really, think about it. At the end of the day, what do you have in common with her? What would you talk about?
‘So aside from geography and scheduling, and social circles, and age difference, and the fact that she’s probably not looking for someone romantically right now, and that you’d have some stumbling blocks, conversation-wise, aside from all those obstacles… no she’s not out of your league. Getting to know her is unlikely, but that doesn’t mean it’s unfathomable. Still, I wouldn’t wager my house on that outcome.’
The Rugby kid still looked skeptical.
‘Look, chances are it won’t happen. But there’s all these other reasons for it, not about who you are, or aren’t. But that kind of goes back to the basics of it. We’re all here today because someone saw me making out with some girl behind the gym. And she’s a regular girl, a local, our age, or thereabouts, and it happened and it was nice and I’d recommend it as far as experiences go. We were talking mechanics before, you tend to close your eyes when you kiss someone, so it really doesn’t matter if it was her, or Elle. Lips work the same way no matter who’s face they’re attached to.
‘And aside from anything else, I’ve seen Elle MacPherson interviewed on TV, and well … you know. Meh.’
A deeper, more senior voice rang out from the back of the room.
‘I have a question,’ it boomed.
It was a Sixth Year boy, Sam, who Michael had seen around, had vaguely remembered and recalled eventually got himself elected to Federal Parliament.
‘So what do we do now,’ he asked, ‘that we have all this information you’re giving? We want girlfriends, one day wives and that… what do we do now, in the meantime? How do we learn what you know? And how did you learn it?’
The room full of heads turned from Sam to Michael.
‘I just paid attention, is all. For the rest of you? Be yourself. Take pride in your appearance. Learn about proper grooming. Skin care. Eat well. Drink lots of water. Get properly styled haircuts. Read a lot. When you meet girls, listen to them when they speak to you. Ask them questions. Have conversations with them. Treat them like people, because they are people. When you do, know that you are who you are, that you’re absolutely good enough for them to know, that they’re not doing you a favour by talking to you, that we’re all equals on this playing field. If you go into meeting anyone in the world with a sense of self-worth and confidence, this thing that seems like the hardest chore in the world will be the easiest. And it stops being a chore, it becomes a delight.
‘You ask a girl out, she says no, fine. No harm done. You don’t want to have to convince anyone of anything, because your own inherent greatness is obvious; it’s there, it’s for her to discover and if she doesn’t, someone else will. You’ll get hurt, you’ll love, you’ll be disappointed and you will probably disappoint, hurt or reject someone else. It happens to everyone. In fact, if none of us were boys I’d be telling you the same thing, and instead of Elle MacPherson I’d be telling all of the girls in this room that Jason Donovan isn’t out of your league. Because, fellas, girls are almost entirely plagued by insecurity too. And it’s for entirely different reasons than you, but just as stressful, if not more so.
‘So let me just say this: don’t seduce. Just be yourself, let seduction happen without forcing it. If it’s meant to, if it’s going to, it will. Don’t seduce, be seductive. Don’t lure, be alluring. Don’t impress. Just be naturally impressive.’
The bell rang. Lunch was over. So was the seminar. Sam piped up from the back row.
‘Are you still going to help us out if we need it?’
‘Absolutely. I’m here to help.’
It was true. And it felt good to help.