Pansy and Claire were sitting at a window table in the Green Iguana cafe.
Outside, the cars were angry the red lights were really pissing them off. Pansy was drinking one of those weak-soy-milk-caps, the kind where coffee wasn’t a requirement to earn the name cappuccino. Her chair rocked back and forwards as she interrogated a bowl of muesli. Sultanas were extradited to the far side of the bowl.
Claire watched in fascination. Her macchiato waited quietly on the table. The waiter approached. A plate of deliciously scrambled eggs and wilted spinach was placed in front of her. A large phallic object appeared, and hovered over her eggs. The waiter’s eyes met Claire’s, a covert operation was underway. The passion-ometer processed data, moving it quickly back and forth across the boulevard of unspoken desire. A backup file was created. A corner smile followed by the dark musky smell of freshly cracked pepper. The waiter moved gracefully back behind the command position.
He hit the browse button.
A size ten challenged duo filled groaning chairs in the corner. A scan was initiated but a firewall had been installed. He was wearing a grey fisherman’s vest with pockets so big, things that got lost in there were never found. A leather shoulder strap strained across his chest at the end of it a Nikon. She was trying to wear white with a money belt. By definition he was a tourist. So was she. A plate of cheese and ham croissants with no where else to go sat helplessly in front of each them. She licked grease from her fat frankfurt fingers.
Pansy looked at them then said “Yanks.”
Claire glanced over at the translucent skin and chests struggling to breath. ‘German.’
Pansy’s watery blue eyes checked them out again, then scrolled down.
She manoeuvred continuously miserably in her chair.
‘Want to go?’
Pansy, ‘No not really, I’m not up for it today.’
‘You have to, this is the last hunt of the season, come on I just want to see that silver fox before I get old and grey.’
Pansy’s eyes watched as the words, ‘There is no silver fox. It’s one of your Grandfathers stupid stories,’ slip out of her mouth then scroll up to see them land one by one on Claire’s face. ‘Besides that I’m too old for thundering across the country side on horse back after fur coats.’
Claire spluttered into her macchiato. Not this old re-assurance chestnut she thought. ‘Jeez you’re not old. There’s only five years between us and you look, you look.’ Claire searched the other woman’s face. Her eyes scanning the heavy kingfisher blue eye shadow, the black kohl, and the two tone lips outlined in some shade of mocha-mocha-cha-cha-poo. She stopped scanning, realizing that her friend looked like a clown. ‘You look great, really great. I can’t wear makeup the way you do. And that Monroe blonde looks good on you! And your skin, I wish I had your skin, you’re so lucky.’ Claire stopped. Thoughts argued for acknowledgement. She tried to find one. One that would help, ‘Maybe I should have a resurfacing job too. What did that cost, again?’
Pansy squirmed to the edge of her chair, her voice simmered to a growl. ‘It’s a war. I’ve fought with dye, lip pumps and eye tucks but when…’ She halted, embarrassed.
‘But when what? Come on, the hounds are waiting.’
‘I bleached my pubic hair, it burnt. ‘
Claire’s macchiato crashed landed in its saucer.
The waiter came running. “Is everything alright? Can I help at all?’
Claire waved him away. ‘No wonder you can’t sit still?’
‘I found my first grey pubic hair last week. So I – ‘
‘Wait, to much info. What were you thinking? You were thinking weren‘t you?’
‘I couldn’t stand it if Johnnee saw I was grey.’ She took a breath, it was dramatic, it caught in her throat. ‘Down there.’
That was an eventuality Claire had never spent time wondering about but now that Pansy mentioned it, well of course it’s obvious. KERCHING, KAPOW, KAZOOM! Hair goes grey, even that hair! Wow the final frontier breached, or in this case bleached.
Who woulda thunk it? Who woulda spent that much time worrying about it? Claire thought, but managed to say, ‘Johnny doesn’t care. He’s been with you seven years!’
‘I care.’
‘Come on, it’s sandbagging the dam. Eventually the dam bursts. It happens. Age gracefully, move on nobody will ever see, well nobody except you and Johnny.’
‘You don’t get it I don’t want him to see.’
‘What? He sees you weeping and scabby from all sorts of procedures but you care more if he spots a few grey hairs? Purrleaze what can you do about it?’
Pansy straightened ‘Vaseline might help it‘s a little sensitive that area.’
‘A little sensitive?!? And I always thought you were a bottle blond. What about a Brazilian, or a merkin? Did you see the merkin-doco on the discovery channel the other day?’
‘You’re disgusting! Wooden a Brazilian would hurt?’
‘More than a bleach-blistered fanny? No.’
‘I just couldn’t bear the thought of going grey. I didn’t think the bleach would hurt. The hair dresser uses it all the time.’
‘Yeah well, it’s seeped into your brain.’
‘You’re not getting it. Staying young is so stressful. Johnnee is so young.’
Claire straightened her cup and saucer, ‘He’s not that young he is over thirty now.’
‘I’m fifty.’ said Pansy.
‘Seven, but who’s counting. He’s still with you isn‘t he? It‘s obviously for love because you aint got any money, honey.’
Pansy wanted to cry but years of training prevented her from ruining her makeup. She pouted instead.
‘I ‘m tired, it’s such hard work. You go hunting I’m not going. It’s alright for you, you don’t care. I just look so second hand.’
‘I don’t even think to check if I‘m getting old.’
‘I know you don’t!’ snapped Pansy ‘It’s not fair.’
‘Maybe I’m Dorian Grey or like that magical silver fox Gramps talked about.’
‘I loved your Grandfather but sorry Claire, he was a wacko. The fox is a fox, a fairy tale; there is nothing magical about that fox.’
‘That‘s odd coming from the queen of tarot.’
‘I am not sitting on a horse for three hours.’
‘Fine, sit in the hunt bar drinking G and T’s and ask your Tarot cards if Johnny prefers grey or black poobs until I get back. I‘m not going without your scrawny old butt.’
Pansy ran out of the Green Iguana. Claire paid the bill and followed her to the car.
The car, a Cherokee jeep, was more than ready to go: it had been waiting for nearly two hours. It was over it, it wanted to get out of there. It wanted to feel the wind in its grill, the open road under its’ steel belted radials.
At the hunt club Pansy sat in the armchairs nearest to the window. Claire had put up with the silence all the way to the valley. A steward approached, he took their order of Bombay Gin with tonic and a slice of lime, not lemon and stored it in his mind next to the mental note that said pick up the dry cleaning and a carton of milk on the way home. By the time he got to the bar the note about lime not lemon had been lost and was going to cause a problem later on with Pansy.
‘They were English.’
Pansy looked confused. ‘What were English?’
‘The fat duo.’ Claire prodded against the deliberate silence, ‘What is you problem?’
‘You think I’ve got a scrawny old butt.’
Claire said. ‘Jeez, I was just trying to lighten things up.’
‘Not working.’
Claire crossed her now jodhpur clad legs. ‘That’s painfully obvious.’
The hunt master approached looking at Pansy ‘Come on get dressed.’
‘She’s not coming. She’s got old-timers.’
‘Well then old girl, maybe it should be off to bed with a warm milk and brandy for you instead of that gin and tonic. Come on, it’s a good day for a hunt. I’m sure we’ll catch fox today.’
Pansy, ‘You’ve been hunting that fox since before we were born. It can’t be the same one.’
‘It does seem improbable. But I do remember your Grandfathers stories.’ said the hunt master.
‘Gin, WAITER, gin!” yelled Pansy.
‘He talked about her all the time she would lap honey and milk from his hand and only his hand. At night, out of sight of prying eyes they would sit in the moonlight while he smoked his cigar, the fingers of his free hand gently working the honey through warm milk as she intrigued him with her ancient tales. Then impatient she would nudge his hand from the pail and he would surrender to her as her soft pink tongue lapped and curled gently around his fingers seeking the milk and honey.’ He paused. ‘She had answers to questions he didn’t even know he needed the answers to. I wish I could find her. I have a few questions I want answered too.’
‘Maybe she just doesn’t exist. She would be well over 50 that’s if it’s the same one, and probably suffering from arthritis and osteoporosis.’ Pansy hailed the waiter.
‘And wrinkles?’ said Claire
‘Stop making fun of me?’
‘Lighten up Granny.’
‘You’re so childish. I’m sick of hunting the silver fox; if she’s alive she must be the oldest creature on earth and deserves to be retired not hunted.’
‘She could be. Your Grandfather believed she was a celestial fox from the stars…’
‘Yadda yadda yadda I know. When a fox turns fifty it has mystical power and can become a beautiful woman or a man depending on its sexual preference. We’ve all heard the same story. As a fur coat is the only way it’s going to live for ever.’
Three barks and a yap drifted across on the wind interrupting her,
Claire stood up. ‘We’ll see you in a couple of hours.’
‘Of course, go chase your fairy tales.’ Gin and Tonic spilled over her lip augmentation. ‘I’ll be here.’
Claire padded softly after the master. Her senses were roused. She was ready to ride. The horn sounded, gravel scattered. Claire’s mare leapt to the front of the field the hounds ahead of her. They came to a jump and the mare lifted easily into the air without loosing a beat. They were moving quickly. The hounds had headed off to the north. Claire was close to them, she always was.
The morning was gathering speed, racing towards a long hot afternoon when Claire saw the quick flash of fox fur as it sought forest. The mare turned and followed, twisting and turning through the trees towards the creek she dropped her nose at the waters edge and wet her lips. Claire pulled a small parcel from her jacket pocket, unwrapped three Smackos, dismounted and climbed onto a boulder to wait.
The fox moved quickly into a low slung tangle of scrub that hid a maze of secret trails. One trail forked. It was the fox trail, one path leading south, the other left. This time of the year the wattle along the creek is out I’ll go there she thought and turned south to the creek. Her velvet feet would not betray her. The branches were heavy with light and blossom; they dusted her coat as she ran. The sound of the dogs worried the air. She padded quickly down the path. A lizard scuttled out of her way onto a broken and gnarled stump. She smiled a silky fox smile.
Ah, she thought the halfway mark; the creek is not far from here.
She moved quickly, too quickly for the branches and they snapped back in annoyance, depositing clouds of golden pollen upon her back their voices crackling in air above her. She heard the creek whispering up ahead and her feet hastened forward to the sound. But coming down the trail with all the bush whispers was a smell, a dark smell, a deep and tantalizing smell. A smell familiar yet not familiar. There was something else ... but the smell had her by the nose so she abandoned caution to hurry forward. She was a few feet-steps away from the creek now and the water became anxious, its call was strong, insistent - it had news for her. Hurry! Her nose investigated the air, strong and delicious smells resembling meat. Meat, but not meat coming from the top of that big boulder.
She padded towards the boulder, circling it carefully first in one direction, then in the other, her nose keeping an eye on the smell her feet keeping an eye on the path. She stopped one paw played with the air. Then ever so silently leapt to the source of the smell. She nearly fell off the boulder with shock.
The red fox had come to the conclusion some time ago, that things were not always what they seemed to be and this only confirmed it.
It was agreed that the smackos should be shared and when they were finished the red fox licked the salty flavour from fingers.
What a curiously human looking fox, she thought!
The morning had been long. The afternoon hot. The drive back, wearisome. Pansy’s, I told you so-there is no fox, tirade combined with her gin hangover eventually ended in drunken snores.
Claire stood in the warm embrace of the shower.
The late afternoon sun trickled through the window striking her body. She closed her eyes, caressed her sore shoulders. The moment wanted to be enjoyed - she obliged it. The water, delighted, ran the length of her body soaking her up as it went remembering the colour, the curves and the soft touch of her skin. She picked up the shampoo to rid her hair of the hunt. She got the shampoo all worked up then let the water ruin its fun. Outside the bathroom window park trees filtered the late afternoon sun. She thought about the morning, Grandfather, the heat of the hunt, the smell of the fox. She smiled a silken smile.
Something stirred on the tiles, she looked down and there caught in the sunlight curled up snug between her legs, was the silver fox its soft pink tongue winking at her. Laughing, she reached down and stroked the soft fur now wet and heavy from the shower. She teased the strands, a soft pink tongue curled around her fingers as she separated the silver from the red hair ‘So at last we meet silver fox.’
The fox laughed. Claire laughed. The water laughed.
She cradled the silver red locks in one hand while applying the herbal shampoo with the other. The foxes coat shimmered, its pearly pink tongue smiled. Still laughing Claire rinsed the soft red-silver fur then grabbed the conditioner, massaging the tantalizing special blends of fifteen secret wild bush herbs through the gold.
She turned off the water. Turned the blow drier to gentle heat and tousled the silken coat, warming and drying the rare creature. The fox continued to smile. Then she padded to the her room pulled open the dresser drawers grabbed all the sensible clothes, shoes and hot water bottles that she could find, moved quickly to the window and threw them out into the street below. Then on the spur of the moment and caught up in the excitement of discovery she grabbed all her other clothes and threw them out too. A tweed skirt settled on the awning below.
The phone rang it was Pansy, the gin had worn off.
‘Listen I just wanted to say, well you know. I’m sorry. All those things I said about your Grandfather… you know I didn’t mean it. I am sorry. I loved the old guy too.’ Fox ears twitched.’ You are listening aren’t you? I mean, well you know. I’m a little stressed with things and all.’
‘Yep I know.’
‘It’s just that I worry so much. I know these things don’t mean anything to you but…. But I’ve got nothing, just Johnnee. If he leaves I am all alone.’
Claire answered. ‘Pansy I’ve found the silver fox!’
‘You’re obsessed, come over to my place we’ll have coffee.’
Suddenly Claire realized that there was a problem, not too big a problem but a problem never the less. She had thrown all her clothes out the window and she wouldn’t be going any where, not even to buy new clothes.
‘I don’t have anything to wear.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I know you; you have a walk in wardrobe, full, style; librarian, but full.’
‘I threw it all out.’
‘You threw it out?’
‘Uh huh, out the window. I’m going to buy new things tomorrow. New foxey things!’
‘You didn’t. Did you?’
Claire scanned her body, stretching her arms, her toes, twisting to see her back, something that she had never been able to do before, as she walked to the window. She cocked he eye over the railing to see her clothes strewn around.
‘Mmm, did.’ She glanced across to the park where several dark shapes bounded into the undergrowth. They looked a lot like foxes. Foxes in the city! City foxes! She thought out loud.
‘You really are obsessed,’ groaned Pansy. ‘Your mind is going; you need to get onto some HRT. How much soy are you eating?’
‘Err yuk.’ Claire hung up, padded around the apartment exploring, it looked different.
Soon, there was a knock at the door ‘Claire, sweetie let me in. I’ve collected your clothes of the street. I’ve got you a tofu shake. Claire! The concierge is going to send someone out to gather your stuff and send them up.’ Claire eyed the door, the open window, the park outside. She didn’t really care about the clothes. She wasn’t interested in HRT and she definitely didn’t want tofu shake. She really cared about the Smackos in the fridge. They were getting dangerously low and she didn’t know who was eating them but it wasn’t the dog that she didn’t have.
She didn’t feel like talking to Pansy at all, Pansy was going to annoy her, she could tell. She padded softly to the kitchen and set a bowl down. She lapped milk and honey from her fingers.
The door barked urgently again, some one was on the other side causing it grief but it stood its ground. It was having a bad door day and wasn’t letting anyone in. Nothing was going to change its mind. Especially not a bleating blonde.
Claire’s ears twitched uncontrollably. She followed them to the balcony. It was late but a few rays of the sun waited. The soft silver hairs on her ears flinched. She heard the call. Then down in the park just to the left of the magnolia tree she saw him, a male fox. He had been waiting for her for a long time. He was younger than her but he was more than ready for her. She had been on this earth for more than a thousand years, and she had been notoriously hard to catch. There were things, things he wanted to know he called her again. Effortlessly she balanced on the railing.
He called again.
Laughing, Claire sprang into the great everything and noticed for the first time, the soft silver down on her paws.