Free Cherry Pie by Leigh Redhead

lying in a heap on the floor. He always wore nice shoes.
    ‘Sit,’ I said. ‘Stay. I’ll be five minutes.’
    I dumped the newspapers in the cardboard box I used as a recycle bin, chucked the bowls in the sink and ran to the bathroom, ripped off my soaking outfit, had a quick shower and dressed in jeans, an oversized man’s shirt and thick socks. I ran a comb through my wet hair and put on a little powder, mascara and lip gloss. Not that I was trying to impress him or anything.
    When I returned I found Alex had disobeyed my instructions and was rummaging around my kitchen, opening cupboards and drawers. It had last been renovated in the late eighties so the surfaces were all grey laminate with pink trim.
    ‘Got anything to drink?’
    I opened the fridge to display the cask and his top lip curled back.
    ‘I was thinking more like Jameson’s.’
    ‘Sorry.’
    ‘Coffee?’
    ‘Is a bear Catholic? Does the Pope shit in the woods?’
    I stuck on my white plastic kettle, rinsed out the plunger and pulled the coffee tin from the freezer. As I scooped grounds Alex went through my shopping bag.
    ‘Do you mind?’
    He held up the no name tuna. ‘You’re eating cat food now? Must really be doing it tough.’
    I snatched the tin. ‘Not cat food. People food. Check the can. Nowhere does it say unfit for human consumption.’
    ‘I tried to feed my cat this shit once, he wouldn’t touch it.’
    ‘You have a cat?’
    ‘Uh-huh.’
    I leaned back on the bench and studied him.
    ‘What?’ he said.
    ‘Nothing. I just thought you’d be a dog person.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Need a pet that obeys.’
    ‘Shows how much you know. I like how cats are independent and don’t take any shit. Plus, you don’t have to walk them.’
    I stuck my cauliflower on to steam and we took our coffees into the lounge. Alex checked out my CD collection, picked one of the few jazz disks in a wall of alt country, and put it on.
    Miles Davis.
    ‘Make yourself at home,’ I said as he sat back down.
    ‘Really into that country shit, huh?’
    ‘You’d better believe it.’
    I flashed back to the night I’d forced him to see Doug Mansfield and the Dust Devils at the Greyhound. We’d ended up in a laneway with his hand up my dress. He must have remembered too because he suddenly became very interested in his coffee cup, as though an image of Jesus had just appeared in the crema.
    Alex and I had gotten into a lot of passionate clinches without ever going ‘all the way’. I guessed we never would now that he was marrying fellow officer Suzy McCullers and I was going out with Sean, his best friend. It was just as well.
    I’d first met Alex at a strip club and I’m not convinced a relationship can ever work if the guy sees you naked within ten minutes of meeting you.
    ‘How’re the wedding plans going? Bet you’re excited.
    Been practising the bridal waltz?’
    He groaned and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘You know I’ve been married before, when I was twenty-one? Big Greek wedding? Didn’t want to go through all that shit again so I thought we’d just do the registry office thing, then out to dinner with a few friends and immediate family. But she’s got her mother involved. Eight bridesmaids, as many groomsmen, flower girls, page boys. I ever tell you little kids in suits freak me out? Guest list’s blown out to over two hundred and, get this, she wants a carriage, with horses, and for us to dress up in poncy medieval gear.’ He leaned forward, elbows on knees.
    ‘This fucking outfit she’s picked for me, it’s got, like, gold brocade. It’s got puffy sleeves.’
    I choked down a laugh. I knew it wasn’t nice, but Alex bitching about Suzy’s bad taste made me feel really good. She had punched me unconscious once so I felt entitled to a little gloating. I rearranged my face to look serious.
    ‘C’mon, Alex, let her have her princess fantasy. It’s every little girl’s dream.’
    ‘Not yours.’
    ‘No. In the unlikely event I