Free Sydney's Song by Ia Uaro

singing and dancing and getting totalled by the water’s edge. They were so happy. So together. So— belonging.
    Why was I jealous?
    We reached our expensive theatre. Before entering I looked around searchingly.
    â€œWhat is it?” my baby-sitter-of-the-moment asked. He was an excellent escort. There was no doubt why Mum fell for him. Almost any female would be interested in a handsome god who happened to be cashed up and distinctly of good breeding. “What are you looking for?”
    â€œI’m trying to find the exact bus-stop location for the 443. So I’ll know how to properly describe it to my customers.”
    â€œSydney, stop working!” He shook his head and steered me away.
    Right. Here I was. Loving my city. Forever trying to be an advocate for our public transport when I knew for a fact that the bosses of Sydney’s trains and buses never used one. They never did when visiting my office, despite the fact we were conveniently located near Hornsby Station. Obviously, Sydney’s public transport did not suit their bosses.

I Lost My Dress On The Bus!
    â€œGrand date. Where did you find him?” Sinead, already taking calls, asked when I arrived on Monday morning. Many agents had left as casualties of yucky shifts or abusive callers. But the remaining agents were by now skilful, had lower AHT, with better information accuracy.
    â€œNot mine. He was only on child-minding duty ‘cause my parents weren’t available.”
    â€œBlessed,” she smirked. “Pass him to me anytime.”
    Pete’s unreadable eyes bored into mine from across the desk.
    I liked his constant, unobtrusive presence. I liked his very pleasant voice. I liked his tone of speaking. But why did he prefer a silent method of communication? A look. An enquiring look. Why did he shroud himself with an aura of mystery?
    I had to admit I had been thinking of Pete rather a lot lately.
    â€œThey took away my driving license!” sobbed my first caller, an elderly St. Ives man. Fury and helplessness coloured his voice. “Please send me the bus timetable.”
    It was December. Parents asked for next year’s school transport. I gave a mum in North Strathfield a detailed travel plan to James Ruse High School.
    â€œNo! My friend suggests a different way!”
    I showed her that her friend’s suggested route took considerably longer.
    â€œAre you sure?”
    Gosh, I always wanted to murder a customer who asked whether I was sure. This one ranted on and on.
    â€œYour choice, Ma’am. Please feel free to give your friend a call. Consult her. Sounds like she’s better able to advise what to catch. Thanks for your call!” And I pressed RELEASE.
    â€œGood one Sydney,” Pete gave me a thumbs-up, his eyes now laughing.
    â€œThanks,” I smiled back. “Do you always listen to my calls?”
    â€œI like listening to your voice,” he replied, looking into my eyes.  Wow . My heart beat faster. My intuition said Pete was interested in me. I could see it in his eyes. But I wasn’t brave enough to confess that I liked his voice too. It floated across the workstation in a soothing tone.
    In his quiet confidence Pete was different from the other guys. The others, Aussies or Brits, did their best to dance attendance and be charming. They hoped to win female hearts through their posturing, clothing, facial jewellery and hair styles. Sometimes I wondered how long it took Mike to gel his hair. Or how much it had hurt Kevin to have his tongue pierced in order to install the tiny ball he called a toy.
    Pete was the antithesis of all that. He was uniquely unselfconscious and cool. So yeah, although I was determined to never fall in love, he had been troubling my dreams quite a lot lately.
    The calls rolled in.
    Melburnians, Queenslanders and overseas visitors were coming in for the holiday season. 1300500 could be accessed from interstate. Or from overseas by