Cooperman

Robert Cooper is not a head-turner – far from it, and he knows that. He’s pitifully aware of his large body, plump face and thinning hair. He brushes his teeth three times a day, but they're still a hideous yellow. And he always smells of cigarette. 

Robert is forty two and friendless.

As always, Robert has ridden his bicycle to work. He’s mad about cars. He buys car magazines, spends a fair amount of weekends in car showrooms, goes to car exhibitions and even to the Melbourne Grand Prix at Albert Park every year, and would even enjoy long drives as long as, of course, he didn’t have to do the driving. Robert can’t drive. He tried, but something happens to him behind the wheel – his hands and legs start shaking, his heart starts pounding, and his head starts spinning. So he just rides to work in red Lycra and changes in the locker room. 

Today’s Friday. The floor looks busy – people moving about, phones ringing, consultants trying to calm irate customers who’ve been on the phone for hours, floor supports taking escalations – the usual mad rush before wrapping up the week. Then most hang out in one of the umpteen pubs in the area. Some then go bowling. No one usually asks Robert.

Robert’s an accountant at a US-owned phone company. He sits in a small office with glass walls. He doesn’t like the fishbowl, but what he dislikes more are finger-marks on the glass – he keeps a bottle of Windex in the bottom drawer of his desk. No one knows that, but everyone says he’s fussy. 

Robert Cooper is fussy about very few things. Very few things, but very strong fuss. He doesn’t watch pirated DVDs. He hates Diet drinks and can’t stand people who take a look at him and just assume that that’s what he drinks or at least should. He doesn’t like ice in his Coke either – serve them chilled, but never iced. Boxing Day Sales disgust him – it’s like feeding time at the zoo! And he thinks the souvenir shops in Swanston Street are downright appalling – Australian souvenirs ‘Made in China’. 

“They’re stealing our jobs!” he grumbles. 

“Yeah? If your people don’t get off their arse, what else do you expect?” his immigrant Dad reasons. 

Robert settles himself down in his chair. Today his mind is somewhat taken by a strange dream he had last night. All night he played dominoes with a man whose face he couldn't see, or perhaps doesn’t remember, and there was someone on his side – a man or a woman, he couldn’t tell, but whose face also he couldn't see or doesn't remember. What baffles him the most, though, is that he in fact doesn't know how to play dominoes and he spent his entire night playing the game with a faceless partner by his side! Robert Cooper doesn’t have a partner. He was bullied at school; he was a nobody at uni; and now he’s ignored at work. That’s how it’s been all his life. He can’t have a partner. He shouldn’t even dream about one.

“Hey Rob! Wanna join us for a beer this evening, mate?” 

Robert looks up. Alison. “It’s Benny-boy’s birthday.” she chirps from the door. Benny, her boyfriend, waves from his cubicle. 

Robert can’t think straight. They actually want him to go? “Yeah, sure. Thanks, Alison.” 

“No worries, Rob. Hey, can you chip in for a prezzie?”

What does Robert Cooper want? He lives with his Dad, who’s indifferent to his emotions. He’ll give Robert a thousand dollars just like that, but will never put his arm around his son even when he’s desperate for it. But Robert loves him to bits. He dreads the day when his Dad will pass and he’ll be the only living soul in the three bedroom house. 

Robert likes his job. The money’s not bad. Enough for a man to indulge in this and that. Fine dining at Southbank. Musicals. Movies. Comedy shows. Exhibitions. And all the way through he is all alone like a country dunny. 

Robert sighs.

For others the day passes in a flurry of excitement. A few more minutes and they’ll be off to the pub. Only if Robert could just go home now, sit in the veranda, and re-live the dream over a cold one.

“You coming, Rob?” Stewart’s at the door. 

“Yeah, you carry on, Stewey. I’ll catch up.”

Stewart hurries the others along to the lift. 

Robert waits for the lift to take the chatter of voices down. Far. Then he stacks the folders scattered on his desk in a neat pile, wipes the desk with a soft yellow cloth, cleans the glass, switches off the light and locks the door. 

“The dream’s paralysed me. I should go home.” Robert grunts. “How long should I stay? …Who was the partner? …Was it a he? Am I gay? ...Or a she? ...Maybe I’m not. …How do you play dominoes? ...Why on earth did I say yes?”

It’s quarter past five. Robert pushes the heavy wooden door open and steps inside the pub. He hasn’t been here before. Once his eyes adjust to the soft light, he quite likes the quaint, little place – massive art deco paintings on brick walls; vintage chandeliers; Louis Armstrong’s gravelly voice; tinkling of glasses; voices; laughter.

“Oi Rob! Over here.” 

Robert joins his colleagues in a dimmer corner. Everyone raises their glass to Benny. Adam, their receptionist, passes him a bottle of red with a silver bow tied around the neck; Therese hands him a David Jones gift card. Therese – the newest and youngest member of the team – cheerful, impulsive, going around hugging everyone – everyone except Robert. No one has ever hugged Robert. 

“Can I get you a drink, Rob?” Ops Manager Andrew asks.

“I’ll go and get one, Andrew. Thanks.” Robert walks over to the counter and orders a lemon, lime and bitters.

When he returns with the highball glass held tightly with both hands, Andrew asks if he wanted something stronger.

“No, I’m alright, mate. I’ve gotta ride back.” 

Eyes wink, and silent laughs hover. Robert feels stupid. It’s got to be the dream. He lights a cigarette hoping to hide behind the smoke. His colleagues yabber away. He sips his lemon, lime and bitters. And smokes his cigarette. His eyes scan the crowd in search of something. A face. A gesture. Something he can call friendly. And that's when his eyes meet those of a middle aged man sitting at the bar with a pint of beer. The man raises his glass. Robert lifts his, half empty, and decides to join the man.

“How ya doin?” Robert sits next to the man.

“Yeah, great. I’m doin great. Yeah.” he smiles showing his uneven, but white teeth, “But you’re not feeling very comfortable, are you?”

“No, I’m alright...I’m good...” Robert extends his hand, “I’m Robert. Rob.”

The man shakes his hand firmly and nods, “Good to see ya, Rob.” and adds gravely after a pause, “I’m a happy alcoholic.” 

Robert feels he can open up to this man – maybe that was a he, but I’m not gay. Maybe that was the friend I never had, or an acquaintance or just a random guy – a happy alcoholic­ – Robert tries to remember if his dream smelt of booze.

“You lost somewhere, mate?”

“Nah...nah...I was just wondering...if you’ve ever played dominoes?”

The man gulps down his beer and asks for a top-up. Robert waits patiently. The answer is important.

“Nah, mate. I don’t play. I work. I eat. Shit. Drink. I sleep. But I don’t play.”

Robert’s chest tightens.

“But I can be playful.” the man winks.

Robert, slightly apprehensive, frowns. 

“I’ll let you in on a little secret.” the man winks again. And then he does something bizarre! He pulls out a bottle of Golden Circle from his backpack – a bottle half filled with beer! 

“That’s bonkers!” Robert sighs heavily, and shakes his head, “Is that a secret?”

“Yeah, it is a serious secret. How many people have you seen carrying beer in a juice bottle?” the man pauses. “You haven’t, have you?” he looks insecure. 

“No, I haven’t.” Robert mutters under his breath.

The man seems relieved though, “See? You haven’t.” and carefully pours his second beer into the container. He chuckles to himself, “Amber, or apple? You tell!”

“What do you do exactly?” Robert asks – his eyes narrow, lips pursed.

“I work in construction.” the man pauses. “I’m not a dole-bludger, Rob. It’s my money.”

“Yeah...good on ya...” Robert makes no effort to hide the sarcasm in his voice.

“No, don’t judge me, mate. I’m not proud of it. I’m just satisfied.”

“And how’s that?”

The man brings his face closer, “Where d’ya live?”

“Richmond.”

“D’ya have a veranda?”

“Yes, I do.”

“And d’ya stand in your veranda every morning for a minute or two and ask Richmond if it’s been orright?” the man says as if sharing another secret.

“What? What the heck should I do that for?”

“To feel satisfied, Rob. Contented. Because no one else does. Well, no one except me. I live in Sunshine, you see, and I check in with Sunshine every morning to see if the sun is really shining.” he raises his right eyebrow and drinks from the juice bottle.

Robert grunts impatiently, but the man doesn’t notice. Or doesn’t care. He takes another five or six undisturbed little sips from the bottle, wipes his mouth on his shirt-sleeve and extends the bottle to Robert.

“No, thanks, mate – I’ve gotta ride back – I don’t wanna wobble on my bike and end up in hospital.”

The man frowns.

Robert feels stupid – not again. “You know what I mean. Don’t you?” his voice trembles.

The man, still frowning, just nods.

Robert takes a deep breath, “You sure don’t know anything about dominoes?”

“Nah man, I dunno nothin about dominoes.”

“I had this dream, you see.” Robert starts, but then looks skeptically at the man. “You dream, right?”

“Course I do. Sea, beach, hot chicks...I dream a lot.” the man smiles impishly. “What was your dream about?”

Robert takes another deep breath – here goes nothing. “I was playing dominoes, but mate, I don’t even know how to play that bloody game! And there was someone…someone by my side...”

“So who won?”

“I didn’t see.”

“What’s bothering you more? The game? Or the someone? … A chick?” the man looks intently.

“That’s the point, mate. I couldn’t see, and it’s doing my head in! It’s like hoping to have someone in your life but not having the guts to live up to the relationship.”

“Yeah?” the man presses his lips together and sways back and forth.

“What does it mean?”

“What does what mean?”

“The dream.”

The man gently pushes his glass across the counter for another top-up and then turns to Robert. “Look, you can have a beer if you want. Take the train home. Come back tomorrow to get your bike. How does that sound?”

“Sounds like crap.” Robert snorts.

The man picks up the refilled glass, finishes half the beer in three gulps, and out comes the juice bottle. As he starts pouring the rest into it, Robert shakes his head. 

The man stands up. “Cheerio, Rob. Nice talking to you.” he digs out his wallet.

Robert looks up, “On me, umm…”

“Marty.”

“On me, Marty.”

Marty doesn’t mind. He lights a cigarette and offers Robert one. Robert hesitates – not his brand, then pulls one out, and just holds it between his lips. He would’ve liked Marty to stay a little longer. Marty takes a long puff and asks Robert if he is leaving too. 

“In a bit.” Robert hopes he’s not giving too much away.

“Orright then.” Marty raises his right arm to say goodbye. His sweat-stained shirt is frayed at the underarm. Robert’s heart sinks.

Marty slowly walks out of the pub. Robert looks around to see if his colleagues are still there. He spots only five of them. Should he get another lemon, lime and bitters? How long is ‘a bit’?

Suddenly Robert feels a hand on his shoulder. Startled, he looks back. Marty’s standing behind him. Robert looks puzzled, he does – but no one sees the dizzying, delirious joy churning up inside him. Marty sits next to him, just as he was five minutes ago. 

“Believe me, mate, I don't play. But I think dominoes is a ripper game, where you’ve gotta take turns. Don't go crazy thinking if it was a man or a woman. Whoever it was, they looked out for you, didn’t they? And that's what counts, mate. Have another drink. A stupid lemon, lime and bitters if that’s what you fancy. But take the train home. Come back tomorrow arvo to get the bike. I know the bike is important. I'll be here after five if you wanna talk.”

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Better Robert buys Marty a shirt tomorrow?

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Tupur Chakrabarty 
1997