Not Meeting Mr Right Page 3

  I started to feel sick. It wasn't just the conversation: the G&Ts weren't mixing well with the huge slice of tiramisu I'd eaten for dessert. I got up to go to the loo. Dannie jumped up too and raced towards the door, pushing past me on the way.

  'I'm busting. Haven't had a chance to escape all night,' she said. Did that mean she was over it as well?

  As we both sat in adjacent cubicles, I reminisced a little about the nights we used to spend as teenagers with fake IDs, hiding in the toilets until the police raid was over outside. I recognised the old tiles and wooden doors and wondered why the ladies were the only part of the pub that hadn't been brought into the twenty-first century.

  'There's no paper,' Dannie said, sticking her hand under the dividing wall.

  'Want to leave?' I asked as I passed her some paper.

  'Why? It's only early.' Of course, this was a big night out for Dannie too; her husband George was minding the kids for the first time in months.

  'Because this is soooooo painful. I don't fit in. I'm not even a bloody peg, regardless of shape. I want to go home.' I actually wanted to do a thorough postmortem of the evening and decide once and for all – by morning, if that were at all possible – whether I wanted a man and a kid or not.

  'We need to speak to everyone at least briefly.' Dannie was happy to leave with me early, but she would never be impolite, not even for her mate. We both stood at the sink washing our hands.

  'I haven't spoken to Karly yet,' I said. 'At least she might be good for a laugh.' I was trying to be positive, as Dannie hadn't bitched about anyone all night.

  'I haven't spoken to her either – why don't we do it together? That way it will be only half as painful for you.' Dannie was trying to point out how unreasonable I was being, but I just said 'Ha! Ha!' and pushed her out the toilet door.

  Dannie took a seat on Karly's left and I sat opposite them. Karly had been the class dimwit. Since then she'd been to East Timor, set up a communication network, met a missionary, and adopted three kids.

  'So you're a full-time mother, then?' Dannie was more interested than I was in the motherhood side of things. I wanted to hear about the 'missionary work' and saving souls.

  'Yes. These children need all the love they can get. Poor things, it's very hard raising them outside of their own culture and society.' Karly had that martyr sparkle in her eye. I saw it. Dannie saw me see it. I saw Dannie start to move.

  'Well then why are you doing it?' I asked Karly aggressively. Dannie stood up and grabbed her things.

  'I thought I might call Bianca and let her know what a great time we're having. Maybe I can persuade her to come down. Why don't you come with me and say hello, Alice?' It was an escape plan: we could finally leave. I didn't care about Crusading Karly if it meant I could get out of there.

  'Great idea. I'm sure she's wishing she were here,' I said, holding up my hand and mouthing a lie at Karly: 'Five minutes!'

  Dannie and I linked arms and giggled as we headed towards the door.

  two

  Strategic planning

  Once outside, Dannie called home to check on her kids, and I called our friends Peta and Liza. 'I'm getting married!' I explained, and told them to meet us at my place immediately – I needed their help. They were a little worried, they both admitted later, so they agreed to meet me at mine in half an hour.

  Dannie was sober enough to enjoy the opportunity to drive my sporty red VW to my place. She'd sold her Land Rover when she moved to Paddington; the street was simply too small for it.

  Within the hour, the four of us were sitting around my lounge room. The globe had blown, and I hadn't replaced it, so I lit some candles. Dannie and Liza sat on the groovy red sofa they had all helped me choose, and Peta and I sat on cushions on the wooden floor. It was a balmy night, so we opened the windows and venetian blinds wide to allow as much breeze in as possible. Just being home, I felt more secure in myself; I was in my own space, with my friends; two of them were happily single, childless women. In their company, I was normal, one of the majority.

  'So how was the reunion?' Liza asked.

  'All married women can talk about is honeymoons, anniversaries, pregnancies, Lamaze classes, sore nipples, breast milk, stretch marks, school fees, nits, mortgage repayments—' I took a breath, 'Apparently, all the important things in life. Important to whom, I ask you?'

  'Important to those women, Alice. Don't be so bloody harsh – or are you jealous?' Dannie was defensive. I was being harsh and, truth be told, I was perhaps a little jealous, but even though I admitted quietly to myself that all the women at the reunion were happy, and none of them looked like they'd trade their lives for quids, I would never let my insecurities be known publicly. Not Alice Aigner.

  'Jealous, hah! I love my life. I could build on it, of course. In fact, I'll get myself a man, and breed, and show that it's possible to maintain a marriage, motherhood, and a mind of my own. Yep, I'll have it all by the time I'm thirty. I'll marry the most gorgeous man on the planet, have a HUGE wedding, so big it'll end up not only in the social pages of the Koori Mail but in the daily papers, too. You girls will be there, of course: Liza, the wedding coordinator; Peta, the producer; and Dannie, the matron of honour.'

  'Why can't I be matron of honour?' Peta jokingly whined to Dannie.

  'You're not married, and if you were, you'd be matron of dishonour,' Dannie said adamantly. Peta and Dannie occasionally sniped at each other, because they were so different – Peta out partying every night, Dannie relishing reading to her kids before tucking them into bed – but their exchanges were nearly always in good humour.

  'Can I finish?' I felt we were losing focus. 'The difference is I won't be limited to conversations about cradle crap, booster shits or nappy thrush.' The girls keeled over laughing, but I had no idea why.

  'Cradle cap,' Dannie chuckled.

  'Booster shots,' Liza added.

  'And it's nappy rash, Alice. Even I know that.' Peta rolled her eyes.

  'Whatever! So now there's a whole language I need to learn as well. I can do that. I'm a bloody history teacher. I could learn the whole history of birthing techniques and baby things if I really wanted to. But I don't.'

  Liza and Peta smirked at my outburst, but I think Dannie was a little bothered about how I pictured her as a mother. She frowned out the window into the black night, elbow resting on the arm of the lounge, her chin cupped in her palm. I wasn't talking about her at all – she had to understand that.

  'Dannie, you know I don't think of you as really married or really motherly at all, don't you?'

  'I don't think of you as really an Aborigine, either.'

  It was the first real laugh I'd had all night. Dannie wasn't just our voice of reason; she often provided the comedy for the group, too.

  'So, you're going to be married by your thirtieth, are you love?' Liza was good at getting things back on track.

  'That's right. I've got two years. I want what all those other women have, like Dannie. I can do it, I know I can.'

  'Do what? Learn how to function without sleep?' Dannie was always pragmatic.

  'No, I like my eight hours' sleep per night.'

  'So, you want to be able to read only when you go to the toilet, and even then have someone banging on the door calling out Muuuuum – your only name?'

  'No, I like to be left in peace on the loo, and to read at night in bed – and on the beach too.'

  'Ah, the beach. Well, be prepared to spend hours packing bags with towels, buckets, spades, cordial, sandwiches, tiny packets of chips, spare clothes and sunscreen. And don't think for a minute you'll ever be able to lie down and read anything, because you'll have to be watching the kids the whole time.'

  'Okay, so forget the kids and reading for now, what about Mr Right? You have him. Tell me about how wonderful that is – having a gorgeous man who has vowed to adore you forever – your own Mr Right!'

  'I have Mr All-Right. When the kids come along, it all changes between you and your man
, Alice. There's hardly any more romance. George and I don't even kiss properly anymore unless we're having sex.'

  'But there you have it! You have sex! On tap! Right?'

  'We fall into bed every night exhausted, look at each other and smile, then agree to wait until we have more energy – which of course we rarely have.' Personally, I thought having sex with a bloke called George would be difficult at any time, but I pursued my line of questioning.

  'What about the mansion? The freshly cut lawns? The young, built husband washing the car on Sunday morning, your kids riding bikes and getting good school reports, the dog you take for walks?'

  'The so-called mansion takes hours to clean and keep tidy because the kids leave everything, including their bikes, everywhere. Jeremy looks like he'll have to repeat kindergarten – kindergarten! Sarah's one of the school bullies, so naturally I'm proud of her. We pay a fortune for a gardener who is so old I'd rather he didn't take his shirt off. George's sixpack has turned into a slab. The car is always dirty because George won't use a bucket to wash it and is too tight to pay to get it cleaned, and the fucken dog is a Siberian husky and should be in Siberia. It malts fur all over the place and eats more than me and the kids put together.' Dannie stopped and took a long sip on her drink. 'Sorry for swearing.' There was sweat on her forehead.

  'Okay, okay, I get it. It's not all rosy, but I want some of it. I'll trade the kids off for a trip to Venice or Paris or anywhere each year. At least say you'll help me find a bloke. Based on what you've told me, without the kids we'll at least have the energy for sex.'

  Liza jumped in. 'What you need is a strategy.' She pulled out a steno pad from her bag. Her preparedness comes from being a lawyer, always making case notes. Liza works for the Aboriginal Legal Service in the city. She's white like Dannie, but with Italian heritage. I call them my token white friends; I reckon everyone should have at least one or two. It's politically correct.

  Liza and I met at a justice forum back in the 1990s and have been tight ever since. Liza's really smart, she always has her head in a book, and it's always non-fiction. She has a real thirst for learning. I like her because she's genuine. Her work at the ALS isn't some patronising attempt to help Blackfellas, and it's not about making herself feel warm and fuzzy about being in the cause either. Some might see it as her bit for reconciliation, but Liza has a holistic approach. Her philosophy is that helping anyone in any way makes the world generally a better place to live. I love that about her. Also, I think she enjoys pissing her parents off. They're really well-known solicitors. They wanted her to join the family firm, and hate that she works at the ALS for next to nothing. She does heaps of pro bono work as well, which her parents simply don't understand. They didn't walk the Harbour Bridge with her in 2000, and she didn't speak to them for months afterwards. She is so passionate about social justice that she has culled almost everyone from her life who doesn't think like she does. She can be extreme, but that's what I like about her.

  Once we were in a restaurant when another member of our group – a friend of a friend – kept putting on a racist Indian accent. Liza was furious; she threw money into the middle of the table and stormed out, shouting, 'I only want to surround myself with people who think like I do!' She was accused of being narrow-minded, but I agreed totally with her, and followed her out. That was when we became really close.

  Peta, Dannie and I watched Liza tear off pages from her notepad and lay them on the table. Then she pulled pens from her bag. I imagine this is what she does as part of preparing for a case, but I can't be sure, because I've never really seen her in action. Unlike most of my girlfriends, Liza is all for confidentiality. If she learns something at work that she thinks I really should be on top of or might just be interested in knowing, she'll tell me, 'What I'm hearing out there is ...' or 'The word on the street is ...', but she never gives away anything she shouldn't. She's a good confidant, which is why I felt safe pouring out all my business in her presence. I knew she'd take it to the grave. She better.

  'Okay, so let's be clear about your goal first.' Liza was methodical, too. 'What exactly is it?'

  'Haven't you been listening? I want to meet Mr Right and get married and I want to have a HUGE, all-starcast, social-event-of-the-year wedding!'

  'Okay, Muriel, good. Is there a timeframe?'

  'Hey, I'm no Muriel. I'm not constantly fantasising about getting married.' (I had of course fantasised, but not constantly, and I hadn't been trying on dresses – there was a difference.)

  Peta coughed and laughed. 'Bullshit.'

  'Can we focus, please? Is there a timeframe, Alice?' Liza asked again.

  'By my thirtieth birthday!' Had she been hearing me at all? But Liza was just in lawyer mode, doublechecking the facts.

  'Right, that gives us just under two years. Now, how would you define Mr Right, Alice?' Liza was talking to me as though I was a client and she was questioning me on the stand. I didn't mind, though, because it was all helpful.

  'You want a definition?'

  'Well, in order to know who Mr Right is when you meet him, you should have some idea of what you're looking for.' Liza was so, so organised. 'You talk and I'll scribe. Let's start with the most obvious of your requirements. What must he be or have?'

  'He must be single, straight and wanting to be in a relationship. Not like Gus, who was already in a relationship, or bi-Max, who was just discovering his sexuality at the age of twenty-five, or Richard, who preferred watching football to having sex.' At least my past lovers had taught me something.

  'Did Richard really choose the game over you?' Peta was astonished. She'd known him from around the traps as well.

  'Sure thing. I asked him straight out if he'd rather go to the football or spend the afternoon making love, and his response was ...'

  The girls waited anxiously for the answer.

  'Depends on which code!'

  'What!' they all screamed. I was sure my neighbours could hear us.

  'Okay, so what else? Let's keep it moving, Alice.' Liza sat with pen poised.

  'He must be good to his mother and like children – because clearly they're all going to be around at some point.'

  'And because there's a good chance that you won't like his mum or the kids.' Dannie was on a comedy roll.

  I kept adding to the list. 'I want him to love his job. Scott used to complain all the time about his work, I couldn't stand it. He acted like he had no control over his own happiness there. He was such a bloody victim.' Liza was writing furiously.

  'I want a man who is only addicted to me.'

  'Your problem, Alice, is that it's always just about you,' Dannie said. She turned and looked directly at me. 'No addictions? None at all? Who are you going to date, a bloody priest? Can he drink coffee?'

  'Coffee, yes; beer for breakfast like JC, not on your life. One alcoholic in my life is one too many. Now fill me up!' I held out my glass for another drink. Peta did the honours and we all laughed.

  'I want him to think I'm the most gorgeous woman on the planet.' The others nodded in agreement: it was a fair request for any girl to make.

  'And I don't want him to adore me because I'm Black. I don't want to be someone's "exotic other". Do you know how David used to introduce me?'

  'How?' they asked in chorus.

  'This is Alice, she's Wiradjuri.'

  'What?'

  'I know, I know, and he'd say it to whitefellas, like I was some freak. He didn't understand it was different when I said it, to place myself. That he didn't need to do it at dinner parties.'