Not Meeting Mr Right (11 page)

'Are you organised for Bianca's kitchen tea this
arvo?' I'd forgotten all about the kitchen tea. I couldn't
go, there was no way. I had a severe hangover, and
no idea when I'd get home. I increasingly hated the
married and soon-to-be-married, as it was becoming
overwhelmingly obvious to me that I'd never be either –
by thirty or forty or fifty years of age.

'I'm not going.' I was adamant. No correspondence
would be entered into. Or so I thought.

'There's no way out, not for you, Alice. You have to
go. She's
your
school mate. I don't even know why she
invited me. I'm actually
your
friend if we want to be
particular about it, not hers. I could probably get out of
it, but you can't. Bianca doesn't strike me as the kind of
woman who would ever forgive you if you didn't show.
And Dannie will be there too – she'll be furious if you
don't turn up.'

I looked at my watch. It had just hit nine am. 'Fine.
I'll pick you up at two – but I'm not staying long, okay?'
I sounded like a bitch, but I was just so tired. I needed
to lie down. 'What about a present?' I asked. Thankfully,
Liza had it all under control.

I turned the phone off then, just in case Casper
called. I wasn't sure whether I'd given him my number
or not.

'Next stop Central,' came the much-appreciated
announcement. As the train pulled in, I added up how
many drinks I'd had the night before. I was okay to
drive – just. I counted again to be sure. I couldn't afford
to lose my licence, and I was always giving Mickey a
hard time for even suggesting he drive after a couple
of drinks.

I had no idea where to go once I got off the train, so I
followed everyone else. I found myself in Eddy Avenue,
near the country buses and coach terminal. I knew
where I was, but felt despair as I contemplated the long
walk to my car. I hoped it was still there.

I briefly considered getting a cab back to
Abercrombie Street, but that would've been sheer
laziness, and I'm not a lazy woman. I was just hungover,
tired, hot and pathetic. These were the times when I
needed Mr Right. He'd just pick me up in his flashy
car and drive me home, stopping for a Coke or two on
the way, lavishing me with sympathy. I started my trek
towards Broadway half expecting that flashy car to pull
up next to me. Maybe I
was
still drunk; there was no
other excuse for such craziness.

Behind the wheel of my red Golf, I drove ever so
carefully back to my little piece of paradise in Coogee,
past Moore Park and the Randwick Race Course. Even
though the air conditioning provided relief from the
heat of the day, my belly didn't enjoy the hills of Alison
Road and there were a few moments where I thought
I might need to pull over. I didn't though, and I finally
felt a sense of peace and belonging as I caught view of
the ocean and a glimpse of Wedding Cake Island in the
distance.

Heading downhill towards home in the weekend
traffic, I reflected grimly that the hard work in finding
a husband could only be matched by the hard work in
finding a car space in Coogee on a Saturday morning
in summer. I prayed, as I did regularly, to the creator:
Please Biami, not only bring me spiritual guidance and
long life, but also let me find a parking space without
effort and a long walk today
. Surprisingly, I managed
to get a park right out the front of my unit on Arden
Street. Biami was often good to me, even if I was still
single. Biami not delivering me Mr Right just yet might
well have been a good thing.

I didn't care that the security door of my building
was wide open; in fact I was grateful for one less task
to complete in order to get into my bed. I hiked the
two flights of stairs, shakily put the key in the lock and
almost fell through the door, so relieved to be home that
I cried a little. I threw all my clothes off, gulped some
orange juice from the bottle (a bit of an effort, as it was
a three-litre jumbo bottle), then staggered down the
hallway, bumping from wall to wall, finally collapsing
on my bed. It was ten-thirty. I figured I could have three
hours' sleep before I had to get ready for the kitchen
tea. My eyes weren't even closed before I was asleep.
The sound of my phone ringing in the kitchen couldn't
raise me from my pillow. I'd let the machine get it.

***

I woke in a dribbly haze to the sound of my phone
ringing again. The machine picked it up before I got to
it, and it was a few seconds before I recognised Liza's
voice, wanting to know where I was. It was two-thirty.
I'd overslept. I raced to the phone and grabbed the
mouthpiece, breathless. 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm on my
way out the door,' I lied, then hung up and checked the
message waiting for me.

'Hi Alice, it's Simon. You didn't say goodbye. Guess
you didn't want to wake me, eh? I got your number
from the phone book. Lucky you're the only Aigner in
Coogee. Just wanted to know what you were doing this
arvo. I'll call you later on the mobile.'

Simon – that was his name. I didn't want to see him
again, couldn't even remember really seeing him the
first time, and he now had my mobile number as well.
I'd have to change that message as soon as I got home
from the kitchen tea, and maybe get myself a silent
number.

I jumped into a steamy shower and relaxed, enjoying
the jets of hot water massaging my shoulders and
back, washing away the night before. Running some
conditioner through my hair (I didn't have time to
shampoo), I thought about what I would wear, how I'd
crawl to Liza for being late, and what excuse we'd use
for leaving the kitchen tea early. It was all too much – I
was still so tired my eyes were barely open.

The hostess greeted us with a cheery 'Welcome to my
home and Bianca's kitchen tea. Please put your gifts in
the room on the left and make your way through to the
kitchen. The toilet is upstairs, but if you have to go, can
you take your shoes off please? The carpet is new.' Why
would anyone have a party where guests had to take
their shoes off to use the toilet? I rolled my eyes at Liza,
who just started laughing.

'Lucky we peed at Maccas on the way,' Liza whispered,
looking at my shoes, knowing fully well how
badly my feet reek. (We'd stopped for some fries – 'best
thing for a hangover', Liza had said.)

'Yeah, wonder what would happen if I went upstairs
with these clodhoppers on, eh?' I wasn't game to find
out. Bianca would already be shitty that we were an
hour late. Dannie was there, scowling at us for our
tardiness.

In the kitchen, both Liza and I received our
mandatory name tags so that everyone knew who the
two slackers were. I joked that I was on Koori time,
of course. Liza and Dannie chuckled, but no-one else
seemed to get it. Bit of an in-joke perhaps. Liza and I
took our seats in the chairs designated especially to us.
We just sat for a while and watched, saying nothing to
each other, or to anyone else. More to the point, no-one
said anything to us. Most of the twelve or so women
were engaged in conversation of some sort, eating
mini-quiches and corn chips, party pies and sausage
rolls. We weren't left in peace for long, though. The
games soon started.

First we were given pegs to wear. In order to keep
them, we couldn't cross our legs. 'For every leg crossed,
is a peg lost – simple!' The woman wearing the name
tag 'Mother of the Bride' was very good at explaining
the rules. 'The one with the most pegs at the end of
the game wins a prize.' Liza and I had already missed
out on the lucky door prize – a set of tea towels and
matching oven mitts. I felt like I was in some parallel
universe.

I deliberately crossed my legs on and off enough
times in the next ten minutes to ensure I'd lost all my
pegs, and therefore didn't have to play anymore. I was
over the game before it had even begun. The groom's
grandmother, who was the most competitive of the
otherwise conservative group, pinched most of my
pegs. By the end of the game, which took about twentyfive
minutes, I thought to myself that if marrying Mr
Right involved brawling over clothes pegs with eightyyear-
old women, I'd be happy to remain single. Mr
Right could stay where he was until his grandmother
and great-aunties were well and truly dead and buried.

As the women all laughed and pinched pegs from
each other, I pondered the absurdity of the ritual. Who
came up with the concept of the 'kitchen tea' anyway?
The whole event was simply about getting as many
presents as possible leading up to the wedding. As if
an engagement present and a wedding present weren't
enough, without having to buy something for the
kitchen too. How sexist anyway. Why doesn't the man
have a kitchen tea to receive appliances
he
can use in
the kitchen? It was such a fifties concept. The whole
reunion came flooding back. Why do we maintain
friendships with school friends anyway? Life is a series
of cycles, but for some reason we feel compelled to
make the school-friend-cycle go on past its expiry
date. No-one wants to admit that we change, that who
we are as teenagers may or may not determine who
we are as adults, and that there is no guarantee that
we'll get on with our old friends ten years down the
track. Bianca really had broken the cycle now, though,
I thought, because she was getting married, and her
new life cycle was beginning. I hardly ever saw her
these days. Yet here I was, pretending I was excited to
be there.

'Where's the booze?' I asked Liza. I needed a drink
to cope with it all. I looked around to see who was
drinking what, and to my horror and disappointment
I couldn't see a drop of alcohol anywhere. 'Maybe we
have to take our shoes off before we can have a wine or
a beer. Should I ask Mrs New-Carpet or not?'

Liza put her finger up to her mouth, as if to say,
'Shhhh.'

'I need a drink', I persisted. I got up and strolled
casually through the kitchen, grabbed myself a party
frank, and winked at Granny. 'Love the little boys, eh?'
She didn't laugh, so I just shrugged my shoulders and
made my way to the drinks area. Juice, mineral water,
cordial and every soft drink mentionable, but not so
much as a light beer in sight. I was getting agitated.
While I mightn't be the best cook in the world, I'm a
damned good hostess. Never let it be said that someone
couldn't get a decent drink at Alice's place. Why hadn't
the bride-to-be and Mrs New-Carpet organised
any alcohol? How did they expect people to enjoy
themselves during an afternoon of kitchen-teaing and
all that entails
and
stay sober?

It was painfully clear that peg stealing wasn't
entertaining enough for me and Liza, even though all
the other girls seemed amused. Dannie
seemed
to be
enjoying herself, but she had an excuse to leave early,
and soon did. Had to pick up the school bully from
netball.

She stopped to say goodbye to us on the way out.
'There's a reason to breed,' I whispered to her. 'Kids get
you out of doing lots of things you don't want to.'

'But you end up doing a whole lot of other things
you don't want to do,' she said. Perhaps motherhood
was not a win-win situation.

The afternoon dragged on like a game of chess
between two people who don't know the rules. Liza
and I reluctantly participated in game after game that
showed us just how pathetic the socialisation process
into suburban wifedom is.

'I've been nothing but critical from the moment I
walked in, so remind me why I'm so desperate to get
married myself, Liza?' Seriously, sitting there I was
truly happy to be single.

'You want to get married for the wedding party, the
honeymoon and a guaranteed lifetime of don't-haveto-
go-looking-for-it sex,' she said, as we lined up to play
pin-the-penis-on-the-spunk. I was blindfolded and
spun around and I did my best to cheat. I wasn't quite
sure I'd be able to find it, but Granny assured me it was
like riding a bike. I wondered how poor old Grandpa
would cope when she got home that night.

Time ticked by slowly, and although Dannie had
made her escape, Liza and I knew we couldn't leave
before the presents were opened – that being the whole
purpose of the event. Gift getting, and making your
friends and relatives compete with each other over
who spent the most on what. Or maybe the idea was to
make others feel completely inadequate because they
couldn't afford the top-of-the-range whatever it was
you were expecting. Yes, gifts for the kitchen, that's
what the kitchen tea was all about.

The next game was pass-the-parcel, with terrible
folk music. I won a pair of rubber gloves and a scourer.

Liza and I both groaned with relief when we were
finally summoned into the living room for the next
part of the kitchen-tea program. Mrs New-Carpet was
assisted by Mrs Sister-in-Law-to-Be in ushering us to
our chairs, but by then Liza and I knew which were
'our seats'. The choruses of 'Ooooohhhh, aahhhh, isn't
it lovely? ... Wish I had one of those ... That will come
in handy ... I have one just like it ... I nearly bought one
for myself ... I
did
buy one for myself!' almost made me
want to puke.

I thought about kitchen teas I'd been to in the past,
and realised none of them had been for Koori women.
All my Koori girlfriends were relishing singledom,
working on their careers, hanging out in the city,
and, more often than not, terrifying men with their
confidence and expectations, so that even a first date
left a bloke in shock and in need of counselling. Many
of the women in my circle did aspire to meeting Mr
Right at some point, but I couldn't imagine any one
of them going through this charade as part of
their
initiation into wifehood.

I wondered whether or not I'd do the kitchen tea
gig, given that I rarely cooked anyway. If I did, the event
would definitely involve lots of booze, good music and
maybe even a stripper or two. Yes, that's the way a
kitchen tea should run. Instead of Bianca's cookbook
library, I'd get every marital aid on the market. I smiled
at the thought – the first real smile after an afternoon
of fake grins.

The kitchen clock Bianca received read six-thirty
pm. (The gift-giver pointed out she had already put
batteries in it!) The younger women talked excitedly
about heading to a pub in Parramatta – a sign that it
was time for Liza and I to leave. There was no way I was
heading anywhere other than home. When I explained
I needed to rest, Bianca didn't seem sorry to see us go.

'Yes, you do look dreadful, Alice.' Apparently I hadn't
done as good a job on the make-up as I thought. We
departed without fuss or fanfare.

On the way home, we discussed the urgency of the
upcoming hens' night and wedding. How were we ever
going to cope? Apart from the fact that we hadn't really
connected with anyone else at the party, neither of us
fancied doing the night-animal-bus-pub-crawl planned
for the western suburbs the following Saturday, but we
both agreed we should support Bianca in her hour of
need: she'd be walking the streets of Parramatta with
a shower curtain tied to her head and sixteen single,
desperate girls and Mrs New-Carpet trailing behind.

I couldn't bring myself to tell Liza about my onenight
stand with Casper just yet. I needed to be feeling
healthy to do that.