Not Meeting Mr Right (3 page)

'Because if I didn't people would've talked about me.'

'Don't be ridiculous.' She was right. They wouldn't
have talked about me. They hadn't been talking about
anyone else. They were lovely women, and genuinely
keen to catch up and share baby photos and birthing
tales, because that's what
normal
women our age did.

'I'm not normal!' I said.

Suddenly I wanted my own special moments to
share: the moment when I 'just knew'. When I'd met 'the
one'. The wonderful roller-coaster ride from wedding
planning to broken waters.

I felt a growing desire to fit in with this group, this
new community I'd never been part of. I was part of the
Koori community, my local community in Coogee, and
the school community (as a teacher, of course, not a
parent) – but I'd never been a member of the 'married
with children community'. Now I wanted in.

I wanted more than that, though. I wanted to prove
it was possible to maintain your identity and keep
up to date with current affairs even while changing
nappies and doing tuckshop. I knew I could manage it.
I wouldn't be like
they
were. I was up to the challenge.

A man, marriage, career, kids and happiness: I
could
have it all, I decided. I
would
have it all.

'I'm going to get married,' I blurted.

Dannie shook her head. 'Listen, you're just pissed,
Alice. You love being single. You're always big-noting
about how good you've got it. A husband and kids?
That's not for you.'

She didn't understand my resolve: I was already
excited about the new path my life was going to
take – until I was momentarily side-tracked by another
conversation about pregnancy.

'I just loved the feeling of Sky and Fern as babies inside
me,' someone said, and another round of discussion
began, not about the appalling choice of names (there's
a conversation I could've participated in), but about
what it felt like to have a rug rat
moving
inside you.
Shouldn't those kinds of things be kept private? Did
these women have no sense of decorum? Obviously
not. I tried to imagine what they were describing, but
the only thing moving in my gut was the baby octopus
I'd had for dinner, and if I were to break my waters now
they'd have a very high alcohol content.

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.

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
dis
honour,' 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.'

'So what did you do?'

'I'd say "This is David, he's my own personal
anthropologist." ' We laughed some more.

'Anything else for the list, Alice?' Liza was the only
one truly keeping on track.

'He
has
to be non-racist, non-fascist and nonhomophobic,
and believe in something, preferably
himself. And, apropos of nothing, he must be punctual.'