by Vesna Main
–I’d prefer it to remain private.
–But it is private. It won’t be associated with us.
–Other people don’t meet or get interested in each other because one of them is talking about a seventeen-century woman.
–How do you know?
–Unlikely.
–Besides, she wasn’t just any seventeenth-century woman.
–I know she was special, special to you.
–And she is special to Anna. Anna tells Richard about her, explains the idea of self-fashioning.
–Nothing’s sacred to you. You pilfer our lives for whatever you need.
–Darling, don’t be stubborn. I really need this one.
–You say that about everything. I’ve heard it so many times.
–This one shouldn’t be controversial.
–I’m sure you can think of a better one.
–Not really. I’ve tried, believe me. You see, Anna and Richard meet for the first time at a birthday party. That doesn’t feature in the story but he refers to it in a flashback. The second time they see each other, she’s coming out of the university library, he’s going in. Their paths cross on the big steps outside, overlooking the green with the clock tower. Now, that’s not Bristol. That’s Birmingham. That’s not us.
–Thank God for small mercies.
–He’s pleased to see her. Presumably, she feels the same but we get the memory from his point of view.
–So, you assumed I was pleased to see you.
–Weren’t you?
–Yes, I was.
–You see, I was right.
–But I don’t like him copying me. It feels as if he’s taking over my life.
–Don’t be silly. You’re not Richard.
–I’m becoming him.
–Are you?
–I can’t help it.
–Don’t say that.
–You’re driving me there.
–Is there something you want to tell me?
–?
–Have you copied him in . . . other things?
–No, well, yes. No, you have copied me to make him.
–Are you like him or not?
–We need to get out of this. I feel in a bind.
–Okay. But I need Carleton: it occurs to him that Anna could be persuaded that self-fashioning, inventing different identities, is important for men too and that by being Alan, Alan Roberts, he was self-fashioning himself, he was, if you like, re-enacting his darker side, his fantasy.
–That’s stretching it a bit.
–Of course, but he’s desperate. And so he develops the idea – which he hopes Anna might buy – the idea that Richard always loved his wife and Richard could never do wrong, it was only Alan, his darker side.
–I can’t see the point.
–It gives him temporary comfort, hope that he can sort it out, at least at home.
–It also makes him look stupid.
–Possibly but he’s a desperate man. And a desperate man is prone to self-delusion. Can you see now why I need the Carleton discussion? I need to introduce her as a symbol of self-fashioning?
–You could still use the word but it could come out of some other situation.
–Not as good as Carleton.
–Carleton was also a cheat and a liar, a very clever one. He’s a cheat and a liar, but not a clever one.
–This is the first time you’ve said something bad about him.
* * *
–Good day?
–Yes. We’re getting there. You?
–Nothing special. How’s my alter ego?
–Who?
–Richard?
–He is not your alter ego.
–You behave as if he were.
–I hope not. I wouldn’t like to be his partner.
–What’s happening to him?
–He has a new therapist.
–I thought he was set against therapy.
–Well, he has no choice and gradually he accepts that it would be good to have someone to talk to.
–What’s he like? Assuming it’s a he.
–Stuart. Early forties, divorced. Dreams of being a writer and undertakes therapy training to support himself while writing a novel. Believes that listening to the stories of his clients might spur his imagination. That doesn’t mean he isn’t serious about helping Richard. In fact, he believes what Richard needs is a male friend, a confidant, and while he would be overstepping his professional boundaries if he let their relationship develop into friendship, he’s confident he can at least offer a listening ear and be a non-judgmental companion.
–He doesn’t follow any specific method? No Twelve Steps?
–No Twelve Steps, definitely not. In fact, Richard asks about it when he first contacts the therapist. Stuart reassures him that his work is based on cognitive behaviour therapy.
–Trendy.
–Yes.
–As far as I understand the method, it means Richard has to face the situations that in the past would have led him to contact prostitutes but, in a safe environment, with the therapist’s help, he has to develop different ways of reacting.
–Exactly.
–What are those situations in Richard’s case?
–Being sexualised on the train.
–Okay, that’s straightforward. What else?
–Situations that contribute to his low self-esteem.
–Such as?
–For example, when Anna makes him feel inadequate.
–Oh, so you admit she does?
–Yes, but it’s not her fault.
–?
–It’s the way he takes it.
–Give me something specific.
–For example, when Anna disagrees with him.
–You mean when she dismisses his views.
–I wouldn’t use that word. Too judgmental.
–Okay. What do they disagree about?
–Art, for example. She feels that’s her area and he has what she considers somewhat set, old-fashioned views. But more importantly, they tend to differ on domestic decisions, such as home décor. She maintains he has no visual sense.
–Meaning that his visual sense is different from hers.
–If you put it like that.
–Richard has inherited that from me.
–True of most men unless they are architects or artists.
–A sexist comment.
–Based on experience.
–Still sexist. You tend to overrule me when it comes to home decor—
–Hang on, I was talking about them, not us.
–Your attitude might have a damaging effect on me; it might bring about my low self-esteem.
–Why is it that each time we talk about my writing, you turn it into a discussion about you?
–For obvious reasons. I can’t tell anymore where I end and Richard begins.
–You’re exaggerating.
–I haven’t mentioned it to you, but I had a dream recently about your novel.
–Really?
–Your publisher didn’t want it. They didn’t say why, or rather, that question never came up. And your agent tried elsewhere. And no one would have it.
–Thanks for that. Makes me feel really good.
–Sorry, it was only a dream—
–A nightmare, more likely.
–For you, yes, but, I’m sorry to say I was relieved.
–Great.
–It’s obvious why, isn’t it?
–Your bloody unconscious desire. Do you know what it does to my confidence as a writer? I have to live with the fear that no one will want what I write and I try to push it to the back of my mind, but it’s always there.
–I don’t want it t
o happen. Of course not. But the dream shows how uncomfortable I’m with being turned into Richard.
–You are not Richard. He visited prostitutes for eight years.
* * *
–I miss Tanya.
–You miss the young prostitute?
–Yes.
–?
–Sometimes I think she comes across as a more sympathetic character than either of the other two.
–My writing has never been about creating sympathetic characters.
–I know. I wonder what happened to her?
–She’s in the centre of Birmingham, trying to steal some clothes. A t-shirt actually.
–And?
–She doesn’t manage. She gets cold feet.
–Thank God for that.
–Who knows, it might be good for her to get caught. Someone might help her. A social worker or someone. The reader could see her attempt at stealing as a call for help. But perhaps it’s much simpler: she has very little money and can’t afford to buy what she wants. One of the women who works with her boasts that she steals most of her clothes and encourages Tanya to do the same. Tanya manages to take a lipstick, but it’s only a sample and she hates herself for that. She thinks how she has always been a failure. At school, teachers thought she was useless and now she can’t even nick a new lipstick. She throws the lipstick into a rubbish bin and, in the process, accidentally drops her purse on the ground. It’s picked up by Anna, Anna in her mid-twenties, of course—
–Wow, that busybody finding herself at the right place and the right time.
–There is another woman with Anna and they run after Tanya to return it to her. Anna recognises Tanya and asks if she wants to come to the group again. We’re going there now, she says. Tanya has no intention of joining them but something prevents her from saying it. As before, at the sight of Anna, she becomes tongue-tied. What is it with this woman, she thinks. Why does she do this to me?
–Meaning Anna?
–Yes, and she remembers Sarah. They’re always so bloody polite and sorry about everything and she can’t cope with that.
–I can see how that would happen to a working class girl, even one who’s street wise, next to a posh type like Anna.
–Yes, and it makes Tanya angry. Anyway, Anna introduces the woman who’s with her. She’s called Mary and she’s recently joined the group. Mary works in a shoe shop. Now Tanya’s interested: somebody in the group who isn’t a student and there’s also the shoe shop connection: Tanya always wanted to work in a shoe shop. She loves shoes.
–Wow. You and Tanya sharing something; that really is a surprise.
–I’m not the only one who loves good shoes.
–The only one I know. But I bet she hasn’t got hundreds of pairs like you.
–Don’t exaggerate. I don’t.
–Well—
–Listen, back to the novel. Tanya sometimes goes in and tries on shoes purely for pleasure though she can see that sales assistants get annoyed with her. She imagines that if she worked there, she would love fetching boxes and helping customers try on the shoes. She wonders whether it would be a good idea to make friends with Mary and see if she could help her get a job in her shop. So she goes with the women despite a nagging voice telling her that she shouldn’t. On the way, Anna says that the group is thinking of organising social activities and Mary suggests bowling; she often goes with her work mates. Anna doesn’t know; she’s never been and so she asks Tanya what she thinks.
–One wouldn’t expect Anna to know about bowling.
–Not everyone is into such things.
–She isn’t because you aren’t.
–So what?
–Nothing, only pointing out how much you’ve made Anna in your own image.
–As far as I’m concerned, life’s too short—
–To waste on bowling.
–Exactly.
–The problem is that you look down upon those who don’t share your view—
–That’s my prerogative.
–And my prerogative as a reader is to point out the similarities between you and your protagonist.
–Sometimes you sound like those annoying readers who think everything is autobiographical.
–Not so far from the truth in this case.
–I’m married to you not to Richard.
–Changing a name here and there does not alter the rest.
–?
* * *
–You didn’t finish telling me about Tanya.
–What do you want to know?
–She was in town and met Anna and some other woman who works in a shoe shop. They were talking about bowling.
–Yes, that’s right.
–Does the idea attract Tanya?
–Yes. She’s been before with the women she works with, celebrating a birthday.
–I like Tanya.
–You keep saying that.
–She’s the female character the reader would go for. Not Anna.
–Depends on the reader.
–What next?
–The three women go off together. When they arrive, the set-up is the same as before: a large table with a freshly baked cake in the middle, women making tea and coffee, photocopies of the article for the day lying around. Its title is ‘Whores’; the author is Andrea Dworkin.
–Good old Dworkin. I remember you reading that stuff.
–To Tanya, the name doesn’t mean anything and the title puzzles her. Are they going to talk about prostitution, she wonders. Once again, she finds most of the discussion incomprehensible. Someone says that the power of men in pornography is imperial power; Marcuse is mentioned and his notion of women as the land, men as the army, and several women refer to the phallus and its symbolic representation as the weapon—
–I bet she has no idea what’s going on.
–Of course not. She listens amazed that everyone has so much to say and watches everyone scribbling, even Mary. Tanya has to pretend she’s with them and pretending isn’t difficult for her. That’s what she does with the punters. The discussion turns to the essentialism of patriarchal discourse which posits the whore as a whore by nature, the whore as born, and it takes a male to discover her as such. That makes men not predators but facilitators, a woman says, and then the question is how feminism could counter such discourse. A whore is born, some women are just like that, they enjoy being whores, another woman says, but others argue with her.
–Are you trying to make them sound pretentions?
–No, just giving the flavour of the group.
–You mean your group?
–Yes.
–Tanya should walk out. It’s mad she has to listen to that.
–Well, she wonders whether she was born a whore. She thinks about those male friends of her mother and of Dave’s friends, who were not really friends. Was she a whore before they came along? The discussion heats up and eventually Anna asks whether anyone in that room has ever known a prostitute or whether their views are just prejudice. Anna adds that prostitutes are our sisters and we should think how we can help them as they are the real victims of patriarchy.
–Well, she no longer believes in that.
–That’s Richard’s fault.
–Come on, in her fifties, she chooses to be hostile to prostitutes.
–She can’t help it. Look, that’s twenty five, thirty, years later. Let’s stick to the chapter and the group. Most women agree with Anna, but several voices rise in opposition. The idea emerges that the group should invite a prostitute, a working woman, to speak to the group.
–So, Tanya comes out?
–Wait a minute. One woman suggests they could even apply for funds to pay a prostitute—
–Pay a prostitute?
–You know what I mean? For her time. A visitin
g speaker fee.
–Yes, I see.
–But, where can they find a prostitute?
–Right in front of them.
–Eventually, Tanya speaks and says that she knows one. Most women want to know whether the woman would be able to come to the group. Tanya says she could arrange it and that the woman wouldn’t need payment. They go to a pub and over lunch with Anna, Sarah and—
–Well, she’s a brave woman to go with them.
–She admits she works on the street. The women are stunned into silence and, for a moment, Tanya regrets coming out. When they speak, she thinks they’re sorry for her and she tells them that she doesn’t need their sympathy.
–Right, that’s a change in attitude, her speaking up for herself.
–That’s right. Telling them who she is gives her confidence.
–Anna apologizes; they’ve been patronizing. Before they part, they arrange for Tanya to speak to the group; Anna offers to have a place in the nursery for Lilla for the day.
–Is that from your consciousness-raising group?
–No.
–The cake and the articles?
–Yes, that’s from us. But not Tanya; we never had anyone from outside the university. In fact, I don’t think I would have cared for them to come. Anna’s better than me.
–So she’s your idealised younger self. She comes across as too perfect, I mean, in her young days. What happened? Why is she so horrible now?
–She isn’t. But being with him would have had its effect.
–Oh, it’s his fault.
* * *
–Good day?
–Okay, I think.
–You think? Who was it?
–Tanya.
–So, what happens?
–A year passes and Anna and Sarah are in a taxi on their way to a small arts cinema. As they drive past a park, Anna notices Tanya and a couple of other women standing by the roadside, under some trees. She stops the taxi and they get out. Needless to say, Tanya isn’t pleased to see them but it’s very cold and windy and she hasn’t had any custom and when the two women suggest a drink, she thinks she might just as well go and warm up. If she gets any work, it would be more likely when the pubs close. They walk to a local; Tanya has a whisky. A couple of men approach their table; they know her.