by Lisa Heidke
‘Withering under the stress. She’s down to about forty-three kilos and the blue veins on her neck are sticking out.’
I accept a glass of wine from Emma and sit quietly for the first ten minutes, just listening to the conversation.
There’s the usual school gossip: the bulk of last Tuesday’s tuckshop money going missing; a certain silver-headed P&C committee member letting the power go to his head and wanting to take over the school; Harry Mackenzie’s dad driving a new silver Jaguar - thanks to drug money, so rumour has it. There’s also whisper of a hush-hush campaign to rid the school of the principal. Good luck, I think. She’s been there twenty years and the new centenary school hall is named after her. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing trying to vote her out, given that she thinks I’m peculiar. I just think it’d be easier bringing Elvis back to life.
‘What about Soon Yi and his purple hair?’ Dee says, shaking her head. ‘And there’s that new Steiner kiddie in Ben’s class …’
‘There’s definitely a radical element creeping in,’ says Lizzie, lightly touching Dee on the arm. ‘Soon we’ll have gays teaching our children!’
Heaven forbid.
‘And don’t you think there should be a rule about suitable clothing attire when picking up the kids?’ Dee says. ‘Those bottom-gate mothers can dress in rags, but tracksuits should definitely not be worn at the top gate. It’s the main entrance - the showpiece of the school.’
Wendy looks decidedly uncomfortable.
Imagine if they knew I sometimes drove my kids to school wearing pyjamas. At least I did before the threat of tradesmen at my doorstep, first thing in the morning.
It isn’t long before the conversation turns to the real point of this little gathering … ME. Dissecting my troubled life. I think longingly of old times and discussions of rostered sex lives.
‘Lucy, you poor thing, I’d want to kill him,’ Lizzie says. ‘Imagine …’ she lets the word hang in the air ‘… the humiliation, the mortification, the shame you must be feeling.’
Smiling weakly, I say, ‘I’m thinking of hiring a hit man to take Max out - you know, professionally, so there’s no slip-up and no evidence.’
Nadia laughs and slaps my arm, but the others just stare at me, mouths gaping. These women. Don’t they get it? I have to make jokes about my life or I’ll cry, and once the tears start there’ll be no stopping them.
‘Joking,’ I say. ‘Though, really, how much worse can things get?’
Seconds later, the waiter trips and tips a full chicken caesar salad into my lap. I scrape egg and anchovy off my pants while the waiter flaps about ineffectually.
‘Maybe it’s God’s way of telling you something,’ says Lizzie.
‘Like what? This restaurant has the clumsiest waiter in the world?’
Jesus, it’s incredibly disappointing if a salad in my lap is God’s way of telling me something in my life is amiss. I feel wretched and small. Tears trickle down my cheeks.
‘We’re all here for you, you know,’ Wendy says, patting me on the back.
‘But maybe you shouldn’t have assaulted the old lady,’ Lizzie adds.
That’s it. I’m out of here. I stand and shake the last bits of lettuce to the floor.
‘I promise I won’t say a word if anyone rings me for a comment,’ Lizzie goes on.
I nod, thinking, why on earth would they do that? Then I realise that’s exactly what magazine writers do.
‘Have they been calling other people?’ I ask. I so do not want to hear the answer to this question.
‘Well, I think they called Trish,’ Lizzie says tentatively, ‘when she was having a bad day. They might have weaselled something out of her.’
‘What exactly?’ Nadia says. ‘Trish had no right to speak to them.’
Lizzie looks worried. ‘I’m only telling you what Trish told me. She talked to them about Lucy, Max and Alana.’
‘What did she say?’ I ask, slumping back onto my seat.
‘I think she might have said there was a time when you appeared more intent on resurrecting your acting career than taking care of your family.’
‘Which, we all know,’ says Dee without a trace of irony, ‘is why women were put on earth in the first place - to have children and take care of our husbands.’
I have no idea whether Dee’s joking or just a complete idiot. Maybe she’s a Mormon lesbian. It doesn’t matter. I have to leave quickly before I stab everyone in my immediate vicinity with a dinner knife and then go to jail for the rest of my life. Alternatively, I could run outside and throw myself under a bus. But that might prove messy, and what if I wasn’t killed outright but had to be hooked up to life support and live in a vegetative state for the next twenty years? Imagine the burden on Bella and Sam, and Mum. Even Gloria.
‘Maybe lunch wasn’t such a good idea,’ Emma says quietly.
‘Maybe you’re right,’ I say, picking up my bag off the floor. I open my wallet, throw forty dollars on the table and walk out.
Nadia catches up with me on the pavement, where I’m standing arm outstretched hailing a cab.
‘Can I drive you?’ she asks.
‘Thanks, but I’d rather you stayed. Ring me later and tell me how badly I fared.’
She gives me a hug and goes back inside.
I’m angry and pissed off. My chest is tight, so tight it’s threatening to explode at any moment. I’m not the one who had the affair with the teenage babysitter. So why am I the one who’s being forced to stand trial? Because everyone blames me for not satisfying my man - I couldn’t keep his overactive penis at home where it belongs. Therefore, according to the rules of polite society, it’s all my fault and I should feel guilty and ashamed. Well, guess what? I’m over that crap! Yes, I’m mortified because Max is an idiot and has been slandering me, but I’m over feeling accountable for his behaviour.
I try to focus on my breathing: in with the good, out with the bad. The air is cool so the tears falling on my cheeks are cold. I’m shivering. The racket in my head is so loud I can barely hear the traffic noise.
‘They wanted to interview me for that story,’ Patch says when he finds me in a corner re-reading Max’s article and crying.
‘What did you say?’
‘I told them to fuck off. I said you’re really cool and it should have been you who walked out on the prick and you should have done it years ago.’
‘I bet they were thrilled to hear that.’
‘Yeah, not at all. I told them how Max never gave us the time of day, is an up-himself snob and has as much class as a farting dog.’
Despite Patch’s attempts to make me feel better, I’m dreading reading the things Trish has told New Idea in reply to Max’s article. The good news is I only have to wait another six days to find out.
Day 59
Sandy calls an early morning meeting to discuss the ‘Max issue’ - i.e. the tell-all interview with New Idea. andy
‘I’m worried that we’re going to look like fools doing a show about Lucy when she’s so obviously unhinged.’
‘Excuse me, I’m right here,’ I say. ‘And I’m not unhinged. Don’t you think that Max is the one who’s coming across as slightly insane?’
‘Not really. Anyway, that’s not the point,’ Sandy replies.
‘That little old lady really stuck it up you.’
‘I don’t know why. All I was doing was trying to retrieve bags from a clothing bin - my own bags. Besides, she was crazy. She kept calling me Sophia.’
‘Again, not the point.’
‘Come on, Sandy, any publicity’s good publicity, hey?’ Gloria says.
‘Not if it involves our supposed star being portrayed all over town as a crazed alcoholic spendthrift who beats up little old ladies.’
‘I guess Sandy’s talking damage control,’ Gloria says quietly. ‘You can remain dignified, Lucy, but you need to explain your side of the story. Tell the public that your husband is a dirty stinking rotten philanderer who’s always be
en jealous of your success. In fact, I’ll do the interview.
You can just sign your name to it.’
‘You can’t do that,’ I tell her.
‘Watch me.’
‘No, Lucy’s right,’ says Sandy. ‘We need more than that.
We need face-to-face airtime, like an interview with A Current Affair.’
I shake my head. This isn’t going well.
‘You can’t hide otherwise everyone will believe Max’s story. You know how gullible the public are,’ Gloria starts.
‘Exactly! We have to come up with a solution or we’re pulling the plug on this program,’ Sandy chips in.
So the three of us sit on the new stairs, drinking coffee and putting our heads together to work out a plan that will see Max humiliated and run out of town. At least, that’s my intention. No doubt Gloria would like to see Max dead, while Sandy just wants a successful, high-rating new television program on her résumé.
‘There’s really only one option,’ says Gloria. ‘You have to do an interview with Today Tonight.’
‘No,’ says Sandy. ‘It has to be A Current Affair.’
‘Fine,’ Gloria agrees.
‘Hang on,’ I say. ‘What do I tell them?’
‘The truth. That Max left you. That you never had a breakdown, and you threw him out of the house because he ran off with your babysitter. The welfare of your children comes first.’
‘Which is exactly why I haven’t done an interview in the first place.’
‘Too bad. You have to,’ Sandy says.
‘The public will be on your side, Luce,’ Gloria assures me.
‘They’d better be,’ says Sandy.
‘I’m onto it.’ Gloria picks up her mobile and punches in some numbers.
Max turns up while I’m raking leaves in the garden. ‘There you are,’ he says. ‘I brought you some more roses.’
I glance at him briefly and continue raking.
‘I’m sorry about the article, Luce. I only did it to get your attention. I didn’t think that Tina bitch would print everything I said. I was only venting, I didn’t mean it. I just want you back in my life. I want us to be together again.’
‘Fuck off, Max.’
‘What? I’ve brought you flowers!’
‘Just get out. Take your flowers with you.’
‘Luce, can’t you see I’m begging for forgiveness here?’
‘You’ve got a funny way of showing it.’
‘Please. I’ve felt so neglected these past couple of years, what with your career taking off again. I was always last on your list of priorities. There were the kids, then your career and then me - in that order. When the renovation started, I slipped further down the ladder. I’ve been so lonely. I’m lonely now.’
Max is fucking lonely. He’s gone a couple of nights without sex and he’s horny.
‘Go back to Alana,’ I tell him. ‘She’s desperate for you. So’s her mother. I don’t want you.’
‘I just wanted you to notice me again. I’m a man, Luce, I have needs.’
Please! Is there a violin in the house? The old ‘I only had an affair so you’d notice me’ line is so pathetic. I’m not bitter anymore, but I still think Lorena Bobbitt was onto something.
‘I have noticed you, Max. In fact, I’ve heard you loud and clear. You have needs. I get that. And I think Alana is just the woman to fulfil them. End of story.’
‘So that’s it, is it? You’re going to discard me like that?’ Max snaps his fingers.
‘It’s been a long time coming.’
Rock, Patch, Sandy and Gloria appear in the garden. They see me and start walking over.
‘You wait,’ Max starts, his tone furious.
‘Keep your voice down,’ I whisper. ‘Please, just leave me alone.’
But Max ignores me. ‘Hey, you,’ he says, pointing to Rock. ‘Did you sleep with my wife?’
‘I’m not your wife anymore,’ I hiss. To my horror, I see Digger behind Sandy, his camera taking in everything.
‘How did you find out?’ Rock asks Max.
Thanks, Rock. Thanks a lot.
‘I thought it was a joke when Tina put that stupid red square in the magazine,’ Max says. ‘I know you snogged the guy, but I didn’t think … Then again, there has to be a reason you don’t want me back. Now I know. You’re fucking the hired help.’
Everyone stares at Max, then at Rock and lastly at me. I glance at Patch. I can’t read him at all. Briefly, we make eye contact, then he turns and walks back towards the house.
‘Rock is not the hired help,’ I tell Max.
Rock speaks at the same time. ‘I’m paid to host this gig but there’s no way I’m like a maid or anything.’
‘Max, what I do with my life and who I do it with is none of your business,’ I go on. My tone serves as a warning, I hope.
Sandy rubs her hands together and whispers to Digger, ‘This is going to make excellent television.’
I’m just about to tell Digger to stop filming when a gust of wind creates a dust storm and all of us get covered in a blanket of fine powder.
‘Can I have some water here?’ Rock yelps. ‘I’m covered in dirt. I’m choking!’
‘Just go,’ I tell Max and throw the rake towards him. Unfortunately, the camera captures every word and every action.
‘I’ll be back,’ Max says as he limps off as though injured.
‘You can bet on it.’
‘Lucy, it’s not good,’ Gloria says, after Max has driven off, tyres screeching.
‘Tell me something I don’t know.’
‘No, really. Today Tonight has nabbed Trish and Alana. They’re taping now - they’ll be on the show tonight.’
When the kids get home from school, Sam tells me he has two invitations to parties and Bella has three.
‘Also,’ says Sam, waving a certificate in the air and dancing around, ‘I got an award at assembly.’ He hands it to me and I read it: To Sam, an achievement award for your interest in carnivorous plants. ‘Sam, I’m so proud,’ I tell him.
‘And, I gave a talk in front of the whole class and Mrs Taylor said it was excellent.’
‘Great.’ A definite improvement on the divorce talk. ‘Maybe when you’re older, you might want to work with plants, even train to become a botanist,’ I say, concentrating on the positives in life.
‘Nah. I want to be an assassin.’
‘An assassin? What exactly does an assassin do?’
‘Kills people for money and gets to travel all over the world to really cool places like Egypt.’
How does he know all this stuff? ‘How would you kill people, Sam?’
‘Shoot them … maybe torture them a bit first.’
‘Wouldn’t you feel bad killing people?’
‘Nah, they’re baddies, otherwise there wouldn’t be a contract out on them in the first place.’
That’s logical. Maybe I could put a contract out on Max.
As the minutes tick slowly towards six-thirty pm, the kids play on their Nintendo DS’s upstairs while Gloria and I drink gin and tonics, very strong ones, and make grotesque faces at each other in a futile attempt to cheer ourselves up.
‘It mightn’t be so bad,’ I say. ‘It just depends.’
‘On what?’
‘On how many Prozacs Trish’s taken and how much vodka she’s drunk.’
‘That’s your trump card. You can tell them she’s an addict.’
‘Yeah, accusing the Christian of being a drug addict and an alcoholic? I’ll be run out of town.’
Fifteen minutes later, tumblers refilled, we turn up the volume on the TV and watch.
‘And finally, the story you have all been waiting for,’ says the presenter. ‘Welcome to the studio, Trish, Alana.’
Trish doesn’t have much style, she always gets her clothes wrong. Thankfully, tonight is no exception. She’s wearing head-to-toe suede - a burnt-orange jacket and matching pants - and her hair’s slicked back in a severe bun.
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br /> ‘No wonder she’s on the verge of tears,’ quips Gloria.
Alana sits beside her mother, gripping her hand tightly. She’s wearing a flowing white lace dress and has a white Alice band framing her pretty face and hair. She looks young. And virginal.
‘Fuck!’ I scream at the monitor.
‘In your own words, Trish, take your time.’ The presenter speaks softly, almost whispering. I gulp my drink.
Trish squeezes Alana’s hand and says, ‘We … we welcomed Lucy Springer and her family into our home and hearts, out of pure, innocent kindness. My Alana babysat regularly for them. My son, Josh, and Lucy’s son are - were - friends.’ Trish wipes her eyes and the presenter raises a concerned eyebrow. ‘Several months ago, Alana and Max started seeing each other,’ Trish goes on.
‘Maxie said that Lucy didn’t care about the family anymore,’ Alana blurts. ‘She was preoccupied with chasing stardom -’
‘Not true!’ I yell at the screen.
‘- and always so busy with vegetable commercials and auditions,’ continues Alana.
‘She didn’t know what was going on in her own home,’ Trish chips in helpfully. ‘I was forever offering Sam homemade carrot cake and freshly squeezed juices … I don’t think he was getting many nutritious meals at home.’
‘Fuck! What the hell’s she saying?’ I scream at the TV. ‘That only she shops at the organic health-food store, has a close-knit family and enjoys baking gluten-free almond biscuits daily in a kitchen that’s stocked with eco-friendly whale-saving cleaning products! What? And I don’t? Fuck!’
Gloria pats my arm.
‘And poor Max was so lonely,’ Alana says. ‘Lucy was always off doing something, never looking after him, always making unreasonable demands about the renovation and the children, wanting him to be more involved. I mean, he helps out with Sam’s sport, his soccer on Saturdays -’
‘Yeah,’ I laugh. ‘When he’s not in Bali fucking you.’
‘Shush, I can’t hear,’ Gloria says, waving a hand at me.
‘Max is a very busy man,’ Alana continues. ‘He works in the city, you know. We fell in love quickly. For me, it was love at second sight. Max called me his soul mate. We were going to be together forever. But then Bali happened -’ At this point Alana and her mother both burst into tears.