Tales From A Broad

by Fran Lebowitz

  I would have appreciated it more if I knew it wasn’t going to last forever.

  And I know I am standing on the wrong side of the road.

  I didn’t grow from living abroad. I wasn’t close to accomplishing the ‘simpler life with time to focus’. I used my freedom like fuel. I ran so fast and hard. I ran from the clients berating me and demanding ‘more, faster, better’. I ran from success taunting me, ‘You cannot catch me’. I ran from the vast, open space that holds life’s questions and I kept running blindly and would never have stopped. I would have kept stirring those waters, never seeing the man and children who stood behind me, waiting to be reflected in the pond of my life, waiting to run with me instead of always on the sidelines.

  And I make the best run of all. I run to them and hug them. I hug them and hug them and tell them I want to go home. If that’s where they’re going, I want to go, too. Look at these people, this man, these children. I feel like I’m seeing them for the first time, not in a perfect setting, not in a perfect world, not ready for a picture. I love my family. I’ve been so selfish. It’s your turn now, Frank, Sadie, Huxley. I am so sorry. It should always have been your turn, babies.

  I feel such a sense of peace after a while. The search is over. It’s time to be still and strong and that will be the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do but it’s clear and it’s right. And, well, it’ll have to be in New York.

  After we cry for our losses, our troubles, our blessings, after we start to wind down, we remember we’re still stupidly huddled on a curb.

  ‘Jeez, you really do need me. I mean, who else is any fun?’ I say. ‘Happy hour, anyone?’

  ‘I hear they even have that sort of thing in New York City,’ Frank says.

  My champagne spills over and the kids are running up and down the aisles. I pull out my party menus and recipes and decide that I won’t go back to work. I’ll take my time and find something else to do – something that brings families together.

  FROM: flebowitz@barryfix.com

  TO: blebowitz@harriet.com; hlebowitz@snowfarm.com

  SENT: 10 September 2001

  Greetings from Singapore, Bonnie. Yes we made it. I got off the plane and I swear I could hear ’em singing ‘Hello Dolly’ (or maybe it was ‘Hello Flanny’, whatever). Anyway, it looks like I’ve been forgiven my Father’s Day tantrum, my New Year’s Eve naked dance, my assault on the guard, my flipping the bird to the bus driver, my forgetting to flush …

  Met up with lots of friends for a boozy Safra evening. The kids all played well together in the sand, the adults ordered jugs of Tiger and bottles of expensive shitty wine. Yeah, I was back. The only difference was the sound of Frank’s voice. He took centre stage from me, talking all about his new job. I was happy for him, though. It’s an exciting opportunity and a whole different organisation. That whole dot.com thing, what a joke. Who knew? (ME!)

  We unpacked our bags almost immediately. We stashed some Veuve in every suitcase. The only bottles that didn’t make it out alive were the two in my ‘better dresses’ bag. They exploded. Tiny shards of glass everywhere, two-day-old champagne smell on everything.

  I’ll miss those bottles … never mind.

  And now everyone’s seen me in my two still-okay outfits.

  So here we are in our serviced apartment until we find a place to live. We don’t have many toys. Frank’s gone out and gotten a boom box; it came with either a free watch or a director’s chair (is it more important for you to know how long you’ve been listening to the music or to be able to direct it?). Frank got the watch. The kids have lots of flat, quiet things meant to keep them occupied during travel. I managed to bring my bike, of course, and two sets of weights, a few workout tapes, my yoga books, tennis racket, three pairs of running shoes, flippers, kick board, two kinds of goggles, a wet suit, oh, and my stepper.

  Even though these serviced apartments (regular apartments kitted out by the management, with daily maid service and maintenance) are meant for overseas families, there was not a thought given to the obvious fact that many – maybe all? – of them would NOT be Chinese. To a westerner, the cupboard is bare. We have no coffee maker, no mugs either, no sharp knives, no icemaker, no hot water in the kitchen, one small pan and no microwavable dishes … or microwave, for that matter. We have thousands of chopsticks, a rice cooker, a wok and tea cups galore. We have towels with the absorbency of, I dunno, cling wrap? We have a housekeeper who doesn’t speak any English. We got four bumpy oranges on a plate to welcome us … to our Breezy New Lifestyle. What’s worse is, we have no cable! The kids look dolefully at the dark screen while rooting around in their bag o’ flat toys.

  I’ve already organised two kids’ classes – drama and cooking. I have 20 students so far. I have a publisher, too, for the Expat Cookbook. Now what?

  Well, the glass is half full, I suppose, but I did order a double …

  So enough about me.

  Love, Fran.

  Nine months of pregnancy, 24 hours of labour, four hours of pushing, and out comes a seven-pound version of my mother-in-law. Not the sort of tribute to me that I had in mind, but my daughter has shown more gratitude than I deserve. Her younger brother and I are even; he was no problem delivering and he doesn’t remember a thing about that first flight …

  Thanks to old and new friends in the business – Amy Berkower and Dorrie Simmonds – and to my friends in Singapore.

  Family counts too – Eunice, Bonnie and Harris Lebowitz and Patricia Rittman.

  First published in print in 2004 by Bantam

  This electronic edition published in 2011 by Monsoon Books

  ISBN (ebook): 978-981-4358-45-3

  Copyright©Fran Lebowitz, 2004

  All rights reserved. You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce, or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  Monsoon Books Pte Ltd

  71 Ayer Rajah Crescent #01-01

  Mediapolis Phase Ø

  Singapore 139951

  www.monsoonbooks.com.sg

  Visit www.monsoonbooks.com.sg to learn more about all our books.

  Follow us on Facebook at www.monsoonbooks.com.sg/facebook to find out about our latest news, forthcoming events, new released, and special discounts.