I stuck my finger down my throat to gag. ‘Can’t you two refrain from the public snogging for a few seconds?’
‘Yes, I agree,’ said Mum. ‘Besides you’ll give Daniel your cold.’
‘Anyway,’ went on Emma, ‘the naturopath said this will work just as well. It’s a natural fever remedy.’
‘Yeah, they probably crushed up some Panadol tablets and added them to the lawn clippings.’
‘Ha ha, very funny, but what else can I expect from a pill pusher like you.’
‘You know, my company has developed some very important treatments for diabetes and heart disease. Ask your brother how well he could do his job without these pills.’
‘Spoken by the girl who sells a drug to give old men stiffies.’
Touché.
It was hardly my dream product but I had undergone a bit of a re-education in the preceding months. When I’d first taken up the role, I’d had the sneaking suspicion that impotence was just nature’s way of tapping old fellas on the shoulder and telling them it was time to pack away the tackle, pull up stumps, put the cue back in the rack - choose your sporting metaphor - and leave their dear old wives alone to get their sexual thrills in remaining years from the daytime soaps and bingo. I have since been reliably informed, however, through focus groups and other forms of research, that erectile dysfunction affects much younger men than I’d originally believed and can actually be a major source of marital distress. So it seems the old dears may be more up for it than I’d thought and I am doing a great public service selling a drug that gives old men (or not so old men) stiffies.
Mind you, not all the wives are pleased with us. Apparently these drugs - there are a few different brands on the market - have allowed womanising husbands to extend the use-by date on their philandering by several years. What I couldn’t understand was where they found the partners for their out-of-wedlock flings. In the unlikely event I was to have an affair, I decided, I would damned make sure it was with a young stud who could produce erections on demand, not some ageing Lothario who required a chemical stimulant to get a hard on. So while I’d come around to the idea that these drugs could have an important place in loving and committed partnerships, the thought of them being used by these sleazebags left me feeling a bit ill.
Anyway, I informed Emma of the research (leaving out the bit about the philanderers), but all she said was, ‘Eww, old people shouldn’t even be allowed to have sex. What a disgusting thought.’
‘And how do you define old?’ enquired Mum with interest.
‘I’ve never really thought about it. I guess anything over forty-odd.’
***
Fortunately, I had been getting a bit more of it myself by this time, which is just as well as, according to Emma, I didn’t have that many years left. Perhaps my regular gym visits were paying off after all. Unfortunately, the resumption of sexual intimacy hadn’t translated into any renewed closeness outside of the bedroom. Even without the spectre of his past infidelity hanging over me, I had long since begun to prefer the times when Tony was away with work, because he never seemed more absent than when he was physically present. He was less critical of me these days, which could have been interpreted positively, but somehow I didn’t see it that way; it was almost as if he no longer cared enough to complain.
I didn’t know how much of it was me and how much was unhappiness with his professional situation. For the first time ever I began to hear him complain about going to work. The grind of the job: long periods away, frequent calls for overtime, the unrelenting jetlag and the routine of flying same routes - China, India, Middle East and Alaska - over and over, seemed to have taken its toll. I began to contemplate the unthinkable - he had lost his love of flying.
He wasn’t getting any younger, either. Mark and Janelle came over for a barbeque one day and the gossip soon turned to work matters. When my husband heard that guys only a couple of years ahead of him in the Qantas cadets had now made junior captain I looked closely at him for signs of regret. His long held image as golden boy had taken a severe denting in recent years and now he had to contemplate the reality that even in our professional lives we don’t always get what we want when we want it. At least these are the things I think were going through his head; I’d long since given up trying to engage him in discussions of this sort.
His solution, as always, was activity. By this stage he was on to restoring the very last room in the house, the formal dining room. We’d left this until last, reasoning that few people ever have formal dinner parties these days anyway. When he wasn’t at work or in that bloody dining room, he was sailing, at the gym, occasionally taking Issy to visit his parents or playing squash or golf with one of his mates: all activities that excluded me. Sex was the one way he would connect with me and that’s why I never knocked him back, no matter how tired and not-in-the-mood I was. It was more than just because I believed he’d be less likely to stray that way. It was my one conduit to closeness and I thought if I just hung in there, maybe…
The contrast between the two main men in my life at this stage couldn’t have been starker. Whilst I hardly registered as a blip on Tony’s radar, Alex always looked pleased to see me. He even remembered what type of coffee I liked to drink and would order a cup for me before meetings. I bet you that after seven years of marriage my husband would have struggled to answer that question. Alex also had a great sense of humour (translation: he laughed at my jokes) whereas I’d long since stopped my stand-up routine at home, knowing it would be greeted with indifferent silence.
Other people could grumble about having to front up to the office every day, but now that I was rid of Amanda I’d have to be on death’s door to miss the intellectual challenge of my work, gossip with Melanie and Karen, and remind myself that perhaps I wasn’t the biggest failure in the world. It was thanks to this environment I finally felt confident enough to wean myself off my antidepressants, and although I was half-prepared for a relapse, none came.
Yes, I couldn’t really fault Alex as a boss; it really was like having Edward back. He was a great mentor and delegated lots to me. Amanda never delegated anything - no that’s not strictly true, she would delegate all the crap menial jobs and was truly excellent at delegating her mistakes to me after they had occurred - but Alex deemed me intelligent enough to take on more responsibility. And so he should have; it was only my decision to work part-time that had prevented me from moving further up the ladder by this stage.
Still, he continued to intrigue. As the months wore on our little Erecta team became more comfortable together - friendlier and jokier - but I always felt Alex was keeping something in reserve.
It’s often the case, however, we reveal more about ourselves when we are out of our comfort zone. That’s exactly what happened with Alex when we stepped out of the office for a few days in late April, although whether I revealed more is probably a point for debate.
It was after an urologists’ conference in Melbourne. The conference was the ideal venue to launch Erecta, and Alex, Karen and I attended along with the Melbourne-based Erecta sales representatives. As much as I relish being a mum I don’t mind these occasional opportunities to escape to a fancy hotel and pretend I am single again. After the conference welcome drinks I dashed off for a quick but raucously boozy dinner with Tracey and later sat up in to the early hours drinking hot chocolate and gossiping with Karen.
The next day was hard work, giving me cause to regret the red wine and my late night. I tried my best to stay awake during the scientific presentations and helped out on the Erecta trade stand during the breaks, trying to walk the delicate tightrope of being friendly and assertive but not too pushy.
The main event came later that evening. Our company had sponsored the conference dinner and at Alex’s suggestion we split up and sat at separate tables so we could network more effectively. In my sleep-deprived state this was the last thing I felt like doi
ng, but I managed to grab a seat next to an urologist who worked with my brother in Adelaide, so that helped break the ice. On the other side of me was Dr Howard, a Brisbane-based specialist with a widespread reputation for entrepreneurship and personal charm. I certainly got to witness the latter.
The conference wound up at lunchtime the next day. Our flight back to Sydney was inevitably delayed so Karen and I lolled around in some armchairs in the Qantas lounge, waiting to be called. Alex joined us in another armchair but his posture - leaning forward with his forearms resting on his knees - hinted he still thought there was work to be done, damn it.
‘We might as well use this time productively and debrief a bit. You know my mates gave me the hardest time about taking on this product, but after seeing how enthusiastic the urologists are I’m almost getting attached…’
The tiredness meant I was in a provocative mood. ‘So you’re ready to embrace dicks are you, Alex?’
That earned me a stern look. ‘Only in a professional capacity Ellie…Can I go on now?’
I nodded my assent.
‘The dinner was great. It looks like we have some potential opinion leaders amongst the crowd. We need to chase a few up. I’d like you to follow up on Dr Howard, Ellie. You seemed to be getting on well with him at dinner.’
I smiled. Karen giggled.
‘What’s the joke?’ asked Alex.
‘A bit too well,’ said Karen. ‘He made a pass at her.’
‘Did he?’
I nodded again.
‘What - isn’t he married? Anyway you’re married…’
‘I don’t think he was worried by those minor details, but it’s no big deal,’ I said.
‘Yes it is. Why didn’t you tell me this? We certainly won’t be pursuing any sort of relationship with him then. I’m very sorry - what a creep…’
‘Chill out, Alex. It’s really no big deal. God the way you’re carrying on you’ll be challenging him to a duel next. I appreciate your concern but I’m capable of looking after my own honour thanks.’
With this last sentence I reached out and patted him gently on the wrist. He pulled his hand away.
‘Sorry,’ I said. My teasing had clearly overstepped the mark. ‘All I mean is that if you want to still use him as an opinion leader it’s fine with me. He was quite good-natured about the knock back. There is no way I was going to say yes but I don’t mind the occasional bit of attention from a good looking man.’
When both Alex and Karen looked at me strangely it occurred to me I’d revealed a little bit too much by this comment.
‘You can excuse him if you like but I hate guys who sleaze on to other women behind their wives’ backs,’ said Alex. ‘They give us all a bad name.’
‘He’s hardly Robinson Crusoe,’ I said, ‘I reckon a lot more married men would do it if they thought they could get away with it.’
Alex was keen to defend his gender. ‘I don’t know about that.’
‘You should hear some of the stories I’ve heard about international pilots.’
‘But not all, I bet.’
‘No, not all.’
‘Not your husband,’ added Karen.
‘I don’t think anyone can be one hundred percent certain…’
Again Alex and Karen looked at me. This time I decided I really needed to shut up.
An awkward silence fell over our little group.
‘I’m going to get a coffee,’ said Alex, I think motivated more by a desire to escape our conversation than any particular need for caffeine. ‘Anyone want one?’
‘No thanks, I’m still high from all the stuff I drank yesterday,’ answered Karen, ‘but I desperately need water.’
‘Me too,’ I said, gesturing to get up from my chair.
‘No stay here. I’ll get them.’
He’d left his mobile phone on the table between us and it rang in his absence. I thought I’d better answer it in case it was the office but it turned out to be a personal call.
‘Who’s that?’ asked a suspicious sounding female voice.
‘It’s Ellie. I work with Alex. He’s just gone for coffee but shouldn’t be long. Do you want to wait or shall I get him to call you back?’
‘No, I’ll hold on.’
Seizing this God-given opportunity for busy bodying I asked, ‘And who should I say is calling?’
‘Bec,’ was the reply.
Bec? I’d always thought his girlfriend’s name was Sophie. I must have got my wires crossed somewhere along the line as this girl definitely sounded territorial. Although who could blame her? I’d observed whilst we were out and about how her man’s looks seemed to smooth a path for him wherever he went. Not all women noticed but enough. Even the sour old battleaxe at the Melbourne security gate had a smile for Alex.
On the other hand he’d made it clear he disapproved of two-timing men, so she probably had nothing to worry about.
‘Okay. I’ll let him know.’
I put the phone down gently on the table and, pointing at it, raised my eyebrows meaningfully while mouthing the words ‘the girlfriend’ to Karen. She smiled a conspiratorial smile back.
But when I told our gallant knight, our protector of girls’ virtue, that Bec was on the phone he didn’t respond in any way that I’d expected him to. Rather than looking googoo-eyed and affectionate he looked well…irritated. The tone of his conversation with her was similar, even abrupt. He didn’t even bother to move away so Karen and I got to hear it all.
‘Hi,’ he said, ‘I’m a bit busy at present. [This wasn’t strictly true.] Can I call you back later?’
Bec: ………..
Alex: No, I’ve got to go into the office for a few hours.
Bec: ………..
Alex: No seriously I do…It would be better if I met you all at the restaurant anyway.
Bec: ………..
Alex: Okay, so I’ll see you then…bye.
He frowned briefly after he hung up. We waited for some explanation but he changed the topic back to work matters (although not, I noticed, to pass-making doctors) straight away.
Trouble in paradise? Was that the reason for his sudden moodiness? Maybe even beautiful boys were not immune from relationship woes.
***
Ah, the delicate science of the child’s daytime nap. Allow them to sleep the optimal amount of time and they’ll awaken a little angel, full of sweetness and light. Let them sleep too little or too long and they’re more likely to wake up resembling that cloven-hoofed fellow who resides somewhere warm below. Unfortunately, in my keenness to complete as much of my manuscript as possible I let Isabel sleep way past the desired time and have suffered dearly as a consequence. She woke up in a mighty querulous mood: didn’t want to eat, didn’t want to drink, didn’t want to read a ‘dumb book’, didn’t want to colour in, and didn’t want to sit still in her seat in the ‘stupid plane’ any longer. All these grievances were communicated in her whiny Little Miss voice that never fails to set my teeth on edge. Not what I needed in my delicate state.
Fortunately, I eventually managed to locate a bad Disney movie on the in-flight entertainment system. She is suitably pacified now and thus I can continue writing for a little while longer.
Now where were we?
11
A weekend by the seaside
Few phrases in the English language can strike as much fear into me as these three little words: ‘team building exercise’. I expect you know what I’m talking about - a company ships their employees to some off-site location where they are required to engage in a series of ‘fun’ activities designed to engender them all with a team spirit, so that when they next return to the office they will work together with renewed enthusiasm for the company good. Or so the theory goes. In my view these exercises, sometimes referred to as ‘team bonding’, serve no such pu
rpose and do nothing but allow the individuals delivering this hocus pocus to feel they have some useful vocation in life. However, big business seems to love this sort of stuff.
It’s not so much the company cricket days or beach Olympics I have a problem with. Those, in theory, could be fun. It’s those completely manufactured activities, those - allegedly - based on some psychological theory I object to. I’ve always suspected that there is some secret sinister think tank residing somewhere in the cosmos that plots this sort of thing. I can hear them now: ‘Hey guys, let’s think up some random and pointless exercises, add in some meaningless psychobabble, and sell them to the corporate world dressed up as team building exercises. It’ll be a hoot!’ I’d been on enough of these exercises in futility with Amanda to know that they never produce any lasting change. We could team-build until the cows came home on the weekend but sure enough the following Monday she’d be back to her usual backstabbing, self-serving ways.
So it was with a heavy heart that I read my emails one Tuesday morning and was reminded that I was required to attend a team building weekend with the whole Erecta sales and marketing team in four weeks’ time. The only sweetener was that it was being held at a swanky and popular resort a couple of hours up the coast. I’d always wanted to stay there and now I’d have the opportunity to do so at the company’s expense. I briefly wondered whether anyone would notice if I sneaked off to the day spa instead of attending the team bonding crap, but figured they probably would. Anyway, following this email was one from Alex, advising me that I would be required to present a half-hour overview of our marketing strategy for Erecta on the Sunday morning of this retreat. Apparently we were all going to be required to do some real work while we were away together - a good thing in my view.
As luck would have it, Tony was going to be in Hong Kong that particular Saturday, so I had to arrange for Isabel to stay with Pamela and Douglas. Mum was unavailable as she was planning to be away in Adelaide, awaiting the birth of David and Amrita’s third child. Pamela was none too pleased about this as she had a ‘lunch with the girls’ organised for Sunday. However, as Tony was due to arrive back early Sunday morning I’d arranged for him to pick up Isabel immediately so Pamela’s social life would not be compromised.
Happily Ever After? Page 14