The Society Game

by H. Lanfermeijer

  I didn’t even try as I no longer believed the ideal dreams written by a cheap teenage girl magazine. And even if I believed in a celestial feeling of awe for another person then, instead, I was angry that this love had evaded me. The heavens had not deemed me adequate to be bolstered by love from another person and God didn’t see that I should be rewarded with a child.

  So, as I slouched in my yoga pants in front of Tatiana my head nodded in agreement. She was right; love was a business agreement between two people, each member signed a contract to provide for the other. It was an equation of balance and this relationship could falter if either of the business partners found the balance had tipped and one was putting in less than the other. The contract was then broken and the partnership would dissolve.

  My contract with Mark was cracking because, although Mark continued to invest in our relationship, I was not providing the image of dutiful beautiful wife at home. It was no wonder that he was looking elsewhere and, therefore, if I wanted to keep my business with Mark then I needed to reinvest in our relationship.

  I looked at Tatiana and studied her glossy hair and I ran my fingers through my frizzy bomb. I had not washed my hair in five days and my pillow had matted my hair together. I had not been out of the house in over month as I was deliberately avoiding my usual mundane life and Mark had not been home in five weeks and, therefore, grooming seemed an unnecessary waste of my time.

  Tatiana was an old friend and I hoped she wouldn’t notice my sullen face without makeup or the clothes I had put on because they were either lying on the floor in front of my bed or, as in the case of my underwear and sleeveless vest top, I was already wearing them from the night before.

  It was a hope which was a cover for the rude fact that I had lost caring and having hope about anything, including what Tatiana thought of my attire. It all seemed a drain on my energy. But Tatiana had noticed how I appeared and so would Mark if he was here, so why wouldn’t he leave me? Why wouldn’t he look at others for his entertainment? I had no child to divert my attention and all I had was this house and my wardrobe and I needed to protect them.

  Tatiana touched my face.

  ‘We are in our mid-thirties and our membership to the young beauty club is getting close to its expiration date. Unless you do something about it, sweet-pea, then you’ll be kicked out without the prospect of getting back in.’

  She then grabbed my hand.

  ‘Don’t let time spoil what fate gave you. You were given beauty, which Mark bought. Yes he has a wandering eye but it won’t be long before he throws you away for another.

  I’m going to see a guy who was recommended to me by Alice, you know her, ‘wife of a senior judge Alice’. She sees a guy in Merchant Street who she swears by. Now Ol, be honest, how old do you think she is?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Alice was a striking woman with a stern face; it matched her coiffured brunette hair and tailored suits. She always looked as though there should be a black stallion trotting beside her; a horse available for her to ride through nuisance crowds when her riding whip was not sharp enough to push the little people out of her way. I don’t recall her claret red lips ever smiling but those lips were painted on a smooth clear face. Perhaps this soft skin belonged to a woman nearing her fifties.

  ‘Late forties maybe early fifties?’ I said.

  ‘Don’t be daft, she’s got a daughter older than us – does Alice look the type to have been a teenage mum? No! In fact, you know her daughter Francesca – dumpy frumpy Fran? Fran who now looks older than her mum?’

  ‘I’ve no idea then as I thought she was fifty.’

  ‘Sixty-four!’ Tatiana jumped in, ‘Sixty-four years of age and she looks A – May – Zing. Botox, fillers and a lot of work. Trust me sweetie, Mark will turn his head back to you and decorate you with diamonds. Come with me next week and it will be the beginning of a journey to the Wizard of Oz’s secret yellow brick road to the fountain of youth.’

  After coffee Tatiana left but before she went she concluded by saying, ‘You know Ol, life is not controlled by the Wizard of Oz but by ourselves. We are in control, no one else. Those who believe they can do nothing about what God has thrown at them are those who are inherently lazy. All God has given anyone is choice. Olivia, your choice is Mark or no Mark. The latter should only be embraced if you’re truly unhappy.’

  Tatiana stepped out of the door and looked at me again.

  ‘But if you are truly unhappy then leave, go, leave it all behind – perhaps I’m a good enough friend to say that to you now?’

  I closed the door and I retreated to my room but, instead of falling on my bed into the indentation my body had left since my cleaner had been, I walked over to my mirror. I felt bolstered by Tatiana and ‘hope’ rested on my shoulder and nudged me away from my depressive state.

  I sat and stared at my reflection. The image that glared back at me, my dear Jason, I am ashamed to say, made my sadness lift to anger. It was not a slow process but sublimation from depression to rage. I pulled at my matted hair, slapped my dry, lined face and tugged at my hooded eyes. My nose was hooked and the tip was too pointed. My teeth were crooked and my lips were full but the cupid’s bow was too pronounced. My chin had started to sag to meet my lined neck and, although my breasts were large and full, they too had begun to droop as they were nearing their replacement date. My stomach had a small pouch which mirrored the pouch under my arms and on my bra line. Yet in amongst my angry rant there was a whisper from hope; I knew enough people to tell me which magicians were the best to reinvent Olivia to exactly what I wanted to be and so, the energy that eluded me for so long returned with gusto and I ran downstairs and sent off a flurry of emails to friends for names.

  I began gently with my first doctor, a Dr. Dean Gregory. He was a facial and body architect and came highly recommended by my beautician as the best general cosmetic surgeon. He explained in dispassionate terms the recovery for each procedure but he spared me the details on the operation itself and, instead, began quoting the cost;

  ‘For the breast lift, £3000 or thereabouts; for the tummy tuck, £4500 or thereabouts; for both at once, a discounted £6500 or thereabouts.’

  I must have looked shocked as he then said, ‘I don’t do bargain surgery. For that price you get the best of everything. You’ll be well medicated.’

  For this money I get expensive drugs. However, it was not the shock of the cost but rather his blunt manner of describing major surgery.

  ‘Maybe, Ms Olivia, a little at a time, instead of jumping in at the deep end? Perhaps this will give you more time to think. Instead, perhaps we will start here?’ And with the aid of the end of his ball point pen Dr Gregory drew virtual lines across my face.

  ‘Botox across here and down through the eyes perhaps around the mouth here and here… again, Ms Olivia, you look shocked?’

  He looked at me and I smiled and I shook my head. He was a tanned man in his fifties. His skin suggested a touch of Iranian in his blood. His hair was black and curly which was cut to a coiffured, neat style swept away from his face. His suit was a navy pin stripe which, as I was to learn later, was the standard uniform for most plastic surgeons. His white shirt was rolled at the sleeve revealing muscular forearms and a gold Rolex watch. When his hands swept across my face as he continued to draw lines across my imperfections I could smell sweet, spiced soap.

  ‘It’s perfectly safe, Ms Olivia,’ he continued. ‘Botox has actually been around for some years and believe it or not, although it has had bad press claiming it is the Earth’s most toxic protein, Botox is the nickname for botulinum type A. Its name, botulism, comes from the Latin butulus, which means sausage. I’ll be injecting a bacteria by-product that grows on decaying sausage, but only a minute percentage of the actual toxin goes into the syringe. It is just enough to paralyse the muscles that cause wrinkles. And voilà! No lines. Now has that reassured y
ou?’

  His mouth cracked to a slight smile. Obviously, I was not reassured but he had come recommended so I said, ‘Of course, decaying sausage, so interesting!’

  ‘Now, around the eyes I would suggest filler but not just yet, maybe within the next five years or so, but those lips could do with some plumping. There are many to choose from lip implants to fat transfer. They have different lasting qualities. Perhaps for now you could consider just filler for the lips; it will last about six months and you can re-inject each time you return for Botox. I suggest for you, hyaluronic acid filler. Hyaluronic acid is naturally produced by the body but as we age we produce less. It is a molecule, which is a sponge like carbohydrate, that naturally binds to water so when I inject the acid filler under your skin the area inflates with fluid and voilà: a defined cupid’s bow and kissable lips.’

  I touched my lips and I felt disappointed as I was not aware that my lips were inadequately thin and unkissable, so again I nodded and agreed to having the procedure.

  The receptionist booked me in for the following Wednesday and suggested that I pre-book the following appointments just in case Dr Gregory was booked when I needed him. She reassured me that all his patients did this and indeed I was very fortunate that I was able to get a cancellation for the 21st, next week. I nodded and left the clinic.

  Botox is an easy procedure: the dermatologist or plastic surgeon asks me to screw my face and then he injects the liquid into the muscles which have caused the wrinkles. The number of shots depends upon the size of the area, so my forehead receives four or five shots whereas around my neck he would do two or three rows of five injections to relax the platysma muscles. The injections do hurt but it is only every six months so I can bear the discomfort for the gold allure of smooth skin.

  The first time I had filler in my lips caused a little more pain than in subsequent appointments especially as the numbing cream that was applied prior to the procedure was as effective as just licking my lips, but I bore the pain for kissable lips.

  During the early days Tatiana was my ally and between us we were each other’s mirror.

  ‘Ol, you look incredible, it’s really changed you… at least ten years younger… so much prettier than you’ve ever been… so much prettier than the twenty somethings that rely on their youth as you have something they don’t: money and Botox!’

  I returned the compliments to her in direct proportion to the compliments flowing my way.

  After the first time of receiving this procedure my confidence returned, slowly at first but as time went on it was drip fed into my veins until I searched for my reflection once more wherever I went.

  Finally, I got to the point that I wanted to see my friends again. So, when James asked if I would like to meet his new girlfriend and to take a look around his new house just outside Pulborough in West Sussex, I said yes. His stage company had expanded and now he needed a large warehouse to work on the set designs with his team of five other carpenters and this he found just off the South Downs.

  I hadn’t seen very much of James but every so often I would text, ‘I miss you’ and ‘How are you doing?’ or ‘You don’t call me anymore.’ These nudges always rewarded me with a phone call from him.

  In this way James continued to be my medicine. He kept me from returning to the sickening depression which lurked around me; whenever this devil desolation crept beside me I would seek an excuse to nudge James to call. However, I was not expecting to hear about another woman.

  ‘Jane, I’ve been seeing her for a while now but we weren’t sure how we felt and well, now we are,’ he said on the phone.

  ‘Ahh, mmm, she sounds lovely,’ I said despondently.

  I wondered what she looked like – I knew she had an eight-year-old child, so most likely quite old and probably plump. He told me that she worked with horses so she probably wore the same yard clothes from morning to dusk.

  ‘She really is lovely and she’d love you.’

  ‘Mmm, yeah, I’m sure I’d love her too.’ I said.

  There was a prolonged silence on the phone.

  ‘You know Olive, I’m always here. It changes nothing, I’m always here. I know I keep using the same excuse that it’s crazy busy at work, but it really is.’

  There was another pause on the phone then:

  ‘Jane says I need to get you over so she can meet you. She’s sweet like that. I just wanted you to know that and she wants you to know that I’m always here; we’re always here for you.’

  ‘I know, of course of course. But you don’t need to worry about me. How strange you should say this but how sweet of Jen, sorry, Jane.’

  ‘I know I’ve not been around that much lately, but you can always call us. Like I keep telling you, day or night just call when you need us. You know that right?’

  ‘Of course, and like I said, I’m so pleased for you but everything is perfect my end. I know I’ve not been round much either but the new pool is almost finished – the heating wasn’t connecting or something like that, but I’ll have more time on my hands once the workmen are finished.’

  There was another silence on the phone.

  ‘I couldn’t make my mind up over the tile colour and so… well a light, goldy green was chosen so…’

  ‘I saw Carolanne with Jane the other week… shame you weren’t around. Carolanne is concerned,’ he interrupted.

  ‘Oh, Carolanne! Why the concern? Now last Sunday where was I? Oh yes, last Sunday, I was out with friends for lunch. I can’t remember where but it was fantastic.’

  ‘Listen, it’s me… You know what, it doesn’t matter. Anyway, Jane will be annoyed with me unless I get a yes from you to come over, please come. As I said, she’s great, right amazing and an amazing cook.’

  There was that word again, amazing – who is amazing? What does that description even mean? Was it the pool workmen who left the job early because they had overrun but, ‘don’t worry love, we’ll be back sometime’, leaving a hole in my garden ready for the summer frogs? Or was it Cynthia from my lunch friends who had not invited me to the NSPCA charity lunch for the second year running? Or was it Jane? The woman who is dating my James?

  No, Jane could not be amazing; I decided she was an old, fat, horsey woman who ate too much carbohydrate and was using my friend as a convenient second father.

  ‘Well Mark is in the States, so of course I’m free and I can’t wait to meet the woman who has stolen your heart.’ I cheerfully screeched.

  As I put the phone down I reasoned that this relationship could not work and it was important for James to have me, his friend, on hand when he realised there is more to life than eating lardy scones.

  That Saturday I wore my red Dior chiffon dress with heeled espadrilles. My hair had been done the day before and I had introduced the odd blonde highlight amongst my red hair which according to Ivan, my hairdresser, gave me a youthful glow.

  I parked my Mercedes at the end of their driveway – I instantly regretted my parking choice but the alternative was to continue up the pathway to their front door but I wasn’t confident that I would be able to reverse the car back at the end of the day as the driveway was so narrow. But parking this far away from the front door meant I had to meander my way along a dusty path trying to avoid the small mud puddles that were strewn across it by the recent rain.

  The cottage was old and well worn. Its appearance was of a little, gentle old lady sitting on a porch surveying her land from where she sat all day. The roof sagged in the middle and the small windows twinkled from the thick 17th-century window panes. All around the house were forget-me-nots and other meadow weeds which brightened the aged house in late spring.

  I knocked on the green door. I needed to duck as I walked into a dark but welcoming living room. The main feature of this room was the inglenook fireplace, it was huge and it exposed the vast thickness of the cottage walls. From this p
ink room I was shown to the second and last room which was a dated pine kitchen with flowery curtains instead of cupboard doors. The oven stood alone in the corner, it was old but from it there wafted a delicious smell of our lunch. Next to the oven was a bunch of yellow daffodils which had recently sprung open to enjoy the gentle breeze that flowed from the open kitchen window. Next to this vase of daffodils there stood a tall slim lady. She was in her late twenties, she beamed a smile at me and Jane moved forward to greet me.

  ‘And this is Jane. Jane, this is my mate, Olivia.’

  You’re so young, I thought.

  ‘I’ve heard so much about you; I’m so pleased to meet you,’ I said politely. Jane moved towards me and grabbed me with both arms. Her hug was generous but unexpected, so I instinctively flinched.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said as she released me, ‘but I’m so happy to meet you and, wow, you’re as beautiful as James said you were. Just beautiful. What a pretty dress!’

  ‘Dior,’ I replied.

  ‘Ahh M&S for me, given by my mum. I know it’s not flattering but I love it as it’s so comfy.’

  I couldn’t return the compliment about her dress as the cream wool thing was clearly not given by her mother with love but abandoned to a new charitable home. She had teamed this shapeless dress with a flowery pinafore which smoothed her dress over her stomach to reveal a bump on her skinny frame. Ha! You maybe skinny but without a gym membership then that stomach is going to continue to grow.

  ‘Please come and sit. Camomile tea? I’m sorry but I don’t have ordinary tea as we’re trying to give up caffeine. I do have fresh orange juice if you’d prefer?’

  How patronising! To assume your guest would not sympathise in your quest to detoxify.

  ‘Camomile is fine, though I normally drink linden-flower tea, it has a greater detoxifying quality to it. Do you have any?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry I don’t, er. I have water?’ she stammered.

  I could tell she was nervous and perhaps she didn’t deserve the comment I had made, but James was my friend and I needed to know exactly who she was. So far she was a skinny woman who didn’t work out but relied on health food to keep her slim; but this technique was clearly failing and so, when compared to a naturally slim woman such as myself, then she had to resort to undermining them. How rude!