Rubber Gloves or Jimmy Choos?

by Faith Bleasdale

  I walked into some posh offices, and realised that these careers counsellors were not doing this from the goodness of their hearts. My appointment was with Rosalind Parker and she met me almost straight away. I hated her instantly. She was tall, very thin with a pointed nose. Her suit was so impeccable it didn’t look worn at all, and she had a thin-lipped smile, the kind you should never trust. She led me into her office where I sat down in a big armchair (not a couch in sight) and suddenly I felt angry at having to do this. I felt I had failed, I couldn’t sort things out on my own, I was reduced to this.

  ‘So, Ruth, why have you come to see me?’ she asked.

  ‘Because Sarah made me.’ I had resorted to sulky-child mode.

  Rosalind looked at me, then smiled. ‘Let’s start with a few basic CV details, shall we?’ She took out a pad. ‘Name?’

  ‘Ruth Butler.’

  ‘Age?’

  ‘Twenty-one.’

  ‘Driving licence?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Marital status?’

  ‘Um, single, recently singled, but never married, not even engaged to be married, not living with someone. I don’t have a man.’ I was a little upset by that question.

  Rosalind looked a bit shocked, ‘OK, fine, good. Now, let’s, talk about your career history. How many jobs have you had?’

  ‘One.’

  ‘OK, and what was it?’ She was now patronising me.

  ‘I was selling space on Nuts and Bolts Monthly. I don’t expect you’ve heard of it. I recently had to leave because I didn’t sell anything and I slept with a client’s son and he cancelled all the advertising and if I hadn’t resigned they would have sacked me and they’re making me work out my notice as punishment for not getting to sack me.’

  Rosalind went a bit white. ‘Can you get a reference from them?’

  I laughed. ‘After the trail of destruction I left?’

  She tried a different tack. ‘What do you think a career counsellor does?’ I was tempted, but remembered Sarah’s threats. ‘Helps people decide what career they’d enjoy, then helps them to get a job?’ I said helpfully.

  ‘Yes, sort of. I mean, we try to help you decide what you’re looking for and then we give advice on how to get into your chosen field. Some people come to us knowing what they want, but feeling a bit unsure of how to go about getting it. Others come thinking they don’t know what they want. Which category do you feel you’re in?’

  ‘If I have to be in a category, as you put it, I would be the second, but not even that. You see, I don’t want a career.’

  Rosalind went white for the second time. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’m just working to earn a living until I get married. I told you, it’s only my friends who think I should have a career.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  I almost felt sorry for her, she looked confused. ‘Can I ask you, Rosalind, are you married?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, when you get married, will you cook for your husband and do the laundry and clean the flat, or will you share the chores?’ I asked.

  ‘We’d share the chores.’

  ‘OK, so you find a man who’ll share the chores. What about when you have kids, will you work fewer hours?’

  ‘I don’t see what this has to do with anything, but I suppose I’ll get a nanny.’

  ‘OK, so you’ll have a demanding job, run a house, have a healthy relationship with your husband – who, by the way, I wonder if you’ll have time to meet, and spend enough quality time with your children.’

  ‘Ruth, lots of women do just that and the children don’t grow up dysfunctional. But I still do not understand what my marital status has to do with you not wanting a career.’

  ‘Well, I believe that love is the most natural and important thing in the world. I want to fall in love, get married, have children and spend “my career” looking after the things that are most important to me. Not in some crummy office working all the hours God sends.’

  ‘Fine, but you said you don’t even have a boyfriend, let alone a husband. Have you considered the fact that you might enjoy a career until you get one?’

  I felt she was being a little sarcastic now. ‘Do you have a boyfriend?’

  Rosalind was losing her cool. ‘I really don’t see why you need to know this, but no.’

  ‘OK, so you don’t get much chance to meet men, being so career-focused. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to miss my Mr Right just because I’m busy.’

  Now she looked pissed off. ‘Did you have a normal childhood?’

  I looked at her. I had thought she wasn’t supposed to ask me that. ‘Oh, no, you’re a career counsellor, not a sit-on-my-couch-and-tell-me-about-your-mother counsellor.’

  ‘Well, Ruth, it’s just that I’m trying to understand you so we can move on to your career options. At the moment I don’t know where you’re coming from.’

  I was certain now that we were at war. ‘I didn’t have a dysfunctional childhood. In fact, I had a very functional one. The only mental cruelty my parents inflicted on me was when my mother insisted on me wearing a ra-ra skirt. However, I have forgiven her for that – well, after she burnt all the photos anyway.’ I gave my coldest smile.

  Rosalind sighed. ‘OK, let’s move on. You said you liked children. Have you considered working with them?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Become a teacher or something like that.’

  ‘No way. I don’t like children that much – of course I’ll love mine, but teaching, no. It’s a noble profession and everything, and you do get a lot of holidays, but it’s also bloody hard work and you don’t get much money.’

  ‘Would you consider yourself lazy?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you have any hobbies?’

  ‘I like cooking and wine.’

  ‘Great. You could become a cook, or a caterer, or go into restaurant management.’ Rosalind gazed at me desperately.

  ‘Oh, no, I only cook for my friends, and I’m not even that good yet.’

  ‘What about the wine business?’

  ‘I only like drinking it’

  ‘I think, Ruth, to be honest, you refuse to explore any avenue apart from the romantic ideal you’ve set yourself. I can’t help you if you won’t help yourself.’

  ‘Can I go now?’

  I had defeated her. She nodded and I left. I knew full well I was being awkward and, well, a bitch – but, come on, she wasn’t really trying to help. It was a load of twaddle.

  Sarah was eager to know how I’d got on and I told her, leaving out certain details, the parts where I’d insulted Rosalind, had been sulky and intrusive … and generally all the details. ‘She said I should just get an administrative job or something, because I’d be happiest being a housewife.’

  Sarah was puzzle do. ‘Really?’ she asked. I nodded. ‘Well, that’s the last time I give her any business.’

  For a moment I felt guilty, but then again, less business meant Rosalind could devote more time to finding herself a man.

  Chapter Five

  The heroine of our story licked her bright red lips. ‘I defy any man to resist me,’ she said, as she pouted in the mirror. She had a plan. It was the most elaborate of all plans. It involved seduction, deceit, cunning and a Harvey Nichols store card. She laughed as she thought of her prey, men waiting to be captured. Our heroine couldn’t fail. She had the looks, she had the lipstick. She would find her man and he would be powerless to resist her. He would fall at her feet and stay there for ever more. He would be under her spell, he would be hers.

  The heroine must go now, she has men to catch. They’ll be tall, handsome, with a very large wallet. Those are the credentials. Love doesn’t come into it. Love doesn’t matter when you’re a femme fatale.

  ***

  Sarah was almost defeated. She had tried to pull her best hand, Rosalind, and it hadn’t worked. I was no nearer to becoming a career woman than she was to having sex. I felt empowered
. Privately, Rosalind had helped me; she had helped me to find focus. A career was not going to happen for me. It was obvious. The evidence pointed to one thing: Ruth Butler was not, in any shape or form, made to be a career woman. Ruth Butler was not meant to be without a man. Ruth Butler had to take control of her own destiny. I decided myself what my next career would be, I was going to go out and get myself a husband. My job title would be ‘husband-hunter’ and I would not fail. Oh, no. I was going to put an end to this career nonsense once and for all.

  I decided that, with my new-found confidence, my plan was going to work with a little help from my friends. I pounced on them that evening as we all sat in front of EastEnders. ‘Now, let me tell you what I want to do, as you’re all so interested in my life. First I want to get an administrative job, something not too stressful – and, Sarah, I expect you to help me get one. Second, I’m going to find a husband and then become a housewife and, Jess and Sophie, I expect you to help me do that. If you meet single men, you keep me in mind. OK? Do you understand?’

  They just stared at me as if I had flipped, and perhaps I had. Sarah was the first to speak.

  ‘OK, I’ll get you a job. Come into my office on Monday and we’ll find you something.’

  God, that had been easy. Jess and Sophie were still silent.

  ‘But before I get you a job, I just want you to consider something.’ She was almost defeated, but not quite.

  ‘What?’ I replied. I couldn’t understand how I had gone from being in control, to Sarah being in control.

  ‘What do you want from life? Do you want—’

  ‘What?’ Sarah had flipped, I didn’t have a clue what she was talking about.

  ‘You know, do you want a pair of washing-up gloves or a pair of lovely Jimmy Choo shoes?’

  ‘Why can’t I have both?’ I still didn’t follow.

  ‘You could, if you could pay for both. What I’m trying to say is, sure, you may be able to find a man to support you totally, even in this day and age. But is he going to be rich? Unless he is, you’ll be confined to wearing washing-up gloves and cheap shoes for the rest of your life.’ Sarah smiled triumphantly.

  I was indignant, I hadn’t really considered money. ‘This isn’t about money, it’s about me and what I want spiritually. Of course, I may not find a rich man, but if he loved me I’d be happy with my rubber gloves, honestly I would, and if money was really a problem, I suppose I’d have to work, but only if I had to. I don’t need Jimmy Choo shoes to make me happy, I just need love.’ I looked at her pleadingly: reality was butting into my life again.

  ‘You’re completely and utterly bonkers. The thing is, Ru, that I have aspirations, for myself, for me. It’s about what you want from life. Like I said before, I want a flat in Fulham.’ Jess was eager to jump on the latest Sarah bandwagon.

  Sophie looked at her. ‘What’s wrong with Clapham?’

  ‘Oh, Soph, there’s nothing wrong with Clapham, Clapham’s great, but, well, it’s not Fulham, is it?’ No one could argue with that. Jess got a dreamy look in her eyes. ‘You see, Fulham is wonderful. The sun shines more in Fulham, the streets are cleaner, sort of sparkling. You get nicer people there, less crime, even a better class of homeless people.’ Jess looked serious.

  I now thought she’d finally flipped. I had a vision of clean homeless people sitting under their John Lewis duvets and looking pretty, while the nice people of Fulham gave them money and food from the local deli.

  Jess carried on. It’s an area I feel I belong in. Where I know I’ll be among like-minded people.’

  I made a mental note never to live in Fulham.

  Unfortunately this madness had merely irritated Sarah further, and she was still on my case. ‘Ruthie, love may be enough for you, I hope it is, but you need money in this day and age to live. Perhaps you should remember that you won’t be happy being poor. You can’t rely on other people to give you all you want. You have to be prepared to work for it yourself.’

  ‘I won’t be poor. I told you I’ll work if I have to and, yes, money is necessary, but the chances are I’ll marry a professional, so I’ll be all right.’

  ‘OK, but in the meantime don’t you want to earn money for yourself, to save, buy nice clothes, have holidays, a good life?’

  ‘Yes, maybe, but can’t I do that without a career?’

  ‘Perhaps, but if what you say is true and you want to attract a husband, and preferably a rich one, you need to look nice. All the time. Looking nice costs money and you have to work for money. Also, I don’t think you’ve considered the fact that professional men are attracted to professional women. That’s the truth, hon.’ Sarah was determined to win, and she was dangerously, dangerously close.

  ‘I’m not looking to attract a husband,’ I stated.

  Jess and Sophie stared at me. Sarah flung her arms in the air. ‘Why the fuck are we having this conversation, then?’ She looked thunderous. I was doing my usual backtracking.

  ‘OK, I am, but, well, you just don’t understand. I’m going to find a man and he’ll be rich and you just don’t have to worry about it.’

  All of my friends were dumbstruck. Of course I hadn’t considered money. All I knew was that I had been working hard on getting over Ben, and to do that and have a good life, I needed someone else. But if Mr Nearly Right was poor and I had to work anyway all my dreams would be shattered. I had two options. Either I could go down the love path and be prepared for whatever happened, or I could just hunt men with enough money to keep me. As much as I am a romantic, I decided that if I had to sacrifice something, it would be love that went. After all, I still wasn’t convinced I could love any man but Ben. So, I’d find a rich man, marry him and learn to love him. Oh, no, Sarah is not going to put me off this time. I will become femme fatale, a fortune-hunter. Or, at least, a girl looking for a husband with a little bit of disposable income.

  Even I knew that by society’s standards I was far too young to consider myself a spinster. But I also knew that at a certain stage in life, thirty, thirty-five, forty, women were suddenly given the ‘on the shelf stamp and considered a failure. Not because they didn’t have a great career, a sports car, their own flat, but because they didn’t have a man. Now how modern was that? I’m sorry, girls, but you’re never considered successful unless you have love. Of course, a man would never be judged this way, but that’s a different story. Although not yet a spinster, I was not going to be fooled into becoming one. As my friends (bar Sophie) might. They would climb the ladders of success and achieve more and more, and just as they reached the top they would be turned against because they hadn’t had time to find love. ‘So what if you have a great career? Aren’t you lonely? Don’t you want babies? Are you gay?’ society would scream at them, and then they’d feel cheated because they had just done what they were supposed to do. Society is evil sometimes and unfair. Oh, I recognised the unfairness of the situation: being single is not a crime at any age, but at the same time I don’t make the rules. I’m sorry. I wouldn’t be caught out like this. I wouldn’t let society cheat me. I’d defy it and spend my time finding my mate, not building a career. I’d let it laugh at me now, rather than later. I would outsmart it. Perhaps I was more a product of my time than I gave myself credit for.

  All happy endings involve falling in love. So love brings happiness. Even in modern novels every happy ending involves a man and, come to think of it, normally a rich, successful one. I wanted a happy ending, therefore I was only doing what I had to do.

  ***

  I left my job on Friday and no one threw me a party or wished me luck, but I didn’t care. I had what I needed now. I had worked out my future. On Saturday I decided that my plan would be put into action. I found Jess reading. ‘Jessie, what are you doing today?’

  ‘Nothing. I thought I’d just chill and read.’

  ‘How boring. Don’t you think it might be more fun to go shopping?’

  Jess looked interested. ‘Where?’

  ‘Harvey Nic
ks.’ I’d got her.

  ‘OK, but we have to look smart.’

  I sighed. She was probably worried she’d bump into everyone she worked with. Jess put on a black trouser suit; she looked as if she had money. I had grey trousers and a shirt, Jess chose for me. Then she grabbed her sunglasses.

  ‘Jess, why are you wearing those? It’s November.’

  ‘I’m wearing them on my head – they all do, you know. Here, you’d better take my spare pair.’

  Harvey Nichols was Jess’s favourite place in the whole world. She loved it more than anything, she was such a PR stereotype. I loved it too, because rich men shopped in Harvey Nichols.

  We shopped for hours, surrounded by women wearing sunglasses on their heads. I understood now. We started by looking at the cosmetics counters, testing the latest perfumes, or I did because Jess insisted on spraying them on me – she didn’t want to smell like a whore’s boudoir. Next we went to the women’s designer-clothes sections where I found a pretty crochet top, it was white and I thought maybe I could treat myself, until I spotted the price tag. I dropped the dishcloth-like thing. ‘Christ,’ I shrieked.

  ‘What?’ Jess said. ‘Is it a spider?’

  I shook my head, picked up the string vest and thrust it into her hands. ‘Wow, that’s quite reasonable.’

  ‘Reasonable, Jess? Reasonable for what? A month’s rent? That would be reasonable. A lace hanky? I don’t think so.’ I was in shock.

  ‘Ru, you’re so funny.’ Jess dragged me to the shoe department.

  I couldn’t bring myself to look at prices after that, so I just watched Jess try on shoe after shoe after shoe. This wasn’t helping me find my man. ‘Jess, can we go and get a drink?’

  ‘Good idea.’

  We went to the bar, but I was disappointed to find there weren’t many men in there. ‘Where are the men?’

  ‘What men?’

  ‘You know, the rich men who always come here.’

  ‘No, they don’t’