THAT WOULD BE ME viii - serialisation of a chick lit (if you must) novel of neo colonialism and identity

That Would Be Me viii

Chapter Eight

in which our heroine sinks into the depths of the Upper North Shore, decides she belongs, then decides the people might be a problem

In the break she decided she must do something about Therese. Sunday was usually her day with Cal but she offered to make dinner for Therese on Sunday night.

Therese shrugged.

She roasted a leg of lamb.

She drank whisky, Therese drank gin, they both drank wine.

 Therese pushed the food around her plate, lit a cigarette and ignored the lemon delicious pudding.

After the meal Therese fell asleep in front of the television and she just made it into bed herself before falling into a dead sleep.

When she got up the next morning Therese was doing the dishes. She protested and they finished the task together.

The break yawned.

She had already spoken to Mr Hidalgo about a few days work at Polka Dot. She was still worried about having to explain her income to the Australian Taxation Office one day. She felt she could pass at least some of it off as work at Polka Dot and the rest might be accounted for by her work at Mr Iriye's restaurant - tips, and all. Besides, she couldn't hang around with Therese all day and she couldn't spend the whole break in the University library.

Allison called and asked her for lunch the next Sunday.

They were doing an order of Summer frocks at Polka Dot. She found that even though the work left her low on energy for the restaurant, she felt more real, more purposeful while she was there. She loved joking with the other women. She told them she was studying to be an English teacher.

She had to decide what subjects she would do next semester. PoMo and Iss Ids had been part of the compulsory Cultural Studies strand. She decided to follow it with Post Colonialism and Information Dissemination. She was staring at the notice board thinking about doing Video for Media Production, the other compulsory strand, when Lauren approached.

'Oh, hi.'

'Hi.'

'I can't decide. I think I'm going to do Video as my Media Production subject but it seems ... Wouldn't Online be more useful?'

'I'm doing Video.'

'Are you, Lauren? Why?'

'It's more useful. You use it with everything. The techniques apply to everything - film, digi, everything.'

'Allison's doing Film.'

'She would, she's so traditional. She told me you're going to be there on Sunday.'

'Yes. I'm really looking forward to it, it's such a lovely area.'

'Yes. It'll be mainly locals, except for you.'

Even though she was keen to discuss her subject choices this comment made her change her mind about asking Lauren to have coffee. 'I've got to go. I think I'll go and see if Dr Barbarolli is in and ask her what she thinks about doing Video. See you Sunday.'

Dr Barbarolli was in. She smiled in spite of herself at the sight of her student. 'I'm glad you've come up to see me. I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed reading your assignment on eminem.'

'Oh. Thank you. I hadn't realised you'd had a chance to mark it yet. I came to ask your advice on what to do next term in - '

'You should definitely think about doing Post Colonialism and Information Dissemination. Zohra - Dr Nabhan - does a brilliant job of teaching about Aids awareness in preindustrial societies. She's so good.'

'That's good. I'd already decided to do that, I'm more worried bout the Media Production strand.

Dr Barbarolli allowed a little grimace to play across her stern, dedicated features.

She was a little puzzled by this. 'It's compulsory.'

'It is if you chose the artisan approach.'

'Artisan?'

'That's what we academics call the Production part of Information Sciences.'

'I see ... ' She thought she'd better go.

'I have to too. I need a caffeine fix after marking this shit.' She flicked her hands at the student papers strewn all over her desk.

She glanced anxiously to see if her own was one of them. She saw Allison's on Smoking and Identity Formation in Young Women. A word followed by a fence of exclamation marks had been scrawled across the comment sheet.

'That new place over the road isn't too bad.'

Dr Barbarolli sent her coffee back. It wasn't strong enough.

'You may as well do Video,' she decided for her acolyte, 'Film's just

a wank, if you were serious about it you'd be at AFTERS.'

She allowed herself to look puzzled.

It was the Australian Film, Radio and Television School.

' T V ... more or less the same. Christ it's appalling you can't smoke in these places. The nicotine fascists have really taken over. Online ... well Howie Robertson runs that. You may as well do Vid, it's as good as any.'

'What about Performance and Events?'

'Performance is Gayle Che. They call it Laurie Anderson Studies. That's all she knows about. She's got a poster of Lou Reed in her office.' Barb Barbarolli snorted.

She laughed merrily at the snort. It was so like the manner in which Therese dismissed every gentle suggestion that she consider light, fresh air, food, life.

Dr Barbarolli felt a great success. The vindictively strong replacement coffee had made her elated. She gazed at this girl and was enraptured by the image transmitted back.

Outside, Dr Barbarolli mined her huge bag for cigarettes and lit one. She snapped an ostentatiously long draught deep into her lungs, held it for admiration and exhaled strongly.

She recalled Allison talking about some girls using cigarettes to embrace toughness, imperviousness. Allison had accurately mimed a version of what Dr Barbarolli had just performed with such extreme vigour. Allison said they usually did it striding along. A particular moment was when emerging from some smoking prohibited zone such as public transport.

As if telepathically, Dr Barbarolli strode off.

She crushed an impulse to call out good-bye.

Allison's brother picked her up from the station. 'Al said you'd be well dressed,' he said as he rushed around the car to slam into the driver's seat. She took her time getting in.

Dressing for this occasion had been a challenge. She had settled on dark blue wool slacks with a rose wool three-quarter coat she had made herself between finishing at Polka Dot and going to the restaurant. She had tried the butterfly brooch with it but it had overdressed a very smart look. She had determined to wear the coat  with the greatest of casualness and to divest herself of it as soon as possible.

It was a dull  cold day. The cold was into her bones. It reminded her of her home town but it was thirteen degrees. How had she borne it, all those months of sub zero and no sun? Today was an aberration, the sun usually shone and when it rained it drenched. Sydney was completely unlike the seeping damp and darkness, the freezing steel of those cobbled and bricked streets ringing beneath your clattering feet.

Macalister Blackmore charged the car towards the family home and skidded to a stop in a spatter of gravel.

She forbade herself to thank him.

He was handsome and trying to be rough. She thought he had probably never had sex and in an access of envy and pain loved him for his blow hardy innocence.

'Al's nervous. she's been cooking for two days. It's a waste but I can't wait to eat it.'

She handed him her wine to carry. He looked surprised then proud to be treated as malely responsible.

Elizabeth Taylor's jewellery had led her to the old Duchess of Windsor's collection. She had followed up Wallis Simpson's career with intense interest. Diana Vreeland had written that she had never had food such as Wallis had served at a lunch for Edward when the divorcée and the king were first acquainted, also that she had run into Wallis in a lingerie shop and she had been buying the most exquisite things. Mrs Simpson had been invited to a country weekend at which the king was to be present and had said, according to Vreeland, 'It's either this weekend or never.'

She enjoyed choosing the wine. That was simple - white and expensive from some boutique vineyard no-one had ever heard of. However, she wanted to make some gesture which would go some way towards obviating the debt of hospitality. Caviar seemed too flagrant, chocolates too heavy for a lunch. She thought of getting up early on Sunday morning and making biscuits but she didn't want to use Therese's kitchen after having so soon betrayed her offer to make then both a decent dinner they could share on Sundays. She searched several shops and in a specialty kitchen supplier near Polka Dot had come across glacé chestnuts. They came in a round tin wrapped in old-fashioned waxed paper which had been pleated towards the centre of the tin. The assistant had examined them and said, 'What are these ... ?' and tried to pronounce marrons glacé ... 'Never seen them before.' That had confirmed the choice for her. And surely they were perfect on a day like this, a European day?

Immediately after greeting her, Allison asked her brother to see to the fire. They had a quick chat before Allison led her into the sitting room. Six people were scattered about it. Lou Richardson's attention had swung to her as soon as she entered, Macalister, who was sitting on the arm of the chair occupied by Lou, followed his gaze then returned it to his hero and then went to provoke the fire which was burning low in a beautiful sandstone fireplace.

Flanked by Allison she stood smiling at the other guests. Lauren glanced at her then went over to take Macalister's place on the arm of Lou Richardson's chair. 'Hi!' she then exclaimed. 'You remember Iseult don't you Lou?'

She smiled at Lauren and nodded hello to Lou whom she had met in the Union at the University. He was a year ahead of them in Information Sciences.

Allison introduced her to Clarissa, a school friend, Carl, another friend and Graeme, a cousin. Except for Macalister they were all about the same age. They were all students.

Allison settled her near Clarissa and Carl.

It was all so easy. Clarissa was doing Design, Carl Agronomy.

Allison bade Macalister follow her out. He returned with a glass of wine for her. 'Allison said to ask if it's not too early for you.'

She took the glass and smiled. Macalister coloured.

After a while she slipped out to see if Allison needed help in the kitchen. Allison was pouring soup into a tureen. Lauren crashed in immediately after her and also offered to help.

She followed Allison into the dining room. A cool sweetness enveloped her. She paused. The table was beautifully set, decorated with a small arrangement of flowers from the garden. The sweet scent had come from a few freesias artlessly accompanying jonquils in a plain glass vase. The arrangement evoked some of the old Still Life paintings she had discovered in the books of Australian art she had taken to perusing in idle moments in the University library. Outside a watery sun played over bare, smooth boughs which displayed tall, thin purple and pink magnolia buds. A path of stone flagging ran around the edge of a lawn. She was possessed of the place; this was where she belonged.

The awkwardness of settling at the table soon dissipated in uni chat. She asked Macalister who was sitting next to her about school and what he wanted to do next year. He thought he might do Info Sciences too but maybe Electrical Engineering. Clarissa was very interested in sixties and seventies style. Carl thought he might specialise in dry land farming. Graeme was doing Dentistry.

'I'll do it,' Lauren proclaimed when she rose to help Allison clear the soup plates.

She sank down without voicing her offer.

Lou asked her how she was liking Info.

Lauren hesitated at the door but continued.

She told Lou and the others that she was finding it all a bit strange but very interesting.

'It's like that in First Year,' Lou said, 'you get into it though.'

He was doing a different version of Info Sciences  and was now thinking of going on to Law. 'I was interested in Policy Formation and Introduction but I can see I'd go better if I had a Law degree.'

'Like Lauren,' she said.

'Not like Lauren, she - '

Lauren swept in bearing plates, followed by Allison with a dish of canneloni.

'It took her two days to make,' Macalister said.

In the criss-crossing conversation which followed she had an opportunity to tell Clarissa she had developed an interest in art deco.

'There's plenty around where you live - plenty around here too. I like later stuff, Scandinavian influence especially. I want to design fabrics, I love all that Marimekko stuff with big circles and bold colours, abstractions but I love all those frilly fifties and sixties patterns with stylised animals and things too.'

Carl told them how eucalyptus trees could provide a fabric tougher than hemp and was much, much cheaper to produce. Allison suggested he and Clarissa could go into partnership but it transpired that eucalyptus fabric was too tough for clothing but Carl would see whether it would convert to upholstery fabric; he held out a hope that it might.

The conversation flowed about a singer's debut in a film. Graeme said, 'I heard he was in a gay relationship.'

'That's one of the things I had to get used to when I started Info, I suppose that's partly what you meant.'

'About what?' she asked Lou.

'You know, you said it was a bit strange starting Info.'

'That's right Lou, let her know she's really on the North Shore.' Allison glared at him.

'I found it a bit weird too, at first.'

'Lauren, Maggie Archer and Teensie Jacoby were an item at school, you knew that, everyone knew that. So were Linda Uys and Rubie Jollie.'

'Linda's with that Leon Kaufmann now.'

Still ... '

'Don't get me wrong, some of my mates are gay, now, it was just - '

'Whoa! Gay? Really?' Macalister demanded.

'I'm used to it now too,' Clarissa said, 'half the Design School is gay, all of the teaches are - the guys, in any case.'

'Really?' Macalister said again.

'Get used to it, Mac, it's called the real world. Now come and help me get the salad.'

Macalister followed his sister out.

'Is she upset because we're talking about gays in front of Macalister?' Clarissa whispered.

'She's not upset,' Lauren said.

'I don't think she's too pleased with me,' Lou suggested. 'I think she thinks I let the team down. Did I?' he asked her, 'it's you she thinks I've offended, or something.'

The bolt of anger shot through her. She had to keep her mouth shut.

The table was staring at her.

'Naturally Allison detests homophobia, it's down there with racism, isn't it?'

Clarissa, who was black, squirmed a little at this.

'Sure. It sucks. Some of my best mates are ... now.' Lou offered this in his deepest, most authoritative voice.

She detested him. Who the fuck did he think he was? What had he done to warrant the patrician, authoritative air?

Though he couldn't interpret it, he glimpsed the intensity of her expression and flushed, turned aside. 'More wine. mate? he asked Carl.

Carl held out his glass.

She wanted to shriek with laughter, instead she made her eyes twinkle at him when he stole another glimpse, trying to work out her reaction. He smiled back broadly, with relief.

Lauren thrashed around in her place. 'I don't know,' she said, 'anyway, most of them grow out of it.'

'You're an expert, are you?' was Lou's response.

The spirit of the luncheon had sunk very low when Allison and Macalister entered with the salad.

'What's the matter?' Macalister asked.

'Nothing,' Clarissa said.

'We were just talking about uni. You'll see when you go, it can be hard to - starting can be a bit of a strain.'

'You should come out and have a look around with me, I'll buy you a beer,' Graeme said. 'You'll like the blokes. You should do Dentistry, that's where the money is, you know where you're going.'

'I was about to ask Lauren and Lou if they knew anything about P C Ids,' she said brightly to Allison and turned to those two.

Everyone stared at her.

'Excuse me?' Lou asked, smiling in anticipation..

'Post Colonial Information Dissemination ... or a k a Post Colon Insem or, for the experts, just Pocied.'

'Pocied ... that's brilliant,' Lou grinned broadly and rubbed his hands together in glee.

Lauren disappeared.

The lunch party rose to affability over dessert and gathered around the fire again for coffee. Allison produced the marrons glacé which Lauren wouldn't touch but Lou declared he really liked.

She wanted to be out of there. Lou was talking to her a lot and though she had resolved that he was just an older version of Macalister, he made her feel queasy.

'I must go soon,' she whispered to Allison.

'Why? Graeme wants us to go and see that movie. Lauren wants to go on to a club after. We can send Mac home after something in Chinatown.'

'I've made other arrangements, I'm sorry.'

Allison was very disappointed but pulled herself together to stop her calling a cab. They would all drive into town together.

Lou wanted her to come with him.

She was relieved to be with Cal. Once she had sunk into his huge couch in front of the T V she considered the idea that she really loved him.

He had been cool at first because she had not spent time with him the previous Sunday but couldn't stop his easy good nature bubbling up in the company of his Australian girlfriend. He was thinking now she was his real girlfriend. She had encouraged him to cut down on drugs and to be sensible with his money. He loved those occasions when she was not too tired to be picked up after work in the restaurant and they would go out for a drink or coffee or come back to his place. His chief disappointment in her was she would not take his advice about buying shares. He was surprised tonight when she gently raised the subject, asking for advice.

She had brought up the subject when he had begun to stir himself to go out and she had been beset by the fear that they would run into Allison's luncheon party.

After she had agreed to invest in the ones he suggested and they had had a couple of whiskies to seal the deal she suddenly decided she did want to go out, to hell with those racist, homophobic, pretentious bores, she would enjoy introducing Cal as her boyfriend.

But they did not run into Allison's crowd.

That night in bed, as her head spun with the day, she thought Allison wouldn't have been taken aback to meet Cal. She could see Allison being polite and pleased to meet him. Lauren would have been thrilled. She decided she must tell Allison about Cal. She wondered if Allison wasn't a real friend.