That Would Be Me - serialisation of a chick lit (if you must) novel of neo colonialism and identity

THAT WOULD BE ME

Chapter Four
in which our heroine struggles to be her new identity and makes friends with a gorgon

'Would you like to tell us a little bit about how you went in your A Levels? I see here you got a very high score in Textiles and Design and ... an even higher one in Every Day Sciences. I don't think we have that one here. Anyone heard of it?'  He smiled collusively along the panel.

'I came in the first ten in E D S - Every Day Sciences.'

'That's good. Did many girls at your school - what was it again?' He ran a pen along the pages she had supplied. 'Did it specialise in that subject?'

'No. In the U K. It involves physics, chemistry, biology and economics applied to every day life. People wanting to work in the hospitality industry or the medical sciences usually do it.'

There were three other panellists beside this man who was the very one who had kindly guided her when she had first wandered along the Information Sciences corridor. One of the others was the woman harrying a computer, the other two were from Nursing and Design.

'Oh.' His patronising benevolence was replaced by a startled respect and curiosity but he failed to penetrate her obliging smile.

The computer woman took up the case with a dismissing glance in the direction of her co-panellist. She smiled in sisterly encouragement.

'I see from your statement you are particularly interested in online training, can you tell us more about that?'

'Certainly. I ... became aware of the vastness of distance when I came to Australia. I met people who were travelling further than a lot of - I met students in Cairns who were travelling to Townsville for lectures and seminars and doing the rest of their courses online. I mean it's - in European terms its a huge distance, like into the next country or further. As you can see, I was already interested in education but I found with part time jobs and things - people from all over the world I was meeting here and in Thailand - anyway I found I was becoming very - I was becoming very interested in the possibilities of online training. Vocational. Vocational rather than educational. I was thinking of teaching primary school children but that's developed into ... that's broadened into an interest in developing online material for training. I'm thinking of the hospitality industry and communication competencies which would be applicable across - well all industries and workplaces, actually.'

There was an exchange of impressed glances - who wanted to go next?

Dr Design took up the challenge. 'That's very interesting. Have you thought - I'm wondering why not something in I T then, you know, why not go for a course in web design, or - '

'Is Dr Cheung doing a bit of proselytising here?'

The other panellists joined the computer woman in a chuckle.

'I see here from your statement that you think there is a great future in this kind of training, how would you see it applying to nursing, for example.'

'Nursing is a very special area - you're dealing with human life directly - so what I see is maybe some initial training online with follow-up one-to-one or small group training, maybe of new equipment or familiarising the nurses with new drugs - I don't see online or video as replacing direct training by professionals - experienced professionals - but I see it as a very useful, potentially, training technique in the future. And in a country like this where distance and isolation from big cities ... I can see these new technologies giving opportunities to people who might be isolated and need to diversify their skills because local industry is changing or even dying.'

She couldn't go on. She felt she'd lost herself completely. She couldn't even smile or look at the panellists.

After a silence and the computer woman asking the other panellists if that was all, she was thanked and told she would be informed.

Her last impression was of the computer woman nodding and smiling conspiratorially at her as she left the interview room.

Beverley was waiting for her in the cafeteria. 'How did you go? Did they ask anything you couldn't answer? You'll be all right.'

She was very tired. Working two jobs was taking its toll. She still went to the university library and had prepared as well as she could for the placement interview but now she felt as though she had said next to nothing and that incoherently.

'You always feel that way after an interview,' Beverley consoled,

They met Minnie at her favourite food bar in Chinatown. Minh had found another university which would accept her into Physiotherapy if her exam results were exceptional. 'Did they ask you why you wanted to do Information at the university?' she asked.

She nodded.

'I knew it! Did you say all the things we worked out?'

She said she hoped so, she didn't feel as though ... She arranged to be in the library on Saturday to act as a panel member so Minh could practise for her interview.

The girls at Polka Dot Fashions looked up from their machines when she walked in. 'How did it go?' Francesca asked. Mr Hidalgo, the manager came out from his office to listen too then sent everyone back to work.

Polka Dot was not exactly a sweat shop, it did altering and made up clothing for fashion shops and tailors who left patterns and fabrics to be cut out by a number system. It was piece work so the pressure was self regulated to a certain extent.

Except for the gentlemanly Mr Hidalgo who had long and intense experience of the trade in the Philippines and the tailors and couriers who dropped work in, it was a female establishment. The women had developed a girlish, high spirited ethos which was a defence against the burden of their roles as mothers and wives and for some against bitter memories of very grim previous work experience. Several nationalities figured but most of the machinists were Filipina.

Polka Dot's business was dependent on its reputation for careful work and the handling of expensive fabrics. Mr Hidalgo and the supervisor, Leni, a no-nonsense Croat-Australian, checked all the work for even and closely aligned stitching. The machinists wore cotton gloves which they had to pay for themselves. Leni frequently inspected these and ordered fresh ones to be worn. This was the key subject of complaint amongst the workers. No food or drink were allowed into the work room, no smoking on the premises, the doors were to be quickly shut against any outside dust and dirt. According to legend, Mr Hidalgo had once berated one of their best customers, a temperamental tailor, for loitering with the door open as he took a mobile call.

She had paced herself well and carefully extended her skills and speed. She really enjoyed working with the different fabrics. Leni had twice made her stop and unpick work to do again - to the disguised joy of some of her co-workers - and had hovered and interfered as she dealt with a new stitch or some unfamiliar fabric. She had pretended to be worried at the loss of time and therefore payment but what she was getting was a fraction of what she took home from Mr Iriye's restaurant.

The women took a superficial interest in her but as most of them had to rush away to pick up children or get home to do the shopping and make the dinner, interaction was confined to the workplace. She had told them she had a boyfriend in England and when he had finished his course - Engineering - and she had finished hers - Teaching - he would come out to Australia and they would get married. At the mention of citizenship she had fallen silent. Everyone had understood and the matter was whispered about behind her back but not alluded to in front of her again.

She felt pretty sure she could get away with more than the others at Polka Dot. One night she had stayed back to talk to Mr Lim.

After she had been at Polka Dot for a few weeks she had asked Mr Hidalgo if she could bring in her cut out frock and jacket and use the workplace sewing machines to sew them up. He said she would have to speak to Mr Lim.

Mr Lim was related to the owner who was rumoured to be a Hong Kong millionaire only interested in this business because some of his family lived in Australia. Mr Lim dropped in a few days a week, usually late, to gather figures for the accounts.

She had approached him after the others had gone and Mr Hidalgo was supervising a courier and a wedding dress. Mr Lim had been about to say no when she gave him the saucy smile and the twist of the head she had seen a girl at the university employ on one of her lecturers.

Mr Lim had hesitated.

She had thrust her breasts out and swept a smile which curved down as if in modest invitation over them and rose to meet Mr Lim’s frightened, longing stare. He broke his gaze to glance, worried in the direction of Mr Hidalgo.

She had returned half an hour later, knocked on the door and swept into the yellow bulb-lit cubby hole which served as the office. ‘I just thought I’d come to see how you were getting on,’ she said, advancing on Mr Lim with her beasts thrust forward. She stood almost against him then leaned forward and rubbed her breasts against him. Mr Lim stepped back, staring at her with an expression lingering from amazement towards terror. She wanted to laugh. Then he reached out and clasped one breast and the other then hastily removed his hands.

The pressure of his touch shocked her, she gasped.

She pulled herself together and flounced out, turning to give Mr Lim a wink which he would recall with great pleasure to the end of his days.

'I can never do that again,' she said, 'it just came over me.' And she gave him a radiant smile before sweeping out into the factory area.

In some trepidation he showed her how to lock up.

Mr Lim must have spoken to Mr Hidalgo.

When she had finished her costume she resolved never to use Polka Dot's machines for her own purposes again. Then she determined she would never need to.

Not long after the incident with Mr Lim which she had recalled obsessively for days, probing for glimmers of hilarity, she found herself idly saying to Mr Iriye that if there were special customers who wanted to practise their English more she might be able to have coffee with them.

He nodded, smiling, as if he had hoped this would happen.

She had decided she would confine herself to blow jobs and be utterly discreet - they would want that, her important businessmen.

She borrowed a book on geisha from the Kings Cross library. She found it compelling. Then she discovered another book about them. She devoured that book too.

Michiyo would notice, what would Michiyo think? Michiyo had seemed to follow her lead and moved out of the hostel. She was now sharing a place with another Japanese girl and a Korean girl not far from Mr Kakaburi's apartment. She was supposed to be saving up for her business in Kyoto. 'Asian girls like to live in CBD,' she had shrugged. It was a very big apartment and the two other girls seemed to have plenty of money and not to take their studies very seriously. 'Their parents are rich. Lucky girls.'

Who knew what was going on.

She enjoyed being immersed in this new life, perilously high and confident. Mr Kakaburi had introduced her to some people he described as 'friends' but maybe they were business acquaintances - did it matter? - as his 'Australian girlfriend'. He had asked her to choose an Australian name for him. She had come up with Cal, short for Calvin. He had looked worried and evidently consulted with someone because the next time she saw him he was very pleased. 'Cal very cool name,' he beamed, 'I use for Australia.'

She told him she was looking for a laptop to use at uni next year. He took a great interest  and had made her stare, perplexed, at eight different ones before saying this was the one she should get. 'Very expensive in Australia,' he had shaken his head sadly. It was lying on his coffee table the next time she visited. He had chosen a black one with purple trim to match her handbag. She thought maybe he loved her.

She had rung Kath as requested. Kath reaffirmed herself as an ally, told her just to let Therese drink, there was nothing she could do, they'd all tried. Kath brought her long monologue towards an end by saying, 'It's her birthday on the twenty-first of November. Birthday's are important to her. Very. She loves the opera. I can't stand it, I'm always worried those huge women will sit on those silly little men. Anyway, she's got you now, that's good. You like that sort of thing, don't you?'  Then that they must have her out on the boat some time, she wanted to show her to Mort. What was she doing for Christmas?

The only night she had free was Monday and the Monday closest to the twenty-first the Australian Opera was doing Lulu. Oh well. She ran it by Therese. Therese said she would consult her Kobbé's Complete Book of Opera. The next day she gave her response. It was very modern and she didn't like modern opera except for Benjamin Britten and Janàcek - Katya Kabanova - was one of her favourite operas and she loved Jenufa but her favourite was - 'do you know much about opera? No? You should start with Rigoletto, I have the complete recording, we'll listen to it one afternoon. When you're not busy.'

She had never seen Therese as interested as this before.

So they were going to give Lulu a go.

She dreaded the evening but it was necessary.

Therese had her hair done. She consulted on whether her frock was fashionable enough. She thought about new shoes.

Therese spent all afternoon getting ready and was sitting waiting at exactly seven as arranged. They were to have a drink in there.

This is all wrong, she thought. She squirmed as the evidently lesbian Gräfin Geschwitz insinuated herself towards Lulu in a dinner suit. Therese seemed to be gazing stonily at the bizarre and melodramatic goings-on on stage; the music was far from accommodating. She made up her mind to suggest they leave at the first interval. She had booked a table for supper at a nearby hotel but they could go early and if it was full there were plenty of other hotels nearby. She would ply Therese with drinks. She badly wanted a couple of whiskies herself.

No, Therese did not want to go at the first interval. No she didn't want champagne, or anything, but you go ahead. Therese appeared to be frozen with a determination to be polite and stick this out but as they gazed down the harbour she suddenly burst out, 'Isn't it wonderful? The sets are so ... they remind me of beautiful old films. And the costumes. Like Cary Grant and whoever.'

Back in the theatre Therese was restored to immobility and so she remained throughout the opera until the moment Geschwitz flung herself between Jack the Ripper and Lulu. Therese began to cry.

Over supper Therese cried again at the recollection.. She composed herself complimenting the choice of wine. And had to struggle to overcome her embarrassment when the waiter brought out the special birthday cake. She rather gallantly waved her champagne at the people at the next table who had struck up 'Happy birthday' when it appeared. Therese was having a wonderful time.

In the taxi going home she said, 'I won't sleep all night, that was the most wonderful thing I have ever seen. The intensity!'

She herself didn't sleep at all well. She blamed the coffee they had had with the cake. She was tormented by the opera. Why did all those people bother with Lulu - Dr Schön, Alwa? A distinguished woman like Geschwitz wouldn't waste her time on a creature like that. It was so ridiculous. As if ... It was a stupid opera. She thought longingly of Pelléas, why couldn't it have been that?

Therese's note read Thank you so much for my birthday treat. I will never forget it. I have never been so spoilt.  Lulu by Alban Berg is now one of my favourite operas. It was so exciting! Thank you once again.

She found it when she came in late from a night at the restaurant which had extended into a whisky with a Mr Naito. He had wanted to come and see where she lived and had become increasingly abrupt when she demurred. She had ended by saying her mother was not well and would be woken up. His eyebrows had shot up at this, as far as she could tell, in genuine astonishment. She had pressed her advantage by saying quite loudly that she would like him to see her to a taxi now and had risen. He rose, glancing around the hotel area and had followed her to the entrance. He had handed quite a lot of money to her in the cab but she had dreamt of more.

She wondered now if she should get her own place but dismissed the idea. Apart from the expense, she was growing fond of Therese.

One morning a week later she had been alerted by the sound of Therese's phone ringing. It had to be Kath, returned from Malaysia where she had accompanied Mort on a trip - 'part business, part pleasure'. Therese had waited in vain for a call or card. From her room she tuned into Therese's abrupt cadences and then the call was over. She found Therese sitting very upright and staring unseeing at the TV. She barely answered her greeting.

On the way to Polka Dot she checked her post office box. A letter from the university congratulated her on securing a place in Information Sciences. Her place in the course was conditional upon her being granted an appropriate visa and on the verification of her secondary and tertiary education achievements. This evidence should be presented to the Department Secretary for sighting as soon as possible. Photocopies must be validated by the issuing authority. Please provide English translations by a translator accredited by the National Accreditation Authority for Translators and Interpreters (NAAATI) if the documents are in a language other than English. You will then be provided with a letter to present with her other documentation to the Department of Immigration and Multicultural and Indigenous Affairs when applying for a study visa. The International Students Office is pleased to advise any overseas students about visa requirements and on any other matter in relation to overseas students at the university.

Her immediate pleasure was doused by the idea of the bureaucratic quagmire she had to wade through to begin at the university. It was impossible.

But as the fabrics ran through the powerful needles guided by her hands she began to count off the steps she required. Lainie would help. She would ring her best friend Gemma and get her to help Lainie to send the right things. She would tell Gemma not to tell Lainie or her parents but she had ditched Lyntie because she had met an Australian boy who was The One. She couldn't help it, it just happened. Gemma would be appalled and thrilled. She had always been rather keen on Lynton herself.

The visa business was a nightmare. But she spoke English, she had half of one year's fees already, she had a tax number, she had a respectable home, she had a job, she had shares ... She could say she did a lot of overtime and special work for weddings and other occasions like funerals. She would go and discuss requirements at the International Students' Office. She would ring in her break and make an appointment. She must make more money.

Lady Tierney was just in front of her when she arrived home from the restaurant. She had been greeting the quiet old lady ever since she had moved into 'Longleat'.

Lady Tierney paused on the stairs. 'That was such a kind thing you did for Mrs Sullivan - on her birthday. She told me about it. I know it meant so much to her. She knows how lucky she is to have found you ... '

'And I feel very fortunate to be living here,' she replied with professional brightness.

Lady Tierney turned again to look into her. After a while her eyes seemed to say, 'I see ...'

She flinched.

'Nevertheless ... ' Lady Tierney said before going on her way.

She fell asleep worrying about just how much wise old Lady Tierney had discerned.

In the morning she sat to drink her tea with Therese who was in front of the TV. 'I saw Lady Tierney last night.'

A nod.

'She seemed very well. She asked after you.'

Therese swung around, 'Why'd she do that? What did she want to know?'

'Nothing. She just said to say hello. She just asked how you were.'

'She knows how I am, I just spoke to her the other day. She ought to mind her own business. We've all got to pay up by the sixteenth, I know that.'

She sipped and watched the woman who was showing them how to make waffles in a waffle-maker. 'I love waffles,' she said, 'with raspberry jam. I used to go into college early when I got my student allowance and have one with coffee. It was fresh in the morning.' Therese glowered at the screen but she could not help herself, 'Do you? How's Kath? Have you heard anything?'

'Why do you need to know that?' Therese's eyes were blazing.

'I ... don't. I ... just wondered.'

'Well don't.'

After a considerable silence Therese offered, 'Kath Ravel has forgotten her old friends while she gallivants around ... those - Bali or wherever with that Mort Ravel who made his pile in the eighties when everyone else went bust - in real estate, she says. Huh! Buying up mortgages that some poor battler got stuck with when the interest rates went through the roof. Scum. Carrion crows. Frank Sullivan had his faults and he wasn't much of a businessman in the end but he didn't prey on the down-and-outs.'

Therese became a little contrite after this outburst. 'I suppose she didn't have time. He'd have been rushing her off her feet and in that heat with that weight she carries she probably didn't get a moment to herself. You needn't mention what I said.'

'Is she back yet?' she ventured after a while by way of a response.

'She came back last Sunday. Didn't hear a thing, she could have been blown up for all I knew. That Mort wouldn't have bothered to let me know.'

She got ready to go.

She had an interview at the university International Students Office that afternoon. Mr Hidalgo just nodded when she said she would be away for a couple of hours in the afternoon.

A woman wearing brown trousers and a cream shiny shirt ushered her brusquely into the small office. The officer seemed to become genuinely interested as she made out her predicament. She said she had the money to pay her fees for next year now and she would have the money for the following years but she couldn't exactly show that. What would the best way be to present her information to the Department of Immigration. She explained that she had two good jobs at the moment and that she could continue with the other one - the night one which paid very well - while she was studying. It wouldn't interfere, it was flexible - the tourist industry, acting ... showing people around, helping them to feel at home.

The Student Officer felt perplexed - what attitude she should assume? She was used to the prevarications of international students, they drove her to subdued hostility but this girl seemed a different kind of case.

She noted the officer looking doubtful so said, 'I have some shares. I don't want to sell them. I promised Mum when she took me to the bank and they brought them up from the strong room that I wouldn't ... ' She looked down. And then raised her eyes to say, 'She's gone now.'

The officer considered. 'They're not enough? They don't generate enough income so that you can show the Department you have a sufficient source of income?'

She shook her head. 'They'd get me through a year. Or so. In an emergency. But I promised Mum.'

The officer thought. 'It can all depend on how you put it. We can't fill the forms in for you, that would involve us in a legal situation and that's not what we're here for but there are experts who can help you to put things so that the Immigration Department - so that you make your case to the Department as strongly as possible. So that the assessing officer sees things your way. If you see the difference.'

She nodded she could.

'It can make all the difference. I'm not supposed to do this but ... ' She pulled a card from her wallet. 'This person will be able to help you. She's very reasonable. She used to work for the Department so she knows all the ... right ways to put things. I should declare my interest here, she's my partner actually but that has nothing to do with it, she's just someone I know who can help you where the university can't. She can't offer guarantees but she's got a lot of experience in citizenship applications. Her success rate is quite high. Of course some cases are hopeless but you've got a lot going for you.'

The officer finished the interview by requiring assurances about her abode and phone number, that she did have the money up front to pay the fees.

The next day she examined the many ads in the local paper for lovely young women wanting to earn extra money.

As she sewed she concluded that she couldn't do that. For sure there would be someone who would take a lot of the money she earned. And just who would she end up being involved with?  It was probably safe - well some of them seemed to be, there were so many some of them must be almost respectable but she couldn't take the risk. She should do it for herself. She had managed Mr Lim, she had extricated herself quite graciously from the predicament with Mr Naito, she felt she was expert at managing the Japanese businessmen at the restaurant.

After the restaurant she went into an adult book shop she had noticed. It was not far from Mr Kakaburi's. There was only one other customer and a man and woman attending. The atmosphere was strange - the shop was lit with appalling brightness, everything seemed to shine in the cellophane or the plastic wrap it was tightly bound in. There were glass counters of implements and racks of apparel, chained against theft. High on a wall a video was playing. On the screen two girls, a blond, the other with very dyed black hair were cavorting while a very ordinary looking not young man wanked.  Every now and again he would rise and caress one of the girls.

She was fascinated.

'Anything special I can help you with dear?' the woman was standing beside her. Her expression was professionally blasé.

'No. Um, I was looking for magazines, a selection.'

The woman looked thoughtful. 'We have a selection of second hand magazines. Videos and C D's - we have a much bigger range ... no-one goes in for magazines much these days, except collectors.' She eyed her with sudden attention, in case. 'Over here.'

She followed.

The other assistant, a man who seemed to be the woman's partner, took an interest too.

She thought they both looked as though they had once been prostitutes. She was more fascinated by them than the array of magazines displayed. She chose three hastily. What if someone had seen her come in here - Mr Iriye or Michiyo, one of the customers?

She prayed Therese wasn't up. The brown paper bag looked so obvious. She had decided to tell her they were patterns she had to deliver for work tomorrow.

Therese was up but had passed out in front of the TV.  How long ago, she couldn't tell. An almost entire cigarette of ash lay in the tray. She put her things in her room and set about getting Therese to bed. Then she tidied up. Therese was fiendish about clearing evidence of her drinking. The gin bottle with its accompanying tonic empties were carefully wrapped in newspaper first thing each morning and hurried down to the ‘Longleat’ rubbish bins. Therese hated to be caught doing this.

On her way to Polka Dot, she rang and made an appointment to see the immigration consultant. They were to meet in a few days. She worked from home. 'Home' turned out to be a few suburbs down Parramatta Road.

The door was opened by an older and rougher simulacrum of the university International Student Officer. A hairy knee high dog growled. 'Quiet! Natalie, still!'  The simulacrum offered a challenging glare.

She asked to see the name on the card.

'That's me.' The so-who-wants-to-know look continued to hover.

She considered leaving then offered an explanation.

The expression melted. 'Oh sorry, you just caught me in the middle of something. Come in, I was expecting you.'

She followed her nervously down the hall of the single storey terrace, Natalie sniffing after her.

The place flowed into a sunny courtyard into which a bright red car was jammed.

They settled in a small room opposite a kitchen.

'Don't take any notice of Natalie, she'll calm down soon, she's not used to strangers,' the immigration consultant said. She took out a clip board with a form on it.

The fee quoted had been quite high. She contemplated the consultant. The woman not only had an air of aggression but also of shiftiness. So she decided to see how it went.

They got through the clip board form. And had a chat which took her no further than she had been with the partner at the university.

'I'm about ready for a cuppa, how about you?'

She attended in the kitchen as the tea was made with exquisite attention. It was served in delicate cups with a lemon biscuit which melted in your mouth. The consultant confessed to being the cook.

Then she got tough and real. 'You haven't got enough money,' she announced after she'd wrung the truth of her financial position out of her.

'But I'll be earning - '

'They all say that.'

At the downcast look she added, 'Never mind, you're way ahead of a lot.' She sketched some strategies, all of which would take too much time or seemed impossible.

By the end of the interview she was feeling more despondent than when she had arrived. They made an arrangement for her to bring the forms from the Department. She paid in cash and no receipt was offered.

The consultant summed up at the door, 'You're fine on two out of three - travel, you don't have to worry about that; course fees you've got - now we've got to concentrate on living costs. Are you sure there isn't anyone who could say they're going to provide for you?'

She said she'd think about it but she didn't think so.

'What would really help is if you married some nice Australian boy ...?'

She said she didn't think she could do that.

That night the consultant and the officer had a stimulating time speculating whether she was in fact a Sister.

'You know those English intellectual types, you can never tell, they're so femme.'

'Like Virginia Woolf.'

They were very satisfied by their common interest in her.

She wondered if Mr Lim ....? No. Mr Iriye? She wondered if Cal was considering Australian citizenship.

She spent the night in the restaurant contemplating Mr Iriye. She realised she knew nothing about him. Was he married? Was his wife here or in Japan? She would ask Michiyo.

Michiyo said she knew nothing about Mr Iriye's personal life, it was not the Japanese way to ask many questions.

A few nights later she approached Mr Iriye after the last customer had gone. She explained she wanted to stay in Australia. Did he know any way that would help her to do that?

Mr Iriye shook his head and said he was very sorry.

She said one way was for someone to say she had enough money to live on for a while. All they would have to do was sign a piece of paper.

'Ah,' Mr Iriye said.

She knew enough from reading the geisha books to leave it at that for the time being. She decided to consult Michiyo on a suitable gift for Mr Iriye.

'It is very hard question. I do not know him. Usually whisky, perhaps. But he owns restaurant.'

She explained the idiom 'taking coals to Newcastle'. Michiyo repeated it thoughtfully. She realised Michiyo was very embarrassed by her questions about Mr Iriye so she explained her motive - to get him to sign a document to say she would have enough money to live on in Australia.

Michiyo looked at her in astonishment then suggested they study his ties and then see if they could find one which was in line with his taste. 'You could give tie, see what happen.'

She was quite excited by this idea, mainly because it enabled her to feel as though she was on the geisha path. As soon as she was able, she went into the city and began to study ties. The variety overwhelmed her, she had had no idea they came in such a huge range of designs and colours. She felt she was entering another reality. Her father hardly ever wore them, she recalled being so proud of him when he did - going to a funeral once and a wedding - but she could not summon any memory of his tie. She imagined it had been some horrible brown, a snaking pattern. She sought refuge from her confusion in the area dedicated to colognes. A breathtakingly beautiful and exquisitely groomed young man took a lot of care spraying some samples on rectangles of cardboard for her. He asked if he could know who it was for - brother, boyfriend, father? It all depended what sort of guy ... She explained it was for her Japanese ... friend. Very smart, up to date. But what if she wanted to get something for his father who was coming to visit? It was a Japanese custom to give gifts - you know, beautifully wrapped from the right store.

He smiled. And dealt in turn with the two different problems.

She left the store with a carry bag containing a beautifully wrapped cologne for Cal and many squares of scented cardboard in her handbag.

That night instead of going to sleep perusing the porn magazines as she had for the last week or so, she masturbated to the scented cardboard rectangles. She was a geisha who had a series of lovers, each one represented by the lingering traces of scent. She felt the tatami matting beneath her white socked feet, the weight of the kimono and obi, heard the rustle of bamboo outside the sliding doors of her cottage, saw the shadows of their elegant long leaves waving in the light of the stone lantern beside the raked white sand. This lover was a count, he had read her his poems after she had made him tea. Now he was close. It was autumn. She inhaled the scent; cool pine.

The next day she went in and bought that one. She was very disappointed the beautiful young man wasn't so made an effort to be charming to his replacement. She decided she would see the beautiful young man again. She would walk through the store and come across him as if by chance and tell him which one she had chosen in the end for her Japanese friend's father.

She knew the moment she arrived at an inconvenient five-thirty P M that her second appointment with the immigration consultant was going to be a travesty. The girlfriend was there, and in contrast to her university self, eager. The consultant was embarrassed enough to make an awkward explanation.

Which she ignored to show her displeasure.

The girlfriend Official kept amplifying the consultant's obvious remarks - find a business mentor who'll say they need you in their organisation, maybe your current employer, or employers? Apply for a residency on the basis of your current jobs and balance that with your student visa.

'Or you could get married to the right kind of Australian, if you see what I mean, for a while,' the Official from the university added with a bright ironic smile. Who, sitting opposite her desk in her university office, would have known she could smile?

She had had enough. She rose. 'I don't think I could do that,' she announced and gathered her bag to her.

'Don't go, I haven't ...' The consultant began.

But she was already moving towards the door. She stepped elaborately around the dog which had risen to sniff at her departure.

The door needed to be unlocked.

The consultant was there with the key and some reclaimed self possession. 'Haven't you forgotten something?' She tried to make a joke of it.

'The invoice?'

'I was expecting a professional service.'

'That's what you got'

‘I don’t want to be involved in this strange collusion in any way. What would the university or the Department of Immigration think?'

'She ... I just thought she might ... You might ... '

'I feel very uncomfortable with this.'

'No need, everything is confidential here.'

'I was expecting more.'

'What? What more?'

'I expected us to spend the time actually drafting my applications and covering letters.'

'You're not ready, we needed to do some exploring of possibilities.'

She took out her purse and handed over half the fee.

The consultant took it and looked at it. 'Um, this isn't enough, it's ... '

'I haven't stayed for anything like the length of the consultation. You didn't give me a receipt for the last one.'

This created a very awkward pause.

She turned to the door. Which the consultant unlocked.

She stepped outside.

'I could give you names in the Department, names likely to be sympathetic to your case. We could draft a letter .... Ring me!' The consultant called to the departing back.

That night the consultant and the Student Officer had one of their strenuous rows. It ended in bruises.

'Mr Iriye very pleased you drink so much whisky,' Michiyo said during a moment's respite from the customers.

Her reading about geishas had sharpened her sense of nuance in Japanese expression. She really liked whisky now, was developing her taste, preferring certain brands over others on offer in the restaurant. Tonight, after the encounter with that awful immigration consultant, it had been very helpful to  sip away gaily. 'How much should I drink? I thought ... ' She suddenly felt quite angry with Michiyo.

'You like geisha, geisha always drink a lot when customers drink too much.' Michiyo tittered into her hand. It was a most uncharacteristic gesture.

Her anger turned to puzzlement. Was this a good or bad thing?

After the restaurant she revisited the adult bookshop and selected some more porn. She included some gay male porn. She found it very soothing to sit up in bed contemplating the photographs and reading the stories. She felt she was understanding some tacit reality. But in the dark her mind flew back to Michiyo's comment. What did it mean? She would ask her. Her dreams took over from her thoughts. Michiyo was her geisha 'sister'. They were tittering, clattering together down a cobbled road on their way to work. It was raining and they had their most expensive silk kimonos on. Her wig pressed almost unbearably on her head. Then she realised neither of them knew the way. The wind was blowing her umbrella so that it forced her along. She looked around and recognised the street - it was painfully squalid. She was being pushed home, in her heavy wig and painted white face and sumptuous silk. Her father would hit the roof. She struggled against the terrible wind.

In the morning she decided the pile of porn was getting too high. She had noticed the adult bookshop bought second hand books and magazines. She would return some on her way to the restaurant. She would ring Gemma. She would ring about five-thirty, that would make it seven-thirty in the morning there.

Gemma sounded sleepy but when she realised who it was shrilled, 'Why haven't you written? Everyone says you've broken up with Lyntie. Where is he? He rang your mother.'

She said, 'Listen. I met someone, my soul mate. I just ... It was easier just to get away from Lynton. I realised he's not the one. When I met Mark - he's an Australian. I can't ever leave him. I've enrolled in a course here. I knew you'd understand but I need my A levels certificate and my university results. Will you help Lainie to send the right things? She knows where they are in my desk drawer. I just want you to make sure she sends the right ones. I need them right away. Mum always liked you, she'll listen to you. Just tell her I met someone who was right for me and ... I'm bringing him over to meet you all soon. At the end of next year. Please Gem, you know what Lainie's like, she'll get it wrong or forget or something. I really need them.'

She gave Gemma her post box number and finished the conversation by raving about Australia.

'You sounded different, I didn't recognise you at first, now you sound like you, you must be getting an Australian accent. I didn't know they sounded like that.'

'They do in Sydney, it's very cosmopolitan - at least Mark's family speaks ... the Australian accent's changing, it's not like you hear on T V, only country people speak like that. You'll have to come. How's Vi? You'll never guess, I'm sewing for a living, it's great. How's working in Johnston's?'

She shuddered when she clicked her phone off. She didn't want to know anyone there. Then she thought she'd better start writing to Mum and Dad, that way she could keep things under control.

The policewoman who had found her in the hostel was often on patrol in the area. She always smiled at her. When the policewoman smiled back she reminded her of their encounter. She thanked the policewoman and explained everything had worked out all right and she wasn't being harassed any more. She loved Australia and had been awarded a residency here. Should she come into the station and register or something?

Robyn said no.

'I'd like to buy you a cup of coffee. Do you go on patrol with that guy who helped?'

'I can't even remember who it was. Oh, this is Hamid.'

She smiled at Hamid and told them to drop into the cafe on the way back if they liked, she'd organise coffee and cake for them there.

'Thanks. We might.'

She went over to the cafe opposite 'Longleat' and organised to pay for whatever they might have.

Robyn and whoever was patrolling with her always waved and exchanged pleasantries from then on.

The restaurant became busy with company Christmas parties. The tips were sometimes enormous.

Mr Iriye had discreetly overseen her availability after the restaurant. She had several discreet liaisons with businessmen and believed she had handled them very well. She believed her understanding of geisha helped her to transact these encounters with grace. While she knew geisha did not offer sexual services, she believed comporting herself like one inspired restraint and dignity in her clients. Her study of porn had helped her imagine her way into the role but had made her afraid of danger and bizarre demands. So far prostitution had proved easier in the act than she had imagined but the self-disgust afterwards was intense. However she did not intend to follow this profession for long and the self-disgust was resolving into fear others would find out.

Mr Iriye signed an immigration document guaranteeing her a year's work at the required level of income.

She bought a few more shares, using her laptop.

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

THAT WOULD BE ME

Chapter Three

in which our heroine strengthens her grip on her new world and begins to crystallise a new identity

She opened the wardrobe to put her dress away. Therese had been through it. She supposed it was inevitable but she had only been there two days. Oh well. She would have to remember to be careful. The only thing was the bank account she had just opened ... She was too tired. She fell asleep thinking she must get another dress for the restaurant.

Therese was smoking and sipping at a mug of tea in front of the t v when she came into the lounge room.

'Good morning.'

Therese nodded and returned her attention to the t v and her cigarette.

She rejoined her with tea and toast.

A woman in L A was reporting about film stars.

'Isn't she gorgeous? The Americans certainly know how to do make-up and hair. Oh look at her dress, the hem lines are up again. Any time you want me to go through your wardrobe we could get out your sewing machine and I could help you take up your hems, Therese.' She was stabbed with anxiety as she said it. It had been completely unpremeditated. She froze in horror.

Therese gaped. And glanced back at the screen.

'You could help me with mine - not that I have ... I've only got one good dress.'

'I only bother about a few. I don't know why I don't throw the others out - give them to St Vincent de Paul. There's a stall with second hand things down near the church, if you're interested.'

She said she knew the stall.

'That's lovely. You've got really lovely taste.' She felt she could do better than that. Therese's taste was not lovely, it was ordinary to garish. They were standing in front of Therese's wardrobe examining her clothes.

She pinned up two hems while Therese stood patiently in the sunroom.

They got the sewing machine out of the back of Therese's wardrobe, set it up in the sunroom, decided Therese would need to go into town to get some matching thread for one. But she could see what they had at work, she'd just snip a tiny bit from the linings to match.

She said good-bye to Therese and set out for 'uni'.

She did indeed go to 'uni'. She went to the university library and began reading through the handbook again. She had settled on Bachelor of Arts in Communication (Media Arts and Production). she would concentrate on multimedia and perhaps video. It was composed of a cultural studies strand and a professional strand. She chose a subject called Power and Change in Australia and sought out some of the required texts. She skimmed, settling on sections which arrested her attention. It was quite interesting. She had no idea Australia was like that.

Then she wandered around, ending in the cafeteria, looking and listening to the students. Same/different, she thought. She wouldn't sound like that one, oh no. She would have to go to a lecture to see what the Communications students were like, what they wore.

She would have to get that thread for Therese's dresses and where could she get some material and a pattern to make her own dress?

She settled with another book at a table where a number of girls were discussing an assignment. They were nurses. During a pause she asked their advice, explaining she had just arrived from the U K. One of them suggested a place. And then said she'd show her if she liked to wait a bit, they just had to work out what they were doing in this group work thing.

They went into town together and the girl said she'd come with her.

'Australians are so friendly.'

'I'm not Australian, I'm a Cook Islander, except I've never been to the Cook Islands. I was brought up in Auckland and then we moved to Australia. I'm going one day, though.'

They looked at the fabrics together and then some patterns. She bought a pattern. Beverley said she thought you could get really good fabrics at Cabramatta where the Vietnamese were. 'Do you know where that is?'

They were going to go together and have a fantastic lunch on Thursday. 'My friend knows the best restaurant. She was the one with her hair tied on top of her head with that lily. Minh. She's gorgeous. She'll come with us.

As they parted, Beverley taught her to say kia orana.

She had forgotten the treads for Therese’s hems.

Cabramatta was a Vietnamese town evolved from Sydney suburbia. Minh took over. They would go to this restaurant for lunch. They would have prawns on sugar cane, specialty. They had Vietnamese beer. Beverley told her about the university. She was married and lived in Homebush, she must come with her and her husband to the Flemington markets. Minh was going to become a physiotherapist, nursing was a step on the way. Beverley had always wanted to be a nurse.

She found herself telling them that she had decided to do Communications at the university because she wanted to develop education methods online so that people in the Pacific and Southeast Asia could have access to ... and she had broken up with her boyfriend so she came out early to enrol and see about a job and somewhere to live - to get used to living in a foreign place, she hadn't been away from home much and she didn't have any relatives out here, she didn't have many relatives in any case. She had a job in a Japanese restaurant. She was about to say 'in the kitchen' when she realised the beer had got to her and why complicate? Things were already too complicated with Therese. Complication was stressful.

Beverley said she would be her family.

'I'm worried about my visa.'

After a discussion Beverley and Minh fell thoughtful. Visas were a constant issue for overseas students.

'Don't worry, you speak very good - perfect, perfect English, you are way ahead. Speak English, have a job, way ahead. Get married to Australian boy, no problems.'

Beverley nodded solemnly.

Minh had no doubts about the fabric shop they should go to, smiling and greeting the owners as they entered. She became authoritative, would only countenance silk.

'They all wear silk, they want me to be Australian.'

'You're not Australian, you’re English.'

'Yes but not for long. The Japanese can't tell the difference. Cotton. They want me to be different, simpler. It's much easier to sew.'

None of the cottons seemed right to Minh.

She settled on a very fine wool, ignoring the looks Beverley and Minh exchanged when they were told the price.

On the way back into town she realised her pattern wouldn't do so she got off at Town Hall and bought another as well as the threads for Therese's hems.

It was to be a dark blue dress with a small jacket. She knew the jacket would push her sewing skills to their limits.

Therese was asleep in front of the television when she got home, a glass beside her and a bottle of gin.

She set to work. She sewed Therese's hems first. Shook the dresses out and hung them in the bathroom. Then she laid the pattern out on the sunroom floor. She could not begin cutting. The fabric had cost so much, she should have got another metre but had been intimidated by Beverley and Minh's disapproval of what she was paying. There was no room for error. Suddenly she dismissed her doubts and began.

She had nearly finished cutting out the dress when she heard Therese stirring. 'I'm home,' she called, 'I'm in here. I've finished your dresses.' After a while she heard a cigarette being lit. She felt very apprehensive. She got up and entered the lounge. Therese was slumped in the lounge, cigarette dangling between her fingers, eyes closed. She opened them and looked startled.

'Hi. I hung your dresses in the bathroom, they're finished.'

After a while Therese nodded.

'How was your day?'

'Pretty good,' Therese said and then coughed to clear her throat. 'Just having a relax in front of the tele. I'll get a cup of tea in a moment.'

She hesitated over offering to make one for Therese but some instinct prompted her not to. 'Do you want to try the dresses on?'

'In a minute.' Therese focused on the TV.

So she went back to her cutting out.

She was contemplating the jacket when she heard Therese stirring from her chair. She stood up and turned. Therese was looking at the material pinned to the pattern strewn about the floor.

'You won't be able to leave that there. What a mess.'

'I won't be leaving it there. I'll hang it in my wardrobe when I've finished cutting it out.'

Therese thought about this. 'I don't want that machine left out. I've been thinking about you, where was it you said you worked?'

'Camperdown.'

'You should use their machines. What's the name of the place?'

'It doesn't have a name, it's a small workshop. I mightn't be working there much longer, I'm going out tonight to try out in a restaurant.' She began gathering the material together to hide her distress. Then she turned, 'Therese, your dresses are hanging in the bathroom. When you've tried them on we can put the machine back if they're right. I didn't realise ... You did say I could use the machine. It's only been out one day.'

'Well I've been thinking about it.'  Therese went back to her chair.

She could hear a drink being poured.

Therese was focused on the TV as she carried the pieces of the garments into her room.

She closed the door and shook. She shook violently and could not stop. She struggled to get some sort of control. She had to deal with things. She grabbed up her bag and opened the door. Therese looked up as she walked through and out of the flat.

She walked to the round about at the end of the road. She descended into the park and set out to walk right around it. She looked at the hundreds of yachts and launches moored in the marina. She continued walking past the yacht club. There was the woman who had told her Nicole Kidman lived here. 'And how is Stella today?' she asked as they were about to pass and stooped to look into Stella's brown eyes. Stella wagged her tail.

Stella had had a bit of a cold, that was why she was wearing her coat even though there was no wind. She admired the coat and told the woman where she lived. The woman pointed out a block of flats she had lived in a long time ago before she was married. 'It's changing,' she said, 'they're squashing places in where you wouldn't believe they could. Everyone wants to live in the city these days. It used to be for interesting people, now they get their kids off their hands and they want to move in from those suburbs. You can't blame them.'

She reached the point and gazed down the harbour. The sunlight striped the hills on the North Shore with a deep comforting green scattered with the glowing of red roof tiles. Below her the gold light struck bars of emerald in the water. She could feel the fading sun bringing life back into her shocked face. She wanted a cup of tea desperately.

She was about to go into the cafe when she determined she would save money so she went into the corner shop instead and bought teabags and milk. She hesitated over and rejected biscuits. She could have something to eat at the restaurant.

Therese shifted in agitation when she walked in.

'I'm making a cup of tea. Would you like one?'

'No. Thanks ... Yes, that might be nice. Get me ready for dinner.'

She sat down with Therese and they sipped their tea in silence.

'What's it like out?'

'Lovely. The wind's dropped.'

'It'll soon be summer.'

When she had finished her tea she got up. 'Finished?' she said to Therese, holding out her hand for the mug.

'What? Oh. Not quite.' Therese took a gulp of the barely touched tea.

She got ready for work. On her way through the lounge room she said, 'Wish me luck.'

'What for?'

'This new job. In the restaurant.'

'Oh. Good luck.'

She felt more than dejected. She could barely touch the plate of morsels the chef offered her. How could she perform for the customers?

The whisky glowed in front of her. She was getting really desperate. If only it were sake, she thought, taking a sip. Ugh. She couldn't bear whisky. Then she noticed the avidity with which the table host responded to her sip. She took another sip and said, 'Very good whisky. I have not had a very successful day so I am hoping it might brighten me up.'

'Have a go mate,' the Japanese man said and his guests looked admiringly and then at her, smiling.

'You bet I will, mate.' The roughness of her Australian accent thrilled her.

The host almost sprang back. Then, 'Ahhhh,' he sighed with delight.

There were murmurs and a ripple of applause.

She noticed Mr Iriye observing.

'You've got to keep those kangaroos tied down.'

'Too bloody right.'

She burst out laughing at this and clinked his glass.

Everyone was most happy.

She escaped to the next table and managed some more whisky. She could see why people drank it. Poor old fucking Therese and her cold perfumed gin.

At the end of the night Mr Iriye sent Michiyo to her. 'Mr Chiaki san would like you to have a drink with him.'

She was aware of Mr Iriye watching for her reaction.

'Tonight? Not tonight ... I don't think.' Her mind raced on - what if she had to move out, she should really buy a sewing machine, that fucking Therese, she couldn't stand it, what would it be worth? what would she have to do? 'Perhaps another night,' she said. 'Would you please tell Mr ... what's his name? I am too tired tonight. I have to ... What would a Japanese girl say, Michiyo?'

'Um, sister sick, has to go home to look after her.'

'I'll do it, I'll tell Chaiki san myself.'

Michiyo stopped her. And she noticed Mr Iriye moving off to deal with Mr Chiaki.

It was perhaps a good thing because Mr Kakaburi turned up.

She asked him to sit down and would he mind waiting while she said good night to Mr Iriye.

Mr Iriye handed her her envelope with a new grave searching look.

What did it mean?

'I'm drunk on all the whisky,' she whispered to Michiyo, 'please come with us.'

Mr Kakaburi didn't seem to mind. They went to an expensive hotel and had a relaxing time. Mr Kakaburi told her she should sell her property and buy shares.

'What shares?' she asked.

He wrote some down for her.

'Which ones are Australian?'

He looked puzzled and then inspired and wrote down some more names for her.

He dropped Michiyo off at the hostel and then took her to her new home.

'Thank you,' she said, 'I really needed that. And thank you for the stock market tips.' She touched the back of his hands and was gone.

Therese's flat was silent and reeked of cigarette smoke. A  note declared itself in the immaculate lounge room -Will you be here on Sunday? Kath is coming.

After considering the implications of this, she carefully printed underneath Therese's intermittently controlled writing Would love to meet Kath. I got the job!

She opened Mr Iriye's envelope in her room. Mr Chiaki or someone must have been very pleased. She would see how many of Mr Kakaburi's shares she could buy with what she made tomorrow and Saturday and then she would go back to building up her bank account. Sunday could look after itself. Tomorrow she would check the hostel for any mail and get a post office box at Potts Point, she would go out to the university and read some more books and find out how you buy shares ... Therese did not really matter, she could always move into another hostel for a while. All she had to lose was the reek of cigarette smoke. It was disgusting. It was a good thing so many of the Japanese smoked. She hoped Mr Kakaburi couldn't smell it, he was so immaculate himself.

Therese was waiting for her when she made her way to the bathroom in the morning, upright with a mug of tea on the table beside her lounge chair. 'Good morning.'

'Good morning Therese.' She kept going. Her anxiety had given way to anger. If Therese wanted her out, O K. She'd get her money back and let Therese know she wouldn't get anyone better - or probably anyone at all - to help her pay for the fire order renovations.

She made straight for her bedroom but Therese spoke. 'So you'll be here to meet Kath on Sunday?'

'What time Therese?'

'Lunch time. I said to come at twelve. I'll make some sandwiches. I'm going in to D J's to get some decent bread. I'll freeze it. We'll probably have a glass of wine, Kath always brings a bottle. She's like that. She's a real good friend. We've known one another since the Delprado and Hunt days.'

 She smiled and kept going.

Therese was getting ready to go out herself when she left. She didn't bother to call out good-bye.

While she was in the post office organising a post box she noticed they sold mobile phones. She bought one. As far as she knew, Therese's was left unused for months on end – she could see problems over splitting bills - and she wanted to be able to make calls without Therese listening. Then she went to the university.

On the way she bought a paper.

She couldn't see Minh or Beverley. She dabbled in some more of the recommended reading for her Information Sciences course, lifting her eyes when her brain had started to go leaden to think about what she would do. She couldn't hide out here every day avoiding Therese and pretending, there were months to go until she could really begin her course. She couldn't wander around town all day. And what was she going to do with the cut out material hanging and lying in her wardrobe? Could she hire a machine somewhere? Minh might know someone. She flicked through the paper to Employment - not much. Here was one for a machinist. What if she went back out to Cabramatta and asked in the fabric shop?

She told the girl sitting next to her in the students' cafeteria that she had to get a job and the only skill she had was dressmaking. The girl said to see a counsellor, they might be able to help and get one of Saturday's papers, they have all the jobs in them.

She told the librarian she had forgotten her card, all she had was her passport ... could she borrow last Saturday's ... she'd sit just here. The librarian pointed to a pile of newspapers.

There were three likelies.

She got out her phone. This was her first mobile phone. It wasn't the exquisite hi tech masterpiece Michiyo used but it was rather pretty. She went outside and rang. When she had clicked off from the first call she was in love with it. It gave her confidence, it made her feel secure. The second caller wanted the work done at home on your own machine. She ended with two appointments for Monday. She wanted to rest now.

Therese, flanked by gin and facing the TV, was surprised to see her. 'You're in early.'

'Yes,' she replied, fighting down an urge to say a lecture was cancelled, she had no lectures on Friday afternoon, she felt sick ... 'I have to have a rest before my new job. At the restaurant. How was your shopping?'

'Good. When you've got a moment we should have a chat.'

In her room she fought down a tumult of attitudes, responses, approaches, modus operandi.

'I'm making some tea, would you like some?'

Therese said she'd just had some - late lunch.

She sat down in the other lounge chair and focused on the TV. It was a chat show. She wanted to laugh.

Therese cleared her throat. 'Kath thought it would be a good idea if we talked about expenses.'

She smiled and nodded encouragingly.

A little cough. 'The phone.'

'I have a mobile, Therese. You can borrow it if you're going out somewhere and ... '

'The gas and the electricity.'

'My understanding was that we were going to share expenses, Therese. I'll pay half the power bills.'

'I just thought ... You mightn't be here as often as ... as much as I ... I thought you said you'd be out a lot.'

'I do have uni and a job. I've got to feel at home though, as though I can come in and - come and go as I please.'

'You can, I didn't mean ...'

'Therese, I can't live like a mouse, you know. I am paying rent, the sum we agreed on. I've paid you a bond and a month in advance.'

'I know. Kath just thought I should make things clear.'

'I thought things were. What did Kath want to know?'

'Nothing. It's got nothing to do with her. I suppose. She likes to be involved.'

'I'm looking forward to meeting your friend.' She made the word the mildest innuendo.

It worked, Therese broke into a babble - they had been the legal secretaries at Delprado and Hunt, they used to go out on Friday night with the sailing club boys after Kath got her divorce and if they had to work late they would go for a curry at India Down Under it used to be just up the road here Kath used to love it and she'd helped Kath find a flat to buy here once her divorce came through - she did well out of that, the flat, I mean when she sold it when she married Mort. She was wonderful to me when I was sick one time, used to come and visit me nearly every day in the hospital, I don't know how I ...

'She sounds like a real good friend.'

'She is, she is. The best friend I ever had, like a sister to me - better than a ... '

After a decent interval she said she'd just go and lie down now before going out to her new job. In the restaurant. 'It's Japanese. In town.'

As she was crossing the lounge Therese said, 'The machine's there for when you want to use it.'

She turned. 'I don't Therese, I have access to an industrial one at my other part time job. I'll help you put it away when you're ready.'

Therese met her with blazing eyes as she was leaving. 'No need,' she said as soon as she appeared, 'Kath will help me with that. On Sunday.' And then her eyes fell.

The restaurant was very busy. She brooded on ways of getting the whisky replaced with cold tea as she made Australian conversation with the customers. She was also picking up some Japanese phrases. They were useful for dropping from levity to a more formal tone to terminate her time with the customers. Mr Chiaki's whisky had left her with a taste for its powers. Thank god she didn't have to gulp it down like some cowgirl in a saloon; it was her role to be coarse to a degree but the occasional sip was all that was required.

She had to stop thinking about it, just do it, play it as it fell. It was a miracle of a job, she wasn't going to muck it up.

She noticed Michiyo's eyes harden a little when Mr Kakaburi told them Mr Yamada couldn't come out with them. She suggested they all go out dancing together.

Despite the queue of young people outside they were welcomed in immediately.

They took to the dance floor straight away. Michiyo seemed to forget her disappointment in the pleasure of dancing. Mr Kakaburi certainly loved dancing.

In the Ladies she told Michiyo she was tired, she had to go home, she had a big day tomorrow with the woman who owned the flat and she wanted to be fresh, she felt as if she was worn out. As she said this she felt a strong pull of fatigue. It had all been too much. She needed to rest. It had all been a great rush since she had fled Lynton in Cairns, she needed to go slow and consolidate now. What was she doing? This was mad.

She made her excuses to Mr Kakaburi but it was so loud in the pulsing, strobed club they had to go outside. She begged Michiyo to stay with Mr Kakaburi and go on dancing. She suggested to Mr Kakaburi they meet on Sunday at five in town, they could go to a film or just have coffee. She was very tired now, she had to go back to her flat.

Therese had refused offers of assistance in arranging the lunch but had taken advantage of the opportunity to ask for a hand to get the sewing machine back into her wardrobe. She had fussed in the kitchen and over the dining table for a couple of hours, there were flowers, the windows had been flung open

She felt underdressed in her skirt and blouse when Therese appeared in a self-belted floral frock wrapped in an elaborately impractical, highly decorative pinny. Her hands shook pitifully.

'Kath, this is Michelle.'

Kath was a presence, bright fabric stretched smartly across her billowing volume, matching shoes and bag, very done hair, very made-up face. The suggestion of genuine taste and a glint of humour saved her from looking like a retired madam.

Therese made off with Kath's bottle of wine after her friend had settled herself on the couch.

'So, Michelle, tell me about you,' Kath began after her first sip of wine in its crystal glass.

Michelle said she had come out from England to study Journalism at the university here in Sydney and had got sick of student digs so when she had seen Therese's ad ... '

A plate was clattered on the table.

'I believe - Therese told me you used to live here, in this area.'

'Down the road, Therese helped me find the place - Didn't you Treesie? I'm just telling Michelle how I used to live down the road. In 'Cambridge'?'

'Oh, Cambridge.'

'Do you know which one that is?'

'I've never been there. I've heard it's very lovely, the river and the colleges.'

'No! you silly goose, not Cambridge, 'the Cambridge', the house, the building, it's down near the cul de sac. That's where my flat was, the one Treesie helped me find. It needed a few things doing, I wasn't having that kitchen, not that I cook much, and while they were in I had the old bathroom ripped out.'

Therese called them to the table.

Therese was contemplating her table. She came out of her trance to tell them where to sit. Then she swept aside a net throw to reveal her art. It twinkled and shone, a posy sallied out of a silver horn in ferny fronds framing delicate shapes of pink and white and red. Their damask napkins where rolled in heavy silver rings. The plates were edged with heavy madder and gold. In the middle was a huge glass platter which radiated little triangles and rolls of brown and white bread interspersed and surrounded with tiny sprigs of parsley, radish roses and tissues of lemon.

She gaped. It was truly astonishing. Who would have guessed Therese carried this within, this delicacy and application? It was a past era, at once more refined and elaborate, more careful and innocent than any she had been in touch with.

'Therese is famous for her sandwiches. These look beautiful Treesie! We girls used to look forward to them every birthday and thing in the office, didn't we Treesie?'

Treesie nodded and indicated that Michelle should help herself. 'If there's anything you don't like just leave it.'

They were fragrant and various - asparagus, crab and cucumber, ham with an edge of mustard, liverwurst, tomato and cheese, salmon, egg, celery, lettuce shredded infinitesimally.

'Oh Therese, these are really special. Where did you learn to make them like this?'

'My grandmother, dad's mother. A better person never trod the earth.' She raised her glass.

Kath's wine was crisp. She complimented her on it, said she was very interested in Australian wines.

'Kath knows a lot about wine.'

'Too right! Mort and I like a drop. He's the real expert.'

She actually began to enjoy herself. She told Kath that her father was a doctor and her mother had been a real estate agent before she got married. She had one sister who was younger, still at school. She missed them but she loved Australia, she didn't know how she was going to go back at the end of her course.

'When's that?'

'I've got three more years to do, I'm doing honours.'

'And they make you go back at the end of it?'

'Yes. I'm afraid so.'

'You'll have to find a nice Australian boy. Treese and I will keep an eye out for you, won't we Treesie?'

Treesie nodded. She had nibbled at a few sandwiches and drunk some wine, her hands were now subdued to a tremor.

They adjourned for coffee and Therese produced petit fours.

Kath squealed and popped two on the little silver platter Therese had placed on the coffee table with the coffee cups. 'I love the mocha walnut ones! And the pistachio. Let's face it, I love them all.' She laughed again. 'Remember those chocolate things we used to buy on Saturdays when we weren't going out? We'd have them for a late supper.' She explained. 'They're from the Croissant d'Or up the road. Have you discovered that?'

She said she could hardly wait.

'Therese tells me you sew.'

Therese shifted uneasily in her chair.

'Yes. It's ... I learnt at school and now I've got a part time job sewing garments up - you know, sleeves on, that sort of thing. It's pretty boring, piece work but I've got a new - '

'Therese said you sewed her hems up beautifully.'

'Oh, hems are easy.'

'I'll have to get you to do some of mine.'

There was an uneasy silence.

'They can make an outfit look dowdy - that's why they do it of course, shift the hems up and down. The bastards.' Kath brayed a laugh.

She smiled at Kath, shifted her smile to Therese who smiled tightly and nodded encouragingly.

'Actually, I was telling Therese, I've just got a new job. In a Japanese restaurant. In town. It's all at night so ... I'm waiting. I was getting a bit sick of the garment work. But I still want to keep a hand in there. I've got some work I want to finish for myself.'

Therese propped herself on her legs and tottered towards the room's most distinguished feature, an art deco sideboard. From it she extracted liqueur glasses and then a bottle. 'For when we're ready.'

'The Drambuie. I wouldn't mind a bit with some more coffee, dear. Treesie knows me too well.'

The Drambuie was good.

'I love living here, I've always - since I came to Australia - at first when I got off the plane I was in one of those backpacker places ... then I moved in with Aunty Winnie - she's Dad's older brother's wife, he's dead, in Summer Hill. But when I was in the backpacker's to be with these girls I met on the plane I walked down here and knew that's where I'd really like to live. I had to - '

'Yes. I loved it when I was here. It really suited me after I left Gus, my first husband - ' She mimed tippling and then recollected herself. 'The bastard. Oh he had his points, I suppose. I must have married him for some reason. Can't remember what it was though.' She barked her hard laugh. 'Treesie helped me to find this lovely place down in 'the Cambridge'. We had a lot of fun, didn't we Treesie? Remember old Mr Trenbath?'

They hooted. And Therese had to light a cigarette. At which Kath frowned and started to fan the smoke away.

'He was always trying to get us to go out with him. He must've been seventy if he was a minute.'

'Oh I don't think he was that old,' Therese said.

'The dirty old dog!'

'What's this place called? I've never noticed.'

'Longleat'.'

'Longleat?' She was astonished. Then she wanted to laugh.

'It's some castle in England, or something. So old Lady Tierney told me.'

'Have you met her? She lives on the top floor here. I used to run into her all the time when I lived around here. Husband made his money in ducting - you know, those pipe things they use in air conditioning.'

'They were always in the Sunday papers.'

'Oh Treese, you know he was always dragging her off to those charity things. She wouldn't say boo to a goose and she never dressed up. Wouldn't know how. I remember one time - '

'She's the one from the old family, he got his start in the war, like a lot of them.'

She decided she would see them through this and then make her escape.

Kath glared at Treese until she had finished and turned to her. 'It was in the papers.'

'It was the Women's Weekly.'

'They were showing photos of the women at the Caulfield Cup. You know how they say 'here's Mrs So and So, she wearing silk taffeta and a hat by Freddie Fairy? Well they had old Lady Tierney and they wrote 'in a cotton shift.' Kath barked at length. 'Can you imagine? I'd have died. I wonder what the old fella said to her? I bet there was a blue. Can you imagine?' she demanded again of her.

She shook her head.

'She's not interested in clothes,' Therese said and got to her feet.

As Therese made her way towards the bathroom Kath called after her, 'What is she interested in? What does she do all day up there in that big place? She's got help, she doesn't even cook. One day she told me she didn't know how, she buys everything already ... ' She turned to Michelle and rolled her eyes. Then she lifted her hand and inclined her head as if checking to see if there was any possibility of them being overheard, 'How are you getting on?'

She was surprised. 'Well. I think we're getting on well. It's an arrangement that should suit - '

'You're a godsend. I can see that. You've already done her ... I'll tell her she's lucky to have you.' She groped for her bag beside her on the floor  and brought out a wallet from which she extracted a card which she held out by a tip between two fingers.

She had to get up and walk across to get it.

'Give me a ring,' she mouthed.

They were composed when Therese reappeared, herself composed. 'Would anyone like more coffee?' she asked, poised half way between the kitchen and her chair.

They didn't but she rose and said she had to get ready. It had been lovely. She was meeting some friends. And began to clear the table.

'Oh leave it,' Therese said, 'I like doing it.'

'She does.'

When she reappeared from her bedroom it was evident that the two were deeply ensconced in Drambuie.

'Don't you look lovely. Doesn't she Treese?'

She went over and stood in front of Kath. 'It's been lovely meeting you, I've heard so ... ' She held out her hand.

'You'll have to come over. What sort of a sailor are you? Mort's got a boat. The only way to see Sydney.'

She went over and bent toward Therese who after a moment's doubt lifted up her cheek.

It was like kissing a turkish delight.

On the way down the front steps she felt the thrill of success. At the bottom she turned and looked back up. Yes, there in painted-over lettering was 'Longleat'. She turned and there was a cab. She hailed it and slid gracefully in. When they had started off she started to laugh. 'I'm sorry,' she said to the driver, 'someone said something very funny. I can't believe it. Have you been in Australia long?'

Mr Kakaburi wanted to play some games in a video parlour so she shot some people with him. She concentrated on the corners as they raced cars virtually and indicated her impatience when he wanted to go back to shooting, however she persuaded him to dance on the moving light. A little crowd gathered to watch. As he was very good, they clapped. He was very happy. She wondered if he was coked.

They saw a film which she tried to explain to him over dinner.

'How do you buy shares in Australia?' she asked.

He was pleased she was taking his advice.

His skin shone in the lights of the restaurant and the red neon outside cast fascinating lights in his wonderful black hair. She decided she wanted to look at his body again.

It was pale and hard and sleek, it felt smooth. Her skin lapped it up. His slightly acrid smell kept her satisfyingly distant. He was careful and kept looking at her to see if he was doing anything wrong. She found herself desperately wanting to laugh as she had in the taxi. She flushed with power and let herself go, surrender, guide, wriggle and writhe into pleasure. She came. He came and held her tight. She could feel he was very pleased. Then she decided to leave a little before she ought to. She put on her underwear in front of him, left the room to complete her dressing, passed through to the bathroom and emerged groomed, stood there waiting.

'Huh?'

'Australian boyfriend takes girlfriend to taxi.'

He scrambled out of bed.

He stood with an arm around her on the street.

She refused money for the taxi.

He looked very happy as she waved.

Therese had reduced her lunch to nothingness.

She wondered what she had done with the flowers.

The wine bottle stood at attention next to the immaculate kitchen tidy.

'Thank you for the lunch, it was beautiful,' she said to Therese the next morning, 'those wonderful sandwiches ... '

'I should do it more often.' Therese lifted her head and breathed in at the memory of her success. 'What did you think of our Katherine?'

'Oh very nice. Very smart.'

'She's that all right, no flies on her. She put away most of my bottle of Drambuie that I got. Still I keep it for her, she's been a good friend.'

'Does she sew?' Why did she have to go and say that? Couldn't she have just kept quiet? 'I mean that suit she was wearing would have cost a fortune in the shops.'

'Mort's more than comfortable. I don't think Kath would've married him if ... She's got no time for no-hopers.'

'I gathered she wasn't short of a quid.' She had overheard this expression on the bus which serviced the area. The woman who had used it had seemed Therese's type. She tried not to scan Therese to gauge her reaction. A woman on the TV was demonstrating a recipe. 'I don't care for fish with sauce,' she said. Then when there was no response, 'Do you?'

'Never had it. Kath goes in for that sort of thing these days. No wonder she's ... She's never been slim.'

'She looked - '

'Men seem to - some men seem to go for the fuller figure.'

Had she really said that? She wanted to laugh. This was good, she was really enjoying Australians. Then she remembered the fabrication she had given Therese and Kath about her circumstances and panicked thinking she should have made notes about it last night - what exactly had she told them?

Therese seemed to be enjoying their talk too because when she attempted to rise she broke the silence with, 'Yes, you've got to admire her, she comes from nothing, she'll tell you so herself - or she used to tell everyone, I'm not so sure these days, Mort's a bit fussy - I wouldn't call him a snob but ... I don't suppose everyone has to know everything about you.'

This time she did stop herself from talking. The woman on the TV was deveining the most enormous prawns. She noted how it was done.

'She can be a bit common. You might have noticed.'

She shook her head.

'Oh she does that stupid coughing thing - like this,' Therese hacked deeply into a tubed fist, 'whenever anyone tries to have a cigarette. Stupid. Calling attention to herself like that. No need.'

She nodded.

'She said she'd ring you about her dresses but don't do it unless you feel like it. She meant it about going out in Mort's boat though, she means what she says, never lets you down. She's been a good friend.'

She resolved to ring Kath on Thursday.

She glanced at the first factory and knew she wouldn't work there but went through with the interview.

The second excited her. It was in the garment district in Surry Hills. It was convenient to the university. The clothes being machined were very bright and fashionable. No-one looked Anglo. Everyone seemed happy and expansive. She felt a Latin rhythm twitching in her ankles, she wanted to dance the samba, the rhumba, to cha cha.

The man in charge said he would try her out. Piece work, ten to four, some overtime when they had a rush on. What was her tax file number?

She said she'd forgotten it but would bring it with her tomorrow.

She walked away thinking about the colour of the print on the introduction cards she was going to have made - just her name and mobile number. Was that madder on Therese's good plates too serious?

That night when she closed her eyes a vision of Lynton's chest seemed to become Mr Kakaburi's. She started to cry wondering about Lynton.

MORE SOUTH PACIFIC ARCHITECTURE - THE TJIBAOU CENTRE

THE TJIBAOU - POST COLONIAL ARCHITECTURE?

Such is the extraordinariness of some forms of originality that they are at first incomprehensible. We blink and do not believe. When we've come to, we return for more.

The originality of the Tjibaou Cultural Centre goes some way towards accounting for its mirage quality. It challenges credibility shimmering there on its ridge which divides a mangrove swamp from a tropical bay. Ten arches, shells, fronds ... grouped in two threes and a four which deflect and divide the light between the beams and slats which compose them. 

Depending on the play of the light, from a distance these carapaces glow shades of gold or gleam silvery or melt in greys against an overcast sky.

Up close the beams and slats which are arranged in curves to make up the extraordinary Tjibaou skyline are seen to be weathered wood. Renzo Piano, the architect (Pritzer Prize 1998, also known for the Pompidou Centre in Paris, Osaka's Kansai International Airport and Aurora Place on Sydney's Macquarie Street), selected wood from east Africa which was naturally resistant to termites.

The Tjibaou is in sympathy with its natural and cultural environment. It appears organic, like the cases  - houses of the indigenous population - which rise in a steep woven cone of pandanus and coconut fronds. The cases partake as it were of nature but by their splendid elevation assert themselves as triumphs of human endeavour against the strong and sometimes destructive forces of their environment.

Examples of the styles of the cases  from the north and south of the grande terre  mainland and  of the Loyalty Islands which make up New Caledonia/Kanaky have been built in revealing relation to Piano's complex.  You can catch glimpses of them tapering skywards celebrating the importance of the village and the clan in tribal life.

These cases are to be found in the Mwakaa, the tribal customs area of the Tjibaou Centre. Their role is not only to demonstrate a source of Piano's inspiration, to link the traditional with this architectural and cultural innovation but to suggest here is a focal point for interaction. Near the cases is a large exposed auditorium inviting expression and performance. Within the Centre's main building itself is a four hundred seat theatre offering similar opportunities.

Piano has arranged the Centre's sails, roofs, shells, nets, baskets .... (they defy a single description) in the two groups of three and one of four to reflect, suggest, converse with the culture they represent, shelter, promote ... In the light of this allusion, the Tjibaou structure can be seen as three villages. The clan Headman's has four roofs, one of which is the tallest of them all. The Tjibaou 'villages' are linked by a very long, terraced corridor.

One end of the linking corridor is at the extreme right of the photo below.

The form of the Tjibaou Centre suggests, associates, images, evokes ... rather than declaims, asserts, states. Piano has so empathically and imaginatively come to terms with his commission that the Tjibaou stands as a model against which other recent, grander architectural expressions of 'culture', wealth and prestige may be seen as rather desperately seeking to impose. Photographers have done Piano a disservice by photographing up, in order to emphasise the Centre's imposition on the landscape.

The Kanak culture of New Caledonia (or 'Kanaky' as the country will probably come to be known) has been seriously impaired by French colonialism. It was Piano's task to celebrate and help revivify that culture and perhaps to offer a gesture of expiation for the guilt the colonial enterprise now feels. So while the Tjibaou announces itself against the skyline, proclaiming the endurance of the local traditions, it also shelters them, offers the tender renaissance being undertaken within its walls protection against the economic, industrial world forces which still threaten to obliterate it. 

The Tjibaou addresses its past most specifically in the case  bwenaado which houses objects of Kanak heritage - most on loan from overseas museums.

Of course Kanaky culture cannot be kept in a glass case, it must form itself against and flourish with the technologies and knowledges with which it is now linked.

The Old South Pacific World may be symbolised by Maori sculptor Brett Graham's work comprising of two vessels and a kind of pestle - the pestle being Micronesia, the white vessel Polynesia and the brown Melanesia. The pestle is supposed to fit into the white vessel and both into the brown - or so declared my Kanaky guide (Kanaky culture is largely Melanesian). This is the world from which Kanak culture springs. These are the South Pacific peoples. The three objects are formed of a pecked plastrous material suggesting coral, lime stone, red volcanic soil - the substances of the South Pacific lands.

The site of the New may be said to be the Mediatheque which offers research facilities for the indigenous cultures of the South Pacific as well as specifically for Kanak culture. It is housed under the four roofed section of the Tjibaou, the one which alludes to the village of the clan Headman.

The Centre offers facilities for school children who come from all over New Caledonia to stay and learn about the traditions of their country. Learning, sleeping and eating facilities for them are integrated into the Centre's main structure and amongst the landscape of which the Tjibaou seems a feature.

The Kanak Path offers other visitors the opportunity to discover many perspectives on the Centre while learning about the founding beliefs of traditional life - the basic Kanak world view. Signs offer a narration about significant plants, their creation and the adventures of the beings associated with them. The plants themselves are encountered as you progress.

The paradox of the Tjibaou is its organic, living quality and its manufactured fact.  Like gills, the louvred windows fluctuate in response to the sea breeze which flow through the building and out over the mangrove swamp. The service tunnel is hidden. You might be outraged from a moment if you blunder across it - what, you feel, is this concrete truck entrance doing penetrating this beautiful soaring sacred grove?

Think of the once outrageously flagrant engineering quality of the Pompidou, of the technical demands of a contemporary international airport and the subtly and extensively allusive nature of the Tjibaou and you begin to get an insight into the grasp and intuition of Piano's achievement, his accomplishment and imagination. Technical expertise serves a poetic evocativeness which speaks empathically to the people it serves and represents.

Piano's tough practicality is a kind of object lesson - this is your reality, he seems to be saying, now what are you going to do with it?

Let us not forget that the Tjibaou Centre also commemorates Jean-Pierre Tjibaou, Kanaky leader, who was assassinated by a political opponent in the market where he was speaking.

                                                                    * * *

A version of this article appeared in Object magazine September 2000

Commemorating Chopin

It is the two hundredth anniversary of Chopin's birth. He was thirty-nine when he died. The achievements of the greats of the past who had such short lives seem extraordinary to me but I suppose many of the great still die young. Chekhov was forty-four. Both Chopin and Chekhov died of tuberculosis.

Much could be said about its rise again in Australia. Tuberculosis had been virtually eliminated here by a post war public health campaign.

The Gorbals were the slums of Glasgow, infamous throughout Europe until recent times.

Chopin Eyeing the Gorbals

Chopin had glimpsed the Gorbals

now hardly daring to inhale

had to get through

his étude.

Chekhov on his way to Badenweiler

for a respite said

no to ice on the heart

because it was empty,

yes a little,

to champagne.

Death came upon the midnight

in Moscow, Moscow, Moscow.

A wee toast to

Chopin

in the dry mansions

hovering in Edinburgh

hardly daring to hope

he’d get away.

The revolutions

were coming,

haemorrhaging up the stem.

La Traviata –

no-one remembers what it means –

sipping to slow the sinking.

Revolution bounces

on the bubbles.

Let them drink fizz.