Not Meeting Mr Right (5 page)

As the clock hit two am, Liza went to read back the
key points, but I had two more of my own to add first.

First, dating Cancerians or Geminis was out, I
explained, because I was superstitious. I didn't like
the thought of dying from cancer and every Gemini I
had ever met was constantly sick. I was probably being
irrational, but I wasn't going to change my mind.

Second, under
no
circumstances was I to pick men
up at the pub. I didn't want any one-night stands. I was
smart enough to know I couldn't really build a solid
relationship on a night spent with a near stranger. I'd
tried it a couple of times and the result had only been
long-term one-night stands. Anyway, part of me was
terrified at the thought of taking a stranger home.
What if the guy I picked up turned out to be an axemurderer?

'Don't be so ridiculous, Alice, they don't want to
kill you! They want to shag you, that's all.' Peta had had
enough one-night stands to know. She'd spent some
time as a serial dater as well.

Liza read out the new list:

Strategies for NOT meeting Mr Right

• Straying from the list of strategies
  

• Getting pissed and making a complete dick of self
  

• Talking about ex-boyfriends on first date
  

• Putting out on the first date
  

• Dating friends' exes
  

• Dating Cancerians or Geminis
  

• Picking men up at the pub (i.e. No one-night
  stands under ANY circumstances)
  

Peta and Liza nodded, accepting the drafted policy and
its key points. Dannie, slightly pissed by this stage, was
silent, but very busy at the same time.

'What
are
you doing?' Peta asked sarcastically. She'd
had a few drinks by now, too. I could feel one of their
meaningless spats on the way.

'I'm doing a SWOT analysis for Alice meeting Mr
Right.'

'A what?'

'SWOT. Strengths, weaknesses, opportunities and
threats.'

'Oh for god's sake, Dannie, I know what a bloody
SWOT analysis is. I've finished
my
degree, Mummy.'
Peta was getting messy and Dannie was clearly upset
by her display of bitchiness. Liza moved straight into
appeasing facilitator mode.

'Actually ladies, I think we can do something with
this.' She tore off a few more sheets of paper, preparing
to be scribe again. 'Peta, why don't you come up with
the threats and weaknesses, and Dannie can do the
strengths and opportunities.'

Peta didn't need prompting. 'Well isn't it obvious,
Alice? The threats are to your independence, individ-
uality, disposable income and ability to party. Dare I say
it, a threat to the depth of your friendship with other
singles.' She ran through this spiel like a well-rehearsed
script. 'Haven't heard you mention Bianca for a while,
come to think of it. Now why would that be? My bet is
that it's because she's getting married and her whole
social calendar has changed – no single friends in
sight, eh?'

Dannie wasn't fazed at all. She was married, and
managed to maintain her friendships, so she didn't
think Peta's remarks warranted rebuttal.

'The opportunities far outweigh the threats,' she
said. 'You'll have opportunities to love and grow and
be enriched by a partnership with someone who shares
your beliefs and opinions. That's something too great
to deny yourself, Alice. And meeting Mr Right will also
provide you with the opportunity to have children.
Little images of yourself.'

'Yeah, needy, reliant little images of yourself,'
Peta mumbled into her glass. She'd once told me she
never, ever, ever
wanted to have kids. 'The world's
overpopulated,' was all she'd said.

'Look Alice, I know you've always wanted to have
little brown kids, as you call them.' Dannie was right.
Who didn't want to see themselves reborn in another
little human being? That's why people bred, wasn't it? I
also wanted someone to look after me when I was old
and sick. I didn't mind going into a retirement village
and playing bridge and bingo, but I sure as hell wanted
to have visitors. Yes, meeting Mr Right would be the
best way to ensure that I'd be taken care of in my old age.
Perhaps that's what having children was really about.

'Now the weaknesses,' said Peta. 'You'll become
reliant on someone else to do all the things you do for
yourself now.' I wasn't convinced – quite the opposite.
I had already started thinking about how nice it would
be to have someone else put my garbage bins out for
me – the one thing I really hated doing as a single girl.
In fact, there were several things I had to do for myself
that I'd be happy to have a man take care of.

Dannie's response was calm: 'And the strengths,
Alice, are that you'll meet your soul mate, share your
life, have unconditional love and support.'

Unconditional love and support. That was the deal
breaker for me. Dannie had found the missing elements
in my life. I wanted both of them bestowed upon me,
even though I had always doubted my own ability to give
unconditional love in return. Perhaps it would be easy
to reciprocate once Mr Right showed me how it was
done. Yes, meeting Mr Right could even help me grow
as a person, and so it became even more important, and
urgent, to make a firm commitment to the strategy.

In true peacemaking style, Liza called the exercise
a tie at three am, even though we all knew that
the strengths and opportunities we'd discussed far
outweighed the weaknesses and threats. Dannie had to
get home because the kids would be up at seven looking
for breakfast and cartoons. Peta had a draft policy to
read and a plane to catch the next day for a department
meeting in Canberra, and Liza had to prepare for a
hearing on Monday morning. I needed to process all
that had happened that night and find time to mark
essays as well.

Finally in bed, my head pounding, but only lightly,
I considered what my Mr Right might be like. It was
my
dream, so I made him drop-dead gorgeous, and as
he began to undress me, he grew even sexier. I went to
sleep smiling: I would soon implement my strategy for
meeting Mr Right.

I rose with a hangover and stumbled and groaned my
way to the kitchen, but after an orange juice and some
coffee, the seediness subsided. I contemplated the lists
on my fridge and felt inspired. Today was the first day
of my soon-to-be-Mrs-Right life, and I was keen to
swing into action. The first strategy on my list was feng
shui-ing my flat, and I decided to start straight away.

I'd recently cut an article on feng shui out of the
local paper, and following its instructions, I completely
rearranged my bedroom, rotating my bed to face my
south-west 'love corner'. I also decided to replace two
of the mirror doors on my wardrobe with frosted glass.
In feng shui, pairs are auspicious, representing couples,
but this wasn't really about feng shui –I just didn't want
to roll over in bed anymore and see my naked reflection.
I kept one mirrored-door for future use, though.

Calling my father in to help wasn't originally part
of my plan for the morning, or his for that matter. As
fathers do, though, he came to my assistance. He always
did. He often replaced light globes for me, fixed leaking
taps, hung pictures and screwed, nailed and hammered
things when needed. He was the reason that I hadn't
really noticed not having a man around. I was a feminist,
but I was also quite comfortable with not having to
swing a hammer or turn a screwdriver. I knew what I
was good at, and it wasn't home maintenance.

He seemed puzzled today. 'Why fix something that
isn't broken, Alice? There's nothing wrong with these
doors.' How could I possibly explain to my father the
self-nudity thing, and that the two new doors were
supposed to symbolise a couple? He simply wouldn't
get it. Nor would he have cared, I'm sure. My dad is
from the old school. Man meets woman, man courts
woman, man marries woman, man supports woman
and they live happily ever after. Just like him and Mum.
They were both outcasts when they met in the 1960s.
Mum was a Koori from the country, not even a citizen
in her own land, and Dad, a migrant from Austria, was
simply a 'wog' to just about everyone he met, but to
each other, they were immediately the world. Their love
knew no racial or class barriers. They were married in
their early twenties and were still happy after nearly
thirty years together. Dad still brushed Mum's hair when
they got up every morning, and she still had his meal
on the table at the same time every night. They were
complete opposites, and both Scorpios (Aria would
not have approved!), but they were bound by shared
notions of respect and family and hard work. Their
relationship was my benchmark; was it any wonder I'd
been avoiding commitment by dating losers and long
shots? My marital bar was unbelievably high because
of them.

My dad believed there were certain ways to do
things. The way
he
did things. The way he and Mum
did things. They expected my brothers and me to meet
someone, fall in love, get married, just as they had, and
they would expect the same of their grandchildren
and great-grandchildren. It was the natural course of
events – in my dad's world anyway.

I might subscribe to Dad's happily-ever-after
approach if I actually met someone who loved me the
way that Dad loved Mum. Until then, I was happy to
have him do all the 'boy jobs' around my flat; I only
wished he lived next door so he could put my bins out
as well.

After Dad had gone home, I spent the rest of the
day creating a feng shui love and romance shrine in
the south-west corner of my lounge room. At first it
posed a problem: my TV currently sat in the same
corner that, by feng shui law, should bring me love and
romance. Unfortunately, it was the only place in my flat
where I got decent reception. I did a Liza, and tried to
analyse the situation dispassionately. What was more
important to me: watching another series of
The West
Wing
alone, or finding love? Somewhat reluctantly,
I relocated the TV and replaced it with red candles
and paper lanterns, as prescribed by my newspaper
clipping. The love corner was a must if I wanted lasting
romance and love-related happiness. My TV-related
happiness from now on would just have to take second
place – and another corner.

In the late afternoon, I went to the florist on Coogee
Bay Road and bought two matching bonsai plants in
terracotta pots and brought them home. Then I dug
out two ceramic painted tiles – red and black, with
matching calligraphic designs – that I'd bought at a
garage sale around the corner three months before. I
hung them one on each wall in the love corner. Two of
everything symbolised the coupledom I knew I would
soon enjoy. Perhaps I should just buy another TV: I
could put them both in my south-west love corner as
well, and
all
my happiness would be realised.

Living in a large block of units, with snowdroppers
stealing underwear regularly, I tended to do my
washing at Mum and Dad's. Twice a week I'd stop
by before school to do a quick wash and hang it out.
Sometimes it didn't seem worth it, though; I often came
away upset, and fumed all the way to work, if not the
entire morning. Without fail, my mother would spend
my whole visit following me around, asking me why I
didn't have a man. Then she'd try to set me up with an
unlikely suitor – like Cliff.

'Cliff just got back from Venice!' Anyone would've
thought Cliff was her own son, she was so pleased he'd
returned after three years abroad. Cliff was actually the
son of Janet, one of Mum's friends from ceramics class.

'He's landed himself a great job as a hair colourist.
Some salon in Darlinghurst.'

'That's nice.'

'You colour your hair, don't you?'

'I
have
a hairdresser, Mum.'

'He lives at Clovelly. Just round the corner from you.
That's an omen, don't you think?'

'I'd say coincidence, Mum.'

'He's still single too, Alice, and Janet said he hardly
dates. Now
that's
a coincidence. We both think you'd
make a lovely couple.'

Both Mum and Janet were in denial. Cliff was actually
gay, and he wasn't dating anyone special because he
was a serial slut. I never said anything about it, though.
I knew Janet would have been delighted to see us
together. I reckon in her heart she knew of his sexual
preferences but naively hoped he would grow out of it.
Cliff was thirty-three and had never had a girlfriend,
so there was little chance of
that
happening. I was sure
Mum knew Cliff was gay, but she just wanted me to get
married anyway.

I thought Cliff was a right-wing fuck-knuckle.
He and I had had a number of arguments about our
prime minister's concept of the black armband view of
history, and his assertion that there was no such thing
as generations of stolen children. Cliff was a huge fan
of John Howard and his views, and Keith Windschuttle
was his favourite historian. Come to think of it, perhaps
I
should
tell Janet he's gay, just to get back at him for
his appalling take on Australian history. Mental note
to self: save telling Janet about Cliff until real payback
is needed.

Mum had been going on about Cliff for ages, which
was why my daily visits had of late trickled down to a
couple a week, but I dropped in on my way to work on
the Monday following the disastrous school reunion at
the Hub.

'I don't know how much longer I've got, Alice. I'd like
to be a grandmother one day, and you are my eldest.'

'Only by a couple of years, Mum.' My brothers were
both younger than me, but not by much: Arnie was
twenty-six and Dillon was twenty-four.

'Don't you worry about being alone?' She followed me
around the kitchen as I unpacked some fruit I'd picked
up from the fresh food market on Saturday morning.

I just couldn't bring myself to tell her about my new
strategy; she'd want in on all the dates and processes. I
simply couldn't have that.

'I'm not alone – I have you guys, and great friends.'

'You spend too much time with Liza and Peta.
People are going to think you're a lesbian if you don't
start spending time with men. Go on dates. What about
one with Cliff?'

'Liza and Peta are the best dates I've ever had,
Mum.'

'I knew it, you
are
a lesbian, aren't you?' She clasped
her head dramatically.

'I'm not a lesbian, Mum. I actually like my single life
and having no-one to worry about, being able to sleep
and read when I want to.'

'Are you sure you're not a lesbian? It seems like
everyone's a lesbian these days.' I think Mum just liked
saying the word
lesbian
.

'Oh for god's sake, I'm not a lesbian, Mum, I'm just
saying that it's much easier to hang out with the girls.
They're far less work than men – I don't have to try to
figure them out or organise them.' My mantra for the
day seemed to be
I'm not a lesbian, I'm not a lesbian.
As
much as my mother enjoyed saying the word, I didn't!

'Well, you'll have to settle down one day, and with
a MAN. Look at your brother Dillon – it looks like he
and Larissa'll be together forever. As for Arnie, well he's
just sowing his wild oats. That's what boys do.'

I'd lost count of the number of times I'd heard Arnie
on the phone to women saying 'Trust me, babe!' He was
always breaking innocent hearts, but my mother would
never have anything bad said about her sons. It was
pointless arguing with her.

'Yeah, that's what boys do. I wouldn't trust most
of them as far as I could throw them. I've got to go to
school now, Mum.' I headed for the door, but she called
after me.

'Alice, you know, your father worries about you too.
About who will look after you when he's gone, hang
your pictures, nail things, fix things. He'd like to see
you married too.'

'I can look after myself,' I shouted back to her, already
on my way out.

'Then why don't you? Why do you get him to help
you all the time? He's getting old too, Alice.' What? This
was the first time I'd heard anything about Dad's age and
me having to fend for myself on the home improvement
front. He must have said something after the feng shui
effort. There were no secrets between Mum and Dad.
They were as tight as nun's knickers.

Mum was hanging out her bedroom window as I got
into the car. 'I can call Cliff if you like.' I pushed my foot
hard on the accelerator and drove off, wishing Dillon
and Larissa would just get married and take some of
the heat off me. Actually, as Dillon was the only source
of straight male input into my personal life, I should
probably run my new strategy by him at some stage.

For a young fella, Dillon was pretty wise when it
came to matters of the heart. It was not unheard of for
me to SMS him the middle of the night to ask for 'boy
advice': What does it mean if he said this? How many
days should I wait till I call him? Should I call him at
all? Why hasn't he called me? Is he going to call me? If
not, why not? What's wrong with me? What's wrong
with him? And so it went. Dillon always answered my
messages, but he didn't hold back if he thought I was
being desperate or if I was way off base. If he needed
to be blunt with me he would. He wouldn't sugar
coat his frustration at my raving or my commitment
to finding reasons for dragging out relationships that
were obviously over. 'Build a bridge and get over it!' was
his favourite response, but more than a few times he'd
sent me a text saying: 'You've fucked it up, now it's time
to move on.' Nine times out of ten Dillon was correct
in the advice he gave me, but I didn't really listen to it,
because it was generally the opposite to what I really
wanted to do. Perhaps I needed to add 'Heed Dillon's
advice when it comes to relating to the opposite sex,' to
my list of strategies.

It wasn't that I didn't want advice or assistance in
finding a husband – god knows I needed both. It was
just that I hated everyone knowing my business and
feeling sorry for me. It made me seem desperate, and I
wasn't. I just hadn't been in such a rush before. Having
a deadline made it all seem more of a priority than it
had been in the past.

As I drove on, I started thinking about my wedding
and considered the options. Mum had always said I
could have Archie Roach sing at the reception. I love
him singing 'Love in the Morning', probably because
I've always preferred making love at dawn. (Then again,
I don't mind a bit of afternoon delight either.) Archie
rarely performs without Ruby, though, and I didn't
know that Mum and Dad could afford to fly them both
to Sydney.

Perhaps an island wedding? The Cooks. Or Fiji.
That'd weed out the real friends, wouldn't it? Who'd
pay to travel across the Pacific to see me finally get
married?

Or what about a Sydney Harbour wedding down
at the Park Hyatt? A celebrant rather than a priest, of
course. Mum would really struggle with it, not being in
a church and all, but it would be
my
wedding. I'd wear
a tiara rather than veil. Designer dress, not one off the
rack. The groom would wear whatever I told him to.
A cocktail party would follow, as opposed to sit-down
meal. Dillon would MC, but I would write his speech,
or at least check it – I was a teacher, after all. I'd have
a big heart-shaped chocolate cake, with fresh red roses
around the base. We'd spend the night at the Hyatt and
then fly out the next day to honeymoon in Venice or
Paris or maybe both. We'd live happily ever after. Yes, it
was all planned.

I was so excited about the plans for my wedding
that I needed to share them with one of the girls. My
first class that morning wasn't until second period, so I
had time to make a quick call. Dannie would be at her
kids' school, helping out with reading group, and Peta
was in Canberra discussing the future of Indigenous
education, but I knew Liza would still be at home with
her face in a book or file, so I dialled her number.

'Liza, it's Alice. I'm sorting out my wedding plans,
you busy?'

'Not really, Al, just working on keeping a young fella
out of Long Bay. I'm sure his case notes can wait – your
pretend love-life is a case with far more importance.'
Was she was being sarcastic or just joking?

'So you're organising a wedding, are you? What
about the groom?' she asked almost accusingly. As
though I was breaking the law because I was trying to
organise my wedding without having found a man first.
Liza could be a real wet blanket sometimes.

'Don't bother me with details, darling!' I said,
sounding like some social butterfly and waving my free
hand nonchalantly, as though I knew the hired help
would fix the problem. I was glad Liza couldn't see me.
I wished I
could
hire someone to find a groom for me.
Hell, these days you could hire someone to find and buy
your dream home for you, so why not your dream man?
Anyway, I now had all the other elements of the big day
organised – the only thing I needed to worry about was
finding someone to fit into the suit. How difficult could
it be?