Not Meeting Mr Right

• About the Author
  
• Title Page
  
• Copyright Page
  
• Chapter one I love being single
  
• Chapter two Strategic planning
  
• Chapter three Feng shui-ing Mr Right
  
• Chapter four I'm not a lesbian
  
• Chapter five I am deadly and desirable
  
• Chapter six Holmesy
  
• Chapter seven Mr Moonwalker
  
• Chapter eight More blind dates from hell
  
• Chapter nine Looking via the mobile network
  
• Chapter ten Possibly the worst date ever!
  
• Chapter eleven Mr Dick Fiddler
  
• Chapter twelve Mr Committaphobe
  
• Chapter thirteen Mr I'm-Just-Not- That-Into-You
  
• Chapter fourteen Stick to the strategy
  
• Chapter fifteen The kitchen tea
  
• Chapter sixteen A date with Casper
  
• Chapter seventeen Peta's brainwave: Perfect Paul
  
• Chapter eighteen The hens' night
  
• Chapter nineteen Waiting for Paul to call
  
• Chapter twenty Mr Too-Right?
  
• Chapter twenty-one He's the one, he's the one!
  
• Chapter twenty-two Someone else's wedding
  
• Chapter twenty-three I've got a valentine!
  
• Chapter twenty-four Men suck and I am just too deadly
  
• Chapter twenty-five I should be loved, cherished and worshipped
  
• Chapter twenty-six I will be kind and compassionate to all the white people I meet today
  
• Chapter twenty-seven Trawling the classifieds
  
• Chapter twenty-eight Getadate.com.au
  
• Chapter twenty-nine Uprising
  
• Chapter thirty Holiday romance
  
• Chapter thirty-one Love yourself and you will be loved
  
• Epilogue
  
• Acknowledgements
  

About the author

Dr Anita Heiss has published poetry, non-fiction, historical
fiction and social commentary. Her novel
Who Am I? The
diary of Mary Talence, Sydney 1937
was shortlisted for the
2002 NSW Premier's Award for young fiction. She was
awarded the ASA Medal (Under 35s) for her contribution
to Australian literature and community life in 2004. Anita
is a member of the Wiradjuri nation of central New South
Wales, lives in Sydney, believes in love at first sight and
enjoys being single!

Anita Heiss

Original Print Edition

NOT MEETING MR RIGHT
A BANTAM BOOK

First published in Australia and New Zealand in 2007 by Bantam

Copyright. Anita Heiss, 2007

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by anymeans, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying (except under the statutoryexceptions provisions of the
Australian Copyright Act 1968
), recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of Random House Australia.

National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication Entry

Heiss, Anita, 1968–.
Not meeting Mr Right.

ISBN: 9781863255110

1. Dating (Social customs) – Fiction. 2. Man–woman relationships
– Fiction. I. Title.

A823.3

Transworld Publishers,
a division of Random House Australia Pty Ltd
Level 3, 100 Pacific Highway, North Sydney, NSW 2060
www.randomhouse.com.au

Cover illustration and design by saso content & design pty ltd
Internal design by VJ Battersby

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2

This book is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in
this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is
purely coincidental.

This project has been assisted by the Australian Government through the
Australia Council, its arts funding and advisory body.

'I love being single!' I said, with such conviction I almost
believed it myself. All of a sudden I was desperately
trying to convince myself and the table of proud
married mothers that I really, really loved my single life
just the way it was, and had no desire to marry and/or
breed, thank you very much. Until I'd arrived at the pub
that night, it had pretty much been true.

It was two months after my twenty-eighth birthday
and I was at my ten-year school reunion at the Hub
in Bondi Junction, our stomping ground in our late
teens. Back then it had been known as Jack's Bar. I'd
dreaded the night since the invitation had arrived
and had spent the previous three months mentally
scripting and planning the event. It was sure to be an
unpleasant reminder of what school had been like. I'd
been a self-conscious teenager who never really fit
in – me being a Blackfella from La Perouse and the
rest of the girls whitefellas from Vaucluse and Rose
Bay. A triangular peg in a round hole, I used to say. I'd
never felt skinny enough or pretty enough compared
with the other girls.

I wouldn't even have gone, if Dannie hadn't almost
physically dragged me along. I'd much rather have
stayed away – or boycotted, as Bianca had put it. Bianca
had better things to do, like 'hanging out with her man',
she'd said. The three of us had remained friends after
school, but Dannie was married now, Bianca had just
got engaged, and me, well I was
loving being single
. We
seemed an unlikely trio, but somehow we were mates.

I was now the head of the history department at
a private Catholic girls school, living in a funky twobedroom
flat, full of sunlight and right on Coogee Beach,
and I'd aged well compared to my old school buddies.
I'd thought that would be more than enough to see me
through the reunion with head held high, but within
minutes of ordering my first gin and tonic, it was clear
that my old classmates weren't impressed. In their eyes,
I was without the one key ingredient that determined
success and true happiness: I did not have my Mr Right.
I was the only one at the table who didn't, but they made
me feel like I was the only one on the planet. This time
I was prettier and thinner than most, but they had all
moved on. They had all joined the 'club' – the 'I have a
significant other and significant little others' club.

The reunion was set up like a speed-dating event.
Everyone was allocated a specific amount of time
speaking to the person opposite them; when the
time was up, one side of the table moved left to face
someone new. The idea was to keep on doing this until
everyone had the chance to catch up with everyone else.
The conversations so far, though, had all been about
wedding planners, floral arrangements, dress fittings,
honeymoon locations and gift registries. I'd never had
a bridal register, or a wedding planner, and with no
similar experiences of my own to share or compare, I
felt left out.

Now I sat opposite Estelle and just listened, sucking
on the ice from the bottom of my first drink.

'Excuse me, Alice,' she said as she rearranged her
rather bulky bra, 'My nipples are killing me.'

'What!' I spat ice back into my glass. Was there a
new dinner-table etiquette I was unaware of that meant
it was okay to discuss sore nipples in public?

'Still breastfeeding and my son just
tugs
on them.'
She put her whole hand in her bra.

'Really ...' I didn't know what else to say, but it didn't
matter. She continued right on.

'At least the pain isn't long term – not like stretch
marks or the need to do pelvic floor exercises every
day.' Estelle grimaced and I guessed she was tightening
her fanny. It wasn't a good look. Right at that moment I
seriously loved being single: sore nipples, loose fannies
and stretch marks didn't appeal to me at all.

I was bored already, and food wasn't even in sight.
I eavesdropped briefly on the conversation next to us.

'I registered at Peter's of Kensington – they do the
best bridal baskets,' I heard Louise say.

'I was with DJs, but seeing as it was my second
wedding I wanted to keep it low key,' Judi responded. I
couldn't believe these women were actually for real.

I love being single!
had been my daily mantra for
the last couple of years. Serial dating and short-term
relationships suited me fine. My single life was great
compared with the lives of some married women I
knew. God knows the teachers at school who had kids
always looked tired and were on the run all the time.

No-one I'd spoken to so far had seemed convinced
by my
I love being single!
mantra, though. They'd
responded only with 'Of course you do!' and 'There's
absolutely nothing wrong with being single.' But to me
they sounded condescending and that got my back up.
Within the first half-hour, all my insecurities about not
being skinny or pretty enough compared to the other
girls in the school grounds had come flooding back.

I should have taken note of my horoscope that
morning: 'Expect the unexpected! Remember your
own value.' Let's face it, while I hadn't expected to have
a raging good time at the reunion, I sure as hell hadn't
expected to be tripping over my self-esteem because
of it either. Aria's Super Stars were nearly always right
when it came to Leo predictions and I always,
always
relied on her words of wisdom to see me through the
day, but somehow they weren't providing me with
enough positive affirmation to deal with the reunion.

Someone gave me the shove to move left again. I
didn't know whose idea the speed dating set-up was,
but it was genius. I moved on, leaving Estelle's sore
nipples for someone else to soothe.

'
I love being single!
' I said to Linda, before she had
the chance to talk about any part of her anatomy or
any special exercise regime she might be following.
I looked down at my cleavage. 'And my nipples are fine.'
I thought I'd get in first. 'No stretch marks, and I haven't
been too stretched downstairs either!' I laughed.

Linda looked at me oddly, and asked, 'How many
kids have you got, Alice?'

'None. I'm a bleeder, not a breeder,' I said, half trying
to be funny, half serious. Linda just smiled politely
and showed me a couple of photos of her children.
Admittedly, they were cute, but when she put them back
in her wallet, we looked at each other blankly. I hadn't
really ever even thought about kids, not seriously. Not
seriously enough to have a meaningful conversation
with a mother about parenting, anyway.

Of course I'd dreamt about meeting Prince Charming
and having a fairytale wedding. All girls do. I'd started
planning my wedding when I was only twelve and we'd
had a mock ceremony in the street where I grew up.
Richard Barker played the groom. He wore a school
tie with his shorts and t-shirt and I wore a pink dress
and a shower curtain on my head as a veil. Since then I
hadn't become Muriel by any means, but I had bought
the odd wedding magazine over the years, just to look
at the pictures, and I'd been to one or two bridal fairs.
All women did, didn't they? I called it research. I was
a teacher; I liked to be organised. No-one wants to be
running around at the last minute once the question
has finally been asked. Yes, even single girls have bridal
dreams occasionally. Women who say they've never
thought about a fancy wedding are lying. Problem was
I'd not given any thought to what would happen
after
the wedding. All I really wanted was a man. A wedding
would be fun too. But married life? Not for me.

I was glad to get the nod from Jen, the class bossyboots,
to move on. 'I think our time's up, Linda. Pity ...'
We both half smiled. Even if I only had to spend a short
time speaking to every woman there, it was still going
to be a struggle. I was beginning to feel inadequate: I
was an intelligent, educated, capable woman, unable
to make conversation, even basic small talk, with girls
I'd spent six years at school with. Why didn't we have
anything to talk about?

Don't get me wrong. It wasn't as though I wanted to
talk about current affairs all night – refugees, Indigenous
health, peace in the Middle East – but
some
diversity
would've been appreciated. Talking to Jen would be a
welcome break. She'd been great to have in my Society
and Culture class in senior years – she always brought
something quirky to every discussion.

'So Alice, I've been looking forward to speaking to
you. You were always so political at school. I've just
joined this new party, and I thought you might be
interested in it.' Thank god – Jen hadn't changed at all.

'Cool, which party? What's its platform?' I was
already feeling more comfortable. Politics were a level
playing field. Didn't need kids to be political.

'It's the Family Party – we advocate for protecting
traditional family values, the family is the most
important thing.' She rattled this off as though she was
reciting the strict party line.

I nearly dropped my drink. Was I sitting with a
mobster's wife, a John Howard fan, or just a lunatic?

'So, what does the party think of same-sex marriages?'
I asked, baiting her.

'They don't endorse anything that's not in the Bible.'

'Female clergy, then – you always believed in equality
for women in society.'

'No, there are definite roles for men and women,
and the clergy isn't for both sexes.'

'Abortion?' I could tell I'd hit a nerve as Jen started
to fidget. Her politics were bad politics, but she wasn't
an idiot. I'd thought if I made her say the words out
loud she might see how ridiculous her position was, but
she didn't respond at all. She knew I knew the answer
to this question already. It seemed even the political
conversations tonight would be hijacked by notions of
motherhood and womanhood and narrow definitions
of family.

'The party does support a formal government
apology for the stolen generations, Alice,' Jen said
almost proudly. 'You'd appreciate that. Wasn't your
grandmother stolen?'

So the party had
one
decent item on their agenda –
their support for Blackfellas didn't discount the fact
that they were homophobic and sexist. Who'd want an
apology from that mob anyway? I knew my grandmother
wouldn't.

'Why exactly did you join this party, Jen? You seemed
so broadminded at school.' I was blunt.

'Because my husband did, and I support his
views. That's what married life is about. Support and
compromise.' My stomach turned. Not only had Jen
taken on extreme right-wing political beliefs, but she
hadn't even thought them through for herself. Or
had she? Did she truly believe she had to adopt her
husband's views? I'd marry a guy with political beliefs
for sure, but if his beliefs didn't match mine – highly
unlikely –
I
sure as hell wouldn't be crossing the floor in
the name of wedlock. I had to do a reality check. Was it
1950? Was I actually at Jack's Bar listening to this? Had
we all been taught the same things at school? If so, what
had gone wrong? Was it me? Surely not!

I looked around the table for some answers and all I
saw was a group of women who had lost their own sense
of identity. They were all now known as Mrs Joe Bloggs
or Mrs Sue Jones-Bloggs or Emily Bloggs's mother. But
they all seemed happy. Why was I so angry? Was it
possible I was feeling envy?

As luck would have it, I was opposite Dannie next,
and our entrees arrived, so I had some respite from
trying to fit in. It was an opportunity to bone up on some
birthing detail, too, before I had to move left again.

'So, how many waters are there anyway?' I whispered.
'And what do you do if they break on a bus?' Dannie –
my only married friend – thought I was joking, but in
all honesty, I had no idea what my old classmates had
been talking about. Why would I? There's an unrealistic
expectation that every woman is maternal and is born
to breed. Not me. I wasn't maternal at all.

'Seriously, Dannie, does meeting Mr Right and
breeding with him mean that women can't think or talk
of anything else from that moment on?'
Dannie wasn't off ended, she just laughed and
changed the subject. 'What did you think of
The Daily
Terror
's report on Black deaths in custody last Saturday,
Alice? I've been waiting all week to hear your opinion.'

Dannie was the least wife-and-mother-like married
woman I knew – partly because she hung with me so
much. She was doing a media degree part time at uni,
so we had common interests still. Dannie was writing
a paper about the fuss there had been over whether or
not 'God Save the Queen' would be sung at the opening
ceremony of the Commonwealth Games in Melbourne
early in 2006, and she had a bit of a rant about it now:

'It's a song for Christ's sake! Forty-five wars going on
around the world, and you've got news anchors on TV
reading their scripts like the bloody Queen has been
shot or something. I don't think stories like that should
even make the news, let alone a headline.' Dannie was a
staunch republican. I loved her even more for that.

She hadn't been sucked into any void of wifedom
and motherdom; she was on top of the rest of life's
responsibilities as well. The other women at the table
could have learned a lot from Dannie.

After we'd finished our entrees, we moved on again.
Vicky was across from me now. She was considered
the tramp of the class back when we were at school,
because she spent so much time up the Bronte gully
with boys from the surf club. The gully was far behind
her, though: she had gone on to become a highly paid
lawyer with one perfect child and a second husband
who was a well-known QC. She specialised in corporate
law, and didn't do any pro bono work at all. (I asked.)
She couldn't really afford to, she told me, with childcare
fees and a huge mortgage on their Point Piper home.