Tales From A Broad (43 page)

‘Fran, can I come in?' It's Frank.

I open the door and turn away from him, leaning on the sink. I don't hate him. I could never hate him. He didn't know that I actually thought those glass slippers were mine to keep.

‘Frank?' I ask after we stare at the floor for a while, after he tells me he really didn't know this was happening so soon, that we'll have to talk about it later. ‘How do we get back to the table?'

‘I don't know,' he says.

‘Why don't we say I'm pregnant?'

‘Why don't we just apologise?'

After what Ken did? Never!

I assure Ken and Jill that I was just like this before I had Sadie. I down the wine and smoke 15 cigarettes for dinner. After dinner, saved by Ken's undaunted enthusiasm, we say good night. They are staying at the ANA, in our old room.

We're staying in St Leonards, at the motor lodge. The sheets are sticky and thin. I climb in with a family-sized chocolate bar.

Frank sits on the side of the bed. ‘Look, I'm sorry. I have to take the promotion.' He smiles, imitating Ken, ‘It'll make millions! Millions!'

‘Frank, we're not get-rich-quick people. It's not going to happen.' I feel nothing but the chocolate melting on my tongue.

‘I can't turn the job down. And you don't know anything about the deal Ken's striking. This is exciting for me. I don't want to turn down a big promotion to stay in Fortune Gardens. Singapore – all of Asia – is in a huge recession. Did you know that, Fran? Have you heard? It's been a nightmare for me. It's been like looking for a needle in a haystack and when I find it, someone grabs it and sticks me and tells me to mind my own business. No one wants a fat American telling them what they can and can't do.'

‘You're not fat. Anyway, how would I know? You don't tell me,' I say.

‘I try, honey, but it's hard sometimes. I don't always know how to start and you aren't around a lot. You'll be fine. I'm sorry we have to leave early but you'll be fine.' He takes my chocolate and puts it back in the mini-bar. I wasn't finished.

‘I wonder if there's still an office for me.'

‘Fran, just quit that job already.'

‘I make a lot of money, Frank. And no one quits their job when they come back. Everyone I know in New York works. It's what you do because it's too cold to play outside.'

‘Fine, but stop figuring it all out tonight. Everything's going to be okay. Maybe it'll even be great.'

‘Mommy, how come I'm still in my pyjamas?'

I am clipping something from the paper. I leave it on top of Frank's briefcase.

‘Mommy …'

‘Shhh, I'm busy. In a minute.' Oh, here's another. Snip, snip.

Sadie turns the volume up to high. ‘Turn it down, Sadie. It's rattling the walls.'

Why did I wait so long to do this? They're everywhere. The newspaper looks like a doily now. Frank has a short stack of small printed squares on his briefcase.

He comes down the stairs and stops. ‘What's all this?'

‘Just fyi, that's all, nothing …'

‘Wanted,' Frank reads, ‘account executive for securities. Fran, I'm a copyright lawyer.' He picks up another one. ‘Drivers needed.'

‘You love driving,' I say. ‘Look at the benefits!'

‘Talent search for software analyst. Fran, what do I know about this? I'm a copyright lawyer.'

‘It may be analysing the legal parts of software, Frank. You could give them a call instead of –'

‘Experienced drummer. Fran, I play the bass.'

‘You are so inflexible!'

‘Mommy, how come I'm still in my pyjamas?'

I am holding a bowl of cereal and don't know if I was heading to the table or the sink. I'm wearing a housedress. The kids are watching television and I am holding a bowl of cereal. Susie is leaving tomorrow. She and Francis are getting married, in France. I'm happy for good old Button Lip. Frank comes downstairs.

‘Tennis tonight?'

I drop the bowl in the sink and wheel around. ‘Why?'

‘Because you like it?'

‘So?'

‘All right, Fran. Whatever. See you, kids.'

I am in a housedress when the doorbell rings. I am not holding a bowl of cereal. It's Priscilla.

‘Are you ever bloody going to take off that bloody housedress?'

‘I feel like the living dead. Like nothing matters any more. What's the point of having this conversation? Why not just say that a month ago we had our last conversation?'

‘Shut up, Frannie. Get dressed. I want to see you down at the pool tonight at six sharp.'

‘Why?'

‘Just be there.'

At six, I go to the pool. Frank has insisted on joining me. He says he's sorry about getting irritated with me. He's got to try harder to understand. He's whistling
Goodbye Yellow Brick Road
– not the song, the album. As we go down the steps, I see lanterns and tables set up on the lawn. A small crowd has gathered and when they see me, they cheer. The men are dressed in skirts or bike shorts and heels. It's a dress-up-like-Fran surprise party.

I come back to life.

‘Mommy, why am I still in my pyjamas?'

‘Because, sweetheart, Mommy has blepharitis. Okay?'

For two weeks, we have found reasons to make people go out and stay up late with us. We had a dancing party and a Safra party, a beach party, a cocktail party and a party in the function room where we gave stuff away – books, liquor, kids' toys – like a rite of passage. Frank loved every minute of it. If I heard him say
dot.com
one more time, I would kill.

And then Frank hired his Singapore replacement and unless this guy dies suddenly, there is nothing more to do.

I put my housedress back on and sit on the balcony. Frank goes from room to room with a clipboard in his hand, noting what is to be shipped, what is to be mailed, what is to come on the plane. He asks me questions from time to time. ‘Do you want to take the chopsticks?' he asks. ‘What about the spices?' he asks. ‘What about all
this?
' he asks, pointing to a stack of cartons: Biospliven, Super-Biospliven, Dr Soon-better mix, vitamin B and chromium.

The doorbell rings.

‘Pearl! How are you?'

‘I am fine. Too bad you leave. I thought it was three years. Never mind,
lah
. I get it wrong sometimes, eh? How much you want for that?' Pearl points to the cartons.

‘Why?'

She hands me a card: ‘Pearl's Vitamin and Flower Shop, Expat Services, Babysitting in rear of store.'

‘Biospliven good,
lah!
'

‘Please take it. My gift. How wonderful, your own shop.'

After she hauls out the fourth box, she stands in the doorway. I go to hug her. She gives me a quick pat. ‘Seventy dollars for you today,' she says.

‘No no, you can have it all. I'm glad to give you a start.'

‘I charge for removal.'

‘Oh, right.' I hand her the money and she smiles.

She laughs nervously and hands me a shopping bag. ‘For you and the kids, to remember me.' Inside are bracelets with all our names in Chinese.

‘Thank you, but we'll never forget you, gifts or no gifts.' I step forward and give her a long hug until it is returned. ‘Good luck,' I call as Pearl walks away.

The movers are here. It is our last day. I am in my housedress. Priscilla and Samantha, Valerie and Tess have come over with a few gifts and cards and favourite recipes. I hand them a stack of menus from all the parties I had, complete with how-to's and anecdotes.

‘How's the packing going, mate?' Priscilla asks.

‘I haven't done it.'

‘Bloody hell, get off your stupid arse and get moving. Don't give me any crap.'

We laugh. She's raised three big, wild boys all in their 20s. This is her being soft and gentle. I go upstairs and sit on the bed. She grabs suitcases and starts organising. The girls all join in. I answer questions but mostly I watch them, their hands, holding and packing my things.

‘Time to go, Fran.' Frank ushers me out of the apartment. The kids are wild and clamorous because they're up late and going on a trip and life is different, exciting, promising. It's 10.30 at night. We get out of the elevator and a crowd is waiting for us, a last goodbye. There's crying and picture-taking. All the kids have been kept up late for this one final ceremony.

We get into the taxi and wave goodbye.

We live (lived) so near the airport.

There's no traffic.

Frank gets the kids out of the car and has them stand with the luggage carts near the airport entrance. Frank and the cab driver hoist out suitcase after suitcase. We have 15. The kids want to ride on the cart. Frank is perspiring from all of this effort. He pays the driver. He reaches his hand in to help me out. I stare at it. The kids have climbed up the suitcases and the tower is about to tumble. Frank rushes over to them. He turns to me and yells out, over car engines, planes, announcements, ‘
Come on, Fran, please
.'

I sit, breathing heavily. The driver, after depositing the final suitcase, returns to the car.

Frank shouts over, ‘
Why are you making this so hard, Fran?
'

The finality hurts so badly. I'm no longer numb. I can't control my sobbing. I would give anything, anything, to have it all back. I swear, I'll do it right this time. Let me stay.

‘
Jesus, Fran, please, you knew it wasn't going to last forever
.'

I cry harder still. That's exactly right. ‘IF I HAD KNOWN THAT … I WOULD HAVE APPRECIATED IT MORE!' I scream, louder than I have ever screamed before, back at him, at the world. My throat is raw and I'm shaking. I hear my words over and over again, they are ricocheting off the walls of the taxi. Things end. You don't expect them to. People drop dead, cars crash, fires wreck villages … The driver looks in at me, ‘Miss, Miss, please.' He wants me to leave. I get out and stand in the centre lane.

I look at my frightened children across the road. Sadie's pants are above her ankles. She's buttoned herself wrong and her socks droop. Her flat bear is swinging on the ground. Huxley wears Toby's old sweater; he's made wide, uneven cuffs. I don't even know the name of the stuffed rabbit he holds. Frank's face is full of anguish, saturated with sweat and tears. He is struggling to help us all. He wishes to God that he didn't have to fail me.

I would have appreciated it more if I knew it wasn't going to last forever
.

And I know I am standing on the wrong side of the road.

I didn't grow from living abroad. I wasn't close to accomplishing the ‘simpler life with time to focus'. I used my freedom like fuel. I ran so fast and hard. I ran from the clients berating me and demanding ‘more, faster, better'. I ran from success taunting me, ‘You cannot catch me'. I ran from the vast, open space that holds life's questions and I kept running blindly and would never have stopped. I would have kept stirring those waters, never seeing the man and children who stood behind me, waiting to be reflected in the pond of my life, waiting to run with me instead of always on the sidelines.