Lisa Heidke

-’
‘Barely legal.’
I feel a fleeting twinge of sympathy for Gracie as Edwin and Marcus keep laughing, oblivious to her growing agitation.
As the evening wears on, I pass the time watching the young things boogie and flirt with each other between popping pills. It’s a million miles away from my life in the suburbs in a house with neither kitchen nor husband. An overwhelming feeling of inadequacy grips me.
‘Status anxiety,’ says Gloria when I finally unburden myself. ‘For God’s sake, don’t compare yourself to others, especially those who have achieved greatness or had greatness thrust upon them. No good can come of it.’
I snort as Gloria shrugs and drifts off into the crowd.
Rock appears again, barely five centimetres from my face. Just as I’m starting to get the impression he likes me, he sticks his tongue down my throat.
‘Let me take you away from all of this, Lucy,’ he says, coming up for air.
Had I been even drunker, I might have been tempted. After all, I don’t get too many offers of gladiatorial nocturnal delights. But I can’t leave with a man-boy called Rock, because I might end up having really bad sex with him and then feel traumatised and hung-over. Besides, I could never wake up in the morning feeling lusty about a guy named after something igneous.
Then I feel guilty, very guilty, about the kiss. I’m a married woman, for God’s sake. I have two children.
I leave with Gloria not long after Gracie jumps into the pool, nude. The water must be all of three degrees.
Fifteen minutes later, we arrive at a fancy cocktail bar in the inner city.
‘It’s been way too long since I’ve done this,’ I say to Gloria.
‘Tell me something I don’t know.’
I tell her about Max’s postcards.
‘Bloody Max,’ she says, before listing all the reasons why she doesn’t like him. It’s a very long list.
‘Wearing slip-ons is not a good enough reason to dislike someone,’ I tell her.
‘It’s my list, I’m allowed to dislike him for any reason I want.’
By the time she tells me the thirty-second reason - he didn’t get Kenny - it’s late in the evening and we’ve downed a bottle of Moët thanks to the American Express card.
‘And,’ she says finally, ‘he’s a liar.’
I nod. Can’t argue with that. Then I feel disloyal and say, ‘Everyone lies. For instance, I’m always running late and blaming it on the traffic.’
‘White lies are fine,’ says Gloria, holding up her hand.
‘If I could count the number of times a day I say, “Fabulous to hear from you, darling,” when I’d rather stick needles in my arms . . . But that’s beside the point. Max is a snake.
A stinking, rotten, lying, slip-on-shoe-wearing snake.’
Tears well in my eyes. It’s time to call it a night.
‘There, there,’ says Gloria, rubbing my back. ‘You were due for an upgrade. It’s over with Max. Just make sure his replacement is richer, better looking, more successful, and preferably younger. Stamina counts.’
‘I’m not going to replace Max,’ I say.
‘True, you need some time to revel in being free again.
Dance on tabletops, shag someone, many someones. Have fun.’
‘Gloria, you’re drunk. Besides, who’s going to look twice at me let alone shag me? Have you seen my stretch marks?’
Am I really talking about shagging? Two weeks ago, I believed I was a reasonably happily married woman, who would be even more so once the renovations were completed. How did I get here? I know Max and I weren’t as happy as we had been, but I still thought we were reasonably happy, that ‘We’re in this together for the rest of our lives so we might as well make the most of it’ kind of happy. It’s true, I hadn’t asked Max how he was lately. I just assumed he was fine. Except, of course, on those nights when we’d argue and come to the mutual conclusion that we hated each other, our life together was a sham and we couldn’t understand why we’d ever got married in the first place.
‘I need to do something about myself, don’t I?’ I say to Gloria. ‘I need to reinvent myself so that when Max comes home -’
‘Have you heard a word I’ve said? Yes, let’s transform you, it’ll be fun. But please don’t do it for Max. He’s not worth it. Never has been. He’s always treated you like his personal slave. What you need, Lucy Springer, is to forget all about Max.’
‘Don’t be ridickuloose,’ I slur.
‘You’re pissed and you need a fuck to knock some sense into you.’
‘Language! I’m not pissed and I don’t need a fuck as you so eloquently put it. Although, Glors, I was putting some things away last night and came across some old photos -’ Gloria yawns, her interest in the conversation clearly waning.
‘- of Dom. I haven’t thought about him in years.’
Gloria perks up. ‘Hey, I heard recently that he’s back in Australia. It should be easy enough to find him . . .’
‘I don’t think so,’ I say, twirling my empty champagne glass distractedly in my fingers. ‘Both the great loves of my life have walked out on me. Clearly, the universe is trying to tell me something.’
‘Yes it is. One: Max is not, nor has he ever been, the love of your life. And two: it’s time you re-established contact with Dom because he’s the bomb! I’m going to make it my mission to find him.’

Day 14
There’s an axe in my skull. Someone has scalped me. I reach for my head: no axe, scalp in place, but there’s a hell of a throbbing pain. The price of another excessive night’s drinking.
When I’m finally able to get up, I wander aimlessly around my half-house. There are mountains of grey dust everywhere. It’s centimetres thick in some parts. Builders’ tools block the narrow walkway to the makeshift kitchen/ family room but I can’t muster the strength to swear and kick them to the side. In an effort to distract myself from thinking about Max’s letter,