A Tale of Two Women and their Push Up Bras
A stupendously silly novel about a couple of menopausal women trying to get laid and or keep their man and get elected to Parliament.
THE STORY SO FAR….
“You’ve won the bet!”
Rose and Olivia haven’t seen each other for ten years. Now Rose has found Olivia on Facebook. What’s changed? And what bet has Olivia won?
So here we are..after all these years
So here we are! After all these years! How ARE you? And how’s John? And what is this bet you keep referring to? Do tell!
Ok. The bet. Here goes.
Do you remember when we were sixteen, and your mum had just fucked off with the sound engineer from Blue Hills, and I was onto my fourth stepmother – well, we wrote out a Manifesto, and in it we said we were going to do things differently – you said you were never going to get married, because you were gonna become prime minister and you wouldn’t have time to bother about men – and I said I was going to get married as soon as I could and hang out with the same guy for the rest of my life, like, you know, one of those sweet old couples you see at the bus stop?
And I used to stir you and say shit like “You can’t be prime minister if you’re a LADEE”, cause you always sat like some kind of princess in class with your knees glued together and never swore or anything – and one day you got jack of it and said “I bet you’ll end up divorced like your mum, because that’s what happens to children of divorce, it’s all about ROLE MODELS!” And I bet you I wouldn’t – I was so romantic then! – and anyway at the time I was planning to marry that Wayne Sexton, who had long dark hair and dreamy eyelashes and called me a dumb slag.
And we wrote it all down in a Manifesto, cause you said I’d forget for sure and there was ten dollars riding on it and you wanted your money.
Anyway I was cleaning out the spare room the other day and guess what I found? The frigging Manifesto!
I miss you Liv! Do you still want that ten dollars?
Oh my god though! You mean you and John have separated? Rose, I’m so sorry! When? Why? And of course I don’t want the ten dollars! God, I’d forgotten all about that – what silly teenagers we were then!
No wonder you didn’t write back! You’ve probably been going through hell. Was it a long drawn out process or quite sudden? Do tell me straight away if you’d rather I didn’t ask about it – or of course if you want to talk about it I’m always here. Fremantle IS rather a long way from Sydney, I have to admit, but there is always the phone.
Has it been very dreadful? Did he have an affair? You must be feeling terribly upset! I’m here for you darling. I’m so sorry we fell out of touch, but you know, I often wondered what had become of you, it’s just that….well it’s a long story but it can be so difficult to keep up with people, these days.
Ps I do remember that Manifesto. I’d quite forgotten that I was going to be the leader of the free world. How very sad! Still, I suppose I’m very lucky, really!
Separated nah, divorced actually and I feel great, I feel like I’ve just been to the doctor and had a wart burned off.
Anyway if anyone’s fucked anyone over it was me did it to him. I wished the bastard would have an affair – but nothing doing, no one else wanted him no matter how hard I spruiked the selling points – steady income, fixes taps, leaves the toilet seat down – no bloody takers! But I feel fantastic!
How about you Liv? How’s life as a squillionaire’s wife? I heard Steve’s doing very well these days out of the seating business – there’ll always be bottoms looking for a place to park themselves! Are you still working for that little art place in Peppermint Grove? Do you have to, like, hostess luncheons for other rich guys’ wives, organize charity balls, stuff like that? Or do you just cruise around about stopping off at couturiers and having champagne?
As for me I’m still a wage slave, same as same as. Mum always told me if I wanted to move up working for the government I shouldn’t wear short skirts and tight jumpers – but I never took any notice and look where it’s got me! Still a secretary – I mean ‘executive assistant’ after all this time, and the boss isn’t even hot, actually he’s a weirdo but that’s another story.
Anyway, how are you and Stevie boy? And little Vickie?
Oh Rose! A wart? Really? When you seemed to be so well suited, everybody used to comment on it. However, everyone deals with grief differently, so one reads, and I expect you are just going through ‘anger’ or perhaps ‘denial’?
Mind you, you never said you weren’t getting along! Well, strictly speaking, you were always going on about what a pain in the bottom John was – but I never thought you really meant it. I thought you were just venting, the way women do – you know, my husband’s terrible, oh my husband’s much worse than yours... But what went wrong? Was it sex? It’s usually sex, isn’t it. Especially with you darling.
Thanks for asking by the way, Victoria is well. Not so little any more – she turned fifteen a month ago, and in fact she is now about six feet – TOWERS over me! I’m sure it’s the extended breastfeeding the midwife pressured me into – thanks to hippie motherhood ideas we are now all having to put up with giant teenagers! Of course she’s very glamorous – she’s got Steve’s pouty lips and long black hair and she STILL has those eyelashes you could never believe were real when she was tiny – anyway she now spends most of her time at home lounging about looking vaguely disgruntled.
Ps I wonder if Wayne Sexton is still available? Perhaps you could look him up?
Well that’s what made me look you up actually. So…Wayne. Where do I start?