Storm in a B Cup

by Lindy Dale

  I can’t help but laugh. It’s nice to be back.

  “You must be so happy about not having to have chemo,” she adds.

  I mull this over for a second. Of course I’m happy, but there’s something else, too. “I think I’m a bit annoyed.”

  “Why?”

  “I feel ripped off. I had it planned. I’d worked out a schedule for when I was off doing treatment and everything. I was going to get my hair cut into a pixie cut and dyed platinum blonde. I’ve always wanted to do that.”

  “You and your plans.” She bites the crunchy edge off the crumpet. “You can still cut your hair off. Nothing’s stopping you.”

  “Yeah, but if it looks shit, I’ll be stuck with it. The whole point of doing it before chemo was that it didn’t matter because it would fall out.”

  “You can’t control everything, Soph.”

  “Brendan said the exact same thing.”

  “I’m glad we agree for once.”

  “And I don’t like to control, I like to be organised. There is a difference.”

  “Apples and bananas.”

  I look over to the table where Lani has left the pile of hats. I’m loath to ask because we don’t have the money to spend on stock that will never sell. Like I’m loath to ask how much they cost.

  “Where’d they come from?”

  “Garage sale.”

  I pick up a particularly odd looking felt number. “So they’re used?”

  “Most vintage things are. That’s kinda the point.”

  I brace myself for the next question. “How much?”

  Lani leans forward. Her eyes are gleaming with delight. “That’s the amazing thing. The entire box was only five bucks. You could work some of your creative magic on them. Revamp them into twenty-first century styles. With my help, of course.”

  As I lean over and begin to sort through her purchases, my interest suddenly peaks. Some of these could be quite cool with a bit of pizzazz added. Not that Rasta beanie though. That can go straight in the bin.

  “Are you sure you only paid five dollars? You haven’t spent huge amounts again and are too scared to tell me because you know I’ll have kittens?”

  “Nope. Five bucks. The woman was on some sort of cleansing thing in her house. She’d been hoarding them for twenty years. You should have seen her house, Soph. it was like that TV show.” She picks up a scarlet-coloured, bell-shaped hat and slips it onto her head. Even without hair it has no chance of fitting and sits perched on her crown. Lani’s head is deceptively large.

  Taking it off, she returns it to the table. “A couple are truly heinous, I know, and we could never put them out for fear people would think we’d lost the plot but there’s a few sweet little cocktail numbers and I love this cloche. Can’t you see it on display for race season?”

  I most certainly can. This time, it appears Lani has come up trumps. Well, fifty per cent trumps. That green pointy thing looks like something Merlin would wear to a fancy dress party.

  We sit in silence for a while, staring at the hats, sipping our coffees and finishing our crumpets. Then, as I’m clearing everything away, I remember what I was thinking about as I stared at myself in the mirror this morning. “Hey, I have a design job for you if you’re interested.”

  “As if I wouldn’t be. What is it?”

  I unbutton my shirt, revealing the horrendous beige bra. I would never do this with anyone else I know, but Lani’s different. We’re more like sisters than boss and assistant. And with her outrageous taste in fashion, I bet she’s seen things that are a hundred times worse. If anyone can turn this monstrosity into something semi-decent, Lani can.

  Lani’s face is frozen in a position of wide-eyed shock. The blood has drained from her cheeks. Even her scalp looks as if the colour has left it. “What the hell is that thing?”

  “This, my dear, is what is commonly known as the prosthetic bra.”

  I take her hand and put it over my cushion prosthesis.

  “Your boob is made of wadding! What the hell? Isn’t it bad enough you have cancer, now they add insult to injury by making you wear that thing. Please tell me Brendan hasn’t seen it.”

  I can see where she’s going with this. If the fact that I only have one boob isn’t enough to make Brendan balk at sex, the bra will be the clincher.

  “I’ve managed to hide it from him so far. Seriously, he hasn’t even noticed my boobs aren’t the same shape. He’s too busy moaning about the cost of cancer and the fact that he had to cook dinner while I was in hospital.”

  “Typical man.” Lani eyes my body. “There’s a definite difference in size and shape. It looks like the fake one’s growing out of your armpit.”

  I knew it. I knew I hadn’t imagined the looks I’d been getting as I walked along the footpath that morning.

  “Can you fix it?”

  “I wasn’t an almost contestant on Project Runway Australia for nothing. If I can make a ball gown out of a roll of cling wrap, I can fix that thing.” She waves her finger in a circular motion at the offending item and looks me up and down again. “How can you bear to put it on? It looks like a form of medieval torture. Hold on a sec.”

  She dashes to the storeroom and within seconds has returned with a handful of wadding, left over from a ‘snowy Christmas’ window decoration.

  “This should do. Come here.”

  I lean towards her. She shuffles around on the right side of my chest and pulls and pushes a bit. A few grunts escape her lips but she’s not giving up. She stands back to check out her handiwork.

  “At least you’re not sprouting a third breast now. You look a little more even. That bra is so the wrong size for you. And the colour’s, well, icky.”

  I glance down at my chest. The beige is quite yucky.

  “What if we dye it?” Lani asks. “Purple would be nice or cerise.”

  “You could do that?”

  “Sure. I have some dye left over from when I tie-dyed my hot pants for that music festival.”

  Lani likes to ‘theme dress’ to suit the occasion. And I think she has the idea that music festivals are where seventies hippies, with flowers in their hair and see through cheesecloth tops, hang out. Still, I’m finding the idea of tie-dyed purple hot pants a little hard to fathom. Even for her.

  “How many bras do you have?” she says.

  “Only one. I can’t bring myself to buy another, so I’m rinsing it out in the sink. Besides, when I get the real prosthesis in a few weeks, I can buy a couple of nicer ones. Hopefully.”

  “Doesn’t mean you have to suffer while you wait. Give it to me and I’ll take it home and see what I can do. If you wear something loose to work tomorrow nobody will notice your lack of boob. I can bring the bra with me.”

  I nod my agreement at the plan. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  Lani gives a chuckle. “Neither do I. I can’t imagine you having left over dye in your laundry cabinet.”

  *****

  The next evening at bedtime, I decide it’s time to confront Brendan with the new me. I’ve been putting this off since I got home; getting changed before he comes to bed, taking my clothes into the bathroom each morning, but I think the time has come. And the changes Lani has made to my nana bra make me feel slightly more confident. I don’t feel so completely ugly.

  Brendan is propped up in bed reading a book about becoming a property millionaire by the time you’re thirty. It combines his two greatest passions — real estate and money — so I can understand his choice. His metal-rimmed glasses are sitting attractively on the end of his nose, making him look rather imperious. I’d like to rip them off him in a game of ‘naughty professor’ or something like it, but I’m not too sure how he’ll react. While he’s been good at caring for me physically since my diagnosis, the emotional care has not improved. It might be because he’s feeling a bit like a fish out of water in this new situation of being housekeeper and partner but it’s like he’s turned off his feelings, or is pushi
ng them away. Maybe tonight I’ll be able to rectify that. It’s early, Rory is staying over at Harris Farmer’s and neither of us has to work in the morning.

  I begin to take off my clothes, starting with my jeans. For some reason, I feel nervous about baring myself to Brendan. It’s irrational, I know, because he’s seen my body a thousand times, but the physical side of our relationship has always been important. I don’t look the way I did a month ago.

  I slide my jeans past my hips and knees and step out of them. Then I begin to unbutton the man-style shirt I wore to work today. Beneath it, the newly remodelled bra awaits inspection. Lani has done a great job. I hardly recognised it as the revolting thing it was before. Now, it’s bright purple and the edges around the top have been accessorised with a touch of chartreuse trimming that Lani had ‘lying around’. It looks like one of those groovy sports bras you can wear without having to put a t-shirt over.

  “What do you think?”

  Brendan gives a cursory glance over the top of his book. His grunt is non-committal but I can see he’s not impressed.

  “What happened to those other bras you used the wear? I liked them better.”

  He’s always been known for his straight talking, but right about now I could use a little bit of embellished truth.

  “Well, clearly I can’t wear them anymore, seeing as how I have nothing to put in one side.”

  Do I have to spell it out?

  “So what’ve you got in that, then?”

  “It’s a soft prosthesis. It’s only temporary until I can be measured for a proper one.”

  “I thought you were having a reconstruction?”

  Perhaps if he’d stayed during my consultations, instead of running down to the coffee shop, he’d know what was going on. Dr. Downer had clearly explained that an immediate reconstruction wasn’t an option for me. She’d thought the tumour to be bigger and more widespread, initially, than it turned out to be which would have meant chemotherapy and possibly radiation.

  “I am. But because I didn’t have a reconstruction at the time of my mastectomy, I have to wait for a bit.”

  “How long?”

  He’s staring at me now, like he’s never seen me before, and I begin to wonder if this having one breast is going to cause a problem for us.

  “I have to go back to Dr. Downer in eight weeks so I guess I’ll find out about the process then. She’ll refer me to a plastic surgeon, I suppose. It could be ages.”

  “And until then you’ll be wearing that….” His voice fades away, but I haven’t missed the tinge of revulsion in it.

  I lift my arms slowly and unhook the bra. I’m not trying to be seductive; it’s a bit of a trial putting my right arm behind my back or over my head. I haven’t got full use of it yet, though it’s improving.

  The bra drops to the floor and I walk around the bed, tugging my singlet top on as I go. Brendan has gone back to his book but I can see him watching me out of the corner of his eye. This is a good sign isn’t it? It’s been weeks for him too. Surely, he must be feeling the urge?

  I climb into bed and snuggle up close to him. My head rests on his shoulder and I slide my hand across his bare torso. I love the feel of his skin. It’s so smooth and toned. I could rub my hands over his body for the longest time. He lifts his arm, so I can bury myself in the crook between his arm and chest. His hand is stroking my shoulder, which is promising but he’s still reading.

  I shuffle myself around so my lips graze the side of his jaw. It’s smooth and he smells of soap where he got out of the shower. I trail my lips into the nape of his neck and nuzzle.

  Brendan reaches across and puts his book on the bedside table. He rolls back towards me, his eyes sparking with that dangerous look I love. “Feeling better, are we?”

  “Mmm.”

  He reaches around and squeezes my bum. His hands travel up and down my body and as I’m beginning to get in the mood, he freezes. He’s reached the spot where my breast used to be.

  He looks like a deer in headlights. He doesn’t know what to do. I have another breast, I think. It’s not that hard. I can almost feel the tension between us as he rolls back over and turns out the light.

  Chapter 13

  I feel like shit.

  Last night was an absolute disaster that ended with me, in the shower this morning, sobbing with my face against the tiles because I can’t believe Brendan is repulsed by the way I look, so repulsed that he had to turn the light off before he could bring himself to do the deed.

  And the deed was not that good.

  I always believed Brendan loved me for the person I am. It appears I am wrong. He only wants me as an accessory to his life. He loves my looks. Or should I say, loved?

  In previous times, our sex life was healthy, creative even. We were both up for being inventive and trying new things — within reason, of course. We were the envy of our friends, the couple who were still in love after years. Our relationship wasn’t that of a stale, married couple. It was fun, exciting. At least, it had been on my end. After the events of twelve hours ago, I’m beginning to think I may have been wrong about Brendan.

  Last night. It was like some sort of ‘let’s-get-it-over-with-to-shut-her-up’ thing. I could tell his heart wasn’t in it. He could hardly bring himself to touch me anywhere between the hips and the neck. His foreplay was perfunctory, which is being kind. And when he climbed aboard, he wouldn’t lower his body to mine. It was like I was contagious, that he could catch cancer by touching where I’d had it.

  I tried to reassure him that he wasn’t hurting me, that everything was okay, that because I look different physically, it didn’t mean I was. I did the things he loves. Nothing worked. To add insult to injury, when I woke this morning with another thumping headache and a heart that felt like it had been bashed by a baseball bat, he had the cheek to ask me why I was crying. I know it’s not about me, but for once, just once, can it be? Why do I always have to be the strong one? Why do I have to take it on the chin, suck it up?

  The phone rings and I answer it. It’s Mum. She’s been on holiday in Cambodia or China or somewhere Buddhist. She hasn’t heard my good news. And before you go thinking she up and left me when I had cancer, I said she should go. Cancelling would have been such a waste of money and what good could she do here? Really?

  “Hello, darling.”

  “Hi, Mum. How was the holiday?”

  “Glorious. Though Colin got the worst bout of food poisoning. They had to stop the bus so he could squat behind a haystack on the side of the road. It was fortunate we were in the countryside, his bottom could be seen from the moon, it’s so white.”

  The image I’m getting from this description is one I’d rather not have, but in a sadistic sort of way, it’s cheering me up.

  “Is he better now?”

  “Of course. But he was such a baby about it. Honestly, you would have thought he was dying. It cost us three hundred dollars to have a doctor come to the hotel to give him a shot. He did perk up when he saw the nurse. I thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head. She was the Asian version of a nurse from those Carry On movies. If Benny Hill had come through the door behind her, I wouldn’t have blinked.”

  “Apart from the fact that Benny Hill’s dead.” I chuckle.

  “Is he? Gosh, how come I never heard about that? I love Benny Hill.”

  “It was a while back.”

  “Mmm. So, how did the visit to the doctor go? What’s the latest news?”

  I relay the events of the past week, including my exciting news about no longer needing to have chemotherapy.

  “Oh.”

  She sounds deflated which is not the reaction I expected. Though cancer seems to be causing many of the people in my life to react oddly.

  “What’s the matter, Mum?”

  “I sent you another care package. Colin and I had such fun shopping for everything after he got better, but I guess you won’t be needing it now. Send it back when it arrives.”


  I’m curious. “What’s in it?”

  “We found you this gorgeous red Mandarin hat. There’s a Chairman Mao cap as well and a cute Chinese Liberation Army cap in green. It’ll go with your eyes. The best part is the Tibetan winter hat though. A man was knitting them on the side of the road. It has these darling little earflaps. So useful if you don’t have hair to keep your ears warm in winter.”

  As if I would ever be seen wearing anything with flaps, even with hair.

  “It sounds like a great present, Mum. Thanks so much. I’m sure I’ll find some use for them.”

  If worse comes to worst, there’s always fancy dress parties.

  “Well, yes. You’ll have to send the Advanced Hair Studio voucher back, though. That won’t be of any use. I can cash it in.”

  “Advanced Hair Studio?”

  “You know, the hair loss people. They made Shane Warne’s hair grow back.”

  “Shane Warne, the cricketer? The one who goes out with Liz Hurley?”

  “Yes.”

  “He had male pattern baldness, Mum.”

  “Which is why they were so pumped to work with you. They’ve never had a cancer patient before. Julie is going to be so upset when I tell her.”

  This conversation is on the train to Crazy.

  “Who’s Julie?”

  “The hair consultant. We’ve had so many conversations about you over the last few days. She’s going to be devastated.”

  Oh, for Pete’s sake. Sometimes my mother is insane. “It’s a pity I won’t get the opportunity to meet her then, isn’t it? Maybe I could keep the voucher in case Brendan ever feels the need.”

  “I doubt that boy’s head would have the gall to go bald, darling. It would be too afraid of what the rest of his body might think.”

  A snort of laughter escapes my lips. After last night, I’m very aware of what looks mean to Brendan. He’d never let himself go bald. He’d talk himself out of it, if that were possible.

  “Anyway, I have a follow up with Dr. Downer in a few weeks. She’s going to tell me what’s next on the agenda. I have to go for a fitting for my real prosthesis, too.”