Food, Sex & Money

by Liz Byrski

  ‘Another wonderful speech last night, Fran,’ Jack Bannister said as they sat in slow traffic on the Harbour Bridge the following morning.

  ‘I couldn’t let you think I only had one speech up my sleeve,’ she said with a laugh.

  ‘I didn’t,’ Jack said. ‘And it was great publicity for the book and for the Boatshed, all those fliers we produced have gone. I must talk to Bonnie when we come down to Melbourne for the opening. I’ve a got a few ideas for some spin-offs and I’d be interested in investing in the company.’

  Fran looked out of the window to the Opera House, its landmark sails outlined in stark white against the grey sky that threatened rain. ‘It’s certainly Bonnie you need to talk to about that,’ she said. ‘She’s the business brain and her money’s behind it. It’s entirely thanks to her that all this is happening.’

  If Fran needed any sort of reminder of the value of being part of Bonnie’s business, it was this visit to Sydney. Five years earlier at this very same trade fair she had been a struggling freelancer with a small local profile and a few good contacts. This year she was a speaker at a key function, and her face and name were plastered over posters and fliers alongside the blurb about the forthcoming book, and some clever shots of the Boatshed, taken weeks earlier from angles that avoided the incomplete renovations. And now they were on their way to Bannister Books’ office to meet with the food stylist who would work on the book.

  Fran hated styling and was thankful that they had engaged one of the best in the business. While she loved cooking and developing new recipes, the painstaking, detailed job of styling the food so that it worked for the camera was another thing altogether. Undercooking things to keep their colour, moving tiny bits of garnish with dental tweezers, drizzling a miniscule drop of oil in the right place, or lining up the grill lines on a chicken breast time and time again were things she could well do without. The relief of handing over the parts of her work she really didn’t enjoy was just one of the many perks of the new situation.

  She looked across at Jack. ‘I’m sure Bonnie’ll be happy to talk to you. She’s very excited about it all. Jeff, her husband, was a merchant banker, with all sorts of business interests but this is the first time Bonnie’s ever had a business of her own.’

  ‘You shouldn’t underestimate your contribution,’ Jack said, negotiating a lane change and breaking out of the snarl-up in the traffic. ‘Your profile in Melbourne has given Bonnie a head start; it would have been much harder for her without your name and reputation attached to it.’

  She nodded. ‘I know that, but I also know that this has made my life a lot easier. Freelancing has its advantages but it’s a struggle. I’d got to a point where there were opportunities for heaps more work but I couldn’t fit in any more myself, and I couldn’t afford to take on anyone to help me. And I know business is not rocket science but it might as well be for all I know about managing that side of things.’

  ‘My son’s a bit like that,’ Jack said. ‘I was hoping he’d take over Bannister Books but landscape gardening is his passion. So god knows what will happen to the business when Lenore and I fall off our perches.’

  ‘Lenore doesn’t have children, then?’ Fran asked.

  ‘She does, but they’re in America,’ Jack said, slipping into a parking space outside Bannister Books’ office. ‘And they don’t speak to her. She hasn’t seen them since they were four, not since the marriage broke up.’

  Fran undid her seatbelt and twisted round to look at him. ‘That must be terrible for her.’

  ‘It was pretty bad for a very long time,’ Jack said. ‘But I think she’s learned to live with it. Their father’s American, and he whisked them back to his family in Texas straight after the divorce.’

  ‘But couldn’t Lenore have got custody?’

  Jack switched off the engine and turned to look at her. ‘It was all very messy,’ he said. ‘Lenore was only eighteen when they got married and twenty when the twins, two little girls, arrived. It was a bit of a shock but they were so gorgeous, they made us think Dick couldn’t be quite as awful as he seemed.’

  ‘What sort of awful?’

  ‘A Texan version of the original Australian redneck,’ Jack said with a grin. ‘Ignorant, narrow minded, a real arrogant, loud-mouthed bastard. Our parents couldn’t stand him, none of us could, and we couldn’t understand what Lenore saw in him, and by that time nor did she. Anyway, to cut a long story short, Lenore fell in love with someone else, left Dick and took the children with her. He grabbed them back, went to court and got custody.’

  ‘But that’s appalling,’ Fran said. ‘I thought women always got custody back then.’

  ‘They did,’ Jack nodded, ‘unless they could be proved to be an unfit mother.’

  ‘Unfit?’

  ‘Lenore left Dick for another woman. It was the early sixties. Dick’s mother flew over here, and went to court with him and promised to raise the girls in a god-fearing home. Lenore’s never even seen them since, despite trips to Texas to try. The family won’t have a bar of her. God knows what they told the girls but when they were old enough to decide for themselves, they didn’t want to see their mother.’

  He glanced at his watch and took the keys out of the ignition. ‘It’s a hideous story and I’ve only given you the bare bones of it. She’ll tell you more about it one day, I’m sure. Anyway, time’s getting on, the food stylist will be here any minute. I want to make sure you’re happy with her.’

  THIRTY-ONE

  On a glorious sunny afternoon, two weeks to the day before he was due to fly to Melbourne for the Boatshed opening, Will drove from his office in West Perth to the jeweller in Claremont recommended by Tania and Ryan.

  ‘So what do you want a jeweller for?’ Tania had asked the night before.

  They had met at the opening of an exhibition at a local gallery and after an hour of canapés and a very dry champagne, the three of them had wandered into South Perth for dinner.

  ‘To buy jewellery,’ Will said with an enigmatic smile as the waiter arrived with the pasta.

  ‘You can’t do better than this guy in Claremont,’ Ryan said. ‘That’s where I bought Tania’s engagement ring.’

  ‘And this bracelet,’ Tania said, stretching out her hand so that Will could inspect both. ‘And we bought beautiful pendants there for the bridesmaids too.’

  ‘Good,’ Will said. ‘Thanks.’ And he tucked the piece of paper with the name and address into his top pocket.

  ‘But what sort of jewellery?’ Tania persisted. ‘Who for?’

  Will took a sip of his wine and contemplated being mysterious and remote, but he was really dying to talk about it. So far he hadn’t told anyone about Sylvia, not even during the lonely weeks after Hong Kong, or since his return from Melbourne. Now the prospect of sharing his happiness with his best friends was too tempting to resist – besides, they’d know soon, anyway. He was sure he could convince Sylvia to spend Christmas with him in Perth and he was already planning a dinner party to introduce her to his friends. As soon as he started to tell them, he knew it was the right thing.

  ‘Well, I’m delighted, mate,’ Ryan said. ‘About bloody time you took things seriously.’

  ‘But she’s still married, you said?’ Tania asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Will said, ‘but the marriage is definitely over. Just a matter of dealing with the divorce.’

  ‘Married long?’ Ryan asked, reaching for the wine bottle to top up their glasses.

  ‘Thirty-three years,’ Will said.

  ‘Christ!’ said Ryan, incurring a look of disgust from an elderly woman at the next table. ‘How old is she?’

  ‘Fifty-six,’ Will said, holding up his hand to forestall any comments. ‘I know, I know, not my usual sort of woman at all, but she’s wonderful, mate, honestly.’ He reached for his wallet and drew out a photograph of Sylvia taken on the balcony in Hong Kong. ‘See what I mean.’

  Tania and Ryan inspected the photograph in awkward silence. ‘She’
s certainly a beautiful woman,’ Tania said cautiously, ‘but … that’s a big difference in age, Will, she’s nearly fourteen years older than you.’

  Will smiled and took back the photograph, giving it another loving glance before returning it to his wallet. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘Age is immaterial. I’m in love with Sylvia, and I don’t even think about age. All my life I’ve been chasing the wrong sort of women and I didn’t even know it.’ He paused. ‘Come on, guys, don’t be so sexist. If the ages were reversed you’d be cheering me on.’

  Tania cleared her throat and fiddled with the stem of her glass. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘yes, of course, and we do want you to be happy, Will.’

  Ryan took a very large gulp of his wine. ‘So, what are your plans, then?’ he asked.

  ‘Well,’ said Will, sublimely unaware of their concern, ‘first I want to get her over here for Christmas, so she can meet everyone and I can show her Perth. Then we can decide where we want to be. I think Sylvia will love it here.’

  Tania and Ryan exchanged glances as Will stowed his wallet back in his pocket.

  ‘Let’s drink to it,’ he said, picking up his glass.

  ‘Oh, yeah … sure,’ Ryan said, nudging his wife. ‘Come on, Tania, here’s to Will and er … and Sylvia. Cheers, mate, all the best.’

  Tania sipped her wine and put down her glass. ‘So, what are you going to buy?’ she asked. ‘If she’s still married, you can’t get engaged.’

  ‘Why not?’ Will asked, smiling broadly. ‘Who says we can’t?’

  ‘You’re going to buy a ring?’

  ‘Sure am.’

  ‘Have you asked her yet, Will?’

  ‘No. I’ll do it when I’m in Melbourne in a couple of weeks.’

  ‘Might be better to wait with the ring, you know,’ Ryan said.

  ‘Yes,’ Tania cut in. ‘You could buy her a bracelet or earrings.’

  Will shook his head. ‘No. The ring is right, I know it. This has never happened to me before. I have to do it properly.’

  ‘You were engaged to Glenda,’ Ryan reminded him.

  ‘Another life,’ Will said. ‘Another life. Sylvia is something else, she’s the love of my life, and I’m going to make everything perfect for her in every possible way.’

  Will locked the car, crossed the street and inspected the display in the jeweller’s window. He didn’t really have much idea what he wanted, but he knew that he would recognise the right ring when he saw it. And ten minutes later he did see it: a wide, irregularly shaped, rose gold band with three large but not ostentatious square cut diamonds set at an angle. The moment the jeweller laid it on the black velvet cloth he knew it was made for Sylvia. The man looked at him with caution as he told him the price but Will didn’t even blink.

  ‘One condition,’ he said producing a piece of paper on which he had secretly traced the inside of one of her rings while she was in the shower. ‘It has to be made to this size, and I need it by next Friday.’

  ‘No problem, sir,’ the jeweller said, jotting the details in his book. ‘It’ll be ready for you on time. I’m sure the lady will be delighted, it’s a very rare piece.’

  ‘Surprised and delighted.’ Will said, handing over his platinum credit card.

  On her first day back in Melbourne, Fran drove to Hawthorn to see Lila. There was an unfamiliar white Barina in the driveway, and she pulled in behind it and walked round the back of the house, past the yellow scooter gleaming in the sunlight, tapped on the back door, pushed it open and called out to her mother.

  ‘In the living room,’ Lila replied, and Fran walked through to the front of the house where Lila was sitting at the table with a young woman who was drawing blood from her strapped arm.

  ‘Come in, come in,’ Lila said. ‘I can’t get up until the nurse has finished with me.’

  Fran paused in the doorway, shocked by her mother’s crooked smile. The left side of her face had dropped, there was a puffy bag of flesh below the eye, the cheek was sagging, the side of her mouth drawn down.

  ‘Hello, Mum,’ she said, trying to hide her shock. ‘How are you? Caro tells me you went off to tea with the red hat women.’

  ‘Did I? Oh yes, that’s right, Caro took me there the other day. We had a lovely afternoon.’

  Fran’s anxiety lifted a little. If Lila could remember the outing, there couldn’t be much wrong with her memory. Maybe Caro had simply misunderstood her. The nurse withdrew the needle, dropped the phial of blood into a plastic container, and put a small pad of cotton wool and a plaster over the tiny red mark on Lila’s arm.

  ‘There you are, Mrs Whittaker,’ she said, standing up. ‘Don’t get up, please, I still have to take your blood pressure.’ She turned to Fran. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘couldn’t stop in the middle of that. I’m Jodie. I’ve been taking your mother’s blood for some time now.’

  Fran was hurt that it had been left to Caro to tell her about David and Jodie, but mothers, she reasoned, were unlikely to be the first people that sons confided in about a new relationship.

  ‘Caro told me,’ she said, holding out her hand.

  ‘I’m sorry, that should have been David,’ Jodie said, blushing. ‘He’s been putting a lot of energy into trying not to worry anyone. Anyway, I’m really pleased to meet you at last.’

  ‘Me too,’ Fran said. ‘I know Mum thinks the world of you.’

  ‘Um, yes … that’s awkward right now …’ Jodie began.

  ‘What are you two mumbling about over there?’ Lila asked, standing up and rolling down her sleeve.

  Jodie turned to her, ‘Blood pressure, Mrs Whittaker, we’ll do that now, shall we?’ And quickly she put a hand on Lila’s arm to press her back into the chair.

  ‘All right, all right,’ Lila said. She turned to Fran with a smile. ‘She’s bossy, this one, isn’t she? What did you say your name was again, dear?’

  ‘Jodie, Mrs Whittaker, you remember. I come every month. I’m a friend of Caro and David.’

  Lila shrugged. ‘No, I don’t think so, dear. David’s away, you know, somewhere in the desert.’

  Shock hit Fran like a bullet in the chest, and she steadied herself against the doorjamb before walking over to the table to sit beside her mother, as Jodie strapped the cuff on Lila’s arm.

  Lila looked around her, smiling.

  ‘Did you have a good time, Fran?’

  ‘I did, and I stayed with Lenore. She sent you her love.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Lenore, you remember her, she told you about the red hat ladies.’

  Lila shrugged. ‘No, no. I read about them in the poem, Fran, the one you gave me. And somebody sent me a book about it. I’ve invited some of them to the Boatshed, for the opening.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ Jodie said, unstrapping the cuff. ‘All done, Mrs Whittaker, thank you.’

  ‘Good-o,’ Lila said, getting up. ‘I’ll put the kettle on. You’ll stay for a cup of tea, won’t you, dear?’ And she went off into the kitchen.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Fran asked.

  Jodie lifted her shoulders and sighed. ‘Not sure, really; it’s not for me to make a diagnosis.’

  ‘But you know her well, and you must have noticed her face. You’re a nurse, don’t you have any idea?’

  Jodie glanced towards the kitchen. ‘I think you need to see a doctor, a geriatrician, and do it soon. I do see a lot of elderly people and my guess, and it is only a guess, is that she’s started having TIAs – transient ischaemic attacks. They’re tiny strokes that wipe out little bits of what makes a person who they are.’

  Fran looked at her in horror. ‘But if she’d had a stroke we’d know, surely … ?’

  Jodie shook her head. ‘TIAs are so minute that the person doesn’t even know they’re happening. She won’t have felt anything, she won’t even know that anything’s changed.’ She looked at Fran, who had gone white. ‘Are you okay, Fran?’

  Fran nodded weakly. ‘Yes, it’s the shock, I don’t know what to d
o … Would those TIA things account for her face as well?’

  ‘Almost certainly, although there’s also a thing called Bell’s palsy that can have that effect, but I think if she is having TIAs then they’re responsible for her face too.’

  ‘Milk and sugar, dear?’ Lila asked, popping her head around the door and looking at Jodie. ‘Jennifer, did you say?’

  ‘Jodie, and milk, no sugar, thanks,’ Jodie replied before turning back to Fran. ‘She’s completely forgotten that she knows me, and she thinks David’s still away. She’s probably lost other things as well but they haven’t shown up yet.’

  ‘But just now she remembered the red hats, and about the Boatshed opening – going from the past to the future quite easily,’ Fran said, shaking her head in confusion. ‘It doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘No,’ Jodie said, ‘and it won’t from now on. Imagine tiny cigarette burns that each eliminate something, some part of her or her memory.’ She closed the blood pressure machine and packed it away. ‘Look, I’m talking way beyond my competence. You need to get her to see someone, Fran, and you need to do it soon.’

  A week later, Jodie’s diagnosis was confirmed. The geriatrician was a pleasant, softly spoken man and Lila took an obvious liking to him, but as he went through her medical history the gaps in Lila’s memory became increasingly apparent. She couldn’t remember how many pregnancies she’d had, or the fact that she was diabetic.

  ‘And your date of birth, Mrs Whittaker?’ Dr Parkes asked, and Lila looked at Fran in confusion.

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I think it’s just slipped my mind. You know, don’t you, Fran?’ And she looked so confident when he asked if she knew who was prime minister. ‘Bob Hawke,’ she announced triumphantly. ‘Yes, Bob Hawke; well, that’s who I voted for.’

  The doctor tried again. ‘So who’s the prime minister now?’

  Lila looked around in confusion. ‘Hawke,’ she said again, with a shrug. ‘He’s the prime minister now. I met him once, you know, at a morning tea. A very good-looking man. Lovely silver hair.’

  There was silence and Fran, trembling inside at the awfulness of it all, had to turn away.