Great grandmother Ethel de Bouvier Wessaxon, was at a loss with what to do with her life once her beloved husband Willian de Bouvier Wessaxon died rather suddenly at 90 years of age.
“Oh, my dear, so unexpected,” said Cordelia Bradshaw-Smith.
“Death cannot be said to be unexpected at 90,” slurred Ethel. She kept herself well medicated during the initial days of grief. Ethel kept herself well medicated most of her life.
“Oh, my dear, reality is for the poor to suffer,” replied Ethel once when she was questioned about her vices.
The investment company dear William used to cheat unsuspecting investors out of their life savings was sold off, leaving Ethel with more money than she could spend if she lived until she was one hundred, which she fully intended to do.
“Oh daaaarling, I want my letter from Liz, we were born on the same day, I deserve at least that much.”
"Well you'll have to give up the booze and the fags," said her son Jarrod.
"Nonsense, I have the constitution of an ox, my dear."
So, with no real purpose in life, she took to travelling the world. Now great grandma Ethel was a lush, no one denied that, she lived on a bottle of Cointreau and a carton of fags per day as she transversed the globe.
“I’m going to spend the summer on the continent, and afterwards I’ll decide what to do from there,” she told her Jarrod.
"I worry about you mum."
"You have more worries than me with that bitch wife of yours spending all of your money."
"MUM!"
"Well, its true darling," said Ethel. "I'm just glad I won't be here to witness it."
Ethel was straight forward, no nonsense. She would be described as lacking a filter. Ethel was funny, nobody laughed more at Ethel’s jokes than Ethel herself, although everyone laughed with her, as I said, Ethel was funny.
"What makes a queen scream twice?" said Ethel. She couldn't stifle her grin.
"I don't know," replied fat gay David. Ethel could only start seeing fat gay David again after William died. William couldn't abide shirt lifters, as he called them.
"Fuck them... in the…" Ethel cleared her throat... and started to laugh. "Then wipe your di…" Ethel laughed some more. "Your d…" The tears rolled down Ethel's face. "Wipe your…" Ethel couldn't finish.
"What darling?" said Xavier Camden-Moggs Ethel’s best friend?
"Your…" Ethel laughed some more.
"Oh daarl, spit it out," said fat gay David.
"You've said that before," said Xavier Camden-Moggs.
"Usually followed by not on my face," said fat gay David.
"Wipe your dick on his curtains," Ethel blurted out. She cried with laughter.
"Oh Ethel!" said fat gay David.
"I remember when I had a dick," said Xavier Camden-Moggs. She chuckled.
Ethel had many friends all over the world, she set about seeing them all after William died.
Xavier Camden-Moggs lived in Hawaii, and had done so for many years. "Nobody looks sideways at some bare-foot sun damaged old hag in a sarong over here."
So her place was the first stop.
“Oh, Xavs, you are so lucky living here with this climate.”
“Eth,” replied Xavier Camden-Moggs in her baritone voice. “If you lived on cake every day, you’d soon think cake was nothing special.”
"I'd rather grow tired of gold than tin though, my dear."
"Yes, of course you are right," said Camden-Moggs. "But it is the first thing EVERYBODY says…" Camden-Moggs eyes were as wide as her boredom was deep.
"Well, I'm sorry for being SO predictable."
"Oh Eth, it is me, I'm a cranky old cunt now a days. Perhaps, I need some more pills?" She reached for one of the many pill boxes on the coffee table.
"Shall we pop on our bikinis," said Ethel. "And go down the beach and pick ourselves up a life saver…"
"Oh daaaarling, you are such a scream," said Camden-Moggs in her baritone voice.
"Don't worry hun, my days of picking up lifesavers are well behind me."
"My days of being a life saver are exactly the same."
The two women laughed.
"Champagne, darling?"
"Oh lovely, darling…"
"I always wash my hormones down with a glass of bubbly this time of the morning."
Ethel popped into London, her old stomping ground in the 1950s. She hadn't seen Georgia Jones since before she was married, just cards at Xmas.
"It's been soooooo long," said Georgia. "And we have both got sooooo old."
"You know William hated to travel…"
"William hated everything," replied Georgia. "But let's not mention him again. Come on, there is a bar just near here."
"You are talking my language," said Ethel. "Good to see somethings never change."
"Fuck me, Eth, what else are we supposed to do at this age, I ask you?"
"Get a cat?"
The two women laugh loudly.
Georgia put two glasses of Cointreau on the rocks down in front of them. "So Eth, tell me everything," said Georgia. "How's you gorgeous son, Jarrod."
"Oh such a disappointment," said Ethel. "Still with the bitch wife."
"Oh."
"I so wanted a gay son," said Ethel. "But it wasn't to be."
"But you have a lovely grandson," said Georgia.
"Yes, yes, I do it is true," said Ethel. "Lovely Cooper, he's growing into such a handsome boy. And he's been in all of his school musicals, so there is hope for him yet."
"And you darling, what are your plans?"
“I’m off to squat over a mirror on a prayer mat in India, to find my…"
"Inner self."
"Inner self, yes. That and some meditation."
"Sounds grand," said Georgia.
Ethel arrived in Mumbai on Air India. It was hotter than even she expected. She, of course, had her hipflask of booze, which she sipped from regularly.
She had on a sheath dress, and had many scarves to wipe the sweat from her face. She was met by Abdul, who she thought was rather handsome. She was tempted to tell him she had no knickers on, but she thought better of it.
"Is it always this hot, Abdul?"
"Oh yes, I'm afraid it is."
They jumped in Abdul's Hindustan Ambassador and he drove her to her hotel. Abdul saw her swigging from his alcohol flask in the revision mirror.
"That probably doesn't help…"
"It's lemony," said Ethel. "It's like fruit, only liquid."
"Even so, it is probably not a good mix with the heat."
"I don't know what I'd do without it now."
"Very good miss," said Abdul.
It was hot in the morning and Ethel found she couldn't eat. "Just a liquid brekky for me."
Ethel made it to Miss Goswami's meditation session early.
She got her mat and sat at the front of the class. She was light headed. It was the humidity and the heat. It was probably the lack of proper hydration if we are being real.
Miss Goswami had just started her soft chant. Ethel was having trouble keeping her eyes open. Maybe those extra shots weren't such a good idea.
The room whited out. Oh, dam it, were Ethel's last words.
Miss Goswami saw her latest pupil fall forward face first until she lay face down on the floor.
"Miss Ethel," Miss Goswami said.
Ethel didn't move.
"Miss Ethel?"
Nothing.
Miss Goswami got up and quickly made her way to Ethel face down on her mat. She took Ethel's wrist and checked for a pulse.
Ethel had made provisions in her will for just such an occurrence. She was to be cremated first, and her ashes were to be transported back to Australia. She wanted it to be easy on everyone, and she could never understand the hang up with bodies so many people had.
So accordingly, her body was taken to the city mortuary and she was cremated in one of Mumbai's antiquated furnaces. The problem was that Ethel was 100% proof, and the crematorium exploded taking out the two workers in attendance and the temple next door, which no doubt would have amused Ethel no end being a lifelong atheist.
“Where was the god you so feverishly prayed to that day?” she would have asked. No doubt she would have been laughing at her own words.
Now that's an exit.
Ethel always said she liked to make a grand exit. "Leave them guessing," was one of her favourite things to say.
The explosion left a lot of people guessing.
“Mum, this is very early to be up?”
“Early to bed, early to rise, Norman, and the lord makes you healthy, wealthy and wise.”
The phone wrings
“Now…” She looks at her watch. "I wonder who that could be?"
“Sunday morning, who else would it be,” says Norman.
“Hello… yes… this is Norma... oh yes… yes, yes… happy to… I’m leaving soon… it is for the children after all… I have 10 chil’n myself.”
"Chil’n," said Norman.
"You're my chil’n, the last of my chil’n," said Norma almost mournfully. "My stay at home child."
"With my mother?" said Norman.
"Yes, with me, Norman, with your old mother."
Norma found love late, and children even later. And by the time she had popped out the tenth one, she was getting on in age.
"But mother," said Norman. "What if I go out in the world and find me my wife, my equal, my yin to her yang?"
"A good marriage is not a pairing of equals," says Norma. "It is not a guaranteed road to happiness, my boy."
“A good marriage is not about equals?”
“No, somebody has to be in charge.”
"It is a road, though," begs Norman.
"A good wife, is a child late in life. Better than a wife. A change of life baby, he is born to take his mother to old age, being her constant companion until she dies, so she is never alone."
"Oh mamma." Norman was exhausted by this conversation.
"It is her compensation," said Norma. "For all of the hard work she put in raising ten children."
"Compensation, for all the other children?"
"Yes," said Norma. "My compensation."
“But… what about me?”
“I’ll look after you, you will want for nothing.”
“Except a life…”
“You will have a life, a very lovely life… with me.”
“But, I might want more.”
“Like what?” said Norma. “What do you want?”
“I might want a wife…”
“Oh, sweetheart,” said Norma. “Look at your brother, Caleb, and the trouble he has had…”
“I might want children.”
“Overrated darling, overrated.”
“You had 10.”
“So, I know what I am talking about.”
“What about…”
“No more talk about it…”
“…me?”
“You don’t want to disappoint your mamma?”
“No, mamma.”
“You don’t want to be a disappointment?”
“No mamma.”
“After all the things I have done for you.”
“All the things…”
“My life has been devoted to you kids.”
“I know mamma. You have been devoted to us kids.””
“Now, be a good boy,” said Norma. “I’m stiff, I wonder if I slept funny? I need my back rubbed. Rub your mamma’s back like a good boy.”
“Yes, mamma.”
“And a bath, I’ll need a bath run when I get home.”
“Yes, mamma.”
“Before I cook you your Sunday lunch.”
“Yes, mamma. You always have a bath after Sunday lunch.”
“We have a lovely life, don’t we Norman?”
“Yes.”
There is silence.
Norma picks up her cup of tea and takes a chug. She pulls a face and puts it down again.
“Can you cut up that beef and put it on a slower simmer for a stew for lunch.”
“I get to cook Sunday lunch,” says Norman. “Welcome to my life.”
“Add the veggies once the meat…” Norma stops mid sentence, she puts her hands on her hips and tilts her head at her youngest son. “Oh Norman. Be happy. The good lord helps those who help themselves, you know.”
“No one is helping me.”
“Anyway, I told the vicar’s wife I’d be at the church soon,” said Norma. “So, I have to go get ready.”
Norman calls his brother Dylan.
“Are you going to help look after mum?”
“What time do I have, Norm. I start professional basketball this year.”
“Surely, you have some time?”
“I’m looking at overseas if this year goes well.”
Norma appears back in the kitchen. “Gotta go.” The front door opens and closes.
“Hello.”
“Oh look, Marion is here,” says Norma. “I can’t stop, I’m due at the church.” She looks at her watch. “Well, now.”
“I need to talk to you, about mum?”
“What about her?” asks Marion. “There is nothing wrong, is there?”
“Nothing wrong?” repeats Norman. “Just my life?”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“I’m stuck looking after mum,” says Norman. “Do you think you’ll be able to help some time?”
“Oh Norm, I’m raising children. I’m a mum myself. I don’t have enough time in the day as it is.”
“But it’s not fair that I take on all the responsibility.”
“You are here, Norman,” says Marion. “It’s easier for you.”
“I know you all think that…”
“Oh, I know. Of course, of course,” says Marion.
“What? Tell me. I’m open to any ideas.”
“I have to pick up Luke and be at Sam’s football club for a bbq lunch, and I don’t have time to go home, I’ll just have a shower here.”
“I can’t do anything…”
“Perhaps, brush up on your time management skills.” Marion’s voice trails off as she leaves the room.
Marion pulls her blouse over her head.
Norman reaches into the fridge and selects a white paper package.
Marion slides the white shower curtain closed and turns on the water.
Norman stands at the wood block in the kitchen and slices the beef up in anger with a large knife. The point of the knife pieces the red meat over and over.
The pot simmers on the stove.
Marion appears at the kitchen door. “See you Normo.”
“What we talked about,” says Norman.
“Gotta go,” says Marion’s voice from the front hall.
Norman picks up his phone and punches in a number. He speaks to his sister Lila.
“I’m a mum, Norman,” says Lila. “What time do I have to look after mum?”
The thing that upset Norman more than the refusal, was Lila’s annoyed tone at Norman even asking.
“You get free accommodation,” says Lila. “I wish someone would do that for me.”
“Mum would.”
Lila laughs. “Oh Norman. I’ve got to go.”
The basement was cool, it was Norman's favourite place. Norman wasn’t sure if it was real hair, or horse hair, but he liked the feel of it against his skin. The dress smelt of his mother’s perfume, which he found off putting the first time, but now, strangely, he found it comforting. He liked the way he looked in the mirror.
"You can call me 'fish lips' and I'll call you 'the goose is cooked', and we can meet for a champagne tonight to toast the new year."
"At that place we discussed by the beach?"
"Yes, by the beach. Wear a white carnation in your lapel, and I'll wear hot pants with knee length boots."
"So, the dress is casual."
"Oh yes, very casual."
"We can drink until we fall down..."
"You read my mind."
“And then we can drink some more.”
They both laugh.
The roof deck is deserted ostensibly. A flat concrete deck with a red brick waist height wall. The air is fresh, the sky clear with stars, the sound of waves can be heard in the distance.
Right near the front of the deck are two folding chairs, and a table. One of the folding chairs is occupied.
He takes tentative steps towards the man in the folding chairs. "Fish lips?"
"Goose? Sit down."
"Oh Carl, you were right about this place."
"Champagne?"
"Oh yes."
"My secret place. I'm glad you like it, Eric."
"I love it."
"Nobody knows you are here. Hidden in plain sight."
"On top of the world."
"Did you have trouble finding it?"
"Not at all." Eric takes the chilled flute of bubbles. He holds it out in mid air. Carl chinks his glass against it.
"To us."
"Yes, to us."
"My goodness, you wore a white carnation."
"I thought it was de rigueur."
"Indeed. Lovely."
"No hotpants, though."
Carl laughs. "Shorts and boots though," he says. He holds his legs out straight. "I'm just lucky it is a warm night."
"Camel coloured work boots." Eric raises his eye brows.
"It is the best I could do."
They both exhale at the same time, as they relax into their chairs and gaze at the expansive sky.
"It has been a hell of a year," says Carl.
"A hell of a year."
"End of the decade."
"And good riddance to it too. So pleased."
"So pleased."
"If it had gone on for much longer, I was going to throw a rope over a beam..."
"You and me both, mate. We could kick each other's stools, simultaneously." Laugh. “If you’ll excuse the expression.”
"Do you think that is even possible?"
Shrug. "You never know until you try."
They both laugh.
“Oh, could you imagine.” Carl points his toe of his right foot and makes the perfect punt kick. He holds his hand above his head immediately afterwards, letting his tongue hang out, jerking his hand upwards, letting his knees give way. “At precisely the same time…”
“With precision.”
“It would leave people wondering…”
“Gasping.”
“Oh, what fun,” says Carl. “It almost makes me want to do it.”
“Oh, you and me both. Such mystery.”
“As we both fall to the floor like two bags of shit. Kerthunk.”
“Kerthunk. Kerthunk.”
They both laugh hysterically.
"Two bodies, two stools, do you think they would ever work it out?"
"Not a chance. Not a hope in hell."
"They say that's where you go, you know, when..." Carl makes a slashing motion across his throat.
"Oh, they say a lot of things, now don't they."
“So many fucken things.”
They laugh again.
Carl holds out the bottle. "Champagne?"
Eric holds out his glass. "Does a bear shit in the woods?"
Carl laughs as he pours the champagne. The champagne froths up over the rim of the glass. "It’s a boy!"
Eric sips at the rim of the glass to stop it flowing over. "So this place?"
"This place?" repeats Carl.
"How come we get to sit up here and enjoy this wonderful view?"
"Oh," says Carl. "It's mine."
"The roof deck?"
"The building."
"The building?" repeats Eric incredulously.
"I had an old lesbian aunt who had no kids and she left it to me in her will," says Carl. "I was her favourite, for obvious reasons."
"Wow!" says Eric.
"And I had the good sense not to sell it," says Carl. "It is my superannuation."
"Lucky you."
"More champagne?" asks Carl.
"Jesus, I'm getting giddy already."
"I'll take that as a yes."
They both laugh as Carl fills their glasses.
"So, new year's resolutions?" asks Carl.
"Not to throw a rope over a beam," says Eric. How about you?"
"Oh, you know, the usual, be happy."
"How could you not be with this?"
"I know. You'd think. But it is just things. And things don't make you happy."
"They must give you a certain kind of happiness?"
Shrug. "Maybe. I don't know. You get used to them, and then they don't mean so much," says Carl. "I could be sitting up here alone, what kind of happiness do you think that would give me?"
Eric glances sideways at Carl, their eyes meet momentarily. "Still, it doesn't give you misery, I am sure."
"No, not misery, no, no."
"It's been one hell of a year, a shitty government re-elected, criminals running the world, climate change bush fires, floods, volcanos, who knows what is coming next?"
"Oh… probably a pandemic."
They both laugh.
"I think it has been hard for everyone."
"Hard for everyone."
"It is, of course, the 24 hour new cycle, because without that we'd have ignorant bliss, and we'd all be happier."
"Imagine switching the world off just for a time."
"We invite it in, we are hypocrites really deep, deep down…"
"Yeah, maybe not so deep down."
There is the sound of car horns.
"Hey, what's the time?" Carl looks at his apple watch, as Eric looks at his.
"A minute to go," says Eric.
"30 seconds," says Carl. "The end of the year."
"The end of the decade," says Eric.
"Drink up says Carl."
"To us." They chug their champagne down and slam their champagne glasses down on the table.
Car horns toot in the distance.
They step to the edge of the deck. "Happy new year," says Carl.
"Happy new year.
"Shall we dance?"
"Yes, let's dance.
Carl wraps his arms around Eric and they hold each other tight, as fireworks lights up the sky above them.
