The Unexpected Life of Carnegie Lane

THE UNEXPECTED LIFE OF CARNEGIE LANE

Virginia Higgins

Published in 2012 by

Mirror Muse Publishing

26 Gallipoli Road

Coffs Harbour NSW 2450

AUSTRALIA

www.carnegielanebook.com

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

The Author asserts her moral rights.

Author: Virginia Higgins – Copyright © 2011, 2012

Title: The Unexpected Life of Carnegie Lane

ISBN: 978-1475029079

All Rights Reserved

Cover art: Posters from a collection owned by the Author. No credit is taken for the artwork as it is not her own.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

• 
Chapter 1

• 
Chapter 2

• 
Chapter 3

• 
Chapter 4

• 
Chapter 5

• 
Chapter 6

• 
Chapter 7

• 
Chapter 8

• 
Chapter 9

• 
Chapter 10

• 
Chapter 11

• 
Chapter 12

• 
Chapter 13

• 
Chapter 14

• 
Chapter 15

• 
Chapter 16

• 
Chapter 17

• 
Chapter 18

• 
Chapter 19

• 
Chapter 20

• 
Chapter 21

• 
So…where are they now?

• 
Author’s Note

For my Dad

Jonathan Higgins

18th June 1928 – 19th September 2006

You would have loved this one!

“
It was the sweetness of your skin, it was the hope of all we might have been that filled me with the hope to wish, impossible things.”

“
To wish impossible things”

Written by Robert James Smith

The Cure – Wish Album 1992

1

Carnegie Lane
arrived at 27 Willow Street in the town of Bundaberg a little out of place and very disorientated, after suffering a mental concussion from the divorce she never saw coming. Whatever it was that brought her there had to come from cataclysmic shock. You could tell just by looking at that entire family, minus the husband, it was
not
a happy move. They pulled up out the front of their new suburban house and walked around it twice with their backs arched, like male cats meeting for the first time. Their clothes were different to what the locals were used to, yet most obvious was their eerie silence.

They had nothing much to say to each other and barely gave a smile as the neighbors approached them offering the mandatory welcome. They seemed embarrassed and less than happy to receive it. In fact, if they had been pressured anymore to smile, they had the potential to burst into inconsolable tears or throw up.

Before that shocking move, Carnegie Lane lived in the suburb of Paddington, deep in the heart of Sydney. She’d left her oppressive life in a small country town when she was only seventeen, and went on a journey to find somewhere she truly belonged.

Paddington was a funky little corner of the world that forever held her heart. It was the first place she found when she moved away and the only place on earth that held an offbeat significance to her life. In that small corner of the universe the music and soulful opportunity allowed her to express the complexity of who she was. She fit in there like a glove and made many great friends who were the same… Different.

Choosing to remain there was a constant reminder of her rebellious phase in the late 80’s. Back when her partly pink hair, savagely dark eyeliner and those black boots with pewter skulls ruled supreme. It was through her endless nights of blind abandonment and partying at the Exchange Hotel on Oxford Street (and various other seedy venues) that she met the love of her life, her future husband, the father of her children.

Live bands were everything to her. Musicians, who were at the time no one - but almost good - were the same people she would share a joint with at a party and a drink with at the pubs around Sydney between sets. Her life was simple. She wasn’t a groupie, because she knew them by name. She was above the begging. Some over time, became stars, landing themselves on Countdown with Molly Meldrum. They would get to be the lead acts and play in venues ranging from the Tivoli to the Horden Pavilion. Later some even performed at the Sydney Entertainment Center. If she was lucky enough to be standing at the front, her face would be familiar and they would greet her as if they cared. A subtle wink or a wave between rifts was what she had come to live for. It was hard for Carnegie to walk away from a gig unrecognized. Before they were famous,
she
had mattered to most of them.

Moving forward to 2009 her world was very different. She had a semi–awesome husband, with a financially rewarding career. An amazing Paddington town house and a credit card that had no end in sight to what she could or couldn’t do with it. All of the perfection she had created so far was ingeniously accessorized by four very… perfect…children.

Carnegie Lane was happy. She belonged in this world that had been carefully manufactured by her and she refused to leave. Caught in a time warp, she danced through her housework and kept her sanity in between, all the time listening to The Cure and singing along word for word. For her, like the music, it was
‘Just like Heaven’
.

There was nothing that could touch her as the essence of the songs took over. The rhythm guitar pumped a familiar drug straight into her veins; the bass guitar would set a mood as the lead touched the highest joy centers of her brain. The drum became the pace for her heartbeat to follow and the vocals would set her spirit free. By the time the CD rolled over to
‘Kiss me Kiss me Kiss me’
the broom had become a microphone and she had become an obsession to no one. Strategically, she performed for the inanimate objects that made up the aesthetics of her home. Her world was perfect. Carnegie Lane in those moments was someone. She had become -
A legend in her own lounge room
.

For seven hours of the day, those books and ornaments were her audience and she decided they mattered. She would perform and clean, create and cook until all her dreams and secret desires were removed by the sound of children walking through the door. Once again Carnegie Lane, the idol to inanimate objects, would become Carnegie Lane, the mother of four needy children, and she loved it.

So what was it that drove her, underneath the insatiable love for those children? Underneath her undying need to be the perfect wife and partner? It was a complicated question for a complicated woman. She was a multi-dimensional being that was driven by the need for her own self created perfection. So what was it, underneath it all that she really wanted for herself? The answer was not as remarkably different as to what you would think. Carnegie Lane just wanted to be a Rock Star.

So between the reality of her life and her secret world that kept her sane, there was nothing much that needed correcting. Carnegie convinced herself she was happy, her kids were great, her husband came home at night and ate dinner with the family. Her twin daughters went to ballet lessons, and her two little ones learned the piano.

They entertained friends on a Friday night and she cooked amazing dishes from exotic locations around the globe. All the current events of the day, including politics, would be discussed at the table as if they had the credibility to actually comment, all the while consuming a standard prescription of wine. She had an art for remembering to smile and look casually in control of it all.

Then, with the final wave of farewell to the last visitor at the door, she would turn and go to bed, ready to slave for her man, just like all good wives did after a successful dinner event. It was a ritual dished up long ago and made to feel like a reward for good and proper behavior on both sides of the bed sheets. Somewhere deep within her, Carnegie Lane wanted more out of life, only she didn’t know it then. Somewhere, her husband was already getting more out of life. Only he wasn’t quite ready tell her the truth.

It was a nearly perfect day when her world unraveled like a ball of string. Her four children sat quietly at the dinner table, eating a healthy concoction of veggies and tofu without complaint. The house was spotless and out of the corner of her eye, Carnegie could almost see the statue in the hall still applauding her best concert yet. Her husband was late, but it happened occasionally. Then the phone rang…

Carnegie Lane listened to the voice of her husband at the other end telling her something unbelievable. Her head swam as if in lost in a vortex. He wasn’t just late, he wasn’t coming back at all. Her semi-awesome husband was at the home of his semi-plastic secretary. They were in love and he was going to marry her. There was no apology. There was no regret. There was no message for the children. He said he would come over the next day and collect some of his things, he asked her not to be there when he did, then he hung up without hesitation. She put the phone down and listened to the happy voices of her children as they picked the best out of their dinner. Then they became silent as a billowing wale came from the den where the call had taken place.

Carnegie Lane was screaming.