The Year I Went Pear-Shaped (7 page)

Chapter 10: Bloody diets

“It’s easy Darla,” Mum continued. “You just have to eat the foods that are right for your body based on your blood group. It’s all very scientific. Apparently we’ve all got genetic codes based on our neanderthal ancestors. Some people are gatherers which means they need to eat mostly plant food and grains while other people are hunters which means they need to eat mostly meat and veges and stay away from bread. You’re a hunter so you have to eat fish, chicken, red meat plus lots of vegetables.”

It all made perfect sense according to Mum. She now believed that the reason I could never lose weight in the past was because I was fighting my DNA by not eating enough meat. She’d just finished telling me that the ten years I spent as a vegetarian was the worst thing I could possibly do, the cause of all my problems. All those years I’d spent making lentil lasagne and chickpea casseroles would’ve been far better spent chowing down on bloody steaks and bacon sarnies.

Well, whatever, I was willing to give it a try.

“So, I should be eating loads of meat?”

“Yes Darling! Because your body is programmed to respond to animal protein just like your cavemen ancestors. It’s been proven you know. Apparently, meat protein will make you feel full while breads and starches won’t. Look, just give it a try, it can’t hurt can it? After all it’s working for your Aunty Viv, she’s lost 15 kilos now. She looks amazing! Although, apparently she’s on some diet pill as well that she got from her doctor. I don’t know what it is exactly but it’s made her a new woman, she’s running round at a million miles an hour! Just between you and me, she even says her sex drive is back. I mean she’s 67 for goodness sake, the fact that she even remembers what sex is is a miracle. Especially when you look at Uncle Bryan, hardly the type to incite lust is he?”

My Uncle Bryan was knocking on 70, a retired bus driver. He’d spent 34 years on the 426 route, going back and forth between Circular Quay and Newtown. Mum thought he was one of the most boring men on the planet but I thought he was brilliant. He had a wit that was drier than a sand dune and a twinkle in his eye. When I was little he’d always buy me lolly mixes or slip me a couple of dollars when no one was looking and say, ‘go on Love, buy yourself a wee treat’. Now that he and Aunty Viv had moved to the Gold Coast, just up the road from Mum and Joseph, he spent his days playing lawn bowls and building coffee tables. In the last couple of years, he’d started selling the tables in a local furniture shop. He’d had to, there was no room left in their house for any more of them and Aunty Viv had kept complaining that, ‘no one on earth drinks that much damned coffee Bryan, can’t you learn to make something else?’ But now that the tables were selling for $700 each and the shop was moving at least one a week, she wasn’t complaining anymore. The extra money paid for her weekly manicure and pedicure with plenty left over for the odd new dress or pair of shoes.

“...but the less I know about my sister’s sex life, the better,” I heard Mum say as I tuned back in.

“Well, I for one am glad Viv’s getting a bit of it Mum, it gives me hope that I might have sex again sometime in the next forty years.”

“Look, you’ll meet Mr Right one day Darl, I know it, but it wouldn’t hurt things if you dropped a couple of kilos would it? I mean, lets not be politically correct about it shall we, the truth is to catch a man you’ve got to be attractive and, face facts Honey, slim girls are more attractive. I’m your mother, if I can’t tell you this, who can?”

God, where are the razor blades when you need them.

“Yes Mum, I know. I’ll try this blood group thing. You never know, maybe it’ll work this time.”

“There’s a good girl! I’ll put the book about it in the mail. In the meantime, get yourself to the butcher’s and throw out all your bread and high carb food in your kitchen, ok?”

“Yes Mum.”

“Ok, now how’s everything else, any news? Interviewing anyone interesting soon?”

“Well, I’m meeting up for coffee with this guy off a daytime soap in the next couple of days, do you ever watch Love on the Wards?”

“I’ve caught it a couple of times I think but honestly Darl, I don’t get time to watch daytime TV, not when there are abandoned animals to find new homes for. I do like Harry’s Practise though. Actually, we’ve just taken in this gorgeous Burmese cat, aww you should see her! So beautiful. Poor wee thing had been dumped at the tip. It’s scandalous, I’d like just five minutes alone with some of these people, I really would,” she huffed.

I smiled at the thought of my Mum, all high heels and designer scarves, venting her wrath on the some animal-abandoning thug.

“So how many pets are you looking after at the moment then?”

“Well, there’s three cats, two dogs and a goat but I think we’ve found a home for one of the cats and the goat.”

“God, it’s lucky you’ve got a big back yard Mum!”

“Yes, but I love it Darl, you know that.

“I know you do Mum and you’re doing a great job.”

“Thank you Angel, anyway, I’d best run, I just wanted to see how you were doing. Now, let me know when you get the book, I want to know how you go with it. I’ve got a good feeling about this diet Darl! I know you can do it.”

“Yep, will do Mum, thanks, talk to you again later.” It suddenly struck me as ironic that on the one hand Mum was on a one-woman mission to save animals everywhere yet on the other hand she was encouraging me to eat as many of them as I could. The madness of dieting.

“Ok, love you Darling!”

And she hung up, no doubt hurrying off to de-flea one of the residents.

Chapter 11: Gordo the Gardener

I could hear my own heart pulsing loudly in my ears, my hands were so clammy that every few minutes I had to soak up the sweat with a paper napkin from one of silver boxes sitting at the counter. I didn’t dare touch the latte going cold in front of me for fear the caffeine would make my heart race even more and Gordon would arrive to the sight of me getting whisked off in an ambulance.

“Scuse me!” I called to a blue-eyed waiter with shoulders wider than the goalposts on a rugby field who was clearing plates of half eaten cake and dirty glasses with stained serviettes wrapped round them from the next table. “Could I get a soy decaf latte please? And some water?”

“Sure Love,” he chirped, his Lycra t-shirt stretched to breaking point across his concrete pecs, “coming right up!”

“Cheers,” I croaked and glanced again at my watch for the fortieth time. 9.45am. I'd been sitting there for 15 minutes with another 15 to go. Terrified of being late, I'd left home far too early. In my pocket was a chunk of crystal and a rabbit's foot in a silver casing, Anita had solemnly presented them both to me over breakfast that morning, claiming that they had saved her life many times and she was lending them to me until the Dr Ramswell story was sitting safely in magazine stands across the country. As I'd walked out the front door, she'd given me a big hug and said she was going to go back in and light a candle for me, one of the extra special, ultra expensive, "good luck" candles that she bought by mail order from Shanghai. Surely I couldn't fail with that kind of positive energy in my corner.

God, what was I going to do for 15 minutes? I’d already read the copy of yesterday’s Herald that was sitting on the table when I arrived three times. This was agony. By the time Gordon turned up I'd be a dribbling, blithering pile of jelly, slowly falling in globs from the chair to the floor. Christ, what was wrong with me? I had to pull myself together, I'd never been like this before. Even meeting people like Robbie Williams and Kylie Minogue hadn’t really phased me. Although Robbie had made me tremble a bit I had to admit. Maybe Tobsha was right, I was totally fucked up. Jeeze, then imagine what she'd think if she knew about the little Gordon shrine I had sitting in my bedroom, complete with incense and photos? I really was pathetic. Anita was right; he's just some soap actor, what's the big deal? Ohgodohgodohgod! There he is! Over by the door, scanning the room. He's smiling. At me! He's coming over. I think I'm going to die. The next ten seconds felt like 20 years as he walked over, winding his way through the other tables and chairs.

“Hiii… Darla?” He said with a question in his voice. I nodded, momentarily speechless. “I'm Gordon,” he said.

The walking divinity put out his hand and I stood up to shake it. His grip was firm and confident. He looked me straight in the eye and his smile radiated enough wattage to power a fleet of limousines.

“Hi,” I squeaked, thanking the heavens that the power of speech had returned. “Um, it'sgreattomeetyoupleasesitdowncanIgetyouacoffee?”

Doh! Stupid, stupid! Slow down and speak clearly, do you want him to think you're a complete moron?

“Thanks, yeah, a flat white would be great.”

I asked Walking Shoulders to add a flat white to the order then sat back down opposite Man of My Dreams. He had hung his denim jacket on the back of his chair and was sitting back, one leg slung casually over the other. He launched another killer smile missile at me as I sat down. Va Boom! Right on target.

“Y'know, you look familiar, have we met before?”

I guess there was no point in hiding it.

“Yeah, we have actually. We went to high school together. You probably don’t remember but we were in the same PE class and we also both starred in the school play, Guys & Dolls. If I recall correctly, you were Dice Guy number six and I was Salvation Army lady number three. Not to mention both of us being crucial members of the crowd scenes.”

Gordon's eyebrows had flown up into the reaches of his floppy blonde fringe and he sat forward to get a closer look at me.

“Oh my Lord! Darla! It's Darla Manners. Jeeze, I didn't make the connection before! Bloody hell, you've changed a lot Darla, you look fabulous! What a riot!” He threw his beautiful head back and laughed. “Well, I guess there's no point in me trying to hide anything from you then is there, you know all about my murky past as the randiest little bugger to ever come out of Rosewarne High. Lord, how embarrassing!”

He laughed again but to his credit, he also look a little embarrassed, evidenced by a pink flush rising up his chiselled cheekbones.

“Yes, well we didn't call you The Gardener for nothing Gordon, what with all that deflowering you did, but don't worry, your secret's safe with me, quite frankly I'd rather erase the Rosewarne years from my memory as well.”

God, how can anyone be that good-looking? I thought, taking a moment to lap up his beauty. He was like one of those Greek statues come to life. I wanted to lick him all over.

“The Gardener? Jeeze, that's hilarious, I never knew that. God, if you manage to write this article without mentioning details like that from my notorious youth, I'll be ever in your debt.”

Va Boom! He hit me with another smile warhead straight between the eyes. Houston, we are under attack, please send reinforcements.

“So, do you still see anyone from back then?” He asked.

“Just a couple of close friends. I seem to have let everyone else drift away.”

“Yeah, me too, sad isn’t it? But I remember you always hung out with the clever chicks, you were one of the smart posse.”

“Yeah, me, Kate, Roz and Heather, the brainy bunch. Although I seem to remember that by half way through the final year, they’d all put their books down for long enough to have a close encounter with The Gardener,” I smirked at him.

This time he really was embarrassed. The pink flush deepened to scarlet and he clamped his palm over his eyes.

“Aghhhhh! Oh god, I was a monster. And you know what's really awful, I can’t remember half of the, ah, close encounters, I had back then. I mean, for all I know, I might’ve even...you, um, did we...? That is, you and I...?”

I put him out of his misery.

“No Gordon, you and I never had sex.”

“Oh thank god... no! I didn't mean it like that”, he said quickly, noting my expression. “Not that having sex with you would have been awful or anything, I just mean that...”

“Oh shut up!” I laughed. “I know what you mean, you idiot, don't worry about it. I don't blame you for sewing a few wild oats in your youth, admittedly probably enough oats to keep Scotland fed for a decade, but the point is that you found something you were good at and you stuck to it. It's that kind of dedication to the job that has made this country great.”

Gordon was laughing out loud when Walking Shoulders came over with our coffees.

“Here we are people! A decaf almond milk latte and a flat white.”

“Thanks for that Trev,” Gordon said. “How are things with you mate?”

“Aw, y'know, hanging in there Gordy, waiting for some big shot producer to look up from his double espresso and discover my considerably enormous talents,” replied Walking Shoulders

“What happened with that TV show about the cool twenty somethings in Perth that you were up for?”

“God, don't talk to me about that! I lost the part to some closet queen who goes round pretending to be straight, to the point where he gets his female flatmate to pose as his girlfriend for interviews. It kills me! I'd have been perfect. Ah well, thank god there’ll always be a demand for my coffee and muffins eh. If anything comes up on your show, keep me in mind would ya Gordon?”

“Of course I will, take care Trev, see you round.”

We watched Trev walk over to take an order at another table.

“We were at drama school together,” Gordon said when he was out of earshot. “He's a bloody good actor too, it's a damn shame he hasn’t had a break yet. I might have to see what I can do.”

“Can you do anything?” I queried.

“Well Darla, it's all about who you know and after ten years in soaps I know a few people. I mean, I can’t get him an interview with Baz Luhrmann or anything but I reckon it's time Love on the Wards joined the 21st century and experimented with a gay storyline. Hell, maybe it's time for our very own Dr Ramswell to explore new aspects of his sexuality!”

Suddenly Gordon's beautiful blue eyes were flashing and he leaned forward towards me, shining with excitement. God, could the man BE anymore charismatic?

“Oh my god Darla, I think I just had a fucking brilliant idea! Why the hell haven't I thought of that before? The ratings would go through the roof!”

“Are you sure they would Gordon?” I said, the voice of doom. “I don't know if middle Australia are as open-minded as the folk who hang out in trendy Darlinghurst cafes. I mean, why does that gay guy who got Trev's part go around pretending to be straight? There must be a reason. And why does Trev, who is openly gay, find it so hard to get work? I think there's some grass roots homophobia going on. I mean, even you could only think of casting Trev in a gay role, why didn't you think about putting him forward for a straight role? He's an actor for godssake, his sexuality isn't supposed to be an issue, look at Tom Hanks in Philadelphia or Russell Crowe in The Sum of Us.”

He looked at me silently for a moment and slumped back into his chair. I felt like I'd just taken a ball off a puppy.

“Shit. You're right.” He paused for a moment. “But I still think that the more gay characters that middle Australia gets exposed to, the more chance we have as a nation of accepting each other's differences, be they sexual, ethnic, religious or whatever and God knows this country could do with more of that in recent times.”

He sighed heavily and pushed his beautiful manly hand with perfectly square nails through his blonde fringe. Gorgeous, charming AND a social conscience. Lordy, Lordy, there was no hope for me now.

“You’re right Gordon, it would be great to see a wider section of the community represented on television, it’s very white bread right now. And even though there’s been a lot more ethnic comedy and programmes, they’re still seen as niche. You’d think the entire country was populated by good-looking, straight, white people between the ages of 18 and 34. No one else gets much of a look in.”

“Hmm, well, when I get my own TV channel, I’ll change all that!”

“Yeah, and when I own my own magazine publishing house, I’ll change it too!”

We giggled, relieved to have gotten off the all too serious topic of ‘everything that’s wrong with the world’.

“Hell, I'm sorry Darla,” he said, changing the subject, “we’ve been sitting here for 20 minutes and we haven't even talked about the story for your mag.”

“What? Oh! Yes, the magazine, of course. My job and everything. I'd forgotten all about it myself, yeah, I guess we should talk about that since you've probably got to be somewhere soon.”

1“Yeah, but I've got time for another coffee if you have?”

I nodded thinking to myself that I’d be happy to sit here and drink coffee with him till I was 80. Gordon raised his arm to get Trev's attention, motioning that we’d have another round of the same. Finishing with a smile and a thumbs up, he turned back to me.

“Right, now what is it that I have to do?”

“Well, we’re doing a story called a day in the life of Dr Ramswell. The idea is that I follow you around for a day and write about your incredibly exciting life, the celebs you rub shoulders with, the amazing parties you go to, the trendy bars you hang out in and all that, bla bla.”

Gordon's eyebrows flew back into his fringe.

“God, that's gonna be a short story then, my life consists of being in the studio all day, getting home about 8pm to eat the Thai takeaway I bought on the way, then watching some doco on the ABC before heading to bed with a cup of...”

“Don't tell me, cocoa.”

“Ah, no, liquorice root tea actually, it’s fantastic stuff.”

At that point, Trev brought our drinks over, giving me a moment to think about how to break it to Gordon that the whole story would be pretty much totally made up.

“Oh bloody hell Gordon, well, what about if I followed you around for a week, only to the exciting things, and we pretended it was all in a day? Magazines do that kind of thing all the time.”

“Really? Good God, next you're going to tell me that the letters to the editor are made up as well.”

“Only the interesting ones.”

“Well, who’d have thought!" he said with mock surprise. 'so, basically we’re going to completely invent a day in my life, is that right?”

“Yep, you're getting the idea now. Although it would really help if there was at least one bona fida celeb party that we could hook all the made up stuff onto, surely there's some fancy schmancy shindig you've been invited to coming up soon?”

“Well, I get invited to loads of things, I just hardly ever go because after your ten thousandth mini samosa, it all gets a bit tired.”

“Jesus Gordon, you're 34 not 104! Where's your joie de vive? What gets you excited?”

He looked at me with a sly smile and raised an eyebrow suggestively. Good God, was the Gardener flirting with me?

“Ok, look,” I said, quickly changing the subject. “Just go home and sift through the million and one invitations you've had in the last day or so and give me a call about which one we can go to, ok?” I passed him my business card, circling my mobile phone number.