Read Online Opportunity by Charlotte Grimshaw - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Charlotte Grimshaw
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checked out the conversation in the lounge,
pre-date, you'd find it wasn't very intellectual. Or very classy.
Mostly the men were drunk, or needing to get drunk very
quickly; most were sweating yobs whose eyes bulged with all
the things they were planning to do, once they'd loosened up
enough there in the lounge. And none of them looked like
they had any money.
After a month I knew my way around. I was well established
in The Land of Opportunity. Rania seemed resigned to having
me back in the house, too. She and I went on arguing about
the race issue. I was pretty shocked by her attitude. I tried to
put it in her terms: 'Okay. Forget the civil rights question.
You're turning away good merchandise. I mean, they tend to
be better-looking, for a start.'
'Not than the Asians.'
'Okay, not better than the Asians. But better than the
whites. Better than all that pastiness and freckles and flab
you've got going out there.'
In the end she said she would have a few Maoris if they
pretended to be Arab. That was a good laugh, but Rania
seemed to believe it was possible. Or she pretended to. She
hired a Maori woman called Diana, who was very good-looking
and who, pretending with satirical insouciance to be
an Arab, got on well with Rania. When Diana was taking a
break they sat in the office together, smoking and watching
the lounge through the one-way glass. They were both brown
and narrow-eyed and mad and hard. Sometimes they were
joined by Mr Ling, for a session of mahjong. Mr Ling had
done some work on his identity: he now sported a perm, and
everyone called him Mr Long. In the evenings the place stank
of coffee and cigarettes and booze. And sex and crime. And
money.
A few months after Diana arrived, she brought her little
cousin Darlene in to work at The Land. Darlene was an
awkward girl with a witless, compulsive laugh. It was a chuckle,
characteristically Maori, but with the charm hammered out of
it — a dull, reflexive plea for peace-not-violence. I sat in my
nook listening to her. The laugh was unbelievable. What
terrible forces, what deprivation, had produced that abject
sound?
'I told the fulla eh, ih ih ih ih, stick it up yor arse, eh, ih ih
ih ih. Got a smoke? Ih ih ih. And he goes, nah, cuz, gunna
stick it up yor arse, ih ih ih.'
That was Darlene off duty. When she was entertaining
clients she was nice and polite and put on a few airs: 'And
where do youse fullas stay? Eh? True ? Long way to come, eh?
My cousin's from there, eh. He's a mean bugger, eh. Ih ih ih
ih.'
She was a useful girl, just turned seventeen. She didn't
usually baulk at anything. But one night, when a stag party
had taken over the lounge and the men looked, to me in my
corner, like predatory animals, with their watchful, calculating
eyes, Darlene had some sort of meltdown or failure of courage.
Her laugh got higher and stranger, and more repetitive, until
it was like panting, like a full-blown panic attack. Diana got
up from her place on the couch. She drew Darlene to her
bosom and took her into my corner, whispering in her ear,
stroking her hands.
'Baby,' she said. 'Baby.' Darlene looked blankly at me, over
Diana's shoulder. Her breathing slowed. Her eyes closed.
Diana gave her a little shake. 'There now. Hush now. Okay,
kid? Okay?'
They hugged. Diana wiped Darlene's tears.
Then she forced a couple of pills down the girl, mopped her
makeup and booted her back to work. It was a bumper
evening. Rania and Mr Long were up all night afterwards,
talking tax evasion.
I had an idea after that, thinking about their faces — Diana's
and Darlene's. The eyes, the cheekbones, the beautifully
curved lips. I decided Diana was Darlene's mum. I put it to
Rania but she just looked at me over her champagne flute and
made a hissing sound between her teeth, ' Ssssssss .' Mr Long
appeared at the door behind her, his face folded into a smile.
When he smiled his eyes disappeared. He lounged there in his
black suit, with his no-eyes smile.
At home one afternoon, I
pre-date, you'd find it wasn't very intellectual. Or very classy.
Mostly the men were drunk, or needing to get drunk very
quickly; most were sweating yobs whose eyes bulged with all
the things they were planning to do, once they'd loosened up
enough there in the lounge. And none of them looked like
they had any money.
After a month I knew my way around. I was well established
in The Land of Opportunity. Rania seemed resigned to having
me back in the house, too. She and I went on arguing about
the race issue. I was pretty shocked by her attitude. I tried to
put it in her terms: 'Okay. Forget the civil rights question.
You're turning away good merchandise. I mean, they tend to
be better-looking, for a start.'
'Not than the Asians.'
'Okay, not better than the Asians. But better than the
whites. Better than all that pastiness and freckles and flab
you've got going out there.'
In the end she said she would have a few Maoris if they
pretended to be Arab. That was a good laugh, but Rania
seemed to believe it was possible. Or she pretended to. She
hired a Maori woman called Diana, who was very good-looking
and who, pretending with satirical insouciance to be
an Arab, got on well with Rania. When Diana was taking a
break they sat in the office together, smoking and watching
the lounge through the one-way glass. They were both brown
and narrow-eyed and mad and hard. Sometimes they were
joined by Mr Ling, for a session of mahjong. Mr Ling had
done some work on his identity: he now sported a perm, and
everyone called him Mr Long. In the evenings the place stank
of coffee and cigarettes and booze. And sex and crime. And
money.
A few months after Diana arrived, she brought her little
cousin Darlene in to work at The Land. Darlene was an
awkward girl with a witless, compulsive laugh. It was a chuckle,
characteristically Maori, but with the charm hammered out of
it — a dull, reflexive plea for peace-not-violence. I sat in my
nook listening to her. The laugh was unbelievable. What
terrible forces, what deprivation, had produced that abject
sound?
'I told the fulla eh, ih ih ih ih, stick it up yor arse, eh, ih ih
ih ih. Got a smoke? Ih ih ih. And he goes, nah, cuz, gunna
stick it up yor arse, ih ih ih.'
That was Darlene off duty. When she was entertaining
clients she was nice and polite and put on a few airs: 'And
where do youse fullas stay? Eh? True ? Long way to come, eh?
My cousin's from there, eh. He's a mean bugger, eh. Ih ih ih
ih.'
She was a useful girl, just turned seventeen. She didn't
usually baulk at anything. But one night, when a stag party
had taken over the lounge and the men looked, to me in my
corner, like predatory animals, with their watchful, calculating
eyes, Darlene had some sort of meltdown or failure of courage.
Her laugh got higher and stranger, and more repetitive, until
it was like panting, like a full-blown panic attack. Diana got
up from her place on the couch. She drew Darlene to her
bosom and took her into my corner, whispering in her ear,
stroking her hands.
'Baby,' she said. 'Baby.' Darlene looked blankly at me, over
Diana's shoulder. Her breathing slowed. Her eyes closed.
Diana gave her a little shake. 'There now. Hush now. Okay,
kid? Okay?'
They hugged. Diana wiped Darlene's tears.
Then she forced a couple of pills down the girl, mopped her
makeup and booted her back to work. It was a bumper
evening. Rania and Mr Long were up all night afterwards,
talking tax evasion.
I had an idea after that, thinking about their faces — Diana's
and Darlene's. The eyes, the cheekbones, the beautifully
curved lips. I decided Diana was Darlene's mum. I put it to
Rania but she just looked at me over her champagne flute and
made a hissing sound between her teeth, ' Ssssssss .' Mr Long
appeared at the door behind her, his face folded into a smile.
When he smiled his eyes disappeared. He lounged there in his
black suit, with his no-eyes smile.
At home one afternoon, I
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