BED & BREAKFAST

CHAPTER 3 - So where's the love?

Crap! "Here we go," I thought, mentally preparing for the usual "I knew your brother when..." and, "You must feel so proud!" and, "I have a friend, whose son's been training since before he could walk... they all say he's good, maybe you could-"

Like I had the King's ear? Like my brother consulted me and heeded my opinions? Like I could make things happen? Fat bloody chance. It's always part amused me, partly disgusted me- the assumption that I have leverage. My brother is his own person, following his own life journey.  And I don't consult or heed his opinions either. He acknowledges the importance of my presence in his life often, publicly, sure. (But that's for private matters?)

Yet people- men sidling up to me; conversations not about me but about my brother, seeking what? (My first serious boyfriend- seeing his photo in the paper, suddenly appearing next to him with a stupid, satisfied grin; other familiar faces from my past observed hanging around- using their previous connections to ME to gain a foothold in my brother's world- "I knew your sister back when...") What? What did those people imagine? Round-table family meetings where we all strategised and formed group decisions regarding his work?Give me a break people!

I shut down at her opening remark and went into disinterest mode- expecting to repeat the few caustic yet deceptively assenting sentences I always used: "Thank you, I will tell him." (Not in this lifetime you despicable woman who once used my apartment to cheat on your husband- then claimed I was the one cheating to cover your own ass!) "Yes, I will mention your name when I see him next." (Fat bloody chance you prick who spread rumours about me and you, and one time came close to raping me!) "I'll make sure to pass this on." (To the nearest trash can, where I should have sent you long ago, you letch!) They were left happy- hell, why not? 

"Sorry?"

I'd done more thinking during this tour than I could ever recall doing in the company of a stranger... and now she'd asked something and... A long string of sentences had flown from her mouth. I'd caught the odd one but on recollection, I can't recreate that mini-monologue- I say monologue because I do remember nodding a lot as she spoke, but I was mute, off on my own tangent, gearing up for the usual.

... Ummm. Turned out, she'd recognised my name when processing my card. (This despite only a few knowing we'd shortened it when we became Australian Citizens back in the 70's but that he still used the longer version in the media.) Turned out, her husband Daniel knew my brother very well and since wayyyy, way back, in his former career. Turned out, her son and my nephew (brother's oldest boy) played on opposing teams in the same regional league. Turned out, she knew ALL about my family.

Turned out... she didn't give a fuck about any of it, let alone my connection!

WTF?

The shock of staying some place where I would be scrutinized, questioned and maybe hit on for one thing or another to be obtained from him was quickly replaced by a surprising ease as I watched her shrug her shoulders and move on, simply saying, "Small world, oui?"

I nodded. "Oui," I said in turn, breathing normally again. (I never sense this change in breathing pattern until after I resume what one would call breathing normally. What I must look like therefore - inserting an assumed array of frozen, breath-holding facial contortions here - during these tangents, is a mystery... to me at least.)

And that was the end of it. She resumed her former chatty and tactile meander. My 'suite' was explored at great length. The reasoning for the furnishings, how the angle of the windows afforded total privacy even from the bed, even with the curtains fully open- as did the spa bath, flanked by sheer glass overlooking lush, dense rain-forest. (Again, the suspicion of her focusing me on the sensual/sexual, the raison d'etre behind my stay. She was gooooood!)

"So much amour in this room..." She'd paused, eyes returning to the bed.

Amour. Love. Sex. "Sex!" This last word screamed at me. "SEX!"

We never think, do we? When we stay in hotels and motels and yes, especially B&Bs... About the SEX! We don't think of the stream of couples before us using this same space- that bed, the plush velvet armchairs, the Persian-type rug by the fire- Eeewww! Suddenly I was seeing semen everywhere. (Can dried semen be vacuumed up from plush pile?) My nose twitched- I swear I was smelling sex? Or the aftermath of a tonne of sex. Images of naked bodies everywhere I looked as I assessed every bit of furniture... (Yes, sometimes being me is... verging on the certifiably insane. The thoughts my brain concocts so damn crazy I did an online search once: "Insanity Spectrum" looking for a disorder I could identify with. Turned out, I identified with several of them. But then again, wouldn't we all? Wouldn't we?)

My 'oneness' was accepted by her without comment. I did spy her casting the odd inquisitive glance my way but for the most part, she was doing her thing; never mind there was no male to join me in the head nodding and "Yes," mouthing.

"So where's the love," you're asking about now. I've given you the background for my being there, the romantic setting, I've stuffed you full of the complicated situation with my brother and you heard all about this strange French woman's mannerisms and... you've surely had your fair share of "eeewwws"- so where's the bloody love?

If I'm about to meet someone who's going to knock my socks off, can I get to him already?