no baggage (ip)

http://www.flickr.com/photos/half-bluff/3848537593/

The hair took me hours to do. I hope it doesn’t rain. The curl will vanish if it does. He did say outside right? Yes of course he did. How long shall I give him? Another half hour? I hope that’s not him going by now. Not my type at all. Could be though. They say half the photos they put up on that site are misleading – like ten years old. He said he was forty. No baggage. Like me.

That’s another thing – they say almost everyone lies about their age. I know I did. Hope I pass for thirty-five. How did I get here? What happened? I’m successful – I am good at my job. Love, love, love it. It’s my whole life. That’s the problem. Had to fight to get to where I am. Had to trample over a few people on the way. If I were male it would be called enterprising, but because I am a woman I am a hard bitch. I don’t care, they can all go and fuck themselves. I do care actually. No I don’t. I have the success now. I went through that glass ceiling.

I remember the promotion that clinched it; leaving the CEO’s office, trying to suppress the smile on my face – not professional you see. Stay cool. I punched the air in the lift down back to my floor though, since there was no one else in it. Money no problem now. Couldn’t have bought this Burberry if it were. It’s Prorsum by the way, not chav Burberry thank you very much. Cost a fucking fortune. It’s all about image.

I don’t look too officey do I? That’s my problem. I can do professional thirty-something with my eyes shut. It’s casual I have to think about. Not used to it. No I don’t want another coffee thanks. Oh god have I been here that long? That the bloody waiters are starting to wonder? Piss off. Leave me alone. What have you got? Some little job making coffee? Is that all you have to show for your life? I can blow your month’s salary on a pair of Louboutins so you can wipe that smile off your face. I love the way they look – those red soles say it all - stacked neatly in the dressing room. Not big, but walk-in. That’s success for you.

At weekends, I often stand and admire the ordered neatness. Those see-through shoe boxes were such a good idea. The shelves for handbags. Sometimes - in the evenings too - I take them out of their dustbags and arrange them. I love the smell of Mulberry, and Chloe. This Fendi is perfect with the coat. It says so much about me. That wasn’t a spot of rain? No – my imagination. Phew. This dating thing. New departure. Can’t find one at work. Unprofessional you see? Got to maintain my distance in the office. Thing is though, it takes over – the work. Can’t relax. Take it home. Even here. I can always whip this memo into my bag when he arrives.

Stop it! Fuck you! Stop smirking. I know what you’re thinking. Piss off back to the kitchen and your poxy little job. I am so much more than you. Zone 1 luxury gated development. They wouldn’t even let you through the gate. I have the penthouse – the most expensive. Bought it off plan so I could choose everything. I’ve gone neutral. Kelly Hoppen. No-one gets past the hall with their shoes on. That’s the trouble with the white carpet. Worth it though. Order. Calm. Beige on beige. Lighting on remote. Cushions just so.

Most evenings, if I have a little wobble, I just have to sit in the Charles Eames – white leather of course, and gaze at the order, and it calms me. It stops me thinking about….I like the emptiness and the silence. I do. I like the gleaming stainless steel surfaces. So much easier to keep them that way when I don’t really cook. Pointless for one anyway. I like it that way.

Went to see Bea the other day. What a mess. What was it she said? Oh yes, happy chaos. Those godawful scrawls stuck to the fridge. So ugly. No order. Finger marks too. Can’t bear finger marks on the cupboard doors. They spoil the look. Couldn’t believe it when she said she was happy. She looks tired. She needs a facial. Highlights need doing too. And more gym sessions. I did suggest it. Offered her Ryan’s number – he really is a very good personal trainer.

We used to have so much in common at uni. Different now. They’re even thinking of moving out of London for god’s sake, now that they’ll need another bedroom in a few months. She showed me some estate agents’ details – amazing what you can get for the price – a paddock, climbing roses. Quite pretty, really. That kitchen was nice.

It’s not too late! Plenty of people like me. Okay so not thirty-five. Everyone lies though, so why shouldn’t I? I can still do it. Everything still works. Lots of women have babies at my age. Just need to find Mr. Perfect. Thought it would have happened by now. That’s why….Stay positive. Remember what they said at the counselling centre. I can have it both ways. I can.

I don’t want to be here in five years. Even then though there’s IVF. No need to panic. I want that smile Bea gets every morning. That gap where the tooth came out. I don’t want to sit and stare at the cushions in the evenings. It’s not too late. What was it the last one said? Too hard? I’m not hard – just professional. Anyway you have to be hard to get where I am. Can’t let it slip. Don’t know how to anymore. Have to work on that.

It’s not too late. I’ll give him another five and then I’m off. I can do it without a man anyway. Buy it instead. Plenty of time. You can choose from a catalogue – they list IQ, hair colour – everything really. I laughed about the clock ticking, but it’s not far from the truth. Never thought I’d say that. It’s not too late. I can still do it – can’t I? Stay positive. Is that him?