Baby Powder
By stevew
- 622 reads
It's really good of you to listen to all this, I mean, I don't want
you thinking I don't appreciate it. I'm sure you must have a busy job
and lots to do. Responsibilities, deadlines, you know. Well, alright
then, if you're sure then I'll carry on. I must say I haven't talked
like this since I don't know when.
As far as sex is concerned I don't think I have any real negative
feelings. I mean I've had my share. Not been promiscuous mind, but I've
had relationships in the past. Not too recently though, I must admit,
but I mean I know what it's like. I've had good sex. Not exactly 9?
Weeks, or the restaurant scene in When Harry Met Sally, but good for
me. That's what's important isn't it? In the past couple of years
though I've hardly thought about it. Haven't had the time. Anyway, it's
not as if I was looking around for a man to settle down with. I don't
need a man. I mean, I can live without one. I suppose Peter knocked the
stuffing out of me if I really think about it. It was all a long time
ago, of course, but to come home and find he'd left out of the blue,
into the blue, just packed his bags, left a note and went, well yes, it
would have been a shock for anyone.
I had to have a week off work. I needed some time on my own to get over
the initial shock. Then there were practical things to consider,
financial things. And, of course, loneliness. The fear of loneliness
hung over me like an unwelcome and yet familiar cloud. I never thought
that I would have to cope with being that lonely again. Still, there I
was, already turned thirty and with no obvious direction in sight. What
made it worse was the fact that even the past didn't seem clear
anymore. During the weekend before I went back to work I decided that,
in the absence of any clarity concerning the past or the future, all I
could do was bring order and clarity and vitality and freshness to the
confused fug of the present. I made a conscious decision, as they say,
to throw myself into the job with renewed vigour. This was to be my
mental salvation and I viewed it as a personal crusade.
I remember that Monday morning when I went back to the office. Word had
got around, of course. It wasn't so much that everyone was going out of
their way to be nice to me. I suppose people had been briefed not to
put me under too much pressure. It was more a case of going out of
their way not to be un-nice to me really. The last thing I wanted
though, was to be seen as weak and I certainly didn't want anybody
placating me with blandishments, smothering me with superficialities or
explaining to me how the sea was a big place full of fish. In my
considered determination though, I knew that to really come on strong
would have been seen as a sign of weakness and vulnerability. A shield,
a mask, something to hide behind. And so I adopted a matter-of-fact
approach, not ignoring it but not dwelling on it. After all, there was
work to be done and so it wasn't simply a mindless distraction to roll
up my sleeves and get on with the job.
A lot of people thought I had the perfect background for the job. What
with my Life Sciences degree, my MBA and experience in pharmaceutical
sales. It seemed that I'd found my niche working in the Marketing
Department of Panacea, being one of the top ten international drugs
companies. For the last few years now I've been working on projects in
the company's Anti-Natal Programme. Anti with an 'i', that is. Well,
that's what we used to call ANP anyway. Officially, it was Assisted
Natural Products. I always viewed this as an attempt by Panacea to give
an environmentally friendly sound to the new drugs being developed as a
result of the latest advances in chemical engineering. My small team
always seemed to be involved in the new contraceptives which had been
developed in ANP, hence our pun. I even had a sign made up for the
front of my desk, 'Mothercure' it said. No kidding.
How I devoted myself to that job. I found myself getting in earlier and
leaving later, taking work home at weekends. It seemed the more I did,
the more I got to do. The pressure seemed unrelenting. For a time, I
enjoyed it. Out of a search for distraction initially but after a while
I became so bound up with it that it became the major part of my life.
I managed projects at different stages of development, worked on
campaigns
and launches for new products, went to exhibitions and conferences and
then of course there were the endless meetings and reports. On top of
all this, as if to keep us on our toes, the Company made life even more
difficult by snowing us under with time management studies, quality
audits, personality questionnaires and so on.
There never seemed to be time for anything else. My social life
dwindled to a few occasions when I felt that I had to be seen to make
an appearance. I rarely enjoyed a social gathering for its own sake,
there was usually an ulterior motive for my being there, for being
amongst the right people. The last time I made any attempt to, well,
how can I put it? Flirt, I suppose. Well anyway, it was when there was
a seminar held on the new morning after drug which was nearing
completion of its trials. My little group came up with our own name for
this one, too. 'Man-Ban' we called it, which stood for 'Morning After
the Night Before Anti-Natal'. It was a brilliant idea: a post-coital
contraception in soluble form with paracetamol included to clear the
head. The perfect preparation for the morning after a night on the
town. Anyway, the U.S. Project Manager was over to make a presentation
and I thought he could be a great ally to have on my side. So, yes, I
flirted a little. Later, I mean, when we adjourned to the bar. It was
more a question of my keeping his attention long enough to show I was a
good listener, give him all the right verbal responses and body
language feedback so that he would think I found him fascinating. If
you can manipulate a man in this way then you're almost there, it makes
them feel so important, you see. There's only one thing a man likes to
have massaged more than his ego and in some cases even that is a pretty
close call.
Anyway, I hope I didn't get him too excited. All I needed the next
morning was something for a hangover, but I think my efforts did the
trick. I had impressed him by at first being my own person,
establishing a strong personality presence, and then by appearing
fascinated by his every word. Whenever he thought of 'Man-Ban' UK he
would be sure to think of me.
This type of occasion was rare, though. But every once in a while there
would be a couple of glasses of wine at the bar of a hotel or country
retreat where a meeting, seminar or brainstorming session was being
held. There were also other social occasions which one felt obliged to
attend - Christmas party, the odd barbecue and that sort of thing. I
suppose I didn't realise it but there were never any purely social
occasions any more. I'd lost touch with the old friends I knew since
pre-Panacea days. Anyway, what the hell. After work, I barely had
enough energy left to keep the flat in good shape. I'm still there.
Underground parking, phone entry, two good-sized bedrooms, fully fitted
kitchen and bathroom. Everything a girl could want. There's a sweet
old-ish lady who comes around and does for me once a week and I catch
up on anything else at the weekend, if I'm not away.
I've made the second bedroom into a study. Plenty of room. Telephone,
fax, PC. I spend hours in there sometimes. Gives me the chance to stay
one step ahead. It's a very competitive marketplace, both externally as
far as our rivals are concerned and internally in the sense of fighting
to get, and keep, the job you want. Still, you know all about that,
don't you? Anyway, the rest of the flat is pretty much as I want it.
Has been for some time now. Carpets, curtains, furniture, you know.
Yes, it's pretty much as I would like it.
Anyway, I was in the flat when I first got the feeling. In the kitchen
it was. I had one of those large boxes of matches that people have in
kitchens, you know the sort of thing. Being all-electric of course I
hardly used them but they were still useful for candles or whatever.
Well, it was all a bit strange and unexpected. I was just programming
the microwave when those matches, or rather the box containing them,
caught my eye, the corner of my eye. And it suddenly reminded me of
something that happened, well something that was just said really,
years ago when I was doing my MBA. It was nothing really, but suddenly
it hit me. I'd visited my parents one Sunday and, on my arrival, Mum
put the kettle on whilst Dad and I sat ourselves down at the kitchen
table.
I'd been driving for the best part of two hours and so I was glad to
get there, sit down, have a cuppa, light a fag and put my feet up. I
was still smoking at that time, before I went on the Panacea treatment.
To be honest, I'd barely even heard of the company's name at that time.
Anyway, as I went to light my cigarette, Dad asked if I was "still
smoking them smelly old things", which, of course, was rather a stupid
question under the circumstances. As I replied with a "'fraid so", I
tossed my cigarettes and matches onto the table. Dad said that just
about summed me up. I asked him what he meant and he said he was
talking about the matchbox, or rather, the advice it carried - keep in
a dry place and away from children.
At the time it was said half, no, three-quarters jokingly. Behind it
though was the desire to see his only child entering the baby stakes
herself. We laughed off the comment as a witticism and probably went on
to talk about my course, where I was staying, how their garden was
looking lovely and so on. Anyway, when that oversized box of matches
caught my eye years later I suddenly remembered what Dad had said. It
seemed to hit me all at once. The realisation, I mean that it was now
more than likely that I would never have children. I began to think
about how I had ignored this side of life, how I had submitted to the
pressures of a full-time career and suppressed the natural instinct to
reproduce. I became upset, ambivalent, confused. What was the point of
worrying about it, anyway? For a lot of people, the most satisfying
thing they'll ever do in their life is have and raise a family, watch
the children grow up, hanker after grandchildren and then finally peg
out themselves. And what would be achieved? One life stops and another
begins. For what? But then I reasoned that this was the way of things,
that it was perfectly healthy and sensible to want to have a child of
one's own.
I tormented myself that night to the point of distress. What had I
done? What had I not done? It was all too much. Forgot the microwave
and hit the wine. I'd put everything to one side for so many years. But
even with all that on my mind I still felt no great maternal urge. I
felt guilt that I did not have those feelings and regret that I hadn't
got it all over and done with long before, but still I felt no great
desire to actually do it. As I became somewhat intoxicated I remember
coming to the conclusion that, whilst I didn't know the answer there
and then, I would have to identify my real goals and come up with a
plan of action as to how they would be achieved. I had plenty of
experience of project management and I didn't see why this should be
any different. The next morning I had my first bout of morning
sickness, but this was due to the fact that I had drunk almost two
bottles of wine. It was a good job it was a Saturday. At least I didn't
have to try to struggle into work or phone in and say I was sick.
It was later on the same day when I first got the idea. The hangover
had improved to a point, although it was obvious that I would not be
completely rid of it until the next day. Anyway, by the middle of the
afternoon I decided to go out and do some shopping. Nothing much. Just
a few bits and pieces. I was in Boots actually, trying to find my usual
hair dye, when it struck me. There was a shelf full of it - baby
powder. 'Just add water', I thought to myself. If only it were that
easy. But later on I thought about it more and more. I stayed in for
the rest of the weekend and spent the whole time thinking about it,
gestating the idea you might say. And I thought, well, why not? After
all, I'd been involved in 'Man-Ban' and similar products. Research had
produced so many ways of contraception, why shouldn't it be possible to
develop products which had the opposite effect?
So this was how the idea of convenience conception first came to me.
Over the next few weeks I developed the possibilities in my mind, in an
abstract sense, you understand. I mean, it's not that I knew what would
be scientifically possible at the moment, but the way things are going,
I mean, what can he ruled out? Maybe it will be possible to be
fertilised in powdered form one day. Just think of all the trouble it
would save. No complex relationships. No disappointment. No unwanted
pregnancies and no unwanted people. Maybe it could come
ready-fertilised. Or perhaps there might be an extra key element
included in the pack, something which has to be added at the right
time. A bit like the sachets of yeast Dad used to have in his home
brewing kits. In time, it might be possible to buy a fully prepared kit
which could grow in its own chamber, cutting out entirely the need for
pregnancy. No pain of childbirth. No trouble with hormones and
emotions. And no heartbreak of miscarriage. I mean, if one didn't
develop properly you could just take it back and exchange it for
another.
I also gave thought to the marketing side of things. I planned out a
couple of campaigns, conceptualised some point-of-sale displays, came
up with some draft slogans and advertising copy. Anyway, all this was
going on until quite recently, the time of year when your leaflets are
all over the place, you know, for the company's innovation scheme. I
know it's done mainly as a PR exercise. Proof to employees and
shareholders that Panacea values its greatest asset and its greatest
asset is people. A good photo-opportunity for the chairman when he
comes down to present the winning innovators with their prizes. Looks
good in the newsletter and the annual report. But through this there
can be some good ideas. And with this year's theme of ideas into action
under the slogan of Conceive and Create I thought, well, why not have a
go?
As the closing date drew near I thought to myself I've got plenty of
holiday left and no real plans, so why not take a week off? To really
package the idea, I mean. So I spent a whole week typing, producing
graphics, editing copy I'd already written, making changes and
incorporating new ideas I was still coming up with. Eventually, I
printed the whole thing and bound it in a nice little folder.
Presentation is important isn't it?
Well, that's it really. I mean, I submitted my entry a couple of weeks
ago and the first I heard about it since then was this morning.
Obviously I have my hopes. I even hope that, if the idea got off the
ground, I might be lucky enough to be accepted as a volunteer for the
inevitable pilot scheme, you know, the trials. I mean, that's what
spurred me on in the first place, wasn't it? I mean, the wish to have a
baby of one's own. The need to feel needed. The urge to transfer life's
force. To travel in time, if you like.
Well, anyway, since you asked then there we are. That's how I came to
be here and that's what was behind the whole idea. Of course, when I
was first asked to come up for an assessment I thought it was
specifically with regard to my proposal rather than an assessment of
myself as a person and a review of my r?le in the company. Still, the
human race has to go on somehow, doesn't it? And we all need a r?le in
life don't we? I mean, not just a job spec. Perhaps you can understand
how this is really important to me. This entry means such a lot to me,
you see. You do understand, don't you?
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