All That and Then Some

ALICE - Hungry Like The Wolf

MY MOTHER AND I have met for brunch at the King Edward Hotel: a ridiculous extravagance, but she insists we need to celebrate her new vocation as an amateur eroticist. It seems that her debut submission to the Penthouse Forum has been well received by its pervy band of die-hard readers, and there's been some insinuation that she might be considered for a recurring guest column in the future.

The hostess is barely out of earshot when Mum leans over and announces, "I am following in the footsteps of the greats, you know, Alice. Anais Nin, Erica Jong... Sappho..." She struggles to come up with any other female eroticists. "You know, I might write the next Delta of Venus."

"Or, at the very least, some saucy one-liners chiselled into stone tablets," I say. "Anyway, can we not discuss erotica in front of Angel?" I nod toward the fiesty two-year-old I've had to bring along because Buddy is recovering from his me-day/night with a long sleep-in.

My mother looks at the girl for the first time since we arrived.

"Why do you have a baby with you, Alice? This was supposed to be a girls' brunch."

"It's too long a story to explain. I'm being a good friend."

She purses her lips and says under her breath, presumably so as not to offend the toddler, "Am I ever glad those days are over. Babies are such a buzz kill."

Mum waves at a passing waiter, making an impatient 'drinky' motion with her hand. They scurry right over.

"Yes, M'am. Would you like to start with a coffee, tea...?"

"Mimosas, please," she interrupts. "Proper champagne, not that Italian stuff. We're splashing out. I've been published!"

"No mimosa for me. I'll just have a water," I cut in, terrified that she's about to tell the fancy waiter exactly where she's been published.

"Oh, but why?" Mum pouts. "We're celebrating! Don't be a spoilsport, Alice."

"I would; it's just that I'm on this diet plan. I'm strictly not allowed any alcohol at all, so I've been limiting myself to a glass or two of wine every day. If I start with Mimosas at lunch, I'll end up running through all my cheat calories in one sitting."

She waves her hand as if batting away a pesky fly.

"Diets! They only make you miserable. I spent most of the early 80s on the Sexy Pineapple Diet, and I was absolutely miserable the whole time. I think that's why your father had an affair."

"That's right! I remember you eating pineapple at every meal. That was insane."

"I had cankers on the inside of my mouth from all the acidity. And I was so hangry."

A sudden, vivid memory appears: my mother, one sunny afternoon at our school's sports day, stealing a hotdog right out of my hand and cramming it into her mouth whole and then doing the same to my best friend Vivian. I was horrified, but Vivian said it was okay. That Mum looked like she needed to eat before she fell over.

"Well, this isn't a starvation diet," I explain, parroting back what the website told me. "It's a measured, rational approach to calorie-reduction that has produced positive, long-lasting benefits for millions of people."

"Suit yourself," she shrugs. "Just watch out that all your hungry, angry energy doesn't ruin your marriage."

"I don't have angry energy," I protest angrily, wishing I could down three mimosas at once now.

"How often are you and Vic having sex?"

"Mum, god. Stop. Everything is fine in that department." I pause thoughtfully. "Well, they were fine, but then Maeve moved back in. Then I didn't feel like it because I was worried. Then he didn't feel like it. Then I didn't feel like it again. Then last night, we had Angel sleeping beside our bed in the pack and play because I couldn't think of anywhere else to put her where I could keep an eye on her arsonist tendencies."