The girl-woman wears low high heels so that when she walks onto the stage she moves in a way that makes everyone shut up. She stands on the stage in a black dress with an open back, and you can see the lines of her curves filling out the skin-tight crepe. The front of the dress is high-necked and conservative; the back is scant and sexy. Her lips are painted a letter-box red. When she opens her mouth and sings, the sound enters the audience like an aphrodisiac. Her ample chest expands with every intake of air and it is impossible not to look at her breasts. With arms outstretched, she reaches out to the audience, imploring them to bridge the gap between their earthly plain and the higher one where she resides. The women hate her and the men want to fuck her and the children are silent. Yuki listens attentively, waiting for a false note, a sweep too high, something that will abate her jealousy, but it never comes. Yuki tries to pick this girl-woman apart, but she is perfect. Even down to the leave-on fake tan Yuki can see slicked onto her bare, hairless legs. The colour is not orange. It is not obvious to anyone who isn’t scrutinising this girl-woman for any signs of weakness. It might not even be fake. Perhaps she is the kind of perfect girl-woman who never loses her summer bronze.
She has ginger hair, but in this girl’s case she is what you would call a redhead . As a blonde, she would be beautiful, though perhaps a little obvious. As a redhead, she is different. She stands out. She has the voice of a siren—the deadly kind that drown men at sea—and the face of a high-earning escort. The kind of girl-woman that can always be bothered to tong her hair in the mornings and re-apply lip gloss. Yuki wants to strangle her.
As Yuki watches her, she is hit with the realisation that Alex has never spoken about this student. He often talked about the problematic, the talented, the funny ones. It was all they ever really spoke about these days. So why not her? She is exactly the kind of student you would want to talk about, because she is remarkable. A finely tuned fantasy, perfectly curated. The kind of creature Yuki failed to be.
As the girl-woman finishes the last note of ‘O mio babbino caro’, a deep knowing hits Yuki. It is the kind of cellular spread of knowing that every woman experiences.
(My husband desires this girl) she thinks. It is as inevitable as the rain.
Out in the foyer, Yuki waits for Alex to appear from backstage. She knows the people milling around talking post-show rundowns will want to congratulate her husband on his brilliant conducting, his unwavering commitment to their gifted sons and daughters. There are plastic cups going round with red and white wine. Yuki takes a white and drinks. It is sweet and cheap. Her stomach flips at the thought of seeing her husband. Despite the distance that has grown between them, despite the fact they no longer sleep in the same bed—ever since Meiko and her crying, and then Meiko and her nightmares—Yuki still loves her husband. She feels pride for her man. Even now she feels that familiar flip of nerves in her belly, a feeling she recognises as a rarity. Something she should be grateful for.
Yuki wipes the tip of her tongue against her front teeth, licking away any residual lipstick that might have transferred there. A colour Yuki had applied moments before in the women’s bathroom, that she had found at the bottom of her handbag. The rest of her face remains undone. She has patches of discolouration, darkness under her eyes, the lipstick only accentuating the blues, reds and browns of her face, but she feels her efforts are better than nothing. As Yuki waits for Alex, her brain spews abuse for not being more attractive.
Alex walks out and doesn’t see her at first. He steps towards an older couple that Yuki doesn’t recognise. The woman wears gold jewellery on her swollen hands and she gesticulates with them, shrilling her praise.
Yuki had always hated going to these events, she hated having to stand and smile and nod her head. She didn’t know how to be lovely around people who only asked questions in order to assert a kind of dominance.
Alex sees Yuki across the room and smiles at her with the smallest hint of exasperation only she would be able to detect. The creases in the corner of his eyes feel like a secret, just between them. It was in moments like this that Yuki would do everything and anything in the world for him. Alex pulls himself from the conversation by gesturing towards Yuki, his wife . The couple turn around and look her up and down and say,
Oh.
Like she’s a let-down.
Alex excuses himself and walks towards her.
Hello, you , he says.
Hi.
You enjoy it?
Yes. It was beautiful.
Is the babysitter all right? Alex asks, looking over her head.
Mm, she’s fine. I left her some food. Told her we’d be back by eleven-thirty.
I’m sure we’ll be back before then.
I thought maybe we could get some dinner now, if you wanted?
Everywhere will be closing, won’t it?
I don’t know. I thought we could try the Lebanese. Might be nice.
Maybe. There are a few people I need to say hi to.
He looks around and catches people glancing towards him, edging closer with their smiles.
Sorry. D’you mind? I’ve gotta do the rounds. Come with me.
No, I’ll just stay here.
Don’t be ridiculous. Come on.
Yuki walks behind Alex as stranger after stranger thanks him, offering their congratulations. As usual, they direct their conversation only at Alex, overlooking Yuki entirely.
Yuki spots the girl-woman across the room and studies the back of her. Her skin is supple and tight, criss-crossed with black material tied at the back. She feels a kind of panic rising as she looks at the tight intricacies of the black dress against the girl’s smooth skin.
Yuki goes back to the bar and takes another drink. She stands by the metal table with its paper-doily covering and crunches down on the plastic lip of her cup. She looks back to Alex who is now talking to a woman in a camel-coloured coat, and a tall man in a navy suit with no tie. They both carry the smell of wealth and it surrounds them. Their pace is slower. They are the kind of people who can afford to engage, the kind that do not put in a quick congratulations, but invest their time or don’t bother at all. The girl-woman joins them and together they stand like a little empire. The woman in the camel coat unearths a camera from a small leather bag and gestures for Alex and the girl to stand next to each other. Yuki takes a long drink from her warm white wine and watches from the sidelines. She watches as Alex reaches out his hand towards the girl, an invitation for her to join him. The girl-woman stands next to him, smiling up with her sex-blue eyes. They stand side by side, both of their backs to Yuki, facing away. Yuki watches her husband gently drape his arm across the girl-woman’s back, so that half of his hand is on the fabric of her dress, the other half on the exposed skin of her waist. The mother raises her camera, and takes a photo.
Yuki watches as her husband’s fingers squeeze the dip of the girl’s body, his hand pressing into the curve of her waist, the material tightening. He squeezes the girl-woman for a short, cruel moment. Then pulls away, his hand brushing her bum as he goes. The girl looks up at him. Alex doesn’t look back. He reaches out and shakes the hand of her father instead.
It’s amazing how the squeeze of a waist and an upward glance can erase an entire woman.