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Lara Citron's novel «Sucker»

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By accident I happened upon the novel Sucker by Lara Citron (1998). It was more than a tad like British chick-lit but not all to obvious in its descriptions of the never-ending girl-seeks-boy gameland.

One main characters was evaluting her new-found might-be:

Incident 3

At the Club, Bea hand locked to Brian who was chatting away to media mate. She didn't know anyone and wasn't in the mood. Ian her boss was acting a right royal pain. He was stressed out with work, his numbers not quite adding up sp he took it out on Bea, took her up on any little error even when it was blatantly his. She had hoped for a quiet evening of offloading but Brian said it would cheer her up to get out for a bit. And then there she was surrounded by lot of cutesy girls, all size eights, half-pints, must be starving themselves to death, it's not natural. Anorexia nervosa was making her nervous and Brian wasn't listening. Brian's eyes were on a wander. To top it off she overheard him mutter to a mate, 'Whoa babe alert,' and she obviously wasn't included. She found it impossible not to notive Brian's extracurricular glances and though she told herself not to be possessive, her guts twisted whenever she caught him on a leer. Brian had a subtlety problem, apt to come over all primitive on sighting a shapely female and burst into vocal grunts. Common sense recommended she bite her lip and not to be making a scene, one dirty look does not deserve another when the latter would be interpreted as the neurotic female type.
'Musn't be jealous,' thought Bea, 'must not be jealous. Don't go getting irrational girl. It's you he wants, loves, is with' she was desperate to convince herself.
... then
Incident 4

The most unbelievably amazing guy since Donald

Their initial meeting went like this, according to our Bea:

Of course she had behaved impeccably, left before his eyes opened, avoided the morning-after embarrassement. That woefull feeling, the hanging continuum when you want to flee, when the strangeness of the face lying beside you takes on horrific proportions. The previous night's bullshitting so visible in unkind morning light and you realise you're safer on your own. Too much effort entailed in opening up. No need to open up. No marks left. Intriguingly attractive. She was so attractive. No sign of her visit bar a picture in the living room, displaced, no forwarding number, just tracks in the dust on the shelf.

Aah – haven't we all been there!

Ootentially lasting auto-trau-matic

Bea had sensed she was pregnant before she had a chance to miss a period, her tits felt uniquely sensitive. Donald had left her with a micro reminder, a going away present of the potentially lasting sort. What surprised Bea most was her reaction, her cool rationality. This was not part of the plan. How did it happen? She had always tried to be careful, she did try, OK so she'd skipped a pill or two, or three. Hell, it happens. Christ the last thing she had foreseen was bringing a child up alone.
Pissing over a pregnancy tester, warm orange pee cascading through her fingers, turning white to pink and the outcome known. An appointment was booked, a couple of days taken off work and Bea had gone on auto-trau-matic. Didn't tell anyone, not a whisper to anyone, her mother would have been destroyed, would have destroyed her. How could you? how could you? It was nobody's business, a cluster of cells in the wrong place at the wrong time, it was an accident, over in a couple of hours, gone. It was so easy, she hardly felt a thing, matter of fact.

But reading foreign language always leaves me with some questions. Often these are quite intriguing, i.e. as to what the phrase «splat just like Gat» really conveys. What does it mean? Heaven knows!

Brian had been thinking his mother would have liked Bea. Bea. Soft skinned and peachy. Cuddly and warm. Plump yet sexy. And nice with it, no airs and graces. Bea had depth and width. Ordinary – she was ordinary, open and friendly. With Bea, he could cut the bullshit to a minimum. She had an aura of comfort about her, an inner confidence, knew her own mind. Brian liked that, he liked strong women.

A chance of getting sticky

During Bea and Brian's house warming another story came to light:

Ruth's talk was most intriguing and Graham was in on it like a shot. Anything to do with sex attracted him like a shit to flies being one of those poor blokes who can't communicate with women unless his knob end has a chance of getting sticky. Everything he says includes or is a derivative allusion to copping off.

Did I mention «been there»?

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