One Day in the Life of Ivanka the Bitch, A Novel, Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Self Moderation

7.31 am — This is All Pointless Twaddle

Join businesswoman Ivanka Tupolevka on the day she’s about to lose everything in the apocalyptic gulag of her divorce, with Brexshit to deal with, no HRT and surrounded by ‘fuckers’, will she ever escape the psycho ex and save her daughter?

Still networking with the ladies…

‘Turn to the lady next to you and tell her she’s beautiful.’ How utterly condescending. No one’s going to believe a compliment the giver’s been instructed to give. Besides, it’s a well-known fact that the greatest businesses ever devised on planet earth were built on doing the exact opposite! Get with the programme Lisa!

But ‘we’re all friends here,’ so smile and get on with it. Would be interesting to see how these here new “friends” would react if I whipped out my little flask, just to take the edge off this flush. Fucking Brexit and HRT shortages! It’s been a rollercoaster of hormone hell. I say flask, it’s actually one of those plastic coffee cups you buy in Waitrose, otherwise how could you hide it in plain sight? Artur would be devastated, but he’s not here and he’s not going through all this shit. He’s happy in his retirement. Doesn’t know any different. Easy to be holier than thou when you’ve got nothing to lose.

No, it would look distinctly dodgy, a screw-top mug with sunset stripes among the exquisite coffee filled china? It’s so big nothing else will fit in this bag. I’ll have to nip out to the loo. Self-medication, that’s all. And all in moderation obviously. I’m not an idiot.

I mean, are they all going without meds? Nah, I bet they’re all sorted in their new spring shade silk blouses with matching jingle-jangle in my eye accessories. What serious business person has got the time to go shopping for the latest outfits? I work at least fourteen hours a day. Then there’s the driving. I haven’t got the energy to brush my teeth half the time! Bet they’ve all got everything they… Why’s it so easy for everyone else? Why? You know why, cos you’re a fucking idiot. Why did you think you could ever…?

I can’t breathe I’m so stupid! No Ivanka, stop it, don’t. It’s just hormones beating you up. Get a grip. You can’t make assumptions. You know they’re probably all thinking you’re doing just fine too. Breathe through it. You look good. Just your skin on fire for a few seconds. Shhh, that’s right. The two most powerful words in the English language, ‘That’s right.’ That’s right, just keep saying it over and over.

And ‘this too shall pass’. That’s a good one. Who’d have thought the words of Titania’s tattoo would ever be a source of comfort years later? We almost brained her at the time. I thought the brief exposure she had to my father would have put her off musicians for life, never mind recklessly impressing scumbag drummers with offerings of virgin flesh. Bastard! Must be a weakness in the genes.

Things change. Smile, stimulate endorphins, buy yourself time. Listen to Artur, ‘you’re better than this!’ Hormones remember. That’s right…

Yes but there’s no ‘just’ about them. They’re violently erupting from the depths of my bowels, in all directions, punching through my lungs and grabbing me by the throat. I’m a walking volcano. And it’s not like you can control hormones, can you? That’s the point of them, isn’t it? They make you override any sensible thought or strategy, so you make babies with gormless idiots.

I don’t think I can cope with all this. It’s too much. I should go.

But I paid a shitload to join this nonsense. And it would be rude, and things might work out, who’s to say, it has before, many times when all looked lost. You never know who’ll you meet. Maybe someone from Watkins-Jones’ office is here? Oh, dream on!

And I do need to get my lucky tenner back. Do I though? What I do need is the loo and that brandy so I can manage, just till I get out of here. Just a toothful as Dad would say, to take the edge off.

Ooh, who’s this chappie in the snappy suit?

Oh? So… having practically apologised to us for her main speaker’s presence, Lisa is now all over Mr Smoothie who has turned up an hour late, nice one mate, yeah alright for some, talking about some local geriatric housing charity. Yawn! Bugger, should have gone to the loo before he started, it’ll definitely look rude now.

But hang on, why, oh why have we got a male speaker at this ladies networking event? It’s not as if there aren’t millions of lady charity workers to support. She could have asked me to speak! Why didn’t she? And I have to say I do find it really creepy when men in Armani suits go round handing out a begging bowl.

More coffee? Thank you, lovely young thing with your long, bouncy hair and whole life ahead of you and nothing to worry about! Plenty of coffee, yes and ooh little squares of fruit cake, yes! That’s an improvement. Definitely going to need the loo now though.

Things could be worse. I could already be in one of this guy’s cash strapped pensioner camps, fighting over the last sheet of toilet paper, abandoned by my kids because I lost all their inheritance on this stupid business idea…

Oh thank God he’s finished, I can go, yes!

No, not yet, Lisa, has taken to her feet, yeah you carry on love, clapping away, we’ve got all day…

‘I feel so moved!’ she says, ‘Utterly fascinating, don’t you agree ladies? I only wish more of us could have been here to support a cause so close to my…’ She’s actually holding back real tears!

‘Richard, that was so…

There goes her hand to her burgeoning breast again.

‘…moving! I want to raise more money for your centre. I, I…’

Don’t look at me! You carry on, staring wildly around the room, punching yourself in the midriff. Does tuning into the universe really have to be so painful? So dramatic? Well, she’s obviously had some kind of divine inspiration because she’s just taken off like a setter catching a whiff of rabbit.

‘Ladies!’

Is she grabbing the raffle prize?

‘I’m going to auction this hamper.’

What the…? Don’t you dare! Waving our raffle prize way up high like the severed head of her mortal enemy! What’s she look like, teeth all a-gnash?

‘I would pay at least £100 for this amazing gift hamper, so can I start the bidding there?’

Unbelievable! Out of bed at 4.30 am for this utter crap! Is anyone going to say anything about our raffle tickets? My tenner? No, evidently we’re not. We’re just all going to sit here politely shrivelling under the weight of her tear-filled gaze as she fixes us one by one, by one, by one…

‘Anyone? Only £100!’

‘Mum,’ chirps Kylie, ‘I’ll bid £100, to get it going.’

Oh, thank God. But it’s not going. Anywhere. Just blank faces.

Now Kylie is a lovely girl and we did all appreciate her supportive greetings this morning, but we’ve all also got limits. All except her mum apparently, who’s now viciously rounding on her, oh no!

‘Kylie! How can you afford £100? You’ve got a house to save for. We’re getting into property remember? How many bloody workshops and courses do I have to send you on?’

Woooh… Can’t go to the loo now, can’t miss this! Priceless. Would anyone notice if I filmed it for Tit? Now, if that had been my Mum and I certainly wouldn’t put it past her, which is why I don’t take her to events anymore, I honestly don’t know what would have happened.

But Kylie’s actually kind of cool, bless her, and must be used to this because she just calmly replied, ‘but Mum, it’s got… the… you know…’ holding her hand out towards her and lowering it slowly a like a dog trainer’s ‘sit tuh!’, fixing her mum’s gaze, ‘… valuable… day passes…’ hypnotically willing her to calm down with slowing nods and hand gestures. Fair dos to the girl, she could make money training us all in that. I’ll have to introduce her to Tit, she can try it out on her Nan.

‘£115!’ Yay, Julie to the rescue, well done girl! Someone had to give way to the collective angst. Thunderstorm of grateful applause, yes, and the auction is all over with two ridiculous bids followed by a raffle with only one number to call! We’ve probably broken all known fundraising records for £350 odd for a bottle of £5 plonk and a slim volume of crap from a nutter.

Oh no, Julie is actually smiling gratefully and asking for a picture with Lisa and Mr Smoothie holding the book. I want to hurl.

‘Content! Girls, content!’ Lisa beams conspiratorially at us, ‘Stories sell and so do we! This is why Julie is soooo successful and sells all around the world. So, who wants to get in on this live Facebook video before we start networking?”

Sod that!

Next…

To start from the beginning…

Copyright Alexis Behrend June 2021.