I'm going to pose a hypothetical. Think of me as Geoffrey Robinson back in the day, roaming around the stage, postulating on one question or another. I seem to remember one night he looked at the subject of whether Dracula had AIDS. Looking around the interwebs, I see there is a book that looks at his series of the eighties.
Anyway, let's pretend that it's five years from now.
Your daughter, now in her mid-twenties, fresh out of law school and interning at a major city law firm. Her once curly hair is now straightened into a gentle wave thanks to the $600 Dyson hairdryer you and your ex-husband bought her for Christmas. She wears neutral clothes, loose fitting, but tailored. Her pittance of a stipend from the law firm will turn into good money soon. For the moment, both of you charge her nominal rent, just to make sure she begins to know the value of money. Then again, she's had a job from the time she was sixteen. She bought her first car, secondhand, and outright. She's a good person. She donates blood. She's been known to go on the odd march for various causes. She has plenty of female friends. She hates being told what to do.
Tonight, she is bringing over her new beau for dinner to you to meet you. A meet the folks night.
Your ex-husband is coming along too. You're on amicable terms. The divorce was finalised ten years ago. You kept the house. He bought another. You went half-half in the private school fees. As divorces go, both of you got through fairly unscathed. You've both re-partnered. Your darling daughter is content knowing both of these people are in your lives. She has rooms in both your houses.
That she's bringing home a boyfriend, a possible partner, is a big thing. A few years ago, you met her formal date, a spotty youth from the brother boy's school who she knew from the debating team. He appeared to be harmless. The other men she's introduced you to have been friends, many of them gay, most of them a bit awkward. It appears to be her type. The swotty fellow, with the thick glasses who hasn't grown into his skin quite yet. Her female friends all tend to be firebrands. Her best friend from primary school has just qualified as a doctor. They don't get to see each other as often as they would like, but they text daily.
So, you've gone all out for this occasion. You've done the cooking. Your ex will bring the wine. Going retro, you've raided the Maggie Beer cookbook and made something with verjuice and prunes. Verjuice, like vegemite, surely never goes off. For dessert, you've gone the pavlova route. It's easy. A classy dinner for your daughter's big reveal.
Your ex and his wife turn up on time and you crack a bottle of bubbles between the four of you. Your husband and your new partner have always got on well. One's a lawyer, the other a plumber. They've never had an issue and talk freely. Your husband's new wife is a lovely person. Secretly, you think she's a bit too good for him. You congregate in the kitchen and postulate what this new fellow will be like.
"She hasn't said much," you say.
"Bit of a dark horse, our daughter," offers your husband.
"I'm sure he's delightful," counters your partner, hunting around the fridge for some nibbles.
"I'm looking forward to meeting him. Allegedly, they met at a law school mixer," chips in your ex's wife. "She's almost been cagey about him."
You hear the rumble of a car in the driveway, the opening and closing of car doors and footsteps heading to the front door. Your daughter has a key.
The footsteps reverberate down the hallway.
His slight paunch greets you milliseconds before you are made aware of his totality. He's heavy-set, doughy, with a close trim beard. He wears the uniform of the entitled. Cream RM Williams canvas trousers, pale blue cotton shirt, unbuttoned at the neck. RM Williams boots. He takes his handshake to your ex-husband and he calls him by name, meeting his eye, but disregarding everybody else in the room.
You're trying to place him.
Then it twigs.
The court cases. The trial by media. The sordid details that played out in the paper. The popular opinions and the pub tests. You remember, after reading Anna Funder's Wifedom how rapey bastards with connections seem to get away with everything. Is this one just another one of those entitled pricks who have no recourse for their behaviour. Of does everybody deserve a second chance? Or do you blurt out your instant feelings of disgust and ban him from the house?
So, what do you do?
Your daughter has brought home a pariah. How do you respond?
It's over to you, the audience.
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