Tiddas

Praise for
Tiddas

‘Brisbane through jacaranda-tinted glasses, the river and a group of loud-mouthed, big-hearted girlfriends flowing through it. Generous, witty, a paean to BrizVegas, friendship and sophisticated urban Aboriginal life: only Anita Heiss is writing this new contemporary women's story.' – Susan Johnson

‘This enjoyable and human story is impressively interwoven with historical and contemporary Aboriginal issues.' –
Sun Herald

Praise for
Not Meeting Mr Right

‘Heiss creates the genre of Koori chick lit in
Not Meeting Mr Right
' –
The Sydney Morning Herald

‘Anita is Aboriginal Australia's answer to Whoopi Goldberg.' – Jackie Huggins

Praise for
Avoiding Mr Right

‘Sassy, intelligent, strong, independent and brilliantly funny' – Deborah Mailman

‘
Black Chicks Talking
meets Bridget Jones in this sassy, sexy novel.' –
Sunday Times

‘Great witty entertainment from a clever young Aussie author. More please.' –
Woman's Day

Praise for
Manhattan Dreaming

‘Captures all the wide-eyed excitement of Manhattan: the sights; the shopping; the history; and – of course – the men. It's a contemporary romance with spunk.' –
Australian Bookseller and Publisher

‘With the classic romantic ending up the Empire State Building … this may well get you appreciating Aboriginal art and dreaming of life in the Big Apple.' –
The West Australian

Praise for
Paris Dreaming

‘Heiss writes with flair and gives readers what they look for in chick lit as well as added political and cultural interest.' –
The Daily Telegraph

To my tiddas, for lifting me from life's moments of darkness into the light again

‘Some people go to priests; others to poetry; I to my friends.'

Virginia Woolf

‘I
'm pregnant,' Izzy said nervously, squeezing her eyes tight with fear of the expected response from down the phone line.

‘Oh, you're hilarious. Save the humour for TV,' Tracey said with a laugh, not believing her pseudo-celebrity client. ‘Have you had a chance to read the contract I sent through? It'd be good to turn it around before the end of the week.'

Izzy looked at the still unopened yellow envelope on her desk sitting next to three empty pregnancy test boxes.

‘I'm
really
pregnant,' Izzy said seriously but softly, hoping she wouldn't have to say it again. The words only reminded her of what was now an unfathomable situation.

‘Honey, it's not funny a second time.'

Izzy could hear a tinge of fright in Tracey's voice and could picture her sitting upright at her desk in Sydney. It was
the first time she was glad her agent was in another state and they weren't having the conversation face to face.

‘I'm not trying to be funny,' Izzy said cautiously, still waiting for the fallout from the best contract negotiator in the business.

Tracey was tiny and friendly, but like a pit bull terrier when it came to cutting deals for Izzy. And while they had never argued, Izzy had seen how angry her passionate and determined agent could get with people who stuffed her around. Tracey had already spent eighteen months negotiating a deal with a new digital station about her client hosting a chat show on their network. Izzy
knew
she'd be pissed off if it all fell through now because of an unexpected ‘situation'.

‘You
can't
be pregnant, you don't even
like
kids,' Tracey said, affirming a decade of what Izzy had professed at every opportunity. ‘Careers before kids. Moët over breast milk. Stretch limos not stretch marks!' These had been Izzy's mottos since deciding upon a career on camera at thirty. ‘And you don't even have a boyfriend,' Tracey added. ‘Or do you?'

Izzy stood shaking her head. She
was
pregnant, she
didn't
like kids and she
didn't
have a boyfriend – just Asher, her friend with benefits.

‘Izzy?'

There was silence.

‘Izzy?' Tracey pressed. ‘Tell me this isn't true. It'll be the end of your yet-to-even-begin mainstream television career, the one I've been busting my bony arse to help you build for the last decade.' Her voice got louder and more aggressive.
‘The career
we've
been strategising over, waiting for the big break. The break that is in that contract I sent you.'

Izzy put the phone on speaker, picked up the envelope and pulled out the pages with yellow tags where she was meant to sign. It was the contract she'd wanted and worked for all her professional life: her own show; her own brand; her own audience; the first Blackfella to host a mainstream talk show on free-to-air television. She
was
going to be Australia's Oprah. She held her dream carefully in her hands, and her nightmare unwillingingly in her belly.

She slid slowly into the red leather bucket chair she'd bought herself when she landed the Brisbane-based contract to host the news channel for Queensland Arts and Culture. Her stories specifically focused on Brisbane's cultural precinct and events, and artists associated with the Queensland Performing Arts Centre, the State Library, the Queensland Museum and the nearby art galleries. The show was broadcast on Arts Queensland's own online station. It was a valuable stepping stone for Izzy and she loved it. So proud of her achievement in simply landing the job, she ordered the chair and had it shipped from the US as a gift to herself. It was where she sat to read scripts, her research notes, the newspaper and books for her book club. She'd been known to nap in the chair too.

‘Izzy,' Tracey said gently, ‘are you sure?'

Izzy looked with nausea at the half-eaten Mars Bar and sultana sandwich over on the breakfast bar, something she assumed came from what were known in the pregnancy world as cravings. She'd also been drinking more water and was wanting to eat oranges and pickles at odd times of the day.

‘Three pregnancy tests and some . . . symptoms,' she said matter-of-factly. ‘So, yes, I am sure.'

‘Who have you told?'

Izzy could hear Tracey's mind ticking over, going into damage control, as was her job when things didn't go to plan.

‘Just you.' Izzy's voice quivered. She could feel her tear ducts beginning to fill.

‘What about your mother? Because if you've told her then we may as well say goodbye now.' In her mind's eye Izzy could see Tracey pacing the mezzanine floor of her office and running a hand through her thick black hair. ‘You know the Koori grapevine will be spreading the news like there's no tomorrow, and there'll certainly be no tomorrow for your career if this gets out.'

Tracey was the only Black agent in the country and she knew the value of confidentiality on every level. Izzy knew she had to appease her though, aware her anxiety levels would be rising.

‘I haven't told Mum.'

Izzy couldn't fathom telling her mother. It was a call to Mudgee she wasn't willing to make just yet, and maybe never would. Trish wanted to start knitting booties whenever Izzy told her she was simply going on a date; she'd buy up the whole of Baby World if she thought there was actually another grandchild on the way. More importantly, Izzy's mum had never forgiven her only daughter for breaking off her long-term engagement to Jack – the perfect son-in-law-to-be – because she wanted to have a career on the screen and not in the school canteen. Izzy knew that her mum'd
completely disown her now if she chose a job over a child. And Trish would never approve of an abortion, or of Izzy being an unmarried mother – not as a Catholic, not as a woman wanting more grannies and not as a Wiradjuri Elder conscious of the role women had in growing the mob. Izzy and Tracey were both avoiding the subject of a termination in the conversation, and it was one that Izzy was trying not to think about at all.

‘What about the father? Have you told him? Do you know who it is?' Tracey's questions came bullet-fast and hit Izzy just as painfully.

‘Oh for God's sake, of course I know who it is.'

Izzy thought back to the last time she'd seen Asher. It had been four weeks ago and they'd loved each other more than usual because he was going to Townsville for six weeks to train young Murri wanna-be chefs. She smiled, remembering the glow that had lasted the entire next day, but then remembered the condom that had somehow disappeared, needing to be retrieved with some skill and a lot of giggles. The penny dropped and so did her chin.

‘Izzy?' Tracey pressed down the line. ‘Well?'

‘No, I haven't told him.' She was suddenly consumed by nausea and wasn't sure if it was morning sickness or fear causing it.

‘Good! Don't tell
anyone
else. Keep it to yourself for now,' Tracey demanded, taking control of the situation. ‘I have to go to a meeting, I'll call you later.' She sounded businesslike but she was worried about her client, who was also a friend. Izzy's career was important, but so too was her emotional and mental
wellbeing. As if reading Izzy's mind, Tracey added warmly, ‘And don't beat yourself up, that won't help the situation.'

The phone went dead and Izzy put her head back against the cold leather of the chair. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath in through her nose, sighing outwardly through her mouth. Her iPhone alert went off. It was a text from Xanthe –

See you at book club tonight 7pm.

The last thing Izzy wanted to do was see Xanthe. How could she sit there and listen to her tidda discuss the desperate lengths she and her perfect husband – the English humanitarian lawyer they called ‘Mr Darcy' – were going to in order to fall pregnant? They'd been married for five years already and for at least the past twelve months Xanthe had been trying to conceive. They
wanted
to be parents. Xanthe actually
wanted
morning sickness and a bulging belly and someone to knit her baby booties. How could Izzy possibly face her pregnant with a baby she didn't plan, couldn't really look after and didn't actually want?

Her phone went again. This time it was her sister-in-law Nadine.

Looking forward to a decent drink and a yarn about a book that's not mine. XX

Bugger!
Izzy thought. She loved her tiddas; they were her closest friends, they were her sistas in an Aboriginal sense,
even though Nadine and Veronica were white. She had supported them, and vice versa, since school, and theirs was a bond stronger than words could define. And yet, today Izzy wanted to move the sisterhood boundary a little because she knew Nadine would be urging her to drink so she wasn't the only lush, Xanthe would unknowingly be making her feel guilty about having the ‘luck' she didn't, Ellen would be complaining about the lack of eligible men in Brisbane and Veronica would be talking about her three perfect sons. Izzy didn't want to talk about children or men
at all
. And she was fairly sure she wasn't supposed to drink either. She just wanted to be alone. She wasn't ready to talk to the girls about ‘it' yet. That would only make ‘it' more
real
.

Her mobile beeped again. She'd have to go.