Eat My Heart Out by Zoe Pilger Read Free Book Online

duration of the song. In a twist on the miracle of the saint crying milk, her neo-goth eye make-up had made her look as though she were crying black crude oil. She had been done up in a saint’s outfit, sitting on an oil rig. The North Sea had raged in the background.
    The kitchen slaves sodomised the pop star with their eyes when we went downstairs. The pile of skinned rabbits had diminished almost to nothing.
    The reception was quiet.
    Stephanie Haight was eating a lemon posset. The ballerina was eating a chocolate fondant. The Marge woman was saying: ‘I’m not getting mad. I’m not getting mad. I just don’t know how you can defend that woman.’
    Madeline was eating rabbit scraps off guests’ plates in the cloakroom.
    I moved closer to Stephanie.
    â€˜Oh, but I do,’ Marge went on. ‘I do know how you can defend her. You defend Gabriella because you created Gabriella. How many times, Stephanie, are you going to root out a fine young thing and turn her into a whatever you want and then cry yourself to sleep at night when she takes what you taught her and turns her back on you?’
    â€˜She hasn’t turned her back.’ Stephanie halted. ‘She always picks up the phone when I call her. Sometimes. Her work is very demanding.’
    â€˜Yes, I imagine that ritualistic self-harming is quite demanding.’
    â€˜And Gabriella was not fine ,’ said Stephanie. ‘She had a natural body, sure. She had a supple, a Rabelaisian body. A body of excess. Oh, the monstrous feminine excess!’ She laughed. ‘But she was just a life model. She would have been a life model all her life if I hadn’t pulled her out of that phallocentric head space and turned her into an artist in her own right.’
    â€˜Yeah,’ said Marge. ‘I remember. You were writing that piece on life models – right?’
    â€˜Right.’ Stephanie ate another spoonful of posset. ‘For the LRB . Or was it Spare Rib ?’
    Marge shrugged.
    â€˜Gabriella stood out right away,’ said Stephanie. ‘She looked so sorrowful, the standing female nude. And when she opened her mouth and I heard that she was common like me, I couldn’t resist. I couldn’t resist any single one of my prodigies, Marge. Like you, Marge.’
    Marge smiled. ‘Yes, I remember when I first walked into your class on feminist rereadings of the Hegelian unhappy consciousness at Harvard. You looked so beautiful in that African robe. I was so impressed by you – we all were. When was that?’
    â€˜â€™78. Must have been. I was in my third year of grad school. And the Kappa Alpha Theta initiations – such fun!’ Stephanie finished her posset.
    â€˜Gabriella’s from a later world,’ said Marge. ‘She’s from a later, more disenchanted world. She’s Third Wave .’ She bent her fingers in parentheses. ‘If that is a thing at all.’
    â€˜Maybe she doesn’t wanna be part of any wave , Marge,’ said Steph, expressively. ‘Have you ever considered that? Maybe she’s not into waves . Listen. Gabriella’s just doing what we did. She’s just using what she’s got. Her own experience.’
    â€˜Bullshit.’ Marge put her fork down. ‘She’s using her cunt.’
    The ballerina looked at Marge, who said: ‘Don’t worry, honey. It’s not a pejorative.’ Marge went on: ‘Gabriella wants a new cunt. And new eyes – better to see out of. Better to see herself out of. She’s just like a … She’s a paradigm of selfish fucking neo-liberal individualism, Stephanie.’
    â€˜We all wanted to be individuals, Marge, remember? We all wanted to be ourselves . That’s why we got involved. We didn’t want to be what our mothers—’
    â€˜Yes, but we sought solidarity!’
    â€˜But Gabriella is a visual artist ,’ said Stephanie. ‘She’s not a