THE OTHER WOMAN by CARO EMERALD. Story by Lucia Nardo.

Melbourne, April 2024 and Elsewhere, 40 years ago

It’s late at night as I enter the lounge room where hubby’s watching a YouTube clip of the Sziget jazz festival held in Budapest in the summer of 2012. In bright sunshine, the crowd bounces to the music. Curiosity aroused; I pause to watch just as the camera pans across the stage; a horn section, keyboards, drums, a DJ. The band members are decked out in suits, ties casually loosened at the collar; the lead guitarist contrasts in jeans and a white t-shirt.

Then the singer appears on screen – Caro Emerald. She looks as exotic as her name sounds. When the rapid beat turns to something slow and melodic, the camera focusses on her face as she sings about one woman warning another of the risks inherent in her secret relationship. Little girl, just keep on waiting for that man to give you a life. You keep on hoping, so this prince can save you, keep on dreaming his scandalous lie.

I’m reminded of a young woman I knew, a lifetime of forty years ago. We were the same age and I thought I knew her well, but she was always at arm’s length, so perhaps I didn’t. Believing herself unloved and unlovable had splintered her heart. Her desperate life’s search was to find someone to piece it back together. All she’d found was a man whose true priority lay elsewhere. Ensnared by his well-woven, rich lies that were laced with promises he’d never keep, she couldn’t or didn’t want to see it. When smoke begins to fade and you’re standing face-to-face, does he kiss you in a way to say, ‘You’re the other woman’?

Over many months, I watched her crumble, piece by piece. Exhausted by harbouring her secret while pretending everything was well, the furtive meetings with her lover took their toll. She gave up her job, and seldom left her home, preferring to stay by a phone that rarely rang. I couldn’t get her to understand that she’d given up her whole life.

We talked through many of her long, lonely nights that always began and ended in tears. All the crying didn’t wash away the pain or cleanse her soul. Sucked deep into his vortex of deceit dressed as dreams, it seemed impossible to climb out of the darkness. Despite the lack of light, she tried to shine – longing, and hoping that it would work out. Keep on wishing almost all of him cares.

Eventually, I lost contact with my young friend. From time to time, she crosses my mind, leaving me wondering if she’d escaped his trap and freed herself of the alibis and lies. Had her secret prince saved her? I doubt it. They seldom do. I’m left with the suspicion that maybe, just maybe, grasping at the fragments he offered, she’d settled for the comfortable discomfort of being the other woman.

Stereo Story #800