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of course, Amma replied, how could I forget? just look at us, the original riot grrrrls or is it gurls now? Yazz will know

they were standing on one of this very theatre’s exterior balconies, Dominique wearing a bashed-in trilby, old man’s coat, ripped tee-shirt, jeans, braces

Amma in a bomber jacket, ra-ra skirt, stripy tights, DMs

the pair of them scowling and sticking two fingers up at the theatre’s thick black lettering high above them

look how young we were, Dom, it feels like so long ago

that’s because it was, a bygone age, here pass the smelling salts, luv, look at you now, Ams, at the top of your game, my girl, you’re a powerhouse, you’re unstoppable, that’s what you are, as for the closing sequence of the play? afro-gynocentricism caused a femquake tonight

Amma feels herself melting against the wall as the flattery seeps into her

this is just what she needs

everything is perfect

just

perfect.

5

The two women continue their conversation deep into the night back at Amma’s pad

Dominique is pleased that Amma’s current squeezes haven’t been invited back, to their obvious chagrin when they had to say goodbye, looking daggers at her for depriving them of their celebratory roll in the hay

her friend is now into threesomes, as she admitted earlier

you’re a filthy slapper, Ams

I hope so, I do try my best

Yazz and her ‘squad’, also staying over, have long gone to bed

what’s the matter with the youth of today? Dominique called after them when they left the room, yawning sleepily like five-year-olds

you’re the ones who’re supposed to be caning it, not us, come back here you sensible little cows and get trashed

as they clod-hoppered up the wooden stairs, Yazz shouted down over the banister that some of us have to be responsible adults when there are naughty children in the house

not mentioning any names, mind

unlike the old days

she and Amma have only polished off two bottles of red and the rest of the coke, which pleasantly counteracted the inebriating effect of the drink

best of both worlds, drink as much as you like and remain coherent enough for a good chinwag

Amma is reclining somewhat grandiosely on a lumpy old sofa, propped up by cushions

like a latter-day Sarah Bernhardt or Lillie Langtry

Dominique sits on the faded geometric shapes of the Habitat rug on the floor

in lotus position

the house reminds Dominique of the lifestyle she’s escaped, the identical terraced cottages opposite are too close for comfort

the front garden is a three-foot-square yard taken up by black dustbins and the back garden hardly bigger

the cottagey dimensions are claustrophobic, not helped by dark purple walls, painted against Dominique’s explicit advice to Amma to paint them white to create the illusion of spaciousness

smoke-yellowed theatre posters are at least now preserved under glass

the mantelpiece displays a line-up of dusty African sculptures Amma has accumulated rather than inherited

the skirting is scuffed, the floorboards in need of a good varnish, the original hearth is home to a dusty altar candle grossly distorted by fossilized melted wax

Amma describes her house as shabby-chic, as if it’s carefully designed to be so, but as one domestic slut trying to kid another, Dominique has suggested she drop the ‘chic’ bit

she herself has a maid who comes in twice a week to make up for her failings

she herself lives in an airy bungalow with walls of glass that extend the modest space outwards to include the pine trees on the hills below

thereafter the city lights in the distance

The Last Amazon of Dahomey is probably the pinnacle of my career, Dom, Amma says, no longer celebratory, as the night deepens she’s going into the maudlin mode Dominique recognizes

I can’t imagine it getting any better than this, maybe they’ll invite me back to do another play if this one picks up a major award, or maybe not, I still have so much to give, I might still be scrabbling around trying to get jobs, and be in even more demand sitting on panels to discuss diversity in theatre

I’ve become the High Priestess of Career Longevity in the Chapel of Social Change preaching from the Pulpit of Political Invisibility to the Congregation of the Marginalized and Already Converted

that’s why it’s my duty to help you escape, Amma, look at those black British actors who can’t get work here, jump ship and end up Hollywood stars, and look at the life I lead? look at my Women’s Arts’ Festival? think of the size of the audiences over there, the support networks, the conversations, the high-powered black people operating at every level of society

America will make you expand into its expansiveness, Ams, you’ll become louder, bolder, more intellectually and creatively stimulated, you’ll reach new heights, for sure, I know it has more than its fair share of social and political ills, even so, compared to Britain, well, what can I say? I jumped ship a long time ago

I have to stay here for now until Yazz is ready to live independently

are we talking about the most cocksure young woman in the universe? Dominique replied, if anyone is capable of looking after herself, it’s your daughter

not that I want her to, live independently, that is, not ever, really

separation issues?

she’s a monster but she’s my little monster, and you know, I actually love it here, even if it frustrates the hell out of me, I’m not sure I want to become a foreigner anywhere else

so try it out like a new outfit that may or may not suit, life is about taking risks, not about burying your head in the sand

thanks

not a problem

you make me feel like a parochial Little Englander

that’s because you don’t know what’s best for you, if I have to drag you kicking and screaming to the States, so be it

Amma gets up from the sofa, opens the window, lights up, blows the smoke out into the darkened, silent street

Dominique can never quite believe that her friend still smokes, that anyone over twenty does

I love Britain, too, Ams, although less so every time I return, it’s become a living memory for me, Britain feels in the past, even when I’m in its present

sounds like you’ve been talking to your therapist about this

I pay her to sit and listen to me splurge without interruption for an hour every week, I’ve been seeing the same woman since I left Nzinga, it’s wonderful, you should try it

except unlike you I don’t have any disturbing psychological problems, Dom

that’s because you haven’t dug deep enough to find them

right

for me therapy is a form of consciousness-raising, Dom

consciousness-raising is such a throwback term, Ams

haven’t you heard that throwback is making a comeback? it’s really fashionable to be a feminist these days: blog, demos, crowd-funder campaign, I can’t stand it

Amma closes the window, walks back, re-spreads herself languorously over the sofa, convince me why feminism getting a new lease of life isn’t a good thing, Dominique? isn’t it just what the doctor ordered?

actually it’s the commodification of it that bugs me, Amma, once upon a time feminists were so vilified by the media it turned generations of women away from their own liberation because nobody wanted to be denounced as one, now they’re in a lovefest with it, have you seen all these glamorous photoshoots of stunning young feministas with their funky clothes and big attitude – until it’s no longer on trend

feminism needs tectonic plates to shift, not a trendy make-over

Dominique wants her friend to agree with her, it’s a no-brainer, but Amma, ever the contrarian, refuses to see the obvious, you’re being way too cynical and doom-mongering, Dom