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‘Tyson just paid for me to have a boob job! Look out! DD all the way!’
Well, cross another off the list. How tacky. Her boyfriend of one month obviously didn’t like the fact he got her shoulder blades mixed up with her boobs and paid for her to have them done. It was practically prostitution, if you ask me.
‘Would love to, but I’m allergic to the smell of desperation, so maybe another time.’
‘Aww shame, you should feel them!’
Eww. See what I mean? It doesn’t take a person long to fall into that hooker-ish behaviour. Looks like I have another potential stalker on the way. Note to self: steer clear of Sharona until the anaesthetic has worn off.
Just when I’m feeling super-despondent, my phone rings and it’s JJ. He’s a flirtatious gay guy who is hardly ever around because he travels a lot. A funky artist type who spends a lot of time in Paris living ‘like a leper’, he says, because it’s the only way a true artist learns.
What he really means is he sucks everyone into paying for everything for him. It’s cool though, because it’s good to be seen with him. His art sort of went global a few years ago and he was semi-famous for a while there, even though he lost all the money he earned by falling into a serious drug habit.
He says he did it on purpose because he needed an edge, something dark with a violent tendency because his work was becoming too commercial. He said he felt like a sell-out. Anyway, so now he’s back and broke.
‘Sexy Samantha, I’m in Perth!’
‘Hey, JJ. I guess you want to meet for lunch?’
‘Babe, I’d love to, but you know how busy I am these days. I have exhibitions to arrange, paint that needs painting, brushes that need, umm, brushing, you know how it is. Why, what did you have in mind?’
See. JJ is a consummate professional at the scam. Firstly he tells you he is very busy and important-like; thumbs-up for that. Next, he finds out what you’re prepared to offer before he even considers it. JJ is high-end. He only does restaurants that have linen tablecloths with wait staff that place the napkin over your lap (he has a real thing about doing it himself, he says that’s for buffets and truck stops). He usually manages a top-notch lunch with fabulous wine, then a small spot of shopping.
He’s decked out like a super-rich playboy, and it’s all so effortless for him. I’d hate him if I didn’t love him so much. The upside to shopping with him like you’re some kind of Sugar Mummy was that he’d help put a whole outfit together for you. Things you’d never pick for yourself and somehow they always worked. It was the Parisian in him.
‘I understand, JJ, I’m swamped too. I start a new lifestyle choice tomorrow, though, so I wanted one last day of degustation beforehand.’
‘Lifestyle choice?’ he queried.
‘Yes, diets are so passé, I don’t do diets unlike some people we know, who are constantly stuck on that carousel of failure.’
‘Oh, a diet. You don’t need to diet!’ Hear that? That’s how I know he’s expecting me to pay.
‘I know, JJ. Sweet of you to notice. How about lunch at Silk in South Perth?’
‘Silk. An oldie but a goodie. Let me ring you back. I’ll see if I can swap a few things around.’
‘Let me ring you back, JJ. This has come totally out of the blue for me. I wasn’t planning on doing lunch at all today. I’ll see if I can reschedule a few things.’
I can’t be seen to be too available either, you know. It would be social suicide, especially with JJ. While he was uber-cool and arty, he could be terribly bitchy. I’m not kidding. I let my guard down with him once, poured my little heart out after a long lunch in the sun drinking mojitos. If I remember correctly, my then boyfriend had been caught kissing Toffany and I was heartbroken. JJ thought it was hilarious, and spread it around town that I had the ability to turn straight men gay. I tell you it was a dark week for me. I almost considered moving to Sydney until I did a Google search on how many straight men have turned gay there – alarming. Instead, I went to ground for a week, watched Will and Grace-a-thons and decided maybe I needed a cool gay best friend too. I bit the bullet and rang the ex-straight guy and offered my BFF status. He said yes and here we are, about to have lunch again. So now you know. The ex-boyfriend was JJ. The bastard.
JJ breathed heavily into the phone, ‘OK, babe, but be quick, ‘I’ve got a million things to do today.’
‘Sure, JJ. Me too.’ I hung up the phone and walked along the footpath looking for a taxi. I knew JJ would be doing the same. We’d both be working our way to Silk even though neither of us had confirmed. It’s just the way things are done.
I waited seven minutes before I called JJ back.
‘JJ, it wasn’t easy but I think I’ve managed to reschedule everyone. It’s not every day a friend arrives from Paris, is it?’
‘Great, me too. I’ll be playing catch-up for the rest of the week, but I’m sure it’ll be worth it.’
‘Let’s hope so for both our sakes. Meet you at Silk in fifteen?’
‘Twenty,’ he said.
‘I’ll do my best,’ I said. ‘I’m in the thick of it here. If you get there first, order a drink or two,’ and with that I hung up.
I looked at my phone and noted the time. I added another five minutes to JJ’s twenty, which would make made it exactly eleven-forty. I would wait in the underground car park if I had to. Getting to the restaurant first smacked of desperation.
A white taxi appeared as if I’d ESP’d him, like my mum does when she wants a cab.
‘Where you off to, love?’ asked the elderly grey-haired driver.
‘Silk, South Perth.’
‘Hop in, love.’
The taxi smelled like stale sweat. Air freshener, people. Two dollars! I felt like mentioning it, but after the last taxi fiasco where I was booted out unceremoniously in the dodgy end of town, I thought better of it. Who knew cab drivers were so sensitive? I simply mentioned he might want to think about using deodorant in the summer time. It was as much for his sake as mine. Sheesh.
As I always did when I hopped into a taxi, I typed the driver’s name, Bob, and taxi registration number into my phone and texted it to my Mum. When you are a young, good-looking girl, you must take precautions.
He turned up the radio; horse racing. Of all the luck. I surreptitiously glanced at him again to make sure it wasn’t my dad who’d arisen from the dead, or something.
The race was coming to its climax and so was the driver, it seemed. He was hitting his steering wheel and yelling, ‘C’mon, Pocket Rocket, you good thing! C’mon!’
The race ended, and Bob was hooting and hollering like he was sitting on a lit cigarette. At one stage, I grabbed the steering wheel to straighten it. He had his eyes closed and was punching his fists into the air, saying, ‘Show me the money, Pocket Rocket, show me the money, baby!’
As you can imagine, I was getting annoyed that suddenly I had to be the responsible one. What was I paying him for, then?
‘Ah, Bob, can you man the steering wheel again? It’s just that we are coming up to the bridge and all …’
‘Sure, love, sure. Sorry, got lost in the moment for a while there. You see, I’ve just won more money than I make in a year. Now I can take my gorgeous girlfriend out to a flash joint for a vegetarian dinner!’
‘Great, Bob. Woohoo for you.’
‘Yeah, my new girlfriend is a vegetarian, which is fine except now I have to be a vegetarian too! I sneak burgers during the day, but she reckons she can smell death on me!’
I appraised old Bob and wondered what his girlfriend was like.
He was really old. Weathered and leathery. Saying girlfriend seemed wrong, like he was too ancient for that word. His clothes had seen better days. His polo shirt was stretched over his beer belly and it had faded yellow stains down the front.
‘Yeah, she’s tops this new sheila. Changed my whole outlook on life,’ he continued. I felt like saying, don’t care, Bob!
‘I used to smoke two packs of ciggies a day, drink half a carton of beer with the boys, and food, well, I won’t go there. Suffice it to say, I’d never even heard of lentils before!’
Um, suffice it. Yes please.
‘Anyway, this new sheila is great. No more drinking. No more smoking. She did some kind of acupuncture on me that took the urges right away! Although now that I’m healthy, I have a whole different set of urges!’ His bawdy laugh reverberated through the taxi.
Eww, was he talking about sex?
‘Yeah, this new sheila, boy, has she taught me a few things in the bedroom department. I think it’s all the yoga she does. She sure is flexible!’
Eww, yes, he was talking sex. This was sexual harassment for my ears.
‘Not long now, love. I’m gonna ring her after I drop you off. We were meant to go out last night but she had some emergency. Her wayward daughter is the only thorn in her side. She reckons she just needs to do some past-life regression therapy on her and she’ll be good as gold.’
‘Yay.’
‘Yeah, this new sheila, I’d do anything for her, you know?’
‘Must you call her a sheila? Don’t you realise how seventies you sound? Can’t you just say her name?’
‘Her name’s Valerie, love. Val for short.’
‘That’s my mum’s name, too.’ God. Can you friggin’ believe it? There are two women named Valerie who believe in all that hocus-pocus and bloody vegetarianism. What are the chances?
Finally, after what seemed like a week, we arrived at Silk. I paid Bob and got the hell out of that stinking car. I almost contemplated being first in because I seriously needed an alcoholic drink after that excursion. Common sense prevailed though, and I walked a few metres to the entrance of the underground car park. There was a big bristly bush I could hide behind and still get a view of the front door of the restaurant.
As soon as I saw JJ approach, I’d wait another few minutes and then go in.
I delved into my handbag and scoured around for my perfume. I was worried the taxi smell was contagious, so I liberally sprayed myself and continued peeking through the bush. I didn’t think I could keep this up much longer. I was hungry and thirsty. How did people survive lost in the outback for so long? I was going to cave in if this kept up. The smell of salt and pepper squid and spicy chorizo was going to kill me. My mouth started watering as I caught myself in a little fantasy with the head waiter, Alberto. He was drizzling fresh lemon over the chorizo, never taking his eyes off me for a second. He brings the tasty sausage up to my mouth and I accidentally bite his fingers which taste tart like lemon …
‘What are you doing, Miss?’ boomed a voice behind me. I screamed like I’d just been arrested for shoplifting. I turned quickly to offer an excuse to the policeman until I realised it was JJ.
‘You bastard! You scared the crap out of me!’
‘Why are you hiding in a bush?’
‘I wasn’t hiding. I, ah, dropped my purse,’ I said, as I dropped my purse.
‘I think someone was trying to arrive last.’
‘JJ, you are seriously delusional at times,’ I scoffed. I instantly kicked the head waiter guy fantasy to the kerb when I saw JJ. I’d forgotten how seriously good-looking he was. He was wearing navy-blue linen pants and a tight white singlet that emphasized every ripple of muscle. His hair was lost somewhere between blonde and brown, and was just long enough that you could run your fingers through it. His skin was the colour of honey. Mmm, honey. Honey on JJ. Mmm.
I shook myself before I got lost inside my head with that train of thought. I really couldn’t believe he’d turned gay on me. I looked up to the bright-blue sky, looking for answers from a God who obviously doesn’t like me, and said silently, ‘Why do you hate me so? Why is he gay? Why, why, WHY?’
‘Who are you talking to?’ asked JJ.
Oh, whoops, I must have said that out loud. ‘Ah, nothing. Just reciting lines from a play I’m in.’ Phew, that was close.
He studied me intently before grabbing my hand to walk up the steps. His grip felt good; warm and strong. I wished the steps went on forever and, believe me, that’s not something I usually wish for. If I want to exercise, I’ll just go get a manicure on the massaging chairs.
Alberto, the head waiter, walked over. I could barely look at him after what we’d just been though. He handed us some menus.
‘Would you care to order something to drink first?’ he asked, oozing class. ‘Perhaps a glass of sparkling wine, or champagne, whilst you’re perusing the wine list?’
JJ piped up, and let me tell you now, it’s like I’m psychic, he won’t choose sparkling, that’s for sure.
‘We’ll have a bottle of champagne, please,’ he smiled at me and said. ‘You didn’t want sparkling, did you?’ His tone of voice suggested drinking sparkling wine instead of proper champagne from the Champagne region in France was akin to drinking a goon bag.
‘Champagne’s great,’ I said, keeping my eyes averted from Alberto.
Alberto disappeared as quickly as the guy who took my virginity.
JJ clasped my hand and leaned forward like we were lovers. ‘So, how have you been? I’ve missed you, you know.’
Remember he’s gay.
Remember he’s gay.
It wasn’t working! ‘Ah, I’ve missed you too, JJ.’ I had to be certain this wasn’t another set-up from him. ‘So, how’s your love life? Met any hot guys in ol’ gay Paree?’
‘No, there is no one for me there, ma cherie. Actually, I’ve been sort of wrapped up in the past.’ He began caressing my hand and winked at me.
‘Oh, is that why you’re back? Unfinished business with Toffany?’
‘No, ma amour, not Toffany.’
I searched my memory for other people he’d had passionate one-night stands with.
Ah. ‘Ashley?’
‘No, not Ashley, ma préféré.’
‘Shannon?’
‘No, ma seul véritable amour.’
For God’s sake, what was this? A quiz show? What was with all the French mumbo jumbo?
‘OK, JJ, I give up.’
‘You mean, you really don’t know?’
‘No.’
‘It’s you. It’s always been you. I just needed to experiment for a while. All along I had the perfect partner right here, in little sunny old Perth.’
Well, you can imagine how shocked I was. I thought he’d been swearing at me in French and I still hadn’t forgotten pouring my heart out to him after the whole Toffany fiasco. It never rains, but it pours. First Alberto, then this.
‘Is this another attempt to humiliate me in the gay community?’
‘That was uncalled for, Samantha. If I could take it back I would.’ His azure-coloured eyes looked sincere as he stared right into my soul. A wave of desire washed over me like a spray tan. Alberto strode to our table with a bottle of champagne and two flutes standing expertly on a small tray.
‘Excuse me, Sir, Madame, are you ready to order?’ He was all charm. He even looked like what you’d expect a hoity-toity waiter to look like. Thick black shiny hair. Manicured nails (I can always tell). Sharp, tailored suit.
JJ spoke up first, ‘I’ll have the lime and vodka oysters to start,’ he gave me a lascivious wink, ‘and for main I’ll have the fennel and honey pork belly.’
