Mexican Kimono (10 page)

‘Of course I’ll come. Just give me half an hour to switch a few things around.’

‘Half an hour? I could be dead by then. You seriously don’t have time to blow dry your hair!’

‘OK, OK. I’ll just quickly put the tongs through. Be there in fifteen xx’

‘Fifteen? Hurry!’

God. He was so demanding. His hair was his most prized possession. Just thinking of it made me angry. I tried not to be jealous, but his hair and I were enemies from way back. He spoke of it with such love and affection that it sounded like a person, not something attached to his skull. He constantly touched it, looked at it, and played with it. He spent more money on ‘it’ than me when we were together. There were the conditioning treatments, the cocoa butter hair masks, the softening silk serum, the scalp massages, the straightening, the colouring, and that was just with Kylie. He saw other hairdressers on the side and made me promise not to tell her.

I was so sick of it that one day I smashed the mirror he was admiring ‘it’ in. He was very surprised and instantly checked his hair for glass shards before he asked if I was OK. Do you see what I mean? There was clearly a pecking order and I was always coming second.

I was so caught up texting I didn’t realise I was suddenly the only one standing. Everyone was sprawled on beanbags and listening to a super-skinny, bespectacled, beanpole read a poem. I found Charlize and sat with her. ‘Is he any good?’ I asked.

‘Shh.’

Riveting. I sat still and tried to listen, I really did. It’s just that it was so goddamned boring. He was lost somewhere between hell and the afterlife. I think he even started to weep a little. I really had to hold myself back from marching up to him and slapping the sad off his face. All he needed was a decent haircut, a dose of vitamin D, some looser fitting jeans and maybe a few protein shakes. Geez. I really was feeling like I could potentially help Beanpole, when he did the unthinkable.

He stopped rhyming and pointed at me and said, ‘You there! You bring bad luck on us all with your consumerism and materialism!’

Oh, my God. Materialism? Was he talking about the kimono?

‘It’s antique silk, I’ll have you know!’ I hollered back to Beanpole. ‘It’s not your run-of-the-mill material, and I won’t have it spoken about in such a way!’

He shook his head, and said, ‘Google materialism.’

Look, I’m into fashion as much as the next person, but at this stage I wasn’t planning on making a career out of it. I’d save Google for important things like celebrity gossip, and the latest hairstyles. I wouldn’t waste my precious time looking up material for God’s sake. I could understand his confusion, though, I was the only one in the club who’d actually put some effort into how I looked. He probably thought I was famous or something.

I suddenly remembered I was supposed to be terrified. I glanced hastily around for Truss-Me. I thought I saw the outline of a beehive hairstyle (I heard from Kylie she was trying to be incognito after the YouTube incident, the beehive was a new thing; she had cornrows before). I didn’t know whether to risk making a run for it or to wait for JJ so I’d at least have some sort of shield.

I sat contemplating as someone grabbed my neck and started squeezing. As you can imagine, I freaked out fearing I was about to die. Maybe Truss-Me was behind this campaign to ruin my life? Made sense, I guess, even though I was the innocent victim in the whole mess. I certainly did nothing to warrant her vendetta against me. I began to worry I’d have to go into witness protection or something.

‘Let me gooo! It was Kylie who gave me the tape, OK?’ The strangling stopped. Thank God. I’d make it up to Kylie later.

Those big man hands continued down to my chest and darted under my halter neck. It was those hands, my boobs and two strips of double-sided tape. I blushed furiously. What the hell was she doing? Groping? I grabbed her wrist and attempted to give her a Chinese burn, that’d teach her to touch my boobs.

I smelled silk hair serum. JJ. ‘What the hell do you think you’re searching for down there? The meaning of life? Get your hands out of there!’

He laughed his rich playboy lifestyle laugh. You know the one, head thrown back, shiny straight white teeth showing, lyrical sounding. The bastard. I’d long since stopped practising that laugh in front of the mirror. I think you really did have to be a rich playboy with a cool rich playboy lifestyle to master it.

‘What did you say about a tape?’ he asked.

‘Ah, nothing. Let’s get the hell out of here,’ I stood somewhat awkwardly after sitting on a half-inflated beanbag for so long. They really needed to re-ball them. I looked down at Charlize who was still gazing in wonderment at Beanpole.

‘See ya, Charlize. It’s been great. Let’s do this again sometime.’ She waved us away without making eye contact. I think she had a crush on you-know-who.

‘C’mon then,’ I said to JJ as I tugged on his shirt. ‘You can take me out for a cocktail somewhere
nice
.’

‘Are you going to stay for the entire cocktail this time or leave half way through?’

Huh? Why would I waste an alcoholic drink?

‘What do you mean?’ I said.

‘Well, like lunchtime today?’

‘Oh God, are you going to bring that up forever? That was a lifetime ago. You need to stop living in the past, JJ.’ That boy sure could hold a grudge. It’s not like I walked out on him or anything. There were LBDs, IPLs and USB issues at work. I
needed
to go.

‘OK, it’s forgotten. Where to, my lovely lady?’ he wrapped his arm around my waist and we sauntered out of The Wasteland for good. I couldn’t help glancing at bar guy once more and, sure enough, he was staring straight at me with the perfect hot guy scowl still in place.

By the time we began our ascent of the foul-smelling stairs, the bouncer guy was nowhere to be seen. Possibly a figment of my imagination. It’s happened before. Only once. Possibly twice. Well, also once when I was drunk, but that doesn’t count.

‘How about we go back to your apartment and have drinks there instead?’ said JJ.

I pictured us snuggling up on the sofa sipping cocktails; it did seem much more appealing than screaming over the top of each other in a darkened bar.

‘Sure. Sounds good,’ I made a silent deal with myself to not over-think anything with JJ tonight. I’d just relax and enjoy myself. I hated to admit it, but he literally took my breath away. As soon as I looked at him, my heart started beating like a Jay-Z song. He did something to my mind and body, like a chemical reaction. I felt like liquid. I hated the fact that I only ever had that feeling with him and no one else. It made it hard to move on.

Chapter 9

Mexican Kimono

We walked towards my apartment slowly, holding hands and chatting about silly stuff. JJ said he loved Paris, but felt lonely. He didn’t feel as though he was developing any artistic flair; it was too easy to get caught up in the social aspect of living there. Long lunches, late starts and all-night parties. It didn’t leave him a lot of time to get creative.

‘I know this is going to sound ironic coming from me, but the artists I’ve met all seem kind of shallow,’ he said.

‘Hmm, I find artists a little temperamental. Like chefs. A breed of their own. A clique that no one quite lives up to joining.’

‘You should see the French then. I saw a chef march out of the kitchen and throttle a customer out for sending his meal back because the steak was undercooked. I thought he was going to kill the guy!’

‘Really? I would pay to see that. Poor guy, what did he do?’

‘He bolted out of there in absolute fear, leaving his wife sitting at the table alone!’

‘What did she do?’

‘She continued her meal and now runs front of house there.’

‘What? Why does she work there?’

‘The chef convinced her to leave her husband and marry him. She said it was love at first sight. They’ve been together ever since.’

‘Wow.’

‘You just know when you know, you know.’

‘I know.’ As usual, we were completely on the same wavelength.

We arrived at my apartment nearing eleven. I was feeling ecstatic at this point about being fired. JJ and I were free to sit up until dawn and sleep all day. Obviously, since he rescued me, I couldn’t send him home. That would be just plain rude. And as nice as my couch was, it wasn’t made for sleeping on. He’d have to share my bed. As friends, of course.

I found my keys and opened the door to the apartment. I groped for the light switch as JJ squeezed past me. He was standing just in front of me when I finally found it.

‘Argghh!’ we screamed as we clutched each other in fright. The kimono was hanging from the light fitting in the centre of the room. Again, the draught came in with us and the arms of the kimono flared up and made it seem alive. The whole room suddenly felt very cold and I shivered.

JJ looked at me. ‘Why the hell would you hang that there?’

‘I didn’t hang it there!’ Goose bumps prickled my skin, and it wasn’t because JJ was touching me. I filled him in on all that had happened over the last traumatic twenty-four hours, including my Mum’s wacky predictions.

He gazed at me with a worried expression. ‘Are you sure your mum’s not right? She’s always been pretty spot on before.’

‘Oh, not you too, JJ. What do you visit her for? C’mon, out with it.’

‘Well, usually just to have a cup of tea. I was going to be her son-in-law once upon a time. I can’t just switch off our past, you know.’

I may have forgotten to tell you that. Yes, we were engaged pre-Toffany fling. I mainly liked the idea of having JJ’s last name, which was Montague. As in Romeo. Eventually, when we were old, like thirty or so, and had kids, I planned to name our son Romeo. We would have one son and one daughter. It was all mapped out, until someone got cold feet and turned to a delusional drag queen for comfort.

‘Yes, well she still has a soft spot for you too, it seems.’

He smiled and said, ‘Don’t they say mothers are always right?’

‘Maybe normal, sane mothers.’

‘What are you going to do about this kimono? If your mum says it needs to go, it needs to go.’ He looked down at me like I was some kind of naughty toddler.

‘JJ, I haven’t even made the first payment on my credit card for it!’

‘That’s why you’re keeping it? Is it really worth it?’ Coming from Mr Moneybags himself.

‘For some of us JJ, $10,000 is a lot of money, so yes, that’s why I’m keeping it.’

‘Have you wondered why someone would want to ruin your life?’

‘It’s a jealousy thing, of course. I’m leaning toward Truss-Me. I’ve had the feeling all day she’s back and she’s after me.’

‘Truss-Me? I don’t think so. She’s living in Vegas, performing at Caesar’s Palace. She does an amazing duet with Celine Dion. You did her a favour – that sex tape made her famous.’

‘Sex tape? I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Yeah, of course you don’t,’ came the sarcastic reply, as he walked toward the kimono and fingered the silk. ‘This is kind of spooky-looking.’ JJ appraised it close up. Then suddenly, ‘That’s weird.’

‘What’s weird?’

He pointed to the hem of the kimono where there was a smattering of some type of symbol. ‘This is the symbol of Brujeria–Mexican witchcraft. That is not a good sign.’

I was confused. ‘How can that be? It’s a
Japanese
kimono.’

JJ looked concerned. I didn’t hold a lot of weight with a couple of symbols spread around the hem of a satin dressing-gown-type thing, for God’s sake. No wonder he and my mother got on so well. ‘I don’t think you understand the consequence of upsetting the Brujeria. They’re black witches. Witches that put curses on people. I saw them in Mexico and I’ve never felt more scared in my life.’

‘Not even that time Kylie cut an extra inch off your hair?’

‘Very funny. I think you need to get rid of this right now.’

‘No way. Again, I paid ten large for that, JJ. I’ll put it back in the cupboard if it makes you feel better, but that’s it.’

‘Fine.’ He walked to the kitchenette, shaking his head. Out of principle I would do the opposite of what he said just so he knew he wasn’t the boss. I mean, really, black witches? A Mexican kimono? Sound a little far-fetched to anyone else? I’ll admit to you, yes, OK, my life was going down the gurgler, but not on an international level, surely? Mexican witches?

I stood on the lounge and reached up to unhook the kimono from the light-fitting. Whoever hung it there was tall – I could barely reach standing on the coffee table in my six-inch heels. I packed it away at the very back of the wardrobe this time and moved all my big winter coats in front of it, making another mental note to get my locks changed, and maybe get an alarm system installed.

JJ walked up to me and held my face in his hands. ‘I think you should stay with me tonight.’

‘Aren’t you staying here?’ I asked.

‘No way! Not while that’s here,’ he said as he pointed in the direction of the bedroom.

Great. This curse was far-reaching, that’s for sure. I’d planned a simple seduction routine for old JJ here. We’d have our Sex on the Beach cocktails (I’d banned him from Cock-sucking Cowboys), one thing would invariably lead to another, and boom! There were no unwritten rules when you’d been drinking cocktails. The rules were there were no rules. You couldn’t be held accountable for your actions if you were under the influence of Midori. It was a good way to feel someone out and if it didn’t work out you could pretend it never happened. Remember, you drank Midori. Nothing counts. (Unless you want it to.)

JJ glanced back at me with regret written all over his face. (He made up the cocktail rule. Which isn’t a rule, technically.)

‘Aren’t you scared, Sam? You’re acting kind of cool under the circumstances.’

‘There’s nothing to be scared of. This is obviously someone’s idea of a joke, and I’m not going to let them win.’

‘Oh, Sam. Why do you always have to win?’

‘Because I’m the innocent victim here!’

‘OK, OK.’ He pushed his hair back with a perfectly manicured hand. ‘I just can’t help but feel there’s a message here, one you’d do well to heed.’