Mexican Kimono (14 page)

I grabbed my mobile, which I hoped for my sake was sufficiently charged, and switched it back on. It immediately started beeping with messages. I felt a little warm and fuzzy knowing so many people had thought of me in the three long hours I was stuck in Neverland with no communication.

Toffany was still looking at me all expectantly, so I said, ‘Give me some time to think things over. There’s you, there’s JJ, there’s bar guy, Alberto, and a few others. I’m not without options, you know.’

‘Yes, I know. I just hope you make the right choice.’

I tried hard to stop picturing Toffany as Timothy. When that didn’t work, I thought about our age difference. Even that was beginning to seem normal. I became very confused, there was no way not to love Timothy. We had been married once upon a time. That’s serious. JJ’s beautiful face kept popping into my head. This was turning into a dilemma.

‘Toff or ah, Tim, I’m confused who I’m talking to. I’ll go have some cereal and hopefully the vodka jelly shots will make me see things more clearly.’ I walked out of my former office, leaving a dispirited drag queen in my wake. What could I do? I had the choice between male model and Parisian artist. Both with gay tendencies, which, according to my mother, made them perfect husbands.

Chapter 13

The Thing About Gay Guys

I walked back to poor old Leila, who had her mean-looking lawyer face on. ‘What the fuck took you so long?’ she said in her very unlady-like fashion.

I sat on the other side of the seventies orange booth and slid down, wishing I was invisible. ‘I have a big dilemma and I need your …’

‘The love triangle. I already know,’ she said.

‘How do you know? I only just found out!’

‘Kylie texted me.’

I sat there shaking my head in wonder. ‘How the hell does she find out these things so fast?’

Leila rolled her eyes and said, ‘It’s the hairdresser in her.’

I nodded in agreement, knowing with absolute certainty our so-called love triangle news would be spreading around town faster than an STD.

‘I’ve heard all about the curse, too. You’re having a pretty rough week by the sounds of it, Sammy.’

‘What do you think I should do?’ Leila could be very severe and swear as much as a bible salesman, but her advice was usually pretty good. It was the lawyer in her.

‘About the curse? How the fuck would I know?’

‘You’re a lawyer, Lei. What about all those sleazy detective friends of yours? Can you hook me up with one?’

‘Hook you up? Don’t you think two guys are enough?’

‘Not that kind of hook up! I need someone to investigate, go through my Facebook friends list and work out who is behind the curse.’

‘Sounds simple enough. How many friends do you have on Facebook?’

‘Well, there’s well over a thousand, but I’m almost certain I’ve ruled out Truss-Me, so say nine hundred and ninety-nine.’

‘Sounds expensive.’ See, not even a lawyer yet and she’s thinking billable hours. Unbelievable.

‘Money isn’t everything, Leila. I just need to sort this out and move on with my life. This is really starting to get me down.’

‘OK, OK. Keep your pants on. Don’t start with the waterworks, you know I’m not keen on chicks and tears and shit.’ She really wasn’t. An outburst of emotion would usually push Leila over the edge. She was very similar to the girl with the dragon tattoo, except not as skinny.

‘Can you recommend anyone?’

She looked up, pretending to be lost in thought and said, ‘OK, there’s this guy, Zane. He mainly works at night because he is albino, and can’t spend too much time in the sun. He lurks, you know, like all good detectives do. I’ll give him a call and fill him in on the situation and see if he’ll help you.’

She took out one of those yellow legal pads and a pen. Why do lawyers always use yellow pads? What’s wrong with a white pad?

Leila wrote a bunch of notes that looked like hieroglyphics.

‘Right, now tell me everything that has happened so far, starting with the “hair on fire” incident.’

I recapped the events for Leila over another few rounds of jelly shots. I breathed a sigh of relief when Leila wrapped the inquisition up and said, ‘Right. That’s that then. Now, about the love triangle. What do you propose to do about that?’

‘I have no idea. It’s not like it’s my main focus right now either. All that aside, I’m pretty certain I’m in love with them both – again.’

‘Right. Well, far be it for me to point out the fucking obvious, but wouldn’t you prefer a hetero guy?’

‘Hmmm. Lei, you know me. I’m not one to stereotype or, God forbid, “label” people, but I just find straight guys have a few inbuilt flaws that aren’t really fixable. Gay guys have a few things that straight guys don’t have and isn’t really possible to learn.’

Leila narrowed her beady eyes at me. ‘Like what?’

‘I’ll tell you, but you have to promise to keep this to yourself. And I mean it. Texts and emails count as telling.’ The big thing around town is you’re not gossiping or spreading malicious rumours if it’s done by text or email because you didn’t actually say it aloud.

‘Aww, texts count? OK, fine,’ she agreed half-heartedly.

‘OK, it’s just I don’t want a “girls searching for a gay boyfriend” epidemic on my hands. I don’t need that on my conscience.’

‘O fucking K, just tell me already.’

‘Well, the first thing that springs to mind is the way they kiss. It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. Their lips are soft, their breath fresh, but not just that, the kiss is like a dance. It starts off slow and sensual and, without you even being aware of it, it gets deeper and more urgent, hands are caressing, groping, memorising. You’re not sure whose hands are where because the kiss has taken you to another level. So heightened are your senses you can feel the crackle of electricity that sparks off you both. When you feel like you’re going to drown in lust and you don’t mind dying that way, you know he’s gay. It’s just the way it is.’

Leila looked vacant and glassy-eyed, ‘Fuck me. Really? I’ve never had a kiss like that before. What’s the sex like if the kiss is that good?’

‘One night of sex with JJ practically lasted me a year.’

‘Fuck. You’re right. If this information ever got out, no gay guy would be safe. Lucky you with two to choose from! What are the other things?’

‘Everyone knows the shopping thing. That goes without saying, but it’s the little things at home that count when you live with any guy, straight or gay.’

‘A-ha. Little things often turn into big things. Give me an example.’

‘OK, well you know when a guy moves in with you and you make him take off his shoes and socks and leave them outside because they smell so bad?’

‘God, yeah,’ she said.

‘And even though those fetid, putrid things are outside, somehow the next day your entire bedroom has become impregnated with that sock stench which is virtually impossible to eradicate?’

‘Oh, that sock smell! How the hell does that happen? Even after you’ve made them scrub with peppermint and tea tree oil foot exfoliator!’

‘It’s untreatable. Well, gay guys don’t have that sock smell disease. My room actually smelled better when I shared it with JJ.’

‘Wow. That is a big thing. I always worry that sock smell is contagious and without realising it because I’m so used to it, I leave my apartment everyday smelling like mouldy gym socks.’

‘I hate to tell you, but I can kind of smell it from here.’ Someone had to tell her!

‘That’s it! I’m getting rid of Simon as soon as I get home!’ Simon was Leila’s on-again off-again boyfriend. He worked in a sports store and ran marathons for fun. He must have infused that room something bad.

‘Let’s not be too hasty. It’s not as if you’ve got a replacement, have you?’

‘No, but it’s not like I’m likely to with that odour hanging around. It’ll take months to get rid of it. If it goes at all! I might have to move.’

Wow. See how a little bit of information can be deadly? If she reneged on her promise not to tell, we’d really be in trouble.

Mass break-ups and splurges of air freshener purchases across town. Oh, I know, she’d have a good argument as to why she did it. She’d go all lawyer on me and baffle me with bullshit. She’s done it before. Poor old Leila looked miserable. Like she’d just found out the secrets to the universe, but only had a minute to live.

She sculled another shot that had mysteriously appeared and said, ‘Please tell me the other things.’

‘No, Leila. I can’t. I think you’ve heard enough for one day.’

‘You’re probably right. It’s with a heavy heart I’ll leave here today. You still want my advice?’

‘Of course.’

‘Keep both. JJ and Toffan … ah, I mean Timothy.’

‘What, like a ménage a trois?’

‘No, no. Like JJ has Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Timothy has Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday and you have Sunday off.’

‘Hmm, I wonder if they’ll go for it?’

‘Don’t be so fucking naive! Don’t tell them!’ It seemed Leila had recovered from her ardent sensual fantasy and was back to herself.

‘They’re bound to find out.’

‘So? Lie. First thing I learned in law school. Deny, deny, deny.’

She had a good point. If I was in love with two people at the same time, surely it wasn’t my fault? It would be wrong to choose one and hurt the other because I’d also be hurting myself. I loved them both equally, yet differently. I wondered how I hadn’t thought of this myself.

She stood up somewhat unsteadily. I hated to think of the amount of vodka she consumed so early in the morning.

‘Well, I’m fucking off to learn law stuff and find a new guy along the way. I’ll get Zane to give you a call.’

‘Great. Keep the whole detective thing to yourself too, OK?’

‘That and the gay boyfriend thing? You’re asking a lot, Sammie.’

‘Yes, and remember texting counts. You promised.’

She hung her head sadly. Honestly, if she could spread this news around, she’d never have to pay for a beverage in this town again. And looking at the stack of empty shooter glasses surrounding her bowl of half-eaten cereal, she’d save a truckload of dosh.

I watched her walk away slowly in all her university student glory. Wearing a grey polyester tunic over black leggings and boots. Exactly what a poor uni student should look like. Poor Leila. As in, ‘she had no money’ poor. I’m sure she has a rich life anyhow, just not the financial type. Yet. I know what those lawyer types are like, one more year and she’d be charging me for advice. Phone calls suddenly counted in fifteen-minute increments. I wasn’t stupid. I’d say I was asking advice on behalf of Kylie, and then she’d send the bill to her.

Chapter 14

Busted

I considered staying for something to eat since, without realising it I had practically starved myself this morning with all the drama. I started to play my voice messages before I scrolled through my phone for a suitable luncheon partner. The first message was from Gemma, ‘Far out, Sam. Were you wearing something orange on your head this morning? I thought the likes of you didn’t do orange! When I dyed my hair “Fanta”, you told me to watch out for trick or treaters. You said it looked like a pumpkin had landed on my head!’

Oh God, no. That wasn’t good. I took a deep, calming breath and remembered it was only Gemma the blue-haired band freak. No one cared about her opinion anyway. The next message began. I recognised Silicon Sharona’s voice immediately. ‘Hey, babe. I’ve just had the biggest laugh. Kylie sent me a picture of you with frizzy hair and an orange hat on! Thanks for cheering me up, babe. I’m getting cabin fever here in recovery. Talk soon.’

I can tell you with absolute sincerity, when I see Sharona, I am going to pierce her fake boobs with a knitting needle. And stab Kylie with her thinning shears. How the hell did she get a photo of me? I did spend a moment or two mourning the fact that I
had
hair in the picture.

I deleted all the other messages without listening to them.

I didn’t want to know who else had seen me looking, well, not my very best. I was going to ring Kylie and blast her, but she might record the call and spread that around. You couldn’t trust her one little bit. She was a convicted criminal, remember.

I contemplated walking slowly but briskly home until I remembered I had no power. The only other option I could think of was my mother. Goddamn it, it had to be done. I’d get her to whip me up a pesto and parmesan pasta and maybe get a quick massage to banish all the sudden stress I had accumulated.

I winked at Toffany, which still felt sort of wrong, since she was a girl, and headed off, once again, to the leafy suburb of Claremont.

***

Mum’s house was old federation style, wrapped with a huge veranda. If you were into old and leafy, rose gardens and picket fences, it’d be right up your alley. I found it all a little humdrum. Give me modern any day. She only had one bathroom. Five bedrooms and one bathroom, which seemed lacking. Not that she needed any more than one, I guess, because she’s lived alone since Dad died. When I lived there, we always had major bathroom issues. I couldn’t stand those black and white chequered tiles for starters. Can you imagine getting up with a hangover and having to stare at them first thing in the morning? It was like winning the Grand Prix every day, but not in a good way.

I rounded the bend to Mum’s house and saw a taxi in the driveway. I had totally forgotten she was booked out for months now, according to every random friend of mine. I let myself in with the spare key hidden under the flowerpot (very original) and made my way to her ‘therapy’ room. The door was wide open with only a faint whiff of patchouli for comfort.

‘Mum! Mum, where are you? Need food. Need massage. Need alcohol. Mum!’

I wandered around looking in her usual spots, kitchen, garden and bathroom. Nothing. I heard peals of laughter coming from her bedroom. Ah. She must be on the phone. I walked down the carpeted hallway and pushed open her bedroom door. ‘Mum, I need … ARGH! What the hell!’ I covered my eyes as quickly as I could. It was no use. The picture was burned onto my retinas. I raced out to the kitchen and searched through Mum’s rack of faux wine. ‘Please be alcoholic, please be alcoholic,’ I chanted fervently like a mantra. I needed some serious alcohol to forget what I just saw.