Mexican Kimono

Chapter 4

Beer Belly Bob

I walked along the busy street, feeling the warmth of the sun on my back, scrolling through my phone looking for a new BFF candidate. Slim pickings, really. I decided to text Sharona.

She was a part-time make-up girl for Clinique, so it was pretty much guaranteed she wouldn’t show up with a freak show hairstyle. She was fairly ditzy, you know the type, laughs at everything, vacant look in her eyes, cute little nose. Her hair was brown, even though she totally acted blonde, and she was short with a big bum. I’m not being bitchy, I’m just trying to describe her for you. Oh, her good points? Well, she laughs at your jokes, and she’s a good listener.

‘Hey, Sharona! Want meet for lunch? Tapas?’

Her reply came instantly like the total slave to technology that she was. I think it’s something about being needed and wanted for some people. Like their phone is glued to their hand so they don’t miss a thing. Sad, really.

‘Hey! Love to but I’m at home recovering. You wanna come here?’

Recovering? Oh God, I’d have to listen to the whole sob story, get drinks for her, possibly spoonfeed her. Forget it. I didn’t do nursemaid for anyone.

‘Recovering. From what?’ I sent back.

‘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.’

Great. I was going to have something as equally calorie-laden, but now he was hot for me again I wouldn’t be able to eat like that in front of him. I’d have to order something healthy.

‘I’ll have chorizo and garlic bread to start. Hold the garlic,’ I couldn’t stand the smell of garlic any more after my ex-boss bathed in it, ‘and the Wagyu beef for main, thanks, Alberto.’ I sincerely hoped JJ wanted to share his pork belly. That was half my reason for coming here.

JJ stood and moved his chair closer to mine. He bent down, nuzzled into my neck, and whispered, ‘So, what do you say? Can we go back to where we left off?’

That kind of nuzzling gets me every time and he knows it. It sent shivers down my body. I felt woozy, intoxicated by him. Still, there were rules in these kinds of circumstances and I must play by them if I wanted to remain on top in this town.

‘Look, JJ, I’ll consider it, but don’t hold your breath, OK? I’m kind of seeing a few people at the moment and I’m pretty sure one of them is a keeper.’ OK, not true, but if I say I’m alone and have been since he tore my heart out, threw it to the ground and then beat it to death with his straightening iron, he’d change his mind for sure. I know I would.

‘I understand, just tell me you’ll think about it?’ he said in a syrupy voice.

‘I’ll do my best. Now, can you excuse me for a minute? I need to ring the office and check everyone is meeting their KPIs.’ I stood up quickly and strutted to the ladies’ room. I shut myself in a cubicle and screamed, ‘There is a God! He’s not gay, he’s NOT GAY!’ I did a little happy dance and a kind of karmic ‘up yours’ to Toffany.

That taken care of, I walked back and joined JJ at the table.

He’d ordered a bottle of Margaret River chardonnay while I was gone. I tried not to sit there with a stupid love-struck grin on my face, because it’s just so damn cheesy, and I didn’t want JJ to know I was happy.

Our entrées came and we ate, quietly taking in the view of the Swan River. We used to come to Silk together every Friday after work, when we were a couple. It was where all the power couples went so, of course, it’s where we went.

I was mentally weighing up the pros and cons of getting back together with JJ. We’d be invited to all those cute little couples only dinner parties. Those couple types could be downright hostile if you were a singleton. I’d have my personal shopper back for good. Oh, and the sex thing. I’d have sex on tap again and I’m sure you are all aware of the calorie-burning properties in that particular activity.

I glanced at JJ’s oyster-shovelling smugness. Suddenly I remembered the cons. First, running off with a delusional drag queen and telling the world about it. His uncanny ability to spend every last cent of mine and then disappear like my lost youth. He was almost too good-looking. How can you be that good-looking and be faithful? I sort of understood. I was good-looking myself.

You know, it’s like expecting a big famous rock star who travels around the world being mobbed by models, to say, ‘No! My gorgeous ninety-five kilo, brown-haired haus frau is at home with my two sugar-happy hyperactive kids. I must say ‘no’ to you, you blonde forty-nine-kilo, waif-like supermodel. I took a vow on my wedding day, you know.’ Trust me, it will never happen.

I knew I was one up in the ridiculous mind battle we were having when JJ asked me, ‘What are you thinking?’ In case you don’t know, that’s a very big NO NO. What are you thinking? Are you ever honest when someone asks you that? NO! God, I would have been fired at least six or seven times by now if that was the case. Kylie would have stabbed me in the jugular with her thinning shears. And JJ. And my mother. It doesn’t bear thinking about. So I did the right thing and said, ‘I was thinking about cutting my credit card in half.’

His face contorted in sheer horror, like I just told him Toffany was expecting his first child. (Impossible? I get confused). ‘Why? Why would you do something so hurtful?’ He was grasping at his napkin like a safety blanket.

‘It’s virtually empty anyway. I’m just sick of the pressure of all that free money. Why? You’ll still love me sans credit card, won’t you?’

His blue eyes turned crimson. I’m not kidding. His face turned purple. I had my answer. That bastard. I folded my napkin and stood up again, ‘Excuse me, JJ. I need to call the office again.

Pamela mentioned they were having some issues with their IPLs. Back in a jiffy.’ I grabbed my bag and headed for the exit by the back door. I waved goodbye to a drooling Alberto, who I knew was mentally undressing me as I hurried past. As I rushed off, I began to ponder why JJ was suddenly back in town. He usually came back to Australia in summer, and he made sure we all knew he was coming, probably so we could save money to lavish on him. It was autumn and he hadn’t warned anyone. Very unusual.

Chapter 5

The Hair Psychologist

I held my breath until I reached the taxi rank. Once I flagged an incoming taxi, I managed to relax and do a big old evil belly laugh. I pictured JJ finishing the bottle of chardonnay, ordering another perhaps even more expensive wine. He’d eat my main meal, then his. Then it would dawn on him. I was not coming back. He would have to leave his fake Prada sunglasses as collateral and make some frantic phone calls for cash to get out of there with any shred of dignity.

The taxi pulled up, and I jumped in without taking any notice of the driver’s details. I was too distracted picturing JJ’s handsome face trying to explain to Alberto why he couldn’t pay. Then, JJ takes Alberto’s soft, manicured fingers in his strong, warm hand, and convinces him he could pay in other ways.