Mexican Kimono

Alberto’s eyes light up and he kisses … eww, hang on. Damn it!

That’s not the right fantasy. Bloody cheating bisexual men. It’s rife around here, I’m telling you.

I shook the image from my mind and glanced at the registration of the driver. I began to text it to my mum when a distinctive voice pipes up and says, ‘So, how was lunch, love?’

You’ve got to be friggin’ kidding me. Beer belly Bob. Of all the luck.

‘I was left unsatisfied, if you must know, Bob.’

‘Boy trouble, love?’

‘You could say that.’

‘What’s the trouble? He’s not a vegetarian too, is he?’

‘Hmmm, I’m not sure how to answer that, Bob. I’ve heard lesbians described as vegetarians, so does the same apply to straight men that turn gay, then straight, then almost definitely gay again?’

‘You’ve got me there, love. I have no idea. So, your boyfriend’s gay?’

‘Yes. He’s gay and the only slot he’s interested in is the one that swipes my credit card.’

Beer belly Bob looked slightly shocked, but managed to change the subject back to himself, like most good cabbies do. ‘So, I called my sheil – I mean Val – like I told you I was gonna. I’m all set to take her out to this Indian vego place tonight. I was thinking of buying her some flowers and maybe some chocolates.’

‘Great.’

‘Yeah. I thought I might get a hotel room, you know, with a spa. Get some of that non-alcoholic champagne she loves.’

Eww. Go away naked mental picture of Bob in the bath.

‘Yeah, then I thought I’d surprise her and scatter rose petals all over the bed, you know, all romantic like.’

‘You’re very original, Bob. Did you think of that all by yourself?’

‘No, love. I wish. Saw it on a movie.’

I just wanted to get home, but it’s the saint in me, I tell you. I had to, something literally forced me to. ‘Bob, what are you planning on wearing tonight?’

‘Well, my birthday suit eventually,’ cue disgusting bawdy laugh.

Another mental picture I’ll need erased by regression therapy.

‘To the date, Bob. What are you planning on wearing on your date?’

‘Oh, I’ll just chuck a shirt on over this one I think, love. Maybe spray on a bit of Old Spice.’

Aptly named. Old.

‘Hmm. I was thinking, Bob, you really need a new look. You look like a truck driver that’s been on the road. For a few months. With sheep. Who have fleas.’

‘A new look? Val likes me just as I am.’

‘I bet she makes you take a shower before she kisses you. Am I right?’

He narrowed his bloodshot eyes at me.

‘I bet she bought you a “special” toothbrush just for her house. Am I right?’

‘Well, yeah, but that’s only ’cause …’

‘I bet she came to your house only the once and has never been back. Am I right?’

He hung his head and said, ‘Yes. You’re right.’

It’s like I have a gift. I had to help him. For the sake of his poor girlfriend.

‘Right, Bob. I’m very busy you know. Stop at these shops here. Bring your credit card and let’s go.’

Bob pulled in to a narrow car park and wearily followed me into the shop. He really was very shabbily dressed and I was risking my reputation just by being seen with him. What can I do, though? I’m just a good person. Saint-like.

Bob followed meekly behind me with his head hung as low as his thick neck would allow, like he was trying to hide his face in his chin folds. I filled my arms full of clothes and directed him to the changing room. I sat expectantly on a blue-and-yellow striped chaise lounge. I knew Bob could be transformed from booze hound barfly to, well, one step up from that.

‘I’m ready, but I’m not coming out. I look ridiculous,’ Bob whispered sharply over the changing room door.

‘That’s an impossibility. You looked ridiculous before we came in here. Be a man for God’s sake and come out so you can see yourself from every angle.’ Big tough men were all the same deep down. Sensitive and scared.

Bob walked out in loose-fit denim jeans coupled with a navy-blue long-sleeved shirt that nipped in slightly at his waist. It had small white pinstripes running down the length of it. He looked like a different person.

‘What’s wrong with that? You look great. What size shoe are you?’

‘What’s wrong with my thongs?’

‘Bob. I’m on a schedule here. Things will move quicker if you just listen.’

The shadow cleared from his eyes. He had no fight left. ‘Size eleven.’

I walked to the shoe section, which sold genuine leather shoes in every colour imaginable. I picked black, brown and beige and six pairs of matching socks. He could wear his thongs on Sundays.

‘Try these.’

The black boots fit perfectly and again I realised how gifted I was. I had a natural talent for shopping.

Bob stood in front of the mirrors and eyed himself cautiously. ‘I like it, but it doesn’t feel like me.’

‘Will you miss the grubby old polo, Bob? Now try on the rest of the clothes. We’re running out of time.’ I shooed him back into the plush purple-carpeted changing room and decided I’d call Kylie, even though she was a no-good, gossiping liar, to see if she could fit Bob in for a mercy cut.

‘What now?’

I decided to ignore her curtness and get straight to the point. ‘I have an emergency client for you. He has a date tonight and he can’t possibly go looking like the Bee Gees. The dead ones. Bad hair coupled with pallid and pasty skin, it’s not nice to look at.’

‘What? Who is he?’

‘Bob. A taxi driver I met today. Can you meet at my place?’

‘You want me to cut the hair of some random taxi driver you met today and you’re taking him to your house?’

‘God, when you say it like that it sounds creepy! Good point, though. Let’s meet at your house in half an hour.’

‘No, I’ll meet at yours. He’ll be the last client anyway.’

‘OK, if I’m not there on time just make yourself comfortab—’

‘Samantha, this is not a social experiment, just friggin’ get there on time!’ And with that, she hung up on me for the third time that day.

I glanced over at Bob, who was still looking at himself sceptically in the full-length mirror. ‘C’mon, Bob, we’ve got another appointment. Grab the clothes and pay. I’ll meet you in the cab.’

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