Mexican Kimono (13 page)

A discount? Jesus. Little did she know I just sneak into her place and replenish my bottles with her full ones. ‘Oh that’s OK, I still have plenty left from last time I bought some.’

She consulted her iPhone, where she had all her client information stored. ‘Hmm. It says here you haven’t bought any products since 2006. Is that right? That can’t be right?’

‘Sounds right. I use it very sparingly.’

‘Hmm. If you still have some left, you are definitely not using it as per the manufacturer’s instructions. Use ten times that amount and I’ll order you some more in anyway.’

‘Where are you going now?’ I asked.

Kylie looked at her feet and fidgeted with her thinning shears.

‘I have another appointment.’

Of course. It was work, work, work, for boring people. ‘Well, duh. I know that! Who, what, where?’

‘Mai Ling’s son, actually.’

‘You’re cutting Sam’s hair?’

She rolled her eyes at me and said, ‘No, I’m not cutting his hair.’

‘God. Whatever. Shampooing, blow-drying, whatever you call it.’

‘No. We are going out for an early lunch before he starts work.’

‘I’ll just add this to this list of things I would never do to you, but that you’ve done to me, shall I?’ It was beginning to be a very big list of BFF code violations.

‘You do that. If I had to stay away from half the men you’ve had mind sex with, there would be no one left!’

Mind sex? What the hell was she on about?

She shook one purple French-tipped nail at me and said, ‘You’re a mind sex slut!’

Well, I must say, I was shocked. Where did that outburst come from? What was she implying?

‘Wow. You have some issues there, Kylie. I think you’d better ask my Mum for some herbal muscle relaxants or something next time you see her.’

‘Yes. I think I will drop in and see her. She’s always happy to hear about what her daughter is up to now, since you don’t bother ringing her.’

‘What are you? My keeper? My life coach? Are you suffering from nicotine withdrawal? Sheesh, if I wanted this much abuse I’d go see my ex-husband!’ I picked up my bag and mobile charger and stomped out of there. Just in the nick of time, too, otherwise she probably would have tried to charge me for lopping off the burned strands of my hair.

So now you know – another secret. I was briefly married once. It was a huge mistake. A spontaneous decision based on a particular ‘vision’ my mother had incorporated with some naive infatuation and voila, a wedding fit for two queens. The guy in question started going to all these drag queen reviews and the next thing you know, I caught him in my underwear. It was a dark day for me, I tell you. He went from Timothy to Toffany.

Now it’s out in the open. God. No one can have secrets in this town.

Chapter 12

The Ex-Factor

I meandered down to Toff’s. I was abhorrently late and had no way of calling Leila, so I had to play it exceptionally cool. I walked into the cafe slow and fluid-like, waving at a few people I knew here and there. Leila was sitting in the Serial Killer section, so I ambled over to her.

She looked up from her vodka-soaked fruit and said, ‘You’re pretty fucking late, Sammie. I was just about to leave.’

‘Crazy morning. So many phone calls from perspective employers that my iPhone died, and…’

‘Fuck me, your hair! It’s so short. What made you decide to chop it all off?’

‘Oh, you know me, it’s the latest thing in London these days. You know the er … elf look.’

‘The elf look?’

Goddamn it to buggery. ‘I mean the pixie look. More of a movement really. Hair, projection of waif-ism, that kind of thing.’

‘I see,’ she said, and gestured to the seat opposite her. ‘Sit down. Do you want some cereal?’

‘Sure, but I’ll just go ask Toffany if I can put my phone on charge. Be back in a sec.’ I walked to the counter and tried my hardest not to gaze at the old modelling photos of Timothy plastered all over the walls. God, he was hot. Short blonde hair, tanned taut muscled body, ocean-coloured eyes you could swim in, a strong chiselled face you could crack nuts on and full lips just begging to be kissed. With a whoosh of wheatgrass juice, there in all her emerald eye-shadowed glory was my former husband. ‘What’ll it be, Sweet Cheeks?’ she boomed at me.

‘Hi there, Toff. I know it’s against the restraining order rules and all, but I was wondering if I could charge up my phone? It’s just, I’m waiting on …’

‘Sure, Sweet Cheeks. Go on back to your office. It’s exactly as you left it.’

Probably another little fact you might not know, but Toffany’s used to be called Toscany’s. It was a little Italian restaurant my dad owned and ran his whole life. I used to help with all the paperwork, hence why I had an office. Dad lost the place in a poker game to Timothy at his infamous bucks’ party. Dad was happy to see it go. The number of people chasing him for money, and the liens he leaned against the liens of the loans were just ridiculous. It was either fake his own death or bow out gracefully and give the cafe to Timothy.

Timothy instantly remodelled the place and called it Toffany’s (I know, this should have been my first clue) and we worked there together quite happily until the whole drag queen incident reared its Maybelline-plastered head. Tim begged me to stay with him. He told me it was just something he felt compelled to do. I considered it, I seriously did, but if you could see how good-looking this guy is, whoa! Then clarity dawned and I realised I’d now be fighting off men and women who wanted a piece of perfection. I was a love machine, but, really, there was only so much I could do. I packed my share of the shoes and a few CDs that had special meaning and got the hell out of there.

Kylie had just split with her boyfriend, an English backpacker, so we found apartments next door to each other and began our single life anew. We had each agreed on a certain period of mourning for our lost loves. We both called in sick that week, stocked up on Lindt chocolate, microwave popcorn (the really buttery kind), red cordial and rented as many soppy chick flicks as we could find. We each made up a bed on the lounge, changed into our Peter Alexander PJs and didn’t move for a week. When we were sick of chocolate, we ordered pizza and Chinese and began scoring the delivery guys on their looks. That’s how I knew we were recovering. That week was utter and absolute bliss, almost worth the sudden breakouts and the three extra kilos I’ve never been quite able to shake.

I glanced at Toffany to make sure she was genuinely allowing me to go beyond the yellow line. (Yes, she was one of those crazy, yellow line bus rule type of people). She nodded once and seemed sincere, so I walked into the office that formerly belonged to me. I plugged in my phone and don’t mind admitting I felt a little emotional. I couldn’t believe I spent the last two hours without this vital little device of communication. I was stronger than I gave myself credit for. The door clicked closed behind me and I turned around to see who had followed me. I worried this was some kind of trap that would have me sent to jail for breaking my RO (which was a total misunderstanding, I only
threatened
to set the place on fire. I wouldn’t actually do it!).

‘Sweet Cheeks, I need to talk to you. Short hair suits you, by the way.’

Hmm, dodgy. ‘I’m listening.’

‘I heard you’re having some financial woes, amongst other things.’

This town was full of gossipmongers. I had a list as long as my credit card bill, with possible suspects. ‘What? Who told you that?’

‘Can’t break that code. Customer/proprietor privilege.’

‘Fine. Well, they ought to be ashamed of themselves. Blabbing bollocks about me to try and get into your pants.’

Toffany screwed up her face in disgust and said, ‘Actually, I can almost guarantee they weren’t trying to get into my pants.’

‘Oh, this is no time to be coy. I’ve seen men and women alike start to swoon when you walk by, the wheatgrass juice stench does nothing to deter them!’ I was so sick of women giving me their numbers to pass onto Timothy, men leaving their business cards on the table, hotel room numbers on napkins, you name it. They all wanted him, then when he was her, her. He said he’d do anything to stop the steady flow of admirers and came up with the obvious answer of wheatgrass juice. He drank shots of it all day long that made him smell like mouldy, dewy wet grass that was mowed in a thunderstorm.
Still
, it didn’t stop them. They suddenly liked the fact he, then she, took care of himself. I wondered why he still drank it if I wasn’t here to care.

‘I’m not being coy, just honest,’ said Toffany.

‘Well, I think as part owner, I should be in on the customer/ proprietor privilege.’

I’d walked away from my share of the cafe after our divorce because I felt like Toffany had built the place up from nothing and if I’d have insisted on my share she would have had to sell it in order to pay me. No one would lend her money because of the simple fact that, according to the government, there was no Toffany Marilyn Monroe born twenty-five years ago in sunny old Perth.

‘OK,’ she said, giving up a little too easily if you ask me, ‘it was your mother. She’s desperately worried about you. She was mumbling something about Mexican witches and fire? She said you’ve lost your job and you’re destitute. You’ll be homeless by the end of the week.’

‘Wow. She doesn’t put a positive spin on things, does she?’ That crazy-arse woman! I was going to kill her. This kind of slander, no matter how true, would ruin my credibility in no time.

‘She also thinks there’s a chance you and I can make things work.’

‘Oh my God! What is it with my mum trying to set me up with gay guys? I hate to tell you this, Toff, but yesterday she was all set to plan the wedding for JJ and me.’

‘She mentioned JJ. Look, I have no hard feelings when it comes to him, but I was your
husband
. What we
shared
should count for something.’

‘My
transvestite
husband. It would have been nice to share that before the wedding.’

‘Sam, I tried. So many times. Remember when we were shopping for your wedding dress and I said I’d try on some too? You agreed. I thought you understood what I was implying?’

‘What? I thought you offered to try on the dresses to save time! I can’t have a relationship with someone who stretches my best G-strings, and uses the last of my colour-stay lipstick. I had to wear
peach
shimmer gloss that day. Not cool, Toff, not cool at all.’

‘I’m sorry. I meant to replace it before you woke up. Who knew I’d get stuck like that in the elevator.’

Well, technically, I knew he’d get stuck in the elevator because I called the security company and said there was an unidentified package in there and, as a resident, I was concerned for my safety. I thought it might teach Tim a lesson on stealing other people’s lingerie, but little did I know he’d used the last of my raspberry rapture slick lips and I’d be forced to run to the chemist wearing some kind of orange shimmer lipstick that had obviously been saved from some seventies disco.

Toffany walked over to me and held my face in her large man hands. ‘I was thinking of retiring Toffany for good.’

Don’t you think it’s strange when people talk about themselves in third person like that?

‘Samantha wants to know what you mean by “retire Toffany for good”,’ I said.

She gazed at me with those beautiful blue eyes, slightly crazed looking when bordered by eight different shades of green eye shadow. ‘I mean, I’m going to go back to being Timothy. You know, hang up the stilettos.’

‘But why? You love dancing in those revues, and what about this place?’

‘Dancing in the revues has been amazing, but there’s nothing worse than an old drag queen trying to keep up. It’s time to let the new talent shine. Thirty-five is a good age to exit.’

I was horrified. Breathing became impossible. A panic attack was imminent. I sat on the blue office chair and put my head between my legs. I felt calmer not being able to look directly at Toff. Once I’d caught my breath and the dizziness subsided, I lifted my head and stroked my almost-bald head.

‘You’re
thirty-five
?’ I whispered.

Toffany looked over at me like I was speaking another language.

‘Yes. You know that. What’s the big deal?’

‘You’re thirty-five? I thought you were twenty-five!’

‘Sweet Cheeks. I might look twenty-five after all those Botox treatments and the odd brow lift, but my birth certificate clearly says thirty-five. Why? You look like you’re going to pass out.’

‘I would never have married you if I’d have known you were that old! We agreed to have children when you turned thirty-five! So what, like now you want to have kids? Now? Or was that just another lie to add to the list?’

‘I’d love to have kids with you now. I’ll change from Toff to Tim and, of course, Toffany’s back to Toscany’s. Whatever it takes to get you back. Our marriage was the best thing that ever happened to me.’

‘Look, I can get over the fact you neglected to mention you liked cross-dressing. And that you are bisexual and had a fling with JJ who was my boyfriend at the time. The restraining order, the charging me for food at a cafe I part-own, the revenge YouTube clip of me with no makeup on, but, lying about your age! Wow. That is just going too far. I feel like Anna Nicole or something sick like that. I married a thirty-two year old when I was twenty-two! Do you know how desperate that makes me look?’

Toffany laughed a big rich man’s laugh and pulled me in for a hug. ‘You are so adorable! All your little social rules and quirks. Ten years’ age difference doesn’t make you Anna Nicole, Sweet Cheeks.’

I was still reeling at the fact we had made all kinds of life plans for when we were thirty-five and she was already there! I would have had three years of freedom, then without me being aware of it I would be chained to the sink with three kids grabbing at my ankles asking when Daddy was going to get home. I won’t even start on the damage all those pregnancies would have done to my body. And the sleepless nights to my skin. I shuddered at the thought of what might have been. He tried to trick me into middle-of-the-road motherhood at twenty-five. God. I was nowhere near mature enough, yet. I couldn’t be trusted with a plant, my lucky bamboo died after one night back home with me. It smelled suspiciously like gin. I think Kylie had something to do with it. She practically murdered it.