Mexican Kimono (9 page)

I stuck the tape to the halter and finished getting ready. I appraised myself in the broken mirror. The side that wasn’t distorted looked ravishing, I must say. If JJ saw me now, he’d go back to straights-ville, that’s for sure.

I sprayed on some perfume that smelled as sexy as hell and kissed my reflection for good luck.

‘Are you ready, Charlize?’ I yelled out.

‘Why are you yelling? Your apartment is like two square metres!’

See what she’s like? No one has as much money as her family, so she feels some compulsion to remind everyone how insignificant they are. How vulgar. Her mum invented one of those ab exercising machines. I personally think it was a crock, but it went global and they became even richer than they already were. Before Charlize was born, her Dad invented a robot that changed the channel on the TV for you. They made a packet on that, too; it mainly sold in America, because I think they were a bit lazier with the whole ‘getting up off the lounge’ thing.

‘We can’t all live like the
Kardashians
, you know. Some of us have to actually work for a living and do crazy things, like, pay bills!’

Cue the incessantly inappropriate laugh. ‘That’s rich!’ said Charlize, ‘JJ was telling me how you nearly sent him bankrupt with all your expenses!’

Do not listen to her. I am telling you truthfully, I’m almost certain it was the other way around.

‘Hmm, JJ is seriously affected by jet lag. I don’t think you could trust anything he had to say.’

She looked at the floor like she was deciding whether to speak up or not. ‘Look, don’t get mad, OK, but JJ actually sent me here to see you. That’s why I was downstairs.’

‘What for? The money for lunch?’

‘Look, I’ll just pass on the message, OK? He said he loves you and wants you back, no matter what he has to do to prove to you he’s sorry. He said he did really well in Paris this time and wants to buy another house and settle down in Perth. With you.’

‘Fine. Duly noted. Let’s go out.’ I couldn’t trust JJ. Even though Mum and Kylie said there were worse things than going out with a gay guy, I just didn’t think I could do it. I imagined when we were really old, like forty, he’d bring home a ‘friend’ to sleep in the spare room for a few days and then, before I knew it, JJ would ask me to swap to the smaller room because of my snoring, while Gary gay friend sneaks in with him. Next minute, I’m standing on the footpath holding one of those stripy bags from the two-dollar shop with exactly half the Tupperware, old Aunt Millie’s heirloom gravy boat and an antique collection of CDs, wondering what the hell happened.

I shook the nightmare away. Geez, imagine being forty. The thought terrified me more than anything. I made a mental note to book in for Botox. I couldn’t really afford it, but it’s not like it was a luxury or anything. More like a necessity.

Charlize was storming ahead in all her just woke-up-dead glory. I, on the other hand, was trying to walk nonchalantly in my six-inch stilettos. High heels were a must when it came to looking long and lean. Six-inch heels, while precarious at times, were well worth the trouble. Somehow they made your boobs look bigger, but your bum smaller. Kylie says it’s because you’re contracting every muscle to stay upright. She also reckons it’s like doing Pilates all night long, so feel free to drink those cocktails made with cream and sugar because you’re burning it off just standing there.

‘Charlize! Slow down. What’s the rush?’ There was nothing un-cooler than getting to a bar out of breath, and I didn’t exactly look graceful toppling forward in my shoes.

‘No rush really, but if we get there before nine it’s half price.’

Can you believe her? More money than God and she wants to get a discount. I began to regret venturing out with Miss Poetry in Motion-sickness.

‘Are you serious? It’s social suicide to arrive first.
Especially
at bloody happy hour,’ I said it as if it were some kind of contagious disease.

‘Sammy, don’t be so silly. No one thinks like that any more. You’re here. I’m here,’ she waved at the queue of two people, ‘they’re here. So, let’s just enjoy the atmosphere without worrying about all those “unwritten rules” of yours.’

Well I never. What was with everyone lately? Unwritten rules were not made to be broken. That’s why they’re
unwritten
. I followed dismally, like I was going to an eighties dance battle.

We walked down a flight of shadowy cement stairs. They had an unfortunate wee smell and were a little slippery. I didn’t dare hold onto the metal banister for support – I had a thing about picking up diseases from people who didn’t wash their hands.

Music started blaring out of the crumbling red brick building as we descended lower into the never-never. I tried to ascertain what kind of music it was, but I couldn’t hear any lyrics. A red light hung over the door as we reached what looked like the pits of hell. A bald guy stood at the entrance with a tough man look on his face. I really had to resist the urge to tickle him to make sure he was alive. It was weird to be so expressionless.

‘Hey, Bosco,’ Charlize greeted him, ‘Two please.’

He took her money and stamped a skull on her hand. He moved to stamp mine. ‘Whoa, whoa, whoa,’ I said. ‘I don’t do skulls, I’m afraid. Let’s just pretend you stamped my hand, OK?’ Can you imagine walking around with a skull on your hand all night? Every time I took a sip of my drink, I’d see that scary thing and freak out. I don’t understand why people like the human skeleton.

His voice was eerily feminine, ‘You need a stamp or you can’t go in.’

‘I don’t want a stamp.’

‘Don’t go in then.’

Charlize was beginning to get uppity. She was probably worried he was going to charge her full price. ‘C’mon, Sam, it’s only a stamp,’ she pleaded.

I looked at the bouncer and said, ‘Can you tell me what ink these stamps are made of because I’m allergic to certain colourants and break out in hives, which, if left untreated for too long will result into me going into anaphylactic shock, thus needing a dose of adrenaline. Do you have adrenaline on the premises? I would hate to die under your care. Then you’d really be in trouble. Imagine telling the forensic investigator it was all because of a stamp!’

He looked at Charlize and said, ‘Why’d you bring her here?’

‘Good question.’

I was feeling quite pleased with myself. It takes a very intelligent person to think up such elaborate lies in an instant. ‘So, um, I’m kind of getting thirsty here. I hope I don’t dehydrate.’

‘In ya go. Wish I could see how you’ll fit in dressed like that,’ said Mr Tough Guy with his little voice.

I glanced at Charlize. ‘What the hell does that mean?’

She giggled and said, ‘You’ll see.’

Oh great, I love surprises.

Chapter 8

The Wasteland

I smirked as I walked past the bouncer into the depths of what I’ll now refer to as ‘The Wasteland’. The unfortunate urine smell continued into the bar. If you can call it a bar. It was more like a dungeon. The inhabitants of The Wasteland were, you guessed it, dressed like vampires. All gothed up. Black eyeliner, blood-red lips, piercings coming out of every orifice, tattoos of prison quality, and that was just the guys. The girls looked freakishly similar but were obviously on a blood-only diet. I’d never seen so many emaciated chicks in one place. Curves, people! Embrace them!

‘So, you like?’ asked Charlize, in a gravelly voice.

‘Ah, which part? Am I the human sacrifice here tonight? This place is ultra-creepy!’ I couldn’t even play along as if I liked it. We ambled over to the bar, which was a piece of wood held up with old car tyres. The roof was so low you had to do a kind of squat walk. In six-inch heels this was not becoming of a lady. The room was full of that wet-feeling smoke machine haze that did no favours for my complexion. I really thought those died when the millennium ticked over. I guess not. At five-minute intervals, old Puffing Billy bellowed out thick, damp smoke, which made it impossible to see your own hands. I think that’s how half the people hooked up in this place. Sort of like a lucky dip. When the smoke cleared, you crossed your fingers it was vampire inmate 1003 instead of the bone-chillingly scary 1004. (I really should stop calling them vampires. This isn’t one of
those
stories).

‘Come, get a drink, meet a few of my friends,’ Charlize said, waving her hand that suddenly clutched a cigar.

‘Great. Can’t wait.’ Surely alcohol would improve this situation.

We stood in line at the wooden bench and waited to be served. Music blared out of unseen speakers. It was some kind of heavy metal, sung by some guy on helium, or one who’d had an accident in his nether regions. I glanced at the bartender. He was tall and thin and didn’t have eyeliner on. So far, so good. His eyes were dark brown with golden flecks scattered through them. I’d never seen such exotic-looking eyes before. They were so feline they were almost feminine. He was wearing all black, which I was hoping was some kind of work uniform. His sleeves were rolled to just under his elbows, and I couldn’t help admire the way his muscles flexed when he popped the top off the drinks. I tried to force myself to stop looking at his arms. I had begun to worry I had an arm fetish. (Which I don’t, before you start reminding me of all the arms I’ve commented on.)

I looked loftily back at bar guy. Wow, he was hot. He had this scowl on his face that all hot guys have, like it’s part of the territory, or something. I wonder where they learn that? Kylie says gorgeous guys never learn to develop a personality because their looks work for them instead. JJ, however, is the exception to the rule. He has brains and beauty. He also has style and a special saunter, and wow can he kiss – makes you forget who you are and where you were going.

I wondered why the hell JJ kept popping into my thoughts. Goddamn him and his loveliness!

Charlize leaned over the wooden bar, seemingly oblivious to splinters re-piercing her belly button ring, and asked, ‘Hey, Obie, can we have two vodka and Red Bulls, please?’

‘No, no,’ I said leaning in over the bar at a much safer height. ‘I’d prefer a gin and tonic. I don’t need artificial stimulants to have fun.’

Obie gave me the hot guy appraisal and said, ‘You sure stand out in a crowd.’

I am trying not to come across as in love with myself, but what can I do when all these random gorgeous men throw compliments at me like confetti? I would be lying if I said I didn’t notice the barrage lately.

‘Thanks, Obie. I happen to be in a complicated relationship at the moment, so I probably couldn’t give you what you need. It was worth a shot though.’

‘What?’

Here we go. The hot ones are never used to rejection. He was going to act all indifferent now.

‘Look, maybe another time? I don’t usually go out with bartenders, unless they actually own the bar. Do you own this, um, bar?’

‘What?’ he said, again.

Oh dear. I’ve rendered him almost mute.

Charlize glared at me. ‘Just get the drinks, Obie. I promise this’ll never happen again.’ Even she was trying to ease his heartbreak.

He mixed our drinks and handed them over, his eyes burning with rejection. I smiled as best as I could in the circumstances, just in case he did own the place.

‘Why are the ceilings so low?’ I asked Charlize. ‘I can barely walk in here.’

‘This is the underground car park for Big Bazza’s BBQs. They set the bar up every night at seven, and have to be out and cleaned by four.’

Aha. Explained the sparse fit-out. There wasn’t one.

I followed Charlize to a platform that was made out of eskies and tried to decipher its practicality when a girl who looked about eleven started screaming for the crowd of, oh, say twelve, to quiet down.

‘What’s going on?’ I whispered to Charlize.

‘Poetry readings.’

You can imagine my shock. Poetry reading? What? Why?

I nudged Charlize and said, ‘Poetry reading? What? Why?’

‘Shhh. Trust me. You’ll love them.’

Oh my God, did she just say Truss-Me? I panicked. Truss-Me was the name of Toffany’s ex-ex-partner who was scarier than Toffany and Re-Vamp put together. I thought she’d skipped town after the unfortunate sex tape incident. I swear on the ‘What Not to Wear’ bible that I did not intentionally steal that tape as revenge for the JJ affair. Somehow or other, it came into my possession and ended up on YouTube. An innocent mistake for a non tech-head like myself. The last time I saw Truss-Me, she cursed me and said, ‘May the devil give you tuck-shop arms and thunder thighs!’ and stormed off in a cloud of diamanté dust and cheap perfume. I was slightly horrified and spent the better part of ten minutes asking around if she had any experience with voodoo or a relationship with Satan I should know about. The thought of tuck-shop arms and thunder thighs kept me up for weeks until, finally, Kylie suggested I wear those weights that Velcro around your arms to bed. She said with all the tossing and turning I’m doing with my nightmares I would be doing a full workout without realising, thus banishing future flab. After that, I slept easy. Until now.

There was only one person who could get me out of this mess and fast. JJ. I didn’t particularly want to, but what choice did I have? What if she cursed me next with premature ageing or split ends? I could only fight off these curses for so long before something had to give.

I took out my phone and decided to text him in case anyone heard – I didn’t want them giving Truss-Me the heads up.

‘JJ, super-urgent! Stuck in dungeon of crazy poets who drink blood, don’t eat and smoke machine of all things! Help!’

I didn’t mention the frightening drag queen because I think he had a soft spot for her. Didn’t want him trying reconciliation or something stupid.

My phone beeped. ‘Poetry. What? Why?’

God. I didn’t have time for the usual banter and the whole gamut of unwritten rules.

‘Your guess is as good as mine. Poetry may as well be maths in my eyes – all those rules! Iambic pentameters, syllables?’

‘Sam, you know I’m lost with alliteration, assonance and onomatopoeia!’

‘JJ, we are getting off track here! Can you come rescue me or should I ask the bar guy to steal me outta here?’