The Mad British (13 page)

The new buyer wastes a good half hour of my time that could have been used to put my new sex boots into action.

I’ve been stuck listening to the woman ramble on about her redecorating plans for a house that she has just bought in London. Fishbowls and a freeform sculpture. It sounds hideous, but she pays cash, so I nod and agree that yes, replacing the bed and all the chairs in the house with hammocks is a great idea. I would love to come and check it out sometime, and maybe take a look at the screenplay that the buyer is in the process of writing.

Finally, I’m released back into the wild, and search frantically for that handsome face. I find Jessica and Noah in a corner, their heads bent at different angles as they try to decipher what exactly they’re looking at.

Jessica has the look of one who’s just put a lemon in her mouth. "Is this. . . is this thing real?"

I don’t give the two-headed foetus in the jar a second glance. "Silicone and rubber suspended in acetone,” I inform. “And if it doesn't disappear tonight, I'm going to throw it in a skip and say a vegan protester did it."

Noah takes a long swallow from his glass. "Think it will be even more tasteless if it’s real."

"They’re asking nearly a thousand for it."

"
Gah
. Throw it in the skip. Save humanity," Jessica suggests.

"Don't go to this chick's gallery,” I add, “you'll never eat again. Anyone seen James?" I can’t believe I can’t find him. Not only is he the tallest person in the gallery, but he also sticks out like a secret service agent.

"I was just talking to him." Noah is suddenly all smiles again. "Decent bloke. Think I got him to join our basketball league. We'll finally have a centre that can dunk."

"Congratulations," I say, unenthused. I scan the room again and finally spot James off to the side talking with Steffen.

Crap.

If I don’t act, and quickly, there is no telling what will happen. "Excuse me," I say quickly to my friends.

Steffen has his hand on James’ arm when I approach. "So, where's your stuff?" Steffen asks.

James shifts a little. "I'm not an artist."

"You're
not
?" Steffen throws his head back. "I could have sworn—it's because you just have such style, you know, I thought you could be one of the exhibitors. The one who makes those really masculine etchings on bronze."

"No, I can't even draw a straight line. And you've met me before, at the gallery."

"Oh," Steffen says, giving him a sideways, teasing glance. I nearly break my neck rolling my eyes. "I thought you might be a much more. . . creative type." One finger runs down the length of James’ sleeve.

"Okay, that's enough, thanks for keeping him company, Steffen." I shove myself between the two men. "Can you go round everyone up? I think we're leaving soon."

Steffen adjusts the scarf he’s wearing and gives James his special look. The one reserved for his next victim. "I hope you'll join us, James. Adelaide, invite him." My randy friend finally buggers off.

"I was going to, thanks," I call out to Steffen’s back.

"Did I just get hit on?"

"Um, yeah. Steffen still thinks you're repressing your true sexuality because . . .” I let my voice trail away.

"Because?"

"Because you dress so nice."

He laughs as the green Mohawk passes by arm-in-arm with a girl in a plastic raincoat. I join in, and we spend a few pleasant moments laughing together.

Chloe seems to materialise in a flash of black fabric and red lips. "We're taking off and hitting Cryo. You two coming?"

"Are you coming?" I ask, hopeful.

James looks down at me with a twinkle in his eye. “Wild horses couldn’t stop me, love.”

"Oh my God. They are friends now. They are like, best friends." I giggle and lay my head on Steffen's shoulder as we watch James and Noah talking together on the leather couches inside the club.

Every few minutes Noah pantomimes shooting a basketball, while my brother sits on the other side of them.

"BFFs," Chloe chimes in. "Anyone want another drink?"

I hold up my empty glass. "Me."

"Me too," Jessica says, reaching for her purse.

Chloe waves it off. "Don't worry about it.” She looks at me. “
Lover boy
opened up a tab."

"Oooh," Jessica teases. We all exchange glances and start laughing again.

"Yeah I know,” I say. “That's why they're over there drinking the over-priced vodka drink made from passion fruit or something."

I don’t mention how James had passed a hundred to the bouncer to let us bypass the long line, or that he’d open the bar tab with a black American Express card.

"I want to snog his face off," I admit. The alcohol is starting to turn my head fuzzy, but James looks so scrummy, dressed in a suit. His broody expression as my brother tries to debate with him, about something most likely sports-related, is so dishy. I want to go over to him and shag his brains out.

I never thought I would feel this way about a guy that perhaps over a month ago I would have laughed off as a repressed yuppie. I’m realising life is pretty much chaos with the things you can’t control, full of surprises, some good, some bad. James has been a strange surprise, and a wonderful feeling flits around in my heart, like butterflies, thinking of the unpredictable beautiful moments that haven’t happened between us yet.

Expect the unexpected.

Steffen sniffs. "Honey, join the club. But I think tonight you have a much better chance than I do."

Jessica pulls herself up and grips one of the brass poles inside the club. "What’s with stripper poles? Why’s everyone putting in stripper poles? When did this become trendy?"

"Don't knock it, honey, we used to be pretty good on these poles," Chloe says. "Actually, I was pretty good on the poles. You two were just background hoochies."

I start. "Oh,
bull
. I was just as good. You were just more flexible."

"No I was the flexible one," Jessica comments.

"No you were strong, not flexible,” I tell her. “And I definitely was the best dancer."

"Dance-off," Steffen shouts, clapping his hands. "Come on, girls, show me you still have it."

"I can't," Jessica protests. "I had a baby. My centre of gravity is all messed up now."

"Please, babe, that's bullshit,” Steffen says. “Do you know how many dancers have kids? Anyway, ever heard of MILF?"

I jump up and put my drink down when it spills on my hand. "It is so on now." Gripping with my hands and knees, I do a slow spin to the floor.

Chloe seems fired up. "Rookie. Let me show you how it's done." She adjusts the hemline on her dress, swings her body up, winds her legs round the pole, and slides headfirst to the floor, her body stretched out.

Across the room, I notice James watching out of the corner of his eye, biting back a laugh.

A few hours later, and several cocktails later, I wave as the taxi pulls away with Jessica and Noah, the latter probably happier at getting James’ phone number and the promise he will join their basketball league in the upcoming weeks, rather than spending an evening out with his wife. Jessica took it in stride, though, since James had cleared the tab. She’d promised him free tea for life.

"Thanks for coming tonight," I say to James as we stand outside Cryo. The street is dark and wet, the streetlights reflecting orange on the puddles. Chloe and Bailey are somewhere, trying to hail a taxi, and Steffen is talking to someone he knows, smoking a fag under the damp awning.

"Any time, love." James pulls one hand through his hair. "I have to leave again tomorrow."

"Oh. . . " I don’t even try to hide the disappointment in my voice. "Where are you going?"

"New York. I'm going to be there for a couple of weeks."

I stare at the pavement. Fantastic. . . Just when I’m starting to submit to the Hatter charm.

"But, Adelaide, you owe me something when I get back."

I look up. "Do I?"

"I won our bet. You have to come to dinner with me."

“You really want this dinner—”

His eyes cloud over as he places his hands delicately at the sides of my head, his fingers skimming through my hair. The soft caress shoots delicate shivers through my spine. His lips brush my lips in a simple warm kiss that seems to pierce and sink into my skin.

We stare into each other’s eyes, caught together by the tenderness of his kiss. He feathers his lips near the corner of my lips and kisses me as softly as before. My heart hammers, blood rushes to my cheeks, shivers take over my entire body. The silence between us echoes on and on except for the loud thumping of my heart.

James deepens the kiss with his tongue, his hand moving to caress the back of my neck with just the right amount of pressure to send meinto ecstasy
.
I let myself dissolve in the warm heat and soft pressure, trying to memorise every soft touch, every tiny moment, so I can replay it later, and feel it all over again.

It is over in seconds.

“Yes.” His voice is almost guttural, and his eyes burn with uncontrolled desire.

"Okay. . . " I purposefully shrug a shoulder out of my dress again. He had loved it the last time.

I swear his eyes could glow in absolute darkness. I can’t breathe or think, I simply stop, and watch his eyes shine at mine under the wet night.

"
Adelaide
," Chloe yells, interrupting the tender moment, while she and Bailey climb into an empty black taxi. "You coming?"

I turn back to James. "I'm sorry, I've got to. . . " I trail off.

"For the best, love. I’ve got to get up early tomorrow for work and if I take you home now, I won’t want to stop until tomorrow evening." He fumbles in his pocket, seeming to search for something, although I’ve never seen him do this action before. Every movement of his is usually smooth and precise. "I'll contact you when I'm back in London. All right?"

"Yeah," I whisper.

"
Oi
, shorty," Bailey shouts, impatiently.

"I'm coming, you big cretin," I yell back, turning to James. "Sorry."

Saying goodbye to Steffen I back away until I hit the curb and climb into the taxi after my dimwit brother. As the taxi pulls off the curb, I watch as Steffen literally skips toward James. A few seconds later, they’re walking down the street together, a big grin plastered on my best friend’s face. I shake my head.

Steffen is such a man-whore.

* * *

Nearly a week later, on a lazy Thursday, while I sketch another stupid dog picture for another commission, Chloe knocks on my door, holding out a flat brown package.

"For you," she says.

I reach for a pair of scissors and cut the package open. Inside is a single sheet of paper, with a pastel sketch of a fountain, somewhere on a city street, with three figures burning in bright orange flames. The street artist had named and signed his work on the bottom, and a yellow Post-it note dangles off the page with small, neat writing jotting across it.

Chloe is a faster reader. "
Awww
."

I feel my face smile with no help from my brain. The note reads:
Your Jealousy is better than this guy's Jealousy –JH.

Awww
.

* * *

Hatter

I’ve spent thirteen hours a day working in New York with very little downtime, the projects seeming to pile up faster than my team can complete them. So with the night before I leave for England, I order a pizza, and climb in the shower with a bottle of beer. Jessica's husband, Noah, had enlightened me to the simple pleasure of sucking down a cold one while in the shower, and this new discovery seems to melt all the stress away with every blissful sip.

Preston had suggested adding a wank into the mix to maximise the pleasure effects, but I’m not too keen on losing focus and dropping a glass bottle into a porcelain tub from six feet up while my brain is on autopilot. How the hell does a guy explain that one to the paramedics?

No, I prefer to lose focus at night, when I can lie back and think about Adelaide, her light hair and dark eyes, more so the memory of her the morning of the coffee shop wearing my glasses than when I’d first met her in that tight itsy-bitsy blue dress.

Not long now. . .

After my shower I decide to call Travis who’s back in Costa Rica. He’ll be awake this time of night, most likely hammering away at some column or blog post, and when he pops up on the screen of my laptop, my assumptions are proven correct.

"Yo Hatter, my man." Travis' blonde curls are sticking, but he looks far from tired as he shoves takeaway boxes away from the view of the webcam. "What's going on, bro? Still biting the Big Apple?"

I sigh and lean back on the sofa, smiling and rubbing my eyes. "Yeah. Don't you wish you were here as well?"

"Let me think about that. Do I wish that I was still trying to commit suicide by workload, popping pills to stay awake and practically freebasing caffeine, gelling down my glorious fro every morning and stuffing myself into a suit and tie to conform to some retarded Western mentality that I'm worthless unless I'm making shareholders and executives obscenely wealthy, and driving a Ferrari and snorting arse-loads of Charlie to deal with the crushing loneliness from lack of meaningful human contact and relationships in exchange for my very soul?