The Numbers Game (21 page)

By the time the
weekend swung around again, Tabitha decided an emergency fix-it plan needed to
be made. Like pronto.

            Really
action should have been taken ages ago, she scolded herself as she grabbed a notebook.
But other things were always playing on Tabitha’s mind– work projects, a
pressing tax return, a new attempt to seduce Rick – admittedly minor things in
comparison to the monster problem she had on her hands now. Hmpf, well she
would put an end to it immediately - this Mister Jasper Romancing the Stone
business.  She had to; this was a desperately dire situation. 

            Scanning
over the list scribbled in her notebook, Tabitha noticed she didn’t have much
to work with. The twelve boys on Serena’s ex-conquest file were
none-impressive.  They were as follows:

1.
     
Sean (at age 14)

2.
     
Jesse (at age 16)

3.
     
Tyson (at age 18)

4.
     
Zachary (at age 18)

5.
     
Duane (at age 18)

6.
     
Dominique (at age 19)

7.
     
Fernando (at age 19)

8.
     
Enrique (at age 19)

9.
     
Ramiro (at age 20)

10.
 
Brent (at age 21)

11.
 
Jasper (at age 22)

12.
 
Zane (at age 22)

13.
 
Markie (at age 23)

            Damn, this
was like trying to make a wedding dress out of papier-mâché materials. Next Tabitha
studied Serena’s three ‘all-important’ questions written in bold red under the names:  

1.
     
Who was still single
and/or available?

2.
     
If they’d moved, could
they be tracked down? and

3.
     
If so, as a minimum
were they still at least decent delectable human beings?

            Tabitha
grabbed her Liquid Paper and quickly erased these silly prerequisites. What
bullocks! It didn’t matter whether the boys were single, lived locally and
attractive or not, what mattered was whether she could get them into bed with
Serena. And soon too, seeing as Jasper was potentially very dangerous terrain,
what with all his nice, doting relationship antics. Unless someone wedged a
spade between the two immediately, Serena would be fatally swept under.

            “If it
hasn’t already happened,” Tabitha muttered under her breath. Jesus, the girl
didn’t even look like herself anymore. Twice already that stupid hair stylist
Champagne from the movie set had penetrated her hair with gold rinses and the
effect of it next to her disgustingly glowing skin was nauseating.  Serena had
taken to putting on fake tan – fake tan, can you believe it! Could anything be
more narcissistic and self-depreciating than changing one’s skin color? Tabitha
thought not.  Much as she denied it, Serena had all the symptoms of a girl
falling in love.

            Not good,
Tabitha determined,
so
not good at all. Taking a felt tip pen into her
hands, she went to work on the list. Okay so what had they already deciphered?
Deflowerer Sean got a cross because he was gay as did the wankers Duane and
Tyson, because their dicks had probably shriveled down to peanuts thanks to an
over consumption of drugs. Now Brent, he was an option. Fair enough his
companion during the spy mission was that willowy blond princess but good looks
and manners still kept him in the running.

            So that
left:

1. Jesse
   
2. Zachary
   
3. Dominique
   
4. Fernando
   
5. Enrique
   
6. Ramiro
   
7. Brent
   
8. Zane
   

            Now this
was tough. None of the boys above had been sighted for years, in most instances
a decade or so. Anything could have happened to them in that time.

            From
memory, the South American quartet – Dominique, Fernando, Enrique and Ramiro
were a good-looking bunch. If Tabitha didn’t know better she’d have said they
were brothers – given that they all had the same olive skin, model face and
puppy dog eyes, except in reality they were all just neighborhood friends, a
group whose grandparents had migrated to the US together. Ah, Serena sure knew
how to milk a gang for what it was worth. It wouldn’t be too hard to track them
down.

            As for the
others, Tabitha wasn’t too sure. Back in the old days, Jesse was the archetypal
good looking nerd (sans the glasses) but boys like that ended up in IT. Her
prediction: if not already settled down with three kids and a dog, Jesse would just
need some Viagra and a little push. Zachary on the other hand was Jesse’s
opposite – the athlete, obsessed about things like training and calories.  Tabitha
couldn’t recall exactly which sport the boy excelled at: soccer, swimming,
wrestling and tennis; she was pretty sure it was all four.  Her take on Zac’s
chances were: if he left the scales and measuring tape behind, they were fairly
good.

            Having
already checked out Brent, who was the perfect candidate if unattached, that
left only Zane behind. He was the boy before Markie and someone who could make
any girl run into the arms of another and stay there forever. If Tabitha’s
memory served her correctly, Serena slept with Zane the night before her twenty-third
birthday and a few weeks later she dropped everything to run off to Europe. The
two events were intricately entwined; sex with the big bad heartbreaker who
would never settle down led to an almost aching need to escape his memory and
San Francisco. It was either viva la Europa or the mental hospital.

            Of course
this embarrassing portion of Serena’s life had long since been committed to the
“Do Not Ever Mention Again” box. But one time Tabitha hadn’t being able to help
it. She had to bring it up, given her own obsession with Rick was also becoming
borderline psychotic.

            “How did
you get over it?” Tabitha had asked, knowing full well not even she could fill
Serena’s shoes in the obsession stakes.  “I mean, in the end.”

            Serena had
just sighed, knowing whatever her reply it would sound stupid. The whole
concept of her and Zane and thinking he was The One had been stupid from the
word go.

            “I don’t
know, I think eventually the truth became so glaringly obvious I couldn’t
ignore it.”

            This advice
didn’t dishearten Tabitha now because Zane and Rick were different. Zane was a
sleaze, however well-meaning. Rick’s parents, on the contrary, were still
married and affectionate, thirty years on (according to Markie). Zane cracked
onto every girl in sight while Rick struggled to crack a smile (because he was
too shy of course).  Thus it was okay for Tabitha to nourish her crush as long
as she didn’t cut the heads off male models in bridal magazines and stick
Rick’s on top. She’d be truly stuffed then and forced to also take a long
holiday.

            Getting
back to the list, there was absolutely no reason why Zane shouldn’t stay on it.
Sure, he broke her heart and it took thousands of travel miles for her to get
over it. But seeing as one of these boys HAD to bed Serena (to get her to break
from Jasper) it was better to keep her options wide open. Who knows, Zane might
be best of the lot. All Tabitha had to do now was work out a way to get them
all together, and that called for a party of some sort.

            “Oh and
sorry Jasper, but you are definitely NOT invited.”

Surprise, surprise, it
was easier than suspected to track down the South American awesome foursome.

            Maybe she
had pure luck to thank, but Tabitha put it down to her excellent investigative
skills. It was all in the approach. The way she looked at it San Francisco
wasn't exactly a huge scary place.  To the contrary, it was a small and compact
city of 47 square miles, housing no more than 7.5 million people (gulp!). Given
its superb location (at the top of the Peninsula, surrounded by the Pacific
Ocean and San Francisco Bay), once you were in the city it was unlikely one
would escape.

            Thus her
first assumption: like-folk would have a natural inclination to congregate with
like. What better way to preserve your culture, to forget that one wasn’t right
now sun bathing in g-strings on the Brazilian coast than to hang about with
other Brazilians? That's what Tabitha would do if she had a shred of
interesting blood circulating through her body. She put herself in their shoes.

            Hence her next step. She sat down at her
computer and tapped away on the keyboard. Two minutes later, she was surfing
through heaven-sent websites and after creating a fairly authentic alias (as
Selma Bundchen, poor girl who has traveled thousands of miles and needs to
contact long lost relatives) Tabitha discovered a secret underground community
of Brazilian imports in San Francisco who seemed very much obsessed to stay in
touch.

            "Oh
Lord, this must really be my lucky day," she smiled, stumbling her way
into a new forum site.

            Right
here, right now, Brazilians all over the city were chatting about soccer
results and upcoming events in the region hosted by the Consulate.  She read
the last comment with delight:

            Brazilian
waxes...at what age do you think girls back home start going for the total
strip? I'm fourteen and the thought of it -the pain more specifically-
terrifies me.

            It was
signed Cute n Curious and within seconds Miss CC was Miss Popularity.

            At
fourteen, do you even have hair down there?
- One person asked (male of
course)

            Avoid
waxing and pick up Nair -
another wise girl suggested.

And so on
and so on and so on. Tabitha hoped this wasn't the quality of conversation that
commonly took place on the forum so she scanned down and dipped into the
archives. Good, they talked about everything here: politics, worthwhile
nightspots, where to find discount Brazilian music and DVDs. She was sure they
wouldn't mind her putting in her two cents and asking for a little help
tracking down some cousins. Ramiro, Ramiro, where thou art thou Ramiro? Surely
there couldn't exist too many best friend gangs with the members named
Dominique, Fernando, Enrique and Ramiro, all aged about twenty-eight.

            Tabitha
tried to remember all the information she had on them. All four had dark hair,
dark eyes and were tall with a good build - that covered only about ninety nine
per cent of the Brazilian population. As far as she knew, none went to
university - they all worked menial physical jobs. What was it exactly?
Carpenter? No, that required some brains. Plumber? No, ditto the same reason.
Builder? Nup. Painter? Nup. It was something stranger.

            "That's
right, they were plasterers!" Tabitha squealed, with delight. Of course,
how could she have forgotten? Back then she had joked constantly that the only
thing getting plastered was their heads. One had to give it to them though,
they loved their whisky. They drank all night, every night and during the days
compromised the quality of their work in exchange for recovery. That's another
point she would have to make - they had worked together, for some company or
contractors, but as a banded team nonetheless.

            Tabitha
tapped in her query.

            Hello
guys, I'm looking to contact some long lost friends who've had a very
significant gift bequeathed to them. Their names are Dominique, Enrique,
Fernando and Ramiro. All four are 28, worked as plasterers and lived in Fishery
Point a few years back. Any info would be appreciated.

            There,
that should do it. Hint at a gift, however lame, along with a puzzle, which
needed to be solved, and people would be contributing to the Forum left, right
and centre. Tabitha's prediction was right on the mark.

            Have you
tried the local soccer club? At any age, a boy isn't Brazilian unless he is
playing on a team. Have someone check into the history for you - came one
proposal.

            They were
plasterers? A lot of our boys do contract work for Michael Constructions. Why
don't you give them a call – their number is…and so on
.