The Sex Was Great But... (15 page)

I
was in a state of terror. “He's gone!” I screamed down the phone to Nancy. “He's gone!”

Conchita was loitering outside the room, wringing her duster. She loved Leo like a son, had an almost motherly thing going with him. I knew she was as worried as I was.

She tried to give me a hug but I waved her away, even though I wanted nothing more than to be engulfed in her motherly arms. Conchita and Joseph had never had children, although I knew they would have loved them. On my birthday they always spent far more than they could afford on my gift. The kindness of their gesture was always overwhelmed by my guilt at how much they'd spent.
I always made sure I more than made up for it when I gave them their Christmas bonus.

Nancy was being all relaxed and reasonable on the other end of the line. “Who's gone, darling?” she asked casually.

I swear I could hear her filing her nails at the other end of the line. “Leo! Leo! Leo! Who do you fucking think?” I never swear. Well, I just have, but apart from that one lapse I never swear.

“Gone where?” (The voice still casual.)

“If I knew that I wouldn't be screaming down the phone at you, would I?” Conchita walked in and I lowered my tone. “He didn't turn up for Nile.”

She groaned. “Great.”

“It's your fault,” I hissed. “He hates Nile. I don't even know why you made him do the class. I swear, sometimes I think you're a sadist.”

“Look, it's business, not personal. What was I meant to do darh-ling?”

I kept my tone clipped, so as not to betray how upset I was. Angry—that was okay. Distress would give my game away. “It doesn't change the fact that he's gone and we've got the final filming of his makeover tonight!”

“Relax. He's probably just bunking class on the last day. Like you say, tonight's the end of his ordeal and after that he's more or less free. He's probably gone for a walk.”

“He's taken the Porsche. I sent him to get his tux so that I could meet with Larry about what I should say to Jack tonight.” Now Nancy would realize how serious it was. I'd never let Leo go out alone before. I know he saved my bag and he was my lover and he'd never given
me a reason to doubt him, but, well…I never even let Ted drive my car, and he lived here with me part-time for a year.

“So there's your answer. Stop panicking. He's obviously picked up his tux and now he's enjoying a nice drive around L.A. Why shouldn't he? He's worked hard. Although I'll have to call Nile and crawl and beg.”

“He's taken his mother's watch. You know—the fake Rolex.”

“So?”

“He's got a real one. Why would he take that?”

“Probably feels more comfortable with that one.”

“He's got the real Rolex with him as well.”

“Oh.” I could tell I'd hit a nerve, but she gathered herself together. “Well, still, that could mean anything.”

“And he's got my credit card.”

Her breezy, casual tone wavered here. “Ah—gulp. Was that entirely wise, Holly?”

“What do you mean by entirely wise? You think he'd steal from me?” I asked, remembering that first day when Nancy thought that Leo was going to slay me in a drug-crazed cult-style killing.

“No, no, it's not that. It's just…well I mean, it's probably nothing.”

“What are you saying?”

“I'm not saying anything. It's probably fine. I mean he's probably just partying a little, probably calming his nerves.”

I didn't like the number of probablys she was using. In Hollywood speak, when you hear the word “probably” it means your worst fears are definitely about to be realized. “Are you saying he's getting drunk?” I asked.

“No, not drunk. But I gave him a little toot last night.”

“You gave him
what?
”

“A little toot.”

“Toot!” I screeched, as Conchita walked back into the room. I jumped out of my skin as she passed me the other phone. “Miss Holly, phone call for Mr. Leo.”

“Oh?”

“A girl.”

I told Nancy to hold and took the call on the other line. “Hello, Holly Klein speaking—you want to talk to Leo?”

“Yeah, Tif here. Can you tell him that his dad was here looking for him earlier this week?”

“His dad?”

“Yeah, that guy is so cool. Leo never even mentioned that Bad Ass Monroe was his dad. Can you believe that? Like, this real live rock star just turns up at my door and asks for Leo. If my dad was a star I'd never stop going on about it.”

I thought about the implications of what Tifanie was saying. If Leo's dad was famous then why hadn't he ever said anything about him? A cocktail of paranoia and guilt washed over me. I spoke slowly, so that I wouldn't betray myself by babbling. “His dad?” I repeated.

“Yeah. Like I said, he came round my place a week or so ago, only I forgot to tell Leo when I saw him today.”

Someone had seen Leo today. I had a trail. Sleuthlike, I asked who she was.

“Tifanie—hasn't Leo told you about me? He used to sleep at my apartment. I mean
stay
with me—not in the same bed or anything—well, you know what I mean?” She giggled. “Only I saw him at the Beverly Center today. He
was buying some book for you and I meant to tell him then, see, but my boss—that's here at the Larry Flynt Corporation, where I work and stuff—well, my boss is such a jerk. I mean a real jerk, too—you know, always going on about how long I spend at lunch and all. Totally whacko. I mean, I wouldn't even stay if it wasn't for needing the money to pay for my acting classes.”

I made understanding noises.

“So, anyway, thanks to my jerk-off boss, when I saw Leo, I was in like a crazy hurry and…well, I would throw the job in his face—that's my boss, I mean—only, like I said, I need the money. See, I've got this new acting coach—Nile. You've probably heard of him?”

I was frozen as I told her I had heard of Nile.

“I mean, he is the best. But you won't believe what he charges. Man, oh, man!”

I don't know whether it was guilt, or the fact that she'd inadvertently reassured me about what Leo was up to with my credit card, or if it was because I liked the open way she spoke about herself, but I told her that if she was willing she could have one-on-one acting classes with Nile for the next few weeks. My treat. Then I asked her for her number. Not that I didn't trust him or anything.

She was ecstatic. I wrote down her number and went back to Nancy.

“You won't believe this, but a friend of Leo's just called.”

“What did she want?”

“Said his father came round her place looking for him.”

“I didn't even know Leo had a father. Strange.”

“That's what I said. Apparently he was someone famous once.”

“Darh-ling, everyone was famous once in this town. By the way, I've sent the manicurist around to yours.”

It was official. The magazine was right. We truly were the shallowest women in the world.

W
alking back into the old place felt weird. I was kind of surprised that the key even worked in the lock. It didn't feel right. I felt like an intruder in someone else's world, and yet everything was exactly as I'd left it.

Kev was crashed out in his clothes on the sofa. I smiled as I envisioned his day so far. He must have been out on the crack earlier, scored, had a few drinks and crashed out. His hat was lying by the floor next to him in a tangled pile with his scarf and gloves.

If I'd stayed here I could have still been asleep, snoring my head off with Kev. Probably having drunk a skinful at some club in East Hollywood.

I shoved Kev's legs off the arm of the sofa and sat down. He didn't stir. Despite my sentimental ravings earlier, about Kev needing me, I doubted that he'd given the loss of his sofa-surfing mate a second thought. Kev wasn't into concern. I doubt that Kev would even go to my funeral if I died.

The realization that other people don't give a shit is the definition of adulthood, according to my mum.

“Come on, wake up!” I told him, as I gave him a nudge.

I always feel guilty about waking a sleeper. In our house, waking someone who was asleep was on a par with asking for a discount at my mum's stall. I remember my mum having a fit when one of her boyfriends woke her up with breakfast in bed. We were still picking the cornflakes off the wall ten years later.

These days I was woken at seven by an alarm that showed no evidence of guilt. Tom, my personal trainer, usually arrived around eight in his arse-hugging white shorts.

Kev didn't stir. I looked around at the familiar artifacts. The makeshift bong Snore had made that had never worked—but still stood proudly in the corner of the room to be shown off to any girl unfortunate enough to go home with him. I leaned on the wall painting of Las Vegas.

Holly would trolley me if she found out I was here.

Only she wouldn't go off her head like a normal person would. She'd kind of say it casually, as if it didn't really matter at all. Actually, I would love to hear her yell. I would love to hear her really let rip. Smash a phone, kick a can, scream, swear and rant.

I wasn't surprised when Kev did a double-take once I finally managed to shake him into semi-consciousness. He
groaned as he took in the new me. Then he pushed his face back into his pillow—a rolled-up jumper—and said something I don't catch. It didn't sound like “you look great,” though.

It wasn't just the obvious things about me that had changed, but the less obvious stuff, too, like the tan and the ring-of-confidence way I stood. You think of the rich having cushy lives, doing whatever the hell they like, but it's bollocks. It's blokes like Kev who've got it easy, sleeping in till all hours. A life without speech therapists, personal trainers, dentists and sunlamps and doing stuff you don't want to do. It's Kev who's living the dream.

“Get up and say hello, then, you lazy git. Did you miss me?”

He opened one sleep-filled eye and moaned. “What are you looking so bloody cheerful about, wanker? Fuck off if all you're going to do is stand there grinning. Your teeth are giving me a headache.” Then he pressed his face into his pillow again.

I was under strict instructions from Dinny to smile all the time now. Especially when smiled at—which I'm pretty sure is something my mother used to slap me round the back of the head for when I was a kid.

“Don't smile at those weird pedophiles,” she'd tell me in a stage whisper, so the person in question was bound to hear. Usually at that point the stranger in question turned on their heels and ran and my mum would shout some nasty taunt at him. I remember once at the market she pointed out Tony Blair to a mate and me. “Now, if that pedophile ever tries to talk to you, or offers you a part in a film—” (pronounced fil-helm) “—you tell me or your
auntie Lucy.” We hung around a bit, hoping for the audition, but he never asked.

I tried to explain my reluctance to grin at strangers to Holly once. “You British are so weird!” she said. I love the way she pronounces “weird,” the way it rolls around in her mouth like a marble. According to Holly, all British guys are weird. Which is funny because that's what my auntie Lucy always reckons—well, she's Irish (three generations back).

I gave Kev another shove. He took his face out of the pillow and looked me up and down with one eye. He muttered a few curses, but eventually reached out for the pouch of tobacco on the floor beside him. This was a good sign.

“You look a fucking mess man,” he told me once he'd skinned up. “Are those fucking tassels on your shoes?”

I looked at my feet and nodded. A deep sense of shame washed over me.

“I thought I was still hallucinating there for a minute. Well, don't just stand there like a pillock,” he ordered. “Make yourself useful. Get us a beer!”

Later, when I'd had a moan to him about life as a kept man, he shook his head ruefully.

“So what's she like to shag, Teeth?”

“What makes you think I'm shagging her?” I asked, feeling like a teenager at the back of the school toilets.

“You're fucking shagging her man. I might be a nutter but I'm not an idiot.”

“Whatever,” I agreed, because it's pointless arguing with Kev. Also, in a strange sort of way, suggesting that I'm only with Holly for the sex makes my situation sound saner than it really is.

Kev started telling me about what had been happening in the real world. Two of his old convoy mates had been deported and Kev was outraged. There was talk of staging a riot, apparently, but no one had got round to it.

I was always hoping they'd deport me, and save me the trouble of saving up for a new passport and ticket. Now I have a ticket and a passport waiting for me back at Holly's.

After he'd had a second beer, Kev became miserable. I don't know why he drinks all the time, because it always brings him down.

“Fuck, I wish I'd been the one to see that bag snatcher, man,” he sighed, shaking his head.

“Yeah, sure. Like you would have been the hero with the smashed-up nose.”

“He wouldn't have fucking dared punch me, man. I'm a fucking nutter!” He did his nutter look for me and pulled the tab off another beer. “And anyway, who was it saved that fucking kid from walking out on the road that time when his mum wasn't looking.”

He had a point. He held out his beer can for me to take a slug but I pushed it away. For one thing, it probably clashed with my low-carb diet.

“I knew that bird Holly was hot for you soon as I fucking saw her,” he said, shaking his head. “Dead set. I was thinking of making a play for her myself before yer man snatched her bag.”

I made a noise somewhere between a laugh and an expression of irony. Kev was always thinking of making plays for girls, but since I'd known him he'd never made one.

“So, anyway, Tif tells me you've not been changing your socks,” I said.

He shrugged and looked at me like I was talking another language. “Fuck off. I never change my socks. Have you ever seen me change a sock?”

I shook my head.

“Jeez, man, you've become a right wanker. Change my socks.” Kev did his nutter face again and gulped down the rest of the beer.

I sat with him for a while after that, because I felt like I should, but the truth was we didn't have a lot to say to one another once we'd caught up. Ours wasn't that sort of relationship. We were more functional. Yeah, that was what we were—a functional relationship. How L.A.

“I almost forgot,” I said, fishing the Rolex out of my pocket. “I brought you this.”

He took the watch and held it up to the light, as if he had a clue about such things.

“Holly gave it to me,” I explained.

“Thought your mum did?”

“She gave me this one.” I held my wrist up.

“Jeez, how'd you do it?” He shook his head and put the watch into his pocket. “Fair enough. What else you bring me, then, you jammy bastard?”

I passed over the foil of Charlie Nancy had given me.

He opened it up and sneered. “Nah. Fuck this—I don't do powder. Rots your guts and fucks your head. Is this what you're into now, then, is it?”

“Nah, someone gave it to me. One of Holly's mates.”

“Yeah, well, fuck off. I don't want your cast-offs, do I?” He handed it back, but I refused to take it. I'd had one lucky break with the LAPD today already; I didn't want to bank on a second. “Give it to one of the others, then,” I told him.

“You're kidding. There's no way I want any of these goons charlied up. I gotta sleep in here with them.” He passed the foil back, and this time I took it. Soon after that exchange I told him I was going to be off.

“So, is this Holly bird as shallow as they say?” he asked as I was leaving.

I turned to take one last look around the room. Kev had his head in the refrigerator, as if he'd already forgotten he'd asked the question.

“Every bit,” I called into the room as I slipped out the door. “Shallow as an empty bath.”