Mexican Kimono. Billie Jones
put a whole outfit together for you. Things you’d never pick for yourself and somehow they always worked. It was the Parisian in him.
‘I understand, JJ, I’m swamped too. I start a new lifestyle choice tomorrow, though, so I wanted one last day of degustation beforehand.’
‘Lifestyle choice?’ he queried.
‘Yes, diets are so passé, I don’t do diets unlike some people we know, who are constantly stuck on that carousel of failure.’
‘Oh, a diet. You don’t need to diet!’ Hear that? That’s how I know he’s expecting me to pay.
‘I know, JJ. Sweet of you to notice. How about lunch at Silk in South Perth?’
‘Silk. An oldie but a goodie. Let me ring you back. I’ll see if I can swap a few things around.’
‘Let me ring you back, JJ. This has come totally out of the blue for me. I wasn’t planning on doing lunch at all today. I’ll see if I can reschedule a few things.’
I can’t be seen to be too available either, you know. It would be social suicide, especially with JJ. While he was uber-cool and arty, he could be terribly bitchy. I’m not kidding. I let my guard down with him once, poured my little heart out after a long lunch in the sun drinking mojitos. If I remember correctly, my then boyfriend had been caught kissing Toffany and I was heartbroken. JJ thought it was hilarious, and spread it around town that I had the ability to turn straight men gay. I tell you it was a dark week for me. I almost considered moving to Sydney until I did a Google search on how many straight men have turned gay there – alarming. Instead, I went to ground for a week, watched Will and Grace-a-thons and decided maybe I needed a cool gay best friend too. I bit the bullet and rang the ex-straight guy and offered my BFF status. He said yes and here we are, about to have lunch again. So now you know. The ex-boyfriend was JJ. The bastard.
JJ breathed heavily into the phone, ‘OK, babe, but be quick, ‘I’ve got a million things to do today.’
‘Sure, JJ. Me too.’ I hung up the phone and walked along the footpath looking for a taxi. I knew JJ would be doing the same. We’d both be working our way to Silk even though neither of us had confirmed. It’s just the way things are done.
I waited seven minutes before I called JJ back.
‘JJ, it wasn’t easy but I think I’ve managed to reschedule everyone. It’s not every day a friend arrives from Paris, is it?’
‘Great, me too. I’ll be playing catch-up for the rest of the week, but I’m sure it’ll be worth it.’
‘Let’s hope so for both our sakes. Meet you at Silk in fifteen?’
‘Twenty,’ he said.
‘I’ll do my best,’ I said. ‘I’m in the thick of it here. If you get there first, order a drink or two,’ and with that I hung up.
I looked at my phone and noted the time. I added another five minutes to JJ’s twenty, which would make made it exactly eleven-forty. I would wait in the underground car park if I had to. Getting to the restaurant first smacked of desperation.
A white taxi appeared as if I’d ESP’d him, like my mum does when she wants a cab.
‘Where you off to, love?’ asked the elderly grey-haired driver.
‘Silk, South Perth.’
‘Hop in, love.’
The taxi smelled like stale sweat. Air freshener, people. Two dollars! I felt like mentioning it, but after the last taxi fiasco where I was booted out unceremoniously in the dodgy end of town, I thought better of it. Who knew cab drivers were so sensitive? I simply mentioned he might want to think about using deodorant in the summer time. It was as much for his sake as mine. Sheesh.
As I always did when I hopped into a taxi, I typed the driver’s name, Bob, and taxi registration number into my phone and texted it to my Mum. When you are a young, good-looking girl, you must take precautions.
He turned up the radio; horse racing. Of all the luck. I surreptitiously glanced at him again to make sure it wasn’t my dad who’d arisen from the dead, or something.
The race was coming to its climax and so was the driver, it seemed. He was hitting his steering wheel and yelling, ‘C’mon, Pocket Rocket, you good thing! C’mon!’
The race ended, and Bob was hooting and hollering like he was sitting on a lit cigarette. At one stage, I grabbed the steering wheel to straighten it. He had his eyes closed and was punching his fists into the air, saying, ‘Show me the money, Pocket Rocket, show me the money, baby!’
As you can imagine, I was getting annoyed that suddenly I had to be the responsible one. What was I paying him for, then?
‘Ah, Bob, can you man the steering wheel again? It’s just that we are coming up to the bridge and all …’
‘Sure, love, sure. Sorry, got lost in the moment for a while there. You see, I’ve just won more money than I make in a year. Now I can take my gorgeous girlfriend out to a flash joint for a vegetarian dinner!’
‘Great, Bob. Woohoo for you.’
‘Yeah, my new girlfriend is a vegetarian, which is fine except now I have to be a vegetarian too! I sneak burgers during the day, but she reckons she can smell death on me!’
I appraised old Bob and wondered what his girlfriend was like.
He was really old. Weathered and leathery. Saying girlfriend seemed wrong, like he was too ancient for that word. His clothes had seen better days. His polo shirt was stretched over his beer belly and it had faded yellow stains down the front.
‘Yeah, she’s tops this new sheila. Changed my whole outlook on life,’ he continued. I felt like saying, don’t care, Bob!
‘I used to smoke two packs of ciggies a day, drink half a carton of beer with the boys, and food, well, I won’t go there. Suffice it to say, I’d never even heard of lentils before!’
Um, suffice it. Yes please.
‘Anyway, this new sheila is great. No more drinking. No more smoking. She did some kind of acupuncture on me that took the urges right away! Although now that I’m healthy, I have a whole different set of urges!’ His bawdy laugh reverberated through the taxi.
Eww, was he talking about sex?
‘Yeah, this new sheila, boy, has she taught me a few things in the bedroom department. I think it’s all the yoga she does. She sure is flexible!’
Eww, yes, he was talking sex. This was sexual harassment for my ears.
‘Not long now, love. I’m gonna ring her after I drop you off. We were meant to go out last night but she had some emergency. Her wayward daughter is the only thorn in her side. She reckons she just needs to do some past-life regression therapy on her and she’ll be good as gold.’
‘Yay.’
‘Yeah, this new sheila, I’d do anything for her, you know?’
‘Must you call her a sheila? Don’t you realise how seventies you sound? Can’t you just say her name?’
‘Her name’s Valerie, love. Val for short.’
‘That’s my mum’s name, too.’ God. Can you friggin’ believe it? There are two women named Valerie who believe in all that hocus-pocus and bloody vegetarianism. What are the chances?
Finally, after what seemed like a week, we arrived at Silk. I paid Bob and got the hell out of that stinking car. I almost contemplated being first in because I seriously needed an alcoholic drink after that excursion. Common sense prevailed though, and I walked a few metres to the entrance of the underground car park. There was a big bristly bush I could hide behind and still get a view of the front door of the restaurant.
As soon as I saw JJ approach, I’d wait another few minutes and then