‘Call me,’ I yelped, hopping down out of the jeep.
‘Sure,’ he grinned. ‘I’ll write you every day.’
24
The sunlit house was unexpectedly silent; Emily wasn’t home yet. She’d obviously got lucky also. For once, I didn’t mind being on my own, I didn’t mind at all, I was aglow – with my sore wrists and ankles and my stiff inner thighs, I’d never felt more alive. After a shower, where I looked in awe at the bite mark on my stomach, I drove to the beach to catch some rays. I liked this picture of myself. A convertible-driving independent woman, happy with my own company.
I’d only been stretched out for a few minutes when along came Rudy, laden down with ice-creams.
‘Where’d ya go? Been worried about ya,’ he said.
‘Busy week,’ I said. ‘Any tri-colour Klondikes?’
As I arranged myself and my ice-cream beneath the dazzling sun, a vision of a fresh start wound around me seductively. This place had everything: great weather; fantastic location; lovely people. I could put my disastrous life in Ireland behind me, begin again and, this time, get it right. After my time in Chicago, surely someone would employ me and sort out a green card for me – there must be thousands of jobs in the studios for people with legal experience.
Then I let the door open on a secret, exciting hope: maybe Troy would be part of my new life. I revelled in a happy idyll of me and him, laughing happily together. Strolling through a fruit and veg market – in films, people who’ve just got off with each other spend a lot of time wandering amongst fresh produce, and it’s always OK to stroke aubergines suggestively without a stallholder shouting, ‘Oi, no ‘andling the goods!’ Or for the man to pluck a juicy, red strawberry from a stand and feed it to the woman without getting arrested for theft.
I entertained myself thus for most of the afternoon, and it only came to an end when I had to go home because I was dying to go to the loo.
Back at the house, I raced to the bathroom and was surprised at the stinging sensation. Then I remembered what had caused it and suddenly it became pleasant. Oh yeah, of course…
Still no sign of Emily, but there was a message on the machine from her. She’d spent the day with Lou, they were going out again tonight, I wasn’t to expect her home. ‘Call me on the cellphone if you’ve any problems.’ As if it had just occurred to her, she added, ‘But maybe you’re not back either. I’ll try you at Troy’s.’
That was the only message. At least it was the only message for me. There were about ten thousand for Emily. Justin and Connie, someone called Lamorna, another person going by the name of Dirk.
It was then that the implications of Emily’s message began to filter through: I’d be spending the evening alone. That was OK, I could ring Claire – then I remembered I couldn’t because of the time difference. Fine, I could ring Rachel in New York, and afterwards I could compound my happy, independent-woman status by going to the movies on my own. Doubtfully I thought, yeeess, I could do that. Then I let myself think the thought that had been begging to be formed – unless Troy rang. There might be a possibility of repeating the fantastic sex of the previous night and this morning… Suddenly, I was in a state of raging arousal.
There was a noise at the door and I looked up in wild hope. Could I have conjured up Troy? With a pistol in his pocket?
Not quite. It was Lara. ‘Ready?’ she beamed. ‘For Madame Anoushka?’
I froze. ‘Oh Lord, I’d completely forgotten!’ Madame Anoushka, who would save me from my terrible eyebrows. I had an appointment with her for five-thirty. ‘Give me ten minutes,’ I begged, and bolted to the shower to wash off the day’s sand.
Three minutes later I was dragging a towel over myself, and while I foraged for clothes Lara came in to talk to me. As I located a bra, I had a panicky moment of wondering how I’d put it on without her seeing my chest, then was too rushed to bother. Let her see it. Nothing she hadn’t seen before! Hadn’t I always been annoyed by homophobic men who acted as if every gay man they met was going to come on to them? And wasn’t I behaving in exactly the same way?
Anyway, I didn’t for one second think she was going to make a move on me. I suppose I just wondered how I measured up, if she thought my jugs were nice.
I was dressed in under nine minutes – ‘I’m impressed!’ Lara said – then into the silver pick-up truck, once more heading for Beverly Hills. Sure, I was hardly ever out of the place! As we drove, she asked about Cameron Myers’ birthday party and I told her about the apartment, the view and Cameron’s fire, but she didn’t ask if anything had happened with Troy, and I didn’t quite know how to bring it up.
Madame Anoushka was an icy white Russian who was shocked by the poorly plucked state of my eyebrows. ‘Bed,’ she pronounced. ‘Werry bed.’
So bed that she had to sit down for a moment and heave a deep, heartfelt sigh. Then she rose to her feet and the challenge. ‘Ve fill do fot ve ken,’ she said, painting some molten wax on my eye socket. Her accent was reminding me of someone, generating a maelstrom of hard-to-place nostalgia. Then I remembered: Valya and Vladimir. Garv and his shopping lists. It was as though a door to a draughty place had opened inside me. Then, mercifully, Anoushka ripped off a strip of wax and the agony wiped out the memories.
The process was preposterously unpleasant. As Anoushka plucked, it was like being assailed with a thousand little darts, my eyes dribbled water and I hovered uncomfortably on the edge of a sneeze. All the while, she gave orders in her Valya accent.
‘Tveezers,’ she barked, like a surgeon in ER.‘More wex.’
I pushed down an impulse to ask if she’d had menny, menny luffers. Anyway, I’d say she would have had, she was a fine-looking woman.
After what felt like ages, the plucking frenzy started on my other eye and it was, if anything, worse than the first. I prayed for it to be over.
Eventually everything went still – like the calm after all the popcorn has popped – so I opened my eyes and began to struggle to my feet. Only to be stopped by Anoushka insisting, ‘No!’
Obediently I lay back and shut my eyes again. But nothing happened, and I cautiously squinched open one eye to find Anoushka studying me with great concentration.
‘The hardest part is knowing when you’re finished,’ Lara said admiringly. ‘All the great artists say that.’
‘Sure,’ he grinned. ‘I’ll write you every day.’
24
The sunlit house was unexpectedly silent; Emily wasn’t home yet. She’d obviously got lucky also. For once, I didn’t mind being on my own, I didn’t mind at all, I was aglow – with my sore wrists and ankles and my stiff inner thighs, I’d never felt more alive. After a shower, where I looked in awe at the bite mark on my stomach, I drove to the beach to catch some rays. I liked this picture of myself. A convertible-driving independent woman, happy with my own company.
I’d only been stretched out for a few minutes when along came Rudy, laden down with ice-creams.
‘Where’d ya go? Been worried about ya,’ he said.
‘Busy week,’ I said. ‘Any tri-colour Klondikes?’
As I arranged myself and my ice-cream beneath the dazzling sun, a vision of a fresh start wound around me seductively. This place had everything: great weather; fantastic location; lovely people. I could put my disastrous life in Ireland behind me, begin again and, this time, get it right. After my time in Chicago, surely someone would employ me and sort out a green card for me – there must be thousands of jobs in the studios for people with legal experience.
Then I let the door open on a secret, exciting hope: maybe Troy would be part of my new life. I revelled in a happy idyll of me and him, laughing happily together. Strolling through a fruit and veg market – in films, people who’ve just got off with each other spend a lot of time wandering amongst fresh produce, and it’s always OK to stroke aubergines suggestively without a stallholder shouting, ‘Oi, no ‘andling the goods!’ Or for the man to pluck a juicy, red strawberry from a stand and feed it to the woman without getting arrested for theft.
I entertained myself thus for most of the afternoon, and it only came to an end when I had to go home because I was dying to go to the loo.
Back at the house, I raced to the bathroom and was surprised at the stinging sensation. Then I remembered what had caused it and suddenly it became pleasant. Oh yeah, of course…
Still no sign of Emily, but there was a message on the machine from her. She’d spent the day with Lou, they were going out again tonight, I wasn’t to expect her home. ‘Call me on the cellphone if you’ve any problems.’ As if it had just occurred to her, she added, ‘But maybe you’re not back either. I’ll try you at Troy’s.’
That was the only message. At least it was the only message for me. There were about ten thousand for Emily. Justin and Connie, someone called Lamorna, another person going by the name of Dirk.
It was then that the implications of Emily’s message began to filter through: I’d be spending the evening alone. That was OK, I could ring Claire – then I remembered I couldn’t because of the time difference. Fine, I could ring Rachel in New York, and afterwards I could compound my happy, independent-woman status by going to the movies on my own. Doubtfully I thought, yeeess, I could do that. Then I let myself think the thought that had been begging to be formed – unless Troy rang. There might be a possibility of repeating the fantastic sex of the previous night and this morning… Suddenly, I was in a state of raging arousal.
There was a noise at the door and I looked up in wild hope. Could I have conjured up Troy? With a pistol in his pocket?
Not quite. It was Lara. ‘Ready?’ she beamed. ‘For Madame Anoushka?’
I froze. ‘Oh Lord, I’d completely forgotten!’ Madame Anoushka, who would save me from my terrible eyebrows. I had an appointment with her for five-thirty. ‘Give me ten minutes,’ I begged, and bolted to the shower to wash off the day’s sand.
Three minutes later I was dragging a towel over myself, and while I foraged for clothes Lara came in to talk to me. As I located a bra, I had a panicky moment of wondering how I’d put it on without her seeing my chest, then was too rushed to bother. Let her see it. Nothing she hadn’t seen before! Hadn’t I always been annoyed by homophobic men who acted as if every gay man they met was going to come on to them? And wasn’t I behaving in exactly the same way?
Anyway, I didn’t for one second think she was going to make a move on me. I suppose I just wondered how I measured up, if she thought my jugs were nice.
I was dressed in under nine minutes – ‘I’m impressed!’ Lara said – then into the silver pick-up truck, once more heading for Beverly Hills. Sure, I was hardly ever out of the place! As we drove, she asked about Cameron Myers’ birthday party and I told her about the apartment, the view and Cameron’s fire, but she didn’t ask if anything had happened with Troy, and I didn’t quite know how to bring it up.
Madame Anoushka was an icy white Russian who was shocked by the poorly plucked state of my eyebrows. ‘Bed,’ she pronounced. ‘Werry bed.’
So bed that she had to sit down for a moment and heave a deep, heartfelt sigh. Then she rose to her feet and the challenge. ‘Ve fill do fot ve ken,’ she said, painting some molten wax on my eye socket. Her accent was reminding me of someone, generating a maelstrom of hard-to-place nostalgia. Then I remembered: Valya and Vladimir. Garv and his shopping lists. It was as though a door to a draughty place had opened inside me. Then, mercifully, Anoushka ripped off a strip of wax and the agony wiped out the memories.
The process was preposterously unpleasant. As Anoushka plucked, it was like being assailed with a thousand little darts, my eyes dribbled water and I hovered uncomfortably on the edge of a sneeze. All the while, she gave orders in her Valya accent.
‘Tveezers,’ she barked, like a surgeon in ER.‘More wex.’
I pushed down an impulse to ask if she’d had menny, menny luffers. Anyway, I’d say she would have had, she was a fine-looking woman.
After what felt like ages, the plucking frenzy started on my other eye and it was, if anything, worse than the first. I prayed for it to be over.
Eventually everything went still – like the calm after all the popcorn has popped – so I opened my eyes and began to struggle to my feet. Only to be stopped by Anoushka insisting, ‘No!’
Obediently I lay back and shut my eyes again. But nothing happened, and I cautiously squinched open one eye to find Anoushka studying me with great concentration.
‘The hardest part is knowing when you’re finished,’ Lara said admiringly. ‘All the great artists say that.’
