What If?

by Shari Low

  Lily ran in.

  ‘Miss Carly, Miss Carly, we have a big problem at the door.’

  Oh shit. This I could do without. What was it? Were the tills jammed? Were the doors stuck? Had my new bouncers chickened out and fled for their lives?

  ‘What’s the problem, Lily?’

  ‘It’s the people. They’re making a big noise. They say they want in now.’

  I stumbled to the door, and then gasped as I saw the issue. People were queued for what seemed like miles outside. I suddenly felt giddy and it wasn’t due to the hangover.

  ‘Are you okey-dokey, Miss Carly?’ Lily asked warily.

  ‘I’m fine, Lily. Open the doors. Our customers are getting restless.’

  The club took off. It was full every night of the week except Sundays, when we closed to allow me to sleep for twenty-four hours before starting all over again. It was exhausting, but I loved it, mainly because every night was different, the place was rocking and it all took my mind off Tom. We’d made so much progress. The staff were happy – the first sign of inappropriate behaviour towards them and the offender was swiftly shown the door. The criminal element was mostly gone and we had genuine revellers as opposed to a crowd that was just there for the hustle.

  After ten months, I felt like I’d been hit by a bus. I’d had a couple of holidays – a week in Phuket and a week in Singapore – but I was exhausted and suffering from lack of daylight. Shanghai was such a polluted city that there was not much to encourage us to leave the hotel. As a result, I worked until 4 a.m., slept until early afternoon and then went straight back to work again. And because I was a glutton for punishment, Jack had managed to persuade me, with emotional blackmail and American dollars, to extend my contract for a further six months.

  It struck me that I hadn’t had sex (with another person) since I arrived in Shanghai. I didn’t know whether to be proud of my career focus or horrified by the lack of fun.

  One morning, I decided to make an effort and rise early enough to join the others for lunch. There was an air of excitement at the table.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I asked.

  Linden answered. ‘Today’s the big day, Carly. The film crew are arriving.’

  Film crew? It was the first I’d heard of it.

  They explained that ninety-six rooms had been booked for the next three months for an American film crew that was shooting on location in the city. If there’s a God, then Sylvester Stallone will be the star, I thought. I could so do with a Rocky experience at the moment. But no, there were no big names – not a Sylvester or a Mel Gibson or a Kevin Costner in sight.

  That night, I warned the girls that we might be even busier than normal and explained why. Their faces lit up, not because they hoped to be discovered and whisked off to a life in Hollywood, but because most of them saw marriage to an American as an opportunity for a prosperous, gilded life. There was a bang as twenty females (okay, twenty-one, I did it too) slapped their make-up bags, hair sprays and gels on the table. This called for serious preparation.

  We waited in anticipation all evening, but it was just the normal assortment of expats, tourists and businessmen that crossed the threshold. By eleven o’clock, we were beginning to give up hope, when I spotted Lily coming in the door giving me the charades movie sign. I smiled and watched as a troupe of American guys wandered in and made straight for the bar.

  I waltzed over and introduced myself, being the gregarious hostess with the mostest. As I worked my way around them, I spotted another bloke enter and join the crowd. He was a god.

  ‘Who’s that, Phil?’ I asked the short dark-haired guy I’d been talking to for the last ten minutes.

  He laughed. ‘That’s the star. Dirk Chain. Do you want me to introduce you?’

  I tried to act cool, responding with a vague nod. ‘Sure.’

  ‘Dirk, over here,’ Phil shouted. ‘There’s someone I want you to meet.’

  Dirk swaggered over, flicking his long copper hair as he walked. Every inch of him was perfect: his wavy hair that gleamed, his deep blue eyes framed with the blackest of eyelashes, his gorgeous pouting lips that seemed to shine, beckoning me to attach myself to them. I looked him up and down, trying not to show that I was blatantly objectifying him.

  Phil looked on, a grin of amusement overtaking his face.

  ‘Hi, babe’, Dirk drawled in a Texan accent. I’d seen Dallas, I knew these things.

  Before I could even reply, someone interrupted us and pulled Dirk away.

  Phil handed me a damp cloth from the bar.

  ‘He has that effect on all the women,’ he chuckled. ‘Girls stampede over us to get to him.’

  I realised how rude I was being. I snapped myself back from fantasy land.

  ‘I’m sorry, Phil. Tell me what you’ll be doing here.’

  Phil Lowery told me about himself. He was twenty-five, and a cameraman from New York. Taurus. Two brothers and three sisters. Parents happily married for thirty years. Liked animals, sport. comedy shows and he had aspirations to give stand up a try. Single. Split up from five year fiancée six months ago. Had a soft spot for old movies and had been to Scotland twice and loved it.

  I liked him already. He was funny, with a dry, sarcastic sense of humour that had me in creases. And he was genuinely interested in hearing about me, too. Phil Lowery was, I decided, one of the good guys. But where had Dirk gone? My radar kicked into action and as the music slowed down for the final songs of the evening, I spotted him heading back from the gents and cornered him.

  ‘So, Dirk, there’s a party in my room tonight and you’re welcome to join us.’ Shit, my mouth was talking crap before informing my brain again. What party?

  He nodded. ‘Sure, sweetcheeks. But I can’t stay too long, need my beauty sleep. You know how it is.’ He winked at me. How was it? Was he trying to tell me something? Okay, so I knew that my face looked like a well-slapped bum after months in this humid, daylight-free environment, but I didn’t need beauty tips from a male Julia Roberts look-alike. I decided that I must have misinterpreted him.

  I rushed back over to Phil and announced the party. He was delighted and quickly spread the word, rounding up a dozen others who were up for carrying on the revelry.

  We all headed to my room, cranked up the stereo and emptied the minibar. I hoped the noise wouldn’t disturb Ritza and Olga, in their rooms on either side of mine.

  I made an effort to talk to everyone, always keeping one eye on Dirk. I must have looked like I had a sight impediment. He frequently caught me staring and smiled back lazily.

  Phil kept the party going with jokes and anecdotes until 6 a.m., when the guys finally drifted away. Soon there was only him, me and Dirk. Phil gave me a kiss on the cheek.

  ‘It’s been great meeting you, Carly. I’ll see you tomorrow for lunch.’

  I forgot I’d suggested that. I chose not to point out that lunch was only six hours from now and I’d still had no sleep. I’d worry about that later. I showed Phil out and turned to face Dirk. Without saying a word, he stepped towards me and kissed me. What was that taste? Bloody strawberry lip gloss. So that’s why he kept disappearing to the toilet – to reapply his lip gloss. I’d thought he just had a weak bladder.

  I ran my fingers through his hair and nearly lost a thumb. Hair extensions. Still, it didn’t dent my libido, which – after almost a year in solitary - felt like it had been let out of jail. He pulled me over to the bed and laid me down.

  ‘Just wait there, baby doll, I’ll be right back.’ He dived into the bathroom.

  What was he doing, for God’s sake? And what was I supposed to do in the meantime?

  After several minutes, a voice came from the depths of the bathroom.

  ‘Carly, pumpkin, have you got some moisturiser?’

  What? Tell me he wanted the cream to lather it over my back and blow my mind with a sensuous massage. Somehow, I didn’t think so.

  I took some in to him and stopped in my tracks. The guy in front of the bathr
oom mirror looked different. I glanced down. On the sink top was a small white case with two blue contact lenses floating in it.

  He took the moisturiser and applied it to his face, then took a tissue to remove his mascara.

  I couldn’t contain my giggles.

  Dirk looked confused and slightly wounded.

  ‘A man’s got to take care of himself, you know,’ he said defensively.

  I struggled to compose myself, by this time feeling as turned-on as a TV in a power cut.

  ‘I understand,’ I promised, trying to assume a straight face. ‘Listen, Dirk, I’m really sorry, but I’ve just had a call to say that there’s some drama down in the lobby that I have to attend to, so if you don’t mind…’ I gestured to the door.

  He couldn’t hide his surprise. ‘Eh, sure. Rain check?’ he asked, as I pulled the handle and then stood back to let him past.

  ‘Mmm, I’m not sure. Maybe the universe is trying to tell us something here,’ I replied, trying to force some regret into my voice.

  Before he could respond, I closed the door, then leaned against it and laughed until my sides hurt. So much for my wild night of passion with a movie star. Just wait until I told the girls at home about this one. I’d kept in touch with occasional letters since I arrived in China. Kate and Jess wrote back, but I hadn’t heard from Carol or Sarah. I wasn’t surprised about my model pal, but I did wonder about Sarah. I hadn’t seen her for almost two years now. Last I heard she was still living in Edinburgh, and was loved up and spending all her time with her boyfriend. I was happy for her, but I missed her. We all did. Before I went to sleep, I dashed off a quick note to each of them.

  The following day, I dropped them in the postbox at reception on the way to meet Phil for lunch in the hotel’s main restaurant. I’d only been to bed for a few hours, but I felt absolutely fine. Years of working nights had given me the ability to function on just snatches of interrupted sleep.

  ‘Well, are we now besotted with our leading man?’ he asked.

  That set my giggles off again. I swore him to secrecy, then told him about the encounter. I know it was indiscreet, but I had a gut feeling that he was trustworthy and it wasn’t often that I was wrong about people. Unless you count ex-boyfriends and actors. We were in hysterics the whole way through our meal, and afterwards, I reflected that it had been a long time since I’d had so much fun. I’d found a new mate.

  Phil and I fell into the habit of meeting every afternoon when he wasn’t filming, then he’d come to the club in the evenings.

  After work, we’d go down to the all-night coffee shop on the ground floor, eat a disgusting concoction that masqueraded as the hotel’s only brand of ice cream and talk until the sun came up. ‘We should get danger money for eating this stuff,’ I’d moan as I spooned another blob of creamy goo into my mouth. ‘They’re sucking the joy right out of my only pleasure here.’

  I’m sure everyone thought that we were having a passionate affair (Dirk Chain fixed me with a wounded expression every time I met him), but it was purely platonic. I tried to set him up with a couple of my favourite new customers in the nightclub, two Australian beauties who loved to party, but he said it was too soon after his previous relationship and he was more interested in having conversation than romantic nights out. So that’s where I’d been going wrong all these years – I thought the best way to get over someone was to plough into another debacle. You know – the ‘get back on the horse’ theory.

  We talked about everything. No subjects were taboo and he treated me with the same brotherly affection as Callum and Michael did. He was protective of me and we were both happiest in each other’s company. And oh, he made me laugh more than anyone I’d ever known. His one liners were brilliant, his timing was perfect and his satirical commentary on any subject made me howl. I implored him to swap to the other side of the camera and follow his stand up ambitions.

  Every chance we got, we explored Shanghai. We shopped in the markets where we bartered over the prices with the vendors and wandered down the backstreets, talking to the locals with our hands because they spoke no English and our Mandarin was appalling. We tried eating chicken’s feet, a local delicacy, and vowed to become vegetarians thereafter.

  A month after he arrived, he called my room half an hour before we were due to meet. ‘Cooper, hurry up. I can’t wait any longer. I’ve got a surprise for you.’

  I dashed downstairs and he ushered me in to a taxi. I couldn’t contain myself and begged him for a clue as to where we were going, but he gave away nothing. Thirty minutes later, we pulled up at a new hotel on the opposite side of the city. He put his hands over my eyes and walked me inside, into an elevator, then along a corridor. Finally, he stopped.

  ‘Are you ready?’ he whispered.

  I nodded.

  He took his hands away and I blinked, trying to focus. I looked around in astonishment. There, in front of me, was a recreation of an American ice cream parlour.

  ‘I knew that somewhere in this bloody city, there’d be decent ice cream,’ he said. ‘It just took me a while to find it.’

  I blinked again, this time trying to fight back the tears. He’d spent a whole month looking for an ice cream parlour for me. It was the nicest thing anyone had ever done. If only I fancied him, and he fancied me, it would be perfect.

  The film crew were running eight weeks behind schedule due to inclement weather, temperamental actors and government red tape. I was delighted because it meant that Phil had now been there for four months and still had at least another month to go.

  One Sunday, over chocolate chip and maple walnut, we pondered how great life would be if we were physically and sexually attracted to each other. Phil was cute, same height as me with short dark hair, huge brown eyes and a slight frame. I could see that he was appealing to women, but somehow he just didn’t have that effect on me. When he was around, the world was a better place, but my sex drive stayed firmly in the garage. Phil felt the same. He was drawn to the dark, petite, Asian girls with their beautiful eyes and shy smiles.

  Nevertheless, we decided to put it to the test. That evening, after a bucket too many cocktails, we stumbled back into my room. We slumped onto the bed and cuddled up as we’d done on many nights before.

  ‘Carly,’ he slurred, using all the logic of a drunken man, ‘maybe we’re not into each other because we’ve never actually had sex. Maybe if we did, then we’d see each other in a whole new light.’

  My logic was just as inebriated. I contemplated his suggestion.

  ‘Are you saying you want to try?’

  ‘Maybe. Do you?’ he replied.

  I didn’t answer. In my usual shy, reserved and conservative manner, I just pulled off my top and pounced him.

  Next morning, I woke up with a groan. I looked at Phil, still sleeping soundly. He was so adorable. I thought about the night before. Where on the Richter scale of fuck-ups did it register? I loved him, I thought, I really did, but the sexual chemistry still wasn’t there.

  He stirred and I turned to look at him.

  ‘Good morning,’ I smiled tentatively.

  ‘Good morning.’ He looked at me for a minute. Eventually he spoke again. ‘We need to talk, don’t we?’

  I nodded as he sat up and gazed at me searchingly.

  ‘The way I see it, we make amazing friends, Carly. I’ve never had a female mate that I’ve loved like this.’

  I nodded again, biting my lip. It was my turn.

  ‘I love you too, Phil.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But I don’t think we’d make an amazing couple. I’m a nightmare, Phil. It would only end in tears and you mean too much to me to let that happen.’

  He thought for a moment, then grinned. ‘Thank God. I was worried that you’d be hopelessly besotted now and I’d have to fight you off.’

  I hit him with a pillow, then paused. ‘I’ve got a solution,’ I suggested, laughing. I reached over to the bedside table and pulled the gold foil out of my ciga
rette packet. I rolled it up and tied the ends, making a circle. He looked on, intrigued. I slipped it over the third finger of his left hand. ‘We’ll wait till we’re thirty,’ I said. ‘And if we haven’t found the right person for us in that time, then we’ll have another try.’

  He nodded. ‘I’ll carry you up to my cave, where we’ll settle for platonic togetherness. I’ll even father your children if you bring a test tube and a turkey baster,’ he offered.

  I accepted.

  ‘Friends?’ I asked.

  ‘Friends,’ he agreed. He enveloped me in a cuddle, then suddenly pulled back and his eyes met mine. ‘Carly, can I ask a favour?’

  ‘Anything.’

  ‘Before we go back to platonic world, could we do that blow job thing again?’

  I yelped in outrage and smacked him again with the pillow. ‘You should be a comedian, you know that?’

  He flashed my favourite cheeky grin. ‘I do. My best mate keeps telling me. Maybe one day I’ll listen to her.’

  Weeks passed and Phil and I continued to spend all our time together. I’d already been in Shanghai for over a year and I knew that despite the success of the club, I wanted to explore another city. I applied for a transfer to our Hong Kong hotel and waited impatiently for the answer.

  The film crew finally completed the shoot, but Phil decided to quit and stay behind in Shanghai. He’d fallen in love with Asia. He found a job with an independent production company, making corporate videos and tourist information films. When the crew left, he moved into my room, sharing my bed every night, but with not a penis in sight. We were both content with the arrangement.

  One day, Jack called me in to his office. He put a piece of paper in front of me.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked.

  ‘Your transfer to Hong Kong.’

  I dived over the desk and hugged him, then kissed him on each cheek.

  ‘We’re going to miss you around here, Cooper.’

  I blushed. ‘Right back at you, boss.’