by Lindsey Kelk
‘It’s so weird,’ I said, gratefully accepting my drink, immediately inhaling the wedge of pineapple off the side and gulping down half the glass. I could not get drunk. I had to take photos of models in twelve hours. But one or two would be good ? calm my nerves, help me sleep. ‘I genuinely wasn’t interested. That first night at dinner, I was like, yeah, he’s handsome, but he’s such a twat, and twat has never really been something that’s done it for me.’
‘I wish it didn’t do it for me,’ he replied, sipping his drink at half the speed I was making my way through mine. ‘Something of a flaw of mine. It’s not my fault, though ? I’m gay.’
‘Does being gay mean you only fancy arseholes?’ I asked, pushing my drink ever so slightly away. Kekipi pushed it right back.
‘Drink. And yes, of course it does. Now carry on.’
‘Well, yeah, I didn’t fancy him.’ I sucked on the straw and peeked out at my date from under heavily made-up lids and lashes. ‘Right, OK, I fancied him. Objectively, I knew he was fanciable, but I didn’t have designs on him.’
I felt myself making air quotes around the word ‘designs’ and stopped myself right away. It was an Old Tess thing to do.
‘Clearly at some point you developed designs,’ he said, copying my air quotes. ‘What changed?’
‘I’ve had a load of really shitty stuff happening at home,’ I said. I felt that covered losing my job, shagging my best friend, telling him I loved him, him telling me he didn’t love me, finding out he’d shagged my awful flatmate and then assuming her identity and stealing her job. No need to go into specifics. ‘And, I don’t know ? he got under my skin. And when I snapped, he was there. So I kissed him.’
‘You kissed him?’ Kekipi squealed. He was a man secure enough in his homosexuality that he had no interest in not reinforcing gay stereotypes. ‘Just like that? Just kissed him?’
‘Yes?’ It clearly sounded just as unlikely to me as it did to him. Probably more so. Here was a man who had met a woman three days ago, and the only solid facts he had to go on while weighing her up was that she had shagged a complete stranger she was supposed to be working with and she really liked eating Cheetos. I was actually doing a much better job of being Vanessa than I could have anticipated.
‘And then what? Why is it a problem? Or rather, why is it a great big pile of bollocks?’
‘Because it’s just sex.’ I could barely say the words. It really was a miracle that I’d actually been able to do it in the first place. ‘It is a press trip fling. It is purely physical.’
‘But you like him,’ Kekipi said.
‘I don’t know,’ I replied, being as honest as I could possibly be. ‘Because I love someone else.’
‘Ah.’ He winced. ‘I see.’
‘And I’m fairly sure –’ I sighed heavily and downed the rest of my drink. It was practically just juice. I could barely taste any alcohol at all ? ‘he’s shagging Paige as well.’
‘What makes you think that?’ He made the same concerned face as Amy. Half, Tess, I’m listening, and half, Tess, are you being a paranoid psycho again? ‘Just because they’re not home doesn’t mean they’re shagging.’
‘No, but she basically told me she was planning to shag him, and then I saw them getting into the boat together, and I’m fairly certain he’d shag you if you were the only willing partner around. No offence.’
‘None taken,’ he said with conviction. ‘So Paige likes Mr Miller? That doesn’t mean Mr Miller likes Paige. I’m sure they were just … doing something.’
‘Doing something?’ I quirked an eyebrow so high I heard it ping off the moon.
‘Something else,’ he qualified. ‘Work related. But more importantly, you saw them together and you were jealous?’
I half shook my head, half shrugged, and picked a great big glob of mascara out of the corner of my eye. ‘I didn’t say that.’
‘Oh, you were.’ He purred the last word as though he was the cat that had caught the canary. Or got the cream. Or eaten the canary and then had some cream for afters. ‘So even though it’s just sex and you are in love with someone else, you don’t like the idea of him being with someone else. Interesting.’
‘No it isn’t,’ I said, even though it clearly was.
‘We’ll put a pin in that.’ He pinched his shoulders and moved on. ‘What exactly did Paige tell you about Mr Miller?’
‘That she likes him, that he’s a professional shagger, that I’m a horrible person for sleeping with him when she likes him,’ I replied. ‘I added that last part.’
The waiter sauntered back towards our table, yawned loudly and picked up my empty glass.
‘Could I have another, please? When you’ve got a minute?’ I asked as politely as possible.
He looked at me, looked at Kekipi, and walked away without answering.
‘Everyone here is an asshole,’ Kekipi said, just loudly enough for the waiter to hear. Not that he reacted. I assumed he was either really high, really rude or semi-lobotomized. ‘But they really do have the best cocktails. When we’re smashed, we’ll go across the street to the horrible dive bar and sing karaoke.’
‘I can’t get smashed,’ I said with a tiny hiccup that hardly supported my argument. ‘I’ve got the shoot tomorrow.’
‘You’ll be fine,’ he promised. ‘I won’t let you get too wasted. But back to the story ? tell me more about this man at home.’
‘You don’t think I’m horrible for sleeping with Nick when I knew Paige liked him?’
‘I don’t think we’re in tenth grade, so I don’t think it matters. They’re not together, he didn’t cheat, you didn’t cheat.’ He rapped his knuckles against my forehead. ‘And I think if a man that hot was coming on to me – and make no mistake about it, Vanessa, he was coming on to you at dinner on Monday night; I was there, I saw ? then I think someone would have to hit me with a truck to stop me sleeping with him.’
But I still couldn’t shake the thought that I had cheated on Paige. I knew she’d be pissed, especially after the real Vanessa had boffed her ex. I was becoming altogether too good at playing my part.
‘Tell me more about this man you’re in love with. I’m assuming it’s not a happily-ever-after-type affair?’ Kekipi drank the last dregs of his cocktails as the waiter wandered back over with our fresh drinks and held out the empty glass without a word. The waiter took it and stood beside us, silent, staring.
‘Is everything OK?’ I asked. He looked like someone had just run over his cat.
‘I need, like, a credit card or something?’ He blinked at me once and held out a hand. ‘And, uh, do you want food?’
‘We do not want food, and here is a credit card.’ Kekipi handed him a black American Express card and waved him along. ‘Honestly, I hate being rude to wait staff – I have been wait staff – but I’m really worried he’s off his medication.’
I laughed, wondering how many waiters on Oahu had black Amexes, but nodded along all the same.
‘So, man at home, wiki wiki.’ He clapped his hands again. ‘On a scale of one to Nick, how hot? And what’s the relationship status?’
‘Definitely Nick hot. Just, different. Just, not Nick.’ I found it really hard to compare the two in my mind. Nick was all fire and physical and total frustration. Charlie was … Charlie was everything. ‘He’s my best friend, I’ve been in love with him since uni – since college – and we finally did the deed a week ago and then I told him I loved him and then he said he didn’t love me. Oh, and I found out he’s been shagging one of my mates.’
Once again skipping over the details on anything Vanessa-related.
‘Hmm, tough one.’ He leaned back in his chair and pursed his full lips. ‘But I’m going to say your friend is a douchebag and you should probably fake a pregnancy to make Nick marry you.’
‘Considered, practical advice,’ I said, nodding slowly, a smile on my face. ‘My friend is a douchebag.’ It felt so good to say it. ‘But I think Nick probably is a douchebag too.�
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‘Nick is definitely a douchebag. If he met the douchebag tribe out in the jungle, they would worship him and make him their king. But, and I say this with love –’ he gestured at me to drink my drink. I didn’t need telling twice ? ‘it sounds to me like your baby box is lonely. It’s sad and it’s lonely. It needs a friend and I think you should let him be that friend.’
‘You remind me so much of my Amy,’ I laughed. Second hiccup. What was in these drinks? ‘She would agree with you.’
Speak of the devil and she showed her horns. I peered inside my bag to see my phone lit up with two missed calls and a voicemail from my best friend. I wanted to call her back right away, but I didn’t want to be rude to Kekipi. One day my mind was going to explode from trying to make everyone happy. Placing my bag back on the table, I decided to concentrate on the gay at hand and call Amy first thing in the morning. She would totally understand.
‘Amy’s not the best friend, right? I’m not missing something very important here, am I?’ he asked, a look of concern on his handsome face.
‘Nope, she’s the other best friend. The only best friend now, I suppose.’ I was starting to feel very strongly about everything I said. These cocktails were the best. ‘She’s amazing. I love her.’
‘You love everyone.’ Kekipi flapped a hand at me. ‘You’ll be proposing to me next.’
‘One more of these and I will,’ I agreed. ‘So, tell me more about this karaoke bar.’
‘What are you going to sing?’ I shouted as loudly as I possibly could over a group of three Japanese tourists merrily murdering an Adele song. The karaoke bar was everything Kekipi had promised. Dark, dingy and, most importantly, attached to a twenty-four-hour diner. While I was fine with my frozen pineapple daiquiri for the time being, it was good to know that I was never more than seven minutes away from some bacon.
‘I don’t know,’ Kekipi wailed back. ‘I don’t want to be a cliché.’
‘What do you want to be?’ I asked.
‘Fabulous?’ he suggested, complete with jazz hands. ‘Obviously.’
‘You’re such a cliché,’ I said with a half-hug. ‘Just bust out some Cher and be done with it.’
I left him poring over the song book and took myself for a wander around the bar. Not that there was that much bar to wander around. Sipping on a neon-pink straw and bobbing my head to the music, such as it was, I tiptoed through the groups of sunburned American tourists chugging beers and the not-at-all-sunburned Australians chatting away to some happy-looking locals while a group of Japanese men in suits and loosened ties studied another copy of the massive song book. Other than the professional karaoke-goers, I saw so many men in Hawaiian shirts. And there was me thinking that was just on the telly. Pulling at my hem and pawing at my hair, I found an empty bar stool and decided it was time for a sit-down. Nana was tired. And a bit tipsy.
‘But only a bit,’ I said out loud to a passing cocktail waitress with a pretty blue flower behind her ear. What had Nick said about flowers? I couldn’t remember. Not that it mattered. ‘What does Nick know?’
‘Sorry?’ An exceptionally tall, exceptionally blond and, if you liked the square-jawed six-pack surfer type, exceptionally good-looking man sat down on the bar stool next to me. ‘Nick?’
‘He thinks –’ I poked the icy bits left in the bottom of my glass with my straw ? ‘that he is so clever. He thinks he knows everything.’
‘Right.’ The guy laughed. I eyed him carefully and tried to decide whether I had heard an Australian accent or whether he just looked so much like Vinnie from Home and Away that I was adding one into the hot mix. ‘That Nick, eh?’
Nope, he was definitely Australian. I had always had a soft spot for an Aussie. Most of the Australian men I met in London were tall. I liked tall. Most of them were gorgeous. I liked gorgeous. Most of them weren’t interested. I didn’t like that as much.
‘He’s a complete cock,’ I confided in my new friend. ‘But you know, whatever.’
‘I believe you.’ He held out his big, strong hand and I shook it, trying very hard not to giggle. ‘I’m Owen.’
‘I’m …’ I paused and looked off to the left. ‘Vanessa?’
‘Is that a made-up name?’ Owen asked, signalling to the bartender. ‘You don’t sound so sure about it.’
‘It’s not made up.’ I shook my head vehemently and almost immediately fell off my stool. I covered up with a cough and casually slipped back up onto the pleather upholstery. ‘It’s definitely my name.’
‘All right then.’ He shifted his whole body to face me and leaned one very brown elbow on the bar. ‘What’s that you’re drinking?’
‘It’s delicious,’ I replied, slurping the last little bit through my straw. ‘But I do not remember what it is called.’
Owen took the glass from me and knocked back the icy remains, never once breaking eye contact. All of a sudden, I was all of a fluster. I wasn’t good at talking to boys and I was even worse at talking to men. Where was Amy when I needed her? In stupid England, that was where. She was so selfish.
‘Pineapple daiquiri, delicious. Can I buy you another?’ Owen asked, interrupting my chain of thought. He had very pretty blue eyes. Like Nick. Only not, because he wasn’t a knob. Probably. He could be. Most of them were …
‘Vanessa?’ He leaned in a little closer.
‘That,’ I poked him gently in the shoulder, ‘is my name.’
‘OK then.’ Despite the slightly troubled look on his face, he turned to the bartender and ordered two more daiquiris and then turned back to me. ‘What brings you to Hawaii, Vanessa?’
For a reason I couldn’t quite put my finger on, hearing this great big strapping surfer address me with Vanessa’s name really made me chuckle. It took me a moment to choke down a laugh and compose myself well enough to answer.
‘I am a photographer,’ I replied with a winning smile. Or at least I hoped it was a winning smile ? there was a chance I had lipstick all over my teeth. ‘And I’m taking pictures for a magazine.’
‘That’s interesting,’ he said, paying the bartender for our grown-up Slush Puppies and brushing his hair behind his ears. He had sexy ears. ‘You’re not a surfer, then?’
‘I am not,’ I confirmed.
‘Right, right.’ He took a deep breath in through his nose and exhaled slowly. ‘I’m a surfer, myself. Chasing the waves. Waikiki has the best waves in the world.’
‘Isn’t the best surf up on the north shore?’ I asked, not exactly sure how I knew that. ‘And isn’t it better in winter?’
‘Uh, nah, definitely down here.’ Owen pushed my drink towards me and held his up in a toast. ‘To Hawaii.’
‘Hawaii,’ I repeated, searching my memory banks for the source of my stellar surfing knowledge. Was it from Point Break? Charlie loved Point Break. Actually, I loved Point Break. But no …
‘And to new friends,’ he added before taking a massive swig of yellow slush. ‘Christ, that’s cold.’
‘Oh, that’s my friend.’ I buzzed into life and pointed at the stage with teenage-girl excitment as Kekipi took the mic. ‘I came with him.’
‘Came with him, came with him?’ Owen raised a concerned eyebrow. Also blond. Pierced. Again, very sexy.
‘Well, no.’ I looked at him like he was very stupid. Which I was starting to realize in all likelihood he was. ‘Obvs.’
‘Obvs?’ He didn’t seem to understand until Kekipi screamed out, ‘Whitney Houston, gone but never forgotten,’ before giving what was actually a surprisingly good performance of ‘I’m Every Woman’.
‘Oh, obvs.’ Owen seemed to get it quite quickly once Kekipi started dancing. Very well. ‘He’s gay?’
‘He’s gay as a goose,’ I nodded.
He seemed confused. Again. ‘Are geese gay?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know.’ I looked into my lurid yellow drink and was suddenly overcome with the intense desire to not be drinking it any more. ‘It seemed right when I said it.’
‘Yeah, I guess like you thought you knew about surfing,’ he said with an extraordinarily patronizing laugh. Before I could decide how I felt about it, I watched him place his large, tanned hand on my thigh. My eyes travelled slowly from said hand, up his muscular arm, across his broad, tight-T-shirt-covered chest and up to his handsome face. ‘Am I right, Vanessa?’
I stopped and breathed for a moment. It shouldn’t have been so hard to think clearly ? I’d barely had anything to drink. Or at least I couldn’t remember having had that much to drink. Maybe I’d lost track once me and Kekipi had started the boy talk. And we did have those shots while he was telling me all about his ex, the male burlesque dancer.
‘Vanessa.’ Owen squeezed my thigh a little bit higher up than I was entirely comfortable with. ‘How about we finish these drinks and get out of here? I reckon your mate can do without you, don’t you think?’
I was torn. Tess would make an awkward excuse, go to the bathroom and try to sneak off home without him seeing her. Vanessa would have gone to the bathroom as well but only to take off her knickers and save him a job in the taxi.
‘I don’t feel very well,’ I replied, slipping off the stool with all the grace of a drugged monkey and pushing people out of the way until I got to the ladies’ loos. I dug through my handbag, spilling lip balms and old receipts and sticks of chewing gum all over the floor, trying to find my phone. After poking everything in the bottom of the bag and breaking an already manky nail into the bargain, I bashed something that lit up and pulled it out. I had four missed calls from Amy. Backing into a stall and flapping at the lock at the same time, I sat down on the toilet seat and pressed redial. I needed to hear her voice.
‘Thank fuck for that,’ she yelled. ‘I thought you were dead!’
Maybe I didn’t need to hear her voice.
‘What are you doing? You were supposed to call me every day?’ She didn’t even pause for breath. ‘What’s going on? Are you in prison?’
‘I’m in a karaoke bar,’ I whispered as loudly as I dared. I was suddenly gripped with the fear that Owen would come into the toilets looking for me. ‘Why would I be in prison? Are you OK?’