Sweatpants at Tiffanie's

by Pernille Hughes

  Tiff bit her tongue. Whenever Shelby was criticising Gavin it was her instinct to get defensive, to tell Shelby her sex life was perfectly satisfactory, thank you very much, but something about the class this evening, the way she’d felt about her body, well, it made her wonder whether there had been something lacking before. She wasn’t sure what exactly, but it did have her wondering.

  There had been moments, when she was getting the pole moves – admittedly brief, but still – when she’d felt confident and sensual and strong. Invincible perhaps. And she’d loved it. But she wasn’t going to share any of that with Shelby, because she’d say it confirmed Gavin hadn’t been lighting her fires. If she didn’t argue, she could move the subject – and the attention she was getting from other tables – on.

  ‘What’s got you riled this evening?’ She pointed to the bottle. Shelby was on a mission. ‘Let me guess, your lovely boss?’

  ‘That woman is the she-devil,’ Shelby started and a relieved Tiff settled in for a monologue. ‘She’s enrolled me on a Swedish massage course, to draw more customers. Only, the course is early evening – aka my freetime – and I’ll have to sprint across town to do it. And don’t tell me it’s more strings to my bow, because while that’s true, it’s only so I can fill every breathing hour in her salon. She won’t pay me overtime for going and she won’t pay me more when I qualify. It’s exactly what she did with the colon hydrotherapy.’ Tiff automatically clenched when Shelb mentioned that one. She’d yet to take her up on her offer of a free ‘bum squirt’, as Shelby so delicately described it. ‘Honestly, I run that place while she lounges in Spain and keeps me on an assistant’s wage.’

  ‘So leave,’ Tiff suggested.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You heard. Leave. If I’m not mistaken I’ve suggested this… oh what, a hundred times.’

  ‘Tiff, haven’t you been listening? My days are booked solid, the cow rings randomly to check I’m there – heaven forbid I should nip out for a sarnie – and unless things have changed nobody does recruitment interviews on a Sunday, although Sunday opening was her second idea for increasing business. It’s easy making suggestions like that from a sun lounger. Lazy bloody mare.’

  Having met Lorraine, Tiff had to agree; the woman was a parasite and mean with it. She’d married some rich wheeler-dealer who’d set her up with a shop as a hobby. Finding Shelby had been her coup.

  ‘She knows she’s onto a winner with you, Shelb. Your conscientiousness is your downfall,’ Tiff commiserated. It was ridiculous that Shelby’s diligence should in fact be her worst enemy.

  ‘Gotta do your best though, don’t you? Or else what’s the point?’ Shelby asked, perplexed.

  ‘Well, you’ve always done that.’

  ‘Always,’ Shelby nodded heavily, the alcohol having increased the weight of gravity around her head. ‘At work and in bed.’

  The two lads swivelled in their direction again.

  ‘Go on, ask around,’ she told them, ‘Never had a bad review.’

  Tiff tugged her sleeve, drawing her back.

  ‘Have you considered being your own boss, Shelb?’

  ‘Every time the phone rings,’ Shelby muttered.

  ‘Strikes me it’d be the best thing. You’ll do the best job and it’ll be for your own benefit, not someone else’s. Plus you’d choose your own hours rather than have them foisted on you.’

  Shelby sat staring for a moment, dazed. ‘That would be amazing,’ she said, then with a slow blink, she snapped out of it. ‘But not everyone inherits a business. Even if Lorraine dropped dead of sangria-poisoning this minute,’ she crossed her fingers, ‘it wouldn’t be me who got it.’

  ‘See a bank manager Shelb, ask how much it would take to set up. See if they’ll do you a decent loan. No-one would work harder. You could rent somewhere small, or you could do a mobile service, lose the rent completely.’

  ‘Returning to point number one, Tiff; I can’t get out during working or banking hours.’

  ‘Shelb, there’ll come a point when you have really really had enough, and you’ll be prepared to do something drastic. Text me then, and I’ll call with an excuse for you to leave. In the meantime, you’ll have to quit whining about it, because only you can make this happen.’

  ‘That’s it? Quit whining? That’s your sympathetic advice?’ Shelb was outraged.

  ‘Yup. No sympathy here,’ Tiff said, sitting back in her seat, arms crossed, channelling Mike. And yes, there was also some joy in slinging a touch of the tough-love back at her friend. ‘You don’t need coddling. You just need to know someone believes you’ve got this, and is prepared to support you wholeheartedly when you finally pull your finger out.’

  Shelby dodged the issue by staggering to the bar for another Breezer. But there was loud sweary muttering. Tiff predicted a long night and they hadn’t even got to the bit she’d been summonsed for. She still had the Mike details to dish. She downed her drink in one.

  Chapter 22

  Ron stomped through the door. Tiff instantly slid herself behind the desk so he couldn’t see the bevy of bruises she’d been examining on her legs. The pole had left her inner arms and backs of knees covered in a trail of what Sammi called pole kisses. Tiff was trying to remember which of her boxes contained her arnica cream, because she needed to smother herself in it. And she planned to stay seated all day because the slut-drops had apparently broken her quads.

  ‘When’s the ring coming down? I need to schedule it into training,’ he demanded.

  Tiff looked at him blankly. The night before had been very long, as Shelby had forcibly walked her through Mike’s boxing Facebook page and fan website, shot after shot of a topless Mike, which Shelby was very impressed by, whilst still unimpressed by Tiff’s previous secrecy. Tiff’s steaming hangover also had her befuddled; acting like she didn’t know about Ron’s back-stabbing didn’t help either. He assumed she didn’t understand what he was asking.

  ‘You can’t build around it,’ he went on, ‘It needs taking down. May as well have it delivered to “The Assassin” while you’re about it.’

  While partly amused Ron referred to Mike as ‘The Assassin’ without any irony, Tiff studied his face for any trace of guilt. He looked so calm, supposedly suggesting something helpful. But she saw it for what it was; the longer she didn’t have the ring, the better for him. Double snake. She plastered a smile on her face.

  ‘Not before the last class tomorrow.’

  Ron’s cool demeanour faltered and he started to speak. The phone rang and she immediately held up a finger to stop him.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, hoping Ron’d go away, but he remained in the doorway glowering. The line was silent again. This was the second that day, and one of many in the last week. She didn’t answer with her or the gym’s name anymore. Someone was out to harass her. She’d considered calling the police, but they’d only suggest changing the number and as an established business that wouldn’t work. Replacing the receiver, she wrote BLOCK on her note pad. She’d call the phone company for help. Whoever it was only rang during working hours. They obviously didn’t know she slept there – thank goodness. Silent calls through the night would have terrified her.

  Silent calls held a special kind of malice in Tiff’s extensive experience. After her father’s arrest, she and her mother had been subjected to a wide and imaginative array. There were verbal slights, of course, and the spitting at school. Their bins were regularly upturned or simply went missing. Unwanted cabs were ordered to their house and, when their address soon got blacklisted, meant they could never get one when they actually wanted one. Ditto the numerous takeaways that would arrive all evening that they couldn’t pay for to placate the irate delivery drivers. And the house was regularly pelted with eggs, stones or worse. Numerous panes had been broken. These though were physical acts and, whilst upsetting, were more annoying than threatening. The silent calls however, they played with your mind, allowing your imagination to run wild to the soundtrack of the empty
line, gradually building the paranoia. Tiff told herself over and again that it was probably adolescent larks, and she was older now, more equipped to handle it. Staring at the phone as she replaced the receiver, she wasn’t sure she had herself convinced yet.

  ‘I’m not coming in to break it down at the weekend,’ Ron restarted, annoyed.

  ‘I haven’t asked you to break it down at all, Ron,’ Tiff said, sweetly, almost pleased to have the distraction. ‘Mikey should be in charge of that. It’s his, after all. I’m calling him this afternoon.’ She hadn’t planned to, but it pleased her having Ron think she and ‘The Assassin’ were tight buddies. ‘I also need to chase the new one,’ she added. ‘Thanks for the reminder.’ He left with a scowl.

  Around the fifth ring Tiff decided to hang up. She was hoping for the excuse though she knew it was silly. She’d phoned him before. Not just the nightly hour-long phone calls when they were young – those calls where she’d no idea what they’d spoken so intensely about before they’d conduct the ritual of not hanging up first – but she’d called him recently regarding Nanna Bea. So why was she so nervous? This was business. Still, she wanted to hang up.

  ‘Tiff.’

  Damn. She’d been hoping for voicemail. She could muster some semblance of intelligence in a message.

  ‘Yes!’ she yelped. ‘Mikey! Hi!’ Argh, she was sounding somewhere between being caught out and an overenthusiastic cheerleader.

  ‘S’up?’ he asked, easily. He was always composed. Why couldn’t she do that? Why was she sweating and behaving like a goofy teen around him? It was ten years ago, for goodness sake. Was this a hormonal thing? Shelby would say it was because Tiff wasn’t getting any and that a fling – like she’d been suggesting – would get her past it.

  ‘So, um…I was wondering how Nanna was.’

  ‘Well, she’s got no recollection of her break for freedom, but she’s fine.’

  ‘That’s great. Good.’ The conversation petered out. Thankfully he stepped in.

  ‘What you been up to?’

  ‘Oh, you know. Busy busy. You?’

  ‘Honestly? I’ve forgotten what busy looks like. I miss it. Describe it to me.’ He sounded wistful, a little morose in fact.

  ‘Aren’t you training?’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Your last fights and stuff.’

  ‘Tiff, if you’re going to run a boxing club, you need to have your ear to the ground a little bit. Did you cancel Blackie’s subscription to The Ring?’ Tiff looked at the stack of boxing magazines she’d lobbed in the corner. She planned to have them racked beautifully next to the sodding sofa in reception.

  He sounded a tad unimpressed. Tiff knew she could do better than this. She needed to find a little of the Tiff who’d worked the pole last night. That Tiff could come across as knowing what she was doing. She wedged the phone between her ear and shoulder, her achey arm already needing the rest. Pathetic. ‘No. Of course we get that,’ she bluffed. She was fairly sure she’d seen a recent invoice for it.

  ‘Well, maybe check their website sometimes too. I’m officially retired. I announced it yesterday. It even made the evening news.’

  ‘Oh. Right.’ She felt well and truly caught out. She’d thought he was still in the planning phase. ‘Does one say congratulations or something?’

  ‘Not really, I’m twenty-seven and too old and knackered to do the only thing I’m good at.’

  ‘Ah, you’re taking it well then,’ she said, leaning back in the chair. ‘I’m sorry. I hadn’t heard. Job going here if you need it,’ she quipped before she could stop herself, then covered her awkwardness with a loud Ha Ha! ‘Okay, so you need something to fill the new down time,’ she raced on, trying to pep him up. ‘Only please not golf, because you cannot become one of those.’

  She thought she could hear him smile. Good.

  ‘What? You don’t think I can rock a Pringle sweater?’ he asked affronted.

  ‘Mmm, I’m sure you were born for Argyle diamonds, Mikey,’ she said, finally getting into the swing of the call, ‘But I can’t imagine you in golf shoes, with that frilly flap thing on the front. Not in my wildest dreams.’

  ‘Well, much as being in anyone’s wildest dreams currently would be a win, you needn’t worry, I’m not about to start swinging the club. I need something that packs more of a punch. Pun intended.’

  ‘You all right, Mikey? Beyond the transition to old age, Zimmer frames and tea dances? You sound sort of world weary.’

  He didn’t answer immediately, as if making a decision.

  ‘Verity took off.’

  ‘Oh.’ Tiff didn’t know what to say. He’d mentioned it the other night as a possibility, but she hadn’t thought it was an imminent thing. She flailed around for the right words. In the end she went with a generic ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I love being British,’ Mike said, with a terse laugh, ‘The Yanks think we’re bonkers apologising for something that isn’t our fault.’

  ‘I’m not apologising, Mikey,’ Tiff said, exasperated, ‘I’m extending my sympathy. I am sad that you’re sad. You clearly are sad about this,’ she pointed out.

  ‘Well, thank you,’ he said, chastened. ‘I guess I am sad,’ he was almost explaining it to himself, ‘but more for the wasted time, you know? Verity and I had a fun five years, but I think I knew it had an end date, that she’d go.’

  ‘You did?’ She hadn’t had a clue she and Gavin had an end date. She’d thought it was forever. ‘But you lived together.’

  ‘Oh yeah. Vez moved in after six months. Redecorated the entire house. Even did me a man-den.’

  ‘Wagon wheel coffee table?’

  ‘Formula One tyre coffee table. Plus most bloke-toys known to man.’

  ‘She wouldn’t have done all of that if she thought it wasn’t going anywhere. Some relationships don’t work, but people do their best, hope for the best while they’re in them.’

  ‘Sure they do, but some people assume life stays the same, and when you live off sport that’s never going to be the case.’

  ‘I’m sure she knew, Mikey.’ Tiff didn’t know why she was defending Verity, but she had an insane desire to make him believe the last five years weren’t a waste. Like she wanted to believe the last ten years with Gavin hadn’t been a total and utter waste, firmly putting her on the back-foot in the dating game and statistically increasing her chances of ending up a childless spinster. God bless Shelby for kindly pointing that bit out. ‘Hadn’t you discussed what would happen next?’

  ‘Yeah, well maybe that was the nub of it.’ He sounded like he was stretching. ‘Our ideas of what we should do in my retirement weren’t as compatible as we assumed.’

  ‘What did she want?’

  ‘To keep living the celebrity lifestyle. Which we could, to be fair. I don’t plan to sell the place in LA and we have friends out there, but while Nanna’s still around, I’m not leaving the UK. Verity wants to stay in the spotlight though and I’m rather done with that, you know?’

  ‘Definitely,’ Tiff guffawed, ‘I’m ridiculously tired of being in heat magazine.’

  ‘Come on,’ he groaned. ‘You know what I’m saying. It’s exhausting not being able to go out without reading about it later.’

  ‘Seriously, was it that bad? No offense but you’re not a movie-star.’

  ‘Thank god. That must be hell. No, I guess it wasn’t that bad, but Verity’s intent on pushing her modelling career, so it could be more. She’s thinking about acting too, so she needs to work the scene and I was the ticket.’

  ‘I’m sure she didn’t think of you as a ticket.’

  ‘Okay, I’m being unfair. We met when I’d just reached the big time but I don’t think she was only into me for the fame. Or the incredible sex.’

  He waited as Tiff got over her coughing fit.

  ‘Of course not.’ She’d thought exactly that at Leonards’. The fame thing. Not the sex thing. She remembered telling herself off for exactly those thoughts.

&
nbsp; ‘I was naive,’ Mike went on. ‘I thought I could convince her to settle down by the time I retired, maybe have some kids. I figured she could do what Victoria did, you know; the clothing line, or some other business. I have the money to set her up if she’d wanted.’

  ‘Who’s Victoria?’ Tiff asked absently. She wasn’t quite keeping up.

  ‘Beckham? They had a place a block over in LA. Nice couple. Decent kids.’

  Tiff experienced the strangest feeling of being transported at least a universe further away from him in a matter of moments. She wondered again what she was thinking, ringing him.

  ‘Of course. Vics. You should have said.’

  He blew a raspberry at her down the phone, making her smile. In spite of their different stratospheres, he was still Mikey.

  ‘So she’s not up for the settling down?’

  ‘Nope. That was made crystal clear.’ Mike clicked his tongue in resignation. ‘Remember the commentating thing, I mentioned?’

  ‘I remember.’ Tiff could easily see Mike on the telly, even with his banana nose. He knew stuff, he was charming when he wasn’t being an arse, he would defend his opinions.

  ‘Well, they rang my agent and apparently it was more than commentating, actually more co-anchoring a weekly show based in the US and they thought it was a done deal. Verity’d made them all sorts of promises. And I blew up about it.’

  ‘Not your thing?’ Surely it was a golden opportunity? Oh god she wished she hadn’t said that thing about having a job going. The guy was world-stage material. Where were her bloody filters?

  ‘I might. I mean, I could. Yeah, that would be okay, but aside from not wanting to leave Nanna, I took it badly that she’d been instigating things without me. I hadn’t quite got my mind around the retiring yet, and she’d set wheels in motion I wasn’t ready for.’

  ‘The fear of change get you, did it, Mikey?’

  ‘Something like that. And a fair dollop of pride mixed in. Anyway, she said she wanted me to stay in the public eye, and I got bull-headed and said I didn’t. Then it became a bit tit-for-tat, and she finally said she didn’t know if she’d ever want kids, but her modelling couldn’t wait. She said perhaps we had different futures to pursue. I said obviously I wasn’t enough for her without the glitz, and then she left, so I guess I was right.’