And how I’ve suddenly ended up with all this useless shit in my head, like the five tropisms in plants, which are photo, geo, hydro, thigmo and chemo. Of course, I’m too busy banging on to notice that he hasn’t even touched his Garden Scramblette.
‘Dude, what’s the Jack?’ I go. ‘You’re, like, miles away.’
He sort of, like, fidgets with his Kanye West shutter shades, then just blurts it out. ‘I slept with Mike,’ he goes.
I can’t actually help myself. I’m just like, ‘Whoa! Bad move, my friend.’
He goes, ‘It was, like, the night of his birthday?’
I’m there, ‘No excuse,’ and that’s not me acting all high and mighty just because I happen to be off it at the moment.
‘He came over and he was all, “I just want to spend this night with the one I love.” And I fell for it. Like I always fall for it.’
‘And let me guess what happened. He got what he wanted, then he went back to her. I bet he didn’t even stay the night. Dude, what about Hugo?’
‘Look,’ he goes, ‘you can’t make me loathe myself any more than I already do,’ and he’s probably right. Even in the few months I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him so upset.
I’m there, ‘Dude, can I say something to you?’
‘Not if it’s about how nobody’s going to respect me until I learn to respect myself. I watch Oprah, too, you know.’
He hasn’t touched his Berry Berry Frappe either.
‘It doesn’t have to be Oprah,’ I go. ‘It’s actually true. And I say that as someone who’s been treating girls like shit since I was, like, fifteen years of age. The ones with low self-esteem, I went through them like tapas. Twenty minutes later, I knew I’d had them – just don’t ask me to remember what the fock they looked like.’
‘So what are you saying?’ he goes. He actually seems a bit pissed off with me.
‘What I think I’m saying is that maybe it’s time to tell your old pair that you’re, you know… gay.’
He all of a sudden stands up. ‘No,’ he goes, ‘I’ve got to tell Hugo what happened.’
I’m there, ‘Er, I don’t think that’s the actual way to go. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him. My policy has always been, even if they come up with evidence, deny, deny, deny…’
He slams, like, a twenty down on the table for the breakfast, then tells me he’s not interested in my advice, which hurts. I have to say it hurts.
Then off he goes.
I’m actually reaching over for his Garden Scramblette when someone behind me calls me a stupid fock. I already know it’s going to be one of those days when I can do nothing right? It turns out it’s Trevion and he is not a contented temporary tent dweller.
He goes, ‘I just had a reporter on the phone,’ which I immediately know means trouble. ‘You forgot to tell me about tantric celibacy, huh?’
I’m there, ‘Tantric celibacy?’ like it’s the first time I’ve ever heard the words.
‘That’s right, Grasshopper. And you better tell me the fucking truth.’
I’m not going to be able to bluff my way out of this one. ‘Okay,’ I go, ‘it’s true – I have been doing tantric celibacy.’
He sits down opposite me and checks out Harvey’s untouched breakfast. ‘What is that – a vegetarian omelette? What kind of trouble are you in?’
‘None.’
‘I’m your agent,’ he goes. ‘It’s my fucking business to know.’
I’m there, ‘Look, the omelette’s not even mine. And the tantric thing – it’s because I wanted to do my sister. And that’s all there is to it, I swear.’
He shakes his head at me. ‘You can’t keep secrets from me.’
I’m there, ‘Dude, I didn’t want half the world knowing I was a sexual pervert. Which they’re probably going to now, if the papers are on the case.’
He’s there, ‘You’re lucky you got me in your fucking corner. You forget it sometimes…’
‘What did you tell them?’
‘I told them you was a sex addict and you was in treatment.’
A sex addict? Actually, that’s going to play unbelievably well back home.
‘You got to have it, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen times a day, I told them. Became a problem. Lines of fucking women. It was like throwing live mice to a python.’
I tell him I don’t know how to thank him, but he tells me not to go blowing him yet. ‘Have you any idea how pissed MTV are at you?’
‘MTV?’ I go.
‘That’s right, Heffner. They’re paying you for access to every intimate detail of your life. And you keep this from them? That you’re a fucking freak?’
‘I’d hordly say freak.’
‘You want to bone your sister, you’re a freak in my book. Anyway, now they want to get you on camera – the tantric shit – doing whatever it is you do, you sick fuck.’
8. An inconvenient truth
‘You’re all over the papers here,’ Oisinn goes and he means Dublin. ‘Irish Family New Stars of US Reality TV Show. I don’t believe it.’
I’m there, ‘You better believe it, Dude. Go on, give me a little taste of what’s being said. It’s probably all true.’
‘They’ve been described as the family that even the Sopranos would regard as the neighbours from hell,’ he goes. ‘But the day-to-day happenings in the lives of well-known Dublin family the O’Carroll-Kellys are currently gripping the American public.
‘This is the focking Sunday Indo, Ross!’
I’m there, ‘Go on, give me more, though.’
‘Ross, His Mother, His Wife and Her Lover is a brand new reality TV show that centres on the life of South Dublin-born chicklit phenomenon Fionnuala O’Carroll-Kelly as she sets out to conquer both the US book and music charts against the backdrop of her extended family’s disintegration. Fionnuala, the estranged wife of disgraced businessman and politician Charles O’Carroll-Kelly, is currently recording an album of duets with The Late Jeff Buckley…’
I’m there, ‘Blah blah focking blah – is there anything about me in there?’
‘Hang on,’ he goes. ‘Her son, well-known Dublin socialite Ross, a former rugby hopeful who failed to make the expected breakthrough…’
‘Unnecessary,’ I go, ‘but continue.’
‘… is featured, heavily bandaged after recent rhinoplasty, attempting to derail his mother’s career by subjecting her to various public humiliations, while also attempting to build bridges with his recently discovered sister, Erika Joseph, and his own estranged wife, the glamorous, Killiney-born boutique owner, Sorcha Lalor.’
‘Nothing about me coaching the Andorra team that scored a try against Ireland?’
‘You mean Ireland A?’ he makes sure to go. ‘Er, no. It does mention that you’re having treatment for a sex addiction, though…’
‘Well, that’s something, I suppose.’
‘The character proving the most popular with US audiences, however, is Cillian Mongey, Sorcha’s current boyfriend, a risk assessor whose apocalyptic predictions about the future of the world economy have spawned the catchphrase, “The Big One is coming!”’
‘That’s what happens when you get involved with accountant types,’ I go. ‘It’s, like, they try to be cool? But they can only pull it off for so long.’
‘Even former US Federal Reserve Chairman Alan Greenspan made a reference to the show this week, saying, “The Big One certainly isn’t coming,” insisting that bubbles could not affect the overall health of the economy and that the sub-prime mortgage problem would be contained.
‘Mongey’s most recent outburst, when he told his boss that the coming economic storm would spell the end of Western capitalism as we know it, was third-most watched item on YouTube last week, with more than one million hits.’
‘You’re probably wondering about the whole sex addiction thing,’ I go. ‘The thing is, I’m doing, like, tantric celibacy?’
He’s there, ‘Tantric celibacy?’ and you can tell he’s immedi
ately worried.
I’m like, ‘Yeah. I haven’t had my rock and roll in, like, four weeks now. I’ve barely even had, like, a sexual thought? And it doesn’t even bother me.’
‘Let me see can I get a handle on this. You’re in LA. You’re famous. You’re surrounded by beautiful women. And you’re celibate? What the fock, Dude?’
‘It’s actually great,’ I go. ‘I’ve honestly never had so much energy. There are one or two weird side-effects, though.’
‘Side-effects? What are we talking?’
I’m there, ‘A moraine is any glacially formed accumulation of unconsolidated glacial debris occurring in currently glaciated or formerly glaciated regions, for example areas acted upon by a past Ice Age.’
He’s like, ‘Shit! The bed!’
‘It’s focking crazy stuff, Oisinn. This is what I’m telling you – I’m suddenly remembering all sorts of shit that I apparently learned at school, obviously without realizing.’
He laughs.
‘Cytoplasm,’ I go, ‘aqueous solution of salts with dissolved proteins and enzymes, provides a liquid medium for enzymes and a suspension for cell organelles…’
‘That’s pretty impressive. If it’s true, of course.’
‘You want more? When two expressions in x (or any other variable) are equal to one another for all values of x, we can equate the coefficients of the same powers of x in the two expressions…’
‘But what does any of it even mean?’
‘I still don’t know. It’s like I’ve been given these special, I don’t know, call them super-powers if you want, except I haven’t been told yet what they’re for, what my mission is, blahdy blahdy blah.’
‘I’d say if you sat the Leaving again tomorrow…’ he goes.
I’m there, ‘Exactly – it’d be a whole other story. And don’t rule it out, either. Hey, by the way, you’re coming over, aren’t you? For Christian’s opening night?’
‘Yeah, I think so.’
‘Vegas, baby! Hit those casinos in a major way, huh?’
‘Er, yeah.’
‘You, me, JP, Christian, even Fionn – the old crew back together again.’
He’s quiet for second, then he goes, ‘Ross, can I talk to you about something?’
I’m like, ‘Dude, we won a Leinster Schools Senior Cup together – if you can’t talk to me, who can you talk to?’
He’s quiet again. ‘Doesn’t matter,’ he eventually goes. ‘I’ll tell you another time.’
The first thing that hits me when I swing the beast into the driveway is the shock of seeing the place in, like, total dorkness? When I walk through the door, I have to actually feel for the switch, but when I flick it, nothing happens.
‘Hello?’ I go.
Nobody answers.
I feel my way along the wall to the main, I suppose, living room. I press down on the handle, but it’s locked. Then, as my eyes stort to adjust, I suddenly notice it, strung across the door – a strip of scene-of-crime tape.
I wander around the hall. Pretty much every door downstairs has the exact same tape across it and they’re all locked, too.
I can hear, like, raised voices coming from the kitchen, so that’s where I head.
Sorcha is sitting at the island, next to Honor, who’s cutting pictures out of her Victoria’s Secret Pink Collegiate Collection catalogue. ‘Hola! ’ she goes with a big smile when she sees me.
I’m there, ‘Hello! Honor, can you say, hello – or even hello, Daddy?’
Cillian’s pacing the floor, reading what I guess are Sorcha’s credit cord bills. The cameras are in there as well – Johnny and the whole MTV crew. ‘What’s the Jackanory?’ I go.
They barely even look at me. The tension is unbelievable.
‘Van Cleef & Arpels, Rodeo Drive,’ Cillian’s going. ‘Two thousand dollars…’
Sorcha’s there, ‘That’s the vintage necklace that I already told you about? You even agreed it’d go amazing with my Thierry Mugler white chiffon dress.’
‘Matthew Campbell Laurenza…’
‘And they’re those bangles – we’ve already had this conversation?’
‘Two thousand, one hundred dollars…’
‘Yes! And I told you Rihanna wears them. And I’m pretty sure Anna Faris.’
I think Sorcha’s storting to see what an actual loser he is? ‘One hundred and twenty dollars in Williams-Sonoma?’ he goes.
‘That was for the ravioli crimpers. Oh, so suddenly you don’t want me to start making my own pasta?’
He’s a fool even arguing with her. This is the girl who represented Iraq at the Model UN and, as anyone who was there will tell you, made an amazing case for gassing the Kurds.
I suppose it’s the sight of Honor sitting there in her My Heart Belongs To Daddy romper suit, but I decide to remind him exactly who is the real man of this house.
‘I asked you a question,’ I end up going. ‘And I didn’t get an answer. So I’m going to spell it out for you again – what is the story here?’
‘Ross, it’s none of your business,’ he has the actual balls to go. ‘Stay out of it.’
I’m there, ‘Hey, that’s my daughter over there. And that is my, technically, still wife. So I would say it’s, er, plenty my business?’
‘He’s threatening to cut up my credit cords,’ Sorcha goes.
I look at him. He has no idea how out of order he is. He’s there, ‘Sorcha, you have seven cards…’
I notice that he has them in his other hand.
‘But I’ve reached the limit on most of them,’ she goes, not unreasonably. ‘So they’re useless.’
He’s like, ‘But eventually you’re going to have to pay these bills. What are you going to do, take out a second mortgage?’
‘Don’t give me that,’ she goes. ‘It’s called a house equity withdrawal, Cillian – you’re the one who’s supposed to work in finance,’ which puts him big-time in his place.
‘And all the focking doors locked,’ I go. ‘What’s that about?’
He’s like, ‘Have you any idea how much it costs to run a house of this size? In terms of electricity, lighting, air-conditioning…’
‘What are you,’ I go, ‘Eddie Hobbs, all of a sudden?’
Sorcha’s there, ‘He wants us all to live in four rooms, Ross. He’s even locked my walk-in wardrobe.’
I’m there, ‘Four rooms?’
‘Us in one,’ he goes, meaning presumably him, Sorcha and Honor. ‘Your mother and Trevion in one, then you and Erika in the other. The kitchen will be a common area.’
I’m there, ‘Me and Erika in the same room? Er, we’re focking related in case it’s slipped your mind?’
Then I turn around to him and I’m like, ‘Give me the keys,’ trying to sound as patient as I possibly can with the focker.
He actually blanks me. He turns to Sorcha and goes, ‘Love Quotes – three hundred dollars?’
Sorcha’s there, ‘Oh! My God! They’re those scarves, Cillian. Er, embroidered with inspirational quotes from people like Gandhi and Mitch Alborn?’
I’m thinking, scorves? Fock, I used one as a tea towel. I say nothing, though.
‘Sorcha,’ he goes, ‘sooner or later, we’re all going to have to start adjusting to a new economic reality. We’re going to have to start asking ourselves, not, “Do I want this?” but, “Do I need it?”’
I actually laugh at that.
‘I’m sorry,’ he goes, ‘but I’m going to have to do this,’ and he goes to take the scissors out of Honor’s hand, the plan being obviously to cut up the cords.
I end up just exploding.
I launch myself at him, roysh, and obviously having never played rugby – or any focking sport – he goes down pretty easily, knocking over a stool and sending a bottle of Fuze Slenderize in strawberry melon smashing to the floor.
Sorcha, of course, screams and then that sets Honor off crying.
If I’m being honest, I’d have to admit that this is about more than jus
t Sorcha’s credit cords or ‘Do I need this?’ This is, like, months, possibly even years, of tension basically built up.
‘Stop it!’ Sorcha’s going. ‘Stop it!’
I’m, like, lying on top of him, roysh, and he’s putting up a bit of a fight in fairness to him, kicking his legs, then making a grab for my nose, which is dirty – anyone who sees it later on TV will have to admit that.
I’ve got, like, my fist cocked and with my other hand I’m trying to hold him still, roysh, just to get in, like, one serious punch. The camera moves in for a close-up.
I’m like, ‘Dude you’ve had this coming – from way before you even went heliskiing…’
I’m just about to pull the trigger, roysh, when all of a sudden I feel the most almighty focking crack across the back of my head. I’m, I suppose you’d say, temporarily stunned and Cillian – oh, yeah, big strong man now – manages to roll me off him onto the floor.
I look up to see Sorcha standing over me with one of her Viktor & Rolf ballet flats in her hand. ‘You know how I feel about violence,’ she goes, tears streaming down her face. ‘Non-violence is the law of our species, as violence is the law of the brute.’
Yeah, that’s the one I dried the breakfast dishes with.
She helps Cillian to his feet, if you can believe that. She asks him if he’s okay and he says he thinks so.
I’m like, ‘What the fock, Sorcha?’
She goes, ‘Is that what you want your daughter growing up seeing, Ross? Her father brawling on the floor like a… I won’t even say the word.’
The word she won’t say is knacker.
‘I can’t believe you’re taking his side,’ I go. ‘I was the one who was about to say that those scorves sounded kind of cool. But you know what? You can forget about that now.’
The camera comes in close for a better shot of my boat. ‘Turn that focking thing off,’ I go. ‘This better not go out on TV.’
I ask him if he’s even been to school this week.
‘Ah, I’ve been showing me face,’ he goes. ‘We’re doing summer tests at the moment.’
Shit, I forgot. I’m like, ‘So what did you have today?’ letting him know that I’m on his case, like any father would.
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