He smiles. He knows this is my whole macho act, just as I know how absolutely hopeless I am at keeping in touch.
I feel, like, a sudden heaviness in my chest and I’m suddenly taking a huge interest in an oil stain on the tablecloth, going, ‘That’s not going to come out easily.’
Then I look up and notice that Harvey is bawling his eyes out and I realize that’s it’s alright for me to cry, too.
We end up just throwing our orms around each other, then after hugging for maybe twenty – at the very most thirty seconds – he pulls back, looks me straight in the eye and tells me that he loves me. And I think, fock it, and I tell him – you know what? – I love him, too.
And then I leave him where I first found him – on Robertson Boulevard, looking great.
Father Fehily used to tell us that some friendships are for a particular time. He used to say, is a butterfly any less beautiful if it lives for only one day?
I stort the cor and pretty soon he’s just a speck in my rear-view. Then I’m back on the road, the tears flowing freely now and me wiping them away with, like, the palm of my hand.
It’s maybe the tenth time I’ve heard the story, but, to be honest, she could tell me a hundred times more if she wants. It’s a long time since I’ve seen her this happy.
‘I told her all about my shop back home and she asked me about my plans for it. I was like, “Oh my God, I’ve thought of so many over here, I can’t actually decide? But I definitely want to do Tracy Reese, Anna Sui, Pedro Garcia, Kooba, Tibi, Chaiken, Gryphon and CC Skye. Oh, and Rich & Skinny. I can’t believe that no one in Ireland is doing Rich & Skinny.”
‘And she was like, “But what do you really want to do?” and I was thinking, like I always do, WWSD? Is she talking about Charlotte Ronson? Or Rag & Bone? Or something totally outside of the box, like Tolani scarves, because no one’s doing those either? Then she goes, “In your heart, Sorcha,” and – oh my God – it was like she knew, Ross. It was like she could see into my soul.’
I’m there, ‘Cool.’
It’s, like, one o’clock and I’m going to have to be heading off soon if I’m going to meet Ronan off that flight. We’re sitting on the edge of the pool, with our legs dangling in the water. I’m holding Honor and she’s chatting away in her usual gibberish. Erika’s inside, on the phone, finally talking to her old dear – they’ve been on for, like, three hours, which has to be good. My old dear and Trevion are having lunch in Il Sole with Johnny and a few of the other MTV heads, planning this shambles of a wedding.
‘So tell me again,’ I go, ‘what happened next?’ even though I know.
‘I just started telling her about my dream – which I’d told absolutely no one about before – to start up my own clothing line that allows you to dress thin and yet be healthy? Blazers that skim the hips, jeans with low back pockets to lift your bum and thicker heels that de-emphasize the ankles.
‘Oh my God, I was on fire, Ross. I started coming out with all this stuff. Jewelled necklines take centre-stage away from less-than-toned mid-sections. Open peep-toe sandals elongate and slim the lower half of the body. Even something as simple as a portrait collar and belt can transform uneven proportions into an hourglass figure…’
She suddenly stops, looking, I don’t know, embarrassed by her excitement. Or maybe she’s waiting for me to burst her bubble.
I tell her I think it’s a great idea.
She’s there, ‘Really?’
I’m like, ‘Yeah.’
‘It’s just that, for girls, weight is so connected to self-esteem. But there are ways of dressing ten pounds lighter without actually starving yourself?’
Deep down, I know she’s thinking about Aoife. I doubt she ever stops thinking about her.
We’re both quiet then and it’s nice. ‘Can I say something to you?’ she eventually goes.
I’m there, ‘Yeah.’
‘When you and I broke up, I really thought it was the end of everything. I never thought I’d end up with the most amazing friend in the world.’
And it’s incredible, roysh, because I tell her I thought the reason I originally came to LA was to try to, like, win her back. Now I know it wasn’t. I came here just to try to make things right. She reaches for my hand and she tells me that I have.
Then she goes, ‘Why don’t you give Honor some of that?’
See, I’m eating, like, a Payday? ‘But it’s actual chocolate,’ I go.
She smiles. ‘I’m sure it won’t do her any harm.’
I break her off a piece and I’m there, ‘Look, Honor – chocolate,’ and she goes at it like a focking sailor on shore-leave.
The next I hear is the sound of someone making their way down from the gaff. I sort of, like, half turn around?
It’s Erika. ‘Hey,’ she goes.
She kicks off her flip-flops and sits down beside us, her feet in the pool.
We’re both like, ‘Hey,’ then Sorcha asks her if everything’s okay.
Erika just nods.
I look at her, roysh, and it’s amazing because for the very first time I can honestly say that she does nothing for me. No yoga, no tricks. I just don’t fancy her, even though she does have incredible legs.
‘They’re both coming over,’ she goes. ‘I’m going to meet them in Vegas – Charles and Mum.’
In other words, Helen and Dick Features. She’s smiling – she seems to be happy. I tell her that’s great, although I don’t let her know my true feelings, of course.
She asks me when I’m leaving and I tell her now. She says she can’t wait to see Ro and she’s not the only one. It’s, like, there’s already a buzz, just around the fact that he’s coming.
I stand up and tell them I’d better get going. I hand Honor to Sorcha, then I give them each – I suppose you could call them the three women in my life – a hug and a peck on each cheek and I tell them I’ll see them in a couple of days.
I’m, like, ten feet away from the house when I hear Honor go, ‘Chocolate, Daddy! Chocolate!’
I turn back and smile. It might be the happiest I’ve ever been.
Ronan’s not on flight EI EIO. In fact, there is no flight EI EIO.
I’m standing in the arrivals hall of McCarron airport and I’m scanning the board, thinking maybe he just got the number orseways, still prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt, the little focker. But there’s nothing coming in from New York at 7.00 p.m. and I suddenly know how all those birds I’ve scored on holidays must feel when they find out there’s no I Main Street, Dublin.
I whip out my phone and ring his number. He answers – he has the actual balls to answer – and all I can hear in the background is, like, beep beep beep and then ding aling aling and of course there’s no even need to ask him where he is? Except I do ask, because I’m his father.
‘I’m in a little carpet joint Downtown,’ he goes, as casual as that. ‘Here, there’s a fella here, Rosser – I’m after been watching him. He’s betting lavender chips – five hundred large – and he always guesses right. Do you think he’s part of the skim?’
I’m there, ‘I don’t know. I don’t even know what you’re talking about. What I want to know is, why aren’t you at the airport?’
‘Ah, I got in a bit early,’ he goes.
I’m there, ‘How early?’
‘Depends – would you count today as a full day?’
‘Ronan!’
‘Alright, keep your knickers on. Three days.’
‘Three days?’
‘But that is counting today as a full day.’
‘You’ve been in Vegas for three days? A ten-year-old boy? On his own?’
‘Ah,’ he goes, ‘you’re never on yisser own in this town. No, what happened was, I wanted to get the lie of the land before you got here,’ and then I hear him suddenly shout – I don’t know at who – ‘Hey, what kind of bull feathers is this? I said two-fifty large!’
I’m there, ‘Are you gambling? Tell me you’re not gambling.’
/>
‘Don’t sweat it, Rosser,’ he goes, ‘Luck’s running against the house tonight.’
I’m there, ‘Running against the house?’ and I’m thinking, this is Tina, letting him watch whatever the fock he wants on TV and hang around with criminal types three times his age.
‘Ro,’ I go, ‘get the fock out of there now. And I mean it,’ and he’s suddenly quiet. He knows when I’m being serious, in fairness to him. I’m there, ‘Go to the hotel and wait for me there.’
‘I’ll tell you what,’ he goes, ‘I’m just going to stick me head into Caesars on the way back up. Meet me there. I’ll be mooching around,’ and then he just hangs up on me.
I’m straight back to the cor lot and you can imagine how actually pissed off I am. The traffic on the Strip is murder and it takes me, like, an hour to get there and, of course, the whole way I’m thinking, if they find a kid on the gaming floor, they’ll call the cops.
I swing up outside, practically throw the keys at the valet and peg it in.
Caesars is humungous. There must be, like, five thousand people in there, milling around, literally all human life, we’re talking rich-looking dudes in ten-grand suits, we’re talking fat mums and dads with their fat kids, we’re talking stunning-looking birds wearing half-nothing, a fair few of them giving me the elevator eyes, although I don’t give them anything back, which shows you how worried I am.
The place smells of tequila, Issey Miyake and sweat and I’m being deafened by the sound of polyphonic music and bells and whistles and, every ten seconds or so, someone somewhere cheers and I run to where the noise is coming from, thinking – from past experience – that he’s bound to be at the centre of it, but this time he never is.
I’m trying his number, but it’s going straight to message-minder, which means it’s off.
I head for the area where the machines are, remembering how much he used to love those ones with the moving floors that you stuck a coin in and tried to send, like, an avalanche of money into the chute. He was forever kicking those. I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve had the call from the lads in Quirkey’s telling me to come and pick him up.
He’s not there. It’s mostly elderly women, sitting on high stools, feeding coins into machines and hitting buttons without even looking at the screen.
Then I remember him on the phone, banging about the ball and wheel, so I head for the roulette tables.
I see a man in a stetson dropping chips all over the grid – he must have every focking number on the wheel covered. The last time I saw a man in a stetson was in Lidl in Arklow. His wife checks me out in a major way and sips her margarita, imagining – I can always tell – that the straw is actually me.
I push on. Again, no interest.
I head for the craps tables. Ro’s always had, like, a thing for dice and he carries around a lucky one that Martin ‘The Viper’ Foley’s supposed to have had in his pocket when he survived the third attempt on his life – or maybe even fourth.
There’s, like, no sign of him there either, just mostly gangs of goys – a lot of stag porties, I’d imagine – shouting and generally giving it loads.
I’m actually on the point of giving up when I finally cop him. He’s leaning against a pillar, staring at these four dudes playing blackjack, roysh, and at the same time he’s, like, chatting to himself, except it’s like he’s making, I don’t know, calculations in his head.
I morch straight over to him, roysh, grab him by the shoulder and sort of, like, spin him around, obviously catching him by surprise. ‘What the fock do you think you’re doing?’ I go.
He looks at me like I’m the TV licence inspector he’s been brought up to fear.
He’s there, ‘Who the fook are you?’ and I realize all of a sudden that he genuinely doesn’t know?
But I don’t get a chance to explain about my nose. Because the next thing I know, something hits me square in the chest, the wind is taken out of me and I’m all of a sudden on the deck, flat on my face, with what feels like the entire Munster pack on top of me.
It’s like the entire casino is suddenly quiet and I don’t know whether it’s because everyone’s watching or because I’m dead.
Then I think I can’t be dead – because of the pain. My orms are pinned behind my back and someone’s applying pressure to them and it feels like they’re going to, like, snap off. And I can’t even beg for mercy, roysh, because I haven’t a focking breath.
I’m lying there, if I’m being honest, waiting to feel the bones just break.
‘Hang on a second,’ I hear Ronan suddenly go. ‘Ah, sure, it’s Rosser – here, let him up, Man,’ and the next thing I know, my orms are suddenly released and I’m lifted – literally lifted – back to my feet.
I turn around, roysh, still dizzy, and there, standing next to Ro, is this humungous focker, who’s as wide as he is tall – and he must be six-foot-eight – his body so ripped that his suit looks like a focking lagging jacket. He’s like something out of The Sopranos. He’s got dork, greased-back hair and a face as ugly as Darndale and twice as dangerous.
He’s late forties, early fifties maybe, but he could give Martin Johnson a wedgie and make the focker say thanks.
Ronan’s laughing. He’s there, ‘What happened to your nose, Rosser?’
I touch it, just to double-check it’s still there. I’m there, ‘Never mind that – who’s this guy?’
The rest of the casino goes back to its own business again.
‘This is Big Juice,’ Ronan goes.
I’m there, ‘Big Juice? Er, I think I’m going to need more than that?’
Big Juice sticks out his hand. ‘Anthony Trombino,’ he goes.
My hand just, like, disappears into his.
‘He’s a minder,’ Ronan goes. ‘You can rent them. Three hundred snots a day. Nudger and Gull got him for me as a surprise.’
I’m wondering will he ever have friends with actual names?
‘I should be pissed off,’ I go, then I look at Big Juice. ‘But at least someone’s been looking after him. Thanks.’
He’s there, ‘Hey, forget about it,’ except he says it like it’s one long word, the way they say it on TV.
Ronan goes, ‘Here, watch this, Rosser,’ and he points at me and goes, ‘Hey, Big Juice, this fella here’s wising off at me, so he is.’
Big Juice looks at me, roysh, straight in the eye and goes, ‘I’m going to ask you nicely, Sir – step away or I will feed you your fucking teeth…’
My body literally shivers.
Ronan laughs. ‘He’s the fooken business, isn’t he, Rosser?’
I’m there, ‘Er, yeah, he’s the business.’
‘He’s grandda was Joey Trombino – had points in every casino with a fooken horse book. And he’s da was Jake Trombino. He was a fooken button man for Lefty Rosenthal…’
I’m there, ‘I have to say, I’m pretty sure I’d have ridden the tackle had I seen it coming,’ and Big Juice just nods. He says he’s sure I would, which is nice of him.
‘He knew them all,’ Ronan goes. ‘Benny Siegel, Meyer Lansky, Frank Costello, all them boys… What was the other fella?’
‘Lucky Luciano,’ Big Juice goes.
‘Lucky Luciano! Ah, he’s some fooken stories as well. Here, tell Rosser about Mad Sam Spilotro…’
‘It’s late,’ I go, cutting him off. ‘It’s late – and it’s been, well, a long day for me…’
‘Point taken,’ Ronan goes. ‘You go get yourself some shut-eye, Rosser. Me and Big Juice are going to take the party on to Private Eyes, a little club I know.’
I’m there, ‘Private Eyes, my hole – you’re coming with me,’ and he sort of, like, rolls his eyes at Big Juice and says it was woorth a try, in anyhow.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ Big Juice goes, then he turns to me and says, provided that’s okay. ‘I been paid up to the end of the week,’ he goes.
I look at Ronan’s little face and of course I can’t say no? I’m there, ‘Er, cool
, yeah.’
‘Moostard,’ Ronan goes.
As we’re walking away, roysh, Big Juice grabs my orm – he can put his entire hand around my bicep and still his fingers touch – and he tells me that that’s one smart kid I got. I tell him I know – that’s what frightens me.
Ten minutes later, we’re in the cor – just me and Ro – out on the Strip, heading for the Star Wars Casino, where Ronan tells me he’s already checked in.
‘Big Juice!’ I can’t help but go, shaking my head.
We’ve got the top down. It’s, like, a muggy night.
‘He’s the business, isn’t he, Rosser?’ Ronan goes.
I’m there, ‘Yes, he’s the business.’
‘You’d know not to fook with him, wouldn’t you? See, in my line of work, it pays to advertise.’
I’m there, ‘Only you,’ and I laugh – I suppose at, like, the good of it?
He laughs as well. ‘He fooken floored you but, didn’t you, Rosser?’
‘Yeah,’ I end up having to go.
‘Like a sack of fooken spuds.’
He’s suddenly serious. ‘You’re not going to tell me ma, are you?’
‘So she thinks you’ve been here with me the whole time?’
‘Er, yeah.’
I think Tina’s the only person in the world he’s actually scared of?
‘I’ll tell you what,’ I go. ‘I won’t tell her if you promise not to pull a stunt like that again. I worry about you, Ro.’
‘Ah, I’m wide, Rosser.’
‘I know you’re wide. And I know you’re, like, way more intelligent than me, even though you’re only, like, ten. It doesn’t mean I don’t still worry about you.’
‘Okay.’
‘Honestly, I don’t care what you get up to – just don’t leave me in the dork. There’s been too many secrets in our family.’
‘Okay.’
The next thing, roysh, we’re stopped at a red light at the junction of The Strip and Flamingo Road. I’m looking at the fountains of the Bellagio, the ones you see on, like, Ocean’s Eleven?
There’s, like, a gang of heads on the corner and they’re mostly – and I don’t know if this is racist – but black. Two or three of them stort walking over towards the car and – again, this is racist – I’m suddenly kacking it.
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