#Toots

by Linh Le James

  Zak would relieve my sexual frustrations. Unfortunately, our romping sessions grew tedious in the end. Zak would spend nooky time admiring his moves in the bedroom mirror. Who does he think he is? Some rock star acting in his own X-rated movie? Typical. His Prozac-induced lethargy following his career meltdown was the final nail in the coffin. I ended up seeking the regular companionship of my Hitachi Magic Wand. Countless opportunities for carnal encounters popped up, but I stayed loyal to my own rule: stick to two-timing. Two-timing is still manageable. Three-timing, well, too many cooks spoil the broth. I started the new year with the best resolution ever: never settle for less than the best.

  ‘Louisa, I’m so impressed you gave up alcohol. I’ve been a teetotal for the last eight years. I absolutely do not mind being around drinkers, but it’s refreshing to see someone taking control of their life and making changes for the better. You’re inspiring,’ Nick comments appreciatively.

  Does he really mean that? I feel a pang of guilt. He’s so honest. And I’m so fake. This is the first virgin cocktail I’ve ever had.

  ‘I was a vegetarian but only turned vegan couple years ago. The advantages of a plant-based diet are just incredible. I’m not only talking about the ethical side of it, but the health benefits too.’ Nick tips the rest of his can of tonic into his glass. I know there’s not a drop of gin in his drink and it makes me feel sorry for him. Same way I feel when I see poor African children on TV eating plain white rice without any sign of sweet and sour chicken on the side.

  I don’t miss a beat and jump on the opportunity to build common interests with Nick.

  ‘I’ve also recently become vegetarian,’ I boast, lowering my eyelashes in false humility.

  I’m not sure what the difference is between vegetarian and vegan so do not dare state I’m vegan. Vegan is supposedly the next level. You can’t drink, smoke nor eat sweet stuff like ice-cream and yoghurts. I add in my gravest tone, ‘I cannot bear to think of all the animals we kill for supermarket meat. And the puppies and the kittens people abandoned, like on the RSPCA ads on TV. And the polar bears. It’s terrible. All so terrible. I send peace and love to the whole world during my morning meditations. Animals and humans alike.’

  Huh. In reality, the only animals I like come with a béarnaise sauce. Looking at me now, one would never guess I’d rather gnaw my own arm off than stroke a pet.

  My phone goes – an insistent fire drill ringtone that plagues me like a fly buzzing around my head. It’s bloody Apollo again.

  ‘Shouldn’t you pick that up? Go ahead,’ Nick suggests politely.

  I can’t think of anybody whose call would be acceptable to ignore in front of Nick. A debt collector? My mother? Another guy?

  ‘Louisa speaking.’ I pick up and answer in my most professional-leave-me-alone tone.

  ‘Hey, sexy.’ Apollo’s voice rumbles down the line.

  I point at my phone and mouths at Nick ‘My dad!’ before smiling apologetically and turning away from him.

  ‘Yes, who is this?’

  ‘It’s Apollo. You know it is. Don’t play hard to get with me, Louisa,’ he replies gruffly. ‘You are a naughty girl.’

  ‘Ah, Apollo, yes,’ I acknowledge with the same warmth I would use during an unsolicited double-glazing sales call.

  ‘I’m coming for you, baby. Stay right where you are. My taxi just pulled up in front of the Four Seasons. Let me pay him now. How much? Can you give me a receipt?’

  The words make my blood chill. How does Apollo know where I am? How stupid of me. I automatically checked in at the Four Seasons on Facebook when I arrived. I must act. Fast.

  I hang up on Apollo and rush to Nick with adequate drama. ‘My dad! My dad!’

  I madly search for inspiration. My dad … is a cross-dresser and has been caught soliciting? Is a Greenpeace activist and has been arrested after defacing London monuments?

  ‘My dad! M-my mum caught him with … another man! He had to come out of the closet. He had to pack his bags. He has nowhere to go and no money. I have to help him out. We need to leave. Now!’

  I down the rest of my virgin mojito, cursing its lack of rum. I wrap my Hermès silk scarf around my head like a hijab, covering my whole face but for my eyes, and pop my Chanel sunglasses on. I grab Nick’s hand and start running. We jump into the lift as it opens on the top floor.

  The ride is never-ending. Should we have taken the stairs? Maybe not, with twenty flights of steps and my Louboutin heels. I will the floor numbers to come down faster – eight, seven, six. It stops. Why? Why would it break down now? Oh Lord, just some moronic tourists complete with baseball hats and white socks in sandals. Why did they have to summon my lift? Why mine? Why now? I sigh loudly and jam my index finger repeatedly on the ground floor button in the hope the lift will descend faster, ignoring Nick’s concerned gaze.

  When we reach the lobby, I flatten myself against the glass wall inside the lift and peer out. I spot Apollo right away, on his phone, by the revolving doors. Cunning as a fox, I slip behind a pillar and text him: ‘Top floor’. Anxiously, I watch him end his phone call, check my text and make for the lifts. Damn! He’s coming my way! I walk briskly to the front desk so I can turn my back to him.

  ‘How can I help you, madam?’ The receptionist luckily doesn’t raise an eyebrow at my scarf and sunnies combo.

  ‘Could you please tell me what the weather forecast for tomorrow is?’ I mutter through my scarf.

  ‘I beg your pardon, madam? I’m having trouble hearing you with the fabric over your mouth.’

  Impertinent sod.

  ‘I said, could I order room service please?’ I pick up a membership brochure and casually hide one side of my face with it. I shift it, so I can peek at Apollo and realize with horror he is scrutinizing me from the other side of the lobby while waiting for the lift. I start fanning myself with the brochure in panic. ‘Shish kebab and chips, please. Room 207.’

  I sprint out of the hotel with Nick hot on my heels and rudely push some tourists out of the way. I hop in the first taxi that pulls up.

  ‘It’s a matter of life and death!’ I shout to the cabby. ‘Zante Hotel, please! As fast as possible!’

  ‘Louisa, please. Calm down. Breathe,’ Nick instructs soothingly.

  ‘I can’t breathe! I can’t breathe!’ I squeal hysterically.

  ‘It’s because you have all this on, you silly!’ Nick removes my sunglasses and unwraps the scarf covering my face. ‘Better now? Breathe. Remember our exercise?’

  He takes both my hands in his. ‘Exhale completely. Inhale. One, two, three, four. Hold. that’s it, that’s it. Six, seven, eight. Exhale slowly, count to eight with me. There.’

  Gorgeous Nick. So reassuring. He is the one you’d want on your side if the world was taken over by aliens or Nazis.

  ‘Right. Louisa. Where are we going now?’ Nick massages a stress-relieving acupressure point in my forearms.

  I snatch my arms away to send a text to Apollo.

  In toilets. Bad guts. Will be right out!

  I put my phone on silent and turn back to face Nick.

  ‘To my hotel to pick up my stuff. My dad needs money as he’s out on the streets. I need to send him some. I must also save every bit of cash I can, so I must check out of my room. Is there any chance you could put me up? Just for a few nights, until I go back to London?’

  Chapter 10

  Humble Pie

  Humble Pie

  Ingredients

  30 ml vodka

  30 ml Aperol

  5 ml freshly squeezed lemon juice

  Club soda

  Garnish: lemon wheel

  Fill a cocktail shaker with ice.

  Add vodka, Aperol and lemon juice.

  Shake until cold.

  Strain into an ice-filled glass and top off with soda.

  Garnish with lemon wheel and serve.

  Louise

  Friday evening. St Fergus. Al Hasan Suite. 6 pm.

  The entrance hall to the su
ite is bigger than the whole of my flat. I am tempted to remove my shoes just so I can feel the smooth, shiny marble under my feet, but want to retain propriety – and Louboutins which elongates my legs a treat. I slowly make my way to the living room and giggle like a child. There are no words to describe the splendour of the place. Crystal chandeliers, leather and velvet-upholstered walls in muted hues and complex mosaic patterns. Clever lighting paired with intricately carved gold adorned mirrors gives an intimate feeling to the place, despite its sheer size. Tasteful white hydrangeas and roses arrangements are dotted here and there.

  I wander around, letting my fingers caress the mahogany furniture and the plush soft furnishings, taking in the luxuriousness of my surroundings. I let my forehead rest on the cool glass of the floor-to-ceiling windows and marvel at the panoramic ocean view. At this height, everything seems unreal, as if I am peering down on Earth from the porthole of a shuttle in outer space.

  The bedroom is peppered with signs of Nick’s life, clothes on the floor, work papers on the bed, newspapers discarded on his yoga mat.

  The dining room can sit ten people. I picture myself hosting chef-catered truffle-laden gourmet dinner parties. High society guests would fall over themselves to attend and fawn over me all evening.

  I hop on the treadmill in the private gym and catch sight of my reflection. Yes. This could be me. I could be this classy girl living the high life – not crashing a guy’s pad, but actually staying in this suite under my own name. It will be me. Now more than ever, I am convinced it is my destiny. I know it in my heart. Nick will be eating out of my hand by the end of the month. My dream is coming true, and this is just the beginning. Gross Apollo, my grimy day job at the spa, and vulgar exes back in London feel miles away. My new life is starting now.

  Nick interrupts my fantasy. ‘Louisa, I need to meet my solicitor tonight and go through some details for the sale. It might be a long night. Just make yourself at home. You sleep on the bed tonight – I’ll take one of the sofas. Don’t wait up for me. If you need anything, just call the butler.’

  The butler?

  Louise

  I don’t remember the butler’s name, but he has been busy.

  On my request, he delivered:

  - exactly two kilos of extra Jo Malone bathroom mini toiletries (more and I would be over my maximum allowed checked-in luggage weight for the return flight)

  - US and UK Cosmo, Vogue and Hello!

  - an hour of training on how to use the complicated in-house entertainment system and movie library

  - his pertinent advice on an action/romantic blockbuster for my enjoyment and an indie Danish drama (Golden Bear winner) for Nick’s when he comes back later

  - hot chicken wings, a thin-crust pizza with extra pepperoni and ham (no olives), fresh caramel popcorn and cookie dough ice cream

  - three small 20cl bottles of Moet & Chandon so I don’t have to consume the ones in the fridge, giving away the fact I haven’t really given up drinking

  - a black bin liner to hide all traces of this evening’s gluttony

  - his formal, albeit verbal, promise he will bill all room expenses under ‘Mrs. Nick Carlson’ and only deliver non-itemized invoices upon checkout.

  A perfect girlie night in!

  I almost wish Carla and Emily were here. Maybe even Jess, who’s a great ego booster as she always makes me feel thinner when she’s standing next to me. I will just make sure to post lots of photos on Instagram. Everybody will be so jealous! Mwahahaha!

  My first task of the night is to figure out how to block Apollo’s number on my phone. Ha! Thank you, Dr Google.

  Next, I must sort out my suitcase. The walk-in wardrobe is huge. I hang up my respectable designer garments across from the side he has taken and throw a few frilly teddies in his underwear drawer. The slutty dresses are confined to the bottom of the suitcase with half of my make-up and cosmetics bag – wouldn’t want Nick to think my beauty is anything but natural. Last, I leave the Independent carelessly folded on my bedside table with a pair of non-prescription glasses on top.

  Louise

  Al Hasan Suite. 8 pm.

  I’ve just started to enjoy my evening when Nick strides in, giving me the fright of my life.

  My hair is tied in a bun and I’m wearing my favourite old grey pj’s. What a disaster. I was planning on slipping into a sexy number for his return. Can I get him back out somehow and lock the door behind him so I can fix myself – and the room?

  The bones leftover from the chicken wings scream flesh-gobbling ruthless carnivore. My callous meat-eater nature is betrayed by the ham and pepperoni on the half-eaten pizza. Cosmo is, unfortunately, wide open at the article on page twelve, ‘How to give him a Progasm’, with a telling drawing of the male prostate location. Two of the mini champagne bottles are lying empty on the floor. A mindless movie is playing.

  I want to shrink into a hole but there are none in sight. I have to make do with sinking a bit lower into the plush sofa.

  ‘Nick! What are you doing back so early?’

  ‘The lawyers found a disturbing clause in the contract. It would have taken too long to come up with an amendment. They decided to postpone the meeting to tomorrow and send me the revised version in the morning. I have to admit it’s a setback I wasn’t expecting.’

  Nick seems to be unusually troubled. He rubs his forehead as if it aches. Luckily, he hasn’t noticed the incriminating food and drink leftovers.

  I discreetly kick everything under the sofa, chuck the magazines under a cushion, and turn off the TV all in one swift motion.

  Edging closer to Nick, I put a compassionate hand on his knee.

  ‘Don’t worry – I’m sure it will all work out.’

  ‘It’s just... challenging. I’ve been working on this for months, getting all the details ironed out back in the UK. I was naïve to believe I would just fly here and conclude the business in a few days. The lawyers said it would take at least a couple weeks to get everything settled. They warned me there would be a lot of back and forth with last-minute requests and demands for extra paperwork.’ He sighs. ‘Never mind. I thought I should come back and keep you company. You seemed stressed out earlier. Have you spoken to him? I know you don’t like to talk about it. It’s OK. You can tell me anything.’.

  Triple crap! How did he ever find out about gross Apollo? Did he see something on my phone? How? I never let it out of my sight. How am I going to come clean without him losing respect for me?

  ‘Well, sometimes, you get into hairy situations. I should know – I deal with a lot of hair in my line of business.’ I clear my throat. ‘How can I put it…? You cannot deny yourself what your heart truly wants.’

  Nick nods with empathy. He gently intertwines his fingers with mine and squeezes them, egging me on. ‘You don’t need to hide anything from me.’

  I lick my lips and swallow hard. ‘You should do everything in your power to reach your objective, whether it’s right or wrong. Fulfilling your desire might entail bending the rules or the truth. Just a little. And when there are obstacles in the way, like a lack of money, you just have to make it happen. It doesn’t mean you’re a bad person.’

  I wring my free hand in despair and clasp it over my chest with profound conviction.

  ‘Shush now.’ He lifts my chin with his index finger, forcing me to meet his gaze. ‘Listen. You’re not a bad person. He’s not a bad person. So, tell me, does he have gambling problems?’

  Apollo? I’m stumped. He’s loaded as far as I know. I mean… he could have gambling problems. He did brag about owning racehorses. It could be a sign.

  Nick gently presses me. ‘Has your dad ever tried to get help?’

  ‘My dad?’ The penny drops. ‘Ah, yes of course, my dad!’ Phew! That was close. Nick doesn’t know about Apollo. He obviously meant my dad!

  ‘That’s why you give him money, right? Do you bail him out all the time?’

  ‘Indeed. My dad. My very gay dad. He’s the one who calle
d earlier. I sent him more money because he needs to go to a hostel now my mum has kicked him out. A gay hostel, actually. Terrible shared bathrooms. Literally squalid. And unsafe.’

  I spot an empty Absolut miniature I nicked from the minibar earlier, thinking I could call the butler to replace it before Nick’s return. It’s right behind him, jammed between two seats. It is essential I make it disappear before it compromises me. I have to divert his attention, maybe with some interesting tittle-tattle.

  ‘My dad’s problem is that he is literally into any type of gambling. He loves the dogs, the horses, scratch cards, the Euromillions, even raffles! All of the lotteries, obviously – the Lotto, the Health Lottery, the Postcode Lottery, the Irish Lottery and the Welsh too! Don’t get me started on fruit machines, he will easily spend a good tenner every time he’s at his local. His gay local. And casinos – he spends his life there. In gay casinos.’ I roll my eyes theatrically. ‘San Fran. That’s where he went on his last business trip. They have like a mini Vegas there. Full of gays. And casinos. Absolute mayhem. I just have to save him, time and time again.’

  ‘It’s too much for you to take on, Louisa.’ Nick says sternly. ‘You cannot mother your father. And you subsidizing his addiction is not improving matters. Your dad could do with my assistance. Let me sign him up to my next webinar. I’ll arrange some complimentary coaching sessions too. I’m worried about his negative influence on your life, damaging all the progress you’ve made so far. When the cabin loses pressure on a plane, you put the oxygen mask on yourself first before you can assist others. Heal yourself first. When you’re strong enough, you’ll be able to take on this extra burden.’

  I believe for a minute I am indeed my dad’s and the earth’s saviour, handing out money and love like a saint. I am very much enjoying Nick’s concern.

  ‘You’re right. I need to find balance in my life first, so I can guide my dad on the right path. Shall we relax for a bit now? We could meditate?’