by Billie Jones
‘Mum! Mum, where are you? Need food. Need massage. Need alcohol. Mum!’
I wandered around looking in her usual spots, kitchen, garden and bathroom. Nothing. I heard peals of laughter coming from her bedroom. Ah. She must be on the phone. I walked down the carpeted hallway and pushed open her bedroom door. ‘Mum, I need … ARGH! What the hell!’ I covered my eyes as quickly as I could. It was no use. The picture was burned onto my retinas. I raced out to the kitchen and searched through Mum’s rack of faux wine. ‘Please be alcoholic, please be alcoholic,’ I chanted fervently like a mantra. I needed some serious alcohol to forget what I just saw.
Mum walked into the room wearing her peach satin dressing gown. ‘Darling … good grief, what happened to your hair?’Her hand flew to her mouth, and she let out a tiny sob. ‘You look so much like your father!’ Who, FYI, was in no way, shape or form, waif-like.
‘It’s a stress thing, alopecia, or something.’
She scoffed. ‘Now, Darling, why didn’t you call first? I would have—’
‘Oh, so now I need to call before I can come and visit my mother? Why? Is this some kind of knock shop?’
‘Darling, that wasn’t very nice! Of course not. Bob and I have been seeing each other for a few months now.’
I found a bottle of red that looked promising and handed it to mum to open. ‘Please tell me there is a chance this wine has fermented.’
She bustled around the kitchen in her nervous little way. ‘Darling, alcohol is never the answer, you know that.’
‘I can’t believe you have a boyfriend! You’re way too old for that! Who is this Bob anyway?’
I saw a shadow pass over me and heard, ‘It’s me, love.’ You have got to be friggin’ kidding me. Standing before me in a matching peach satin dressing gown was Beer Belly Bob, the taxi driver. Instinct took over and I grabbed the umbrella that was resting on the wine rack and started to jab at him with it.
‘Now, just calm down, love. I must admit this is a surprise an’ all, but there’s no need for violence,’ he said, as he tried to shield himself from my stabs with his meat cleaver-size hands.
Mum looked at us both and asked, ‘So you do know each other!’
‘Unfortunately, yes. I took time out of my busy schedule to remodel Bob here, who dressed like some kind of bar fly who forgot to bathe. Little did I know he was scheming on my mother the whole time!’
‘Look, love,’ Bob beseeched, ‘it wasn’t like that. I didn’t realise we were talking about the same Val that day in the taxi. You forced me to spend a fortune on clothes, I didn’t ask for your help! Your Mum loves me just the way I am.’
Eww. First my eyes, now my ears. I would have to wash with bleach to remove this scene from my senses. ‘Blah, blah. I don’t need to see or hear any more of this! I am the child here. I should be the one being busted in bed! Not you two oldies. Sweet Jesus. Now, Mum. My power’s disconnected and I haven’t eaten in days. I need a small loan.’
She narrowed her eyes for the tiniest fraction of a second until I raised my eyebrows and nodded at Bob. She quickly kowtowed and rummaged through her handbag, pulling out her chequebook. ‘No, Mum. No time for cheques. I need cash or that credit card I’m a signatory on.’ I was almost happy I’d caught her and Bob in the act (Eww, well, happy is not the right word) as this was turning out to be very profitable for me.
Usually if I’d barged in asking for a loan, I’d have to listen to all her recriminations, explain exactly how much I needed and three forms of proof to back up my claim. Then she’d divide the figure by three after making me sign a statutory declaration with the repayment terms written in red ink. It was the hippie-gypsy con woman in her.
‘That credit card has funds far exceeding what you can be trusted with.’
‘Oh, God,’ I began to swoon, ‘I think I’m going to need to see some kind of shrink after what I’ve witnessed today. Bob, surely you’ll pay since it’s your fault, won’t you?’ I asked.
‘OK, OK,’ Mum said, ‘I’ll give you cash. I’ve only just finished paying that credit card back after your last emergency.’ She looked at Bob and said, ‘I keep telling her, it’s not free money just because it’s on a card. She seems confused with the credit side of things.’
Bob nodded and said, ‘Youngsters today, hey!’
‘Umm, hello, I’m standing right here, you two! And, Mother, Bob here has probably neglected to tell you that he’s a beer-swilling, chronic gambling bar fly, just like Dad was!’ Take that, I thought. She hated gamblers.
‘Yes, darl. I know. Bob is actually your uncle.’
Now I really was going to swoon. Faint. Vomit. Who was this woman that had taken over my diminutive mother?
‘So now incest is OK with you, too?’ How the hell was I going to live this down in town? Today’s photo incident and now this. I was going to have to abscond, for sure. I hoped Zane could solve the curse quicksticks, this was getting way out of hand.
‘No, darling! Not my brother! Your Dad’s brother. It’s not incest!’
I couldn’t look at her. Well, maybe I could for a few seconds. ‘Mum. The cash. Please. Five hundred should do it.’
‘How much is your electricity bill?’
‘Two, ah, I mean three …’
‘Now, don’t lie, darling. How much is it really?’ She does this stare you down kind of thing like a horse whisperer and when you’re not prepared for it it’s very unnerving. I’m usually ready for it, but after the abuse I’ve copped today, I guess I let my guard down.
‘Mum. Look, I’d love to negotiate, but I have three job interviews and need power to use my computer or I really will be financially ruined like you keep promising me, so if there’s nothing else, I’ll just grab that cash and leave you two lovebirds alone.’
She took out her orange velour purse that was covered with little round mirrors. God, she was a throwback from the seventies. ‘Here’s three hundred, darling.’ That’s why I started high. You can always go down if you start high. Start too low and you’ll end up giving her money. You had to be on your game around this tycoon disguised as a healer.
‘Now, darling, have you disposed of that kimono yet? I had a dream last night. It was awful, the kimono was …’
‘I’m onto it. If I were you, I’d be very careful. At this stage everyone is a suspect, and you’re near the top of the list. And the kimono is not going anywhere, except maybe eBay, if this money trouble keeps up. Love you.’ I walked out of there with the cash actually burning in my palm in excitement. I decided I’d call JJ and see about meeting for lunch, so I could update him with the developments of Operation: Solve Curse.
He answered on the sixth ring. ‘Baby. You OK? I was so worried about you sleeping alone with that freaky thing near you all night.’
‘Kylie was at her mum’s, JJ.’
‘No, I meant, oh, that was funny. What are you up to, baby?’
Wow, he’d progressed to ‘baby’ already.
‘I was thinking of lunch somewhere. I’ve had one of those crazy unpredictable mornings from hell and I need to relax with a margarita.’
‘OK, let me see what I can do about switching some things around.’
‘Yeah, me too. Might not be able to see you at all today …’
‘Let’s meet at Banging Senorita’s in fifteen?’
‘OK, sounds great. If I don’t see you there it’s because something better came up.’
‘Yep. Totally understand. Same with me.’
Chapter 15
Banging Senorita’s
I made my way to the crazy Mexican restaurant that had been another favourite of ours when we were together. You had to walk down a seedy-looking alley that smelled like stale beer and mouldy vegetables. It was in the heart of Victoria Park, not far from South Perth where I lived. It was so ridiculously kitsch that it was cool. There were black and white prints of sombrero-clad Mexicans, fake cactus plants, empty tequila bottles and even a blackboard with love messages scrawled over it with b
lue chalk. The bar was a rickety mess that looked like it would fall down any second. Bottles of every shape and type stood precariously on shelves. Chandeliers hung next to garish party lights with exposed globes. It looked like it could use a serious vacuum or maybe new carpet but we liked it, shabbiness and all. It helped that they made the best margaritas in town. They served them by the bucket and the prices were pretty reasonable, although now JJ was coming, price-schmice, he could pay.
My phone kept beeping like a metal detector in a knife fight. I just knew it was about the photo Kylie had sent to everyone. Of all the no-good-rotten things to do to a girl. Unbelievable, really. I arrived at the Mexican restaurant exactly twenty-two minutes later. There was no real place to hide, so I took a leap of faith and walked in, slowly scanning the dingy wood-panelled room for JJ. He was at the bar dressed in that seductive smile he’s got going on. My heart hammered and I’m sure I was blushing. I silently thanked God this place was so friggin’ gloomy. I approached the bar expecting to hear JJ schmoozing the waitress, instead he was involved in some kind of mysterious occult mumbo jumbling.
‘So is there any way she can get rid of this curse?’ he said to the waitress.
‘She can get a Brujeria to do a reverse curse, but it doesn’t always work. First it would help to find out who put the curse on her and then maybe, just maybe, a reverse curse will work. There aren’t many Brujerias here in Perth, so if I were her I’d be more worried about approaching any black witches in case they were the one that put the spell on her in the first place.’
‘It’s her, here,’ I said, introducing myself to the love birds.
‘Baby,’ JJ said, slowly turning to me, ‘Argh!’ he screamed as his eyes widened in fright. ‘Your hair!’ He actually started sobbing. Him and hair, seriously. It took all of my might not to sob with him. We could have a little hair funeral. Bury those beautiful locks, say a few words, maybe a poem.
‘It’s just so London!’ he said, leaning in to kiss me. ‘You look so thin!’ Hmm, maybe they were tears of joy?
‘Oh, yeah, well that’s the look I was going for, you know, I was just so weighed down before. I heard that long hair pulls your skin south and ages you prematurely, so I decided to take matters into my own hands. Gravity is a bitch.’
He ran his hand through my hair. Sob. My tufts, I should say, and smiled. ‘Maybe I should cut mine,’ he said, but of course, I didn’t believe him.
‘Yeah, let’s get matching styles.’
He coughed into his hand, I think mainly to change the subject, ‘Inez here was just giving me some advice on your kimono curse.’
‘Oh, is that my private life you’re talking about to this stranger here, is it, JJ?’ Do I even need to tell you in which tone I said that? You know me well enough by now, I’m sure.
JJ had the courtesy to blush, as he pulled me by the arm and whispered, ‘Sorry, baby, but look at everything that’s happened to you in the last three days! I just don’t think we can waste any more time. We need to make a list of every person that hates you enough to do this.’
‘There’s the first flaw in your argument, JJ. No one hates me! I can’t think of one thing I’ve done to upset anyone.’
He rolled his eyes and said, ‘Really? You can’t think of one thing? Wow. It must be nice having a memory like a goldfish.’
‘What the hell does that mean?’ I asked.
‘Nothing, baby. Let’s sit in the booth at the back. I have some more bad news for you.’
I sighed and followed him to the back of the restaurant. We sat in a booth that had empty tequila bottles under the table and a few knives and forks stabbed into the walls for good measure.
JJ sat opposite me and grabbed my hands in his. ‘I don’t want to alarm you,’ he said, ‘but I’ve been told there are photos of you spread all over Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest. And there’s, ah …’ he let my hands go and covered his face. I think he might have even started to cry a little bit. ‘What JJ? There’s what?’
‘There’s,’ he finally choked out, ‘YouTube footage of you with crimped hair, you look bedraggled and you’re running! The clip has had over 1,000 hits already.’ I felt the blood drain from my brain and all the way down to my toes in about five seconds flat. I just knew I was going to pass out, that’s if I didn’t die of lack of oxygen first. I felt like someone had punched me in the lungs and stolen the breath literally out of my mouth. JJ leaped out and around the booth screaming, ‘Breathe! Breathe Goddammit!’ he pulled me out of the booth, laid me on the peanut shell-encrusted floor and began mouth to mouth. He sounded frantic as he called the waitress over. ‘Help me! Help me, Goddammit! She’s not breathing! She’s lost all colour! She doesn’t even care that she’s on a filthy floor in her best skinny jeans! Help me!’
‘What should I do?’ the waitress asked.
‘I’ll need shooters of absinthe and keep them coming!’ he cried.
‘Yes, but what about for her?’ the waitress asked, pointing to me.
‘They are for her! I’ll have a bucket of margaritas!’
The waitress rushed back with our drinks, and two or three shooters later I managed to suck a few pounds of air back into my lungs and the alcohol helped artificially colour my cheeks.
‘Oh. My. God. Who would do something so awful?’ I said shakily, feeling fragile.
JJ shook his head and said, ‘There’s more.’
‘What can be worse than that?’ I asked.
‘Well apparently you’re zigzagging all over the street like you can’t keep your balance and even worse than that are your eyes. They’re bloodshot to buggery.’
‘Oh no. Someone zoomed in on my eyes? Isaiah offered me a cupcake. How was I to know it was some kind of crazy cake laced with the best weed this side of Jamaica, mon?’
‘Did the cupcake have green icing?’
‘Yes. Why?’
‘In the photos your mouth is covered by something green and it’s all over your teeth. Allegedly,’ he added hastily.
‘Fuck me, JJ, anything else?’
He let out another sob, and had the good grace to try and trap the next one and said, ‘Lengths of your hair are falling out as you’re running. You don’t seem to notice them as they land on the pavement behind you.’ Oh my God. Everyone knew my hair wasn’t the latest London look. Wasn’t that a goddamn Rimmel commercial anyway?
‘Wow,’ I said, my mind ticking over, ‘my life is over. Ruined. Whoever did this will stop at nothing to destroy me. This is a hate crime.’ I felt violated. I was incensed, it was time to stop acting timid.
‘Could be Moan-a Lisa,’ JJ said.
‘Nah.’
‘What about Michael?’
‘Who’s Michael?’
‘Mai Ling’s son.’
‘She has two sons? I don’t know Michael.’
‘Mai Ling only has one son. He charged you with stalking and took out a violent restraining order on you.’
‘Oh, that. That was Sam,’ I said.
‘Jonathan from Accounting?’
Shit, how did he know about him? ‘We don’t know each other well enough for him to dislike me.’
‘I heard he wasn’t too happy that you tweeted that his penis size is the same as the legal blood alcohol driving limit, 0.05.’
‘I just report what I see.’
‘Sammy, did you even see his penis?’ JJ asked doubtfully.
‘Well, he had really tight pants on. I saw a very distinct outline. AndI had the heater on.’
JJ shook his head again. He seemed to be doing that a lot today; I guess it had something to do with his love affair with his hair.
‘OK, what about Gemma?’
‘No. Gemma wants to be me.’
‘Ah. Not according to her Twitter updates lately.’
‘What? We just had a pedicure together a couple of days ago.’
‘Yeah’ JJ said, ‘she knows you call her the blue-haired band freak who doesn’t shower. She took offence.’
‘S
he took offence? Well it’s true!’
‘What about …’
‘Enough! I get it.’
JJ poured himself a margarita and sat contemplating. I decided I needed a few more shooters of absinthe to medicate myself. I couldn’t believe someone actually hated me, not just a small twinge of dislike, but a massive destroy-my-life-at-any-cost burning hatred. Really I was just observant and tried to help everyone. Gemma was all of those things. The sooner she learned and accepted it, the better.
‘There are also a few emails circulating with random criticisms of you. Sort of like a chain letter. People keep adding whatever bad experience they’ve had with you and then forwarding it on. Apparently it’s over twenty-five pages now.’
‘JJ, you can’t be serious!’
Whoever started this hate campaign was good. Damn good. Who could it be? The way JJ was talking it sounded like I had more enemies than friends, which I can assure you, I’m almost certain, was not the case.
‘Are you hungry?’ JJ asked.
‘I’ve sort of lost my appetite, so I’ll just order light.’ JJ picked up the pen that was stuck between the salt and pepper shakers and the order pad and began writing out our docket. The waitresses only organised drinks. They found discussing and parading around with food an insult to their intelligence, so customers had to do it themselves. Write up the order, take it to the kitchen and then when you heard your number called go pick it up and walk it back to your table.
‘OK,’ JJ said. ‘What’ll you have?’
‘Some taquitos, the stuffed jalapeño poppers with the mild chilli dipping sauce, and the Tex Mex tasting plate.’
‘Whoa. The Tex Mex tasting plate is for six people.’
‘I get hungry when I’m nervous. Why do you need to make me feel bad about it? That’ll only make me hungrier!’ God. Men are all the same. They all want one of those lettuce-leaf-eating, lip-gloss-applying stick figures when they go out. Oh, I’m not saying that I can’t be that person too, you know, just that it’s so five years ago. Ruben-esque was definitely back in fashion and I was embracing it.