Liar Liar

by Donna Alam

  ‘Sure, honey. I could use a laugh.’

  ‘Why do French people eat snails?’ she asks immediately.

  ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘Because they don’t like fast food!’ She barely takes a breath before asking, ‘I don’t like the taste of snots. Do you?’

  The iPad changes hands yet again, Amber’s unimpressed expression my next view.

  ‘And now I know what the row of green pebbles on Edie’s bedroom wall is.’ She screws up her nose. ‘Remember me?’ Oh no. She’s wearing her mom expression; pursed lips, eyebrows riding high. You know the one, I love you, but I’m disappointed. ‘I’m the person you promised to call.’

  ‘Sorry. Things have been hectic. I had jet lag, so the times between us were off, then I had to get my visa and stuff. Plus, I’ve moved to two separate apartments since I got here.’ All true. All also excuses. Truthfully, I forgot I’d said I’d call once I got settled. And I’m not. Settled yet, that is. How can you feel settled or secure in the middle of a whirlwind?

  ‘Good for you I’m a forgiving friend,’ she answers, ‘I’m extra specially forgiving after I googled Monsieur Baguette.’

  ‘You did. What?’

  ‘I spelled his name right, for a start. I have to tell you, if that man were a fruit, he’d be fineapple. Pick of the crop.’

  ‘What does that make me?’ calls Byron out.

  ‘You’re more like a coconut, babe.’

  ‘Because I’m hairy, meaty, and milky?’

  ‘Are you trying to traumatise the children?’ she asks, turning her head.

  ‘I’m more like a cumquat,’ he adds. ‘Want to know why?’

  ‘No,’ she replies in a bored tone before she begins to giggle as he appears on the screen behind to whisper something in her ear. ‘Urgh, get off, you Neanderthal!’

  The pair tussle for a moment, Byron’s gaze wicked as he tortures her with kisses and tickles and stubble rubs, and she’s still holding the baby who continues to sleep undisturbed. Meanwhile, I experience a pang of longing. I want this. The relationship. A man who’ll love me and tease me and exasperate me in equal turns. A man who’ll take a chance. Who’ll turn his life upside down for me all because he wants to love me like I’ll love him.

  ‘You are such an ass.’ Her complaining yet smiling face turns back to me, her expression morphing from playful to concern almost immediately. ‘What’s wrong? Why are you crying?’

  Urgh, not again! I bite my lip and shrug in response, fighting the welling tears.

  Jesus H. Enough with the waterworks.

  The phone muffles for a minute. Her baby daughter whimpers as she’s passed to her father’s arms. An instruction is issued for all and sundry to eat their carrots under threat of no dessert. A door closes. Footsteps echo along a wooden floor, and then she’s there again, my best friend’s face filling the screen of my phone.

  ‘Tell me.’ It’s not a demand but a permission to let go.

  Despite feeling bad about interrupting her family’s meal, I do.

  ‘You remember the French guy back in March?’

  ‘I’m unlikely to forget the man you nearly killed with your dildo.’

  Despite my blubbering, I chuckle at her description. ‘That sounds so much worse than what actually happened, even if he did end up with a concussion. You make it sound like I badly used him.’

  ‘Okay, the man you whacked with your dildo, not ravaged via the butt. The French hottie,’ she prompts, cutting off my protestations. ‘I get it. You’re hearing nothing but sexy French accents, and you realised you suddenly miss his ass—though not to badly use.’

  God, this woman makes me smile. ‘Not even close.’

  ‘Spit it out. Or am I supposed to guess?’

  ‘He’s my new boss.’

  ‘No way.’ Eyes wide, her answer is awe-filled.

  ‘Well, my boss’s boss’s boss. Several times removed, probably.’ He owns my ass? My work ass, maybe.

  ‘How? Why? Oh, my God. Did he think the coffee machine wasn’t enough?’ Amber doesn’t bother to hide her disbelief. And why would she? I’m having difficulty believing it myself. ‘Is this why you’re upset? He’s got you there under false pretences?’

  ‘No, these are just pre-period tears.’ Hormones and overwhelm, I guess. ‘As for this job, Monaco is full of women who look like models. Why would he go to such huge amounts of trouble just to get me out here?’

  ‘Yeah, I see your point,’ she agrees. ‘Especially as you have a face like a dog butt.’

  ‘I’m not saying I’m ugly,’ I protest. ‘I’m just not in the supermodel league.’

  ‘So true. All that luxurious hair, that face, and those boobs. You definitely don’t look like a cross between Sophia Loren and Gigi Hadid or anything. Add in your heinous personality, and I’m surprised Monsieur Baguette, MB now that you’re very particular friends, didn’t pay to send you to outer Mongolia.’

  Everyone needs a friend like Amber. A friend who’ll talk you up and talk you out of the biggest funk, even when you know you look like you ate Gigi Hadid.

  ‘Thank you, my cheer squad of one. But the fact is, I could be the embodiment of Gigi or a young Sophia, and I’m not sure that would’ve been enough to induce him to bring me here. Not the way he looked at me when I bumped into him yesterday.’

  If our first meeting had been in the office, I might’ve thought differently. But the way he looked at me in that hallway . . . eesh.

  ‘First of all, this happened yesterday, and you didn’t call? And what do you mean the way he looked at you?’

  ‘He didn’t seem pleased to see me. In fact, he looked mightily pissed.’

  ‘Okay. I can buy that. He’s probably still having nightmares about purple dildos.’ She doesn’t bother to hide how hilarious she finds this, even going as far as making herself go cross-eyed as she mimes hitting herself on the head with an invisible dong.

  ‘And that’s not even a little bit funny.’ I pinch my forefinger and thumb to show exactly how unfunny I find her suggestion, even as I smile at her ridiculousness. ‘I didn’t cause his concussion.’

  ‘I’m sure you didn’t help it, babe. But anyway, it sounds like your new job isn’t an elaborate ploy. So that’s good, right?’

  ‘I don’t know. Something is off about the whole thing.’ I don’t mean my panties yesterday. Much.

  ‘Maybe he was embarrassed to see you? You know, after the whole smash and dash.’

  ‘The smash and . . .?’ Got it. ‘Never mind.’

  ‘Yep, you saved his life, and he repaid you by ejaculating before evacuating,’ she continues unnecessarily. ‘The old hit and quit.’ She throws her thumb over her shoulder.

  ‘I wouldn’t have put it quite like that.’

  ‘Even if it made you smile?’

  ‘I’m not smiling,’ I protest, doing exactly just that. ‘And I’m not sure he was embarrassed,’ I add as our exchange in the hallway flashes in my mind. The dark suit jacket that hugged his broad shoulders, the leather belt around his trim waist. His stupid pocket square and the fact that I’d noticed his hair is a little shorter than it was back in March. Alice’s reaction as she’d stood next to me, her words breathy and her cheeks coloured pink. He didn’t look like a man who felt any kind of remorse for his actions; for leaving me that night. Neither did he look like his nefarious plan had come together seeing me there. ‘But he was definitely annoyed.’

  ‘So maybe seeing you tweaked his conscience? Made him feel bad. But I agree, if MB looked angry, rather than whipping out his saucisson, at first sight, the chances of you being sexed and hired by the same man have to be slim. Hired on purpose, I mean.’

  ‘Maybe.’ My response sounds unconvinced. But really, what do I know? Except that baguette is a better descriptive; saucisson, or sausage, really is selling him a little short, pardon the pun.

  ‘It sounds as though you’re communicating with your clothes on this time.’ Amber’s eyebrows wiggle suggestively on the sc
reen, but I’m not in the right frame of mind to be cheered.

  ‘Communication is not an issue. It turns out, the man speaks perfect English.’

  ‘Oh. Bad Monsieur Baguette. Did you ask him why?’

  ‘Not yet. I’m still smarting over here. I feel like a total idiot!’

  ‘Come on, Rose. No one could take you for an idiot. Don’t pull that face. The man sent you flowers—expensive gifts! That doesn’t sound like a man who thought you were just a piece of ass. He sounds like a man who maybe felt a little bad about not being one hundred percent truthful with you.’

  I frown back, unconvinced, also realising how mad this makes me right now. He completely bamboozled me. Why? To what end?

  ‘I’m reserving my judgment until I ask him.’ Probably on the twelfth of never.

  ‘See, every cloud has a silver lining. Now at least you’ll get the opportunity to ask him why. A chance to speak with him, right?’ she adds optimistically.

  ‘I liked him better when I didn’t think he could speak English.’

  ‘Of course you did. Because there was no future in it. The truth is, the fact that he wasn’t there when you woke back in March makes no difference. It just saved you from throwing him out.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So, now here he is again, in your face. And I think you’ve been crying because the rich man kissed you.’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’ My protest is immediate. Maybe a little too immediate. But how could she know? It’s my eyes that are a little swollen, not my lips!

  ‘The rich hot man kissed you, and you liked it. I sense fireworks. Pheromones flying, fire—panties flying through the air.’

  ‘Well, there was fire,’ I admit, glancing briefly to the window and the brilliant views.

  ‘I knew it!’

  ‘But he also acted pretty weird. He was hot and cold.’

  ‘And then he was just hot.’ On screen, Amber fans her face before becoming serious once again. ‘He was probably conflicted, which is understandable. He didn’t expect to see you again, yet there you were. The woman he’s been thinking of. For months.’

  ‘Yeah, but he asked me some weird questions about my blood type and stuff, and then he yammered on about our parents.’ God knows why.

  ‘Rich people are allowed to be weird. Only it’s called eccentricity when you have a big bank book. Who knows, maybe he’s thinking about you as a long term prospect, and that’s why he got a little personal?’

  ‘I might not know what it was, but I know it wasn’t that. Just don’t go buying a hat yet. I almost feel like he was expecting someone else.’ My voice sounds small as though admitting this aloud might somehow make it real. ‘But then he kissed me.’

  ‘If he was expecting someone else, he wouldn’t have kissed you. Was it just a kiss,’ she asks a little more eagerly, ‘or is there more to this tale?’

  ‘It almost went further. But we were interrupted.’ My stomach twists uncomfortably. All I need now is news of this to get out, then I’ll be that slut—that friendless floozy that fucks the boss to get ahead! ‘And now he’s moved me out of the company accommodation into this palace!’ My gaze roams the room again, and once again, it takes my breath away.

  ‘Are we talking the kind of palace with towers and dungeons, and not the good kind?’

  ‘The good kind?’

  ‘You know, the kinky kind.’

  ‘No! There isn’t any kind of dungeon here—good, bad, or kinky.’

  ‘So it’s just a palace. Like, somewhere nice?’

  I feel the tension leak from my body when I realise what she’s trying to convey. Is what I’m complaining about really so bad?

  ‘Yes, very nice. And very fancy. An apartment in the swankiest building in Monaco, the kind with million-dollar views.’ I throw out my arm as though inviting her to look, which is a little stupid, considering she’s not physically here.

  ‘Has he suggested he’s expecting repayment? Like, not rent. Payment in kind?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Has he made any kind of demands?’

  ‘He’s bossy as fuck, but no.’

  ‘But if it’s upsetting you, then you’re worried he might?’

  ‘No. At least, I don’t think so. I haven’t even spoken to him about it. It was more like a decree from his assistant. But Amber, I kissed my boss—at work!’

  ‘Yeah. Me, too.’ She shrugs, her expression unrepentant.

  ‘This is different. I got caught.’

  ‘Same. We were busted by his mom, and there’s no beating that in the embarrassment stakes. I’m going to suggest something to you, but you have to promise not to blow up or even interrupt, all right?’

  ‘You think I should leave,’ I reply immediately. ‘I knew you’d think that was the right thing to do.’

  ‘No interrupting, Rose.’

  ‘Fine.’ On my screen, Amber’s lips purse. ‘I said fine!’

  ‘I think you’re frightened. I think the reality of him is scaring you. He’s not a backpacker or a tourist or a deadbeat—’

  ‘I do not date deadbeats!’ I protest. I learned to spot these before I was twelve years old. Learned to spot them. Learned to avoid ’em.

  ‘You’re right. You date pricks. Men who are emotionally stunted, which suits you just fine because you don’t want them to stick around. And now that you’ve found someone who might be a little more serious. Someone who is financially stable—’

  ‘Financially stable? The man is as rich as Croesus!’

  ‘And your point is?’

  ‘Rich men are dangerous, and I don’t like them,’ I reply mulishly.

  ‘Byron is rich. You like him.’

  ‘I like Byron for you.’ I don’t mention that if she wasn’t such a great friend, I’d probably hate her. Her life looks so great. ‘I can’t see me becoming a rich man’s plaything.’

  Amber bursts into laughter, and though she seems amused, I begin to worry I’ve upset her. I don’t have to worry for long.

  ‘Well, I tell you, it’s not exactly what it’s cracked up to be. Diamonds can be pretty hard to sleep in. So lumpy.’ She wiggles her shoulders as though recalling that exact discomfort. ‘And many an evening, I’ve thought I should’ve married a man who came home stinking of sweat and beer rather than success.’

  ‘Hardy-har,’ I reply, unimpressed. ‘The difference is, you’re his wife. Byron has always been respectful of you.’

  ‘You weren’t there when he got handsy in the laundry room back when I was the nanny to his poor motherless twins. And you weren’t there when he was looking at me like he was trying to make my clothes disintegrate. Of course, he respects me. Always has, always will, if he knows what’s good for him. Rich or poor, there’s nothing wrong with a man who wants to treat you right.’

  ‘Treat me right so long as there isn’t a desk around.’

  ‘There’s more space on a desk than a washing machine.’ From the other side of the world, she sends me an eloquent look. ‘What is it exactly that you’ve got against men with money?’

  ‘Honestly? I don’t know. Maybe the imbalance of power?’

  Even as I say this, something tweaks at my memory, my mother’s caution almost curling around my ear. All men will take you for a ride if you let them, sweetie, but the fall is harder when you’re dropped by a rich man. A speculative opinion, I guess. Mom never had any luck with men. I don’t remember many of them holding down a job, let alone them having a little cash in their pocket. You can’t rely on anyone but yourself. Now, that was the truth.

  ‘Honey, an imbalance of power sounds like the difference between dating a rich guy and a rich asshole. Different animals, different experiences.’

  ‘Then I don’t know what it is.’ My tone is borderline defensive.

  ‘I do. You’re scared.’

  ‘You haven’t seen the size of this apartment. I feel like I’m being groomed!’

  ‘Really?’ she deadpans. ‘Has he asked you to call him daddy? To sit on hi
s knee?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.’ Her words sound serious, her expression something else entirely. ‘Look, if you’re unhappy, you can always go home. Or maybe you can take my advice.’ Her gaze is almost dancing.

  ‘I think I’m frightened to ask.’

  ‘I was going to say wait to see how things go, but it occurs to me that I have something better to say.’

  ‘Now, I’m officially terrified.’

  ‘I think you should pull up your big girl panties and ride that man like the stallion he is.’

  ‘How do you know he’s a stallion?’

  ‘Because you kissed and told about the baguette.’ She pulls an unremorseful duckface. ‘But use condoms,’ she adds as somewhere in the distance, a baby begins to cry.

  ‘A baby named Beryl?’

  She nods. ‘We still can’t agree on a name. But hark,’ she adds, cupping her ear with her hand, ‘from yonder window, the fruit of my loins is playing my song.’

  ‘You are such a dag,’ I say, using an Aussi-ism I know she’ll appreciate.

  ‘I feel like a dag, but that’s sleep deprivation for you. Unless you want to look like this,’—she points at her face—‘bulk buy prophylactics.’

  After we say our goodbyes, I pull myself together for my first afternoon of work and basically get over myself. So it’s not an ideal situation, but it could be worse. Much worse. My new boss isn’t demanding I be his personal sex slave. Plus, he’s super easy on the eyes. Maybe I’ll make him my sex slave instead.

  I snort at the ridiculous thought; I can’t see the man taking orders from anyone. Not even if I whip out my trusty purple dildo and hit him upside the head. Which, by the way, is still in my case. Don’t judge—it was a gift! It has sentimental value as well as being lightly used. In fact, it’s been used only once. On a sexy French tourist, who later turned out to be a man in a suit so sharp, it’d probably eviscerate his enemies on sight.

  First a snort, and now I’m smiling to myself? I must be going soft in the head. Which is probably why I keep thinking about him. He was cute when he didn’t speak my language, but out here in his element, the man is dynamite.