I glanced at JJ’s oyster-shovelling smugness. Suddenly I remembered the cons. First, running off with a delusional drag queen and telling the world about it. His uncanny ability to spend every last cent of mine and then disappear like my lost youth. He was almost too good-looking. How can you be that good-looking and be faithful? I sort of understood. I was good-looking myself.
You know, it’s like expecting a big famous rock star who travels around the world being mobbed by models, to say, ‘No! My gorgeous ninety-five kilo, brown-haired haus frau is at home with my two sugar-happy hyperactive kids. I must say ‘no’ to you, you blonde forty-nine-kilo, waif-like supermodel. I took a vow on my wedding day, you know.’ Trust me, it will never happen.
I knew I was one up in the ridiculous mind battle we were having when JJ asked me, ‘What are you thinking?’ In case you don’t know, that’s a very big NO NO. What are you thinking? Are you ever honest when someone asks you that? NO! God, I would have been fired at least six or seven times by now if that was the case. Kylie would have stabbed me in the jugular with her thinning shears. And JJ. And my mother. It doesn’t bear thinking about. So I did the right thing and said, ‘I was thinking about cutting my credit card in half.’
His face contorted in sheer horror, like I just told him Toffany was expecting his first child. (Impossible? I get confused). ‘Why? Why would you do something so hurtful?’ He was grasping at his napkin like a safety blanket.
‘It’s virtually empty anyway. I’m just sick of the pressure of all that free money. Why? You’ll still love me sans credit card, won’t you?’
His blue eyes turned crimson. I’m not kidding. His face turned purple. I had my answer. That bastard. I folded my napkin and stood up again, ‘Excuse me, JJ. I need to call the office again.
Pamela mentioned they were having some issues with their IPLs. Back in a jiffy.’ I grabbed my bag and headed for the exit by the back door. I waved goodbye to a drooling Alberto, who I knew was mentally undressing me as I hurried past. As I rushed off, I began to ponder why JJ was suddenly back in town. He usually came back to Australia in summer, and he made sure we all knew he was coming, probably so we could save money to lavish on him. It was autumn and he hadn’t warned anyone. Very unusual.
The Hair Psychologist
I held my breath until I reached the taxi rank. Once I flagged an incoming taxi, I managed to relax and do a big old evil belly laugh. I pictured JJ finishing the bottle of chardonnay, ordering another perhaps even more expensive wine. He’d eat my main meal, then his. Then it would dawn on him. I was not coming back. He would have to leave his fake Prada sunglasses as collateral and make some frantic phone calls for cash to get out of there with any shred of dignity.
The taxi pulled up, and I jumped in without taking any notice of the driver’s details. I was too distracted picturing JJ’s handsome face trying to explain to Alberto why he couldn’t pay. Then, JJ takes Alberto’s soft, manicured fingers in his strong, warm hand, and convinces him he could pay in other ways.
Alberto’s eyes light up and he kisses … eww, hang on. Damn it!
That’s not the right fantasy. Bloody cheating bisexual men. It’s rife around here, I’m telling you.
I shook the image from my mind and glanced at the registration of the driver. I began to text it to my mum when a distinctive voice pipes up and says, ‘So, how was lunch, love?’
You’ve got to be friggin’ kidding me. Beer belly Bob. Of all the luck.
‘I was left unsatisfied, if you must know, Bob.’
‘Boy trouble, love?’
‘You could say that.’
‘What’s the trouble? He’s not a vegetarian too, is he?’
‘Hmmm, I’m not sure how to answer that, Bob. I’ve heard lesbians described as vegetarians, so does the same apply to straight men that turn gay, then straight, then almost definitely gay again?’
‘You’ve got me there, love. I have no idea. So, your boyfriend’s gay?’
‘Yes. He’s gay and the only slot he’s interested in is the one that swipes my credit card.’
Beer belly Bob looked slightly shocked, but managed to change the subject back to himself, like most good cabbies do. ‘So, I called my sheil – I mean Val – like I told you I was gonna. I’m all set to take her out to this Indian vego place tonight. I was thinking of buying her some flowers and maybe some chocolates.’
‘Great.’
‘Yeah. I thought I might get a hotel room, you know, with a spa. Get some of that non-alcoholic champagne she loves.’
Eww. Go away naked mental picture of Bob in the bath.
‘Yeah, then I thought I’d surprise her and scatter rose petals all over the bed, you know, all romantic like.’
‘You’re very original, Bob. Did you think of that all by yourself?’
‘No, love. I wish. Saw it on a movie.’
I just wanted to get home, but it’s the saint in me, I tell you. I had to, something literally forced me to. ‘Bob, what are you planning on wearing tonight?’
‘Well, my birthday suit eventually,’ cue disgusting bawdy laugh.
Another mental picture I’ll need erased by regression therapy.
‘To the date, Bob. What are you planning on wearing on your date?’
‘Oh, I’ll just chuck a shirt on over this one I think, love. Maybe spray on a bit of Old Spice.’
Aptly named. Old.
‘Hmm. I was thinking, Bob, you really need a new look. You look like a truck driver that’s been on the road. For a few months. With sheep. Who have fleas.’
‘A new look? Val likes me just as I am.’
‘I bet she makes you take a shower before she kisses you. Am I right?’
He narrowed his bloodshot eyes at me.
‘I bet she bought you a “special” toothbrush just for her house. Am I right?’
‘Well, yeah, but that’s only ’cause …’
‘I bet she came to your house only the once and has never been back. Am I right?’
He hung his head and said, ‘Yes. You’re right.’
It’s like I have a gift. I had to help him. For the sake of his poor girlfriend.
‘Right, Bob. I’m very busy you know. Stop at these shops here. Bring your credit card and let’s go.’
Bob pulled in to a narrow car park and wearily followed me into the shop. He really was very shabbily dressed and I was risking my reputation just by being seen with him. What can I do, though? I’m just a good person. Saint-like.
Bob followed meekly behind me with his head hung as low as his thick neck would allow, like he was trying to hide his face in his chin folds. I filled my arms full of clothes and directed him to the changing room. I sat expectantly on a blue-and-yellow striped chaise lounge. I knew Bob could be transformed from booze hound barfly to, well, one step up from that.
‘I’m ready, but I’m not coming out. I look ridiculous,’ Bob whispered sharply over the changing room door.
‘That’s an impossibility. You looked ridiculous before we came in here. Be a man for God’s sake and come out so you can see yourself from every angle.’ Big tough men were all the same deep down. Sensitive and scared.
Bob walked out in loose-fit denim