Champagne Kisses (24 page)

‘Bored!’

‘Well, we can’t have that,
ma chica
. How can Sue
Ellen
here and myself make it up to you? Can we take you down to that hotel on the strip beside the cosmetic surgery hospital and look at all the Bridies in bandages? That’s always worth a giggle.’

‘Nah, it’s fine, I’m just a bit restless in myself. I’ll feel better after some food. I thought you guys were never going to reappear.’

‘You know, she’s had her feet done now.’ Only one half of my brain seemed to be working, which resulted in a ridiculous half-assed statement.

‘What?’ rhymed my pals.

‘Lisa,’ I said, as my tired eyes locked into a stare at the gnarled feet of a glamorous granny several sunbeds up. ‘Lisa’s had collagen or something injected in the balls of her feet. Apparently it’s very much in vogue.’

‘Why would you have collagen put in your feet?’ Maddie asked now, examining her own.

‘Are you telling me she thinks she has too many wrinkles on her feet? That woman is barking, I tell ya,’ said Parker.

‘No.’ I snapped out of my daze. ‘She said models and high-powered businesswomen get it so they can stand in high heels all day.’

‘Are you sure? It sounds made up.’ Being a model herself, Maddie always assumed she knew everything about the fashion business and never took knowledge from mere mortals well.

‘It’s bizarrely true, it numbs your feet so you can’t feel pain, I think. Pity you can’t use it for broken hearts, eh? Sore feet I can handle.’

‘Mmmm, I thought she had outdone herself when she got Botox in her armpits to stop her sweating, but collagen in her feet has gotta warrant being committed to rehab again.’

‘That’s probably what she wants,’ smiled Parker. ‘Remember the last time she was in? She said that old alco was her best sex ever. If Jeff wasn’t so damn perfect I’d consider going too.’

‘Ha! I wonder do they do group rates?’ I was only marginally serious.

‘Group rates for single mother models, homosexuals and bisexuals please.’

‘I’m not a bisexual, Parker, I’m a trisexual.’ I paused for dramatic effect.

‘More like trisexual two-or-three-times. ’Cause you’ve definitely tried most things more than once,’ squealed Maddie.

Our giggles were interrupted by a waitress handing us plastic cartons of food. It was hardly fancy nosh, but I was so hungry I was considering turning cannibal.

‘Can I get you anything else?’ asked the friendly waitress with a big smile, clearly hunting for a good tip.

‘Yes,’ piped up Parker. ‘Are you a spit or a swallow?’

‘Excuse me?’ asked the waitress, puzzled.

‘Sorry, doesn’t matter,’ said Parker, doubling over in a fit of laughter.

‘What’s up with him?’ Poor Maddie didn’t get the joke.

‘One of those “had to be there” moments,’ I muttered, putting a handful of chips in my mouth.

‘Typical. What did I miss out on now?’ Maddie threw her hands in the air in despair.

Parker couldn’t reply. He thought he’d been hilarious, and was now nearly choking. I was about to explain when a message beeped on my phone and saved me; after all, I couldn’t eat and talk happily at the same time.

Rooting through the girlie pink plastic beach bag I’d got free with a magazine at the airport, I negotiated my way through spare towels and found my phone, already covered in sand from the old half-used bottles of sunscreen it was stuffed in with.

I had one new message.

‘Michael’s Cell’ flashed up.

Fuuuuuucccccck!

I stared at the phone, frozen with fear. It couldn’t possibly be … Michael?

I was terrified to open the text because of what it might say, so I flung the mobile on the sunbed and held my head in shock.

What could he possibly want after all this time? The bastard hadn’t been in touch in four months.

‘Is everything OK?’ Maddie was the only one to notice my behaviour. Parker was still in a world of his own.

‘No.’ My voice reeked of self-pity.

She moved over to me and put her arm protectively over my shoulder. ‘What is it?’

‘It’s Michael.’

‘Michael who?’

‘Michael New York Michael.’

‘Oh fuck, that asshole. What does he want?’

‘I don’t know … I can’t open it … You do it.’

‘Did you say – Michael?’ Parker managed to stop laughing just enough to speak.

‘He’s texted her,’ said Maddie.

‘I’d delete it,’ smarted Parker. ‘Don’t read it. It’ll only fuck with your head.’

‘I can’t delete it.’ Or could I? Maybe Parker was right.

Maddie gave me one of her new motherly looks and asked, ‘Do you want me to read it?’

‘Yes … No … Emmm … OK.’ Why did he have to text now? I had just stopped thinking about him and his fabulousness.

‘Here,’ I handed her the phone. ‘Read it, then.’

Enthusiastically grabbing it, she sheltered out of the sun to look at the screen and then gasped.

‘What does it say?’ I had changed my mind. I wanted my phone back –
now!

‘You don’t want to know,’ Maddie cringed.

‘Give me the phone,’ I snapped, jumping up to grab it back.

Oh-my-God … The words ‘I love U xox’ were spread across the screen.

Was I reading it right? Did my long-lost New Yorker actually love me? This had to be a sick joke.

‘Well, what did he say? Ask for forgiveness? Declare his undying love for you, what?’

‘Shut up, Parker.’ My mind was reeling.

What should I do? Do I reply? If so, what do I say? Do I tell him he broke my heart?

‘Well?’ Parker was now extremely curious.

‘It says ‘I love U xox’ – it must have been sent to me by mistake.’

‘I told you so,’ Parker sang the words with delight.

‘I told you so, what?’

‘You should have deleted it. That’s going to wreck your head now, because there’s no way you
can’t
text him back after that.’

He was right, as usual. I might not text him back straight away. But I would have to know. Was this text meant for me? Or is he already in love with someone else with a name similar to mine?

I couldn’t make this decision sober.

I flagged down our waitress and ordered two Bloody Marys and a Virgin Bloody Mary. Even if Maddie wasn’t drinking, she had to at least feel part of the group.

Several rounds later we had exhausted every possible excuse as to why I received the text.

(a) He was drunk and missing me.

(b) He had meant to send the text to someone else.

(c) Someone had taken his phone and sent the message to wind him up.

I was hoping he missed me, but I wasn’t feeling that
lucky
, and of course Parker had rubbished the idea completely.

So I told myself it was either a simple mistake or a terribly evil joke, but somehow I couldn’t let it go. I had really fallen for this guy. He was the most exciting man/person I had met in years, although he was far from perfect. Surely it was worth finding out if he had really sent that message of love to me?

What could I lose? I had been stripped bare, metaphorically speaking, and lost everything that I had ever possessed, dignity included, over the last five months.

It was time to gamble.

Fuck it. When Parker and Maddie took to the pool for a swim to cool off I grabbed my phone and texted, ‘Hey sexy … Long time no hear … How U?’ And pressed
SEND
before I could change my mind.

OK, I’d done it now. Best forget all about it and get on with my holiday.

Adjusting my La Perla bikini, which really had seen better days, I stood up to join the others in the pool. There were some cute boys cooling their feet down the opposite end, so my plan was to busy myself with attracting their attention and see what fun I could find myself.

I had just stuck my big toe in the water to check the temperature when I heard my phone beep through a message.

No way? It couldn’t be? Could that actually be from Michael?

I rushed back to my sun lounger so quick I nearly gave myself whiplash. ‘1 New Message.’ ‘Michael’s Cell.’

Open … ‘Hey U, it’s me. I’m in Dublin, where U @?’

Argggggggggggghhhhhhhhhh!

8

‘IF MY HUSBAND
was ever with you, I’d never touch him again. ’Cause you’re so contaminated.’

It was the statement of the evening, and it left everyone gobsmacked.

It was 16 October, so it was Lisa’s twenty-fifth birthday celebration, again. As if constantly reliving the same party, Lisa never aged, in years or looks. And after an extremely boozy afternoon with fourteen of her nearest and dearest at the Shelbourne Hotel, the party was well and truly under way.

But despite the love that had been shown around the table at our five-course lunch, events took a nasty turn when her sister Joy took offence at a comment Maddie made about her husband Tristan.

It was an innocent off-the-cuff remark, but Maddie got her face verbally smacked when she said, ‘I wish I could get my hands on a husband like yours.’

What was most ridiculous was that at a now robust
nine
months pregnant, Maddie wasn’t fit to do anything more than smile at a man; her stomach had amazingly swelled so far out that it was hard enough to get close to her just to give her a hug.

In her naïvety she thought she was complimenting Joy’s husband, whom she thought was extremely plain and boring as hell, but instead the Joy-less one became viciously aggressive.

We had never been her biggest fans before, but stupidly drunk or not, she had dug her own grave as far as any sort of future friendship was concerned. If Lisa wasn’t such a loyal chum, she’d have instantly told Joy off in some choice colourful language.

Her derogatory outburst witnessed by at least half of the group, Joy stormed off to grab her most desirable hubby and vacate the party, leaving Maddie with her jaw on the ground. Thankfully she had taken the initiative to leave herself, before Lisa became aware of the altercation.

As she strutted out the door with her pencil-thin nose in the air and what looked like a poker stuck up her backside, she clutched the witless Tristan with the grasp of a bitch in heat.

For all her money and looks, all anyone could see in her was her ugliness. Part of me was thrilled that she had exposed her nasty streak in such a spectacular fashion. But it had been at a cost: Maddie’s pride.

Between the pressure on her bloated ankles, the pains in her side, back and nipples, the recent lack of
sleep
and the worry over stretchmarks, Maddie was already a basket case. She felt ashamed that she was about to become a statistic – an unmarried mother – and the last thing she needed was for her nose to be rubbed in it.

And of course, she took it badly.

But no one could have forecast the result of such a clash.

‘I’ve nowhere to stay. Just call me Mary … Sooooo, is there any chance I can crash here for a bit?’

Maddie was standing at the door of Parker’s apartment with several bags and a wheelie case in tow. It was the Sunday afternoon after Lisa’s birthday bash the night before, and Parker had the expression of someone who was hallucinating.

‘Can I come in at least?’ Maddie pleaded, still waiting for an answer.

Parker stood silent, his jaw open and a frightened look on his face.

‘Jesus Christ, I’m growing old here,’ she complained, before brushing past him to make her way towards me on the couch.

‘Cooome in, why don’t you? wheezed Parker, sounding like he had been drinking whiskey for forty years.

‘Everything all right?’ I questioned, feeling just as bad as Parker sounded.

But it was obvious from her baggage that Maddie’s home situation was in crisis.

Waddling past, huffing and puffing, she threw her jacket on the floor and lowered herself gently down beside me.

‘No. Everything is not all right. I’m officially homeless. Do you think Parker will let me stay?’

‘I’m in the room,’ cried my hungover surrogate father. ‘I’d rather you talk to me instead of that freeloader.’

As favours went, this was a bad morning to be asking him anything.

‘I don’t particularly want to know the answer, but why are you here? And what the hell are you doing with all these bags?’

‘Well, I was a little upset last night and I kinda picked a fight with my mother.’

‘And why does that land you at my door?’ Parker was showing no signs of compassion for her story so far, and Maddie knew she’d have to pull harder at his heartstrings.

‘Because the miserable bitch I formerly called my mother told me I was no longer welcome in her house, and that I would have to face up to my responsibilities, and that she was ashamed to face her neighbours because of the embarrassment I had brought on the family. Having a drunk as a husband was bad enough, but now having an unmarried daughter as well was like living through
Angela’s Ashes
.’

Knowing I should keep my opinions to myself, I subtly winked at Maddie to acknowledge she had made a convincing argument for Parker. Having spent
decades
of feeling persecuted for being gay, Parker always sided with the underdog.

‘She’s embarrassed by you, yeah?’

‘Apparently she is.’

‘You’re something else … you know that? And you’re looking for me to take you in?’

Afraid she’d say the wrong thing, Maddie simply nodded.

Visibly disorientated, Parker stormed off to the kitchen muttering before returning swigging on a two-litre bottle of Ballygowan water.

After taking the longest possible gulp, a rehydrated Parker seemed to be softening, but he wasn’t ready to roll over yet.

‘Am I your first or last safe house to call on?’

‘Eh, you’re the only option I have …’

‘There’s no one else you can ask?’

‘No … Listen, if you want me to look up the Golden Pages for Women’s Refuge Centres I will. I just thought you might like to be my hero.’

‘Ah Jaysus, do I have “EASY” written across my forehead?’ Parker smirked, before dropping his head in his hands.

‘Christ, woman, you’re pregnant. You’re about to drop a baby. This apartment might look like the recovery wing of Mount Carmel hospital, but I know nothing about babies, and I don’t think this bachelorette pad is quite the place for a newborn.’