Divorce Turkish Style (14 page)

“I didn't get the chance,” I said, with as much innocence as was possible in a place where everyone is on top of each other.

“Let's go outside. Come on,” said Fofo.

“I want to go backstage. Why go outside?”

“Come with me. Trust me,” insisted Fofo.

The street was no less noisy than the nightclub. The sirens of ambulances trying to reach the local A & E department mingled with the horns of taxis touting for custom. Fofo told one of the bouncers that we wanted to speak to Ruhi.

“Ruhi Bey's busy,” said the man, without even glancing at us.

I pulled Fofo to one side.

“Who's Ruhi?”

“He's the manager here, and the only person who can get us anywhere near the group,” said Fofo. “He used to go to Alfonso for Spanish lessons.”

I didn't need to ask who Alfonso was, of course. Alfonso was Fofo's former lover, with whom he'd run off and left me.

“Would you please tell Ruhi that Fofo's here? He's expecting us.”

The bouncer still didn't bat an eyelid.

“Hey you! Can't you at least look us in the face?” I shouted at him, before venting to Fofo. “This is disgraceful! He won't even look at us!”

“It's hardly his fault,” said Fofo. “Every night he has to deal with name-droppers hoping to get in without paying. He's not to know that we really do know Ruhi. He wouldn't even be allowed to let his own father in free. It's nothing personal, so don't get upset.”

“Why not? It's because of you that we came outside.”

“Don't worry, we can go back inside any time we want,” said Fofo, pointing to the entry stamp on the back of my hand.

“But the interval's nearly over, and we'll have to wait until the end of the gig to see Sinan now.”

Actually, I'd no wish whatsoever to go back into that airless place.

“Be patient. I have an idea. I'll call Alfonso and ask him for Ruhi's mobile number,” said Fofo, then, seeing how pleased I looked, added, “but that doesn't mean you're off the hook.”

“Why? What have I done?”

“You conned me into thinking we were coming here to listen to the music, when all the time you were bent on chatting up the lead singer,” replied Fofo.

“But Fofo, darling, you didn't give me the chance to explain everything to you,” I said, stroking his hair, or what was left of it. My dear friend's head was becoming very sparsely covered.

Fofo paced up and down the pavement, talking first to Alfonso and then Ruhi.

Finally, he turned to me and said, “The situation is this. Ruhi will see us immediately, but Sniff will be onstage again by now so we'll have to wait until later to see them.”

“Okay, so we'll wait. What else can we do?” I said, reflecting that much of our work involved waiting.

The bouncer, who only a short while before wouldn't even glance at us, approached us holding some sort of radio device and said, “I'm to take you to Ruhi Bey's office.”

We went through a narrow door into a long, dimly lit corridor. The bouncer knocked on one of the doors and we waited until a voice inside said, “Come in.”

“
Querido
, Fofo,” said Ruhi, embracing Fofo.

“You should have carried on with the Spanish. It was going really well,” said Fofo.

“I'm so busy, you have no idea. We're opening two more clubs, and I can't do everything. I heard that you and Alfonso had split up.”

“I feel as if I've been reborn,” said Fofo.

Fofo had never intimated to me that he'd been having a hard time with Alfonso.

“My boyfriend and I split up last week too,” said Ruhi.

“But you'll get back together again. You're always splitting up,” said Fofo, in a tone of voice that told me he was really fishing to
find out how serious the separation was, rather than expressing faith in their relationship.

Ruhi delivered immediately. “No, this time it's serious. He's gone,” he laughed, though he was obviously deeply hurt. “There's a woman in his life. And what a strapping specimen she is. You should see her. When someone makes such a radical change, you expect it to be for someone really stunning.”

“What do you mean by ‘strapping'?” asked Fofo.

All the while they were talking, I was aware of unseen people hovering outside the still-open door.

“Oh, I don't know. Big, fat and ugly, I guess,” said Ruhi.

“Ruhi goes in for interesting expressions,” said Fofo, turning to me.

What was interesting about that? I thought.

“You haven't introduced us,” said Ruhi.

“Kati, my boss, housemate, friend, my everything.”

“Didn't you live in Cihangir once? We used to bump into each other at the café in Firuzağa sometimes,” said Ruhi, turning to Fofo and adding, “I knew this lady before I even met you.”

“I've moved to Kuledibi now,” I said.

“Please, sit down. What can I get you? Whisky?”

“Yes please,” I said, sinking into a leather armchair.

“Tell me, what brought you here?” asked Ruhi, as he filled some glasses from a bottle of Lagavulin.

“We'd like to meet tonight's lead singer,” said Fofo.

“Everyone wants to meet him. But he's no use to us,” said Ruhi, giving Fofo a wink.

“Ice in your whisky?”

Ice in Lagavulin? That would be a crime.

“No, thank you,” I said.

“What business do you have with Sinan?”

“Kati's a great fan of his,” said Fofo.

“That's right,” I said.

“What's he like?” asked Fofo.

“He has class. Not the usual type you get in places like this. I don't know him well, but he certainly has plenty of charisma,” said Ruhi.

“Can you really introduce us?” I asked.

Fofo and Ruhi laughed as if I'd said something stupid.

“Introductions aren't a problem,” said Ruhi. “Just a minute, I need to see what's happening inside. Stay here and I'll be back. Best not to leave the staff unattended.”

I hadn't been happy about lying to Fofo, so now we were alone I took the opportunity to explain my real reason for meeting Sinan.

“Sani was in a relationship with Sinan. That's why I wanted to meet him. I'm not really a fan of his at all.”

“What kind of relationship?”

“A relationship. What kind of relationship do you think?”

“Is that why you dragged me here? Why didn't you tell me before? Why keep it from me?”

Fofo always repeated questions like this when he was annoyed.

“I didn't keep anything from you,” I said, wondering how I was going to make amends.

“Then why didn't you say anything before?”

“I didn't get the chance,” I said.

“Didn't get the chance? What do you mean, Kati? Who are you kidding?” he shouted, going red in the face.

“I mean, I didn't get the chance because I've only just found out about it,” I said.

What else could I have said? If I'd confessed to knowing about Sinan for a few days, he'd have eaten me alive.

“We haven't been able to speak openly because there's always been someone else with us,” I continued. “If you hadn't come
back from your date twenty-five minutes late, I'd have told you before we came out.”

“You could have told me on the way here.”

“Fine. Should I have told you on Ä°stiklal Street or in Taksim Square? Maybe, if you'd apologized for being late, I might've—”

“Oh God! Let's change the subject. Arguing with you is impossible. You're like olive oil – you always manage to come out on top,” protested Fofo.

“That's odd. I was just thinking the same thing about you, Fofo,” I shouted.

“I refuse to argue with you, Kati,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Then we kissed and made up, and sat waiting for Ruhi to return.

“Follow me,” said Ruhi. “They're about to leave through the back door, but we'll catch Sinan before he gets away.”

We gathered up our things and I tossed back the last mouthful of my whisky. I wasn't going to leave a single drop of that Lagavulin. Then we followed Ruhi down the corridor, where one of the doors opened and someone pushed us inside.

“Sinan, I have some friends here who want to meet you. They're big fans of yours,” said Ruhi.

A tall man with short brown hair and sideburns down to his chin, wearing a T-shirt that clung to his body with perspiration, walked over to us. What a divine creature! Sani didn't have it bad at all, I thought.

Fofo and I told him our names, and he nodded in response.

“I wonder if you could give us a little of your time? We need to speak to you about a private matter,” I said.

“I'd love to, but it's impossible. We're leaving straight away. However, I can give you a photo.”

“What kind of photo?”

In all seriousness, I hadn't understood what he meant. It wasn't every day that I met a singer who had fans.

“A signed photograph.”

“Actually, we wanted to talk to you about Sani,” I whispered, realizing it was time to give up the pretence of being a fan.

Sinan's expression changed immediately. His rock star image of self-confidence and condescending arrogance was replaced by a blank and bewildered look. However, he was still an Adonis. No one could change that.

“Who are you?” asked Sinan.

“We're not the police,” I said.

“I can see that. But who are you?”

“We can explain,” said Fofo, taking a breath as if about to give Sinan his full life history.

“We need to talk. When can we meet?” I interrupted, finding Fofo's behaviour very inappropriate given that this man was a suspect in a possible murder case.

Sinan bit his lip and thought for a moment before saying, “Tomorrow's Friday. Come to my place in the afternoon. Is three o'clock all right?”

“Fine,” I said in chorus with Fofo.

“I live at Rumelihisarı. When you get there, go to a café and give me a call. My brother will come and pick you up. See you tomorrow,” said Sinan, and turned and left.

“You haven't given us your number,” Fofo called out.

“Oh, haven't I? Sorry, I forgot. It's been a busy week.”

The talk about his brother collecting us and his attempt to leave without giving his phone number convinced me that Sinan was going to stand us up.

“I bet you anything that his mobile will be turned off when we call his number tomorrow,” I said to Fofo as we left the room.

“Do you think so?”

“I certainly do. Otherwise, why not give us his address like any normal person?”

Fofo was still spellbound by Sinan and in no fit state to think properly. I prodded him in an attempt to bring him back to his senses.

“So what should we do?” he asked, as if emerging from a dream.

“Let's get his address from Ruhi,” I said. “Does Ruhi have it?”

“If he doesn't, he can get it.”

And he did.

On Friday, I remembered that I'd arranged to meet Lale at noon.

“Fofo and I are going for a walk along the Bosphorus today before heading out this evening. I'd completely forgotten that I'd arranged to meet you,” I confessed.

“How are you going to find a new man if you keep going out with Fofo and his gay friends?” commented Lale.

“But it'd make no difference if I was out with you,” I said.

“One of Erol's friends is having a barbecue in his garden tonight,” she said.

“Are you telling me that sitting around eating barbecued
köfte
with a group of fashionistas and their kids and dogs is a better option?” I said, finding it incomprehensible that women still clung to middle-class fantasies of finding a lover, even when those women were my best friends!

“It's not a good alternative, I admit, but it's a potentially productive alternative.”

“What's the definition of a productive Friday night? Because I can tell you that eating
köfte
in Kemerburgaz isn't on my list,” I said.

“I didn't say the house was in Kemerburgaz,” said Lale.

“When you said it was in someone's garden, the first place that came to mind was Kemerburgaz. So where is it?”

“It's in Paşabahçe,” said Lale. “Never mind. Perhaps we can meet during the week one evening when I'm in Kuledibi.”

“Hang on. Where in Paşabahçe?”