Crazygirl Falls in Love (26 page)

We didn’t notice Nico and Eva appear, all sweaty and out of
breath from the DF. They quickly cut in with a solution - we jump
in their cab. The driver was scheduled to come sometime around
midnight. Within half an hour the four of us were on our way back
to the Big Smoke, Blue in front, the three amigos at the back, Nico
roaring stories of the good times growing up in Georgia.

I was first to be dropped off. Blue told Nico and Eva to go on
without him because he didn’t live too far and could walk from
here. Then he had walked me to my front door. He’d started mumbling
about something called bog snorkelling (?), and that the world
championships were coming up soon, and would I like to come, but it
was in Llanwrtyd Wells in Wales and it would be a bit of a journey,
so if I didn’t want to come that was okay, but he’d really like it
if I could…

I’d only seen him flustered once, earlier that morning when
he’d said the Stranger didn’t deserve me (truer words were never
spoken by the way). He topped that performance with the bog
snorkelling rant. To put him out of his misery I put my hand over
his mouth and told him that yes, I would be happy to go with him to
watch the bog snorkelling championships, whatever they were. He
smiled in relief, gave me a kiss on the cheek then
blurted,

“You were right. I checked the other day and it was
Eurythmics.”

And he’d turned quickly to walk down my street, bound for
Bayswater Road I suppose. It was all a bit much for my exhausted,
wine-soaked brain, so I shelved my usual male-analysis internal
workshop and went upstairs, where I fell asleep before my head hit
the pillow.

Now that I’ve had some sleep, coffee, fresh air and feel
invigorated from my spider busting, I’m wondering whether I’ll see
Blue again. Maybe he was too rattled last night to remember to ask
for my number, because he still doesn’t have it.

I cycle across Putney Bridge then round Chloe’s block. Damn it
would be nice to live near the river. Just think of the running
routes! I brake outside Chlo’s six storey red brick and lock my
bike. Irrational thoughts start flooding my mind as I take the
three small steps up to her front door. What if she’s not there?
What if something’s happened? What if nothing’s happened? Should I
break in through her window if she doesn’t answer? Would I get
arrested if caught? If I get arrested will I lose my practicing
certificate? And what about the spiders in my vacuum, what about
them (in between thoughts of Blue I’ve convinced myself that the
suction didn’t kill them, and they’re still alive, plotting their
revenge from inside the bag. I should have sprayed them. Spray
kills, vacuuming isn’t guaranteed).

I ring my best friend’s buzzer.

“Yes?” I hear Chloe’s voice croak through the
speaker.

“God damn you Chloe, open up!” I yell.

The line goes quiet. A brief moment of
horror follows.
She’s not gonna let me
in?
Thankfully after a few moments the
buzzer rings and I push open the heavy period door. I make my way
downstairs to her basement apartment. Chloe’s grandma lived here
before she died. It was really sad when it happened, that old woman
was awesome. Smoked like a chimney, drank like a fish and had a
mind as sharp as a tack until she passed away age ninety five.
Anyway, her Gran left the apartment to Chloe who’s been busy
refurbishing it into a stylish, slick, modern
one-bedroom.

I knock on the door and Chloe opens it a millisecond later. I
do a double take. She looks frail and weak, her face ashen,
mahogany locks clumped around her face. I don’t think as I blurt
out,

“Oh gee, did I wake you? I guess that means you weren’t raped,
killed or your organs sold on the black market?”

She doesn’t reply but motions for me to come inside. She walks
into her kitchen, removes a bottle of gin from her cabinet and
starts pouring it into a tumbler.

“I’m assuming you don’t want any?” she asks.

“Thanks but I’m set, still feeling a bit fuzzy from
yesterday.”

She doesn’t answer, just keeps looking at me with those weary
eyes. I stand awkwardly, not knowing what to say or do. I’ve never
seen her like this and it’s scaring me. For the five years we’ve
known each other she has without exception looked and acted
fabulous, defiant and self assured. Her demeanour (and good looks)
naturally exudes confidence. It’s almost as if she’s developed a
stoop overnight, like one of those broken horses. Is this all
because I cancelled on her yesterday?

“I’m so sorry about yesterday. Do you hate me?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“We all know that when a chick says she’s ‘fine’ she’s
anything but. The hierarch goes awesome, good, average, bad,
whatever, fuck you, then fine. It’s the first lesson I teach
boyfriends.”

I smile cheekily, expecting at least a ‘ha’. Nothing. I try
again,

“Why haven’t you replied to my messages, and why aren’t you
answering your phone? I’ve been really worried.”

Still, she remains silent.

“Okay okay, I’m not going to force you to tell me what’s up or
start begging you to forgive me for something as stupid as a late
cancellation. You’re my best friend, why are you acting like this?
You’re freaking me out, man.”

“It has nothing to do with the wedding, I didn’t want to go
anyway. It was what happened at Antonio’s on Friday
night.”

She takes a seat at her small round dining table which is
always decorated with fresh flowers. Before joining her I help
myself to her coffee and milk, brew it up, then seat myself
opposite. It takes a bit of goading but eventually she starts
talking.

She had arranged to meet Antonio outside Knightsbridge tube
stop. They had hit Budda Bar for a pre-dinner cocktail before
strolling down, hand-in-hand, to Zuma. At the bar and over dinner
Antonio was the perfect gentleman. He held open doors, encouraged
her to order whatever she liked (even second portions of the soft
shell crab), insisted on the nicest wines, pulled out chairs, was
sweet and complimentary. He’d brought his A-game, and for the first
time since they met Chloe started thinking this might be something.
He had paid, left a generous tip for the staff and asked if she
wanted to continue the night somewhere else. When she said she was
too full to eat or drink anymore, and dancing was out of the
question, he asked if she wanted to go back to his place to watch a
movie.

There, things went a bit awry.

“What do you mean, awry?” I ask, taking a sip of
coffee.

“We were lying on his couch doing all the
usual things, but then he takes his hand, whips it round and goes
straight for the back… area. I didn’t make a big deal at first,
just nudged him away. When it happened again I tried to laugh it
off but he would not get the hint! When it happened a third
time
I had to say
something.”

“What did you say?”

“I told him I’m not an idiot, I knew exactly what he was after
but it wasn’t going to happen.”

She had explained to him that there was a
perfectly awesome, conventional way of having sex which she
obviously preferred, and that
that
way of doing things wouldn’t be happening for a
very long time (if ever). As soon as she’d finished Antonio
underwent an 180
^o
personality adjustment. He became cold, distant
and rude. He told Chloe he needed an early night because he plays
football Saturday mornings

[At this point I’m reminded of last weekend, when I was
subject to a similar line. Football on Saturday mornings? Seems the
Beautiful People all dipping from the same dish of lame excuses,
and someone should tell them that no one likes a double
dipper].

Then Antonio had ushered her out. Chloe
couldn’t believe it. She wrote him off as a freak with a fetish and
decided she was better off without him. In fact, an hour later she
was lying on her couch watching
Friends
(surprise, surprise) in a
perfectly pleasant mood. Always better to find these things out
early, she reasoned. Who wants to be dating a secret
aberration?

As Joey was trying to get money from Monica for eating a jar
of pickles, her phone had pinged,

Why didn’t you want to do that before?

Being the smart girl she is (much smarter than hothead me, who
would have responded with something abusive), Chloe ignored
Antonio’s message and went back to Ross and Rachel.

Hours later, as she was fast asleep, Chloe was woken by
another ping. She sleepily rolled over to check her phone and saw a
second message from Antonio, this time with a photo
attached.

Looking pained, Chloe shows me the picture.

At first I don’t know what I’m looking at, so I try turning
the phone to its side then upside down. And then it
registers.

I scream, dropping her phone on the table.

“Is that what I think it is?!” I yell.

Chloe nods.

“You should have warned me, I’ve never seen one up that close
before!”

Disgusted, I warily pick up her phone again and read the
caption below,

This is what I want to do to you!

I manage one more look at the photo. Yep, that’s his butthole,
cheeks spread like a pro. I start giggling,

“Oh my god what a dirty bastard! That’s the most awful thing
in the history of awful things. And if he’s spreading both cheeks,
who’s taking the photo?”

I explode in peals of laughter but stop when I catch Chloe’s
expression. A bucket of icy water thrown on my head couldn’t have
stopped my chuckles quicker.

“I’ve just had a Christian Grey moment and you’re laughing?”
she hisses.

“Come on... Don’t you think it’s just
a
little
bit
funny?” I suggest.

“No.”

“Are you sure? My funny meter is usually spot on?”

She looks at me, livid.

“Oh come on Chlo, maybe if you chillaxed a bit …”

“And maybe if you stopped being such a bitch I would’ve
responded to your texts?” she interrupts.

I freeze.

“Wow… Okay… Wow.”

She doesn’t reply, instead shakes her head and looks at me
with hard eyes. It takes a ridiculous amount of self control to
stay calm and speak evenly (because what I really want to do is
call her a bitch back),

“Chlo, I love you, I would never want to hurt you. I’m sorry I
laughed.”

She looks down at her kitten-themed placemat,

“I can’t believe you’d laugh when you were the one who forced
me into this. But hey I guess you were right, you said I’d get a
look into his dark and disturbed soul, and there you have it. Happy
now?” she says, quietly but firmly.

“I’m sorry Chlo, that was a joke, I was only trying to
help.”

“Well men aren’t always the solution, and I’m getting really
tired of this conversation. I’d like to be alone now.”

She stands, motioning in the direction of her front
door.

“
Excuse me?”

“
First you bully me into a date with a guy I wasn’t all that
keen on, then you laugh when he does the most filthy, depraved
thing a guy could do. What kind of a friend are you?”

I sit in shock, mouth slightly open.

“Uh, not a very good one?”

“Understatement of the century.”

I cannot believe this!

“You know what, that’s fine. Just fucking fine. This is so
typical of you, Chloe.”

“What?”

I stand from my seat,

“It happens all the time. A guy hurts you and you take it out
on your mates. Crazy Poo hurts you, you vent your anger on Emma.
Antonio hurts you, you take it out on me. Maybe it’s time you
started to value your friendships a bit more!”

I’m shouting. Chloe begins shouting back,

“You can talk! I spent all of last year holding your hand
while you cried and moaned and almost drank yourself into a coma.
Then a guy does something just as disrespectful to me and you
laugh. You fucking laugh?”

“That was different, I was engaged.”

“It’s not different at all. Imagine if I had laughed after you
told me how Voldemort broke it off?”

“No offence but I don’t see a degree in break up management
hanging off your wall!”

“No offence but you’re a selfish bitch who only thinks of
herself. You know what this friendship has become, Pen?
Co-dependent. You obsess about yourself and your relationships and
I put up with it.”

“I’m a naturally obsessive person! I spent the entire morning
debating the best way to kill two spiders, and now I’m obsessing
that they’re gonna crawl out the vacuum tube to attack me in a fit
of righteous vengeance.”

“Exactly! ... Wait a minute, what?”

“You heard me! They’re going to attack in the middle of the
night when I’m weak and vulnerable. Emergency services will find my
dead, lifeless body covered in spider bites, and then you’ll be
sorry!”