Authors: Amanda Brunker
‘But Parker …’
‘But nothing. What if you break your waters on my
cream
carpets? Or worse still, on one of my beds. If I had wanted water beds I would have bought some.’
‘But I can’t go back to my mother’s. She hates me.’ Maddie added tears to her performance for extra influence.
‘Don’t cry … Oh, for pity’s sake, stop it. Ring the bloody Samaritans if you fancy spilling tears. Eva, can you do something with her?’
I had just put a caring arm around her when a seriously dishevelled Jeff walked out of Parker’s bedroom in nothing but a pair of tight leopard-print boxer shorts, leaving little or nothing to the imagination.
‘What’s with the Broadway production out here? I’m surprised half the block hasn’t knocked in to complain of the noise. Oh, I was in a beautiful sleep. Barbra Streisand and I were having a barbecue. And she was in the middle of telling me how wonderful a kisser Robert Redford was.’
Momentarily abandoning the unfolding drama, Parker melted when he saw his lover and gushed, ‘To think he used to think he was straight. Bless …’
‘Yes, party boy, I’m no longer a waste. Now what’s the problem?’
‘I haven’t the energy to put up a fight any more. Our pregnant friend here is looking for a room. But not just for the night.’
‘And what’s the problem?’ Jeff seemed puzzled.
‘AND we’re a full house.’
‘No we’re not. It’s a three-bedroom apartment. Eva
might
have exploded a clothes bomb over one room, and I might have filled more than one spare drawer in your boudoir, but the extra room is just used as a wardrobe-overflow. Don’t be such a Scrooge. Of course you can stay, Maddie.’
Jeff playfully smacked Parker’s behind and gave him one of his don’t-argue-with-me looks. He always got his own way. It was amazing to watch. No one could stop Parker in his tracks quite like Jeff.
‘There’s not even an
en suite
I can call my own any more,’ whimpered Parker.
‘So what? Would you prefer to be lonely again? I vaguely remember you telling me you couldn’t bear the thought of life without me last night. And you never wanted to come home to an empty apartment again.’
‘I had always wanted to share my home with a partner, not half the cast of
Friends
.’
‘Get over it,’ hissed Jeff, ‘it’s a done deal. She’s your friend and she needs our help. When you feel claustrophobic you can hide out at my place. There’s three thousand square feet at the K Club which has been gathering dust ever since I met you.’
‘It looks like I’ve been overruled. I suppose if you must stay, you must stay.’ Parker was defeated and deflated, but he always got over these mini strops fast.
‘Eh, now say it like you mean it,’ scolded Jeff, determined to show off his dominance.
‘Oh for God’s sake, I would love for you to stay,
Maddie.
In fact … stay as long as you like. You just took me by surprise, that’s all.’
‘Good boy. Now that’s sorted I can go back to bed. Catch you later, girls.’
And with that Jeff turned on his heel, whipping Parker’s bottle of water out of his hands and shouting, ‘I’ll be waiting’ as he got to the door of their bedroom.
Somewhat dazed and confused, Parker muttered ‘Sheets’, before disappearing off with Maddie’s bags into the room beside mine.
It was a monumental occasion.
Parker coerced into submission in his own home, without as much as a gun put to his head.
I expected pigs to fly through the window any minute …
Michael and I had been texting on and off for the four months since I had missed his visit to Dublin. I was sort of fed up with the whole idea of me and him since I had come to the conclusion he was a total shit and nothing but a player. But he said he was planning to return to Dublin again before the end of the year and he had teasingly said he wanted me to be his Christmas box!
I never expected the shock I would feel when I actually received a text reading ‘THE EAGLE HAS LANDED!!!’
On first viewing I screamed.
On the second I felt nauseous.
On the third I texted back, ‘You don’t get to come till I say so!’
It took him all of twenty seconds to send back, ‘SHOW ME THE MONEY @ THE HARTLEY HOTEL PENTHOUSE … when can u get here?’
I ran next door to show Maddie, but she was napping, so in a moment of madness I texted back, ‘Order me some bubbly and wait and see …’ I then jumped in the shower, almost killing myself on a loose tray mat, and scrubbed myself feverishly. Several minor razor cuts later, I was sitting in front of my full-length mirror dripping all over Parker’s carpet as I tried to trowel on my night-time-look make-up.
It was a messy process as I was steaming up the joint, what with the shower and the naughty thoughts I was having.
Thankfully my liquid eyeliner went on straight the first time, which I took as a really good omen. So I buffed off my skin with half of my reserve bottle of Flamingo Fancy body glow and slid into an all-black balcony bra, thong and suspender set. Although it was a Marks & Spencer buy, I felt I looked as sexy as if I was wearing some kinky Agent Provocateur number.
Without a second to waste I speedily fastened up my opaque black stockings, but took care to make sure that their sexy 1940s red seam up the back was zigzag free.
To finish the look I stepped into vintage black Dior peep-toe heels and belted up my Carrie Bradshaw mac. I was subtly filthy and felt erotically charged. I couldn’t
wait
to flash Michael the complete show. The Valentine in full glory … Let’s hope he still found me hot stuff or I was about to make a complete tit out of myself.
As I charged out of the apartment I prayed no one else would be at the Hartley. Imagine having to sit sweltering in my mac as I swapped small talk with some of his mates or colleagues!
But the not knowing made this a sort of fantasy role-play – ‘Tonight, Matthew, I’m going to be Madonna in
Body of Evidence
’ – only instead of standing on a car bonnet and lifting my coat, I’d lie on the piano all Michelle Pfeiffer in
The Fabulous Baker Boys
and let Michael devour me like the tart that I wanted to be.
Thankfully I had seen the penthouse once before after attending a
Desperate Housewives
finale screening there years back, so I knew what to expect from the décor at least.
I just had to convince myself not to be overly disappointed if he hadn’t covered his bed in rose petals, stacked several bottles of pink champagne on ice beside the Jacuzzi and bought an engagement ring the size of something Liz Taylor would wear.
I’d hate to build up my expectations.
But surely that wasn’t too much to expect from our reunion date?
He screamed, ‘Surprise!’ as he opened the door. What he should have said was, ‘Girlfriend, I’m gonna wake up the shallow bitch in you.’
When I say he had a spot the size of Wales on the
side
of his right cheek, it’s not a word of a lie. Its ugly presence was partially bearable when he turned slightly away from me as he led me down a long hallway, but it really belonged in a university laboratory.
What the fuck?
Not only was it the sort of pimple that only a rugby scrum could squeeze, its glow-in-the dark yellow hue was similar to the radioactive substances aid worker Adi Roche would campaign to have villages evacuated from.
While I was determined to focus on the rest of his face and body … such a cute ass … and what muscular hands … I couldn’t help but stare at the alien pod on his face.
I tried to fight the gawking, but as people who own Barry Manilow noses and Lolo Ferrari bosoms will know, it’s impossible for others not to gape.
‘It’s a spider bite,’ he said after becoming aware of my Kryptonite.
‘Did you get to bite him back?’ I teased, hoping to sound breezy.
‘I’m still picking him out of my boot,’ laughed Michael as he stood at the end of the hall. And just as I caught up with him, he exposed bad news number two as he swung open a door and said, ‘Miss Eva. Say hi to the gang.’
He might as well have told me he was holding a Ku Klux Klan meeting, for all the interest I had in getting acquainted.
As I stuck my head through the door my fake smile
wavered
at the sight of about twenty people lounging around my seedy lust den.
It was a massive loft-style suite and it was saturated with grumpy arty types, smoking, eating and listening to some young hairy guy murder a guitar medley. Michael, as per usual, had more friends than I was comfortable with. Through gritted teeth I managed, ‘Nice to meet you all’, sounding ridiculously American, but judging by my reception they were as excited to see me as I was them.
‘Most of them will be too stoned to remember your name,’ explained Michael as he manoeuvred me round some badly stacked boxes, suitcases and camera equipment. ‘So I’ll pass on the intros. Fancy a drink?’
‘Eh, please …’
Although I just wanted to run a mile from the lot of them – as this was
not
the anecdote I wanted to recall for Parker and Maddie – I thought I’d at least accept a drink to calm my nerves, and then do my Houdini. With lethargic bodies strewn all about the place, I suggested I wait outside on the back balcony while Michael fetched me a tasty beverage.
Thankfully it was mild for this time of year, so I settled myself on a large wooden chair beside a grand table, which I’m sure had hosted many a supermodel dinner party, and sulked.
The balcony had a great view of the city, and I watched the cars and shoppers go by. For a woman with such a privileged view I felt very grouchy; even more so when a passing seagull nearly shat on my shoe.
As I changed seats Michael reappeared with two bottles of Heineken. It was not what I had envisaged. But a quick beer was exactly what I needed to give me a lift. He pulled another heavy seat beside me, kissed me on the head like a child and asked, ‘Well, did you miss me?’
I thought about lying and saying no. I thought about smacking him across the face and calling him a bastard, but thought better of it when I visualized his spot. Instead I counted to ten, held my composure, and calmly said, ‘You broke my heart just a little. It turned out you were the heart-breaker.’
Amazingly he looked surprised, and said ‘Ohhhh,’ before filling his mouth with his bottle.
‘Yes, ohhhh,’ I retorted, confident that the truth was the way to go.
‘You promised me the sun, moon and stars and then the second I walked out of Primrose Hill you seemed to forget all about me. Why would you do that?’ I tried to make it sound like the hurt was all in the past, but a lump somehow leaped into my throat and caught me off guard.
And then just to spite myself, I showed total female vulnerability – tears.
What a total disaster. OK, so they weren’t Sinead O’Connor, ‘Nothing Compares To You’ tears. They were just crafty make-a-bloke-feel-bad tears. But they weren’t planned, and I was finding it hard to fight them.
‘Gosh, I’m sorry, Eva,’ Michael said. He took my
beer
out of my hand and placed it with his on the ground – just like a re-enactment of the first night we met – and then cuddled me close.
He still had that strong smell of Davidoff. It was divine. If it hadn’t been for the spot and my embarrassing dumped lover act I would have hopped him right there and given the tourists something to write home about.
But this fantasy wasn’t going according to plan.
‘I just thought it might have been easier on you if I broke contact,’ he said, lifting my face so we could lock eyes. ‘As you mad Irish would say, I’m a bit of a bollix, I just couldn’t help myself with you. You were so damn fine. And may I say you look extremely hot this evening.’
‘You may,’ I sniffed, melting once again with his dreamy eyes. ‘Now give me my beer back. I’m far too sober for this malarkey.’
‘Ma-larkey?’ he questioned.
‘Yes, malarkey,’ I replied, unsure how to explain the word.
‘All-righty then.’ He looked at me blankly for a second before breaking out in a giggle.
‘What’s so funny?’ I snapped, worried that he was laughing at me for not being cool.
‘Sorry, it’s just I’ve been dying to ask one thing since you’ve arrived.’
‘What’s that, dare I ask?’
‘Well … I was just wondering what you might, or might not, be wearing under that mac coat of yours.’
‘Still got that dirty mind of yours?’ I smirked, in the knowledge that he still found me attractive.
‘Damn sure,’ he said, as his eyebrows danced. ‘And if I was to make a bet I’d say you’ve got a treat for me under there.’
I was just about to lift up my coat and give him a sneaky peek when some muso type popped his head around the corner. He wore ridiculous oversized white-rimmed shades, purple skinny jeans and two off-white layered Ts, both of which were too short to cover his hairy bellybutton.
‘Hey bucket carrier – you’re up,’ he said, signalling to Michael to get his ass back inside.
He shouted back, ‘Two minutes!’ almost bursting my eardrum, and then turned back to me with puppy-dog eyes.
‘It’s fine, just go,’ I said, sounding incredibly pissed off, which I was.
‘It’s just we’ve a big shoot on here tonight, so I better get the crew together and make this thing happen. Why don’t you head off for a bit and I’ll call you when we’re done.’
‘Can I not stay and watch you in action? Maybe I could help.’
‘Sorry, pumpkin, I don’t like any distractions while I work. Don’t worry, we’ll catch up later, I promise. Now you better go.’
And with that, he took my hand and started to lead me back through the throng of now busy bodies and then along the hall towards the lift.
As he kissed me goodbye at the door I felt myself slipping into a sulk again.
What a big baby I was.
‘You can show me what’s underneath that coat then,’ he smirked, ‘and—’ We were rudely interrupted by the same guy again.
‘Listen, fella,’ he hollered, ‘hurry the fuck up, there’s shit here that won’t move itself!’
For the first time I saw a different side to Michael, a flustered one. Without another word, he kissed me again and pushed me out the door, slamming it behind me.