Billie Jones - Mexican Kimono

It took all my might to walk slowly down the street. I suddenly felt like I was living in a parallel universe. It was unheard of for people to speak to me like that. First Kylie, now Gemma, of all people. Even my mum would usually intuit something was wrong, bring me dark chocolate and give me a foot massage. Had the world gone mad? I thought back to my mother’s warning about the kimono, but it was just too preposterous to believe. There was no way a piece of antique silk could be causing my friends to be so mean-spirited. Something was going on and I was going to figure it out, just as soon as I’d organised lunch. I can’t think when I’m hungry.

Chapter 4

Beer Belly Bob

I walked along the busy street, feeling the warmth of the sun on my back, scrolling through my phone looking for a new BFF candidate. Slim pickings, really. I decided to text Sharona.

She was a part-time make-up girl for Clinique, so it was pretty much guaranteed she wouldn’t show up with a freak show hairstyle. She was fairly ditzy, you know the type, laughs at everything, vacant look in her eyes, cute little nose. Her hair was brown, even though she totally acted blonde, and she was short with a big bum. I’m not being bitchy, I’m just trying to describe her for you. Oh, her good points? Well, she laughs at your jokes, and she’s a good listener.

‘Hey, Sharona! Want meet for lunch? Tapas?’

Her reply came instantly like the total slave to technology that she was. I think it’s something about being needed and wanted for some people. Like their phone is glued to their hand so they don’t miss a thing. Sad, really.

‘Hey! Love to but I’m at home recovering. You wanna come here?’

Recovering? Oh God, I’d have to listen to the whole sob story, get drinks for her, possibly spoonfeed her. Forget it. I didn’t do nursemaid for anyone.

‘Recovering. From what?’ I sent back.

‘Tyson just paid for me to have a boob job! Look out! DD all the way!’

Well, cross another off the list. How tacky. Her boyfriend of one month obviously didn’t like the fact he got her shoulder blades mixed up with her boobs and paid for her to have them done. It was practically prostitution, if you ask me.

‘Would love to, but I’m allergic to the smell of desperation, so maybe another time.’

‘Aww shame, you should feel them!’

Eww. See what I mean? It doesn’t take a person long to fall into that hooker-ish behaviour. Looks like I have another potential stalker on the way. Note to self: steer clear of Sharona until the anaesthetic has worn off.

Just when I’m feeling super-despondent, my phone rings and it’s JJ. He’s a flirtatious gay guy who is hardly ever around because he travels a lot. A funky artist type who spends a lot of time in Paris living ‘like a leper’, he says, because it’s the only way a true artist learns.

What he really means is he sucks everyone into paying for everything for him. It’s cool though, because it’s good to be seen with him. His art sort of went global a few years ago and he was semi-famous for a while there, even though he lost all the money he earned by falling into a serious drug habit.

He says he did it on purpose because he needed an edge, something dark with a violent tendency because his work was becoming too commercial. He said he felt like a sell-out. Anyway, so now he’s back and broke.

‘Sexy Samantha, I’m in Perth!’

‘Hey, JJ. I guess you want to meet for lunch?’

‘Babe, I’d love to, but you know how busy I am these days. I have exhibitions to arrange, paint that needs painting, brushes that need, umm, brushing, you know how it is. Why, what did you have in mind?’

See. JJ is a consummate professional at the scam. Firstly he tells you he is very busy and important-like; thumbs-up for that. Next, he finds out what you’re prepared to offer before he even considers it. JJ is high-end. He only does restaurants that have linen tablecloths with wait staff that place the napkin over your lap (he has a real thing about doing it himself, he says that’s for buffets and truck stops). He usually manages a top-notch lunch with fabulous wine, then a small spot of shopping.

He’s decked out like a super-rich playboy, and it’s all so effortless for him. I’d hate him if I didn’t love him so much. The upside to shopping with him like you’re some kind of Sugar Mummy was that he’d help put a whole outfit together for you. Things you’d never pick for yourself and somehow they always worked. It was the Parisian in him.

‘I understand, JJ, I’m swamped too. I start a new lifestyle choice tomorrow, though, so I wanted one last day of degustation beforehand.’

‘Lifestyle choice?’ he queried.

‘Yes, diets are so passé, I don’t do diets unlike some people we know, who are constantly stuck on that carousel of failure.’

‘Oh, a diet. You don’t need to diet!’ Hear that? That’s how I know he’s expecting me to pay.

‘I know, JJ. Sweet of you to notice. How about lunch at Silk in South Perth?’

‘Silk. An oldie but a goodie. Let me ring you back. I’ll see if I can swap a few things around.’

‘Let me ring you back, JJ. This has come totally out of the blue for me. I wasn’t planning on doing lunch at all today. I’ll see if I can reschedule a few things.’

I can’t be seen to be too available either, you know. It would be social suicide, especially with JJ. While he was uber-cool and arty, he could be terribly bitchy. I’m not kidding. I let my guard down with him once, poured my little heart out after a long lunch in the sun drinking mojitos. If I remember correctly, my then boyfriend had been caught kissing Toffany and I was heartbroken. JJ thought it was hilarious, and spread it around town that I had the ability to turn straight men gay. I tell you it was a dark week for me. I almost considered moving to Sydney until I did a Google search on how many straight men have turned gay there – alarming. Instead, I went to ground for a week, watched Will and Grace -a-thons and decided maybe I needed a cool gay best friend too. I bit the bullet and rang the ex-straight guy and offered my BFF status. He said yes and here we are, about to have lunch again. So now you know. The ex-boyfriend was JJ. The bastard.

JJ breathed heavily into the phone, ‘OK, babe, but be quick, ‘I’ve got a million things to do today.’

‘Sure, JJ. Me too.’ I hung up the phone and walked along the footpath looking for a taxi. I knew JJ would be doing the same. We’d both be working our way to Silk even though neither of us had confirmed. It’s just the way things are done.

I waited seven minutes before I called JJ back.

‘JJ, it wasn’t easy but I think I’ve managed to reschedule everyone. It’s not every day a friend arrives from Paris, is it?’

‘Great, me too. I’ll be playing catch-up for the rest of the week, but I’m sure it’ll be worth it.’

‘Let’s hope so for both our sakes. Meet you at Silk in fifteen?’

‘Twenty,’ he said.

‘I’ll do my best,’ I said. ‘I’m in the thick of it here. If you get there first, order a drink or two,’ and with that I hung up.

I looked at my phone and noted the time. I added another five minutes to JJ’s twenty, which would make made it exactly eleven-forty. I would wait in the underground car park if I had to. Getting to the restaurant first smacked of desperation.

A white taxi appeared as if I’d ESP’d him, like my mum does when she wants a cab.

‘Where you off to, love?’ asked the elderly grey-haired driver.

‘Silk, South Perth.’

‘Hop in, love.’

The taxi smelled like stale sweat. Air freshener, people. Two dollars! I felt like mentioning it, but after the last taxi fiasco where I was booted out unceremoniously in the dodgy end of town, I thought better of it. Who knew cab drivers were so sensitive? I simply mentioned he might want to think about using deodorant in the summer time. It was as much for his sake as mine. Sheesh.