The Sex Was Great But... (5 page)

“I have to get him to park the car for me. I, um…can't do reverse,” she explained. I was about to suggest that I do it for her, but I'd lost my appetite for embarrassing knock-backs.

I tried to sound casual and natural, like this was the sort of house I drove up to every day, as I said, “It's a bit big, isn't it?”

She stopped the engine and looked at me seriously. “I'm not a materialist, if that's what you're saying.”

“No, no. I was just saying it's, well, on the biggish side. Bigger than my gaff, but not too big, if you know what I mean.” My mum always told me, When you're in a hole, stop digging.

“You have to realize I grew up in one of the most tasteless mock Tudor houses in Connecticut,” she explained.

“Yeah, right. Fair enough too.”

“This is the house I always dreamed of owning.”

“Me too.” I laughed, and then she laughed too, and I added that there wasn't a lot of mock Tudor on my estate back in Islington.

“You live on an
estate?
”

“Yeah,” I said, trying not to sound too defensive. It's not as if I have a chip on my shoulder about where I grew up or anything. Even though my mates and me affectionately refer to our flats as the Dog Bum estate, there is a waiting list of four years to get a place on it.

“Oh!”

She looked really surprised, and then I realized what she meant. “No, no, not that kind of estate. It's a housing estate—single mums, old people, that kind of thing. What you'd call a project.”

“Oh.”

Now I did feel chippy.

We both opened our doors but neither of us got out.

“I used to dream of modernism when I was a kid,” she sighed.

“Tell me about it,” I said, rolling my eyes. I elected not to mention what I dream about. My big dream of doing a set in the Ministry of Sound as Mix Master Monroe and bringing the crowd to their knees with euphoria seemed pathetic and feeble now.

We climbed out of the car and I noticed the gardener was ambling over to meet us. He was holding up his hedge trimmers in greeting. If he'd been a bit taller and a bit younger the gesture might have been threatening, but between the straw hat and his height there wasn't much room for menace. He just looked friendly.

When he finally reached us I noticed he was wheezing a bit, so I offered him my inhaler. Holly told me his name was Joseph and he grasped both my hands in his and shook them enthusiastically, like I was someone he'd been waiting to meet all his life.

Holly said something to him in Spanish that I hoped was, “I want this exotic Englishman here to make wildly animalist love to me under the jacaranda.” But after all the summers I've spent in Ibiza my Spanish isn't bad enough for me to believe that was actually what she said.

I
t was only when we arrived at my place that the potential danger of my situation actually impacted. What the hell was I thinking, inviting a street person into my home? A home I only now realized was woefully short on armed security men and attack dogs.

My only line of defense in the event of an attack was Joseph; my fifty-year-old bronchial gardener, and Conchita, his wife—a four-foot-five maid with an arthritic hip. All my advisers had pleaded with me to get proper security, with CCTV and guards to look after the place, but I'd never gone for the idea. Despite what the readers' poll said,
I
was
seeking a modicum of normality here, and I didn't fancy living on a
Big Brother
set.

Joseph greeted Leo like a long-lost relative from Mexico. This meant he thought I was doing something with Leo that I might be ashamed of later. I checked with Leo as to whether he could speak Spanish and, reassured that he couldn't, explained to Joseph about what had happened to Leo's nose and asked him to keep a close eye on him. He seemed nice enough, but you can never be sure, right?

Joseph responded to my explanation with a lascivious look—as if I'd introduced him to my latest sex toy.

Usually when I introduce Joseph to the men I bring home—which I hardly ever do, by the way—he puffs out his chest, sticks his chin in the air and does this strutting thing like a farmyard rooster. He's very protective of me. He's always telling me that he's a very proud man and a respecter of women. Not a day goes by when he doesn't remind me of this. His wife, Conchita snorts if he ever says this kind of stuff in her presence.

Joseph made a worrying little wheezy sound and Leo offered him a blue inhaler from his pocket, which he refused because, as Conchita delights in reminding me, he prefers to treat his bronchial condition with cigarettes. As if on cue he pulled a packet of Marlboros from his pocket, offered one to Leo and lit up.

I reasoned that at least Leo now knew that there was another man around the place. Even if Joseph couldn't wrestle him to the ground, he was still capable of calling the police if Leo got any ideas.

Just to be sure, though, I asked Joseph in Spanish if he knew the number for emergency services.

“Emergency,” he replied in English—winking at Leo.

“So you know the number to ring in an emergency?” I said in Spanish.

“
Si,
nine, one, one.” He nudged Leo, who nudged him right back. What is it with men that they can bond so easily?

I know I shouldn't have been so untrusting of a guy who'd technically been beat up for coming to my rescue, but Wilhelm is always saying that mistrust and paranoia are the inalienable rights of all free-thinking people. On the other hand, he's always saying that rights are what you can get away with.

We left Joseph and went inside.

Conchita was on her day off, so I set up Leo in the kitchen with some cereal and ducked out to call Nancy.

“Nancy,” I announced when she picked up. “You are not going to believe what's happened to me today!” I thought a little guessing game would butter Nancy up. She loves guessing games. I also thought it would be an effective segue to the “I just brought a street person home with me” conundrum.

I suspected Nancy wasn't going to respond well to Leo, in which case I needed all the segues I could get.

“You found our New Betty?” she squealed, knowing full well I hadn't. “Tell me you've found a broken old woman with great bones who only needs a dab of makeup, a designer outfit and crèche facilities to transform her into a successful career woman, thereby making our ratings soar and putting you back on top of the most popular women in showbiz list?”

“Not even close.”

“Oh, by the way, Larry's been trying to get hold of you. He says you're not taking his calls.”

“Yeah, well, you know what they say about L.A.!”

She laughed. “It isn't just dog eat dog, but dog doesn't return other dog's phone calls. I know, but I thought you were going to fire him?”

“Get real! Who'd want to represent me now?”

“Get over yourself, girl. Agents grow on trees in this town. Even the flies have representation. John Travolta had an agent all those years he couldn't get work, remember?”

“Are you saying I'm about to be thrown into a three-hundred-year hiatus?” I semijoked.

“Holly, you know I don't think that.”

“Okay, well, that isn't why I called anyway. The thing is, right…and this is so amazing…you are not going to believe what happened to me this morning!”

“Let me guess.”

“No, you'll never guess. It's too unbelievable. Just don't say anything until I've finished—”

“What…you're not even going to let me
try
and guess?”

“No. You had your guess, so just listen. After I spoke to you this morning I drove to Vermont.”

“Okay, so drive, shop, drive shop—blah, blah. Are you going to call Larry or not?”

I ignored her. “I was on Vermont Avenue, outside Mona Li—”

Nancy cut in. “I love that shop. Ooooh, what did you get?”

“Will you shut up for a minute?” I shouted down the phone. This time I was rewarded with silence, so I leaped in and started my story. The street guy asking me for
spare change, the bag snatcher and—the tricky bit—justifying how I ended up inviting the street person home with me.

“You did…”(pause for effect) “…
what?
” Nancy loves to pause for effect. It's a trademark Nancy thing—she could have learned it from my mother—if she'd ever met her. I could never master the pause thing myself. I tried doing it with Ted once, but he just cut in during the pause parts.

Even though she wasn't shouting or anything, I held the phone away from my ear when she asked where the hell the bum was now?

I used my prim voice. “His name's Leo, as it happens, and he's in my kitchen eating cereal this very moment.”

“You mean serial—as in serial killer, right?”

“I mean cereal as in Cap'n Crunch, to be precise.”

“You…” (pause for effect) “…have offered your murderer…” (pause for effect) “…Cap'n Crunch?”

“Well I borrowed some from Joseph, actually, because he asked for it specifically. It's America's most frequently enjoyed snack—even more popular than hamburgers, he claims.” I was blabbering now. Believe me, if you knew Nancy, you'd blabber too.

“Is it, now?” (Sarcasm.)

“So he…erm…tells me.”

“Holly…”(pause for effect). “Let me explain something to you. You have a strange man…” (pause for effect) “…in your home. A street bum…” (pause for effect) “…eating your cereal? I know you're upset about the poll…” (pause for effect) “…and prone to act out your distress in questionable ways…” (pause for effect) “…but what will you do if he murders you?”

“He just saved my life, Nancy.” (Strike one to Holly.)

“Have you considered…” (pause for effect) “…the possibility that he only saved your life…” (pause for effect) “…in order to enjoy leisurely slaying you later in the comfort of your own home?” (Long drawn-out pause for effect.) “Well?”

“Have I considered that Leo is planning to enjoy slaying me at his own pace in the comfort of my own home?” I repeated, rolling the question through my mind like an unexploded landmine.

“Well, have you?”

“No,” I admitted, in a small mousy little voice, suddenly realizing how deeply stupid and moronic I was not to have considered such an obvious devious plan.

“Besides, he didn't technically save your life. All he did was rescue your bag!”

“Aha! Effectively the same thing. Everything I had for survival in this town was in that bag.”(Strike two to Holly!)

“So give him a cash reward, but why take him home for a bowl of cereal?”

“Er, well, I offered him a cash reward but he was too proud, see. He told me he didn't do it for the money. I offered him a wheat-grass shot and some chamomile tea, obviously, but he's trying to cut back his intake of wheat-grass, apparently. Said he prefers old lager left out in the sun.”

“Did you frisk him for weapons?”

Stupid, stupid, stupid Holly.
“Er…no.”

“Drugs?”

Dumb, dumb and dumber.
“Well see…not really. The thing was…”

“Fanatical religious literature?”

“Huh?”

“He could be one of those insane cult people—the ones who cut you up for the Lord. Have you got your mace handy?”

“Joseph's here.”

“Asthmatic Joseph?”(Pause for effect) “What good is Joseph going to be if the guy starts chopping you into small pieces and eating you?”

“Leo isn't like that. He's sweet, really.”

“Sweet?”

“Yes, sweet and gentle.”

“Yeah, right. Tell that to forensics when they're zipping you into your body bag. Did you smell his breath? Is he drunk?”

“No. Well, a bit, but that's because he's got a bit of a hangover, apparently and—”

“High on drugs? Glue sniffers have telltale fetid breath. Go smell his breath and come back to me.”

I considered this for about two seconds.
“No!”

“Is he talking about fellatio a lot?”

“Nancy! Now who's being shallow? Anyway, I might get him to take a shower. God Nancy, I can't believe you're being so sanctimonious after the lecture you gave me this morning. He's been a veritable Knight in Shining Armor.”

“A shower!” she shrieked. “You don't even let
me
use your bathroom,” she sniffed.

“I
do
possess a guest bathroom, remember? Four, actually, and anyway, I might get him to take the worst off under the shower by the pool first.”

“You're losing it.”

“No, I'm not.”

“Yes, you are. It's the readers' poll. It's hit you harder than I thought. You're talking crazy, acting crazy. Dragging guys off the street to take showers in your home is losing it. Big-time losing it. I'm coming over.”

“There's really no need. Joseph's here. And Conchita will be back soon.”

Nancy started laughing. That's typical of Nancy. First she instills an unhealthy degree of fear and terror in me and then changes tack entirely. Well, I wasn't going to put up with that. “I don't see what's so funny,” I told her primly.

“I just can't believe I'm missing all this. I'll see you in five.”

“Fine. I'll tell Leo to sharpen his chainsaw and tell him to expect an extra victim, shall I?”

After putting the phone down I returned to my Zen zinc kitchen to find Leo had vanished. I called out his name but there was no reply. All that remained was his scarf and hat, strewn across the table. It was as if he'd been tele-transported out of my life.

That was one possibility. The other was that Nancy was right. Maybe this was where my Knight in Shining Armor turned into my Crazed Buzz-Saw-Wielding Serial Killer? I mentally planned my defense. I was still holding the cell phone. I could press redial and call Nancy back so she could hear Leo bludgeoning me or chopping me into bits. But I wouldn't give her the satisfaction. She'd only say, “See, I was right!”

I could go in search of my mace. It was by my bed…or was it? No, maybe Conchita took it with her to give to her sister's daughter for her prom night. A knife from the kitchen was another option, although my self-defense class
had taught me about the dangers of having your own weapon of self-defense turned against you.

I was still wondering how I could save my own life when I spotted Leo, harmlessly munching away on his cereal in the dining room. Phew. It was only after I breathed out, though, that I saw how potentially irritating it all was. The thing was…he was sitting on my new granite table. The one I'd just had imported from Berlin. Sitting on the actual table. His trainers were on the granite chairs that I'd bought to go with it—in a totally eclectic nonmatching way.

Secretly, and please don't tell the
Star,
I'm nowhere near as unattached to my possessions as my Buddhist guide would have it.