Love at First Slice, page 26
‘What do you mean?’
‘My mother, she’s ruined me! She’s made me like this, the way I am! Did you know she spent every waking second since I let her down hating me? And now she has cancer, she wants to let bygones be bygones and for me to tell her it’s OK. Well it isn’t fucking OK. She did this when she pushed me away. I’m cold and barricaded by some force-field for the emotionally inept. That’s what you do, you see, when you’ve given and been rejected. Up go the shutters, no admittance, sorry, no second date. A nice kiss on the doorstep and a fumble in the car, but that’s your lot,’ George continued.
‘Quinn got through the shutters, didn’t he,’ Helen remarked.
‘He burst through them, Helen. He shattered them, tore them down, until there was nothing left,’ George admitted, trying hard to stop the tears filling up in her eyes.
She couldn’t give in to the tears. They made her feel weak and pathetic and she didn’t want to feel like that. She wanted to feel angry and she wanted that rage to fill her up, right to the top.
‘Oh George, I’m sorry if I sounded harsh,’ Helen sympathised.
‘Don’t be nice to me. I don’t deserve it. It’s just no one’s ever done that to me, not since Paul. And that was such a long time ago, I’d almost forgotten what it felt like,’ George said.
She was shaking now and the bottle in her hands felt heavy.
‘Why didn’t you tell me when it started?’ Helen asked her.
‘Because I was finding it hard enough to admit what was happening to myself, let alone anyone else.’
Marisa burst into the wagon, hair flying across her face and beads of sweat glistening on her forehead.
‘Can I like have some help now? Bachelors have arrived and they’re already drunk. Belch has pulled down some of the drapes, Taylor’s doing her nut and they’re stripping Michael!’ she said breathlessly.
33
‘This is like Archie Reeves’ birthday party all over again, except we’ve got pink drapes instead of blackout curtains,’ George remarked as she, Marisa and Helen re-entered the room where the parties were in progress.
‘What should we do?’ Marisa enquired.
Michael was in the middle of the room, stripped down to his lilac, silk boxer shorts. He was being given the bumps by Belch, Eddie the drummer and Manny the keyboard player. A group of thirty other men were egging them on, chanting loudly and waving their beer bottles in the air. It was like a cross between the aftermath of football celebrations and an 18-30 pub crawl.
Pixie was the only other person who ought to be taking control and she looked wasted. She was trying to encourage the bored-looking bachelorettes to get into the mood of the evening. She was stood on a table, a rose between her teeth, battering out a rhythm to the flamenco music the guitarists were playing.
There were upended chairs and tables, platters of food sprayed around the floor and some of the men were trying to pull the bachelorettes onto the dance floor.
Taylor was stood. Her shift dress was immaculate, her hair in an elegant chignon and her mobile phone pressed to her ear.
‘What is she doing about it?’ George asked Marisa.
‘She started freaking out when the décor was being pulled down, but nothing’s happening. That’s why I came to get you,’ Marisa explained.
‘Great, just what I need,’ George said and she walked towards Taylor.
‘Oh, I’m not sure this is a good idea. Adam, perhaps you should do something, not George,’ Helen suggested.
‘Why me? She’s the boss.’
‘…no Daddy, I need you to come now. They’re messing everything up; we need security – no I cannot handle it. Quinn’s not here and they’re out of control…’ Taylor squeaked into the phone.
‘Sorry to interrupt, but I really think we need to sort this mess out,’ George said firmly, breaking into Taylor’s phone conversation.
‘Hang on, Daddy – I realise that, Ms Fraser; I’m on the phone trying to organise something,’ Taylor informed, taking the phone away from her ear and glaring at George.
‘Well, if you don’t get something arranged pretty quickly, it’s going to turn into a free for all,’ George continued.
‘I am well aware of that too,’ Taylor retorted.
Michael was beginning to yelp like an abandoned puppy and his face had turned the same colour as his underwear. Vomit was ensuing.
‘Can you start by tidying up the food and arranging some replacements? Security will deal with the guys when they get here,’ Taylor told George, looking over at the group of men, who were swinging Michael around by his ankles.
‘Are you serious? We don’t have replacements. We were lucky to get the food we did,’ George reminded her.
‘Yes Daddy, I’m still here – yes I know but…’
George let out an angry sigh of disapproval and she grabbed hold of Adam.
‘She isn’t going to do anything so we’ll have to. The next time Michael bounces up, we’ll put a stop to it. We can’t wait for security to arrive; it’s already turned into chaos and he looks like he’s about ready to throw up. I can’t cope with mopping up canapés mixed with Lilt,’ George told him.
‘I tried to stop them trashing everything, but there were too many of them,’ Adam spoke.
‘Don’t worry – OK guys, I think that’s enough bouncing about for poor Michael here, don’t you? He looks a bit puce. How about I organise some cocktails before the strippers arrive?’ George suggested to the men, clapping her hands together and trying to divert their attention.
‘Strippers, huh? Oh man, you mean Uptight Panties over there has dropped her “no strippers” clause?’ Belch replied.
‘Yes, they’ll be here any minute. So shall I make cocktails?’ George asked as Michael scrabbled out of their clutches and began picking up his clothes.
‘No, I’ve got a better idea. How about you strip for us? That waitress outfit really does it for me,’ Eddie the drummer told her, a lecherous look on his face.
‘I don’t think so, boys. I’m more cooking than stripping, to be honest,’ George said, trying her best to remain calm.
‘Why don’t you let us be the judge of that?’ Belch asked, letting out a disgusting burp and grabbing George roughly by the shoulders.
‘Hey, let go of her!’ Adam ordered, taking hold of Belch’s arm.
‘Hot for her yourself, are you?’ Belch enquired, swaggering around and enveloping George away from Adam.
‘I said, get off her!’ Adam ordered, pulling at Belch’s t-shirt.
‘Adam!’ Marisa yelled, joining the mêlée.
‘Marisa! Come back!’ Helen called frantically as Marisa disappeared into the throng.
The Spanish guitarists seemed oblivious to what was going on and were still strumming at a frantic pace. Some of the bachelorettes were now stood up practising flamenco moves. They all looked the worse for wear and there were half-filled bottles of Cristal everywhere.
‘You lay one finger on her and I’ll kill you!’ Adam yelled at Belch, his eyes flashing angrily.
‘Adam, it’s all right. Everyone’s just had a bit too much to drink and they’re getting a little overenthusiastic, that’s all,’ George said, struggling away from the guitarist’s clutches and trying to regain control.
Perhaps this hadn’t been such a good idea. Maybe she should have waited for security. She hadn’t bargained on being the entertainment.
‘See, she likes it. Don’t you, George? Let’s take your shirt off and see just how much you’re really enjoying it,’ Belch said, fingering the buttons on George’s top.
As the guitarists launched into one of the Gipsy Kings’ best-known numbers and the bachelorettes started stamping out a beat, Quinn entered the room.
‘Quinn, thank God you’re here. Everyone’s got out of control and Daddy’s busy in a meeting about Saturday. Michael’s left and I need you to sack the caterer. She’s been rude to me and—’ Taylor began to bleat, taking hold of Quinn’s arm and gripping onto it.
‘They all got pissed in town. Belch almost got arrested,’ Quinn informed her.
‘Well, get them to stop. I’ve got the flamenco demonstrators arriving soon and they’re ruining everything,’ Taylor told him.
Quinn’s eyes were drawn to the centre of the room and anger swelled over him when he saw what was going on. Belch was mauling George and she was desperately trying to get out of his reach whilst trying to stop Adam getting into a fight over it. Marisa was being pushed from one bachelor to another, squealing and yelping like a human skittle.
‘Quinn, the flamenco…’ Taylor began.
He wasn’t listening. He shrugged her off and marched up to the group of bachelors.
‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!’ he yelled at the top of his voice.
He pulled Eddie and pushed past Adam to get to the centre of the commotion.
‘Come on, Quinn. It’s just a bit of fun man, until the strippers get here,’ Belch replied with a laugh.
‘How dare you touch her,’ Quinn spat, taking George’s arm and pulling her away from his band mate.
‘You need to chill out, man. It’s supposed to be your last night of freedom,’ Belch replied, swigging from his bottle of beer.
‘Look at this place! What the fuck is going on with you guys?’ Quinn wanted to know.
‘It’s called having a good time. Marisa knows how to have a good time, don’t you honey?’ Belch spoke, taking hold of Marisa and kissing her on the lips.
‘Right, that’s enough!’ Adam shouted at Belch. He grabbed hold of Marisa’s arm and wrenched her towards him.
‘Adam, come away. They’re drunk; they don’t know what they’re doing,’ George told him.
‘You touch her again and I’ll have you,’ Adam threatened Belch.
He was trying to create a barrier between him and Marisa by widening himself.
‘So you’re a tough guy now, huh? Get a little credit on a song and you think you’re in the band,’ Belch taunted.
‘Belch, you’re way out of line,’ Quinn warned, still holding onto George.
‘Speaks the almost married man. What’s up with you, man? She putting the pressure on already? Changing you? You’ll be carrying her handbag next and getting one of those Shih Tzu’s to go in it,’ Belch said, reaching out and stroking Marisa’s hair.
‘What’s your problem? Are you spoiling for a fight or something? Because if you want a fight, fight with me, not Adam,’ Quinn ordered him.
‘I told you to get away from her. Keep your hands off her,’ Adam screamed, shielding Marisa protectively.
‘I’m all right. Why don’t I just go and make some coffee for everyone. I can make it really nice and strong, Sally taught me this really neat trick,’ Marisa suggested, trying to diffuse the situation.
‘Yeah, sure. Coffee making’s about your limit though, isn’t it, babe? Best to stick to what you know, darlin’,’ Belch said.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Marisa enquired.
‘Well, don’t go hanging out for a modelling contract or anything. Because man, I think hell might be freezing over first,’ Belch said with a hearty laugh.
Before the group could join in with the cruel banter, Adam planted a punch on Belch’s face that sent him reeling into the pack, knocking over Eddie and two others. Drinks hit the floor and Belch flailed about, stunned and momentarily unable to get up.
‘Adam, for God’s sake! There was no need for that. He’s pissed; he has no idea what he’s doing or saying. Look at the state of him,’ George said, moving Adam away from the crowd as Quinn helped to pick Belch back up.
‘So that makes it OK, does it? For him to unbutton your shirt and touch Marisa?’ Adam asked, still seething with anger.
‘No of course not. But we’re supposed to be professional; we’re the caterers, not security,’ George reminded him.
‘Professional! Oh, is that what we are? So it’s professional to spend the afternoon getting pissed out of your mind and then sack all the staff, is it?’
‘Adam…’
‘He deserved it! I wish I’d punched him harder!’ Adam yelled, looking over at Belch.
‘Get back to the villa, right now,’ George ordered.
‘What?’
‘Get back to the villa. You’re finished here for the night,’ George told him.
‘Come on! You heard what he said! You saw what he was like. You saw him touching Marisa,’ Adam said angrily.
‘And you let your feelings cloud your judgement. Go back to the villa,’ George ordered again.
‘Don’t talk to me like that. I’m not a kid,’ Adam told her.
‘Then stop acting like one and do what I’ve asked!’ George spat back.
‘You’re a hypocrite and you’re blaming me for something that isn’t my fault. I was trying to diffuse the situation!’
‘By punching the best man?! Just go, Adam!’
‘Jesus Christ, George, have you heard yourself?! You may be my boss but you’re not my fucking mother!’ Adam yelled.
The comment hit her hard. It was like a knife to the heart, the blade long and sharp, piercing and debilitating. Adam was looking at her angrily, the Spanish guitars were being strummed within an inch of their lives and Taylor was heading in their direction, Carleen hot on her kitten heels.
‘Yes, I am!’ George yelled with every fibre of her being.
34
‘Security’s on its way. I need replacement platters. I have more guests arriving and the flamenco demonstrators will be here soon,’ Taylor told George, arriving at her side.
Carleen was like a mirror image beside her.
George and Adam didn’t hear her. They were oblivious to everything, just staring at each other. Tears were welling up in George’s eyes.
‘What did you say?’ Adam asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.
‘I said, yes I am,’ George responded, swallowing a lump in her throat.
‘I don’t understand. I said, “you’re not my mother”,’ Adam repeated.
‘And I said, yes I am,’ George said again.
‘Look, I have a party here. You’re in charge of catering. I need more food, I need the tables to be fixed up, I need—’ Taylor began.
‘Just shut up!’ George ordered, turning to face Taylor and truly despising her for the first time.
‘How dare you speak to me like that!’ Taylor exclaimed, putting her hand to her chest like an arrow had just been speared through it.
‘Oh my! You cannot speak to the bride like that!’ Carleen added, patting her friend on the arm.
‘You’re saying you’re my mother? Why would you say that?’ Adam questioned, backing away from George.
‘I want this mess cleared up. I want more canapés, I want—’ Taylor began again, stamping her shoes up and down like she was auditioning for Riverdance.
George span around, drew back her fist and punched Taylor in the face. The bride-to-be fell to the floor and Carleen let out a deafening scream as if she had just been doused with devil’s spit.
The scream drew the attention of Quinn, Helen, Marisa and the less-inebriated bachelors and bachelorettes.
‘Christ, George! You’ve just knocked out the bride!’ Adam exclaimed, looking at the unconscious Taylor lying on the ground.
Carleen bent over her, a look of concern on her Maybellined face.
George grabbed hold of Adam and pulled him away into one of the corners of the room.
‘Get off me! You’re mental!’ Adam said, shrugging off her arm.
‘Adam, I know how this sounds but – I’m your mother,’ George repeated in case there was any doubt.
‘What’s got in to you? You’re still drunk, aren’t you!’ Adam said, eyeing her suspiciously.
‘I’m not drunk,’ George exclaimed.
‘Then why are you saying mad things?’ Adam wanted to know.
‘Mad things like what?’
‘Mad things like you’re my mother!’ Adam exclaimed.
‘Because I am your mother! How loud do I have to yell it before you believe it? Do you need me to write it down?!’ George shrieked hysterically.
Adam just stared at her, trying to gather from her expression what was going on.
‘Stop saying that! Just stop it.’
‘It’s the truth. I should have told you before. It never seemed like the right time. She wouldn’t let me and then she got sick and she wanted to tell you and I didn’t and…’ George began, the tears starting to spill from her eyes.
‘No, this is all wrong! Why are you doing this? Because I answered back? Because I hit Belch? Why would you make something like that up? It’s sick!’ Adam yelled.
‘It’s not made up. Listen, let’s just go back to the villa and I’ll explain. I’ll explain everything,’ George begged as Adam backed towards the door.
‘No, stay away from me. You’ve gone mental. Nothing you’re saying is making sense,’ Adam stuttered as he rushed towards the door.
‘Adam, just come back!’ George ordered, hurrying after him.
‘No! You wanted me to go, now I’m going. I’m going before we really fall out. I’m not listening to anything else you have to say. I’m done,’ Adam shouted. He turned his back on her and began hurrying up the canvas walkway.
‘Adam, please! Don’t go. Let me explain, please, just let me explain,’ George called, hurrying after him.
Her words didn’t reach him. He was already at the bottom of the walkway, making for the outside.
‘George, what’s going on? What’s wrong with Adam? He just dissed me big time,’ Marisa enquired as she and Helen arrived at her side.
‘Nothing, he’s just upset about Belch and everything. He just needs some space,’ George spoke hurriedly, blinking away her tears and trying to ignore her hammering, terrified heart.
‘Did you have a go at him for hitting Belch? Was it my fault?’ Marisa questioned.
‘No, it wasn’t your fault.’
‘Shall I go after him?’
‘No, Marisa!’ George yelled.
Marisa looked like she was about to cry. Her bottom lip trembled and she defensively folded her arms across her chest.
‘Look, I’m sorry. Just leave Adam alone for a while. It’s been a bit of an evening and we’re all stressed,’ George said, regaining a little composure.
