Chapter 4

I was having a very Bridgett Jones moment right now. Holed up in some room in the middle of nowhere, quite literally…

“All by mysel-e-elf, don’t wanna be all by myself—anymorrrreee- orre-orre”

Expect I wasn’t doing the whole air guitar, leg kick thing. I was pretty close though, a few more drinks could have pushed me over the edge and you might have found me curled up in the shower singing mournfully.

Not that I would ever let anyone see that, not even Clay… He didn’t even know about Dr. Frankenstien, that’s what I called him anyway due to the large strangely symmetrical warts on either side of his forehead that looked like screws.

Psychiatrist.

Headshrinker.

Shrink.

Whatever else you want to call him.

It had been a complete and utter misunderstanding, the series of events that had lead me to his office really. Now that I look back on the event, it was quite laughable. Although at the time, it was far from amusing.

It had started with a simple poetry assignment for English class. We’d had a week to do the bloody thing, but I’d left it to the last minute. At the time I was dating a guy who wore more eye make-up than I did. His name was Seth. The only reason I was dating him was to piss my father off, personally I could barely stomach the guy with his “I hate life and I want to die to get away from the dark tears that drip from my dead grey heart organ, p.s- please bury me in the Romanian Forrest” attitude. He wore a black velvet cape in the height of summer, with black leather pants and boots with big silver buckles.

He took me to clubs where men screamed in German and people danced at if they were swatting away invisible flies and getting tangled in spider webs. One night, after the “Vortex of Hell” party I went back to his place. I’d often observed him writing poetry in a little book that he kept in a small coffin shaped tin, at the time it had seemed like a good idea just to rip out one of the pages and hand it in for my assignment. The poem in question went something like this;

Endless Torture of my black mind

Drink down the bloody words and eat the rotting dagger

Something, something dead gaping crow mouth beak,

Something, something  suspended by burning lullaby’s

At the bottom he’d drawn a picture of a black rainbow. In fairness, I hadn’t read it before handing it in…

There’d been much gasping, many hushed tones and solemn nods. My father had been called in and I had been shipped off to Dr. F. Unfortunately, before I had had a chance to explain to the dear doctor that it was all just a mistake, he’d made me fill in a questionnaire. The answers that I’d provided to the fairly innocuous looking questions like-Do I feel fatigued often? Do I feel agitated and keep moving? Do I find it difficult to make decisions? And do I like being alone? –had me walking out with a prescription for happy pills Apparently I really was depressed. He’d said some phycho mumbo-jumbo about my mother’s death and not dealing with it, my fear of being alone, my excessive partying, need to keep busy, need for fathers love/ attention and other such textbook tit-bits.

I tried to explain to him that only people who didn’t wash their hair were depressed. My hair was very shiny. But he didn’t listen.

“Check in in six weeks time”, he’d said. I never went back. I did however break- up with Seth that day- which I’m sure would have spawned several poems with titles like, “Rip out my dead heart with your bare hands bitch”. I also gave him the happy pills- just in case.

I looked out the window; it was completely dark outside and there was officially nothing to do.  Nothing to distract me from my growing feelings of loneliness, which seemed to be penetrating the usually impervious walls of alcohol that kept them in and drowned.

No TV, no cell phone reception, the messages I was sending to Clay kept bouncing back, but I felt a bit better typing them, they were my umbilical cord to the outside world which seemed to be very far away right now.

My thoughts drifted to Riaan again, he was terribly unpleasant, but so terribly good-looking. I was torn. If he would only shut his mouth for five minutes, he might prove to be an excellent little distraction. My only distraction.

I zipped open my zebra skin bags - you could still smell the new leather. I’d made our house keeper Mildred pack my bags, so everything was beyond immaculately folded- not for long. I rummage frantically, looking for just the right outfit that he couldn’t say no too. Men were pretty predictable when it came to sex. They wanted it. And they never turned it down, especially when it was being offered to them on a silver platter. Riaan would be no different. Sex was always the perfect distraction. For me anyway, it took me out of my mind and away from my thoughts.

I settled on a brand new Roberto Cavalli, one that Clay had bought me. Skin tight, short, plunging neckline, no back (practically a wispy flap of fabric) and cheetah print… when in Rome! It fitted me like a second skin and did all the right things to my bum and waist. My boobs needed a little extra help and I slipped in my trusty ‘chicken cutlets’ that took them up a size. I pulled out my make-up bag and started applying my ‘war paint’, as I liked to call it.

I looked tired; my eyes where puffy and my skin lacked luster and sparkle, but it was nothing that a dark smoky eye, some bronze highlighter and a Jessica Rabbit red lip couldn’t fix. All I needed were a pair of killer heels- six inches at least- to complete the look, and then I was off. I settled on a pair of bright purple strappy Jimmy Choos. Very sexy. I did the last strap, teased my hair ever so slightly for a bit of height and bounce and headed out the door.

It was dark, and surprisingly cold, the temperature had plummeted to God knows what and it made me shiver. A few small lights still illuminated my way, but barely. I wobbled down the stony path, heading for the block behind me.  The night air was full of sounds I didn’t recognize, or particularly like; some crickets I presumed, the eerie hoot of an owl.  But there were other noises too; they seemed to emanate from somewhere deep in the bush. I trembled slightly as I heard was sounded like a distant roar.

“Second room in the block behind me,” I repeated it loudly, while almost tripping over a stone and knocking my shoulder on a low hanging branch.

“Ouch.” This place didn’t seem to like me much, first the killer ants, then the blazing heat and now a deadly stone and a branch hell bent on bruising me. Unpleasant.

I finally reached his door with only a minor scratch and got ready to strike ‘the pose.’

The pose; A position that best accentuates the curves of your body. Hip out to the side, chest out, stomach in and head on one side revealing the soft curve of your neck while letting your mouth fall open in a seductive pout.

In all my years of doing ‘The pose’, it had only failed me once. It had happened about three years ago when I went to a trendy little shindig in Chelsea. I’d spotted a gorgeous guy from across the room and decided to make my move. I’d studied him for long enough- whilst drinking several pink drinks- to ascertain that he met all the requisite requirements.

1.    Dressed in the latest designer fashions- absolutely no expenses spared

2.     Well groomed- no half -shaven hipster hair, no sideburns and certainly no facial topiary- in the form of goaties and other lines and stripes of hair that ran along the jawline or the upper lip.

3.     An expensive watch- preferably Swiss made, they have such a knack when it comes to designing time pieces

4.     Equally expensive shoes- no skater style sneakers, no sandals, nothing that could be worn in the making of a Western, no Crocs, nothing in shiny alligator skin and absolutely nothing that can be worn when playing sport of any kind.

5.     Surrounded by cool people- they should have at least graced the pages of a society magazine

6.     Rich

7.     Rich

8.     Rich

9.     Devastatingly good looking- preferably in the way shape and form of “TDHH” Tall, dark and handsome heir.

10.  And rich (You can always tell if someone has money or not- and he was showing all the signs of it)

Very few guys actually ticked all ten boxes though, so despite all the rumors in the papers and gossip around town, I don’t actually land up with as many as people think I do.

I made my move and slid over to the other side of the room. I positioned myself at the bar, directly in his eye line and assumed the pose. But after ten minutes and several attempts to get his attention, he’d barely looked in my direction. It was most disconcerting, but just as I was about to give up, my stomach muscles were cramping from sucking them in and my neck was getting a stitch, he walked over to me.

BINGO!

Or not.

“Hi. I’m Clay. And I’m gay.” He was so straightforward, blunt and to the point that I could help but be shocked. I have come to realize that this is his standard greeting, his calling card if you like.

“I thought I would put you out of your misery before you dislocated a hip or your neck went all exorcist and bent backwards.” He smiled at me, “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Sure.” I was mortified, but then as soon as we started talking, we realized that we were obviously long lost twins separated at birth.

And that was it. The start of our inseparable friendship.

But the pose was not going to fail me now.

I was aware that Riaan met none of my criteria, but he had some very other attractive qualities. I knocked and immediately heard a shuffle.

“Gee vir my n minuut.” Riaan called from inside the room. God it was sexy when he spoke in a foreign language- if only he spoke like that all the time, I wouldn’t understand a word.

I stuck my chest out a little more to make sure that would be the first thing he came face-to-face with when the door opened.

What a surprise he’d get!

Except I was the one who was to be surprised, when GI-Riaan stood there in nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. He was still wet from his shower and little droplets of water ran down his large and rather muscular chest.  The sudden close proximity to the half naked Riaan gave me a chance to really scrutinize him; He had a splattering of chest hair, which wasn’t fashionable in my circles. It suggested a total lack of ‘man-scaping’, the done thing in my crowd. His eyebrows too- bushy caterpillars- also suggested a lack of plucking. He had a dark natural tan, that was a big tick in the right direction and long Bambi lashes, which were always a winner. All in all, a well handsome fella, despite not conforming to my usual standards.

“Hi Riaan,” I whispered, putting on the best sultry voice I could muster.

I noted that his face flushed a bright red momentarily, his pupils followed suit with a brief dilation.

This was going to be so easy.