29 May 2012
12. Holly
It’s all work work work, I don’t do anything else anymore. My life is consumed by working in The Bar, since Felix handed the reins to Caleb I’ve been shoehorned into the mantle which Caleb used to occupy. In the absence of my progenitor the distance between us seems even further, after coming so far, coming to know him, for him to know me and to now never have him know who I really am is an outcome not worth contemplating. From time to time he passes through the bar like a breeze, him and Caleb will hole up in the office or a booth, drinking and making clandestine phone calls. Sometimes he has the young brunette in tow and others not. I know that it’s all preparation for their Executive Night, the private evening which is so hush-hush that even God is in the dark.
The last few months have seen greater changes than just employment for Caleb, his years of being Felix’s shadow have served him well, absorbing every facet of his personality, charisma, dress sense as well as remorselessness. What was once long unkempt black hair with a wispy goatee have been trimmed into a neat Gatsby do with a fresh faced, clean-shaven look. His gold hoop earring has been replaced by a simple silver stud and his old torn jeans and boots have been traded in for pleated suit trousers with expensive Brown’s brogues and Jeffrey West wingtips. Apparently on Felix’s recommendation he’s been frequenting Selfridges to keep a healthy supply of shirts from the likes of Thomas Pink and Comme des Garçons. Sometimes he even goes to the extent of wearing cufflinks, he has sets from Charles Tyrwhitt, Pierre Cardin and of course Emporio Armani. He keeps his tattoos covered and his feelings hidden, cool and calculating he’s become and the clients love their new Felix. Initially these changes made Caleb far more appealing, his transformation from caterpillar to butterfly was as impressive as it was rapid. However along with it came strict adherence to Felix’s moral code, or lack of it, though I’ve been entirely removed from his crosshairs the rest of the female population of the globe has not. Much in the manner of his mentor Caleb is now seeing two girls casually, dating one and in a relationship with the PA to a partner at Price Waterhouse Coopers.
When Sunday rolls around it’s my first day off in almost three weeks, three weeks that I haven’t been back to my Mum’s, worse still three weeks without high heels. Before going to pick them up this evening I’ve decided to go and have lunch with my two very best friends who I’ve been neglecting, the only two other people in the world who knew I was going to work for my mysterious father before I took this job all those months ago. I’ve known Shiv and Kat since going to secondary school when I was eleven, we formed part of a larger group of girls who have since disbanded as we grew older and our interests diverged, but Shiv, Kat and I always stayed extremely close. Maybe it was because they were the only two who didn’t judge me because of my mother, or maybe simply because we’re all so similar, either way they’re friends who are always there and have been invaluable to me in life. Shiv is tall, slender but with every curve in the right place and faultless. Her eyes are so blue and big that they’re almost a natural caricature. Kat on the other hand is of a tiny stature, standing at only five foot two she makes up for her pint sized height with a personality which outdoes a crowd of people. Permanently keeping up with the latest trends with her haircuts, always making a statement and never showing any restraint when it comes to her clothes, someone with confidence that most girls envy. We decide to meet at an old hangover hangout in West London, Rosie’s cafe is a family owned and run cafe between Finchley road and Frognal station and Finchley Road underground. Inconspicuously down a side road and opposite a specialist German car engineer, if you weren’t told about it you simply wouldn’t know about it. It’s a cafe which is largely frequented by Italian natives who go for the extremely fresh, rapid and cheap Italian food which is on offer. The decor is simple, absolutely nothing catches the eye, a small refrigeration counter houses certain fresh produce next to the till. A few simple plywood shelves house De Cecco pasta of various varieties as well as a few packets of sun dried tomatoes and porcini mushrooms. The rotund, pink cheeked, but incredibly welcoming proprietor is called Anna, we only call her Rosie due to the name of the road on which her restaurant is situated, Rosemont Avenue, a mistake which we’ve never corrected.
Shiv and I meet at the station knowing full well that we would have to wait for Kat who takes “fashionably late” to new extremes. Because the sun has finally decided to come out Shiv is wearing some high waisted blue denim shorts, a small white T-shirt with “Vanity” written across it in block capitals and some battered, formerly white Converse hi-tops. Unfortunately I’m wearing the exact same shorts, the butt of the joke of street fashion, I have on a men’s blue and white striped shirt from Hackett which is tied in a large knot just above my belly-button and my feet are strapped into some centurion style sandals. We make the short walk to Rosie’s in a couple of minutes, unable to make much of a conversation due to the noise from the four lanes of Finchley Road to one side. Once we turn off we put our bags down on one of three small tales which has been crammed onto the pavement outside, Shiv takes a seat while I go inside to get us drinks. When I come back out holding two cans of Diet Rio Shiv is delicately applying more mascara to her already gargantuan lashes which frame her manga comic eyes. Before sitting down opposite I drag over another chair from one of the adjacent tables for Kat whenever she decides to arrive. Shiv slides her mascara tube back into her bag and flashes me a big smile before reaching over to grab herself a can of Rio. “So,” she starts, “tell all Holly, what’s the goss? I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”
I slurp some Rio through a straw while “Mmming” my agreement. Coming up for air, “I know it’s been so long! I’ve been so busy at work, the boss has decided to basically take a leave of absence and so it’s kind of me and this other guy now running the place.”
“Oh wow!” She says genuinely impressed. “So this is your dad yeah? The boss I mean, I’m guessing you still haven’t told him yet.”
“No still not and I don’t even see how I will him comes in sometimes now but never really talks to me. I’m beginning to think I might shelve the whole idea.” I say, “anyway how about you, what’s going on in your neck of the woods?”
Shiv rolls her eyes dramatically. “Oh you know the usual, slaving away over at Pow Publishing for a pittance, I don’t see how I’m ever going to be able to afford to move out, it’s a joke.”
“True, I only managed it because I’m living rent free at the moment.”
“Well not exactly free,” she says slyly.
“Ewww,” I reply in disgust, “are you mad, there’s no way.”
“Well we all know you like your older men, Holly.” She raises her hands in surrender. “I’m just saying.”
“There’s a difference between older and old,” I say. “Besides, the point is he knew my Mum and he knows Felix so he’s really just trying to help.”
“Hmmm,” she says uncertainly, “just be careful, it sounds a bit suspicious to me, remember, too good to be true probably means too good to be true.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever, it’s only a temporary situation until I can get enough money together to look for my own place. I really could not live with my Mum anymore.”
Shiv pulls her knees up to her chest so that her feet are perched on the edge of her seat. “How is your Mum these days?” She asks with trepidation.
“Good question,” I say, “I haven’t seen or heard from her since I moved out, she made such a huge fuss about it and then she’s gone off the radar ever since, I think I’m going to swing by after this and pick up the rest of my shoes though.”
“Ah the essential ingredients to good living,” she says moving her feet in and out like Dorothy going home. “I think my parents are probably going to get a divorce anyway, I haven’t seen them in the same room so far this year, I’m embarrassed to even know them.”
“Not like we haven’t seen this coming for, oh about ten years,” I say.
“Very true,” she says resting her glass on her knee and drinking through her straw. “Keith has been punching well above his weight with Amanda for way too long. She’s a hot old lady and Keith looks like he’s lost the will to live, as well as maintaining basic hygiene standards.”
We both giggle, Shiv suddenly looks up and her eyes widen, a signal that Kat has arrived and is bounding over toward us. Kat is wearing skin tight, black, shimmering latex leggings with Christian Louboutin black, acrylic platform heels. Her top is predominantly gold in colour with large block letters saying “Mrs. Patrick Bateman” over the front, her hair has been cut into an angry, Lego cut bob which frames her porcelain face, dark blue eyes and crimson pout. She storms over to our table with purpose and slams her obviously heavy bag down with a bang and a theatrical huff. She opens her mouth as if to say something but then decides against it and shakes her head vigorously before walking into the cafe behind us. Shiv and I exchange a look of mild bemusement but say nothing and just wait for her to come back out. When she does she’s holding large cup of steaming black coffee with both hands and carefully blowing on it, she diligently lowers herself into her seat without spilling any of her coffee and throws her head back letting out a loud squawk of satisfaction. “I just had to order a cuatro formaggi in there, I
Daddy's Gone 12.0 • Opuss № I