Laura then proudly confessed to skimming a few thousand quid from her boss over the last couple of years. “But you’ve met him,” pointing to Hannah and Carol, “so you see why. He’s a complete tosser.”
They nodded, and Laura drank up.
Carol’s confession was hardly anything, just some bit about shoplifting. The only surprise was where and how much.
“Harrods? A five-thousand-pound sweater?” Deborah’s eyes nearly popped out. “But how did you get away with it?”
Carol shrugged. “Dunno, but it wasn’t so hard. Too nerve-wracking, though, and I wouldn’t do it again.” She looked down and fingered her sleeve. Seeing that, we all drank.
Hannah put down her glass angrily. “You lot make me fucking sick.”
“What?” we chorused.
“You make me absolutely ill! Confessing all these horrendous things. You’re all just play-acting anyway. You wouldn’t know what something horrible is if you stared it in the face!”
Hannah’s own had changed from red to purple.
“It’s confession time, and I’ll tell each and every one of you something, oh yes I will. Adele, you’re a malicious cow who’d stab every one of us in the back if you could. And probably has. Remember David?”
Adele’s face paled.
“Oh, yes bet you thought I’d never find out. You sorry little bitch. And then you, Carol, always stealing my work, passing it off as your own, and then getting better marks!”
Hannah stood up. “Now, I don’t have much to say to you, Laura, but that you’d admit so happily to stealing money from someone who you set me up with? That you said time and again would be a good match for me? Why the fuck would I want to date someone like that, then?”
“I… I…” Laura stammered helplessly.
“And as for you, Andrea, you’re simply nothing. No drive, no personality. I mean, why are you here? Because of Deborah’s charity, that’s why. Because you’re just the poor fucking pseudo-relation who grew up on the wrong side of town and always got the scraps. Deborah’s not your friend, she just pities you. Like the rest of us.”
I couldn’t move. It hurt to hear what I’d long suspected was the truth, especially broadcast for the entire bar.
“And then there’s the would-be bride. Ha, that’s what you think. Well, I’ve got a surprise, because it’s time you knew the truth about Sam and what an utter wanker he is.”
All of us sat on the edge of our seats, looking between Hannah and Deborah.
“Do you know he’s tried to pull each and every woman sitting here? In some cases, he’s actually succeeded. In fact, thanks to your dear fiance, I’m going to have to get a fucking procedure when I get home from this sorry excuse for a party.”
“You fucking bitch!” Deborah leaned across the table and would have punched Hannah if Laura hadn’t caught her arm in time. “I never want to see any of you again!” Hannah threw the remains of her drink on the table and stormed out of the bar.
Deborah sat down shakily, trying to get her bearings. “Can someone get me another fucking drink?”
The night somehow continued, though the party feeling was long gone. After a while, Adele turned to me and asked half-heartedly if I had anything to confess.
I thought of the last time I’d seen Sam, right before I was due to board the plane. I’d asked him to come over even though he was busy at work. He’d been nastier than ever, threatening to tell Deborah all sorts of lies about me that would irrevocably ruin our friendship, hurling all sorts of awful insults at me. I couldn’t help it. I grabbed the nearest thing I could to shut him up. It wasn’t till he’d fallen to the ground, blood gushing out of his head, his eyes fixed in a stricken expression, that I realized what had happened. I had to act fast, especially as the cab I’d called would be arriving at any moment. Thankfully, so were the garbage collectors.
“No, not a thing,” I said, and finished the remains of my cocktail.
THE MAN FOR THE JOBBY GARY PHILLIPS
No, how the hell could I be Wilson Pickett?”
“Oh, right. Sorry,” the square mumbled as I stepped out of the cab. He went down the street the way he’d been heading when he stopped to ask me that bullshit.
“You sure this is where you want me to let you?”
“Ain’t no sweat, man, I can handle it.” I peeled off some bills and handed them to the driver. On the backseat was a folded newspaper and an article about that bald chick, the singer, Shanay, Sinbad, whatever the fuck, and how she’d joined some kind of Catholic cult and was calling for the Pope to renounce Beelzebub. Hilarious.
“Enjoy your stay, sir.” He touched his cap and put his hack in gear. The car was just like the kind I’d seen roving around London, only there weren’t as many of them here. You’d think they’d be stacked up at the hotel I was staying at, but the doorman hipped me to hoof over to O’Connell Street, where I found some lined up.
I snuggled my upturned collar closer to my neck and put the zipper of my leather jacket all the way up. When you got the crawlies like I had, everything is like constant heated pins poking from beneath your skin. Plus the goddamn cold, which I wasn’t a fan of to begin with-gloomy weather was all up in my ass. I looked across a section of the park and could see the projects, or
Walking head down, hands tucked away, I knew deep inside but wouldn’t fess up that I was two steps from being certified a fool. I could have been back in my comfortable hotel room, hands roaming all over Molly, Mary, or whatever the fuck was the name of the honey who’d started conversing with me in that pub after the game at Lansdowne.
“I’ve seen you play before,” she said, her liquid browns steady on me.
I’d been giving her and a couple of her girlfriends the glance. They’d started whispering and giggling to each other after me and some of the others from the Dragons and the Claymores had strolled into the joint. The teams had come to Dublin to play an exhibition game at the stadium normally used for rugby and soccer. The stands weren’t nearly as full for us as they would be for their own games, but the curiosity factor and that football, my kind of football, involved its own slamming and swearing got some of the natives out to see us. What the fuck, slappin’ heads was slappin’ heads.
And where you had muscular dudes grappling and tearing at each other, you had the type of woman who dug that kind of action-and not just to watch.
“When was that?” I said, moving to give her space at the bar. She leaned in.
“In Chicago. I lived there for a while. Had a job selling dog products.”
“Dog products?”
“Flea-control solutions, chewy treats, that sort of rubbish.”
I liked her toothy smile. Well, okay, I also liked the fact she had some guns straining that sweater she was wearing. Those bad boys were calling my name. But damn, she knew I was looking. She was too. “So you saw me on TV?”
“Live and in color,” she said, assessing me up and down like a coach figuring out if I was first-string or pine- rider. “Soldier Field. The Falcons against the Bears, before they were in the Central Division. You had two touchdowns for Atlanta.” She paused, considering something, then said, “I believe you shook your arse at the crowd after that second one.”
I gave her my gee-whiz Urkel bit. Babes like a motha-fuckah to be self-effacing and shit. “Just trying to keep the fun in the game. Say did we-?”
“No, Zelmont, we didn’t. All your women blur in your mind, do they?” She’d lit a cigarette and let the smoke float between us.
“It’s not that, it’s just, you know, when you’re on the road during the season, shit just gets jumbled. ’Course, it’s not like I’d forget you.”
She knew it was bullshit, but it wasn’t as if we were carrying on a romance like in one of them whack Merchant Ivory flicks I’d been forced to watch once. She knew the score.
