Worst. Person. Ever(30)
“Wakey-wakey, Ray. Good to see you up and alert.”
“Who the fuck are you?”
“It’s me, Ray, your buddy, Neal.”
“Why am I not in that airport shithole?”
“You ate a macadamia nut, you sly devil. Your oneway ticket out of the Homeland Security system. We’re on a jet to Kiribati.”
“My brain feels like a caged circus animal. What the hell happened to you?”
“I got myself a makeover. Ever had one? You go in looking seedy and feeling like a failure—and then all these smashing hot birds and enthusiastic gay guys run their hands all over you and you walk out looking like a pop star. I had to do something while you were stuck in Homeland Security’s intensive-care pavilion. A few of the girls from Fi’s casting session took me on as their project, so to speak.”
“But what the fuck happened to your teeth?”
“There was nothing wrong with my teeth, Ray—at least, nothing Zoom laser-whitening couldn’t zap away in seconds.”
I looked around me. “And why am I not in some American prison?”
“Oh that. Fiona brokered your release. She’s a smart woman, Ray.”
I instantly needed to know what my exact trade value was on the open market. Three defecting Chechen spies? Five political dissidents with a cache of industrial data? A phalanx of Chinese terracotta warriors? “What did she trade me for?”
“I believe Fiona was able to get you released for a pair of matinée tickets to Billy Elliot, the Musical at a Los Angeles dinner theatre. Pretty good seats.”
“Matinée tickets? She didn’t even have the decency to trade me for evening tickets?”
“Ray, tickets to evening shows are hard to come by. You could get seats in the balcony, but you wouldn’t really enjoy the magic of it all.”
I spat out, “The magic of it all? It’s Billy fucking Elliot, the fucking Musical.”
“Exactly, Ray. I hear it’s a pretty good show, but I don’t know if I hold with having an adult dressed up as a wee boy dancing on stage. A bit like mutton dressed as lamb, if you ask me.”
I breathed deeply and decided to get a better grip on my physical situation. The jet was similar to the one we flew to LA in, and I was in a gurney, facing forward.
Neal removed the IV drip from my right hand. “As I keep saying, Ray, good thing I was once a paramedic. Otherwise, you’d be stuck in one of those hospitals for crack babies like they have all over the U.S. I’ve read them about in the Daily Mail.”
“Where is that ball-chopping witch, my ex-wife?”
“She’s following in another plane with Sarah and your friend Stuart.”
Safe for the time being.
I hobbled out of bed and sat in a leather seat, too tired even to bother scoping out a source of booze. “Neal, how long have we been in transit from London?”
“Several weeks at least, Ray.”
“At the moment I feel like we’re some form of sock puppets who exist solely to amuse some cruel cosmic manipulator whose hand is up my arse.”
“I know what you mean, Ray. We haven’t even crossed the equator. Maybe our journey was meant to be different from what we thought.”
I looked at Neal. “Don’t be such a fucking simp. Of course things are different from what we expected. It’s called life.”
“Maybe you should get a makeover, Ray. It’d perk you up.”
“I don’t need a fucking makeover, Neal. I’m quite happy with how nature made me.”
Neal said, “I would never wish to imply that you were anything less than movie star material, Ray. But … you know … an apricot facial scrub and some flesh-tinted crème to cover your gin blossoms might make a big difference.”
“Gin blossoms?” I was outraged.
“Well, perhaps it’s just all the fresh air and exercise you get that makes your nose and cheeks shine just ever so slightly red.”
“I do not have gin blossoms.”
“See, Ray, a makeover would get rid of all that negative energy. I’m just pointing it out, is all.”
“Neal, less than a week ago, your entire physical being resembled a dag hanging from a sheep’s arsehole.”
“Indeed it did, Ray. I’m lucky to have a friend like you to help me pull myself up by my bootstraps and make something of my life.”
“Finally, a whiff of gratitude.” I looked over to where he was sitting. On a polished walnut table in front of him was a snifter of cognac and what appeared to be a script. “Found something to read for the journey?”
“It’s the script for the TV show. Bloody brilliant.”