16 November 2009 (Profile)

They say “third time lucky” but then again, they haven’t met this specimen. As you imagine, he’s still bugging us, and still under the illusion that he works here (really, he thinks he’s here on an internship; so we got him to review the health and safety manual). The fact he hasn’t given up all together is just a reason to keep him on really, or not (pity can get you places). He’s tenacious too, almost like that clinging feeling you have on Wednesday mornings that those half price cocktails were a bad idea, and we usually end up with the same result. Here he is; still unemployed, still trying, still hopelessly and fecklessly French.

Ha, yes! Victoire! (finally.)She texted me before I even started asking myself if she was going to; I can’t say I had much faith in it. Honestly, it’s all a blur. She probably doesn’t remember much from that giddy drunken chat either; when we were walking over Portobello Bridge. Let me paint you a picture:
It was saturday night, I was nonchalantly two stepping my way home and found this pretty young thing struggling to hold a kebab tray and curry chips. She had the legs for it; either that or my head had dropped down to my chest. I offered to share the load, for a small portion; she didn’t have much choice and a drunken French accent must sound as dangerous as a well permed poodle. We talked, I think, I even walked a bit out of my way to see her close to home; well, Rathmines anyway.

We exchanged names and numbers, I have her down as “Kebab blondie”. I made my way through the big, non threatening, 2009 Mercedes parked on the outside mansions/houses. And finally found my house near the greyhound stadium. I come in and my roommate is throwing a ball at a dog in our garden; the whole 10 feet of it.
"What are you doing? Did you get a dog?"
"Nah mayne."
"…?"
"…"He keeps throwing the ball, and the big shabby greyhound brings it back.
"…!"
"Ya ugly mutt."
"What’s the dog doing here? Is it your date? Maybe if you lost a few pounds-
"That dog is a male, mane. You know how I feel about that, now quit it before I use you as a chew toy.”I’d have liked to point out just how bad that sounded right there, I wanted to tell all 6 foot 6 of him and 280 pounds of him, but you know, live and let live.
"How long you keeping him for?"
"Sunday night, guy’s comin’over to pick him up here. If only I could get the bastard to fall asleep."
"Hum…You seen something about Mary?"
"Naw mayne ,after Zoolander, I pretty much gave up on the guy."
"I’ll be in the kitchen."
The dog slept until Sunday afternoon and was happy lying in the hallway after that.
The easiest fifty Euros he ever made.

Anyway, back to now, Sunday. I got her text ten minutes ago, just after twelve; just pushing it.
"Hey Oli, want to meet up for coffee today? It’ll cover the half of my curry chips you hate last night ;) . Lara"
Finally, a name I can pronounce; I thought it was going to be something like oinagh or aoife or cuculain.
"Of course. Let’s say le circk at three?"
"Make it Starbucks, on the same street. See you then."
"Woman! Payday is five days away! I can’t afford macciatos and double cream al pacino’s.
Du calme, du calme. I’ll manage, after all; It’ll maybe set me back what, twenty Euros? Yeah. I can handle that.
"Aaron."
What mayne? I’m watching the dog!” He was. Sitting in the living room, staring down a sleeping dog.
"Could you spare me twenty euros? For the day?"
"…You too good for holandia?"
"No, no. It’s for coffee with this girl I met-
"…"
"Okay, thanks anyway.” He turns back to the dog. I better get ready If I want to make it for half two. Oh Lara, here I come, right back where I started from-age. (Hehehe). 

I’m standing next to the big glass windows, staring back at that big stupid emblem; it looks Egyptian. Starbuckanis; King of the double cream.

I’m smoking, I shouldn’t and I know. You should never pick a category before you at least get some tongue, then, well if she minds; it’s too late. Sunday dates would be a good idea, if the weather were as bright as, let’s say yours truly. Oh Olivier, you animal. It’s only when you’re body is trying to save your stomach from drowning that your brain picks up. That last sentence would imply that I’d need to be pleasantly hung-over to be constantly charming; hell, I might just listen to what that girl says. Pourquoi pas? if only I could hit the balance right every time; it’s no fault of trying.
Why is this place always packed? There were less people queuing at the social welfare office this summer. That’s a great start to a relationship; standing in line behind artistes with moustaches and spoilt camp kids. I hope she remembers me; then again I think I’ll stick out like a sore denim thumb in a sea of grey sweatpants. There seems to be a hair color disease hitting the male population here; they seem to go blond in very well calculated streaks. Bizarre, bizarre.
"Hey Oli."

I turn around and there she is, blond, tall and oddly enough, wearing pyjamas and moonboots.
"Lara, how are you?" I grabbed a quick hug and looked at the big stupid watch on the wall, she was on time. I pull back and look at her, she’s an alarming shade of maroon, she smiles, she’s allright. Definitely not a smoker.
"So what can I get you, mademoiselle?” It’s cringing, I know but I’m gonna have to use it; this place is filled with blonde gym bunnies, and that’s just the guys.
"A double shot latté with extra cream and a caramel shot." Lovely.
"And a cookie." Great, that leaves me with enough for…an espresso. I smile, holding all those nasty words behind a steady dam of teeth.
It’s only after we sit down that I realize that Gill could’ve been there, then again, maybe she’s still AWOL.
I’ll spare you the conversation; it was uneventful except for when she offered to go see a rugby game together at Croke park.
"It’s a very good stadium. For rugby games, do you have rugby at home? Or is it just football?"
"Yes we do. Good stadiums too." I’m fighting an urge to comb her hair with the back of my hand.
"Oh yeah, but I think you don’t play as long because of the metric system."
“???”
“ Or something about the size of the stadium, I don’t know. You know what I’m talking about?”
“!!!”
I cut it short, for my sake and the impending threat of being barred from the coffee place, and the smell of an impending ASBO in the air. Alas, this meeting was fruitful; as rotten as they might be. There’s a student night on Monday in Zanzibar. Two Euros a drink, will I be attending? Mais, bien sur. She will be as well, let’s see how smart she sounds when I can’t hear her. 

 

Aaron’s leading the way, he’s supposed to be getting up early tomorrow morning to test new drugs in a clinic in town. If his alarm doesn’t do the trick, he’ll have to sleep in front of that damn place. Last time I had to wake him up was nothing short of epic, I think the crusades would’ve been less of a journey. The thing with people that big, you don’t know how fast they are; so you can slap them in the face, but you best keep a good distance. I was poking him with the broom for a good ten minutes before he looked up, and I ran back out, the broom javeling above my head. Anyway, we get in and pay the fee, the bar looks like a trough, filled with barely legals waving notes around. They’re all wearing the same shirt, and the same haircut and drinking blue wkd. Promising. I head to the bar and get ridiculous drinks; I’m talking doubles and such, and get change back. Oh yes, there’s someone up there and he wants me to have a sore head in the morning.

 The place gets progressively packed and I think It’s Lara I see with a few of her friends, there’s a lot of guys around her and they’re all wearing tight polo’s with a bird on it. People have such great hair here, I don’t understand. I head by and she introduces me, they seemed to all be named Finton.
They talk a lot about France, something about a country house and knowing absolutely everything about the French rugby players. I think one of them was even talking about fencing. Lara is positively pissed, conversation is limited.
"Bweeh Oli, is that you’re friend?"
"No, he’s been on my tail since I left the house, I think he’s trying to kill me."
"Oh." Tough crowd.
"It is. He’s my roommate, Aaron, Lara."
He shakes her hand and gives me the WTF Stare.
"Are you having a good time, Oli? Do you have nightclubs in France, or just cafés?"
Aaron cracks up, at me, and points. I feel a pattern coming on, here. I look back, defeated and amused. Le ridicule ne tue pas. He grabs me by the shoulders.
"C’mon Buddy. It’s my round."
The drink promotion that night helped to erase the hours after that, I just remember walking home with the big guy telling me he wasn’t gonna test pills but Botox, and they promised him it wouldn’t show. I couldn’t really ask because I couldn’t tell my hand from my face at that time. It gets fuzzy after that, I just remember making myself a noodle kebab and scrapping the empty curry chips box that was stinking up the fridge with some nostalgia. Oh well, better to have loved and lost…

*********

For Part Two, please click here

 

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