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Chapter Twenty-eight
Tori
Sometimes Cash looks at me with something more than lust in his eyes, but some part of me holds back and I never reveal that I’m in love with him. I can never get past what he said about those crazy mad fans that build shrines to him. I know I should tell him, but every time I try to I just can’t bring myself to do it, and the longer I leave it the harder it is becoming to tell him the truth. I promise myself that I will tell him. Soon. Very soon.
On the Saturday night before Britney’s party, I meet Cash at the front door in a racy black crop top that leaves my midriff bare, a leather skirt, and black patent leather boots.
His eyes widen. ‘Well, well,’ he drawls.
But I shake my head and, taking him by the hand, sit him down at the dining table where I have laid out my surprise.
‘What the?’
‘Shhh,’ I say and set about fixing a dark brown wig on his head. Then I glue on a fake, but surprisingly real looking nose on his face. Using a square of sponge, I apply a slightl
y darker foundation than his complexion onto his whole face and carefully blend it into his hair, then put some on his neck too. The rest is easy. I stick on a moustache and small beard and voila he is pretty unrecognizable.
I lean back to admire my efforts.
‘Where are we going?’ he asks, his eyes alive with excitement.
‘The Ministry Of Sound,’ I say with a grin. I’ve been wanting to go there ever since I arrived in this country.
We sneak out the back of the building and hail a passing black cab. There is a long queue of people that snakes around the building and we join it. Cash looks impatient. I realize he never has to queue to go anywhere. No matter where he goes, he is ushered in immediately and taken to the roped off VIP sections.
I don’t think he enjoys the experience of waiting in line. Welcome to the real world. Even worse, when we get to the entrance I drop my bag and while I am on the ground picking up my lipstick the bouncers tell Cash that he cannot come in. They don’t consider him hip enough to enter their club! But when I straighten they tell me I can go in.
I tell them I am with Cash, and after a brief hesitation they let us both in. I cannot stop laughing at the expression on Cash’s face. He looks shell shocked. He has NEVER been refused entry anywhere. Inside it is the same, no one rushes to serve him, hangs on his every word, or pesters him for autographs. I think he might have secretly hated it at first being so thoroughly ignored, but after a while he really gets into his anonymity.
He can behave any way he wants without worrying about it getting into the news, and the way he behaves is to almost have sex with me on the dance floor. We drink, we dance, we laugh, we talk and simply enjoy being with each other. Just like any other normal couple in a club.
When we get tired we sit on the massive speakers with a group of other revelers. We sit with our shoulders touching and our legs dangling as we talk to the others. They are ordinary people, really nice and without airs. The talk is light and easy.
They offer us pills they claim are ‘fantastic’ but both of us refuse. We are on a natural high that is difficult to beat with chemicals. They seem pretty out of it, but they are friendly. They tell us they are from Italy and that they are working in one of the restaurants in Chelsea. One of the girls actually tells Cash that he should shave off his beard because he looks a bit like Cash Hunter.
‘You know what? I think she could be right,’ I say peering intently into Cash’s face.
‘No,’ Cash says modestly.
‘Si,’ she says. ‘You must shave. You will be, how do you say, un bell’uomo.’
‘A handsome man,’ her boyfriend, the chef, supplies.
‘Do you like Cash Hunter?’ I ask her.
‘Siiiiii,’ she says. ‘I love him.’ She shakes her head in admiration. ‘He is too beautiful.’
Her boyfriend catches my eyes and twirls his index finger at the side of his head. ‘She is mad,’ he says.
‘Why is she mad? I like him too,’ Rosella, the waitress, admits defiantly.
Her boyfriend shakes his head in exasperation.
I look at Cash. ‘Me too. I’m crazy for him too.’
‘Are you trying to make me jealous?’ Cash asks.
‘Yes,’ I say.
Then Stefano, the single guy in the group, comes up to us with seven bottles of beer and the conversation moves to other things.
When we are leaving, Cash pulls four tickets to his concert in Milan from his back pocket.
‘Best seats in the house. If you don’t want to go, sell them on the internet. They’re worth £200.00 each,’ he says.
While they are still staring at the tickets dumbfounded, we slip away. Outside it is already light. It is four in the morning but we are both wide awake. Taxi touts call out to us.
‘Should we take one of them?’ I ask.
‘Yeah, let’s go eat something in Soho,’ he says with the excitement of a little boy.
I gaze up at him, so happy I think I will burst.
We sit in a Chinese restaurant eating lobster with ginger and egg fried rice. We smooch and his moustache falls into his rice. He picks it up with his chopsticks and puts it back on his face covered in rice and makes a funny face. I laugh so much my stomach hurts. In the taxi back I fall asleep on Cash’s chest. He wakes me up just around the corner from the Hunter residence. I open my eyes, look into his eyes and breathily whisper his name in surprise. ‘Cash.’ Then I remember where I am.
‘Come on, I’ll walk you to the front door,’ he says.
I stand for a moment on the sidewalk. It is nearly half five and there is a man walking his dog. I think neither of us wanted the night to end. I look around us. Then I say, ‘Sleep well.’
‘Go on. I’ll wait until you get in and close the door.’
I stand in front of him, desperately not wanting the night to end. I never want to forget this night.
‘It’s been a beautiful night. Can I take a picture of you like this?’ I ask.
He gets into odd poses for me and laughing I snap a few shots.
‘See you tomorrow,’ I say.
