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“Oh, come on, Lana, don’t be a spoilsport.”
“I’m not accepting it, Robert. Now leave it alone.”
We’re interrupted when Kara asks from across the table, “What are you two whispering about?”
“None of your fucking business, Boob Job,” Robert answers casually, knocking back the last of his scotch and slamming the glass down onto the table. I think he might be a bit drunk already.
“Aw, what’s wrong Rob? Are you pissed that you paid for them and now you’re not going to get to play with them anymore?” says Kara, her eyes narrowed.
Oh, my God! I can’t believe she just said that. Even I’m blushing, and the comment had nothing to do with me.
Robert snickers. “Yeah, because they’re so great. They’re as hard as two big rocks. And you wonder why I went with Olivia? She might have been ten years older than you, but at least she had proper breasts.”
Okay, I have no idea who Olivia is, but judging by the “ten years older” comment, I’m guessing she’s the married woman Sasha told me about.
“Rob, that was way out of line,” says Sasha, a look of disapproval on her face.
“What? She’s the one who started it. Getting all pissy just because I was talking to Lana.”
“Hah! I was not getting pissy. You can talk to your little pet all you want. I couldn’t care less,” Kara retorts before glancing at me. “You probably don’t know this, hon, but Robert has this freaky fucking obsession with you. You should stay far away from him. I just thought I’d warn you.”
“Don’t listen to her,” Robert says quietly to me, just as Sasha asks him, “What’s she talking about, Rob?”
“Nothing. She’s making it up because I cheated on her with Olivia.”
Well, I guess he and Kara hadn’t been having one of their off periods during the married woman debacle after all. Now I can definitely understand why she threw him out of their apartment. I can even empathise with her situation, since I’ve been hurt by Robert myself in the past. But what does she mean by “a freaky obsession”? I know Rob has always taken pleasure in hurting my feelings. Is that what she’s referring to?
Robert and Kara stare each other down for a long few moments. Robert’s gaze is hard and unwavering, and for a second it seems like Kara might burst into tears. She blinks, though, and her face becomes an expressionless mask.
“That’s it — we’re leaving. Come on, Gary,” she says, rising swiftly from her seat.
“Good riddance,” Robert mutters, just as the front door slams shut.
Four
Shortly after Kara leaves I say my goodbyes to Sasha’s friends and go to bed. I’ve been feeling uncomfortable ever since Kara said all that stuff about Robert having an obsession with me. I’m not too keen on being anyone’s obsession, especially not someone as intense as Robert. Particularly since he’s so prone to hurting those around him.
Given the day I’ve had, it doesn’t take long for me to fall asleep. I wake up the next morning at eight, but Sasha and Robert are still sleeping. I decide to take the opportunity to get to know the area better, so I write out a shopping list, get dressed, and set off for the high street. I can’t contain my pathetic excitement when I come across a Waitrose, which is a fancy variety of grocery shop. I’m excited, mainly because we don’t have any Waitrose stores back home.
It’s really sunny out today, and I know that there’s a barbecue out the back of Sasha’s house, so I decide I’ll make homemade burgers for us later. We can spend a relaxing Sunday in her garden.
I walk the long way home, taking in the sights and getting a feel for the place. When I get back, I put the shopping away and go to my room to listen to some music and mess around on the Internet for a while. There’s still no sign of Sasha. As usual, I slept like the dead last night, so I don’t know how late everyone stayed in the house drinking.
Sticking in my earphones, I select a playlist on my iPod and turn up the volume. Then I pull my laptop onto the bed to check my emails. I also have a look on The Daily Mail website to see if there are any new articles up that Sasha wrote. I always read everything she writes, because I like to support her, but I also find it funny how different she comes across in her articles. It’s almost like she forces herself to put on a persona that fits the tone her readers will enjoy. Let’s just say it’s far bitchier and more judgmental than she’s ever been in real life.
After scrolling down I find the one she threw together yesterday about that new pop star, who goes by the name of Molly Willis. The headline in bold blue font reads: New Girl on the Block Molly Spends a Wild Night in Camden Town. It’s accompanied by a photo of said pop star flinging her cigarette butt at a guy with a camera. The outfit she’s wearing is nuts, but I kind of appreciate the craziness of it. It consists of a bright purple wig, cut-off denim shorts, fishnets, cowboy boots, and a luminous pink bra. Well, I suppose she’s making the most of the hot weather while it lasts.
After this I do a search for open-mic nights in London before writing down some of the dates and locations. Singing in front of an audience is something I’ve wanted to do for a long time, but up until now I’ve only ever had the nerve to do it in front of the mirror when the house is empty. I once signed up for an open-mic night back home, but when I got to the club I didn’t have the guts to see it through. Perhaps the anonymity of such a large city as London will be better for me and my timid little singing dream.
