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It was a quick Uber to Newtown, and twenty minutes later, I was on the couch in my small one-bedroom unit, showered and wearing my comfy trackies and an old T-shirt, watching a re-run ofHouse and Garden, andeating leftover tteokbokki.
Then something horrifying occurred to me.
Oh, dear god.
I snatched up my phone and sent a message to Cory.
I know you won’t get this until after your servicing from the Arabian stallion and I truly do hope you can walk tomorrow but you should be the first to know that I’m one step away from being your Aunty Cath
You know I love her but I’m a hot twenty-six-year-old gay man, not a middle-aged lesbian
I’M WEARING SWEATPANTS WATCHING HOME RENOVATIONS ON TV WHILE EATING KOREAN FOOD HELP ME
Just kidding. Enjoy your thorough dicking
But we need to talk about this tomorrow
All my messages were left unread, which was hardly surprising, considering he was probably getting railed with a ten-inch dick right about now.
So I sent him one last message.
Wasn’t kidding about being able to walk tomorrow. If you need anything like ice packs, local anaesthetic, call me
Then I finished my tteokbokki while watching some dude on TV rip out old decking, replace it, prime it, then oil it, and for a brief second, I considered texting Cory’s Aunty Cath to discuss. Before I could hate myself even more, I turned the TV off and put myself to bed.
Before midnight on a Saturday night.
Such a rockstar.
I wasin for another busy week.
I had a client appointment on Monday morning and a new-client appointment in the afternoon, plus a request for a staging on Tuesday. I didn’t do those often, thankfully. They were time consuming and stressful, which was why they paid well. Stagings for real estate listings could take two whole days, so I was booked up until one appointment on Friday morning.
But my Monday morning client was a regular and I adored her.
Armed with her favourite coffee, I was at her home just after nine o’clock. She opened her door and saw what I was holding. “Oh, you are a darling,” she said, giving me a kiss on the cheek.
“And you’re hosting the party of the year in seven days,” I said. “We better get you organised.”
And that’s what I did.
I organised people for all kinds of occasions. Sometimes it was clothes, jewellery, or perfume. Sometimes it was an entire wardrobe. Sometimes it was home décor. Sometimes it was urgent because they’d just found out they were on the redeye to New York. And sometimes purely because a client was short on time and needed something for no other reason than they wanted it.
My clients were all typically very wealthy. They appreciated my eye for detail, and the fact I knew every trend, every market, every hottest fashion. Some didn’t care about price tags; some wanted exclusive sales. Some wanted every minor detail organised; some wanted me to run with my own ideas.
The fact I could message a client and be like,So, I’m in Saint Laurent right now and those jeans you couldn’t get in London they now have in stock, in your size. Yes or no?was a testament to their trust in me.
I had a memory for detail and a knack for being as much or as little as they needed me to be.
Monday’s client was organised to a point where she had a list of necessities for her anniversary party but left the details up to me. She was hosting, so besides the usual outfit requirements, she was running low on her favourite YSL lip colour, and she also wanted a small gift for each of the forty guests coming.
Oh, and a watch for her husband.
Could I do all of this in five days? Even with everything else I had going on?
Easy.
Monday afternoon’s client was new. He was travelling to Singapore and Tokyo for work and play, and with deadlines approaching and zero time to spare, one of his friends was a client of mine and had sworn to him he needed me.
