Part 17 (2/2)

'I dunno, Fern. I've been everywhere.'

'Well, I've been nowhere.'

'OK, so you choose.'

'Well, the Getty Center, Grauman's Chinese Theatre and Santa Monica pier are on my list.'

'Actually, I haven't been to any of those places.'

'But you've lived here for nine months. What have you been doing?'

'Working and drinking. Not necessarily in that order.'

'Great, we can do the tourist things together.'

'Cool.' We grin at each other. Isn't it cool, this couple stuff?

'Saadi has also bookmarked websites about weddings. You know, caterers, reception venues, dress designers, etc. Plus she's made a list of the names and numbers of other people who I might find useful: a hairstylist, a clothes stylist and a personal trainer. Do you think she's trying to tell me something?' Fern looks vaguely concerned. I grin at her, rea.s.suringly. Personally, I like her as she is, but I know that Saadi and her crew are already turning wheels and cogs in order to transform her into something, I don't know, glossier, I suppose. Mark and Saadi said to me that glossy is what's required and expected of my wife. I don't think this is something she needs to hear me say.

'She's just trying to be helpful. Justifying her obscene salary,' I say instead.

'She's arranged interviews for us to meet her favourite three wedding planners for tomorrow morning a Sat.u.r.day. I suppose there's no time to lose but how did she get anyone to agree to a Sat.u.r.day meeting at such short notice?'

'Money talks.'

'I suppose, and as you say, she thinks of everything everything.' Fern looks anxious, vexed almost. 'She told me she's going to pick up a d.i.l.d.o for me from some s.e.x shop on Sunset Boulevard.'

'Hustler.'

'Yeah, that's it. She says you have an account there.'

'Guilty as charged. It's a great store, we should go shopping together.'

'OK.' Fern doesn't look too convinced but she'll look great in one of their baby dolls or maybe t.i.tty ta.s.sels. Is she vexed because I've visited s.e.x shops? I'm a rock star, it's like a teenage girl visiting the makeup counter at Boots: essential shopping. I didn't have Fern down as a prude.

'Saadi said I'm going to need a d.i.l.d.o in light of our chast.i.ty vow. I hadn't realized you'd discussed our plan with her.'

Ah. So that's the cause of the vexation. I get it. 'I tell her everything,' I say smoothly, wide-eyed, innocent. It's true, I do tell Saadi everything; except all that which I keep secret. 'You don't mind, do you? Wasn't I supposed to?' I ask, showing concern. 'She thought it was really romantic,' I add with a smile.

I sense Fern does mind, because if there's one thing I know about women, it's that they are really funny about what you tell other women. I need to rush the conversation on to another subject, because it's too nice for a row or even a low-grade sulk and while I haven't seen Fern do either of these things yet, I know it's only a matter of time. Of course she has it in her to be irrationally narky; she's a woman.

I look at her hipbone and feel a twitch in my swim shorts. This no s.e.x thing is a mind-blowing experiment. It was Mark's idea. Fern was his idea too, as a point of fact. I've had lots of s.e.x and I mean lots lots an amount that no normal person can even perceive (not even desperate little slappers who live in ugly small towns, who in order to ease the tedium of their existence drop their knickers as often as they drop cigarette stubs and usually at the same time). More s.e.x than that. I mean lots, and lots, and lots, and lots of t.i.ts and a.s.s and legs and holes, well, the thing about that is it gets boring, doesn't it? Hand jobs in Jacuzzis, b.l.o.w. .j.o.bs in bars, gang bangs in limousines, s.e.x in yachts, s.e.x with geisha girls, s.e.x with starlets, s.e.x with models, s.e.x with aristocrats; it's all the same in the end. an amount that no normal person can even perceive (not even desperate little slappers who live in ugly small towns, who in order to ease the tedium of their existence drop their knickers as often as they drop cigarette stubs and usually at the same time). More s.e.x than that. I mean lots, and lots, and lots, and lots of t.i.ts and a.s.s and legs and holes, well, the thing about that is it gets boring, doesn't it? Hand jobs in Jacuzzis, b.l.o.w. .j.o.bs in bars, gang bangs in limousines, s.e.x in yachts, s.e.x with geisha girls, s.e.x with starlets, s.e.x with models, s.e.x with aristocrats; it's all the same in the end.

An endless stream of nightclubs, alcohol, drugs and meaningless s.e.x takes its toll. It's inevitable. I got fed up with waking up with an intolerable feeling of apprehension and fretfulness. Being on drugs and being intensely and inexplicably anxious come hand in hand after a while. I'm p.r.o.ne to anxiety anyway, and a feeling of uneasiness constantly shrouded me when I was using; especially when I woke up and the foul and sickening delinquency of the night before came crawling back into my mind. It didn't matter how much money I had in the bank or how many records I sold, I was riddled with the worry that I was just as desperate and pointless as everybody else. Sometimes I'd think I was insane. Other times things were easier I knew I was.

There comes a point when you realize that no life, not even my life, is wide enough to fit in s.e.x, drugs, rock and roll and and responsibility. It doesn't add up. I shared this observation with Mark, just over three months ago, last time I decided to get clean. Mark was relieved; my record company were starting to get a bit nervy about the number of times I'd missed studio sessions and insulted journos because of the said endless stream of nightclubs, alcohol, drugs and meaningless s.e.x. responsibility. It doesn't add up. I shared this observation with Mark, just over three months ago, last time I decided to get clean. Mark was relieved; my record company were starting to get a bit nervy about the number of times I'd missed studio sessions and insulted journos because of the said endless stream of nightclubs, alcohol, drugs and meaningless s.e.x.

I told Mark, 'Being surrounded by too much T&A is the same as being surrounded by too much luxury. You stop noticing it. It has a numbing effect.'

It's true you can be totally done-in by the absolute monotony of faultless and never-ending excellence. Who'd have thought? Maybe Mark wanted to make a sarkie comment about his heart bleeding for me but no one close to me is ever sarcastic with me nowadays; they know it hurts me and I'm mean when I'm hurt. Instead, Mark said, 'So you've done all there is to do with abundance, how about practising a bit of partiality now.'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, you know, once you've been to every fancy restaurant there is in town and you've eaten your fill of seared carpaccio, pan-seared venison and sweet duck cooked with plums and star anise, it's nice to stay in and have simple steak and salad. I'm not suggesting a burger. I mean something cla.s.sy and straightforward.'

'Like?'

'Like marriage.'

'Marriage!?'

'Yeah, you could do it all properly, meet a girl, like her, hold off s.h.a.gging her and then do her in a big white frock.'

He might have been joking, but I thought about it and he was right. It would be true to say that I've never s.h.a.gged a bride before; least not one married to me. I'm going to enjoy doing things properly with Fern. She's different. A hotty (although not as hot as many I've had). She's quite normal (but not so normal as to bore me, as many have). I don't quite understand it yet but she has something really special going on. Or rather, we have something really special going on between us.

Mark has all the best ideas.

42. Fern

'If you want to go anywhere let me know and I'll get Saadi to introduce you to our stateside driver, Barry. He'll take good care of you. He's a pro. You could go shopping; Saadi's arranged for you to have access to all of my accounts and I pretty much have an account anywhere you might imagine,' says Scott.

I know he's trying to change the subject. I allow him. Let's face it, offering me a chauffeur-driven trip to designer stores with unlimited credit is quite an impressive diversionary tactic. Normally, I'd have to settle for Adam suggesting we change channels.

'Yeah, Saadi already gave me a list,' I say with a big smile. 'How did she organize all of this in such a short time? It's unbelievable.'

'I know. Hats off to her she is an excellent excellent PA.' PA.'

Scott drops his sunhat over his eyes and we both fall silent. He reaches for my hand and we hold on to one another across the loungers. His touch sends shock waves ricocheting through my body. I fight the instinct to leap on him. d.a.m.n this no s.e.x plan! I try to dampen my l.u.s.t by watching the old Mexican gardener as he endlessly clears the leaves from the pool. No sooner does he scoop a net of bamboo leaves than the same amount fall back into the water. It looks a pretty thankless task but not too arduous; the repet.i.tive action calms me. Bebop jazz pipes out of the state-of-the-art stereo that is hung on the lime green wall behind us. It's the sort of music that makes you nod your head rather than shake your hips. I can make out the clink of china and rattle of cutlery in the distance, proving that the kitchen staff are being far more industrious than we are. They're clearing breakfast or maybe setting up lunch. It's very peaceful until suddenly Scott sits bolt upright.

'What's up? Were you stung?' I look around for the offending wasp.

'No. The thing is I find it hard to relax. Sort of unnatural. Doing nothing is something I'm saving for when I'm dead.' Scott looks around for something to amuse. 'What are you thinking, Fern?'

'About the agony of not having s.e.x with my s.e.x G.o.d fiance,' I reply frankly. Scott laughs but doesn't jump me, which is what I was hoping he'd do. He's very serious about this chast.i.ty thing. Couldn't we at least fool around? I suppose neither of us would be able to stop if we started; still, would that be so awful? My throat becomes parched and scratchy and my hands become damp as I indulge the idea of us flinging ourselves in among the bamboo in order to pull off each other's clothes. We'd speedily slip out of our swimwear and slowly, oh so slowly, his tongue would venture over my body. His tongue, lips, hands would uncover zones of delight; I'd burble and flood. He'd caress my shoulders, kiss the back of my neck, nibble at my jawline, lick between my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. But this time we'd finally get past the delicate discovery. He'd thrust suddenly, deeply, certainly. He'd fill me, pus.h.i.+ng, burning, grabbing, pulling, taking until I moaned and screamed with a smarting, scalding desire.

I realize I'm making odd mewing sounds when the pool guy asks if I've swallowed a fly? Am I choking? Do I need a drink? I do. I need him to throw it over me. I'd better think about something else.

'I have to keep giving myself a mental pinch,' I tell Scott. 'I need to keep reminding myself this is real, these are the sights and sounds of my home now. It's a leap. I never, even in my wildest dreams, imagined that my home would have a view like this.' I sweep my arm out towards the blue skies and tall trees. 'Or that I'd listen to the sounds of staff preparing lunch. Kids yelling, a dog barking, TV blaring was as much as I dared hope for. It's surreal.'

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