Standing in front of them was a six-foot-two woman, at the very least, in her gold platform sandals and spandex shorts, not to mention a white skintight crop top. On a bitter March evening. Cassie immediately felt like a contestant from theHousewife of the Yearcompetition circa 1972, dressed in her cosy jacket and sensible boots.
‘Well, look at you, aren’t you just the cutest thing?’ boomed Ramona with a put-on country-and-western crackle in her voice, though underneath her accent was genuinely American. ‘Come on in.’
Pivoting on her high heels, she paraded her toned and barely covered bum into the adjoining room, projecting over her shoulder as she vanished, ‘D’you girls drink gin?’
Cassie looked open-mouthed at Louise. She’d never seen such beautiful makeup in real life, only onDrag Race. It was only when Louise clocked her expression and whispered, ‘Ramona is .?.?. just Ramona,’ that she managed to recover herself.
‘Well, don’t huddle in the hall like a little herd of sheep!’ They shuffled after her into what was presumably supposed to be the sitting room but, to all appearances, looked like a club of some sort – or to be more precise, a lap dancing club. The curtains were closed, giving the space a gloomy feel. One wall was painted black, one purple and the other consisted of strips of smoked mirror from floor to ceiling. The only furniture apart from an L-shaped black leather sofa and a massive TV was a chrome pole fixed between floor and ceiling, and a phone on a tripod. Striking it might be, cosy it definitely was not.
‘Wow, fabulous,’ breathed Cassie.
‘Sorry, sweeties, I was rehearsing for my act. Come on, I’ll show you the rest of the place. Lulie, did you get a little chunky since I saw you last?’
‘I’m pregnant.’
‘Thank God, I thought you’d been hitting the pizza.’ She gave Louise a playful slap on the bottom.
Louise looked a little taken aback so Cassie gave her a reassuring smile. Without further consultation, Ramona pushed one of the mirror panels, which slowly opened to reveal a well-lit drinks bar, including, apparently, a fridge from which she served Beefeater Blood Orange gin and tonics.
‘Hey, preggers, you’re off the booze I suppose?’
‘Er yes, thanks, just a few ice cubes for me. I can’t even look at a tonic. I can barely even say the word without getting a wave of—’
‘How does the human race ever reproduce, when pregnancy is just soboring?’
Cassie’s jaw practically hit the floor. This was, without exception, the most insensitive, rude, boorish woman she had ever met. But at the same time, she reflected, there was something hilariously anarchic about the whole situation that made her feel a laugh bubbling up inside her.
Ramona towered over her five-foot-five frame as she handed her the eye-wateringly strong gin and tonic.
‘Haven’t I seen you before somewhere?’
Cassie knew better than to coyly reply, ‘Yes, onCasualty.’ This only gave the other person a chance to reply, ‘No, not that, I never watch it.’ So she said nothing and let Ramona work it out.
‘I know what it was! You were all in your bra and panties, that’s why I didn’t recognise you!’ she hollered.
Cassie practically felt herself blasted against the wall with the impact.
‘You were one of those chicks waving their oxters around – that deodorant.I knew it.’
She seemed to take an almost childlike delight in recognising her.
‘I didn’t recognise you with your clothes on.’ She burst into raucous laughter and then, without warning, made straight for the door.
‘Come on, let me show you your room.’
There seemed to be an understanding that Cassie had magically passed some invisible test and was now as good as moved in. She snuck a glance back at Louise, who gave a helpless shrug as they trooped down the hallway to a kitchen of cream cabinets with black marble surfaces and a breathtaking view over the city. It was obvious from the show-house feel that the occupant had probably never cooked a meal there. The apartment was fitted out to an impressively high standard, about which Ramona seemed utterly nonchalant. ‘Fridge,’ she droned, flicking open the massive American-style appliance that seemed to contain not much more than a large bottle of vodka, a family-sized carton of orange juice and a wedge of cheese. Not much of a domestic goddess, but no surprises there.
‘Myyy roooom,’ she drawled as they passed a dark space. ‘Your roooom.’ She flung open a room and switched on the light to indicate a double en-suite room with built-in wardrobe, whose open doors seemed to suggest someone had left in a hurry.
Seated at the glass table in the kitchen, a few moments later, Cassie reminded herself to take some ownership of this situation and not be railroaded by Ramona’s powerful presence.
‘OK, first of all, your place is amazing – and what an incredible location, oh my God, but—’
‘Yada, yada, I know what you’re going to ask. How much is the rent? Well, how much’a you got?’
‘Well, I’ve a dog-walking business, part-time, and some savings but I am planning to get a more serious job.’ She put a little laugh in her voice to try and minimise the tension, but it still sounded lame.
Glancing around the apartment, she felt the strength drain out of her. This was a fantasy. What was she thinking? She’d need more than a serious job to pay for this lot. She’d need a sugar daddy. Ramona produced a vape from a tiny jewelled handbag and took a pull.
