Mexican Kimono (8 page)

‘It has to be. Look what just happened. I think you should burn it.’

‘But it cost $10,000!’

‘Is money more important than your life? What if it kills you? This whole scenario is like something from a horror movie.’

God, when she put it like that it sent shivers down my spine.

‘Kylie, how can a few metres of silk kill me?’

‘You said yourself there’s a soul inside that kimono. What if it’s a very unhappy dead soul, huh? One thing will lead to another and, next thing you know, I’ll be talking to you, but it won’t really be you, it will be this evil dead soul that’s possessed you, and I’ll only know it’s not really you because suddenly you don’t straighten your hair anymore or bother with make-up …’

Like scenes from a movie, the disasters from the last twenty-four hours played out in slow motion before my eyes. I shivered as I imagined what else might happen. The camera panned in for a close-up of me: there I was, make-up-less, hair-less, boyfriend-less, dare I say it, friend-less. Trying hard not to panic, I took big gulps of air and held my breath. Eventually fear got the better of me and everything spilt from my diaphragm in one huge, sobbing shriek, ‘Someone has put a curse on me!’I wibble-wobbled to the bed. I started to shake, I felt nauseous. Cold. Like there was an evil presence in the room.

Kylie looked scared. ‘A curse?’

‘Yes, a curse. It’s not the kimono that’s cursed. It’s me who’s cursed! Someone is trying to ruin my life.’ I squealed. ‘Do you feel that?’ I whispered.

‘Feel what?’

‘The temperature just dropped, like in the
Sixth Sense
, when there’s a ghost in the room.’

Kylie looked at me, fear etched on her face. ‘No, I don’t feel anything.’

‘Oh my God, I’m like that little boy. I’m going to see dead people!’

I tried to slow my gasping breaths. ‘Who would do such a thing? And why? Why me? I’m a pillar of the community, a rock for others, saint-like even.’

‘Oh, Sam. I was only joking! Sheesh, now you’re starting to scare me. I don’t think I’d go so far as to wonder who could possibly hate you. I can think of at least ten to fifteen people that …’

‘That what? Want to help me?’

‘Well, not exactly. There was that scandal with Truss-me …’

‘I don’t know anything about that video.’

‘And Moan-a Lisa.’

‘Her bum did look big.’

‘And Betty Boo-b and …’

‘They were clearly fake.’

‘And that’s just some of the staff from Toff’s, and then there’s …’

‘I can’t believe this! Somebody actually hates me? I mean, it just seems impossible.’ I stood up and started pacing – that always seemed to help in movies. My bedroom was so small I ended up doing laps next to the bed.

‘Sam, stop. You’re making me dizzy. You need to focus.’

‘You’re right, you’re right.’ It was no use, I can’t think in an emergency. All I kept picturing was my hair, knotty and teased, with visible regrowth showing. My skin not getting the correct nourishment from the moisturisers and expensive serums I used morning noon and might. Imagine walking out of the apartment with no mascara on. I mean, it was hideous.

‘You need to get rid of it. Like, now.’

‘No, no. In the movies you need to work out who dunnit first, right?’

‘I guess, but you’re no detective, Sam.’

‘Yes, that’s true. Plus, being the victim here, I’m too close to see what’s right in front of me. I’ll have to hire someone.’ I let out a wail and put my head in my hands. Kylie walked over and rubbed my back.

I was about to ask for a glass of wine to calm my nerves when she said, ‘Until then, I think I’m going to stay at my mum’s house for a while.’

‘But why?’ I said, sobbing. ‘I might need you, and you’re not cursed!’

‘I’m not sleeping a few metres away while you’ve still got that thing here,’ and she pointed to the kimono, its colours dazzling more brightly under the light.

‘What if I put it in the cupboard?’

‘No way.’

‘OK, let’s think rationally. I’ll call a detective. She can sleep here and bear witness to all that happens while keeping me safe.’

‘I guess …’

My initial fear was starting to ebb. I mean, realistically, this wasn’t a movie. It was only hearsay that I was going to be possessed by some evil, unhappy dead person. Hearsay from Kylie and we all know how dramatic she can be. For safety’s sake, I planned to relocate the kimono to her apartment, once she was safely ensconced at her mum’s house.

‘Sam, I really think you should go and stay at your mum’s house, too. She can probably help you solve this much quicker than any detective. While you’re at it, she can work on a range of issues, like your binge drinking, your—’

‘Enough! Go polish your silverware or something.’ Kylie had a real thing about her cutlery being clean.

‘I hope you learn from all this, Sam.’ And, with that, she stomped out of my apartment.

I gazed up at the kimono. Its colours shone like jewels and I felt wretched even thinking about destroying it. I moved it to the cupboard in my bedroom. Dusting my hands off, I poured another glass of wine and set to work, thinking.

The only detective I knew was Mme Precious Ramotswe. I’d seen her in action on those documentaries, and I thought she was very prompt in solving her cases. It helped she was a woman, with that unique intuition we all have. I’d also read all the books Alexander McCall Smith had written about her, so I figured the fastest way to get in contact with her was through him.

Buoyed up by my quick thinking, I booted up my laptop and drafted him an email. You could never really trust those writer types, they were prone to airy-fairy whimsical-ness, but at this stage I really had no other choice.

Dear Alexander,

I’ve read all your books about Mme Precious Ramotswe, and I figure, since I’ve invested so much time in her life, the least she could do is help me in my time of need. Now I don’t want to alarm her, but apparently an antique kimono I bought from an auction carries a curse and is slowly but surely ruining my life. I would burn it but it cost $10,300 and although we live in a throwaway society, even I have limits. Can you tell Mme it’s urgent? I’m very scared this is going to spiral out of control. Already I’ve been subjected to the following:

A small hair fire

I’ve lost my corporate job, over some ‘alleged’ Twitter updates

I was hit by a remote-controlled car, driven by a very precocious child

My BFF, Kylie, has become responsible and won’t take time off work for lunch or anything, even in times of crisis, when I clearly need her

Gemma, the blue-haired bank freak, spoke very nastily to me in a public place where there were witnesses

JJ, my ex-boyfriend, who turned gay on me, is suddenly back from Paris declaring his undying love

And now, my crazy mother says I’ll be financially ruined (a little obvious, if you ask me, since I’m now unemployed)

These are the facts as I know them. As you can see, something is off-kilter. These kinds of things just never happen to someone like me. Please send Mme over as soon as you get this.

I have attached my dead dad’s frequent flyer points for her airfare, and instructions on how to get to my apartment.

Yours Sincerely,
Samantha Bevilaqua

Chapter 7

Stalker Alert

I pressed send and hoped Alexander would get my message to Mme as quickly as possible. With nothing to do but wait, I decided to ring my friend Charlize and see if she was keen for a night out. Putting some space between me and the hypothetically life-threatening kimono might be a good move. She had potential to be my new BFF, too. Her real name was Charlene, but she changed it because she said people associated it with permed fringes and eighties-style fluoro leg-warmers. She had a point. Charlize was usually up for night-time jaunts. Her parents were super-rich and she didn’t really do anything except sleep all day. I could never be that lazy. Goal-less and job-less. Sad, really.

I dialled her mobile and she answered on the fifth ring (acceptable).

‘Samantha! What’s up? Haven’t seen you around town for ages.’ She had one of those husky voices from hanging around smoky nightclubs and waking up in strange boys’ beds.

‘Not much. I feel like going out tonight. Are you free?’

‘Yeah. I’m at the dry-cleaners under your apartment. I’ll come up. Buzz me in.’

Oh no. Stalker alert. Better keep a watchful eye on this chick.

Jesus, it was hard being good-looking and popular. Everyone wanted a piece of you and I only had so much to give.

Before I knew it, Charlize was at my front door in all her punk-rocking glory. ‘Whoa,’ I said. ‘What’s with the make-over?’Of all the luck. Rich bitch goes from well-groomed and expensively attired party girl to a cropped black-haired, pierced-nose Emo. We’ve lost another to the dark side.

‘You like?’ She looked at me expectantly. ‘I started this poetry class and met all these really alternative people. They said I was hiding behind people’s expectations instead of being who I really want to be, so I just let nature take its course.’

‘I see … and nature is gothic. Wow. Well, you certainly look different. Is that a leather skirt?’ Honestly! Was she some kind of bikie?

‘Yeah. This whole outfit is leather. Oh, God, don’t tell your mum, though. I told her I’d stop with the leather thing.’

I sighed, with full body emphasis and all the weariness I felt. ‘My mother. Now what in God’s name are you seeing her for?’

‘I needed some post-life regression therapy. To see how the choices I make in this life are affecting my next life. So far, so good, she reckons.’

Now I’ve heard it all. My mother must be killing a pig (figuratively speaking) with all these imbecilic followers.

‘Great. Well that’s a relief.’

‘Kylie cut my hair the other day and was telling me all about you and Jonathan from Accounting. I’ve never laughed so hard in all my life!’

‘Jonathan? I hardly know him.’ I was going to wrap Kylie in the kimono she was so terrified of and bury her alive in it.

Charlize frowned as though she didn’t believe me and said, ‘Kylie reckons you asked him over to do your tax return, but really you were planning on seducing him. And you said something about spreading your sheets and he totally didn’t get it!’ Laughter rumbled out of her like a Harley Davidson that needed a tune up. Cross this girl off the BFF list too.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about! Kylie was the one who liked Jonathan, not me!’

‘Oh? That’s weird because she has this email that you sent him, apologising and stuff. She showed all of us at poetry group.Then she showed us his reply, which was mean, hey? I don’t think you’re a stalker at all!’

At this point, I began to worry about my blood pressure. My dad died from a heart attack from the stress of all his gambling. I was going to kill Kylie. I should have known better than to trust someone with a criminal record. She was obviously used to a life of crime and had somehow broken into my email account.

‘I think someone who breaks into other people’s email accounts is more stalker-ish, don’t you?’ I said haughtily.

‘Yeah, totally. Kylie said you gave her the emails, though.’

‘I should ring her probation officer. I think she must be abusing drugs to be so totally delusional. Poor girl.’

‘Oh? I think she’s going great guns. Her business is booked out for months now. She’s doing really well. I ran into JJ today and even he is getting his hair done by her. That’s really saying something.’

‘Yeah. It’s saying FREE in big, fat capital letters.’

‘Ha, ha! You’re so funny!’ Again with the ditzy girl laugh when I’m being serious. What is with that?

‘I aim to please. So, where should we go? What’s that new bar you were talking about?’ I needed to get out of my apartment. Just knowing Kylie was four square metres away was upsetting my equilibrium. I could not be held responsible for my actions after one or two bottles of wine.

‘It’s called Pestilence. It looks really cool.’

‘Are you going dressed like that?’ I asked Charlize, hoping by some miracle from God she would revert to the semi-pretty super-rich girl decked out in designer label clothes.

‘Yeah. I might just put a bit more eyeliner on, though.’ The vampire look really was becoming a movement. I couldn’t grasp the fact that people wanted to look deathly pale and half-dead. I feared I was becoming one of those ‘old’ people who complained about the younger generation. If that were the case, I think I’d have to try the ‘just woke up dead’ look, as much as it repulsed me.

‘More eyeliner? I can barely see your eyes as it is!’

She laughed again. ‘Would you like me to do your make-up?’

I couldn’t help it. I started choking on my mouthful of wine. ‘Ah, no thanks. I think I’ll stick with mineral makeup. Thanks all the same.’

‘Before I forget, I want to see your kimono, too. Everyone’s talking about it.’

‘What? Who told you about my kimono?’

‘Kylie. She said your life is falling apart, one piece at a time. That it’s like something from a horror movie!’

‘Oh please. My life is not falling apart!’

‘So, who do you think is behind it?’ she asked.

‘Someone with way too much time on their hands. Anyway, it’s under control. I’ve got the No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency involved, so whoever is trying to besmirch my reputation better be very careful.’ Take that, I thought, knowing full well this news would get back to Kylie and Co.

‘The No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency?’

‘Yes, Mme Ramotswe happens to be a good friend of mine.’

Charlize rolled her eyes – well, I think she did. With all that eyeliner on, it was hard to tell what she was doing. ‘Mme Ramotswe is a fictional character, Sam.’

What could I say? It seemed none of these friends of mine had even half a brain.

‘Charlize, I wouldn’t expect you to understand how ghost-writing works. I mean, do you even know what ghost-writing is?’

She pursed her lips, probably because I’d bamboozled her with too much information.

Charlize went into the bathroom to fix up (or ‘eff’ up as my profanity prohibiting mother would say) her eyeliner and I went to the spare bedroom to get changed. I looked through my dry-cleaning bags that were draped across every square inch of the tiny room. I decided on my light-grey skinny jeans (with my suck-me-in undies) and a purple halter top. I had to find some double-sided tape because if I turned too fast in that particular number, it flew right up and I’d flash my boobs by mistake. I’ve only done it once on purpose. OK, twice. And maybe once when I was really drunk, but the guy was totally ugly, I had my beer goggles on for sure, so that doesn’t count.