Rhino What You Did Last Summer Read online

  Of course, this is her in her element. I think she was born with a microphone in her hand.

  ‘Hello and welcome,’ she goes. ‘And thank you for coming to what I hope will be the first annual Designer Clothes Auction (Including Vintage) in Aid of the Jolie-Pitt Foundation, which is one of the world’s most – oh my God – amazing charities. Let me say at the beginning that fifty per cent of all monies raised today will go to the Maddox Jolie-Pitt organization, which is dedicated to eradicating extreme rural poverty, protecting natural resources and conserving wildlife by promoting sustainable rural economies that directly contribute to the health and vitality of communities, wildlife and forests…’

  That gets an immediate round of applause. Did I mention that she looks amazing?

  ‘The remainder will go towards helping children affected in various ways by the war in Iraq. Half will go to help military children through the Armed Services YMCA Operation Hero programme and half will go towards programmes that help Iraqi children sadly orphaned by the fighting.

  ‘Obviously, Brad and Angelina can’t be here today, but, as Angelina said herself in a recent interview with O – The Oprah Magazine, educational support programmes for the children of conflict are the best way to help communities heal…’

  Everyone claps again.

  ‘You know, she’s even more beautiful than I remembered,’ Harvey goes. ‘She looks like Jennie Garth.’

  I’m there, ‘That’s exactly what I used to think.’

  I tell him that the nuns from that school of hers would be proud of her today. Public speaking was always one of her things.

  The models stort coming out, except they’re not so much models as all Sorcha’s mates.

  ‘Now, Barneys on Wilshire,’ she’s going, ‘have donated this black, one-shoulder dress with bow detail by the fabulous Marc Jacobs. I think you’ll all agree that Elodine totally pulls it off with this Touch Luxe silver scales jacket, Louboutin heels and – can we see the pin, Elodine? – a Lucite flower pin by Alexis Bittar, as seen in Sex and the City. And we’re going to start the bidding for the entire ensemble at five thousand dollars…’

  ‘And where’s he?’ Harvey goes.

  I point over to the little group of them standing over by the actual buffet. Josh is throwing a bread roll like it’s an American football and Kyle is running to catch it. I just shake my head. Aport from the fact that Sorcha paid good money to get this event catered, his throwing action is actually shit.

  ‘Which one?’ Harvey goes. ‘Deion Sanders or Joe Montana?’

  I’m there, ‘Neither. The one sitting down. The pale, white, weedy-looking focker with the imitation Ray-Bans.’

  He turns to me in, like, total shock. ‘You lost that girl… to him?’

  I’m there, ‘I didn’t lose her to him? Even though he’d like to think that. No, I was cheating on her left, right and centre. The nanny was the one I eventually swung for. Then he came in and hoovered up the pieces.’

  ‘Now,’ Sorcha goes, ‘Kitson, one of my all-time favourite shops, on Robertson, have donated this ruffled Mulberry dress, which is stunning, I’m sure you’ll all agree…’

  I tell Harvey thanks, on Sorcha’s behalf, and he just lifts his hand as if to say it’s not a thing. ‘Analyn is wearing it with these fabulous Alaïa pumps – lace-effect is going to be in this year – and an Orka Mesica friendship bracelet, as worn by Nicky Hilton, though in my opinion it would go equally well with simple flats, either Pierre Hardy or Rene Caovilla, and statement tights.’

  Harvey gets up off his lounger.

  ‘Where are you off to?’ I go, but not in, like, a clingy way?

  He’s there, ‘Are you kidding me? I’ve just mentioned the names of two sports people. I’ve clearly been spending too much time around you,’ although, I should add, he is joking. Then he’s like, ‘It’s a fashion show. Where do you think I’m going? To find cute gay guys.’

  I laugh.

  I’m just there, ‘Good luck, Harve,’ thinking how cool it would be if he finally found someone nice – man or woman.

  As he’s walking away, roysh, I notice Cillian’s crew staring over at me. Josh has his T-shirt rolled up, roysh, showing off his – I suppose – midriff and he’s sort of, like, prancing around in, like, a gay way, basically ripping the piss out of Harvey. I actually feel like going over there and decking him. Kyle is laughing and sort of, like, slapping Cillian on the back, although he seems to be just sitting there, staring into space.

  ‘The next lot,’ Sorcha goes, ‘is a soft grey, scallop-tiered dress by my favourite designer in the actual world – and that designer is none other than Stella McCortney…’

  The model, in this case, is Emmy, as in Sorcha’s friend? The one who, even Sorcha admitted, has a major thing for me. The opening bid is, like, two thousand doughnuts and my hand is, like, straight in the air, because, I have to admit, she looks amazing in it.

  I’ve only got, like, one rival bidding against me and it’s Bob Soto, as in Cillian’s boss, the fat fock. He’s over there with Josh and Kyle, then three or four dudes that Cillian obviously works with, because looking at them, I’ve seen more craic at an autopsy.

  Bob goes to two and a half and I immediately say three and, of course, Emmy’s little face lights up the second I up the ante. He puts his big fat sausage finger in the air to say three and a half. I give Emmy a sly smile, then I go to four.

  I notice Josh and Kyle egging him on, telling him to blow me out of the water. He goes to four and a half, but I can tell from his whole body language that he knows – being in the business he’s in – that the dress is worth nothing like that. And of course I’m like Harvey focking Norman here – I won’t be beaten on price.

  So the upshot is that he eventually drops out and I end up agreeing to pay basically six grandingtons for the dress, although that’s with a pair of suede Manolos in electric-blue and a HK for Mouawad bracelet thrown in. Then I just lie back on my lounger, soak up the rays and wait for my prize.

  A voice above me suddenly goes, ‘Spending your money?’

  I have to, like, shield my eyes from the sun. It’s Trevion.

  I forgot to mention, Disney still paid me for that movie.

  I’m there, ‘Actually, yeah, as it happens? What are you doing here?’

  ‘I’m here with Fyon Hoola,’ he goes. ‘She’s modelling.’

  I’m there, ‘Modelling? Modelling what?’

  Sorcha’s suddenly there, ‘Kushcush have very kindly donated this stunning metallic silver monokini and it’s being modelled by someone with whom I’m sure you’re all very familiar – an amazing, amazing writer who I’m, oh my God, so fortunate to be able to call a friend, and no stranger to charity work herself, Fionnuala O’Carroll-Kelly!’

  Out she focking struts, her big fat body bet into the focking thing. There’s not only cheers, roysh, there’s actual roars? It’s, like, does anyone in this country have any taste?

  Of course, I can’t help myself. ‘Someone stick an apple in its mouth and put it on the barbecue!’ I shout.

  Trevion doesn’t even blink. He’s just, like, staring at her. The poor focker’s smitten.

  ‘I should add that those amazing Jee Vice sunglasses are Fionnuala’s own,’ Sorcha goes, ‘and not part of the bid.’

  The old dear says something then – she has to be the centre of attention – Sorcha goes, ‘Oh my God, thank you so much! Ladies and gentlemen, Fionnuala has very, very kindly agreed to throw in the glasses – and I think I’m right in saying that they’re the same ones that Katherine Heigl was pictured wearing recently leaving the Christian Audigier Warehouse…’

  I suddenly spot Emmy over at the ice-cream buffet. I get up, tell Trevion he’s selling himself short – we’re talking way short – then I tip over to her, giving her a big enthusiastic kiss on either cheek.

  Of course, Bob Soto’s taking all this in, totally bulling. If you can’t hang with the big dogs, stay your puppy ass on the porch.

 
; ‘Oh my God,’ Emmy goes, ‘I can’t believe you paid all that money. And look, I’m eating sorbet in it! I should go and change.’

  I’m there, ‘Wait a minute – are you telling me you don’t come with the dress?’ which sounds corny but it’s actually not, the way I say it. ‘Dying kids or no dying kids, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask for my money back.’

  She’s big into me and she’s making it obvious, roysh, with the whole eye contact thing and then laughing at pretty much every line I throw at her. For instance, roysh, I tell her that tennis obviously suits her, judging from her body, then she asks me if I play and I tell her no, I’m not interested in games in which love means nothing. It’s an old line, roysh, and one I’ve only ever known to work on Loreto Foxrock girls. But this is America – a whole new morket to crack. ‘Oh my God,’ she goes, her mouth wide open, ‘that is so clever!’ and what can I do, roysh, except shrug.

  It’s like, hey, I’ve got seven or eight lines just like that one.

  Of course, you know the script. Twenty minutes later, we’re in – funnily enough – the pumping house and we’re up to our tonsils in each other. Emmy unbuttons my shirt, then we’re suddenly rolling around on the filthy floor. She’s keen, it has to be said – going at me like a dog with a focking chew-toy. We’re pulling and ripping out of each other, neither of us giving a shit about the dress. If anything, roysh, knowing how much it cost actually adds an edge to proceedings?

  Fifteen minutes later – or whatever – I finish up. We eventually get our breath back, then get to our feet and stort fixing ourselves, tucking ourselves in and whatever else. It’s only then that Emmy mentions the dress. ‘Oh my God!’ she goes. ‘Look at the state of me!’

  I’m there, ‘Who gives a fock?’ feeling a bit Jay Z, if I’m being honest about it.

  I’m looking down at the Manolos. The suede is, like, scuffed to bits and one of the heels has even broken off.

  As for the dress, you wouldn’t wash your focking car with it now. It’s, like, shredded to pieces, especially around the orse, and covered in, like, dirt and oil and of course my mucky handprints. ‘We shouldn’t have done that,’ she goes.

  I’m there, ‘Fock it, I’m, like, a celebrity now. Rock and roll! Blahdy blah!’

  ‘It’s not that,’ she goes, ‘It’s just, Sorcha thinks you bought the dress for her.’

  I could be wrong, roysh, but as she turns to leave, basically holding her various bits together, I think I notice the slightest trace of a smile on her face.

  Much as I love women, I’ll never fully understand them.

  I make it back to the pool, roysh, in time to see Honor come out modelling a striped dress by Splendid Littles with Ryan Flex sandals by Pediped. It’s the final lot of the day. Everyone’s cheering, roysh, and she’s loving being the centre of attention, going, ‘Hola! Hola! Hola!’ and I’m thinking that I’m glad I didn’t miss it – they’re, like, the precious moments you can never get back?

  My clothes are, like, filthy, so I end up hiding behind the hand-carved marble gazebo, trying to clean myself up, using a bottle of Club Soda and a piece of soft grey material that, in the throes of passion, I must have ripped from the dress.

  That’s where Sorcha eventually finds me.

  The first thing she says is that she’s been looking all over and I hide the piece of material in what would have to be described as a blizzard of movement. She doesn’t even comment on the state of me and I immediately realize that she’s upset. She throws her orms around me and, like, bursts into tears. I still suspect that this has something to do with Emmy and experience tells me to put one hand over my balls.

  She eventually pulls away and goes, ‘Steve and Elodine have gone home,’ and I’m storting to relax, realizing that this might not be something I’ve actually done.

  I’m there, ‘What happened?’

  She looks away. She says there was, like, a major fight. Everything was going so well until Cillian brought up the whole economy thing.

  I shake my head. ‘It’s actually getting boring at this stage.’

  ‘He said that the granting of mortgages to people who can’t afford to pay them is going to set in chain a series of events that will drive the world economy to the point of collapse…’

  I’ve just made shit of a six-grand dress. I don’t want to be listening to this.

  ‘He said the crash would be every bit as bad as 1929. Ross, what happened in 1929?’

  I shake my head. ‘Don’t ask me. But I presume the rest of them weren’t just standing there agreeing with him?’

  ‘No,’ she goes. ‘Josh said that bad debts aren’t necessarily a bad thing. He said it still makes sense to sign up riskier borrowers because, even with the increased rate of default, the ones who do pay will still generate greater profits for the banks and financial institutions than if the capital was lying there, like, unused?’

  I’m there, ‘See? That’s that, then.’

  ‘But Cillian said that assumed that the level of default can be predicted and managed. He said the good times would only last as long as the housing and employment markets remain buoyant and people with steady wages are able to service mortgages on properties that are steadily increasing in value. He said that a contracting economy, combined with a fall in house prices and the resetting of mortgage interest rates from the original teaser rates offered, would result in an increase in foreclosures that – because of the greed of people like Josh and Kyle – would set the whole edifice of Western capitalism crumbling.’

  ‘Look, I’m not a fan of those two,’ I go, ‘but it sounds to me like Cillian was bang out of order there.’

  ‘Well, can you imagine how Steve and Elodine felt? They gave Josh and Kyle money to invest, Ross. What if they lose their ethnic restaurant before it even opens?’

  ‘That’s not going to happen,’ I go, liking the way my voice sounds.

  ‘I’ve had their taster menu,’ she goes, tears streaming from her eyes. ‘Their pigori are amazing. What if…’

  ‘I said, that is not going to happen.’

  ‘But how can you be so sure? Cillian told them that those CDOs they invested in were essentially IOUs that one day someone was going to have to pay. Or not.’

  ‘How can I be so sure?’ I go. ‘I’ll tell you how. Because when it comes to shit like this – world affairs, blah blah blah – I always go with whoever makes the least sense to me. And when I hear Josh and Kyle banging on about the economy, I genuinely don’t understand a word of it. I rest my case.’

  That seems to put her mind at ease.

  Unfortunately, it doesn’t last long. All of a suddden, roysh, a voice storts coming over the, I supposed you’d call it, a PA?

  ‘We were sold a dream of prosperity,’ it’s going, ‘but it was all based on chronic indebtedness…’

  Sorcha’s hands go up to her face. ‘That’s Cillian!’ she goes, then she immediately turns and runs in the direction of the gaff, with me haring along after her.

  He’s nowhere to be seen. People are standing around with their glasses of Pims and their canapés and totally bemused looks on their faces, while his voice continues to boom out. ‘The simple fact is we have been living way beyond our means,’ he’s going.

  People are turning to Sorcha, going, ‘This is not what we came to hear,’ and Sorcha, of course, is apologizing to everyone.

  ‘Cillian!’ she’s shouting, looking around her. ‘Cillian, where are you?’

  ‘Yes, despite all the warnings signs, we continue to run up unsustainable levels of debt to feed the media-driven consumption frenzy and acquire the things we’ve been led to believe constitute success…’

  People are storting to drift away now. One woman turns around to Sorcha and goes, ‘I pay six thousand dollars for an Oscar de la Renta original with Le Silla Swarovski sandals, then I get a lecture?’ and she walks off, not a happy bunny rabbit.

  ‘Once, the US economy was the envy of the world,’ he keeps going. ‘It was based
on the principles of enterprise, ingenuity and hard work. America built things – things it could be proud of, things that withstood the rigours of time. But not anymore. Now it builds nothing. Instead, it glorifies people who simply move money around the place and do so with increasing recklessness…’

  Josh and Kyle come pegging it over, out of breath. They say he’s somewhere inside the gaff, although with the size of the place, it could take, like, an hour to find him.

  ‘When the crash comes – and come it will – we will remember these as the years when our insatiable appetite for consumer debt met the stop-at-nothing practices of our banks and financial institutions. We will be picking through the debris for generations to come. When I close my eyes, I see redundancies, insolvencies, bankruptcies and home repossessions…’

  Sorcha has, like, tears running down her face. ‘Please,’ she’s going, ‘everyone stay.’

  Even the old dear, who’s holding Honor, is going, ‘Everybody – it’s just someone who’s had too much to drink.’

  Honor’s going, ‘Buenas noches,’ and at the same time clapping her hands. ‘Buenas noches.’

  Nobody’s thought about doing the obvious. But it’s one of those moments – cometh the hour, blahdy blahdy blah. I go over to the PA system and just, like, rip the plug out of the wall. There’s suddenly silence, roysh, but at that stage pretty much everyone has gone.

  Harvey, who’s standing talking to this blond dude in a yellow Hollister T-shirt, says well done to me, which is nice to hear.

  Then Sorcha pretty much collapses on my shoulder, so upset she can barely get the words out to tell me that people have left without their seed packet favours. I stare at the gaff, with that lunatic somewhere inside, and I think seed packet favours are the least of her worries.

  ‘Hey, Ronan, where are you?’

  There’s, like, shouting in the background. Someone’s calling someone a fock-ass motherfocker and then that someone says, basically, fock you, you focking fock.

  It sounds like he’s in Dr Quirkey’s.

  But of course Ro has a Good Time Emporium of his own these days. ‘We’re watching Casino,’ he goes. ‘Here, Buckets – hit pause on that thing, will you?’ and the shouting suddenly stops.