Chapter 6
CHAPTER 6
Ash
Friday night was finally here and I couldn’t wait to see my friends. Sarah had chosen the restaurant, a new Afro-sushi bar that apparently, according to Yelp, served some of the best sushi in town and really good cocktails. I hadn’t been sure what was going to be “Afro” about the sushi, but after a quick Google search, I soon discovered.
“Geisha: Japanese sushi with an African twist.” The menu featured things like springbok carpaccio, to replace some of the fish, chakalaka dipping sauce and biltong sushi. Personally, I thought the normal old-school Japanese sushi was perfect just the way it was, but I wasn’t against the idea of trying something new, especially if that something new came with cool cocktails and my friends.
The Uber driver turned into Long Street where the restaurant was located. Long Street was packed with clubs, restaurants, and bars located inside old historic Victorian-style buildings with wrought-iron balconies. It gave the place a bit of a New Orleans feel, as if you were walking through the French quarter. The road was a fusion of old and new too, though, with some modern office buildings having sprung up here and there. The inhabitants of these workspaces usually ran cool companies. I knew some advertising agencies and film companies here, and also a few galleries.
“Waaaiit,” I said out loud as I read the sign hanging from the building when the driver stopped.
“Is something the matter?” he asked.
“No, not at all.” Something about this place was very familiar, but I knew I hadn’t been here before. I climbed out and looked up at the building above the restaurant.
Longstreet Lofts . . . why the hell was that so familiar? I walked over to the placards on the wall and started reading them, and finally it clicked. This was where Maximillian Adam worked. There it was—first floor: The Film Place. I had a desire to suddenly take a photo of it and email it to him, but didn’t. That would be stupid! And weird, right?
“Ash!” I heard my name being shouted from the big table on the pavement. I waved and walked over. They all stood up and our hugging session began. We were big huggers. We’d been friends since university, where most of us had studied something to do with film, the only exception being Sarah, who’d studied law, but she’d been with me since high school and quickly became friends with my film-school friends once I’d dumped accounting. I’d accidentally walked into a film lecture while looking for an advisor’s office and been so captivated that I’d decided right there and then that this was what I wanted to do.
I flopped down in the chair next to Melusi, one of the best production designers around. I worked with him as much as I could, and this upcoming job was no exception—he’d already been booked for it.
“So, how’s everyone?” I asked, but they were all smiling at me. “Oh, I see. Sarah’s already told you about my latest sexcapade?” I shot her a look.
“I thought I would save you the trouble of having to repeat yourself.” She raised a blue cocktail to her lips and sipped out of the tiniest straw I’d ever seen.
“The physiotherapist says I have a mildly strained tendon.” At that, the entire table burst out laughing and then all proceeded to apologize profusely for the laughter.
“I’m glad my sex life is so amusing to you all.” I reached for Yolandi’s drink as she was opposite me, pulled it across the table and sipped it.
“Hey,” she protested with a smile.
“I need it more than you do,” I said, sucking it down. Yolandi, Yo for short, worked as a sound mixer at one of the biggest and best post-production facilities we always used. She also played guitar in a band. They had a slightly underground cult following, thanks to their eclectic mix of Tibetan singing bowls, EDM and jazzy guitar riffs. The fact that Yo even worked was something we were all in awe of, because she was actually in possession of an eye-wateringly huge trust fund she’d inherited from her grandfather, who’d been some billionaire mining magnate. She also lived in a really humble, but nice, house. Not the kind of house someone with hundreds of millions tucked away in a trust fund might buy. She always gave the best, most extravagant birthday and Christmas presents, though. Last year, she’d bought me this insanely expensive drone, and she often sneakily paid our bill.
“Mmm, what is this?” I finished her cocktail and passed back the empty glass.
“It’s called ‘Santa’s Little Helper.’ ”
“ ‘Gin infused with a ginger, orange and star-anise syrup.’ ” Frank rolled his eyes as he said it. We were always poking fun at these ridiculous names that places were constantly coming up with in a bid to be more original than the next.
“Work injury?” I looked down at the fresh-looking plasters on Frank’s hand.
“I was attacked by a tripod followed by a set of tracks and then a camera stand,” he said, wiggling his fingers at me. Frank worked as a grip, mainly for international feature films that were shot in South Africa. In fact, he was currently lined up for a movie that—rumor had it—Zendaya was set to star in. He’d promised he would smuggle all of us onto set if she did sign on for the film.
“Where’s Charlie?” I asked.
“Late,” everyone echoed in unison. Charlie was always late. She probably had the most stressful job out of all of us. As a talent manager, she managed actors and voice-over artists, so she basically managed a bunch of people with rather large egos who regularly threw dramatic tantrums that she was forced to fix.
“Where’s hubby tonight?” I asked Sarah.
“Editing—he said he’d be here soon.”
We’d all been so excited when Russ and Sarah had gotten together. I mean, what’s better than two of your closest friends falling in love and getting married? We’d all agreed that their wedding had been one of the happiest days of our collective lives. And we were now all eagerly awaiting a marriage between Melusi and Marcel, the French fashion designer he’d been long-distance relationshipping for several years. Although we have all made it quite clear that for any blessings of ours to be given, Marcel would have to agree to move here, because we needed Melusi far too much, and France was very far away. They were apparently still talking about where to live, a conversation they’d been having for probably two years now. Yo was the only other one of us in a serious relationship; she’d been in her polyamorous throuple for a couple of years already. Yo was just as generous with her heart as she was with her wallet, and much like money, had more than enough love to go around.
“So I have an announcement to make,” I said, and everyone turned and looked at me. “I’m thinking of going on a dating detox.” The entire table burst out laughing again and I glared at them.
“No, seriously, it would be good for me to give up men for a while. To break this bad cycle I’m in. I could date myself instead and take up hobbies like knitting and start swimming and cold dipping and listen to motivational podcasts and—”
The table’s laughter escalated, and I stopped talking and folded my arms, feeling suddenly angry, although I wasn’t totally sure why. My friends sensed this shift in mood and stopped laughing.
“What’s wrong?” Sarah was the first to ask. I looked at her and shrugged and then felt a lump in my throat very suddenly and unexpectedly. I tried to swallow it away.
“Oh my God.” Yo reached across the table and put a hand on mine. “What’s up? Tell us.”
“I don’t think I can do it anymore, guys. All the crappy dates, even crappier sex, or almost sex. Maybe I’m just one of those people who’s not cut out for romance. Maybe I’m one of those people who’s meant to be alone. Not everyone finds their soul mate and gets to have an amazing love story.”
“ NO ! Stop it,” the entire table shouted at once.
“The right guy is out there—you just haven’t met him yet,” Melusi said.
I raised my brows at him. “I’ve met and tried to date half of Cape Town. If the right guy was here, I’m sure I would have found him by now.”
“Maybe he’s not in Cape Town yet,” Sarah offered.
“Exactly,” Melusi and Frank piped up together.
“Maybe he’s from abroad,” Melusi elaborated.
“Guys, I’m nearly thirty-two, my last serious relationship was over thirteen years ago, and we all know how that ended. I’ve gone on more dates than I can count, and not one guy has made it past the sixth date, except one, but then he cried during sex, which is a real confidence booster, I might add. I think I need a break from all that.”
Everyone at the table went silent and looked at me sympathetically.
“As long as it’s not permanent. I don’t want you closing yourself off to anything. Your luck is going to change—I’m sure of it. Hang in there a bit longer,” Sarah said.
“I’m not sure how much hanging I can carry on doing—the last hanging sprained my tendon.” I rubbed my neck as I said it. “And the previous hanging also ended in disaster, if you remember . . . the infamous sex-swing incident?”
“Oh God,” Melusi gasped. “That was bad.”
“It’s all bad,” I said, pulling a drink from him this time. “It’s all very, very bad and that’s the problem.” I sucked on Melusi’s drink, grimaced, and shook my head as a loud, familiar voice put a halt to the conversation. We all turned to watch Charlie weave her way through the tables, talking loudly on her phone as she went.
“No, I told you. She is not shooting it unless you fly her hair stylist and make-up artist down too.” She looked at us all and mouthed the word “sorry” as she flung her bag down on the floor and pulled out a chair with one of her red-heeled shoes—she was a multitasker.
“Yes, I know the production has its own hair stylist and make-up artist, but she will only work with her own team. We told you that right at the beginning of the contract negotiation . . .” She shook her head at us all and rolled her eyes dramatically. “Well, it’s not my fault if you didn’t clear it with your producer and you don’t have the budget for it. She is not shooting unless she has her own people there.” Charlie did what I had and grabbed the closest drink she could and started sipping on it. “I don’t know, cut down on coffee, or snacks, lose one of the extras, or fuck knows what else. . .” She grimaced at the taste of the cocktail and mouthed a very clear “disgusting” at us. “I am well aware the shoot is on Monday. I drafted and read the contract, if you’ll remember, unlike some other people who didn’t read the section in which I laid out very clearly what my artist’s requests and non-negotiables were.” She tapped her fingers on the table, clearly irritated. We were always so in awe of how hardcore Charlie was, but she needed to be, in her line of work. “Well, then, you go back to your client and tell them the only actress that they wanted in their washing-powder commercial will no longer be in their commercial.” That seemed to be the phrase that got the person on the phone to change their tune. “Yes, I think that’s a very good idea. Producers are magic like that—they always seem to find more money in the budget when they have to.” And just like that she hung up.
“For fuck’s sake, it’s a bloody washing-powder commercial. For washing your clothes. With powder. You would think we’re shooting an Oscar contender here. How’s everyone? I need a drink.” Charlie waved her hand in the air and summoned the waitress while we all listened to her work stories and consoled her, telling her she was the best talent agent any of us knew.
“What have I missed?” she asked.
“I’m thinking of going on a dating detox,” I said quickly.
Charlie eyed me while nodding her head, she had this habit of nodding while she thought. I loved it.
“This guy from work has decided to be single for a while and now he’s doing transcendental meditation and running all these marathons—so good for him.”
“God, that sounds fucking awful,” Frank groaned.
“He seems happy,” Charlie shot back.
“Anyone who’s running a marathon and doing transcendental meditation as a substitute for not having sex is not happy,” Frank fired back and soon he and Charlie were having one of their very frequent debates. They had always done this with each other, like some kind of sibling bickering, but they always made up in the end.
I sat back and watched them all. God, I loved my friends. If it wasn’t for them, I don’t think I would have made it this far. They’d become my family over the years, which I was grateful for, since I was seriously lacking in the family department.
“I’m going for a quick stress vape round back,” Charlie announced, and stood up. Whenever she was stressed, she vaped, which was basically all the time. “And don’t you all look at me like that. I said I’ll give it up, just not now!” She raced off, not waiting to hear more of our objections.
“Maximillian Adam.”
I swung round at the sound of the familiar name. It was being spoken from a table in the corner, where two of the most gorgeous women I’d ever seen were sitting. My curiosity was definitely piqued. I leaned back in my chair to listen and then gave my friends the “I’m eavesdropping” gesture we’d come up with years ago. They all nodded and lowered the volume of their conversations with each other. Frank, who was sitting next to me, was the only one who leaned along with me.
“Who we listening to?” he whispered.
“Gorgeous probably models in the corner.”
He nodded and adjusted his chair, casually creeping closer to them.
“Apparently he made Star come ten times!”
Frank and I clocked each other with wide eyes and I had to stifle a gasp. We both leaned back even more.
“Seriously?” the hot one with the amazing breasts said.
“She even said she squirted. She’s never squirted. Can you believe that?”
Frank turned and mouthed “Oh my God” to me.
“You know he also went out on a date with Bianca, right?” one of them said.
“Oh my God, what did Bianca say?”
“You can’t tell anyone this—she told me in confidence.”
“Of course I won’t.”
Frank and I rolled our eyes at each other knowingly. “Bianca said he made her pass out. Literally. She fell over and lost consciousness from all the orgasms, and then she had to beg him to stop!”
“Fuuuck!” the other one said.
“She said it was the best sex she’s ever had in her entire life, and we all know how much Bianca gets around. If anyone knows what good sex is, it’s her.” The girls at the table laughed cattily.
“I heard a rumor he was a tantric sex practitioner, or something like that.”
“Like Sting?” the one with the amazing breasts asked. “Doesn’t Sting do tantra? I think I read an article about that somewhere. It doesn’t surprise me, though. Star said he lasted hours, literal hours. She had a limp the next day on the catwalk.”
“Holy crap!”
“And he’s so hot. Have you seen him?”
“No, hang on. Let me Google him.” She started digging in her bag.
Frank pulled out his phone and looked at me. “Who we Googling?” he whispered.
“Maximillian Adam,” I whispered back.
“You won’t find him online,” the other model said. “The guy’s a ghost. He doesn’t even have social media. Apparently, he lives in an off-grid house in Noordhoek. He even owns llamas or something ridiculous like that.”
“No wonder he’s so good at sex. I would be too if I didn’t have the internet.” They both laughed and that seemed to signal the end of the conversation.
Frank and I looked at each other. “Who were they talking about?”
“He’s this guy I’m working with. He owns a location agency.”
“Why don’t I know his name? I thought I knew everyone in the industry.”
“He’s been living abroad for the last twelve years or so. Came out here at the beginning of the year and started his company. He has the best locations.”
“Apparently he has the best dick in town too.”
I laughed. “Well, the best dick in town actually works in this building.” I pointed up.
“Oh my God, you won’t believe the story I just heard out back while smoking with the kitchen staff,” Charlie said, lowering herself into the chair, smelling of something vaguely watermelon-y. We all leaned in.
“Apparently, the other night, all the staff heard this hectic screaming. So the manager called the cops, because they thought someone was getting attacked, right?” She laughed. “When the police arrived, turns out it was this girl in the office above the restaurant. She was screaming her head off while having sex with the guy whose office it is.”
Frank and I both lurched forward and spoke at the same time. “Maximillian Adam?”
Charlie looked at us oddly. “Yes, how did you know?”
“Are you going to tell them, or should I?” Frank asked.
“You do it. You’re better at telling these kinds of stories than I am,” I said, and Frank launched into it.