The Homeless Millionaire

It was a mistake, I knew that instantly. Her lips didn't respond, there was no answering pressure. So I took a step back and said:

"That is a heartfelt thank you. Thank you, Fiona. You've done so much for me."

If she was about to give me shit, she was disarmed. Giving shit to people who were melting with gratitude was bad form: it didn't fit. She didn't know what to say for a few seconds, and during that time I saw that the DO NOT TOUCH sign was back.

She gave me one of those meaningless courtesy smiles, and said:

"I'm not sure I know what you're talking about. I bought your apples, but you'd have sold them anyway, to someone else. People were snapping up your work."

"You gave me my first commission," I said. It was true and it was a lie. I didn't give a fuck about that, I just wanted to distract Fiona's emotions and wriggle out of an embarrassing situation.

"You didn't make any money out of that."

I shrugged and gave her a meaningful look, a look that said it was her fault I didn't make any money. Her comment about manoeuvres meant to hike the price had forced me to do a freebie.

She read my look. Fiona seemed to be one of those rare people who had both beauty and brains. She said:

"I'm sorry. I know it's my fault. But how was I supposed to know you're so touchy?"

Total success! I'd surprised her with an unwanted kiss, and now she was apologizing to me. I said:

"You should know by now people sometimes act funny when they're around a queen."

It was a great exit line, and I acted on it. My glass was empty, anyway. I was busy refilling it with the German white when Fiona came back inside and approached me and said:

"I think I should introduce you to someone."

"Another Ludo?"

"No, a girl I know. I think you two might like each other."

Of course, this was the ultimate polite brushoff. Fiona had read through my smokescreen and wanted to make sure I'd be kissing someone else when the mood struck me again. But she liked me; if she didn't, she wouldn't introduce me to any female friends.

She didn't get to introduce me to anyone because at this moment Jane joined us and took one glance at Fiona and said:

"Fiona, you're stoned!"

Fiona grinned at her.

"Scolding time?" she said. I remembered she and Jane had been friends since kindergarten. When two people were friends for that long, they played significant roles in each other's lives. Jane's role was that of the queen's closest confidant and advisor. She would be one of the very few people allowed to scold Fiona.

"No. Smoking time," said Jane. "You didn't invite me to share? You're such a sneak."

"It wasn't my smoke. It was his." Fiona pointed at me.

"Oh." Jane glanced at me, and added:

"I see."

I didn't know what she saw. My party training kicked in, and I said:

"Fancy a puff?"

"That would be great," Jane said with great conviction.

"I'll leave you kids to it," Fiona said, and fucked off. Most likely, her own party training had kicked in too. Jane and I went outside—I was really getting to spend a lot of time outdoors at this party, though maybe not getting a lot of fresh air. I pulled out one of the regular joints and was about to light it when Jane said:

"Oh, I really should get Darcy, I know he'd love a toke. Do you mind if I bring Darcy? Go right ahead, I'll be right back."

And she fucked off to get Darcy without waiting for my approval. I was instantly angry, so angry I wanted to leave the party. Then I remembered something my fucking father had repeatedly told me. He told me to do something good whenever I felt bad. It was the best and quickest way to feel good again.

He drummed a lot of stuff like that into me when I was a small kid and hungry for knowledge. Taking advantage of a little kid like that! It would have been okay if he practiced what he preached, if everyone practiced what they preached, including myself.

I decided I'd start my New Year on a noble note. I put the joint back in my pocket and pulled out the Cambodian torpedo. Jane and Darcy were about to get a puff to remember.

They showed up just as I was blowing out smoke after my first, glorious hit. It was a hell of a lot of smoke and they both grinned from ear to ear when they smelled it.

"This smells fantastic," said the observant Darcy. He actually had a pleasant voice.

I took another big hit. That Indian I'd met in Winnipeg had the right strategy: get your share first. I wordlessly offered the joint to Jane.

"No, you go first," she said to Darcy. "You'll tell me how strong it is. I'm a little drunk and I don't want to get blasted."

I held out the joint to Darcy, noting that he was more than a little drunk, too. This was going to be fun.

It was. Darcy wasn't going to wimp out in front of Jane, so he attempted to take a toke as big as mine. It had the same effect it had on me, back in the kitchen at Harry's island cottage.

His eyes popped and he gasped and bent double and began coughing his lungs out. To his credit he didn't drop the joint, he held it out shakily to Jane who took it and said:

"I don't know if I should smoke this."

Then she put it in her mouth and inhaled and her eyes bulged. I took it from her trembling fingers and had a good toke. Darcy made a horrible retching noise, whooped, and embarked on a new series of coughs, with Jane joining in.

It didn't look as if those two would be able to smoke any more pot in the near future, so I disarmed the Cambodian torpedo by pinching it out—there was about half left—and slipped it into a pocket. Then I went back inside to lubricate my throat with some wine. This necessitated finding a clean glass, and I found that I was stoned out of my mind. It took me a long time to find a clean glass and almost as long to find an open bottle that still contained some wine.

The party was going on full blast, with most people going crazy dancing to Led Zeppelin in the front room. Judging by the smell, I wasn't the only one to have brought smoke. A few guests were poking around in what remained of the food, selecting stuff to put on their plates; I heard someone express deep disappointment there was no prawn salad left. I agreed with that sentiment.

I drank one glass of wine and poured myself another and zeroed in on a couple of girls standing on the other side of the table. I really needed to get laid. I was attempting to think of a good opening line when Fiona pranced in from the front room and went into full party host mode, clearing the debris from the table and the sideboards. She gave me a glance and my fucking training kicked in and I put my glass down and began to help her.

I asked about the maids, but it turned out Fiona had let them go.

"It's New Year for them, too," she said as we unloaded the dirties from the trolley in the kitchen. "They've got parties to attend as well."

She evidently was one of those considerate queens. She probably gave the maids presents for Christmas. When I looked at those apples of mine hanging in the kitchen, I had the thought Fiona might have bought them out of goodwill. Support the starving artists, that kind of stuff. Maybe that was why she wanted me to do a portrait of her father.

"Where's Jane?" she asked me, when we'd finished loading the trolley with fresh supplies—a tray of sandwiches and half a dozen bottles of wine.

"Probably out back on the patio," I said. "That's where I left them."

We wheeled the trolley out of the kitchen and Fiona said she had to check on Jane and left me to unload the stuff we'd brought and place it on the table. As I did that, I wondered what was coming next: maybe she was going to issue me with a duster and a mop and instructions to freshen the place up a bit?

She didn't do that. She returned from her Jane investigation and walked up to me and said:

"Jane is capable of speaking only in a hoarse whisper, and Darcy has been throwing up. What happened back there? What did you do to them?"

"Me? I did something to them?"

She had the grace to appear flustered.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Bad choice of words. What happened?"

I shrugged.

"Exactly what happened with you and Ludo. We smoked a joint."

"It looks more serious than that."

"Maybe it is," I agreed. "Maybe they also did other drugs that don't mix well with pot. Or maybe the prawn salad didn't like Darcy. Who the hell knows."

Fiona was silent for a little while. She couldn't really blame me for Darcy puking on the patio. But she did anyway, I could see it in the glance she gave me before she went to rejoin Jane.

I looked for the girl that had caught my fancy earlier, but she was gone. The people in the front room were really whooping it up; someone turned the volume up and the music became too loud for comfort. My mood was off, Fiona's blaming me for the patio business had done that.

I thought that maybe a drink would help me regain my balance, but I was wrong: I actually staggered a little when I moved towards the nearest wine bottle. I was fucking hammered already, a couple more drinks would tip me over into slurring, falling-down drunk territory. Booze was off limits for a while.

I tried to console myself with a cigarette. Almost the moment I lit it, someone switched the music back to Exile on Main Street and fucking Rolling Stones. The French doors opened and Fiona and Jane came in from the patio. The expression on Jane's face suggested a recent lobotomy. The expression on Fiona's face when she looked at me suggested that I'd dropped way down on her favourite guest list.

I approached her and said, ignoring Jane:

"Thank you for the party, Fiona. Thank you for everything."

"You're leaving? I'll be serving hot food in a moment. Boeuf Stroganoff."

I very nearly told her she'd have to find another waiter. Instead, I said:

"I think I'd better leave before I cause any more mischief. Bye."

And I fucked off.