Crazy Mad Lifeby Candy J. Moon / Humor
Crazy Mad Life
By Candy J. Moon
Copyright Candy J. Moon 2017
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Twitter: Candy J. Moon @CandyMoonMagic
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About the Author
I leapt out of bed and pulled apart my curtains. It was a dull, grey day but I couldn’t stop smiling. Today was the day I was going on a date with the man of my dreams! I made myself beautiful and hurried to work through spitting rain, my red umbrella protecting my make-up as I strode along the glistening pavement. I breezed through the gleaming glass doors of the Two Masks Theatre and made my way through the foyer to the metal fronted box office ready for work.
My colleague Rose, a pink-faced, middle-aged lady with short grey hair, sat at one of the box office serving windows sipping coffee. The moment she saw me, her cheeky blue eyes began twinkling beneath her silver rimmed spectacles. She jumped off her chair and let me through the internal door.
“How’re you getting on with him?” she asked cheekily. “Slept with him yet?”
“No!” I snapped. “We’ve got our first date tonight.”
“Oooh!” Rose beamed. “Is he taking you somewhere posh?”
“I don’t actually know,” I admitted. “He’s picking me up this evening. It’ll be a surprise.”
“Straight to his place, I imagine - I know what those M.C.’s are like.”
“That’s extremely presumptuous of you,” I pointed out.
“You wait and see!” Rose said, giving me a naughty wink.
My blushes were spared when my manager, Kalisha, arrived with a new hairdo. She looked like an ebony supermodel.
“You look stunning!” breathed Rose, staring open-mouthed at Kalisha’s neatly braided cornrows. “Who did them for you?”
Kalisha reached into the breast pocket of her smart black suit, pulled out a business card, and handed it to Rose. “My sister,” she said. “She’s just set up as a mobile hairdresser - give her a try.”
“I certainly will!” Rose beamed. “You look like a star!”
Kalisha smiled. “I wouldn’t quite say …” she began.
“You do!” I said. “Can I take one please?”
“Certainly,” Kalisha said, handing me another card. “She’ll be delighted!”
Then the red lights on the phone sets began flashing madly. The box office was open for business! My first couple of calls went fine, but then I must have had a dozen complaints from people ranting on about how many days it had taken them to get through to speak to a member of staff. The Two Masks Theatre was world famous, but the customers still couldn’t seem to understand how busy we almost always were. One grumpy old git went crackers when the performance of A Christmas Carol he wanted seats for was sold out. He hurled a string of expletives at me, most of them sexual, and then had the cheek to spout a bunch of shit about young people today having no respect. Dirty old foul-mouthed bastard!
From mid-morning, I was rostered to work upstairs in the phone room. I hurried up the cold grey stone steps to the cheery yellow walled office, with windows which looked out onto the bustling main street. I was met by the superstar smile of my best friend Suki - a pretty, vivacious British Asian girl whose family were from Japan.
“Have you heard from him?” she asked.
“No,” I replied. “But I can’t wait for tonight.”
“I bet you can’t!” she said, nudging me cheekily.
Then Jim - a plump lighting technician with a smooth pink potato-shaped head and long straggly brown hair - walked through the office. He gave Suki a playful, flirty look and she gave him one back.
“Oooh!” I said. “What’s going on there then?”
“I really like him,” she said, blushing as red as a beetroot.
Suki didn’t have the best taste in men. Not so long ago, she’d fancied promiscuous prat Dudley Mountain - a rock star turned actor who had a big red face and a mop of greasy black hair. At fifty-seven, he was old enough to be her grandad. Then she’d gone out with creepy Mick, who looked like a big alien headed baby. Lighting technician Jim wasn’t my type either. He looked extremely unfit - like he spent all his spare time sitting in front of the television eating salty chips and drinking soda pop. He had no muscle tone at all. I’d rather be single than date most of the men Suki considered gorgeous.
For the rest of the day, the phones rang pretty much nonstop. I was glad, as it prevented me getting butterflies in my stomach every time I thought about my impending date with my favourite Grime artist - Nutty Bonkers.
I’d been a fan of Nutty’s for a good three years and couldn’t believe my luck when, last Saturday at rock star turned actor Dudley Mountain’s birthday party, Nutty turned up seeking me! A couple of weeks before the party, I’d been seriously mortified when I was pictured walking along the street with Dudley beneath the headline Dudley’s Mystery Lover. I was most certainly not Dudley’s lover - I couldn’t think of anything worse. I hated the dirty old man with a passion. We’d only been walking along the street together because he’d fallen and supposedly hurt his ankle and I’d picked him up and helped him limp back to the theatre. Had I realised the paparazzi were lurking, I’d have stepped over him and left him there. I hadn’t even realised it was him when I first rushed to help. He’d been wearing a new parker coat with the hood up. I was seriously upset when that edition of that scummy newspaper came out. But then I never dreamt that photo would lead to a meeting with my idol, Nutty Bonkers, after he saw it and told Dudley I was his dream girl. I had no idea Nutty and Dudley were friends and had written some of my favourite tunes together. I’d always been extremely shy and nervous with the opposite sex. When I met Nutty, I initially fainted, but then suddenly became strangely confident with him like we were always meant to be.
Now the day of our date had arrived and I couldn’t believe it! As soon as six o’clock came and the phones stopped ringing, my tummy suddenly felt like it was full of tightly knotted ropes. I felt seriously sick.
Suki and I trotted home together through the biting autumn wind.
“Good luck with your date,” Suki said, hugging me as we reached my apartment block. “I can’t wait to hear all about it!” She waved goodbye and continued on her way home.
Still buzzing with nerves, I climbed three flights of stairs and put my key in the door of the flat which Mum and I shared.
Mum was sat watching telly, eating curried beans and rice. “Hi sweetie!” she beamed. “There’s some in the pan for you.”
“Thanks, but I’m not very hungry,” I said shakily. “I think I’ll just have a drink for now.”
“No worries,” Mum replied before turning back to the telly and shoving a big forkful of food into her mouth.
Curried beans were the last thing I wanted. Spicy breath and flatulence weren’t exactly the best thing to have on a first date. What was Mum thinking? Had I not known better, I’d have thought she’d set out to sabotage my special night.
I managed a small glass of almond milk before running myself a bath. Then I glammed my face up, slipped into my figure hugging black dress and put on my shiny high heels, hoping the outfit was appropriate for wherever we were going.
At half past seven on the dot, Nutty sent a text informing me he’d arrived. I poked my nose into the lounge. “He’s here,” I gasped nervously. “See you later Mum.”
“Wow!” Mum exclaimed. “You look absolutely stunning, as always. Aren’t you going to bring him in to meet me?”
“You’ve already met him.”
“I was drunk - I barely remember it,” she said, referring to Saturday night when I met him, brought him to the flat to meet Mum, and found her staggering around the lounge making up silly words to one of his tunes. “You know I’m one of his biggest fans. Bring him in.”
“OK,” I said, texting him with the number of the flat to invite him in before promptly spraying the place with air freshener to get rid of the spicy cooking smell.
I opened the door and listened nervously as he sprang up the stairs. My heart boomed as he appeared, looking beautiful as ever with his lean, muscular body, radient black skin and cute skinny dreadlocks. He reeked like he’d spilt a bottle of cologne down his shirt. It was nice cologne though.
Mum stood behind me, all excited, “Mr. Bonkers!” she said merrily. “Pleased to meet you properly this time. Sorry I was drunk the other night. Fancy a coffee?”
“I’d love one!” he beamed.
He followed Mum and I into the lounge.
“You two lovebirds sit down then,” Mum said. “I’ll make the drinks.”
I glared at her. Lovebirds? I’d only just met him. I felt embarrassed. Nutty and I sat together in awkward silence as Mum brewed the coffee. It felt like she was taking forever.
I grinned nervously as she finally arrived with three steaming mugs on a tray. She placed two of them down on the coffee table in front of us, then stood happily sipping her drink.
She turned to Nutty. “Been working today?”
“Made a few notes for some new material,” he said. “Been working up to the date with Yazmin, to be honest.”
“Cool,” Mum replied. “Well, this is amazing. Do you realise we’re both huge fans?”
“Yes - Yazmin told me. I’m very flattered.”
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Mum went on. “Did she tell you she’s never had a boyfriend?”
I cringed with embarrassment. I wanted to evaporate.
Nutty looked at me admiringly. “I’m surprised - she’s a stunner.”
“She’s shy,” Mum said, warming her hands on her coffee mug. “I hope you won’t try anything on.”
My head sank into my hands.
“I won’t,” Nutty said, a noticeable quiver in his voice. “It’s a first date.”
“It’s just being a big fan, I know all your lyrics,” Mum said. “You do rap about some really rather naughty stuff!”
Nutty stared at the floor.
“Mum!” I begged. “Please …”
“You’ll thank me one day,” Mum said with a smile.
I rolled my eyes at Nutty. He looked at me awkwardly, then we both lifted our coffee mugs and drank in unison.
Mum smiled sweetly at Nutty. “She’s my only child, you see - my precious baby.”
“I understand,” Nutty said.
I was fuming. I had to get away. “Thanks for the coffee Mum. See you later!” I said, leaping out of my seat like I’d sat on hot coals.
“Pleasure,” Mum replied. “Now you two have a lovely time. Oh, and bring her back by midnight, or she’ll turn into a pumpkin.”
“Will do!” Nutty laughed. “Nice to meet you again.”
Nutty and I hurried down three flights of stairs like we were fleeing a fire, then we dashed across the lamp lit carpark, jumped into his black VW Polo and fastened our seatbelts.
“Your mum’s scary,” Nutty said, pulling a nervous face.
“Sorry,” I said. “She’s not always like that.”
“I know she meant well,” Nutty said. “She’s a good mum.”
He set his satnav and started the engine. Then we zoomed off, travelling just a little too fast for my liking. I guess I’d always been driven everywhere by Mum, who drove like an old person, so his driving was rather speedy in comparison.
We travelled out of town and I took a deep breath as we shot onto the motorway like a bullet. Due to it being our first date, Nutty looked a little nervous in my presence. As he moved into the fast lane, I kept thinking how the combination of his nerves and horribly fast driving could be disastrous. I held onto the car door handle and closed my eyes as we whizzed along.
“Are you alright?” he asked, sounding concerned.
My heart jumped. Had he been watching me instead of the road?
“I don’t travel well,” I answered, eyes still closed. “Bit of a speed phobia.”
“Sorry - I’ll drive a little slower.”
“Would you mind?”
“You’re just like my cousin,” he laughed. “You’re funny!” He was beginning to sound a lot more confident in my presence now and sounded much more like the Nutty Bonkers I listened to on my iPod. I couldn’t believe my luck! He glided across into the slow lane, then I felt a little calmer.
“So,” I said shakily. “Where do you live?”
“Skindlesworth,” he replied.
“Oh,” I said. “I’ve never been there before.”
“It’s OK ,” he said in a positive tone of voice. “I think you’ll like it.”
I wasn’t so sure. Skindlesworth was a notorious place. It had been the scene of the unsolved Skindlesworth murders. I’d recently watched a documentary about the place, and it gave me the chills. I’d heard quite a bit about it in the last few months, as this year had marked the twenty-fifth anniversary of the first gristly murder. A total of sixteen people had been killed in the space of ten years, their limbs severed and missing.
Then my heart lurched as we moved into the middle lane and accelerated to overtake a lorry. I took an audibly deep breath and he laughed again.
“Lorries can’t go over sixty miles per hour - I had to overtake it.”
“OK,” I said, although I didn’t understand his logic.
“I’ve been driving for over three years now - I’ve driven thousands of miles on motorways.”
“OK,” I said again, not enough breath left in me to say anything else. My chest felt horribly tight and I had to slyly wipe my sweaty hands on the sides of my dress. I tried to keep calm, but everything which could go wrong kept constantly going through my head like scenes from some gory horror movie - wheels flying off lorries and hitting our windscreen, coaches swerving into us, animals venturing out onto the motorway and running across our path, cars breaking suddenly in front of us whilst we were travelling at speed … I couldn’t help it - these terrifying thoughts just kept bombarding my brain. Then I dared to let my eyes wander over to the speedometer. To my complete and utter horror, Nutty was travelling close to ninety miles per hour. My throat went seriously dry and I started to tingle all over just like the first time I’d been on a scary fairground ride. That first time was also the last time. I could hardly feel anything with my tingling hands now. I couldn’t breathe properly.
Nutty glanced over at me. “God Yaz! Sorry - I wasn’t thinking … I’m so used to going at this speed it feels like nothing. Don’t worry - I’ll be leaving the motorway in five minutes.”
That five minutes felt like five hours of pure terror. He finally left the motorway and we very soon arrived in Skindlesworth - a horrid, grey concrete place. He parked the car by a tall, run-down block of flats.
“My place!” he declared, unfastening his seatbelt.
I felt confused. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t expect to be going straight to his place - I’d been imagining a ritzy wine bar. He wasn’t mega famous, but he’d been well known, at least amongst young people, for quite some time now. I never imagined him living in a scruffy tower block. I shakily hauled myself out of the car, grateful we’d made it there in one piece. Aware looks can be deceiving, I thought perhaps the building might be like some luxurious palace inside.
I was wrong. As soon as Nutty opened the door into the depressing concrete hallway, a horrid stench assaulted my nostrils - the reek of damp mixed with cigarettes and greasy cooking. This was most certainly not what I’d expected. His tune Keys to my Mansion drifted through my mind. This place wasn’t exactly what I’d imagined all the times Mum and I had blasted it through our speakers and skanked around our apartment.
Nutty turned to me and smiled. “I live on the third floor - like you!”
I forced a smile and followed him up the cold stone steps to his flat. I cringed as he put his key in the door, worried what sight was about to meet my eyes.