Liar Liar

‘Enough!’ Charles decrees, reaching for the wine bottle. ‘We are here to have a good time. Money is not everything. But I say a little prayer of thanks that we get our salary next week.’

I do a little internal squee at the thought of my first pay cheque. It’s so exciting! I can’t believe I’ve been here almost a month already.

‘Pass me the menu, would you?’ asks Fee. ‘I’m so hungry, my bum is eating my knickers.’

‘You are so very English.’ This from Charles doesn’t sound like a compliment.

‘You’re not allowed to order salad this time,’ I say. ‘You make me feel guilty just looking at my plate of carbs.’

‘Just because Fee means fairy in French,’ adds Charles. ‘It does not mean you should eat like one.’

We eventually settle down to a mix of pizza, salad, and pommes frites, which are just french fries outside of France. And Monaco, I suppose. More wine is ordered, more shit is talked, before Charles seems struck by the most amazing thought.

‘Oh! I forget!’ Despite being a little wine pickled due to our second bottle, he becomes very animated. ‘I have a surprise tonight.’

‘You’re not going to flash us again on the way home, are you? I run my finger through a smudge of Chantilly cream, the only evidence remaining of the portion of Tiramisu we’ve shared three ways. Which doesn’t constitute much of a treat, as far as I’m concerned.

‘Leave ’z pattern on the plate.’ He slaps my hand away. ‘And I did not flash,’ he scorns. ‘My pants make a rip. I was saying . . .’ He cuts an unimpressed glance my way. ‘A friend ’as ’ooked me up with a special treat.’

‘What kind of treat?’ Fee asks suspiciously as Charles practically shimmies with excitement in his seat.

‘Guess!’ he demands, his eyes comically wide.

‘You’ve been comped something, haven’t you?’ I might be new to the concierge business, but I’m learning quickly, and discovering it’s a culture where one hand washes the other, so to speak. Your Russian billionaire client wants to hold a birthday party for his daughter’s thirteenth? All it takes is for you to push the twenty-thousand-dollar budget in the direction of one venue over another, and you’ve earned yourself a favour.

‘Peut-être.’ He pouts saucily.

‘It’s Friday night, I’ve had almost a bottle of wine, and my head hurts. ‘En Anglaise, s’il vous plait.’ In English, please.

‘I said maybe. Also, your accent is atrocious.’

‘And the more wine you drink, the meaner you become,’ I retort, sticking out my tongue.

‘So, you don’t want to go to Shimmiez, then?’

‘Ner-ner-na-ner-ner,’ I taunt right back, using the same sing-song delivery, but we’re not being serious. Charles is becoming the gay brother I never had. Or even knew I wanted.

‘Wine makes you both perfectly obnoxious,’ Fee interjects airily. ‘And Shimmiez will be a nightmare to get into tonight. The Cannes Film Festival was last week, which means the place will be overflowing with rich creeps. Rich creeps with massive—’

‘I am in!’ Charles holds up his hand.

‘Entitlement complexes,’ Fee finishes, sending Charles a little side-eye.

‘Also, there will be famous people,’ Charles adds, oblivious. ‘J-Lo is in town.’

‘Oh, well,’ I add, ‘think she’ll have space for us at her table? Maybe Charles can sit on her fiancé’s knee.’

‘I won’t need to. I have a table tonight. And drinks—gratuit! Free!’

22

Rose

Though I haven’t been here long, I’ve been here long enough to know that the legendary Shimmiez is one of Monaco’s premier hangouts and the place to be seen. More than that, it’s an icon of the Monaco nightclubs scene, having been open since the nineteen seventies. But most of my knowledge is academic, gleaned from googling Monaco before moving out here. It’s definitely been on my list of places to visit, but I thought I’d have to wait longer than this, especially as I’d read of the ridiculous prices. I’ve heard it costs the equivalent of thirty dollars for a beer, and if you want to reserve a table, try multiplying that by ten!

But, as Fee and I almost skip along the pavement, arm in arm, following our fearlessly (camp) leader, tonight none of this is my concern because we have a table reservation confirmed for midnight, along with free drinks for the remainder of the night!

Hell to the yes!

‘Your outfit is so cute.’ Without relinquishing my arm, Fee dips forward, glancing down at my legs. ‘You really caught the sun today.’

‘And I’m making the most of it,’ I agree as our heels clip against the sidewalk. I’m wearing shorts tonight, along with a silky vest and a slouchy blazer, an oversized clutch folded under my arm. I’m feeling pretty good, despite our earlier carbs and wine, though it could be argued that what I’m feeling is drunkalicious.

‘Are those shorts Balmain?’

‘Nope,’ I scoff. ‘They cost me twenty bucks from H & M, and I’m pretty sure fifteen bucks worth is currently stuck up my ass.’