Liar Liar

‘Uh-huh.’

He cuts a wedge of pale coloured cheese, coupling it with a torn morsel of bread. ‘I once opened a bottle with my ski after a particularly exhilarating run, and another time with a sabre.’

When it becomes clear the cheese is for me, I open my mouth to accept it, a need sticky and sweet working its way down to my belly at his expression. I pause to chew as he takes his seat again.

‘Explain, please.’ I cover my mouth with my hand as I swallow, my gaze sliding from his. ‘Let’s go with the sabre first, because everyone carries one of those.’

‘A little like purple sex-toys?’ If this isn’t a perfect example of how different we are, I don’t know what is. Posh boys carry skis and sabres while girls from the other side of the tracks carry defence dildos. Only, the more I say it, the less it seems to matter to me. ‘It was a wedding,’ he continues with an almost disparaging shake of his head. ‘In the wilds of Scotland somewhere, and there were these old cavalry swords hanging above the mantel.’

‘And you couldn’t resist,’ I deadpan.

‘More like I’d had too much to drink. Do you have a moral objection to casinos? It’s just, you frowned when I asked.’

‘Not really. I mean, it is a beautiful building and I guess I will go at some point. If for no other reason than the inside is super swanky, so I’m told. ‘Gambling doesn’t hold any interest for me.’

‘Really?’ He picks up his glass, leaning back in his chair before proceeding to study me over the rim.

‘Do you like to gamble?’

‘Not in the ways you’re thinking,’ he answers cryptically. ‘I think perhaps your objection to gambling comes from experience.’

‘Not in the way you’re thinking,’ I parrot back. I pause as I debate the merits of telling this silly story.

‘You look so torn, but that just makes me want to know all the more.’

‘You’re going to be disappointed.’ I help myself to another wedge of cheese, eyeing the figs and choosing a grape instead. Less messy. ‘When I was travelling, on my way to Australia from Europe, I had a layover in Hong Kong. The hostel I was staying in—you know, like dorms? Don’t look at me like that—I bet you’ve never stayed anywhere less than five-star in your life. Anyway, I met a Danish girl in the hostel, and we decided to go to Macau where the casinos are.’

‘There’s a cheap bus, which is a bonus when you’re broke. We wandered from place to place, munching on the complimentary snacks.’ He looks less than impressed by that. ‘Hey, it was no worse than some of the food we saw at one of the food markets. Shim Sham Poo or something.’

‘Sham Shui Po,’ he corrects with an indulgent smile.

‘You’ve been?’ He inclines his head. ‘Well, the free food on offer was better than stinky tofu and those century eggs. Or even sea cucumber.’ I shiver at the recollection.

‘So you ate snacks. And then you gambled?’

‘Cheap bus, free food, free bottles of water. All very important when you’re living on a shoestring.’

‘And you and your Danish friend were bought drinks by the casino’s patrons, no doubt.’

‘One or two,’ I agree, though most men’s focus lay elsewhere. ‘Then after a few hours of wandering around, we decided to place a couple of lowkey bets, hitting the roulette table. Like you said, when in Rome.’

‘Let me know when you’re ready for those French kisses.’

‘Ha. Right. Is that like, overtime?’ I squint, he laughs, before I carry on with my story. ‘Anyway, we had a couple of hundred dollars between us—p’

‘Hong Kong or US?’

I pull a face as though to say is that even a serious question? ‘Which part of poor did you not get?’ Or maybe it’s more the case that he doesn’t understand what poor is.

‘So, you had thirty dollars,’ he murmurs indulgently.

‘Thirty we were willing to waste,’ I reply, feeling the definition is important. I had money at that point; more money than I’d ever had in my life thanks to the windfall from mom’s mysterious relation, but I also had a plan. Travel. Get worldly. Move back and take the hotel management world by storm. While even the best-laid plans go belly up, I still had a blast.

‘Did you try the blackjack tables or the slots next?’

‘We stuck to roulette,’ I answer loftily. ‘Flipping a coin every six or seven hits, placing a red or a black with no expectations and no seriousness. Within thirty minutes, our thirty bucks became two thousand dollars. Honk-Kong dollars, but it was a lot of money to a traveller on a budget.’

‘It must’ve taken you a long time to save for a trip around the world.’

‘Actually, a distant relation died and left me a little money. It was a godsend, really. Plus I worked as I travelled. Fruit picking, waitressing, that kind of stuff.’ Remy nods as though understanding, but how could he? I carry on. ‘To us, the money was a fancy dinner and night in a hotel instead of a backpacker’s place. Maybe not Monaco fancy,’ I say, reaching for my glass. ‘Stop laughing! I’m not talking about the kinds of places you stay in. Hell, the places you own.’ It suddenly hits all over again how different we are. How we’ll always be so.