“Actually he is here in America at the moment. He and a friend are touring the States before going to university in the Autumn.”
“Well, whatever. The point is he ain’t here now.” she said.
I stared at her, and the penny dropped. She was in the market for a girlfriend for her son. She wanted someone glamorous enough for him to look good with, particularly when next to her.
“Simon, do you feel like a bit of fresh air?” I asked, going on the offensive.
He went bright red and started to stammer something. I grabbed his hand and literally pulled him to his feet and hauled him away from that dreadful woman. She was grinning proudly, having completely misinterpreted my intentions.
“If you will excuse us, I am here for such a short time; I just want to make the most of it.” I said, and she grinned even more.
We went straight out of the main front doors of the hotel, and stood on the steps. It was a warm summer evening, and very humid. The doorman eyed us impassively, as I tried to decide what the hell to do next. A noise distracted me, and I saw a horse and carriage standing over the road.
Of course. What could be more romantic, a ride around Central Park on a lovely evening?
“Wait here.” I said to Simon, and went into the lobby. I found one of the FBI agents, and I told him what I was planning.
Then I returned to find Simon sitting on the step. I sat beside him.
“Okay Simon, tell aunty Sandi all about it.”
He looked at me.
“Sandi?”
“Yeah, my friends call me Sandi, it is only your mother who calls me Alexandra.”
“I’d like to be a friend. I haven’t got many.”
“I’d never have guessed. What do you say to taking a ride in a carriage around Central Park?”
He looked at the horse and carriage, and smiled.
“Yeah, why not?”
We went over the road, and the elderly man with the horse helped me into the back of the carriage, and Simon climbed in after me. Then we took off down the road. I glanced back and saw two FBI men running out of the hotel after us.
“So Simon, is life really as miserable as you make out?”
“It’s just my mom. She is too heavy.”
“That’s a good word. But why?”
He shrugged.
“I don’t know. Every time I get an idea of something to do with my life, she has different ones. My Dad saw the light and hightailed it years ago.”
“Oh, is he still around?”
“I see him occasionally. He lives in New Mexico, in the desert with a Spanish girl who is about twenty-five.”
“So what does he do?”
“He is a sculptor. He is doing well too. A bank in Phoenix has just commissioned a huge metal work for their new lobby.”
We clip-clopped for a while without speaking. I was actually enjoying the views.
“I had a girlfriend once.” he admitted, out of the blue.
“Oh, and did mother frighten her away?” I teased, gently.
He nodded.
“Yeah, she wasn’t like you. She couldn’t face up to Mom in full flight.”
“Like me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Well, you are so sophisticated and educated. You just look like a million dollars and your English accent is just so upper class. Mom says that you are the epitome of aristocratic breeding and culture.”
I think I surprised him when I burst out laughing. I laughed so hard I almost wet myself.
“Oh Simon. That is priceless. She knows absolutely nothing about me. If she did, she wouldn’t be seen dead with me.”
“Really?” he asked, surprised.
“Simon. How old do you think I am?”
“I don’t know, twenty three, four, something like that.”
I smiled.
“I’m seventeen.”
He stared at me.
“No?”
I nodded.
“I am still at school studying design, French and Art. I won a competition and got the chance to do a short modelling contract before going back. My father is a shady businessman and a crook, and my mother was blown up in a yacht accident near Greece with her lover a few years ago.”
“There is no way you are only seventeen.”
“It is amazing what a little make up can do.”
“No, it isn’t your face. Not that your face isn’t fine. I mean, your face is beautiful, but it is everything else as well. Your figure, the way you move, the way you speak, and what you say. You are in a different league to all the girls I have ever met in my life.”
He was barely able to look at me. The carriage had entered Central Park and was crossing one of the well-lit walkways. An NYPD mounted officer was patrolling on his horse, he nodded at the carriage driver.
“Simon you are sweet, but you haven’t met many English girls, have you?”
“I have actually. I went to London last year with Mom. I met loads of models, and none of them were a patch on you.”
This rendered me speechless.
We travelled in silence again, and even the driver found it disconcerting.
I smiled.
“So what kind of girl is your dream girl?” I asked.
He was quiet for a few moments, and then he glanced sideways at me, and flushed.
“Well?”
“That’s easy. You are.” he said.
I was rendered speechless again.
“I know you have a guy, but I would value you as a friend.” he said.
I took his hand.
“Oh you sad bastard.” I said kindly, “Of course I’ll be a friend. Simon, I am seventeen. My boyfriend is eighteen, and I haven’t seen him for two months and for all I know he could be living in sin in a hippy commune in California. But he was there for me when I needed him, so I am loyal to him. But that doesn’t stop me having as many friends, both male and female, that I want.”
“Would you consider going out on a date with me?”
“Yes, as long as you appreciate that I will not hop into bed with you at the first opportunity.”
He grinned.
“I think my Mom wants us to do that.”
I smiled, a little sadly.
“Simon, I am a virgin, and I am guessing that you are too. But it is none of my business, so let’s give Mom the fright of her life.”
He frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“Let’s make it look like we have the hots for each other whenever we are near her, and deny anything to the press, and keep up the appearances of just being friends for the rest of the world.”
He blushed.
“Now what have I said?” I asked.
“I don’t need to pretend, I’m sorry.”
“Oh Simon. No, it is me who should apologise. That was thoughtless and inconsiderate of me. Okay, let’s just be friends, and see where we go. Okay?”
He nodded. I thought he rather fancied the idea of having the hots for me.
At that moment a scruffy man wearing dirty old tee shirt and jeans jumped out of some undergrowth and grabbed the bridle and pointed a gun at Simon.
“Okay buddy, gimme the wallet.” he said.
“Oh. for fuck’s sake.” I said, very loudly and in my very English accent.
“Huh?” said the robber.
“You dirty little shit. Have you no fucking sense at all?” I asked.
The frown got deeper, as this was not in his plan.
Simon was staring at the man, and I guessed he was about to do something stupid, so I stood up.
“Look, you pathetic little creep. You are about to be shot, so have you any last requests?” I asked.
He wavered, and his gun was now pointing at the horse. I grabbed the whip from the driver and let him have it on his arm. He dropped the gun and screamed.
I hit him again, this time across the face and there was a blur of movement as two armed FBI agents took him out.
“Right. That’s better.” I said, and gave the whip back to the startled driver. I sat down and turned to Simon.
“Okay, where were we?” I asked, and his jaw opened and no sound came out.
The robber was by this time in handcuffs, and two NYPD officers arrived on the scene. I rolled my eyes, more statements, how dreary.