‘Well, what am I doing with him? Is it a night in? Can we just have a game of cards or. . .?’
Karl
‘It’s just a game of cards. You haven’t got to go out partying.’
Stephen
‘Honestly?’
Karl
‘Yes.’
Stephen
‘Has he got Wi-Fi?’
Karl
‘I don’t know if he’s got Wi-Fi. But that’s a question you ask him. That’s the first question through the door. "Thanks, mate, have you got Wi-Fi?" Karl, treat it like a B&B. You know you don’t have to be sensitive.’
Stephen
‘Ain’t that a gay term? I’ve heard that B&B is a gay term for bum and bollocks. Honestly, I heard someone talking on the train, and he said, “Oh, I’m having a bit of B&B tonight – a bit of bum and bollocks.”’
Karl
{laughing}‘Let us know how it goes. . . ’
Stephen
‘Yeah, alright. I’ll talk to you later.’
Karl
‘All the best, mate.’
Stephen
‘See ya.’
Karl
We got the Metro. It was chaos. People were pushing and shoving to get on the train worse than they do in London. It took an hour to get there. When we got off I was surprised to see the sort of area Celso lived in. He came across as a man who would have quite a fancy lifestyle. In reality, his place was a flat in a five-storey block. Old people sat outside playing dominoes. Kids played football and two toothless women stood chatting at a cola stand. It wasn’t really grim, in fact it reminded me a bit of the estate I grew up on, except the old and young people seem to mix here.
‘Hiiiiiiii,’ shouted a camp voice. It was Celso, topless and waving a hanky between the security bars of his front window.
We made our way up the stairs, avoiding a snappy dog whose owner sat behind a locked gate staring at us.
I knocked on Celso’s door. It was covered in posters for various carnival events and an advert for condoms. I wondered if these were put up for visitors to read to pass the time it took for Celso to shuffle his way to his front door. Eventually, he opened the door wearing just his silk boxer shorts and flip-flops. He had been spraying his plants and was moaning how hot it was. He seemed quieter and less confident today.
It was a tiny flat. About the size of one I used to live in, except it was cluttered, which made it feel even smaller. There was so much in the room my eyes didn’t know what to focus on.
He offered me a glass of nut juice. Of all the things to get juice out of, I can’t think of anything less juicy. I was still getting my head round the fact that carrot juice existed, now nut juice.
I told Celso that I found it odd that I’d only known him for a few days and yet I was welcomed into his flat. Celso explained that it is a Brazilian tradition that if you are invited to stay over it is rude to refuse. I could tell by his face that he was serious – more serious than the way he looked whilst trying on the trunks in the swimwear shop. He said I must stay in his bed. I’m normally quite good at nipping situations like this in the bud, but he kept going on about Brazilian tradition and how he would be upset if I didn’t stay. So, in the end, I agreed.
I was left with Krish in the lounge while Christian went with Celso into his bedroom to interview him. I browsed through his CDs. Dinah Washington, Dionne Warwick and Bette Midler. A lot different from the rap music that was blasting from the cars outside.
Forty-five minutes later Celso came into the living room wearing a dress, wig and make-up. I told him he reminded me of my Aunty Nora. Other than the eye make-up being a bit over the top, he looked quite good. He said I should now call him Lorna Washington. He was a drag queen. He had to go off to do a birthday party and a wedding. I asked him if this meant he was gay. He said something along the lines of ‘What do you think honey?’ Still not a straight answer.
Celso then told me to make myself feel at home. He told me to help myself to more nut juice. He left me his phone number, and showed me how the TV remote worked and gave me a selection of DVDs to watch, including My Fair Lady. It reminded me of times when my mam would go out when I was younger and give me money to get some toffees from the off-licence and tell me not to answer the door to anyone.
His cab came. I watched through the bars on his window as Lorna Washington went to work under the watchful gaze of his neighbours.
It was warm in his flat. A fan hung from the ceiling but made little difference. I sat wondering if it was part of Brazilian tradition to invite someone to stay but then fuck off out for the evening. Seems a bit odd to me. I couldn’t get the DVD to work so watched a little bit of TV. I then went to the toilet where I disturbed four massive cockroaches. I can’t stand those things. They move too quickly for my liking. There was also so much clutter that it made it easy for them to hide. I felt itchy. I then noticed a few bites on my legs. I think I found a new species on me that evening.
It’s hard to explain the amount of clutter there was, but put it this way, it was difficult to see a space to put anything down on any surface due to stuff. I don’t know why Celso kept some of the items, as I couldn’t work out what some of the things were. Christian actually lost his phone in there and couldn’t find it. Finally I snapped. I decided I couldn’t stay any longer. I don’t like being in tight spaces. The more I looked around, the more I got worked up. Plus the cockroaches didn’t help. I found a dead one in the kitchen. The fact that I’ve heard cockroaches are one of the toughest creatures on planet earth – they can survive a nuclear attack and live for a week without a head – yet this one couldn’t survive in Celso’s place made me realise it wasn’t healthy for me to stay there.
It was 1.30 a.m. I thought it would be rude to just leave, so I called Celso and told him it was too hot and noisy to stay. He didn’t sound that disappointed.
I was back in my own bed at 2.45 a.m.
I woke up this morning feeling guilty about leaving Celso’s place. But then it occurred to me that maybe Celso had only invited me round ’cos he wanted me there for security whilst he was out working. Krish and Christian agreed that it was best that we’d left, so I didn’t feel too bad.
We went to a block party today. It was the worst party I have ever been to. Aimlessly walking about as people blew whistles and made noise with air horns. I would normally avoid things like this. I remember not enjoying the Queen’s Jubilee street party when I was a kid. Scruffy Sandra ate loads of the trifle me mam had made and didn’t bring anything to the party. This block party was worse. There was no trifle whatsoever. People just stood around looking a bit bewildered. It was like wandering amongst the staff of an
