All That and Then Some

ALICE - Safety Dance

IT'S A UNIVERSAL TRUTH: people don't like to see someone else vomit. For some, it triggers a mirroring response brought on either by an excess of empathy or primal revulsion and they start gagging too. One of the backup dancers who, to be fair, was within the splash zone of my latest humiliation, is going to be sick next. Even as I'm staring at the now overflowing milk/vomit jug in my hand, trying to understand exactly what just happened, I hear her helpless clucking, then retching. Before I can think to offer her my jug, she's vomited on her own really cool Louis Vuitton hightops. The double-puke spectacle sets off one of the sturdy-looking cameramen who tries to hide his sick by gagging into the collar of his T-Shirt. A long wet stain shows down the front of his shirt and ends in a pool just above his beer belly. That engages Natalie's gag-reflex, and she rushes off to the washroom to loudly vomit in front of a confused makeup artist who comes out into the cafe to see what's going on, noticed my gray pallor, thinks I need a touchup, rushes over with her brushes and stops in her tracks as the awful smell of puke hits her. Backing away, her heel slips in the dancer's mess, and she falls to the floor.

"Stop!" shouts Eloise, desperate to regain control of the situation. "Everybody, just stop throwing up!"

We all look up from our individual but shared humiliation, and the room goes quiet. Joss stands in the centre of all of this, looking composed and unruffled as ever. He lifts his sunglasses from his face and looks around slowly.

"Cut," he says imperiously in the direction of the one camera person still recording. "Well. I daresay we've hit the viral motherlode with this one. Eloise — get me the rough cut tonight. I want this out in the wild as soon as possible. Alice, what can I say? You're like King Midas. Everything you touch turns to TikTok gold."

Joss claps his hands and moves off toward the washroom to, I presume, wash splashes of vomit off his expensive suit.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and let Maeve take me home to lie down.

THE 'ROUGH CUT' SENT to me later that night turns out to be a slick, professionally edited music-video quality production with these little 'pop up video' blurbs about investing in the future, investing in homeless youth, and positioning Carvil Foods as the saviour of pretty much everything and everyone. It's a cute video and kind of funny, but it has the grimy smear of corporate interest all over it, and I know in my heart that it doesn't have legs.

Good, I think, watching it for the first time. Good. It'll go out, be pronounced lame, and we can all go back to our normal lives. Carvil might even back out of the deal and I figure my own way out of the mess our books are in.

But then, just as the video's about to end, I see what Eloise has done. She's left in the puke. All of the puke.

I force myself to watch it all the way through and then go throw up again.

I AM STILL NURSING my humiliation the next morning by refusing to get out of bed. I've texted Maeve to ask for a cup of tea, but she told me to get it myself. Then I texted Vivian the same request, thinking she, at least, should be kind to me given that it was her fault I went to that shoot so hungover in the first place. Somehow, though, she's turned it all around and is being offish with me for getting throw up on her Westwood jumpsuit — nothing a dry cleaning can't fix! — and for the mix-up with Leslie's underwear, which hasn't been stolen at all, I've explained, just mistakenly taken. Vivi's upset about being called an 'underwear stealing freak' by her ex-girlfriend, who she still loves, which I can understand and will certainly clear up with Leslie the minute I feel better.

So I really don't see why everyone's in such a mood with me.

I roll over, still tealess and unwilling to face the world to get my own tea. I'm wondering how much effort it would be to sign up for Minecraft, join a server or whatever and ask Tim's avatar to please bring me one when my phone rings. Expecting it to be Eloise or, worse, Buddy asking how the (he thinks) interview went, I'm relieved to see it's my Dad.

"Dad," I groan like a sick child. "I don't feel well, and nobody will bring me tea."

He tuts comfortingly. "That's terrible, chicken. After everything you do for them. I'll send my granddaughter one of those electronic messages and tell her to take care of you."

"Yes, please."

"First though, an important question about Christmas. Specifically, what do you think your mother might like? I want to get her something really special this year."

"Dad, you should know she's getting quite serious about Tom Selleck."

"The actor?"

"That's right. In a manner of speaking. She's met someone online, and they've been exchanging personal secrets for a while now. She seems pretty smitten, although I have my concerns, honestly. I mean, what kind of—"

"Smitten?"

Oh god, here we go. Somehow my mother is about to break my father's heart again, but this time by proxy (me).

"Well, Dad, you know, these internet freaks are usually just con-men. This is what I'm saying. I've warned her to cool it with this guy. Or at least not tell him so much about herself. It's not safe."

He sighs.

"She's a grown woman, Alice. Who are we to stand in her way if he makes her happy?"

I press my hand against my eyes in frustration. Nobody over the age of 60 is capable of understanding the dangers of identity theft.

He continues, "Well, anyway, it's still Christmas, and I'd like to get her something special even if she is in love with a Hawaiian Shirt wearing doofus. What do you think? Any good ideas?"

"Not really, Dad. Knee-High Go-Go Boots? A new computer on which to type the next great erotic fiction?"

I can hear a pencil scratching across a notepad. He thinks I'm serious.

"Maybe just a nice piece of jewellery," I say, feeling badly now. "She always liked your taste in jewellery."

"That's an idea," he enthuses. "That's an excellent idea, chicken. Thanks for the help. Now, I'll send Maeve one of those message things and get that tea for you."

"Mmmkay. Bye, Dad."

I poke the red hang-up button and let the phone drop beside me on the bed. Just a few more minutes until my tea will appear. Love my Dad. He's so... hang on. How did he guess that Mum's internet Romeo wears Hawaiian Shirts?