Free Eternally North by Tillie Cole Page B

to say that
meeting someone who is mega-star-famous was a bit strange, but then,
I guess they’re just people too. Abruptly meeting a superstar in
the back room of a restaurant in Calgary of all places proved that
they did normal things just like everybody else.
    Tink couldn’t shut up
about meeting Tudor and I just… well I didn’t know what to think.
Sure, his looks were phenomenal, and all the adjectives in the world
could not describe the pure animal magnetism of the man. But I was
having a hard time trying to unravel the enigma that was Tudor North.
    He was so dry in
humour, so sarcastic in his delivery. Admittedly he was, at times, an
arse who seemed to find enjoyment in winding me up immensely – that
being said, he did improve a fraction as the night went on. But was
that genuine, or was he bullied into that by his family? He seemed
unapproachable and gruff, but the real question was, was he a private
person, or was he really just a wanker?
    As far as meeting a
celeb went, I supposed it was memorable. Not something I would want
to repeat very often, but it was another life experience in the banco
di vita , as Nonna Girasoli would say.
    I smelled the addictive
aroma of Italian coffee and dragged my tush out of bed. Tink was in
the kitchen whipping up some pancakes, sporting his novelty
naked-lady apron, complete with inflatable boobs and a hairy muff.
How he had never had a Mrs. Doubtfire moment in that get-up
was beyond me.
    “Hey, my little pig’s
trotter. How are you today?” he asked while whisking batter at a
furious rate. Tink was very skilled in using his wrist.
    “Okay thanks, the
hangover seems to have settled. You?”
    “Just peachy thanks,
chuck.”
    Tink was his usually
bubbly self, and set to pouring the batter in the pan in small round
pancake shapes, gradually adding chocolate chips and slices of
banana.
    He looked over his
shoulder. “Say, did you happen go to the toilet this morning using
the bathroom in the hall?”
    Confused, I answered,
“No, why? I always use my en-suite.” I looked up at him
curiously.
    Turning back to the pan
and flipping a pancake he said, “Mmm, it’s just that someone left
the seat up after taking a piss. I just naturally assumed it must
have been the other man in the house.” A huge grin plastered on his
face.
    “Fuck off, Tink!” I
grumbled, still harbouring resentment from the previous night and my
mistaken gender identity.
    Following our encounter
with the Norths, Tink and I had toddled off to Calgary’s gay scene,
given it had been Tink’s night to choose the bars that we would
drain of their alcohol. In true Tink-and-Tash fashion we didn't fail
in causing a stir. Now, I was more than a little tipsy and Tink had
gone AWOL after finding a giant hairy man with a handlebar moustache
that he wanted to mount, so I hit the dance floor alone to stun
Canada with more of my amazing moves.
    I shimmied to the stage
with vigour on hearing ‘Gangnam Style’ come pumping through the
speakers and as I was riding my pony with the utmost energy and
winding my imaginary lasso, my ring got hooked on a guy’s chain –
yes folks, his chain – that was fixed to a collar around his neck.
Unfortunately the fellow didn’t take it so well when I couldn’t
get myself unstuck as easily as one would have hoped, and he started
going ape-shit right in front of my face, losing me precious
Gangnam-dancing minutes.
    That, coupled with my
already jangled nerves from my Tudor North experience, had me seeing
red and unclipping my hair extensions ready for a bitch-on-bitch take
down faster than you can say ‘Don’t touch the face, Don’t
touch the face!’ Tink (along with his new hairy friend) arrived
at the last moment to save the day and save me (and the chain-wearing
bastard) from any real danger, but not before my adversary had
mistaken me for a drag queen and suggested my show name should be 'Candy Made-my-ass-large’ – you know, something that
suited my wide-frame.