"Gypsy! REALLY! Why do you always do this? You know you can just ask whenever you need. You're the least of any financial challenges that come my way. You can't carry on like this, it's crazy!"
Yet again I was faced with a crisis concerning the financial meltdown that is Gypsy. Crisis being the operative word. This time I was being hit with a triple whammy of rent, car finance and nasty calls about her non-payment of store accounts.
Gypsy had left her job a while back and while she did stepped straight in to a seemingly better one, promises by her new bosses were not stuck to, commissions were not paid and eventually they closed up shop. I had been asking her regularly if everything was ok financially and telling her to just say if she needed anything.
"I'll be really thankful," she said quietly, head bowed and contrite with a sideways look.
I knew what she was hinting at; "No way lady, like I said paying you for sex is not something I am going to do! Just shagging me to get out of debt is exactly that," I said, "I don't care how thankful you are!"
Previously, she had required a substantial lump sum, well substantial to her but O.K. for me. She had at first suggested that she would, shall we say satisfy me incredibly for the money as she had no chance of paying me back. In the end I said she could have the cash without strings, but she said that sex would be a great way to thank me. I went along with it that time and don't get me wrong, I loved it! But not this time. I was more than a little fed up with her.
My tone with Gypsy was firm but not aggressive or argumentative. She does not handle aggression from me very well and would likely storm out the door calling me all manner of names. That would not resolve anything so I was calm, even if I was expressing displeasure.
"I'll help, I always do, I always will, but please, really please, don't leave it so long before asking. I'll have it tomorrow and give you the cash." I knew that with everything else as bad as she said, her overdraft would eat up anything I put in the bank. I was not going to offer her extra overdraft money. She would have to ask and get over whatever bullshit reasons she had for not doing so.
"I'm sorry," she said in a soft childlike voice.
We had a chat and she eventually left knowing that, although frustrated at her, I would help.
That particular crisis averted and me taking over on-going payments where needed, we got on with our lives. I really didn't want to indulge in anything sexual with her for now. Well I wanted to and I missed our times of passion and adventures when we went out. But it would have felt like I was taking advantage of her financial situation.
She tried flirting a few times and while I quietly enjoyed it, I did not let it lead anywhere. I think she believed I was tired of her, or more probably her problems, that I was thinking of moving on or was angry in some way. The fact was that none of that was true. I was simply back to my previous mode of just being deeply concerned for my friend and not wanting to benefit from her problems. That would be a betrayal.
As time went on her attitude towards me cooled significantly. I had taken a step back and was still sorting her finances out, treating them as a simple business problem. In doing this I think she believed that any fun side of our relationship was a thing of the past.
I knew she was short of cash, but she would not accept what I termed "fun money" from me, the money we all need after the bills are paid to put a little something nice on the table or bring a smile to your face. She had this weird thing about being in debt. In any event she withdrew further away from me.
A few weeks after sorting everything out, I called her up. She answered the phone and sounded like she was withdrawing in to that hard shell she puts around her as a self-protection mechanism. If, as I thought she believed, I was backing away from her, she would never grace me with the belief that she gave a damn. I found it intensely sad, she had nothing to fear from me, I was not going to disappear like anyone else in her life, we might have had a strange friendship, but that is what it was to me, in the deepest most fundamental sense of the word, a friendship. I would never desert her.
On the phone I said, "Hi," adopting a cheery tone, "look, I may have a small job for you if you are interested."
"Oh, what kind of job?" She answered sounding withdrawn, trying not to show too much enthusiasm, after all, if I was backing off or about to disappear then she had no reason to trust me.
"Dancing," I said.
Of all the dancing Gypsy does, one of my favourites is her belly dancing. She had studied it for more than a few years and was actually very good, taking part in concerts and demonstrations with her dance school. Twice when we had been an item, ten years before, she even gave me my own private dances which I'll never forget.
People often misunderstand the whole belly dancing thing. Some believe it to be slutty, akin to pole dancing or an excuse for stripping. In Gypsy's case nothing could be farther from the truth. It is far more a demonstration of grace, beauty, seduction through music and movement, but nothing overtly sexual, it's an art form and typically very family friendly. For the detail freaks out there, Gypsy dances in the North African / Egyptian; Raqs Assaya, Malaya Leff, Raqs Baladi, Ghawazee and Hagala Styles.
I had met a colleague the day before who was in the process of arranging his bachelor's party ahead of his wedding. While we were not exactly buddies, we got on and knew each other fairly well. He was a quiet guy, kind of bookish. We had met socially a few times and his friends, accountancy and actuary types, were similar personalities. He told me about wanting to arrange something special but not as crass as strippers or a debaucherous night out.
I had said, "what about a belly dancer?" thinking immediately of Gypsy and her need to earn a cent or two. We discussed the idea and he asked about prices. I told him that the lady I knew was not cheap but she was amongst the best. "Maybe four or five grand plus tips" I suggested, not really knowing how much a belly dance costs. He was enthralled by the idea and by the end of our conversation had themed it up in to some kind of Aladdin and Princess Jasmine, or Sheiks in the dessert type thing. We parted with me saying I would try and dig up the lady's number. He knew nothing about Gypsy, or Gypsy and me for that matter.
I told Gypsy on the phone that if she was interested I would pass her number on to my colleague. She was not what I would call eager but said she would consider it.
I was sick of the situation with Gypsy and I. So few days after I had passed her details on to my colleague I went around to her house. It was on the spur of the moment, but I wanted to thrash things out with her and to get back the happy person creature that I adored so much.
She let me in and while not cold, she was not exactly the graciously warm and welcoming person that I missed so much.
We had a glass or two of wine and slowly she seemed to warm up a little to me.
"Oh your friend got in touch by the way," she said. "He was a bit very and asked me all sorts of questions. He wants some kind of Turkish Delight, tents in the desert, robes, cushions and camels type thing."
"CAMELS!" I said amused.
"No not really, but he didn't know what he wanted exactly and I've kind of fallen in to the party planner role. I don't know how I'm going to do it but I have to arrange some kind of Middle Eastern pleasure palace in his Laapa.
I should stop and say, for those of you not familiar with the term. A laapa is a thatched outdoor entertainment area in these parts. It can be open sided or closed off. There is usually a BBQ area, although we call it a Braai and often a bar area.
"He's paying you for the party right?" I asked.
"Oh yeah, I'm getting five grand for dancing and he's given me another five in advance for the planning. He said that he trusted you so he had no worries about paying. The transfer came in this morning."
"Do you want any help with the arrangements?" I asked. Gypsy was not exactly busy at the moment, but I wanted to get us back to where she was no longer suspicious of me ultimately letting her down. I missed my warm and sexy friend.
"That's the thing," she said, "I'm nervous about the whole bachelors scene. I've heard stories from other dancers where things got out of control. Would you come along?"
"Ahh, you want me to be Kevin Costner to your Whitney Houston," I said with a smile. "Look he's a good guy, I won't have met everyone there but I know his mates are ok guys. Quiet, not hard drinkers and a bit nerdish to be honest, but if you want me there I'll come along and do the bodyguard thing."
"Kevin Costner" She said with a laugh, "you wish!" Ahhh the old Gypsy was coming back.
That week she went around shopping for the party. I helped out at the weekend. Bolts of cloth and material here, cushions there, a couple of artefacts from some old stuff shop and so on.
On the party day we had the guy's laapa out in the garden looking like something from Ali Baba and the forty thieves. He was surprised to see me there, but Gypsy and I just shrugged it off explaining that it was a lot of work and I was free labour.
And that was it. We left the laapa and went off to the main house agreeing that a call to my phone would signal a start to the dancing. I waited while Gypsy prepared and was blown away by the seductive elegance of her costume when she entered the room.
It was emerald green, which always looks great on her, varying in density from the almost transparent shawl, a slightly heavier veil and a flowing skirt that teased when she walked, showing just enough leg to entice but not so much to be over doing it. Little gold coins were sewn in to the outfit and jingled when she walked. And that pièce de résistance, her belly!
You all know by now what I think of Gypsy's body, but that belly is perfection multiplied. There is no six pack, but you can see its firmness, yet there is still a little to shake. Beautiful!
The phone rang. "You're up," I said.
With a look of determination, off she headed out through the doors to the garden and the laapa, the interior of which, due to the drapes we had purchased was invisible. I followed brining the music box and before placing it down on the ground and switching it on, I whispered a "knock em dead Gypsy" in her ear.
She let the music play for a few seconds until everyone had gone quiet and made her entrance through the drapes. I stayed outside at a slight distance but surreptitiously watched from the now dark garden through a strategically placed gap in the drapes.
