Part 49: Bad Vibes

If there was one thing Quinn prided himself on, it was his cast-iron stomach. He could eat anything. There was nothing he loved more than trying the most bizarre food in the world, just for the bragging rights when he was among his chef friends. They always tried to out-do each other; one ate a spider in Cambodia, one sampled a live octopus in Korea or prairie oysters in Western Canada, otherwise known as calf's testicles. On and on it went. Quinn had his own particular badges of honour. In a back-alley restaurant the size of a closet in Tokyo, he sampled fugu, the deadly and notorious Japanese puffer fish. He tucked into it with gusto and washed it down with lashings of the most excellent sake. It was rich and tender; the only side effect was when his bottom lip went numb. He was mildly concerned that death was imminent, but he continued on with his night and lived to tell the tale. He downed silkworm larvae in South Korea, a piece of a cobra heart soaked in vodka in Vietnam and hakarl; decayed shark, in Iceland. That was gross. But none of it bothered his stomach. Now, he couldn't keep a cracker down. He was lying on the floor of the bathroom. He knew he'd be more comfortable in bed, but it seemed so completely far away, and the marble tile was cool on his cheek. Plus, he needed to be close in case he got sick again. He'd been vomiting for hours and was weak as a kitten, scarcely able to move. He closed his eyes, wishing he'd had the strength to turn off the harsh light. Otherwise, the bathroom floor wasn't so bad. In fact, he'd just close his eyes and hang out there for a while. He shivered, wishing he'd thrown on a t-shirt with his faded university shorts, about a million years old and the most comfortable piece of clothing he owned. The doorbell rang. Goddamn it. Now, he'd have to get up. Quinn eased himself into a sitting position, sweating with the effort. He hauled himself onto his feet and braced himself against the bathroom sink, taking in his appearance. He looked like the wrath of God, as his Irish grandfather used to say. Who in hell was at the door? Most likely Jasmine forgot something. Maybe Lucy was back and forgot her key? He quickened his steps at the thought, even though it caused his vision to blur and the room to spin a bit. He threw open the door, his hope turning to confusion and disappointment. "Oh. It's you." "Wow, don't sound so excited to see me." Sian Gould stood in the doorway, an enormous basket in her hands. "What are you doing here, Sian?" Now, she looked confused. "You invited me over, silly." She brushed past him and carried the basket to the kitchen. "I did?" He had no memory of such a thing. "Yes. I called last night to see if you wanted to go out for a drink before you left for Nova Scotia, and you told me all about your terrible fight with Lucy. It's for the best, Quinn. She really didn't deserve you. And I'll bet you she's having an affair with that Lex Brady. It's all everyone can talk about! I mean, she went on a romantic getaway with him to Italy, what more evidence do you want?" She blinked at him with her wide eyes, a non-descript blue. What was happening? Her blond hair was parted in the middle with laser precision and fell in perfectly tousled waves around her shoulders. Her skin was pale, and her lips were thin, framing perfect teeth. She was recently named The Most Beautiful Woman in the World by Express Magazine, but he couldn't see it. To him, she was plain; there wasn't anything special about her. But then, no other woman could compare to Lucy. He struggled to remember the phone conversation, but only parts came back to him. He winced, remembering how at one point he went on a rant about Lucy and how frustrating she could be. He remembered now — it was just after their fight at the airport. Jasmine took the phone away from him at one point. "Quinn can't talk right now, bye," she said, before hanging up. More of the conversation came back to him. What had he done? "Listen, I was really drunk last night. I didn't mean any of those things I said. Lucy and I aren't broken up." He hoped not, anyway. "I'm sorry you came all this way, but I'm really not fit for company." He was seized by another coughing fit and began to shiver. He took the blanket from the couch and wrapped himself in it. "I know, you poor thing. Don't worry, you still look amazing," she said, her eyes taking a walk up and down his body. He closed the blanket around his naked chest. "Look, I don't want to be rude, Sian..." "Then, don't be. I'm here now, and I'm taking care of you! I brought you a care package from my pop-up boutique in Soho. I'll have you feeling better in no time." She winked and threw him a lecherous smile. If Lucy walked into the apartment at that precise moment, he wasn't sure who she'd kill first, him or the 'size 0 blonde model-type' she always feared he'd leave her for. She'd hit the fucking roof. This was bad. This was really bad. But Lucy wasn't going to walk in, he reminded himself. Lucy might never come back. He hadn't checked his phone in a while; he was too busy suffering with whatever this plague was. Where did he leave it? "What are you looking for? Look, sit down. I'll make you one of my signature SianFusion Detox shakes." Maybe he should lie down. "My phone. What in God's name is a SianFusion shake?" He adjusted the couch cushion under his head and let his eyelids close as she talked. "Lemon water, wheat grass, eggplant, my special-blend foraged mushroom elixir, turmeric and vitamin E." Easy, stomach. "Sounds delish," he lied, his eyes still closed. Suddenly, he was being spritzed in the face with something greasy. The overpowering smell was familiar; it made his delicate stomach flip. He jumped, his eyes flying open. "What the—?" "It's oregano oil! One good spritz, and bye-bye colds, flus and all negative energies." She frowned. "In fact, this whole room could use a proper aura cleanse. Too many bad vibes." She sprayed the air around the couch. He wondered how exactly he was going to get rid of her. "Great, now I smell like a meatball." She laughed. "Oh, Quinn. You are so funny! I loved hosting the show with you and Lex. I was hoping there would be more opportunities for us to partner," she said, chewing her bottom lip and glancing at the ground with a shy smile he was pretty sure was an act. There was nothing shy about the way she busted into the apartment. "Afraid not. Lucy and I are on a plane back to Nova Scotia in a few days," he said, wiping oregano oil out of his stinging eyes. Christ Almighty, did people actually buy this stuff? Obviously, they must; Sian made millions from her lifestyle empire. "Have you ever tried a goat milk cleanse?" she asked, unpacking the rest of the items from the basket. "And look, I don't want to butt in when it's none of my business, but I don't think Lucy is coming back. She's accepted a job as vice-president of Lex's company. I'm surprised she didn't tell you that." "Lucy wouldn't do that," he said, but she blathered on without listening. Quinn tried to remember if he told her about the job offer, but he was so confused. Sian was hurting his brain, slamming Lucy one minute and prattling on about getting rid of heavy metals in the body, the next. "What else is in the basket?" he asked, trying to change the subject. She brightened. "I've brought you all my top sellers as special treats. There's some cabbage and chive tea, coconut oil and olive compote, kale chapters, and an amethyst stone to speed up healing and clear away negative energy. Oh, and also some of my best-selling men's body wash with thyme and grapefruit. And lots of other stuff." "I don't need anything, Sian," he said, annoyed. He was so very tired. "Well, you can leave the body wash," he said, on second thought. He was out of his bath stuff from Nova Scotia. "What's a chapter?" "Huh?" She looked puzzled. "You said kale chapters. What in hell is that?" "Oh! It's a combination of a chip and a cracker. I came up with that one hundred per cent on my own. I'm trademarking it. Kale Chapters!" she giggled. "You know, I don't sit down and actually try to come up with these inspirations, they just come to me," she said, wide-eyed. "True genius happens that way — like a bolt out of the blue." He raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "Yeah, sure. So, as I was saying, I am not good company right now. Thanks for the, uh, treats. But I've got to go die now. I'll see you out." He'd need to speak to the concierge about letting people just come up to his door; guests were supposed to be cleared by him first. I guess when you're a celebrity, rules don't apply. "Nonsense, you lay down on the couch. I'll brew you some cabbage tea and tidy up the place. Looks like you could use it." She wrinkled her nose and looked around at the mess cluttering up the multi-million-dollar penthouse, like a mud stain on a ballgown. He sighed, not having the strength to fight with her. He left her chattering away in the kitchen and dragged himself back to bed. She was so loud; he could hear her through the walls while she made her hot garbage shake. He laid down and stared up at the ceiling. And then everything went black.