Who would have guessed that life as one of the country's most sought-after ortists could turn out to be so profitable?, writes Ross O'Carroll-Kelly
'Ross," Susie goes, "can we talk about you for a minute?" I laugh. Er, that's, like, my favourite subject of conversation? She's there, "You really are a phenomenon." "If I knew you felt that way," I go, "I would have said Guilbaud's instead of the Unicorn." She's paying, obviously.
"Well, I wouldn't have minded either way," she goes. "Because, today, we're celebrating." We do the whole clinking glasses bit. She really is a ringer for Lauren Conrad.
"I've only actually been an art dealer for, like, three years," she goes, "but you really are the talk of the trade at the moment." I'm like, "Well, I just love to paint, Susie. When you've had the life that I've had - old man a dickhead, old dear an ugly, gin-swilling sot - well, you could say my ort became, like, my escape?" She looks up from her bresaola salad. "I saw your interview with John Kelly," she goes. "Oh my God, I can't imagine what your childhood must have been like. Well, I hope, in some small way, this helps you gain closure," and she pushes, like, a piece of paper across the table to me.
She's like, "It's your royalty statement." I sit there suddenly frozen, a piece of chargrilled polenta (quattro formaggi) on the end of my fork, scared - like the day I got my Leaving Cert results - to even look at it.
"Ross," she laughs, "I know you're not doing this for the money - but you've, like, totally earned that. I transferred it into your bank account this morning." Well, my old man's — same thing.
I put my fork down, pick up the piece of paper, then slowly unfold it.
My hort nearly stops. Six hundred and eighty beautiful grandingtons.
Would have been more except she took out her 12 per cent, the bloodsucking stunner.
Still - 680 Ks. My day is suddenly taking shape. I'll get Susie here across to the Merrion, in the feathers, do the bould thing, hit the business centre while she sleeps it off, get on the old interweb, Andy to the airport, then it's Vegas for me.
Hey, I might even bring Ro. He's not back at school for another month. I text him, tell him to meet me in Merrion Square in an hour - with his bag and passport.
I look up from my phone, roysh, in time to hear Susie say the word 'more'. Then she smiles.
I'm like, "More? As in?" "Come on," she goes. "You're recession-proof. Just about the only thing anyone in this country is spending money on at the moment is your work.
"I've got eight different galleries on to me, Ross. They can't hang your paintings fast enough. They're saying, 'When's he doing more?'" I'm like, "Er, I don't really have any more. Except View of Bray Head from the Seafront. I didn't give that to you because I thought, who's the fock going to buy that? Except as a joke. I was thinking of sticking a couple of burning tanks into it, saying it's Iraq or some shit." "But when are you going to paint some more?" she goes.
I'm like, "Ah, that whole painting lork - it's kind of like, been there, done that?" "What happened to, I just want to paint? You told John Kelly you need to paint like other people need to breathe." "That was then," I go. "Look, that's a serious amount of sponds you've just given me. I'm going to enjoy it." She's like, "Ross, it's nothing compared to what you could earn. Couple of months, people are already thinking about Christmas. By the end of the year, you could be worth two, three million." I'm all of a sudden sitting there with my mouth open, quattro formaggi dribbling down my boat. I wipe it with my napkin, then suddenly stand up. "Susie," I go, "you'll have to excuse me. I've got work to do." Ronan's already in Merrion Square, waiting nervously, smoking himself blind. Twenty minutes - that's unbelievable. I remember him telling me that he always has a bag packed and a passport ready, in case the law ever come sniffing.
When he sees me, he's like, "Where we headed, Rosser? Albufeira's where all the boys go." I'm there, "We're going to Foxrock, Ro. Going to see your granny - if she's sober." The plan is, roysh, to swing out there and find out if there's a chance - any chance - that her old dear painted anything else. I mean, she was in the farm for, like, 50 years - what the fock else was she doing?
The old man's cor is in the driveway. I don't even want to know what those two are up to in there. "Okay, put your focking clothes on," I shout as we walk through the door.
The old pair are stood at the door of the conservatory, looking, I suppose the word is, like, sheepish? I go, "You two sicken me," but just as I'm saying it, roysh, I happen to look over the old man's shoulder and I can't believe what I'm actually seeing. There, leaning against the wall, are my paintings, the ones I sold, all forty-two of them.
I'm like, "You? You bought them?" "Er, yes," the old man goes.
I'm there, "I don't believe this. I discover the first thing since rugby that I'm actually amazing at — and it turns out it's all total bullshit." The old dear's like, "Of course it's all bullshit - they're not even your paintings, Ross," but I totally blank her, which is the best way to deal with someone like her.
I look at the old man and I'm like, "I don't get it. Why would you pay all that dosh for that pile of crap out there." For some reason I look at Ronan. He's got a smile on his face, as wide as I am thick. "Money laundering," he goes. "Charlie, I like your fooken style."
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TXT ROSS
Some dude called Corbag goes, "Hu do u thinks goin2 wind senior cup dis year?" Dude, it's August! The schools haven't even storted offering last year's players money to repeat yet!
Huge Abs goes, "Katie Taylor — wud u?" Absolutely. You could enjoy a drink in Brayjing without getting started on. And she could walk you to the bus stop afterwards.
Some dude called Donal goes, "Saw u out in d kildare outlet village last wkend. Things dat bad money wise?" Just seeing how the other half live, Donal. Just seeing how the other half live.