I am beginning to wish that Claire’s dad lived in Alaska. We have been here a week, and my Anglo-Saxon roots have ensured that the ninety degree heat and daily ten hours of sun have manifested themselves as a deep red sunburn that all the sun cream in the world could not have prevented. Claire, while hardly any closer to acquiring a tan, has suffered (courtesy of the same colouring that gives her red hair and green eyes) her skin showing pigmentation, in the form of the multitude of freckles that she now sports.
Reading back on that, I need to clarify: despite how it sounds, I’m not ungrateful. I’m having a great time here. Sun, sea, surf…no sex yet, but I’ll work on that! An account of the past week is now coming up (test later, children).
We arrived on Friday to blistering heat (mid-eighties, but remember, I’m English). Jetted off to James’ house (James is Claire’s dad; he won’t let me call him Mr. Robertson). And did I say house? Now apparently property is cheaper here than around Leeds, but even so, James must be rolling in it. I remember pulling up to this giant white mansion (in a sexy green convertible!) and thinking that I could handle spending a couple of months here. But after a brief meeting with Brandi, Claire’s newest and scariest ‘step-mom’, we were handed a set of car keys and instructed to follow.
Ten minutes later, having parked the red Pontiac Firebird (“Yours for your time in Florida”), Claire and I were stood at the door of an apartment with beach view (“Brandi and I thought you pair would be happier a little closer to the action”). James gave Claire a stiff kiss on the cheek, pressed a key into her palm and disappeared with a quick apology about a business lunch.
In other words, we hadn’t been on American soil for ten minutes before we had been left to our own devices in possession of an expensive-looking apartment and a flash little car. Oh, and the bank account to which Claire currently retains the cash card. Either James has more money than sense, or he has no clue of the best method to supervise an irate daughter in possession of copious amounts of money. I have a feeling that Claire will be quick to punish him for his naivety.
Claire’s gut instinct is that her father’s generosity stems largely from Brandi’s influence. I have to admit that I can see Brandi’s point of view: I’m sure she doesn’t feel too comfortable with the constant reminder that her stepchild is the same age as herself and that her husband is twenty-five years older and previously married. Twice.
While on the subject of Brandi, Claire and I were not disappointed. She is everything we expected of “a gold-digging, jailbait whore” (to quote Claire). Snobbish, silicone-implanted, slightly dizzy. But seemingly, her minor victory in keeping us out of her hair had landed us simple university students in the middle of ‘Pretty Woman’ (minus the hooker part): exhibiting Julia Roberts’ failure to blend with her exceptionally expensive surroundings. I don’t think Claire knew whether to hit Brandi or hug her.
Quick description of the aforementioned ‘exceptionally expensive surroundings’. The apartment is twice the size of my family home in the Netherlands. Okay, so you never saw my family home in the Netherlands, but bear in mind two things: my parents are ex-pats, which equals big salary, and Dutch houses are enormous. Excuse me, I digress (this isn’t going to be a quick description at this rate!).
The apartment is on two levels. The lower level houses the living area. You open the front door, which leads into the main sitting room. Opposite you are floor-to-ceiling windows stretching the length of the apartment, with an amazing view of the ocean. The room in front of you is tiled with matt white ceramic, aside from two sunken square areas in the centre of the room, which are covered in a sky-blue carpet. One of these sunken areas houses three huge white sofas, which Claire and I are guaranteed to unintentionally ruin. The other area has a massive round clear glass table, with places for twelve. There is a fireplace on one side of the door (why? This is Florida) and an enormous entertainment centre on the other. To your right is the kitchen. I have never seen a kitchen this big, this well equipped or this useless (aside from the drawer full of takeaway menus). To the left is another room. Its function is undetermined, but it holds another couple of sofas, a television and a stereo. This has become our base room: the sofas are in the more practical shade of navy blue. Returning to the main room: directly above your head (a long way above your head) is a skylight, but look left and right and you see wooden spiral staircases leading up to two balconies. These are identical: both house a bedroom with king-sized double bed and a walk-in closet, and an en-suite bathroom with hot tub.
Claire and I were speechless. I don’t think even Claire had comprehended how rich her dad was.
The next few days gave us time to get our bearings. We shopped and swam (apartment complex pool and ocean) and went sightseeing. Then we got jobs.
Jobs?
The average medicine course has, at most, one month summer holiday. I am in Florida for two months. You do the math. I have only been granted the extra month away from my course on the understanding that I will work while I am out here. By the end of the two months, I must have an account covering at least a month and a half of medically related volunteer work, plus a reference. Maybe you are thinking how much that sucks, but personally I see it as an amazing opportunity to compare the American and British health-care systems. Anyway, I would be working even if I hadn’t been requested: two months of the funky volunteer ‘hands-on’ side of medicine, but no exams sounds too good to be true. And in the process of finding a job, I discovered my first real positive points to make about America: everyone is ridiculously cheerfully helpful, and when it comes to healthcare, the choice is endless. Eventually I decided to combine two of my major areas of interest.
So I got hold of a job at a paediatric AIDS unit in the centre of Tampa, doing the usually ‘mundane’ bits and pieces (mundane in the sense that at University I am learning more complex procedures that here I cannot carry out). Things like talking to patients, administration and minor clinical procedures (maybe weighing patients or taking medical histories). But in the presence of children, all these repetitive everyday tasks become so much more enjoyable. I can’t wait to get started tomorrow.
Claire, being as Art student, has got the time off without any hassle,
but has also decided to work, part-time at least. Being the kind of
person who could find an opening in an air lock, she had a million
different options, from design companies to art galleries. Oddly, she chose a
public relations firm. I guess she has her reasons.
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