Chasing Daisy

means, but it pretty much covers everything: fuck, shit, etc. If you want to really express annoyance, you can say, “ Cazzo, cazzo, cazzo !”’
    ‘Got it.’
    ‘Your turn.’
    ‘Cazzo, cazzo, cazzo !’ he exclaims, slapping his hand theatrically on the bar top.
    ‘Shh!’ I start to giggle. ‘I hope none of Emilio Rizzo’s fans are in earshot. I want you to teach me some Portuguese slang! You can never know too many swear words in foreign languages . . .’
    He smirks. ‘Okay . . .’
    ‘How do you say, “fuck it!”?’
    ‘ Fode-se . And “fuck off” is va se foder .’
    ‘What about, “I couldn’t give a shit”?’
    ‘ Estou me cagando .’
    I repeat it: ‘ Estou me cagando about William Trust and his god-damn girlfriend!’
    Luis chuckles.
    ‘This is great,’ I say. ‘It’s really cheering me up.’
    ‘I bet it is.’
    ‘I wish Will were here.’
    Luis looks a little put out, then seems to realise what I mean. ‘So you can swear at him?’
    ‘Exactly. Dickhead.’
    ‘ Testa di cazzo !’
    ‘You got it!’
    He raises his beer bottle and loudly chinks the almost empty whisky glass in my hand. ‘You want another?’
    I glance over at Sarah and her friend. They won’t mind if I don’t go back and join them.
    ‘Sure.’
    The bartender comes over and takes our order, noisily banging down my glass and Luis’s beer bottle.
    ‘On the house,’ he says.
    ‘Thanks!’ Luis and I both enthuse.
    ‘Hey . . .’ I lean in and motion to the bartender to do the same.
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘How do you say “fucker” in French?’
    He doesn’t bat an eyelid. ‘ Enculé .’
    ‘Cool. Thanks.’
    ‘What about “fuck off”?’ Luis chips in.
    ‘ Va te faire foutre ,’ the bartender replies, leaning in further. ‘Are you thinking of ways to talk to your team-mate?’ His tone is conspiratorial.
    I collapse into giggles.
    ‘No!’ Luis denies, but the bartender grins knowingly.
    ‘I’ve read the newspapers,’ he says. ‘Do you two dislike each other as much as they make out?’
    ‘No,’ Luis shakes his head dismissively.
    The bartender winks and leaves us to it.
    I look at Luis and raise an eyebrow. ‘Is that what they’re saying in the gossip columns?’
    ‘Surely you’ve heard about our so-called feud?’ He regards me with disbelief.
    ‘I never read the tabloids.’ I don’t read proper papers much either, but I don’t tell him this.
    ‘Don’t you?’
    ‘No. Never, ever, EVER.’ I tipsily slap my hand down on the bar top to emphasise my point.
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘I have my reasons.’
    ‘When did you stop reading them?’
    I pull a face at him. It’s not that fascinating a subject, is it? ‘A few months after I moved to the UK.’
    ‘Too much about Johnny Jefferson in them, was there?’
    I almost fall off my barstool.
    ‘Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,’ he says.
    ‘How did you find out?’ I raise my hand to my throat. I feel like I’m choking.
    ‘I looked you up on the internet,’ he replies. ‘Daisy, it’s okay.’ He touches my arm. ‘You can trust me.’
    I’ve heard that before. I can’t trust anyone.
    ‘Why did you do that?’ I manage to ask. What is it with him and Will? Except Will came back with nothing about Johnny, only my father.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ Luis apologises. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have. But Will was telling me how you worked for someone famous . . .’
    The disappointment that Will gossiped about me when I asked him to keep his mouth shut barely has time to register.
    ‘I remembered about your middle names and searched under “Paola Giuseppe” instead. Johnny Jefferson’s name came up right away.’
    I stare at him, still feeling shell-shocked.
    ‘Look, I swear I won’t say anything to anyone. Not even Will to annoy him. I swear .’ He looks at me intently as I consider him warily. ‘Is that why you left America?’ Luis prompts.
    I nod, taking a deep breath. His eyes are full of sympathy. And something happens to me. The weight that I’ve been feeling on my shoulders for the past two years slowly but surely begins to lift. Once I start talking, I can’t stop . . .
    I’m a New York City girl, but almost three years ago I went to live in Los Angeles to work as a personal assistant to one of the biggest rock stars in the world. I fell for him instantly. Johnny Jefferson is the ultimate bad boy. The type of guy you should never fall in love with, but the type of guy you inevitably do. The thing that completely caught me