The Flatmate Factor

In Dubai, when you’re dating someone, it’s always nice to be friends with the flatmate.
Jen gets along well with Khashif’s flatmate Fahad, and Khashif gets along well with Sherry, and so on and so forth.

I never really thought of Emmanuel as Guillaume’s flatmate. He has always been the fellow Frenchman, the business partner, the older one of the duo. But on Friday night I began to see him as the owner of the other half of the flat, the great flatmate, and with that in mind, I felt the need establish a certain kind of friendship with him, the kind that will make him take my side if and when Guillaume and I get into a huge fight.

So Emmanuel called me Friday night to say that Guillaume fell asleep again and he wasn’t sure when he’d wake up, so I better not wait for him to pick me up in Bur Dubai. Instead he suggested I come over and surprise him. So I did. I traveled all the way to Sharjah, on the phone with Emmanuel to give me directions on how to get to their flat. I reached their building and bought a pack of cigarettes for Emmanuel before going up to the 20th floor.

And so we met again. High five, laughter. So far so good. I gave him the cigarettes and I took out the pancit that Obet cooked earlier. He liked it. I told him that Guillaume sent me only ONE email the whole time he was in Paris. He said that wasn’t their style. Emails. Bleah. And I was thankful that he confirmed that, which saved me from the embarrassment of asking Guillaume about it. No drama. Sigh of relief. I was also very happy when he said that upon arriving at the Dubai airport and meeting him, Guillaume asked if I called. Although he didn’t make any sense, because the phone was with Emmanuel, I was more than ok with the fact that he thought about me, or he thought about whether I thought of him.

With a smile on my face, I went to Guillaume’s room to finally surprise him. He wasn’t surprised. It was as if he was expecting it. He had his arms ready to hug me, which I thought was sweet. So anyway in his giant robe he went out of the room and stretched.

We all settled in the living area, whisky and cigarettes and a bunch of retro and electronica CDs Guillaume brought from Paris. Paris, Paris, Paris. I’d never hated Paris so much in my life. For two weeks Guillaume was there and I couldn’t handle being away from him. Well, I could, obviously, but you know, I hope he doesn’t go away again because it makes me miss him and think about weird stuff that could happen between us to the point where I almost turn psycho. But I’m glad he’s back and he’s back for good, and that’s all I need to know for now.

So Emmanuel had too much whisky already, and we were laughing and drinking some more and listening to music and laughing again. It was fun. I had fun with Emmanuel as my boyfriend’s flatmate, more than I did with Guillaume actually. I think I invested enough in this much-need alliance, enough to keep it solid for a long time. And finally in his drunkenness the words I had so wanted to hear came out of his mouth: You’re lucky I like you… Meaning, he’d have punched me in the face straight away after hearing my comments about his age and his appearance and his taste in women and music.

I’m lucky he likes me. He likes me for Guillaume, like a father likes someone for his only son, and more or less I have his blessing, so that if anything unpleasant comes up he will be sure to tell me about it and support me all the way. And then I realized how important Emmanuel is in the equation. And I have to treat him good, stay friends, make him laugh --- which is not really a hard thing to do, it actually comes naturally because he’s very likeable himself.

And that, my friend, is the flatmate factor.