A story based on Can Yamans Turkish dizi.
Ozgur Atasoy.
Rich, handsome, Club/bar owner and DJ lives in an exclusive rooftop penthouse in Istanbul.
He's a Player.
A lover of beautiful things and he can't resist one night stands with beautiful women...
It's another beautiful sunny day, in the height of summer in Istanbul. Not a cloud in the blue sky and I never thought standing on a penthouse roof top terrace, next to a swimming pool with a panoramic view of the city I love, on a morning like this...
...would stress me out so much!
Every night for the last four days, I've actually prayed for rain. Willed that blue sky to become covered by grey storm clouds, but the weather app on my phone, showed a row of happy yellow suns, right across the week and into the weekend. Damn! I guess I shouldn't expect a phone call from him then, asking me to come over.
I miss him.
I laid awake last night, and heard him arrive home from La Gabbia. It was after 3am. And like every night this week, I felt my heart pound as I lay absolutely still, holding my breath, listening out for voices or any female laughter. Thankfully, it's all been quiet on that front and the only things I heard were his keys being thrown onto the table, glasses or cups in the kitchen, running water, the extractor fan in the bathroom and Teslas name. He hasn't even ventured out onto his terrace, but gone straight to bed.
Our schedules have been as opposite as they could be. My days have started early. A 5am trip to the flower market one morning to order table arrangements. Fruit sellers to hand pick the best Strawberries, on another. Then popping into La Gabbia to talk to Ozan, conduct taste tests and check the deliveries. All for his mum's Strawberry fayre party. Ozgur has been on the night shift this week. Sleeping until the afternoon and going back in at 4pm, finishing in the early hours of the morning.
I sent him some photos of cake designs, one afternoon and he chose the one he liked. We had a brief phone conversation while I was with the Cake designer. "How tall is it?" "Err... It can be made however tall you want it. However many layers you need." "I don't know. Send me a photo of you next to this one for size reference." "Oh, okay. I'll do it and call you back."
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When he gets it, he calls me back instead. "You're wearing the white shirt you bought on our shopping trip." "I am." There's silence, apart from a huge sigh his end. "So...what's wrong with it? Do you want it bigger? Smaller? More decoration?" "Nothings wrong with it. It's... Perfect. Just as it is. Perfect.... "What is it then? You sound... tense?"
"I am tense. I want to..." He doesn't finish his sentence. And I wait for more.
"You want to...?"
"...know what it tastes like?"
"Oh, it tastes good. Nice. Sweet, smooth and fresh."
"Describe it to me."
Are we still talking about the cake? I swallow and begin.
"The inside is... err, a soft fluffy vanilla flavoured sponge. The layers are filled with a sweet, lightly whipped, chantilly cream and sugar crushed Strawberries. If you're making Strawberry Daiquiris then she's suggesting she can add a splash of white rum and then drizzle white chocolate over it."
