“No you don’t, remember last Friday? I requested Eurythmics and you said Loft was a classy establishment that didn’t play that kind of music?”
I lift my hands and make bunny ears to put ‘classy establishment’ in air quotes.
“Did I really say that?”
“You know you did, don’t pretend you don’t remember.”
I pick up my bread roll and start ripping it up, furiously spreading butter on the biggest piece. Popping it into my mouth, I look up at Blue. He’s looking at me sadly.
“No truly it slipped my mind, but you’ve jogged my memory. I’m terribly sorry, I know it’s no excuse but it really was one of the worst nights of my life.”
We are shushed by the MC (a short old man in a black velvet three piece) who opens the night. I look around at the other guests at our table. There are four girls sitting in a row to my left. Blue is on my right (I made him sit there because it’s my non-black eye side, even though I’m still wearing my sunnies). A couple have just seated themselves beside Blue. It’s the guy who almost smudged Angrypants’ make up earlier. Nico, was it?
He is a tall broad guy, reminds me of a bear. His partner is a pretty exotic type with long, curly black hair, tanned skin and bright green eyes. She shoots me a friendly smile. I smile back. They seem sociable. This might turn out to be a good wedding after all. You see, when you don’t know many people at a wedding the group at your table become the critical path to Fun Rate Success. There is nothing, I repeat, nothing, worse than being stuck at the ‘boring’ Singles Table (there’s always a fun Singles Tables and a lame Singles Tables, and you always wanna be on the former). Rest assured, the Boring Singles Table will make you lose the will to live. You’ll see a hundred happy couples flood the dance floor but you’re forced to endure awkward small talk with the long-time housekeeper and family dental hygienist. You start to wonder how life got so bleak. You swing past the cake stand to drown your sorrows in sugar (then smuggle three pieces out via your handbag) and go home alone and in a funk. It’s grim. It’s depressing. It should be avoided at all costs.
But this group look like a great bunch. Next to Nico and his girlfriend are two guys pouring themselves beer. The four girls to my left are eyeing them up. Everyone is young and good looking, and I don’t know why we weren’t put with the extended family from Newcastle, but by golly I’m glad.
The MC invites us to rise as the wedding party have arrived. We start clapping as the names of the bridesmaids and groomsmen are read out. They enter the hall coupled up, and I decide then and there that I will never wear any shade of yellow ever again. If the peanut costume didn’t already put the nail in the coffin the bridesmaids’ dresses certainly have. They look like out of date custard puffs.
“And now please put your hands together for the new Mr and Mrs McPhillips!”
The room explodes in boisterous applause as Angrypants and her slaveman appear. She leads the way, dragging him behind her. They approach the wedding table and take their seats in the centre. The room sits as the MC shushes us. I lean into Blue and say softly so the others don’t hear,
“I hate to say this, but she looks really beautiful.”
He puts his arm around the back of my seat and leans into my ear,
“She’s a very beautiful type,” he whispers back.
“You have types?”
“Only you babe, lanky eggplant heads.”
I ignore the urge to tell him that I’m not his babe, I’m not lanky (I have curves, it’s just they’re on the smallish side) and I am most certainly not a vegetable head. Instead, I eat another piece of buttered bread. The bread rolls are alternating around the table, multigrain, white, multigrain, white, multigrain, white. Mine was white, but I’m much more partial to multigrain. Hmmm. How to stage a hostile takeover of Blue’s roll?
Lucky for him I see a couple of wait staff strutting out of the kitchen carrying plates. Yes. Dinner soon, hunger crisis averted.
Once the MC has finished with the welcome speech and what not, Blue turns to strike up conversation with Nico while I busy myself with the wine bottles at the centre of the table.
“Red or white?” I ask, a bottle of each in either hand.
“White please,” Blue replies.
I begin pouring and look up at Nico and his striking partner,
“Would you guys like some too?” I offer.
“We are Georgian, of course we want wine!” Nice booms.
I immediately like Nico, and before long have also warmed to his girlfriend who introduces herself as Eva. They moved to London several years ago from Tbilisi. She’s a nurse while he manages his uncle’s dry wall business. With a job like that you’d think he’d be the most boring person on the planet, but he’s anything but. He has a large face with a large smile and a laugh so deep, contagious and resonant he soon has our entire table laughing along with him. He is so light hearted and jovial he reminds me of a young, good looking Santa Claus. Eva is very different, she stays quiet while Nico tells his stories of misadventure, but I reckon she’d also be good value on a night out.
The entree plates arrive, are eaten off, then disappear again. The dinner plates meet a similar fate. Nico doesn’t finish his meals, he’s too distracted telling Blue about the time his grandfather almost through him down a well for scaring the family goat herd. While he talks animatedly I notice Eva stealthily stealing pieces of Nico’s steak. I knew I’d like this girl. Blue is being annoying and guarding his steak jealously. He’s learnt quickly that nothing edible is safe around me. Because I am an animal.
Before long we’re all feeling very merry. Blue chinks his glass to get our attention,
“I would like to propose a toast, if I may. Let us eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die!”
“Such a charming man,” I joke.
The four of us take big sips from our glasses. I notice the girls on my left are looking a little left out. Nico spots them too and says,
“My friends, you will toast with us next time. In fact, would you all like to learn about the famous Georgian toast?”
Eva pushes her chair back ever so slightly and begins shaking her head, mouthing the word ‘no’ to me. I think if she could she would be running her hand back and forth across her neck to indicate how serious the situation has become.
“Of course,” Blue replies.
“Would you like to join us?” Nico looks to the two beer lads to his right, “but you will have to drink wine, a Georgian toast must be drunk with wine!”
They nod and Nico, still laughing, begins to explain the rules. The Georgians take toasting and wine very seriously, especially during a formal event like weddings. The drinking is led by a tamada, or toastmaster. Seeing as every Georgian loves his wine, the tamada might lead many, many, many toasts during the evening. When he stands the men are expected to follow suit while the women remain seated. Seeing the defiant eyes of the women at our table, Nico quickly follows up with,
“But because we are in the United Kingdom we will all toast together. A woman’s place is wherever she chooses.”
Don’t you just love this guy? I know I do. But then he says something none of us (beside Eva) are expecting,
“Once we have finished the toast, everyone must drink the entire glass. Leaving even a drop is an insult.”
Blue, Beer boys and the four girls are suddenly looking extremely concerned and I’m certain I’m wearing an identical expression. Self preservation autolawyer mode kicks in,
“Well Nico,” I begin, “me and the girls wouldn’t want to insult your tradition. As much as we want a society where the objectification of women is replaced by gender neutral interaction, we’ll just join you for the first toast then let you lads take it from there.”
That’ll teach Blue to call me vegetable head. Nico looks overjoyed as he stands, topping up each of our fishbowl-sized glasses. Blue and Beer Boys are looking very worried indeed.
“Here we go!” Nico roars, “I would like to propose
a toast to our dear parents, to the happiness and love between Sarah and Neville which bought us together tonight, to this wonderful table filled with new friends, to old friends who could not be with us tonight, to love and to peace, to the motherland, to the beautiful women in our lives and to a safe journey home.”
We all drain our glasses to the last drop, even the small skinny girl seated two spots from me.
An hour later Nico, Blue and the Beer boys (who we’ve found out are called Harry and William, what are the odds, huh?) are four toasts in. Blue is slurring his words, a lot, and I can see that if it wasn’t his male dignity on the line he would have stopped toasting quite some time ago. But even if Blue asked to stop Nico would be having none of it. Nico is a quintessential feeder, but to be fair he’s actually drinking more than the other lads. During the second toast he filled up their glasses only three quarters of the way, but continued to pour his to the brim. He has drunk almost two bottles in the last hour but remains remarkably composed. The only thing that might give away his inebriation are the toasts themselves. They’re getting longer and more random. The last one lasted fifteen minutes and featured a tribute to his dead dog Mishka and the Tale of the Cut Lip (basically he cut his lip as a kid and has never licked an envelope since).
After the sixth toast Nico jerkily grabs Eva and they race to the dance floor, leaving the rest of us feeling woozy and wined-out. The four girls and Wills and Harry are talking. Blue puts his arm around my chair,
“Peanut?” he slurs.
“Yeah?”
“Were you and that Spanish guy dating?”
“Would you count a piece of red fabric as evidence of a relationship?”
He looks blankly at me.
“Never mind. No, we weren’t dating. C’mon let’s go for a dance.”
I stand and take his hand but he pulls me back down into my seat.
“What are you most scared of in life?” he mumbles.
I think for a moment,
“Spiders, clowns, heights, tunnels, elevators, scout masters, creepy little girls in horror movies, especially the ones who crawl out of TVs, sharks and crocodiles and box jellyfish and rip tides and to be honest anything do with water and the ocean. Did I mention spiders? Then there’s fear of failure and rejection…”
Blue’s laughter interrupts my ramblings,
“Shouldn’t have asked. My only fear is performing in public.”
“But you’re a DJ?”
“I’ll tell you a little secret,” he puts his arm around my shoulder and pulls me in closer, “DJing is really easy, you just show up with a couple of CDs or a playlist.”
Wills, Harry and the four girls have left for the DF. We watch them leave then I give Blue a sceptical look.
“But you still have to be in front of a crowd of people every night?”
“I block them out with the headphones,” he replies.
“Oh come on, dancing isn’t performing! You need an audience to classify it as a performance.”
“You’re an audience, the people out there are an audience, and I really don’t fancy looking foolish. It’s not going to happen I’m afraid, I’ve never been able to play or sing or dance or even speak in front of a group of strangers.”
“That’s a shame, you have a good voice,” I say, thinking back to his singing-in-the-shower vocals.
I sigh and shrug my shoulders. I tell him that in that case I’ll have to go for a dance on my own. Play that Funky Music White Boy is blasting out of the speakers and I can’t not dance to this. I tell Blue I’ll be back shortly and head off, leaving him on his own.
I spot our friends near the stage. Nico is doing the Monster Mash (Frankenstein arm gestures) trying to make Eva laugh and it’s working because she’s in fits of giggles. The situation is a tad more serious around Wills, Harry and the four girls. Small skinny girl is grinding up against Wills, presenting herself like a horny baboon. One of the other girls is shooting her dagger eyes. I guess Wills is the prime fillet and everyone wants a piece.
I quickly decide it’ll be better to dance with Nico and Eva.
A few tracks later we empty the centre as the MC announces the bridal waltz. Angrypants and Neville glide to the middle and Lionel Richie’s Endless Love comes on. The newlyweds do a solid job, Angrypants told me that they’d been rehearsing it for months. After Lionel, INXS’ Never Tear us Apart comes on. Nico and Eva pair up, small skinny girl and Wills pair up, Harry and one of the other girls pair up, and the two leftover girls laugh and decide to slow dance together.
And I’m left on my own. How fitting. I start to mooch my way back to the table but I stop when I see Blue walking towards me. I can’t hold back the smile. He puts his arms around my waist while I lift mine to his shoulders,
“But you said you’re terrified of public performances?” I ask.
“I thought I’d make an exception.”
We dance to INXS then Celine Dion comes on. Halfway through My Heart Will Go On Blue whispers,
“Worst DJ ever.”
I laugh,
“No, you still take top spot. You never told me why you were in such a funk last Friday?”
“Did you want the long version or the short?”
“Short please, I have a feeling the DJ is gonna start belting out Savage Garden soon, then we’ll need to make our escape.”
“Well you see, I saw my ex just before I snapped at you. She did a few things before my set just to antagonise me.”
I’m surprised. Blue doesn’t strike me as an easily antagonised type. A clueless doofus, yes, but not ill-tempered or irritable.
“What happened between you two?”
“She cheated.”
“Really? But you’re such a catch, what kind of an idiot would cheat on you?”
Oh shit I shouldn’t have said that. Backtrack, backtrack now!
“I mean…” I try to cover up, “I’m so sorry to hear that, what a cow. Are you okay?”
“Yes I’m fine, it happened last year and I’m over it, but I don’t exactly count her as a friend. It was the usual relationship story. The beginning was great, I thought she was the most brilliant thing since sliced bread. Fast forward a year and I couldn’t look at another girl or I’d be yelled at, and saying hi to one was considered cheating. I wasn’t allowed to hang out with my mates and I was miserable because everything I did was wrong, even the stuff that yesterday was wrong that I changed was wrong again. Then I found out she was sleeping with some old rich guy, and we parted ways.”
“Oh Blue…”
My confidence in everything I’ve ever held dear has been shaken to the core. Men are supposed to be the bad ones, the evil doers, the ones who screw us around and hurt us and treat us badly. I mean, I know women do bad things too, I’m not a nincompoop, but I never truly acknowledged it properly until now. Blue is a nice guy. Why would someone do that to him?
“And you still see her sometimes?”
“No, we met when we both worked at Loft but she quit after we broke up. She knows the manager and last Friday he called her up because he was so short staffed. She agreed to fill in and that’s when I saw her.”
“Wait a minute wait a minute wait a minute. She was a waitress last Friday?”
“Yes.”
“Is she average height, with a big mane of frizzy brown hair?”
“Yes, how did you know?”
“Oh my gosh, that was Surly!”
I tell him about Grumpy the Waitress who served me, Chloe and Mags.
“So I guess everyone was in a bad mood that night,” I finish.
“No doubt she was. I gave her a piece of my mind before her shift, when I saw her making out with Jerry the geriatric. Honestly, the only good thing that came out of that relationship were the free clothes.”
“Free clothes?”
“She was a fashion designer specialising in sportswear.”
I think of the out-of-control colour combinations, the tank top muscle shirts and teeny tiny shorts. I
start laughing as Celine finishes and Girls Aloud come on (boy this really is the world’s worst DJ). I sense it would be the wrong time to tell Blue that Surly’s outfits make him look like he belongs in a mental asylum. The shorts, my god, those shorts! I try a different approach as we pull apart and begin walking back to the table,
“Can I say something and you have to promise you won’t get offended?”
“Of course you can, my little Peanut.”
“Surly should stick to her day job because she’s most definitely not the hottest designer in town. Would it be okay if, to repay you for coming out tonight, I buy you a couple of new running outfits? It’s not good to hang onto old relationship baggage.”
And by baggage I really mean it. Those clothes make you look like a bag lady just raided a rapper’s garbage can.
“Sounds good. Can I reciprocate? You always run in those huge Dad t-shirts. I’d love to buy you the shortest, tightest top possible so that I can finally see more than just your legs.”
“You’re a sleaze.”
“And proud of it.”
Back at the table I see the wedding cake has made its rounds. Small slivers sit on napkins in front of each seat. Yum! The cake was one of the only parts of the wedding where Angrypants actually took my advice. She wasn’t sure what to pick so I suggested traditional fruit cake. I love fruit cake, she loves fruitcake, everyone loves fruit cake. Bits of ultra sweet dried fruit soaked in rum, mixed with sugar and butter and fat then drenched in rum again - what’s not to love?
My cake fuelled excitement is short lived as I feel a familiar cramping in my chest. Before I explode in a cyclone of hiccups I decide to tell Blue something I’ve been meaning to say since he bought me that Cornetto.
“Hey Blue?”
“Yes babe?”
“You did make me want to kill myself less today. Thank you.”
“My pleasure. Say, any idea how we’re getting back to London tonight?”
Sunday - Antonio
Chloe’s been ignoring my calls all morning. Last time we were this long out of contact was when Emma and Mags dragged me (under false pretences) to that yoga retreat in Goa. Party town Goa, they said. A week of fun and frivolity, they said. Turned into five days of hell where we were forced to endure four hours of yoga a day and lived on a diet of soy porridge and papayas. Mags and Emma thought it would do me good to stop drinking and partying (this was during the post He Who Shall Not Be Named phase where I’d turned into a raging alco).
Crazygirl Falls in Love Page 17
