With the green light to party, I put aside any reservations I might have had about the boys with marbles in their mouths (it turned out they were investment bankers) or the easy women who were hanging off them, and decided to put my suspicious mind to bed for one night and enjoy being a young, free, sassy singleton in London. Desperate to play catch-up, at the next bar we hit I knocked back two Mojitos and two Jäger shots in the space of five minutes, and instantly felt more relaxed and in party mood.
I was just settling into some man-spying when out of nowhere a drink came splashing over me, leaving me looking like I’d just completed a circuit on Wipeout.
I’d got in the way of an all-out war between the bankers’ not-so-high-class lady friends. They had both been drinking all day, and were now screaming obscenities that clearly made sense to them and them only. While Parker sorted out the squabbling divas with our banker friends, Lisa came to my rescue, or so I thought, with a fresh outfit that she had in her overnight bag. We retreated to the bathroom, but it was only after I had stripped out of my wet uniform, and soggy and now ever-present Spanx, that Lisa handed me a pair of black wet-look leggings and a sparkly boob-tube over the cubicle door.
‘No way! I can’t wear that! I’ll look like one of those hookers who threw the drink over me!’ Although Lisa pretended to be insulted, she was always striving for the sluttish look and loved it when people noticed her bad taste. ‘Ah, Jaysus, Lisa,’ I went on. ‘Were you thinking of auditioning for Grease? Neither of us are exactly Olivia Newton John material. This is just too much.’
‘Shut up and put them on. You’re not in the Four Seasons now. You’re in London, baby, where nobody gives a shit who you are or what you look like.’
Having already thrown my wet clothes on the toilet floor, I didn’t feel I had any other option than to put on Lisa’s fresh outfit. So, with a heavy heart, I slipped into my disco costume and bounced out to Lisa, trying to feel upbeat. Waving my jazz hands for extra effect I struggled with a pathetic, ‘Ta da!’ But despite my enthusiasm, Lisa’s concerned face spoke volumes. Needing to see what she could, I pushed her out of the way to get a proper look at myself in the mirror, and nearly fainted with the shock. ‘OH-MY-GOD! I’ve got a fucking camel toe …’
Trying to salvage the situation, Lisa attempted to ease my stress with a weak, ‘Not a big one,’ before the two of us fell about the place laughing.
‘Ah, Lisa, I can’t go out like this. They’ll start calling me Big Foot!’
‘Shut up, you’ll be grand. Come on, let’s get back outside. If you hang around here too long people might think you’re a vending machine and start expecting you to spit out condoms!’
‘Nice. That’s just lovely. Remind me never to hang around with you again after tonight.’
No doubt dying to parade me like I was her own life-size Slapper Barbie, Lisa pushed me out the door and into the path of a drunken Parker, who even when sober was possibly the most sarcastic man on the planet.
I was doing my best to conceal my modesty with my overloaded handbag when, back at the table, Lisa proudly announced, ‘Eva’s got something to show you all.’
‘Excuse me?’ The shock of her statement almost made me pass out on the spot with the fear.
‘Yes,’ declared Lisa proudly. ‘Eva’s brought a little friend out to play.’
Hopeful that she was just winding me up, I asked, ‘I did?’ But then unfortunately got the answer I was dreading.
‘Look.’ Lisa quickly whipped my bag out of my hands. ‘Eva’s brought her camel toe out to play. Say hello, everyone.’
Unable to fight the unfolding joke at my expense, I thought best to go with it, and pointed both my hands towards my crotch, before taking an over-exaggerated curtsey to a rapturous round of applause. Having taken all the attention I could bear, I asked, ‘So who’s gonna buy me and my little friend a real drink? I think we need it.’
At which one of the banker boys stood up and ordered, ‘A bottle of Moët et Chandon for the good sport.’ While Lisa and I had been in the toilet, the lads had finally given the two slappers their marching orders after their tiff over who got to shag Jason, the better-looking of the two bankers, spilled over – literally – on to me. It seemed the boys had picked them up while walking down the road outside Sir Charlie’s and simply offered to take them for lunch because of the short skirts they were wearing. But they’d tired of them when they’d kept asking for cash for special favours.
With the women gone, the evening became less stressful, and after we finished off the champagne we moved on to another private VIP club around the corner, which the lads said they had membership keys for. As we arrived at a closed iron-gated door, I felt a tad concerned that we might be being led into some whorehouse, especially going on the lads’ previous track record, but Jason assured me, ‘This is one of the coolest clubs in town.’ So, after he spoke a code into the intercom, we were buzzed through the gates and climbed into a waiting lift.
Once upstairs it was as if we had stepped into another world. Dimly lit with deep red lights, the club wasn’t a whorehouse but a gentleman’s club that allowed open-minded ladies. It was full of Friday-evening suits, just like our banker friends. As the boys were regulars, we were all ushered to a table beside a stage area and told by the pretty blonde hostess, ‘The usual, coming right up.’ Pretty soon afterwards an ice bucket with vodka and cans of Red Bull was put on our table. The music in the room changed, and the lights dimmed further as the bottom of a black woman pushed itself out from behind a curtain. As the audience of mostly men began to whoop and cheer, I could see Lisa’s face fill with excitement.
‘Having fun?’ I asked.
‘This is the best. I’m so glad we came over.’
Delighted that my friend was so pleased with our night out, my happy buzz was slightly dented when she pointed to the bikini-clad black woman and whispered, ‘I have always wanted to be a dancer. Do you think they’d let me up?’
Although I told her that this wasn’t a karaoke night inviting punters to perform, Lisa was no longer listening to me. She was lost in adoration for the young dancer, who was by now doing lewd things to an innocent chair. Determined to get in on the act, Lisa started pulling tenners out of her purse, and reaching in and cheekily stuffing them through the dancer’s diamanté bikini thong. Willingly accepting Lisa’s notes, the dancer began to concentrate her gyrating in our direction, for which we were all exceptionally grateful.
A few dance routines later and this Valentine was fully up to speed. I’m not sure if it was the drink finally kicking in or just the energy from the lustful crowd around me, but before I knew what I was doing, I was standing up, dancing around my own chair, and putting on a show of my own. Clearly appreciating my performance, our new banker friends smiled and quietly watched me shaking my ass to Shakira, while Parker and Lisa attempted to wolf-whistle and knock back vodka at the same time. I was loving the music and the way it made me feel until I glanced over at the dancer on the stage beside me and I saw that she was mouthing something to me. Unsure if I was seeing things, I asked Parker, ‘What did she say?’
He gaily replied, ‘She said she’d like to eat your PEACH!’
Mortified that the dancer had also noticed my camel toe, I replied with a polite, ‘Thank you,’ and sat back down like I’d just been scolded at school.
Of course the rest of the table found it hilarious, and chanted, ‘Eat the peach, eat the peach!’ until one of the hostesses came over and asked them to keep it down.
Lisa no longer wanted to dance. ‘You’ve stolen my moment, Eva, and why doesn’t anyone want to eat my peach? I’m bored now. Let’s move.’ Assuring us that we had seen nothing yet, Jason took Lisa by the hand, who then grabbed me, who grabbed Parker, who grabbed the other guy, Jonathan, and we all walked hand-in-hand through the crowd to another closed door. After a few words with a mean-looking security guy, Jason handed over a couple of fifties and we stepped into a different room that had a small swimming p
ool and a woman in a bikini swinging over it. Unlike the mood outside, the music in this room was extremely chilled, and the bluey-green lighting just set off the vibe perfectly.
As we settled into a corner, Jason led an eager Lisa up to the bar and told us, ‘We’ll be back with drinks.’
I was curious as to how Parker was coping with such a hetero evening. He chuckled, then told me, ‘I’m not sure if my hair is curling because of that, or just the dampness in the air.’ He turned to Jonathan jokingly, ‘Don’t suppose you fancy a snog?’ Before Parker had a chance to crack another gag, Jonathan had lunged at him and started kissing him passionately, like he was the only person in the room. Unsure what to do with myself, I glanced in the direction of Lisa and her banker only to see that they, too, were snogging the face off each other. I waited for the two boys to unlock their lips, but their embrace didn’t seem to be slowing up, so all I could do was quietly laugh to myself and hope that someone would arrive with a drink for me soon.
Thankfully, I didn’t have to wait too long. But it wasn’t Lisa who came to my aid, but an extremely handsome man sporting a sexy two-day-old stubble, who, much to my delight, wasn’t wearing a suit. Over several glasses of champagne I learnt that Rory Baxter was a TV cameraman for CNN who was just back from Uganda, and that he regularly travelled to war-torn countries to film their famines and civil wars. Looking into his eyes as he spoke of the extreme poverty he had witnessed, I had to wonder how the hell a supposedly decent guy like him had ended up in a den of iniquity like this. No sooner had I questioned how genuine he might be, when I caught a glimpse of myself in a smoked mirror, and instantly felt cheap and tacky in my outfit.
Sensing my discomfort, Rory asked me, ‘Are you OK?’ Before getting a wave of paranoia himself, and questioning, ‘Sorry, am I boring you? Would you like me to leave you alone?’ I glanced quickly over at Parker and then Lisa, but it was painfully obvious that both of them were still busy with their bankers, so I reassured Rory that I was intrigued to hear his stories, even if the woman swinging half-naked over his shoulder was just a tad distracting. He apologized for being such a serious drone – which he claimed he always was for the first few days after one of his trips – and promised to lighten up and turn the conversation all on me.
Not usually the best liar in the world, I amazed myself with the tall tales I told him. How I was loving training for the London marathon, where I was hoping to raise money for Amnesty, and how I wanted to study photography, as working in Sir Charlie’s was just a means to an end for the moment. Firmly sticking with the name Alice, I shamefully failed to mention my precious daughter, or the fact that I was about to have a little TV career of my own. What was the harm? I reasoned. After all, I was meant to be keeping my new career a secret, and this guy Rory was too wholesome to be believed – especially hanging out in a watering-hole such as this. And it wasn’t as if I’d ever see him again. We were just in the middle of tracing Rory’s Irish roots when Lisa found her way back to the table, and in a true Princess moment demanded that I accompany her to the toilet. Disgusted that I had to abandon my chat, I tried to ask casually, ‘Will you still be here when I get back?’
I was relieved when Rory’s reply was a most definite, ‘Of course. Don’t be long.’
Hyper with excitement, the two of us practically skipped to the Ladies while screaming at each other, ‘Oh-my-God! I’ve so much to tell you.’ In the interests of an easy life I suggested Lisa kiss and tell first, in the hope that she might actually listen to me when it came to my turn, instead of going, ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah, OK, my go,’ like she usually did. Unsurprisingly enough, Lisa just wanted to ask my permission to head off into the night with her new friend and ride him senseless. It appeared the handsome Jason had an apartment close by, and if she didn’t leave soon, she’d just have to shag him at the bar, she was so horny.
‘Now, how’s your own evening going with that bearded new buddy of yours who looks like Gerard Butler?’
Somehow the words, ‘I’ve just met the man I want to marry,’ popped out of my mouth without my even thinking it through beforehand. But strangely, I kinda meant it. Rory was a lovely guy, and even though I kept telling myself I would meet my Mr Right in the readymade-meal section at M&S, I felt I had met him here, this night, in between the Friday-night chaos of the gays, the gals and the scantily clad bikini lust-objects.
Having heard it all before, Lisa put her arm around me to give me a squeeze, before sarcastically saying, ‘But you want to marry everyone, hon.’
‘No I don’t,’ I argued.
‘OK.’ Lisa smiled, doing her best to plámás me. ‘You might not want to marry all the boys, but you do marry more than your fair share of them.’
‘Don’t be right,’ I pleaded. ‘Not tonight. I just want have fun and fantasize about being happy. I deserve a future, don’t I?’
‘Yes, you do. And I deserve a ride. So with that thought, I’m out of here. At some stage remind Parker that he’s got a husband at home, and that I’ll see him back at the hotel later – or tomorrow. OK, sorry about running off on you like this. I’ll phone you to get the skinny on your wedding bells. Let’s hope this is third time lucky, eh?’
By the time I had fixed my make-up and returned to the table, Lisa and Jason had already left the bar, and Parker was still practising his tonsil-tennis with Jonathan, and, by the looks of things, fishing for gold. But there, just where I’d left him, was Rory, looking every bit as gorgeous as I remembered. ‘That was too long,’ he said smoothly, giving me a cheeky wink.
Delighted to be back in his company, I pulled my chair just a little closer to him as I sat down and apologized for the delay. ‘My friend needed to say goodbye. She just wanted to let me know that she was going.’
‘I saw her.’ Rory smiled. ‘She looked like she was in a hurry.’
‘She’s a very spontaneous girl. When she sees something she wants, she just goes for it.’ Without meaning to be flirtatious, I had somehow done it all the same, so I stopped myself from saying more, just in case he wasn’t interested.
Instantly taking the bait, Rory leaned closer, brushed my blonde fringe gently out of my eyes and said, ‘You’re not like most women, are you?’
Embarrassed, all I could offer was, ‘I dunno, am I not?’
‘No, you’re different. You’ve got soul.’
Trying not to sound too disappointed, I repeated, ‘Soul?’ Like any other red-blooded female in a nightclub at 1 a.m., I had been hoping for beautiful, or sexy – but soulful? I hadn’t seen that one coming.
‘You’re deep.’ Rory sighed, as he continued to play with my hair. ‘You’re clearly a dedicated follower of fashion.’ He laughed, looking down at my crazy outfit. ‘But I won’t hold that against you. There’s a lot more going on behind those gorgeous eyes of yours. And I’d really like to find out more about you.’
As a wave of giddiness rippled up and down my body, I took it upon myself to pay him a compliment as well. ‘I think you’re deep, too,’ I said coyly. ‘But I also, more importantly, think you’re hot. What do you feel about that?’
Stalling for time, he looked up and mused, ‘I think … emm, I think …’
I gently punched his chest and questioned, ‘What do you think, big man? I might be a deep thinker, but I’m not a mind reader.’
Before I had a chance to say another word, his eyes swooped down to meet mine, and with a broad smile across his face he told me, ‘I think you’re the hottest babe I’ve seen in a long time. I’ve had two serious relationships in the last fifteen years, and after the last one I spent six months having meaningless sex with random women. That all stopped about a year ago now.’
A little taken aback by his honesty I nodded and said, ‘OK.’
But he put one of his large hands gently over my mouth to silence me, and continued, ‘I’m not finished yet. Sometimes I’m a little too serious for my own good. I need help with that. But I haven’t chatted to a woman, a real person like you, in a long t
ime. So forgive me, I’m a little out of practice. But I just wanted to be completely honest with you. Is that OK?’
A part of my heart sank after the world of lies I had told him, but I nodded again and decided to keep it simple. ‘Kiss me.’
Holding my small face in his large hands, Rory pulled me in close and began kissing me. The bristles of his beard rubbed off my face, but they were somehow softer than I had imagined, and his masterful tongue made my body go weak as it bounced around inside my mouth, shooting waves of pleasure around my body. This wasn’t just any kiss. This was a demonstration of what a good lover he’d be. He was strong and passionate and, most sexy of all, a real man – unlike the young naive surfer dude I’d last been intimate with. Possibly starting to enjoy the kiss too much, I pulled back to check his eyes and see if he was feeling the same way as me.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Rory, looking down at his feet.
Unsure what for, I asked, ‘Why?’
‘I can’t help it. I find you incredibly attractive.’
Confused, I asked, ‘And the problem is?’
‘I want to make love to you. I desperately don’t want to be the old me, but I can’t help it. I think you’re hot!’
Laughing off my nervousness, I grabbed his face and whispered in his ear, ‘Well, let’s do this. Let’s do this now.’ Looking around the room for inspiration, I could see a little light bulb go off in his head.
‘I’ve got an idea.’ He smiled, while pointing his finger upstairs. ‘Do you trust me?’
‘Ask me that tomorrow,’ I cooed. And with that he took me by the hand and led me towards another door at the end of the room.
Just before we disappeared through it Parker miraculously noticed I was leaving, and stood up. ‘Where are you going?’ he yelled from across the pool.
Unsure, I just laughed back, ‘I don’t know, but don’t leave without me.’ Within seconds I had stepped into yet another world with Rory, a maze of corridors and endless stairs. Finding a door that opened, we discovered a storage room of stacked chairs and bags of laundry, faintly lit by street lights outside the window. It wasn’t the most romantic of locations, but I didn’t care – the danger of the situation made it sexy enough for me.
Champagne Secrets Page 8
