STOP IT!
she hissed to herself, drawing to an abrupt close the attack of GREG-GUILT. She hated GREG-GUILT. It hurt, and reminded her of the capacity she had for being such a fucking witch. Her Mum always said, “nice people come last”. She more always felt she was superior, always winning. She didn’t have many friends though, her Mum. Well, Louise didn’t exactly feel like she was winning right now.
She stared at the total on the oversized calculator. The large digital numbers tallied £82.57. She sighed hugely as she wrote it on her receipt list so far. With what she was to get from the two drinking tables she sensed would be leaving soon, plus the eater, she may just break even today. That’s just covering the bills and no profit or payment to herself.
‘Crack open the cham-fucking-pagne’ she muttered.
If it wasn’t for the fact that she had to buy food for the punters, she’d be going hungry again. She always had something to eat, and she always managed to ‘recycle’ some of the food and blur the lines with eat-by dates. It was only a matter of time before health and safet..
‘Excuse me?’ The voice coming through from the small bar area interrupted her thoughts. It was loud enough for her to hear, but not too loud, and inquisitive without being arsey.
No doubt it would be the eater that she had just placed a menu in front of as she glided past. He was obviously ready to order and not patient enough for her to appear magically by his side with pen poised over pad any later than right-this-minute. A hungry man’s an ugly man. Where had she heard that?
‘Just coming!’ She replied, as cheerful as she could muster, delivered through gritted teeth.
She tried to ignore the positive ‘thaaanks’ that came back, but couldn’t avoid registering how bloody nice the man sounded. Ugh. She hated happy people. Happy AND nice people were even worse. In fact, happy, nice AND successful people were the worst, and quite frankly, they could fuck right off.
Angrily, she hit the ‘C’ button on the calculator and walked out from the privacy of the small office area that nestled between the kitchen and the bar. The bar was well stocked with watered down spirits and cheap wines masquerading as expensive ones thanks to a wine list worded in such a way as to suggest exactly that.
She walked in the opposite direction of the bar and entered the small seated area via the door that entered the surprisingly well equipped kitchen. The previous owners had gone out of business in early 1995, so she snapped the place up, happy to capitalise on others misfortunes. That’s what some of the shared friends had said, anyway, when she gleefully explained how she was spending the money from hers and Greg’s place.
Those shared friends, two years later were solely Gregg’s friends. Fuck ‘em.
Still, she owned (a mortgage on) an establishment in West London, and could cook a mean burger or steak in her little kitchen when people actually bloody ordered them. Initially she did other foodie things, but when the demand wasn’t there, she had to cut the menu. Simplicity reigned here now, especially as she could no longer afford staff outside of the 3 core hours over lunchtime at weekends. That way at least she could work in the kitchen at the back and there was someone else to keep an eye out front, the blind spot when cooking.
He was sat alone, dressed casually yet well, and was seated in the area of four tables nearer the kitchen with his back to the rest of the room. Behind him were the two drinking tables amongst three empty ones. A quick glance suggested that this particular hungry man was not an ugly one.
The drinkers appeared to be together, or had discovered they were all going to the same concert at The Empire and would now leave together; as they had both signalled Louise with the international sign language for the bill. Behind them was the now darker scene of Shepherds Bush Green, seen through her small Bar & Grill’s window onto the world.
Louise nodded the silent ‘I’ve seen you and will sort it out’ gesture, and then forced a smile as she finally met the eyes of the man at the table holding a menu. He smiled broadly, openly. He was handsome and his face lit up with that smile. In spite of herself, Louise found her fake smile turn real and reach her eyes. It felt alien today.
‘Hello, sir’ she sing-songed almost genuinely, ‘I take it you’ve decided.’
‘Sorry’, he looked concerned and Lou thawed a little more, ‘I hope you didn’t mind me calling through, it’s just I’m meant to be seeing Bowie tonight and I’m starving. And I’m later than I’d like to be.’ he said, dramatically wincing to further ensure his apology felt real.
‘OK, what would you like?’ she asked, instantly pissed off again as she would have loved to have been able to afford David Bowie tickets. How often would he play here on her doorstep? She’d managed to avoid thinking about it, until just now.
‘Double classic cheeseburger, medium rare please. Fries, not jacket and a side of onion rings. Also, do you have Stella, please?’
Louise sighed, everybody wanted Stella these days. She explained she had Sol, he asked for two at the same time. She said it would all be coming right up as she signalled ‘2 minutes’ to the drinking tables, all of whom had donned their jackets in a sign of impatience.
‘You are ALL wankers’ she muttered under her breath as she turned her back to the entire restaurant. As she walked through under the faux-Americana ‘grill’ sign over the door to the kitchen (one of a hundred faux-Americana items in Lou’s Bar & Grill); she had a sinking feeling.
To save on costs, she only defrosted a few burgers a day (they weren’t homemade like the menu boasted), and she had sold the last one earlier. It would be hit and miss cooking one medium rare from frozen. Well, what choice did she have?
She fetched him his beers, the bills were paid by the drinkers and so she swished through to the kitchen leaving the one and only person in the entire restaurant, as the front door’s overhead bell signalled the departure of the remainder of this day’s clientele.
Now there was just Good Looking Cheeseburger Man, Lou and a frozen burger to be cooked medium rare. Somehow.
Dead Man Walking by David Bowie came on the radio playing in the seated area and despite her wanting to go to the concert and envying this man who was going, Louise couldn’t help but smile at the whoop that came from her sole customer. She put the frozen skinny fries and onion rings into the fryer and looked at the two fat frozen quarter pound Findus burgers in her hand.
‘Handmade, my arse’ she laughed, and surprising even herself, she spat on them. It wasn’t a sound rather than her sixth sense that made her turn round to see the only customer left watching her from the doorway. The look on his face as he entered the kitchen ran chills through her colder than the burgers he had just watched her spit on.
Chapter 38
I am looking pretty cool as I swagger out of the tube station, even if I say so myself. My hair is styled to be unruly, bleached in such a way as to have roots in. I have a see through white Gautier shirt under my vintage sheepskin jacket, and I finally have the Dexter Wong trousers I’ve always wanted that combine perfectly with my Patrick Cox shoes. CHECK THIS SHIT OUT.
I’m headed for a night clubbing at “Home”, a suitably flash new superclub. I’ll be going there via a new bar, I have a little sealable bag with some E’s in (none taken yet), and little sealable bag with some very good cocaine in (some snorted); a wedge of cash in my pockets and a few beers inside me. Life is pretty fantastic right now. There are going to be several couples there tonight, all with a similar clubbing interest. There are also several girls there tonight, all of whom are aware I’m single, all of whom are also single and we all know who wants who and who doesn’t. Some of whom had had each other before, and some of those were girls with girls and some were girls with me.
It’s safe to say that it is BOUND to be a good night. Sometimes, it feels like a sexual revolution has started, and ’98 is pretty damn filthy. I feel the butterflies in my belly and the twitch of my cock at the thought of getting some action. Not that I go without. For a late starter, I do
pretty well now. In fact, some of my less confident (or greedy) friends have had fewer girls in a lifetime than I have in a week. I like that on my sexual CV.
Don’t get me wrong though, I always maintain that I am a very honest and respecting player. I play, I respect, I remain friends. It’s the 90s and everyone knows what’s what. Everyone wants to fuck each other, and some actually capitalise on that. Male and female.
The couples don’t go without either. Many pairs within my group of friends have added an extra one or two people to theirs beds on occasion. It’s awesome. I’d heard of a glamorous outfit that had started up orgies for beautiful people in and around London. You applied with pictures and had to be of a certain age, as well as slim and good looking. None of those seedy do’s with fat, old, ugly people.
It was certainly something I wanted to try. But for now, it was booze, drugs, clubbing and maybe my own little orgy of beautiful people. That’ll do nicely I thought, smiling.
Even while full of thoughts of fucking, dancing, taking drugs and letting off steam; I still manage to maintain awareness of all that is around me. People approaching me, people to the side, and people I am overtaking with my super-fast swagger. My senses are keener even more than usual, the high quality of the coke makes me feel like I’m a machine. A slick and fast moving machine. I imagine I’m in a fast moving video game, my sole task to avoid knocking into anyone.
I’m being aware, and minding my manners even when on a pavement; I swerve in and out, I bob and I weave and avoid contact with all. Slick, sleek. No bumping, no jarring; I am a symphony of spatial awareness and life is FUCKING GOOD. Let’s have it!
I smile here and I throw a grin there, the Londoners always finding it strange when I don’t treat them like shit. I’ve never understood that, we‘re all human. Sure, some humans are significantly shitter than others, but I like to treat fellow man with equal respect until they give me due reason to do otherwise.
So I’m smiling. This is really going to be a great night, I can feel it in my bones. Work is good, giving that deep seated inner glow that you get when you know you’re doing it right. The love life is better than ever. I love my friends and am a lucky man.
I start to sing Lucky Man by Verve to the various passers-by, none of whom know how to react. That’s London for you. Anyone smiling or singing is a nutter.
My rendition of the chorus is interrupted by the persistent tone coming from my inside pocket. I reach in, pull out my Nokia 5110
It’s Richard. Buddy of many years, who’ll be waiting at the bar with his stunning fiancé, Hannah. They’re always even earlier than me.
‘Hallo, mate!’ I can tell he’s already a few drinks in.
‘Hi Rich. Excited much?’
‘Hell yeah. How long are you going to be? Me and Han are on our own at the moment, and you have all the goodies.’
‘So you don’t actually wanna see me, you just want what I’ve got. I getcha’.
‘Yep’ We laugh. I hear Hannah laughing the other end of the phone, as well.
‘I’ll be there in less than ten minutes.’ I say looking at my watch. It is exactly ten minutes to the time we said we’d meet.
‘Of course you will’ he chuckles, ‘you’ll be dead on time’
‘BYYYEEE’ I hang up on him, and smile. Butterflies for the night ahead continue to flutter.
As I stride along purposely, sliding the phone back into my pocket, I notice a man and woman ahead, weaving all over the path, oblivious to all around them. They’re sauntering but both concentrating on something that they are doing between them, huddled over. As I approach, slowing down slightly to allow for their haphazard movements, I can make out that one of them is holding a bottle of wine and one is trying to uncork it. While they’re walking on a busy path! Dicks.
They knock into one oncoming person, and fail to even acknowledge their faux pas. The guy they bumped into grumbles “wankers” as he reaches me and sees that I’ve witnessed the pedestrian discrepancy. I shake my head in a ‘some people, eh?’ gesture, he raises his eyebrows and then we’ve passed each other. I however, am still to reach these two weaving to the left and right in front of me, wrestling over their imprisoned beverage. A large group are approaching at the perfect time for me to overtake, so I have to hang back directly behind the couple, mirroring their movements as the group flow around them and now me in a current of oncoming bodies.
‘Cat, hold it shtill’ the man is slurring, one hand on the neck of the bottle and one on the part of the corkscrew you pull. He is very obviously quite pissed for such an early hour.
‘I aaaaam, Russ’ the equally drunk other member of our slow moving island of three whines back, staggering and still managing to maintain her purchase on the wine bottle. I notice with foreboding that it’s red wine.
‘Scuse, me, people’ I say in a jolly tone, directly behind them, still unable to weave past without directly barging into a member of the oncoming tide of people. There are a lot of them. I notice the roof of a luxury coach over their heads and parked just down the street, slightly round the corner where the road I’m on joins another. This would explain the sudden surge.
I see that on that corner is the entrance to some public gardens, the type you get in the Russell Squares and Soho Squares of London. A little oasis of green amongst the architecture and hustle and bustle. A shortcut for me, perhaps. Possibly if I time it right, I can nip into that entrance to the left of this drunken pair and out another exit from the park (they always have at least four), bypassing everyone and be on my way.
‘GIVE IT HERE, CAT’
‘NO, GIVE ME THE CORKSHCREW’
Slurring shouting, gaining in volume. Good natured tousling increasing in its physicality.
‘Mind out, people…’scuse me…’
Oncoming people, expectant faces, smiles, laughter, chatter, clouds of smoke.
I try to bob to the left as the gardens entrance is a few feet ahead, just as they lose their balance in the struggle and fall into me. We all manage to fall against a wall in a mess of limbs, vertically roll a few further feet along the bricks, still upright and then through the entrance to the park.
As they part, my body acting as a wedge between them as we fall to the ground, the man goes one way with the corkscrew and the cork, the woman the other way with the bottle. There is a POP, normally such a welcome noise, and sound full of promise that this time fills me with dread. We land in a pile of breath and drunken exclamation, of expletives and cries of surprise. I feel the red wine glugging out of its bottle, over my face, my body, my new expensive clothes as I lay trapped, temporarily under this fucking ridiculously drunken couple and their bottle that had finally opened.
FOR FUCKS SAKE!!……and then nothing.
Chapter 39
I reverse park into the space in the car park, clearly showing off by doing it fast and doing it well. It’s my recently acquired new shape Golf GTi in the brightest blue. Six gears, and fast as hell. It’s a step up and a step forward, and I can finally get some speed up. I’ve been showing off my driving skills. I’m not a blinkered machismo man that thinks that’s the be all and end all of impressing girls, but I know it doesn’t work against me in the ‘whole package’ kind of way.
I could have got a bigger car in a few weeks, as once the millennium bug thing was done and dusted, and my clients happy; I’d be seeing a small fortune in bonuses and commissions. But I wanted it.
The reversing manoeuvre also allowed me the opportunity to put my arm around the girl sat for the first time in the passenger seat as I look over my shoulder and through the rear window. I’d do this anyway, if alone, but the tactility is just the start of breaking down boundaries that should ultimately lead to the bedroom.
Her name is Elektra (I kid you not), she is tall, has legs that go on forever, is mixed race and hot as hell. What she’s wearing isn’t ideal for the cinema, but it suggests that she’s having the same thoughts as me. As I manoeuvre the car into the space, my face is
close to hers and I smell her sweet perfume and her clean hair. She moves slightly closer with a smile at the corners of her mouth, and you can feel the electricity spark between us. Unsaid words fill the air as we lock eyes.
We had yet to kiss, having only met through friends, but we both knew there was something there. I know the mutual friends had told her about me and me about her. She had had a shitty and violent boyfriend and had been getting over him for some time. My friends knew I would be nice to her whatever happened, and also knew that she was my perfect type.
The thing is, I know I could kiss her now, but I want to build the sexual tension. I feel giddy as I brush her bare leg as I move back round to face the front, purposely keeping my hand at leg level. Long, long, minidressed leg level. I feel myself beginning to get hard.
I look at her. She looks deeply into my eyes. We smile. We know. I release a slow shakey breath. Never hide when you’re horny.
Manners Cost Everything (Manners Trilogy Book 1) Page 11
