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I’ve never gobbled my dinner as fast as I did that night. I raced through my main course and grunted best I could through April’s bitch fest about life, the universe and almost everyone in it. Typically she picked that one night as the only night in the history of time that she decided to order dessert. I swear it was just to piss me off, and it worked. I compulsively checked my phone, agitated as the clock made its way towards eleven and she still picked aimlessly at her raspberry torte.
It took Steve an age to reply to my text message, but as April finally abandoned her fork, he came through for me. It put a big old smile on my face, the only one of the evening.
“Who’s that?” April sneered as I fired off a reply. “Your chatline slut?”
“You just can’t resist a dig, can you?”
“Just making conversation.”
“I’m just about done with your conversation, April.”
Finally, I called for the bill.
We waited in the bar for our regular driver to arrive. Clancy himself came out to bid us goodbye, and I hovered throughout all the niceties, gushing about how marvellous an evening we’d had. I couldn’t wait to shove April in the backseat, piling in after her and directing the driver back home. Her face was a picture as I got him to pull up around the next corner. Steve’s battered old jeep was already waiting. He’d moved quick.
“Where the hell are you going?” April seethed. “What if someone sees you?”
“Don’t give a shit. I’m going out with Steve.”
“And what about me?!”
I slipped out into the night, taking one big gulp of freedom.
“Goodnight, April. Don’t wait up.”
She pulled the door closed after me, scowling through the window.
Then she gave me the finger.
There was one burlesque night at a sex club in central London on a chilly Thursday evening. Only one. Soho.
Steve was chuckling to himself as I let myself in the passenger side.
“That bitch doesn’t get any bloody nicer, does she?”
“No fear of that.” I peered into the backseat. “Did you bring the stuff?”
He sighed, dragging forward a carrier bag. “Are you gonna tell me what the hell’s going on?”
I checked out the contents, a scruffy old pair of jeans and a dark t-shirt, a cap too. My jacket was hard to shrug off in the car, but I managed it anyway, throwing it onto the backseat without a damn for wrecking it. My trousers were harder, and Steve pissed himself all the while I wriggled out of them.
“Jesus Christ, mate, this is like the bloody Twilight Zone. Good job Kim left me, fuck knows how I’d explain this shit.”
The jeans were loose but they’d do, the t-shirt too. “I need you to take me to Soho. There’s a club there, Explicit.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You’re going to a sex club dressed like that?”
“Don’t be stupid. Lucy’s in there, I just want to check it out.”
“You mean stalk her?”
“It’s not stalking.”
“Whatever you say, mate.”
He set off without argument, dependable as rock, getting me closer to the club than parking restrictions allowed and cutting the engine. We sat in silence, eyes on the brown wooden doors along the street. That had to be Club Explicit. I checked the clock. Midnight.
“Now what?” Steve asked, settling back into the seat. “We just wait here until what? Some girl comes out that you think might be her?”
