Look At Me Now

by Simone Goodman

  We’re on our second bottle of bubbly when Harry arrives at The Tricycle Club.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ he says, stopping behind my chair. Craning my neck, I check over my shoulder and catch his eye. Harry leans down and kisses my cheek. My tummy flips.

  I’m tipsy – but it’s something more. The feeling inside my tummy is the opposite to how I felt after the awful dream. Harry showers more attention over me, in particular. He motions for a waiter to bring us more champagne.

  ‘Harry, you’ll get us drunk,’ Poppy giggles.

  ‘It’s good to relax every now and then,’ he says. ‘It’s my night off.’

  From my awkward angle, I see he’s gelled his hair and his black shirt is unbuttoned, revealing a tight, white T-shirt underneath. I turn my head and face the table. Behind me, Harry whispers in my ear, ‘You’re working that outfit, don’t worry.’ I tell him something along the lines of ‘having it’ and ‘flaunting it.’ Harry laughs delightedly and stays put right where he is. Faith is watching us intently.

  The club, both inside and outside the roped-off area, is filling up. The music is warming up too, but not too loud yet.

  As he reaches forward for a glass of champagne, Harry grazes my shoulder with his chin. A flood of pheromones. My God, he smells amazing. For a fleeting moment, his breath is warm in my ear. Light-headed, and not just from the champagne, I take a deep breath in. When Harry’s fingers brush lightly over mine, my eyes close momentarily. I’m giddy. Aflutter in my own world. Falling into my thoughts until, suddenly, I’m toppling off my chair – landing smack-bam on my ridiculously pink-ruffled behind, having experienced what can only be described as something close to a fully clothed orgasm. Thump.

  ‘Gracie, are you okay?’ Faith is the first over to pick me up and set me back down on my chair.

  Coming around, I see Harry is no longer behind me – he’s standing several feet away, flanked by two Barbie-doll blondes, both of them dressed identically in high white leather boots and silver mini-dresses. The girls stare wide-eyed at me. Harry appears startled. I’m startled. How did he get all the way over there, with them, while I was very much over here… with him?

  ‘That’s enough bubbly for you,’ Faith laughs, now she’s confirmed I’m not injured. Not physically, anyway. ‘Think you can stay seated while we finish these introductions?’

  ‘Sorry. Yes. I don’t know quite what happened there.’

  Harry gives me an intense look, of concern, if I had to guess. Confused by what’s just happened, I avert my eyes.

  The girls look familiar, I think from Harry’s wall.

  ‘I’m Bip,’ says the taller of them.

  ‘I’m Ban.’

  ‘I’m, um, Gracie,’ I say, so embarrassed. ‘Hello.’

  Faith returns to her seat.

  I check my watch. It’s just gone 10 p.m. I haven't eaten anything since lunch time. We didn’t bother with dinner. I’m really rather drunk.

  ‘You’re the star of the new show Harry’s working on,’ Bip, I think she said her name is, says.

  ‘We watched you on the television the other night.’ And Ban?

  I wonder if they were with Harry when they watched the show. And why, during our many conversations over the past few months, Harry has never mentioned them to me.

  Now I pause to think, I still know so little about him. He knows so little about me.

  ‘I don’t know about star,’ I reply.

  ‘We wish we could do what you do.’

  ‘You mean, you wish you could cook?’

  ‘Ha.’

  ‘Yes, that too.’

  They giggle as one.

  ‘The girls are also on my books,’ Harry says. He’s smiling at them protectively.

  Where moments ago, I’d been aflutter, I’m smarting.

  ‘Harry, you take such good care of us,’ says one of them – I’ve already forgotten who is who.

  ‘As I do all my special clients,’ Harry says, looking at me.

  What does he mean by this?

  ‘It’s lovely to meet you both,’ I say, deliberately not answering him. I’ve had too much champagne to interpret his mixed messages – and maybe they’re not mixed. Maybe Harry is simply a big fat flirt with everyone he meets, and I’m nobody special to him at all. My mother, me, these glamour girls in tiny dresses – perhaps Harry simply cannot help himself?

  ‘Please, join us,’ I say, most graciously.

  The girls pile one on top of the other’s lap on the only spare chair. Harry disappears swiftly under the pretext of finding another for himself. He is soon schmoozing several tables away with other people, where there are spare chairs aplenty.

  ‘So, Bip?’

  ‘No, I’m Ban.’ Both girls giggle. ‘She’s Bip.’

  The girl on the seat squeezes the waist of the girl on her lap. Their dresses are so mini, I’m sure if I squinted, I’d see panties. Assuming, that is, they’re wearing any. Their boobs are enormous, and enormously upright. I bet they look awful without make-up.

  ‘Don’t worry, everyone confuses us.’

  ‘We look so alike.’

  ‘Are you twins?’ I ask.

  ‘Oh, no.’

  ‘Sisters.’

  ‘Half-sisters.’

  ‘But the best of friends.’

  ‘You look like Barbie twins,’ I say.

  Faith kicks me under the table. The girls giggle.

  ‘That’s cute.’

  ‘I like it too.’

  ‘I wish we were twins,’ they carry on.

  The back and forth is making me giddy again. Harry hasn’t returned. I can’t see him any longer. I decide to find out more.

  ‘You know Harry well?’ I ask. Faith raises an eyebrow.

  ‘Well, we’ve never lived together.’

  ‘But we’ve known him forever.’

  ‘So I’d say we know him very well.’

  ‘I’d say Harry knows us even better.’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘Yes. For sure.’

  The girls smile sweetly at me. I nearly bite my tongue off. Who are they? Is Harry dating the pair of them? One of them? Are they just friends? I almost don’t want to know. I press on regardless.

  ‘And Harry is also your agent. You’re obviously… models?’

  ‘Oh, yes, we are. Thank you.’

  ‘And you spend a lot of time together, with Harry?’.

  I refuse to catch her eye, but without looking, I feel Faith’s eyes boring into me.

  Poppy grins at us all. The girls start up again. ‘Harry is very busy with his agency.’

  ‘But we spend a lot of time at his place.’

  ‘You should join us sometime, Gracie.’

  My imagination runs wild!

  ‘Well, um, yes, that would be lovely,’ I say.

  Beginning to feel nauseas, in need of fresh air, or at least a walk around, I politely excuse myself.

  Standing up, I’m drunker than I thought I was. On top of which, Faith’s ankle boots are less supportive than I’m used to walking in. One dainty step in front of the other, I navigate my way out of the VIP area and up the stairs to another bar. The music is quieter up here and people are chatting in cosy clusters. A photographer works her way around the room, camera at the ready.

  A slender bald man grabs my waist. ‘Having a good time?’ he slurs.

  ‘Ah, mm.’ The photographer squeezes her way in front of us. ‘A lovely time, thank you,’ I say. She steadies her lens. The man squeezes my waist and grins. I smile. The flash momentarily blinds me.

  ‘Wonderful! Bye!’ He wanders off to a group of young ladies.

  I stand, grinning like a Billy-no-mates, for as long as I can bear it. But with nobody up here to talk to, feeling conspicuous, I escape quickly back down the stairs. The girls are still at our table. Harry is still nowhere to be seen. At the last second, I veer away from the VIP entry and towards the dance floor.

  Approaching the lit-up platform, I spot the bouncer who checked
us in earlier. I remember Poppy asking and he’d said his name is Duncan. As wide as he is tall, Duncan has pockmarked skin and a flat, shaved head. The music is so loud over here, I have to shout, and even then, Duncan lends me his ear. I ask how long he’s worked here. He reminds me it’s the opening night, which makes me laugh. I mosey on into the thick of the dance floor where I’m stopped by a good-looking girl, about my build.

  ‘Oh my gosh, excuse me,’ she says. ‘Sorry to pester you – you must get this all the time. Are you Gracie, from the new show on SC6? You look so much like her!’

  ‘That’s me,’ I say, a little cheesily. It feels weird, and a bit wonderful, being recognised. Apart from the occasional housewife in Sainsbury’s, it never happened to me in the days of Gracie Porter’s Gourmet Get-Together. ‘What’s your name? I love your dress!’

  The girl tells me her name is Macy. Her dress is black, strappy and shows off her curvy figure. When I ask why she’s here tonight, Macy says her friend is seeing one of the barmen and he put them on the guest list, but not as VIPs. I tell her it’s better out here anyway. Macy introduces me to her friends, who seem as nice as she is. After we’ve all danced together for a little while, I’m invited to join the group for a drink at their table across the room.

  I glance over at our VIP area. No change to the seating arrangement, and Faith and Poppy don’t seem especially bothered I’ve not returned – Faith doesn’t like to dance and she’s used to me, when I’m drunk, wandering off to make new friends who do.

  In any event, there’s nobody over there looking about and worrying where I’ve got to.

  ‘Macy, I’d be delighted,’ I say.

  Several cocktails later – called ‘Dirty Biker’, I’ve no idea what went in the drinks but they were potent and went down smoothly – I excuse myself to head back to my friends.

  I’m more inebriated than when I left to sober myself up with a wander.

  On the other side of the ropes, the area is crammed full – and if I’m not mistaken, with some properly famous people. Pretty sure I see Stormzy at the bar.

  Whether it’s the booze – or the attention my hefty cleavage attracted out there on the dance floor – I’m feeling bold enough to want to follow up with Harry about our earlier… whatever it was. At the very least, I’d like to know what the devil he was playing at. Striding towards our table – despite the wobbly ankle boots, I’m pretty sure I stride – it’s a wasted effort. When I navigate my way through the crowd, only Faith and Poppy are sitting here.

  ‘Where’s Harry?’ I ask. My words come out more slurry than they started inside my head.

  ‘Gone,’ Faith replies, not slurring at all.

  I look around. ‘What about Bin and Bap?’

  ‘You mean Bip and Ban? I think they left too.’

  ‘With Harry?’

  Faith doesn’t answer.

  ‘Yes, my angel,’ Poppy says. ‘They left with Harry. Did you have fun dancing?’

  My disappointment that Harry has left with Bin and Bap – Bin and Bip – Bip and whoever he was with – surely shows on my face. ‘Um, yes. I met some nice girls.’

  ‘Yes, Faith went and checked on you.’

  ‘Darling, do you want some water?’ Faith asks me.

  I tell Faith I want a cigarette.

  ‘You can’t smoke in here.’

  ‘I’m going to the bathroom.’

  ‘You can’t smoke in there either.’

  Is Faith annoyed with me? ‘I’m going to pee. Back in a bit.’

  I head to the Ladies’. Inside, I’m surprised to see the girls are in here. As in the twins, but not really twins, are here in the loos, and not gone with Harry at all.

  ‘Gracie,’ they exclaim, inexplicably pleased to see me. ‘We thought you’d left!’

  ‘Me too,’ I say, stumbling on these heeled boots. I only narrowly grab onto a washbasin to save myself from falling. ‘I mean, I thought you’d left. And, er, Harry?’

  ‘Only Harry left.’ They smile gorgeously. ‘We’re still here.’

  ‘Yes. I see.’

  ‘He’ll be back later,’ says the shorter one.

  ‘He had a call from a client, he had to get something from his office. He’ll be back before midnight, he said.’

  I reacquaint myself with the pedestal, my head spinning with thoughts and also the alcohol.

  ‘Anyway, he wouldn’t leave for the night without saying goodbye to you, Gracie.’

  ‘Oh, no. Harry is always going on about you.’

  Two pairs of heavily made-up eyes focus on me. I make a major effort to focus back.

  ‘You mean, Harry is always talking about the show?’ I ask, trying to sound casual.

  At the washbasins, a girl who doesn’t recognise me – or perhaps she does – rolls her eyes.

  ‘That’s right,’ the girls agree eagerly.

  ‘Because Harry is my agent,’ I suggest.

  ‘He doesn’t go on about his other clients the way he does you.’

  Harry hasn’t mentioned the girls to me once.

  ‘Oh yes, Harry talks about you all the time.’

  ‘We think he’s quite infatuated…’

  ‘Yes!’

  It dawns on me that it’s scarcely their fault these girls are so porn-star-like attractive. They seem genuinely lovely.

  ‘I’m so drunk,’ I say.

  ‘Oh, do you fancy, a little, you know…’ Nodding towards an empty cubicle, the shorter girl pulls at her silver dress and slides her hand inside her bra. Her silicone breast bobs up and, for a split second, exposes a pink nipple. Before I embarrass myself and decline what I interpret as her offer of a quick fondle in the cubicles, she extracts a small paper wrap and whispers, ‘You know… for a line.’

  ‘Oh, a line,’ I gasp, hoping she didn’t notice me noticing her nipple. ‘Um, a line of what, exactly?’

  ‘Cocaine.’

  ‘We don’t do speed.’

  ‘Speed is for peasants.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I agree, having never tried either.

  The girls step inside the empty cubicle. One begins racking up white powder on the top of the cistern as the other stands guard at the door.

  ‘Do you want some, Gracie?’

  The girls beckon me to join them.

  I’m keen to hear more about Harry’s apparent infatuation with me.

  I’m very drunk, and rather intrigued.

  I’ve heard cocaine is sobering.

  ‘Girls, since you ask,’ I say, ‘I’d like to try.’

  19

  At first, nothing much happens. My nostrils tingle as I inhale. A chalky glob slips down the back of my throat. But that’s it. Intoxicated and incredibly nervous about what will happen after my first ever line of cocaine, I refuse to leave the cubicle. I’m roosted on the toilet seat. Bip and Ban are squeezed in, standing in front of me. Already, it’s like having double vision just looking at them. A few minutes later, it hits me: my inaugural line of cocaine. My body trembles. My brain, alert with all sorts of thoughts at once, feels like it’s about to explode – I thought I’d be feeling fabulous.

  The girls are being so kind. One of them holds my hand while the other strokes my hair.

  ‘When will it stop?’ I’m weepy. Tears aren’t flowing, because my nervous system is too busy with all the other goings on, but my eyes are watery and when I wipe them, my finger is black with mascara. ‘Look at me, I’m a mess.’

  ‘I can fix this up.’ Someone – I’ve no idea who is who and I’m not even trying right now – pats under my eyes with a bit of loo roll.

  I fear I might drop dead of a coronary. They’ll find my corpse in the toilet cubicle, covered in my vomit. That’s how it happens. Drugs, vomit, death. What the hell was I thinking, snorting a Class A substance in a club with people I barely know? Who do I think I am?

  And so we have spent the past five minutes or so, though it feels very much longer.

  Eventually, my convulsions subside. I detect a faint jit
tering if I put my finger between my teeth – the girls tell me to do this, to distract me. Finally, intense elation rushes in. ‘Oh my, I think it’s working,’ I say.

  The girls smile. I’m embarrassed I ruined the experience for them – I’m guessing they usually pass straight to flying high without the check-in to paranoia.

  Thankfully, the drug takes care of that niggling doubt post-haste.

  ‘Okay, shall we get out of here?’ I say.

  ‘Let’s tidy you up, Gracie.’

  We exit the cubicle.

  Other women have been coming in and out of the Ladies’ during this respite, and a few of them knocked on our door to ask us to hurry out, but on the whole, nobody has paid us much attention. With the number of other people entering cubicles in pairs, it seems to me half of the clubbers in this place are bang on the charlie tonight – I’m pleased Faith or Poppy didn’t spring us. Faith, in particular, won’t approve of the state of me.

  The girls take out some bits and bobs from their bags and attend to my face. Both of them having a go at once, I watch them closely, in the mirror. The final finish is more extreme than when Poppy attends to me – I have not one, but two sets of false eyelashes attached – but it’s not tatty. I look pretty. I match my frilly pink skirt! Best of all, I’m feeling fly.

  ‘Gracie, are you ready? Shall we go out and get a drink?’

  ‘Um. Okay.’ It sounds dubious to me – more alcohol on top of drugs.

  ‘A drink will soften the blow.’

  ‘All right. But I’m buying. For, you know… And these lashes.’

  The girls wrap their arms around mine and, one either side of me, we exit the bathroom. Back out in the club, we find a spot in a dark nook at the back of the dance floor, outside of the VIP area. There’s an extra little bar back here, and it isn’t crowded. I order us another bottle of Veuve.

  The girls are right: champagne goes down a treat. Within minutes, my physical rush calms, but I’m still feeling pretty damn great about… everything. The girls are feeling it too. I can tell.

  They tell me they loved me the most when they were watching Eat Me. That I have the most luscious hair and bluest eyes. I confess to having noticed the girls, in particular, among the crowd on Harry’s wall. They insist it’s so cute that I keep mixing them up.