We managed to break through the door security at INK about six months ago when a few well-known clients gave the doorman the nod and let them know we were allowed into the elite crowd. Funny how a few well-baked cakes can get you accepted into a world of power and snobbery. I’ve avoided going as much as possible because of the rather unnerving people in there. However, since then the business has gone through the roof and I’ve been persuaded, against my better judgement, that it’s detrimental to Scott’s for me not to be seen out and about. No matter how much I find it uncomfortable, I can’t deny that my sister can work a room like a pro and her brilliance at schmoozing the clients has been exactly what we needed. Unfortunately, it appears that people actually want to know who cooks their food as well as who organises it.
It’s only a matter of time before she finds those elusive new clients we need to upscale, and unfortunately she does need to be in INK to do it. Anyone who’s anyone is constantly there. The place is owned by one of the hottest young entrepreneurs London has to offer and most of his friends and associates are frequently there in their private booths and VIP areas, drinking the best that money can buy and eating the finest food the top French chef has to offer. Yes, INK is definitely the cool place to be and it makes me feel dreadful. Not that I have any problem with wealth in itself. In fact, I’ve quite enjoyed spending my money since we’ve started to make a good living, but I’m just not a natural at it as so many others are. They’ve grown up with it or are married to it or just have it, but with it seems to come a confidence that I just don’t possess, and try as I might, I just can’t seem to find it.
I look at Belle as we make our way through the entrance foyer of our building, heading towards the lift.
“Do you think that Mr. Avery will be there tonight?” I ask casually as I step in.
“Don’t know, don’t care.” She’s short with me. I know why.
“When will you accept that you like him?” I reply with a grin.
“I do not date or like spiky haired, tattooed Neanderthals.”
“Even when they‘re incredibly charming?”
“Especially when they’re charming, not that he is. He’s an arrogant pig that believes he’s special because he invented some software and made some money,” Belle scoffs as she stabs at the lift buttons.
“It wasn’t just some software, as you well know.” I chuckle.
“Okay, some really very fucking cool software, but he’s still a pig and I dislike him immensely.”
“Right, any reason you’re getting so wound up then?”
“Shut up, little sister. You know nothing. Now get in that apartment so we can sort your shit out and go get drunk.”
I smile to myself as I push the door to our apartment open. This is going to be a long night and an even longer day tomorrow. Dig deep, Beth. Dig deep. Belle immediately launches herself at one of the three bottles of white wine that have been chilling in the fridge, and I begin to wonder if this evening has been planned a little longer than the last minute decision to go out for a drink would suggest. Neither of us are huge drinkers and we only ever have a few glasses in the house before going out. Normal procedure is to then get roaring drunk as soon as possible. This is a usually a delicate affair for Belle as she makes her way through many drinks and becomes steadily more inebriated with an elegance I can only dream of. For me, it tends to be a different time scale of events entirely, going from stone cold sober to really, earth spinningly drunk within a few hours. The last big night out resulted in me being lifted into the cab from the floor by midnight and stopping twice on the trip back to the apartment to relieve my stomach of its entire contents. A horrendous hangover occurred the next day, resulting in a promise to never touch the damn stuff again, while Belle seemed to wake up the next morning with a beautiful smile and a craving for the largest cooked breakfast I’ve ever seen.
That is not going to happen again this evening. It’s a very important wedding tomorrow that I will get perfectly right. Unfortunately, as I watch Belle down the first glass of wine before she heads for the shower, it occurs to me that maybe my sister doesn’t have the same commitment to tomorrow’s job as I do.
“Get your arse into my room and dig out something clingy and short,” Belle shouts on the way to the bathroom. “And don’t choose the backless black one ‘cause that’s mine tonight.”
I gingerly pick up the overly full wine glass that has been poured and mumble various expletives to myself while walking up the hall.
Belle’s wardrobe is something to behold - a long, sleek, sliding door affair that runs the entire length of her bedroom, neatly stacked with everything a girl could need. Unlike my own that mostly comprises of jeans and shirts. Anything elegant is arranged in the one wardrobe I hardly ever open. If I ever want to learn how to dress, I only need to look at my sister. From her flamboyant, thrown together look to a business suit, Belle always looks fabulous and radiates a sense of style that I don’t have a clue about.
Sliding the doors open, the first things I see are the shoes - rows and rows of them. Belle picks her clothes depending on which shoes she likes that morning. I’m pretty sure that’s as good a place to start as any so I start to peruse the selection. I’m lucky enough to be about the same shoe and dress size as my sister, albeit about three inches shorter at only five foot seven.
A striking pair of red, very high-heeled, patent shoes gleam at me from the corner. The last evening out I had with that type of heel went drastically wrong, with me flying down the stairs at an awards ceremony and looking like a complete idiot. I also managed to throw my entire glass of champagne over the chairman’s wife with horrific results to the lady’s hair.
“So are you going to continue to stare at them or do you think you might have a go at picking them up?” Belle asks, throwing her towel on the bed behind me.
“Oh, I didn’t see you there,” I say with a shrug as I glance at the shoes again.
“Obviously not, otherwise you would have been looking at the very sad, black, flat pumps on the other side of the wardrobe,” Belle affirms casually.
“I don’t think I’ll manage to walk, drink and dance in them. You do remember the last time I wore heels that high?”
“Yes, dear sister, I do. But with practice comes perfection. You just need a few more drinks and you’ll forget all about them.”
“But…” I notice my sister’s glare. “Okay then.” There really is no messing with Belle this evening, it seems.
“So what we need now is a fantastic little something, maybe with some tassles.” Tassles? Christ. Belle runs her fingers through the dress selection until she pulls out a short red dress with a fringed hem that’s longer at the back than the front. It has a modest neckline and is cut off the shoulder. I shudder at the thought. She looks pleased as punch at her choice.
“Umm, I think that might be a bit too much,” I protest on completely wasted ears.
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s Friday night and we’re going to the hottest club in London. You wouldn’t want to look out of place, would you?” she retorts. “God knows… You might even find an attractive man to entertain you.” I sigh in response, wishing she would just give up on this obsession she has.
“I always feel out of place, Belle. You know that, and dressing me up like that is not going to help me blend in.”
“I don’t want you to blend in, Beth. I want you to stand out. It really is time you started to believe in yourself a little more. You are utterly gorgeous with a body to die for and a beautiful mind. You know how hard I have to work at my figure. You don’t even have to try.” She’s right.
I’ve been lucky enough to inherit my grandmother’s genes, which results in very long legs, a petite but curvy figure and perky breasts that happily just stay just where they should. My long reddy, orangey, browny, whatever you want to call it, hair is also a result of our grandmother’s family. As are the brown heart shaped eyes. I know I’m not unattractive, but for some reason I’ve never
felt comfortable in my own skin. My sister, whose hair and eye colour are about the same, has inherited our paternal family’s height and weight, which results in her having to work hard to keep her weight down. Three nights a week she will be found at the gym and she eats very healthily, unlike me. I eat nothing but utter rubbish and yet the weight stays off. Thank God.
“Okay, let’s do this then,” I reply, basically to placate my sister and avoid the ensuing argument that’s surely coming if I deny her wishes. She stares in amazement and drinks some more wine.
“Well, fuck me,” she says, her eyebrows shooting upwards at the thought of a complicit sister. “Green light for everything then?”
“Whatever, just get on with it.” I’m seriously going to regret this, and oh shit, she’s reaching for the curling tongs. I back away slightly at her advance.
“Just drink the damn wine, Beth.” Right.
By the time we have gotten ourselves together and filled our handbags, it is indeed a quarter to seven. Belle calls a taxi and we head down to the foyer to wait. Even I have to admit that my sister has done an amazing job on me. My hair is piled high in a messy up do and the outfit looks fantastic. Even the make-up, which has been over applied as far as I’m concerned, looks wonderful - smoky eyes and a sultry red brown gloss lipstick. I feel beautiful, and as long as I don’t have to walk too fast or talk to anyone who unnerves me, I feel like tonight might be a good night.
Belle’s joy at going out is infectious and when she’s like this, I always feel her confidence rubbing off on me. She’s right, a few drinks and a killer outfit later and I do feel like I’m ready to paint the town a vivid shade of her shoes, which are already killing me, regardless of how fantastic they look.
We saunter arm in arm to the revolving door and then to the taxi. I immediately trip over the lip of the carpet and almost fall to my knees. Thankfully Belle grabs my arm and hauls me back up.
“For God’s sake Beth, watch what you’re doing,” she scolds.
“What? It’s your fault for putting me in these things. Jesus, I told you they were too high,” I giggle in reply, both of us bursting into laughter to the point where the tears begin to leak.
“Nooo... I did not spend thirty minutes on that look to get it all messed up again,” Belle says, wiping the tears from my eyes.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t ever say sorry for making me laugh, you idiot. Just remember to stay upright tonight. If you can’t, sit your fabulous arse down. Hopefully nothing can go wrong then. I’m not sure I can be there all the time to catch you, although you know I’ll try my hardest,” she responds with another infectious cackle of laughter.
“You’ve never let me down yet. Well, apart from that time at-”
“Yep, you’re right.”
“And that time at-”
“Yep there too.”
“Also there was that incident at-”
“Okay, okay, so I’m a bit shit sometimes, but I do try,” she says, smiling and pushing me at the taxi.
“I know. I promise I’ll try not to be so clumsy tonight.”
We lift our heads, take a deep breath and open the taxi door. Teresa is waiting and so is the exclusive INK.
~
As the taxi rounds the corner that will take us to the club, I feel my anxiety levels starting to rise again. The alcohol has started to wear off on the thirty minute drive because the London traffic has been especially heavy this evening. Belle has found out, via her mobile, that some major celebrity is apparently at a film opening and this has caused most of London to descend on the middle of town to try and get a glimpse of the elusive film star. I couldn’t care less. I just need another drink and fast. Hopefully it will make this feeling of deflation disappear.
The taxi pulls to a stop outside the understated white building and I glance nervously at it, anxiety shooting through every pore at the very thought of the people inside. The only colour is the elaborately written INK in black over the door and three lights over that. The red carpet and ropes barricading the entrance are surrounded by three normal looking men in black tuxedos - the doormen. Their size isn’t to be confused with their strength. I saw them handle some unwelcome members of the public just a few weeks ago. The ambulance arrived to pick up the nine men in under ten minutes. I’ve never seen people fight with such precision and viciousness. It was both arousing and stimulating, and I completely surprised myself with the effect it had on me as I breathily watched the whole thing unfold in front of me.
Is stare at the roped off entrances and think about what that sensation was. Something about the brutality made me feel, well, remarkably horny for some unknown reason. I spent several long moments trying to process the feeling at the time, but there wasn’t an answer so I just accepted I might well be a little perverted or something equally odd. I mean, nobody else gets horny at physical violence, do they? Okay, some probably do, but none that I’ve ever met. Actually, I’m disgusted by violence most of the time, so confused wasn’t enough of a word for my feelings regarding the situation.
Belle pays the driver and pushes open the door.
“You ready?” she asks.
“As I’ll ever be. Get me in there quick so I can get a drink, and don’t leave me until we’ve found Teresa.” Belle chuckles and sorts out her dress, although why she’s bothering I have no idea. She looks fantastic as usual.
“You’ll be fine, darling. You look amazing. Just have some fun and loosen up. Failing that, get pissed and dance your sexy little arse off.”
The entrance foyer lighting is dimmed low and screams indulgence. The black, opulent granite floor and plush lounge areas for meeting guests feel warm and relaxing, immediately letting you know you’ve arrived in first class. People are milling around, talking to each other while they check in their coats, and there’s an overwhelming feeling of quality in the clothes and surroundings. The soulful, sensual music playing in the background gives a feeling of desire and comfort as the tell-tale swishing of dresses lulls you into a slightly hedonistic tranquillity. Three sets of double doors lead off from the foyer, one to the lounge, one to the very upmarket restaurant and the last to the bar and club. If you hadn’t been here before, you wouldn’t know where to go next. None of the doors are labelled - yet another sign of the exclusivity of the place. You can tell who the longstanding members are by the way they don’t even check where they’re going. They just seem to know the feel of the place as they wander around and open doors without looking.
“Straight through?” Belle asks.
“Definitely,” is my reply, anxiously scanning around. There is nothing I worry about more than having to make polite conversation with people I don’t know. The quicker I can get lost in the music the better.
The moment we enter the dark tunnel that leads to the bar, the music kicks in. While we continue to walk it grows louder. Bassy dance music ripples along, not the heavy beats of later in the evening but enough to get you in the mood for a great night. The walls are all white and heavily decorated. The owner got the three best tattoo artists in Europe to design the entire wall space of the building. The intricate designs climb up the wall and over the ceiling, intermingling with each other and creating a warm sexy feeling, revealing the inner woman within, letting you become what you might want to be for the night and also somehow calming your mind to free itself of the day behind you. It really is very clever.
As Belle sashays toward the glass door in front of her, it glides open, disappearing into the wall and reveals the main bar and dance area. The heat and sound hit us first. Warm air rushes against my skin and music fills my ears. The screams of laughter and clinking glasses assault my senses and
I can’t help but smile. The ambiance is exactly what it should be, relaxed and inviting with a sensuous, raw appeal. If it wasn’t bloody full of so many daunting people, it would be perfect.
“Don’t let yourself be intimidated by anyone, little sister. You deserve to be here. You’ve made it on your o
wn. Stand tall,” Belle says. I smile warmly at her. She always knows the right thing to say, always seems to understand how I’m feeling.
“Come on, honey. Let’s get some mojitos and start having some fun.”
We both cackle like two old women as we wander across to the bar area. I just can’t help but move my feet to the beat of the bass line as the music starts to have its resonating effect. Closing my eyes and letting the rhythm take me for a few seconds, I almost forget where I am for a moment. The bar is crammed full of all the beautiful people, watching me, waiting for me to make a mistake and fall flat on my face. I snap my eyes back open to notice all the trendy London social elite not bothering to take a second glance and wonder why I ever thought they would. I really don’t fit in at all. Stupid Beth.
“Just, wow,” a divine looking Teresa says as she approaches from the high stools. Her short, dark, cropped hair looks every bit on trend and she’s wearing a green dress that barely covers anything.
“I know. Doesn’t she look fabulous?” replies Belle with a grin.
“Beth, good god where did you get those eyes from and that dress? My lord, the men are dribbling. We’ll have to scoop up the saliva with a spade,” Teresa says with a giggle as she ruffles the bottom of my too short dress and blows a kiss.
“Don’t be so ridiculous. I know I look okay but I think you’re pushing it a bit far,” I reply, lowering my head and feeling fully embarrassed.
“Beth, darling, you have no idea, do you? You are by far the sexiest bit of red stuff that has entered the building this evening. Those legs simply go on forever,” Teresa replies with a smile.
“Well if you’re going to continue your flattery debacle then I think a big drink is in order.”
“Fantastic idea. Gin slings all round,” she exclaims, flouncing off through the bar, men actually drooling after her.
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