It had been a while since Serena had gone out with the sole intention of getting totally smashed but the idea of it made her feel good. Yes, let me drink my sorrows away! Let me float absently down a river of martinis and wine until I hit a stump and need to go home. Historically this would take place around one o’clock but tonight Serena planned to go the distance. She’d stay up until the sun came up (just like V & C were always bragging) even if her eyelids fell through the toothpicks.
“So where to?” Serena asked.
The three of them were sprawled across leather upholstery in the back of Lincoln’s limousine. The male lead of Never, Ever Again had generously let the girls have temporary use of his transport, despite being the latest victim on the fairy list. Okay the only current victim. If Serena didn’t know better, she’d say Violet and Champagne were accepting bribes in exchange for not-so harsh treatment.
“Darling Serena, we might look like scrags but tonight we are off to Hotel Lux.”
“They have this incredible cocktail bar down there,” added Violet, who obviously missed the fact they weren’t in cocktail dress.
According to the Terrible Two, cocktail bars were THE latest place to hang out. Rich men went there with money to burn searching for the latest trophy wife to inundate with gifts. It was about being in the right place at the right time. Admittedly not all the men were as attractive as movie-stars (something one needed to deal with when they worked in the film industry) but that didn’t matter to Violet and Champagne.
“Put simply, these will be nice boys and nice boys you can wrap around your little finger.”
“Fine, okay, I’ll go and enjoy myself,” Serena replied. “But you need to stop the limo along the way. I need to get to a bank machine like pronto.”
“What in the world for?”
“I have just ten bucks on me,” Serena said, about to have a panic attack. She felt this way whenever her funds in her wallet ran low, as if she was one step away from begging on the streets. “Enough to buy me half a cocktail in the hotel probably.”
“Ten bucks!” Champagne squealed. “Why the hell do you carry around so much?”
“Excuse me?” Serena said. “I thought we were drinking tonight.”
“Of course we are but we don’t actually pay for our own drinks,” Champagne tsk tsked. “That’s the guy’s job to do.”
“But what if he doesn’t offer…” Serena started. In her head she could recollect a lot of bad experiences. The boy who wasn’t thirsty when she was but who gulped down a keg when it was her turn to pay. The boy who’d lost his wallet, lost his job, left his brains at home. That was most likely why Serena ended up falling in love with Markie: he wasn’t a scrooge. To the contrary, he was generous, he didn’t watch every cent like a hawk and he let Serena have a sister copy of his credit card.
“He will, trust me,” Champagne replied. “Look, give me your purse and you won’t have any problem.”
“No way,” Serena shrieked pinning the purse against her chest. “You’d have better luck getting me to shave off my hair.”
“Fine, be a baby then. Just remember the rules: when a man offers you a drink, say yes. Order the most expensive thing on the menu to make it obvious that you’re worth it. Smile a lot, listen intently and then get the hell out when you feel you’ve reaped all you can.”
“Been reading The Rules have you?”
“Screw The Rules,” Champagne retorted. “This isn’t about getting a man to marry you; it’s about getting him to spend his dough. And lots of it too.”
“Because our aim is…?” Serena liked to know what the purpose was, what was at stake here.
“Our aim is to have fun.”
“Preferably at the boys’ expense,” added Violet.
Serena could tell she was dealing with professionals here.
“Listen, how about I just tag along and watch how you experts work.” If she was lucky it wouldn’t be anything like the blind leading the blind.
“Yes, watch us and learn,” Champagne smiled, tapping the glass to signal the driver to stop. “Here we are, Hotel Lux. Home of men who should’ve known better, who should’ve seen us coming.”
As they exited the limo, all three pairs of feet found themselves sinking into thick red carpet. It made Serena feel like a princess; all that was missing was the paparazzi and a golden prince waiting at the end.
“Looks busier than usual tonight,” noted Violet, who nodded towards the glass-encased notice board. Serena ran her eyes down the list: Amway conference, Venom launch, Engagement of Jones and Smyth, private function.
“Which one should we gatecrash later on?” Champagne asked. “After we’ve drunk the cocktail bar dry that is?”
“That would have to be the Venom launch,” a male voice boomed from behind. The girls, all dressed in black little numbers, spun around, coming face to face with a cheeky-looking security guard.
“But don’t say I told you so,” he smiled, tapping the baton against his hand. “Free vodka and beautiful girls are not usually a good mix.
The nameless man returned the stick back to its rightful home, adjusted his belt and moseyed away, not a minute too soon.
“How dare the prick eavesdrop on our conversation,” huffed Champagne.
Serena could tell from the way her eyebrows arched that the girl was plotting an evil, unfair revenge.
“Hang on, give the guy a break. A visit to a launch with free alcohol isn’t such a bad idea.”
“Yes but first things first, the cocktail bar.”
Because that was their plan and God forbid they revise it.
“Of course Champagne,” said Serena, warding off the imminent temper tantrum. “Let’s do it by the book and go to the cocktail bar first.” Let’s see exactly where this all takes us, no money and all.
Needless to say, Markie and Rick were having a fabulous time at the Venom Launch.
It wasn’t often they got to scoff their faces with free mini food, drink to their hearts content and enjoy anonymity. Being an agency head by design usually meant one featured as a centerpiece at events and had to fend vultures off with a stick. At all times one had to be civil and on the defense because otherwise they’d pick you apart until your eyeballs popped out. This party was a change; Markie felt like a celebrity hopping onto the New York subway completely unnoticed, sans the wig and sunglasses.
“Could it be our attire?” Rick asked, looking down at his frumpy shirt.
“It’s either that or the thongs,” Markie snickered. He still couldn’t get over how Rick wore female flip-flops. It was men like this that gave Ad Land a bad name.
“I told you, they’re comfortable,” Rick replied, giving Markie the same old lame excuse. Whatever: different strokes for different folks…
“It’s been a while since we went to a party like this…”
“That wasn’t peppered with dogs, you mean,” smirked Rick.
“Man seriously I can’t believe you are still in one piece.” Markie shook his head.
‘What? Would you prefer that I said the term “unattractive women”? Welcome to Male-Speak. Besides some of these women really do have asses big enough to eat dinner off. However right over…well there is the perfect example of everything gone right.”
Markie glanced over to where the finger was pointing (after discreetly knocking it down) and wrinkled his nose. All he could see was a human sized lemon.
“Sorry don’t see it,” he replied, after he had covered the distance and missed seeing any beauties.
“Are you blind, man?” Rick frowned, the alcohol making his expression more exaggerated than ever.
That was when it hit Markie; Rick was speaking about the lemon. For the first time Markie understood the expression: beauty is in the eye of the beholder. In the celebrity world beautiful women essentially had a common thread running through them all: shiny locks, golden skin, beautiful smile, slim curvy body. If one had all four, then they hit bingo.
But this yellow
woman held none of the above features. Funny how someone could consider Heidi Klum to be too plain and still find a lemon to be enticing.
“So are you going to make a move?” Markie asked, knowing better than to criticize a friend’s choice.
“Should I?”
“Yes definitely.” Markie couldn’t remember the last time his best friend had picked up. There was always one excuse or the other; but what it came down to was that either his standards were too high or he really did have a secret infatuation with Tabitha (which effectively cancelled each other out).
As for Markie, he liked to think he had high standards, without his beer goggles on. He’d done well with Serena: having her on his arm always made him feel proud. When she wasn’t near, Markie didn’t think twice about whipping her photo out, unlike most guys who feigned lost wallets or “oh she’s a tad unphotogenic” excuses. Even in comparison to the cream of the crop Serena was still be hard to beat, Markie realized.
For some reason Markie was using her as a benchmark more and more lately, even visualizing her in places she couldn’t be (like right now passing by the entrance). He categorized women as fat or thin, tall or small, according to his ex’s little frame. Markie surveyed the room once again, this time with a less critical eye. He needed to find someone tonight, he told himself. He needed to or he’d explode from the frustration and it wouldn’t be a pretty sight.
He settled on a fresh young thing standing by the punch. A brunette, with a mash of curls sitting on her shoulders, looked like she was up for some play. He guessed this from her red boots and shiny lips: undoubtedly a mating call.
“Hey,” he said, sliding up beside her at the table. “Let me guess, your feet are killing you and you want to go home.”
The brunette looked up at him, all dewy faced and wide-eyed. She was trying to be cautious but couldn’t help breaking into a smile.
“How did you guess?” she replied.
Markie couldn’t tell her he had seen the look a million times on Serena, or that her five-inch heels were a dead giveaway.
“Sisters,” he shrugged. Men who had sisters were allowed to be presumptuous.
“So how are you connected to the agency?” she asked Markie.
“I’m not,” he replied, “It’s through per coincidence that I’m here.”
The brunette liked that line. Women always did. Mention fate or kismet and they’d soon be wondering what their part was in this cosmic providence.
“Well,” she smiled, licking her lips. “Lucky for you I’m a great believer in destiny. So if you’re up for it, why don’t we go back to your place and make history.”
Markie dropped his mouth. It was the Catholic schoolboy in him that made him waver. Hell he didn’t even know this girl’s name. For all he knew she could be a swindling psycho, maybe even a murderer.
On the other hand, she could be good in bed. Markie tried to weigh his options. Good in bed versus criminal risk. He looked at her again; she was tiny and couldn’t have been more than twenty-two. What did he have to lose?
“Is that who I think it is?” Champagne shrieked, pulling the straw out of her mouth.
She nodded her head towards the stairs, which lead up to the light of Hotel Lux’s glittering foyer. There were people passing to and fro, all dressed in distinguished suits or frocks, depending on sex, and Serena had a hard time placing whom she meant. A celebrity? Word had it Madonna was spied lunching here with Gwyneth a few weeks back.
No, Champagne wasn’t the in-awe-over-celebrity kind, what with all the dickheads on the set. It was probably a male supermodel. Even though she wasn’t that picky when it came to men, Champagne did have a healthy appreciation for the perfect form. Or maybe her appreciation came in spite of it. Either way, Serena craned her neck to see if someone like the ex Calvin Klein model Marky Mark was still in sight. It looked like he wasn’t. She and Violet went back to sucking straight brandy and coke - hold the coke - through their straws.
“Oh my gosh, has Markie by any chance shaved all of his hair off?” Champagne asked her.
Serena rolled her eyes and went back to playing with the straw. Who’d have thought so much sophistication and sexual tension could come from something so skinny with a hole in it? Maybe without the straws half the men in the bar wouldn’t have shouted them their drinks.
“Earth to Serena, didn’t you hear what I just asked you?”
“Yes,” Serena sighed, “I thought you were kidding me. You know, I don’t read the gossip columns religiously. Last I heard Mark was acting on some big movies but I really don’t have any idea.”
“Acting?” Champagne giggled. “Since when did Markie get into acting?”
Now Serena was the one confused.
“We are talking about Mark Wahlberg right? Ex-sexiest man alive?” she asked.
“Honestly you are thick,” Champagne hollered. “I’m speaking about your boyfriend, your ex-boyfriend. I think I just saw him here, with another girl.”
“What?”
Before she could say more, Serena was coughing, hysterically choking on her drink, and a bit of liquid even came spluttering out of her nose. Champagne had to be hallucinating. There was no way that Markie would come to a place like this on a Friday night. No way. Unless he had to for work, like if some international female business client insisted they meet here. Because it was crazy to imagine he had thrown caution to the wind and in fact brought a date to the Lux. Then again the restaurant at this hotel was rated six stars and Markie was always talking about how he wanted to try out a six star place. I wonder what is the difference between five and six stars is, he used to say. Really, if people are finding the five-point scale too limiting, why not make it a rating out of ten?
“I have to go up,” Serena said, and before Violet or Champagne could stop her, she was clambering up the stairs blindly, two at a time. It was amazing how she didn’t collapse and roll all the way back down with the amount of alcohol she had in her system.
When she got to the top, the foyer was bustling with even more people than before. At least a hundred people were moving in all directions: to the lifts which elevated them up to their thousand-dollar a night rooms, to the ballrooms one, two, or three, the restaurant or reception desk, or lastly, the rotating glass doors which took them full circle, back down the red carpet from where they came.
“What are you doing?” Violet said from behind, huffing and puffing from the climb. Violet looked at Serena as if she was a mad woman, who needed to be returned to her cell.
“You shouldn’t listen to Champagne,” she said, in the most rational voice she could conjure. “That girl has drunk more than her fair share of brandy tonight and you know straws apparently make it more potent. That’s what they say: want to get drunk then drink from a straw.”
Okay so that explained why Serena felt so terrible. Her head felt as if it was about to explode. For some reason, she kept looking about anyway, hoping for that precious glimpse of Markie and his date. Maybe he was here, and when she saw him everything would be all right. He would lose the girl and take her home, to her real home and not Tabitha’s stinky terrace and tuck her into her old bed. Oh Christ, Tabitha! Serena hadn’t even told her where she was going and in addition to her empty wallet, her cell had also just gone flat.
“So you think it wasn’t him?” Serena asked Violet. Except that was like asking her the million-dollar question on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire? One couldn’t have much faith that she was going to get it right.
“It might’ve been,” she said surprisingly, “but then again Champagne is as blind as a bat without her contacts and who knows if she even has them in? Do you really care though? A boy is supposed to come chasing after you, not the other way around. Don’t you know anything?”
Serena stood there frozen in place, waiting to see what her body or mouth would do next. Oh gosh, she couldn’t believe it! In ordinary circumstances, even when drunk, she would have ignored Violet’s advice seeing as she had almost a d
ecade of relationship experience over her friend.
But instead Serena murmured, “You’re right. What does it matter if he was here? What does it matter in the grand scheme of things?”
In four weeks time, they would be trading houses and she could ask him about it then.
Chapter 11
Oh no she couldn’t believe it, she really couldn’t. Lo and behold Markie had actually taken a girl home for the night!
Tabitha stood there alone, unable to budge. This was not going according to plan. Under the harsh yellow of the streetlight, the floozy he was with looked ugly and sallow. Like of course she would; next to Serena every one of Markie’s conquests would pale in comparison. As the pair started their way up the flower-edged path, Tabitha sank back down into the loveseat. This was so embarrassing. As if it wasn’t bad enough that she was here: sitting and waiting on the veranda for her best friend’s boyfriend to come home. No, she also had to watch him stick his tongue down some teenybopper’s throat.
Okay so technically he wasn’t cheating but still… Tabitha felt a sickness grow big in her stomach. The sight of Markie acting like some eighteen-year-old went against everything she believed about men. Markie was supposed to be a good one: the sort who didn’t read Playboy, drink or gamble and who would help his wife change the baby’s nappies. Yet here he was, proving himself to be as infallible as the next.
Now she knew for certain there was no such thing as perfect.
Maybe if she buried herself under the loveseat he and the bitch wouldn’t see her. Though, from the looks of it they might not even make to the front door, what with her dress already wrapped around her feet. Tabitha bent down to see whether she’d even fit beneath the loveseat (should that be the route she decided to take in the next two minutes), when the splintered wood snagged her hair. Feck, she howled, frigging bloody hell. There was nothing worse than having a clump of hair pulled out at the root.
Except maybe what came next….
“What the?”
The Numbers Game Page 11