Champagne Secrets

by Amanda Brunker

  Terrified that she would recognize me, I tried to walk away as quickly as possible, but had no choice but to acknowledge her presence after she clicked her fingers at me, demanding, ‘Sparkling water, doll. And another round of Red Bull when ya get a chance.’ Despite the fact that I’d eyeballed her for a moment too long, it was obvious that my appearance was in no way familiar to her. But my delayed response did make her a little stroppy. ‘Can I ‘elp ya?’ she asked, looking bemused.

  ‘No, sorry,’ I replied with a big smile. ‘I was just admiring your necklace. It’s really pretty. Your drinks will be with you right away.’ As I turned to head to the bar, I listened out to hear if there was any late recognition, but there were no unusual comments to be heard. It seemed I was utterly incognito. And so far, so was my camera. All I needed to do now was hang around and watch the party kick off.

  I began to keep a guarded eye on Tanya’s table and her 8-bomb pals, and it wasn’t long before I started noticing neighbouring tables pop pills. Or at least, that’s what I thought I was seeing. Without needing to stare at anyone, I was able to go about my business waiting the tables while my hidden camera, or, as I was secretly calling it, my third eye, did all the work. Feeling like some undercover vigilante, I was beginning to warm to the thrill of the chase. Everywhere I looked now, women were swallowing pills at their tables and men were busily walking to and from the toilets, feverishly wiping their noses. This was a total drugs haven. It was obvious now why Bradley had chosen this place to represent modern culture. And as the mood of the place became more excitable, the punters became louder and my job as a reporter a heck of a lot easier.

  After witnessing Tanya scream, ‘I’ve lost my bag … Who’s got some more drugs?’ I knew it was time for me to slip off and record a report. Checking that the coast was clear, I removed my high-tech camera phone from my locker and took myself out to my familiar base in the storeroom to record my monologue. Energized by my WAG-spotting, I nestled myself behind a mountain of beer boxes and started filming. ‘It’s Tuesday,’ I began, with a smug TV accent. ‘And there’s no sign of cutbacks in Sir Charlie’s. Everywhere I look the party people are popping pills, and even celebrities such as Tanya Cruze are on the hunt for drugs. The former WAG was only caught snorting cocaine in the toilets here several weeks ago, yet despite being publicly outed in the newspapers, the glamour model has returned to the scene of the crime and is looking for more action. I’m not sure who’s supplying the drugs here – that’s if they are being dealt here at all. I still need proof. But I’ve my suspicions that—’

  Hearing a noise behind me, I quickly switched off my camera phone. Jumping up I moved directly into the eye-line of Craig the manager. ‘What are you doing?’ His voice was gruff and he looked to be scanning the storeroom for any other absentee waiting staff.

  ‘Ehhh, I was just on a call,’ I offered weakly, while waving my fancy-looking phone around for effect.

  Unconvinced, he barked a series of questions at me. ‘What the fuck were you doing in here? Were you looking for some booze to hide in your bag? Were you looking to have a little private party of your own?’

  With Craig growling in my face, and with no space for me to step back out of his way, I was sure the microphone in my backcombed fro would explode from the sheer volume of his voice. Amazingly, I remained extremely calm and smiled back at him, explaining, ‘Of course not, Craig. I really was just talking on the phone.’ For some reason I took strength from knowing that I wasn’t totally alone. My hidden Big Brother camera made me feel strangely protected. Determined to put his mind at ease, I stressed the point again, ‘I just had an important phone call to make … and, well, I needed some privacy, not booze. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. Listen, I better get back out there. It won’t happen again during my shift.’

  Moving as quickly as I could, I strode past Craig, and deposited my phone back into my locker further down the hall. The close call made my heart pump faster, and I was starting to lose my composure. It felt like I’d never get back out on to the floor. Checking around my neglected tables, I apologized for my absence and asked each of my customers if they needed any more drinks from the bar. One by one they all asked for water, and it seemed as if the mood of the room had changed. No longer the restaurant I was familiar with, it now felt like some sort of a hardcore rave club. Even the music had altered. It was harder and faster in pace. I was just working my way back up to Tanya’s table, where the lovely lady seemed to be wiping something over her gums, when a heavy hand grabbed me from behind.

  ‘Where do you think you are going?’ As I turned around, I could see that Craig had turned from angry to furious. ‘I wasn’t finished with you.’ He snarled. ‘I think we need to talk out back – NOW.’

  Convinced he had rumbled my hidden camera, I almost threw up with the sudden fright. I looked around the room to see if there was someone I could signal to and let them know I was in distress, but there was no one who cared. All off their faces with drink and drugs, the festivities continued for the party people and I had no choice but to follow Craig. As I solemnly turned towards the back rooms and pushed past the sweaty bodies, feeling like a dead woman walking, I suddenly began to feel dizzy. The corridors narrowed, my legs felt heavier, and my eyes widened as my surroundings became blurred. His mouth was moving, and the words came towards me slowly: ‘You need to show me what you’ve got …’

  8

  ‘Parker, it was awful. I actually passed out with the fear – I’m still hurting in all sorts of strange places from the fall. But I really thought he was going to put a bullet in my head, or something.’

  ‘Now, did you really faint, petal? Or were you just testing the law of gravity again?’

  ‘Well, safe to say it still works. So much so that I now need a feckin’ cap on my front tooth. More bloody money. And there’s no way I can leave it as my roots have started to show through this stupid peroxide and I look like a total scrubber!’

  ‘OK, so you’ve got a gap between your teeth and slightly dodgy hair. Get yourself some muscles and people will think you’re Madonna.’

  Although I didn’t want to laugh, I couldn’t help doing so. As always, my man-in-waiting was doing his best to show me the lighter side of life. No matter how dire the situation, Parker would always point out the humour and turn my grey clouds into, well, a slightly lighter shade of grey. ‘Ah, thank you, sweetness. I love that you see shit and smell roses, but I’m not sure I’m coping very well over here. One minute I’m up, and the next I’m—’

  ‘Down? Indeed.’

  ‘Ha! Ha! And we’re talking literally, now. I’m telling you, this undercover business is highly stressful. I know I wanted a career, but this is hard work.’

  ‘Don’t talk to me about hard work,’ hissed Parker. ‘It’s as overrated as monogamy. And that’s where my life is at right now. The only FUN part of my day is when my FUN-ny bone gets some action as I perform some DIY entertainment on myself.’

  ‘OK, OK. Enough information, thank you. What’s up between you and Jeff now? Is he still knitting up a storm?’

  ‘He’s really starting to freak me out. Honestly, it’s got out of hand, and that’s not meant to be a pun. Just this morning I asked him to make me a cup of coffee and he looked at me, said, ‘Get knotted,’ and walked off chuckling away to himself. It’s not right, not even for a gay man.’

  Trying to soothe his pain, I said, ‘As far as I know Cameron Diaz and Winona Ryder are big knitters.’ But my comments were shot down immediately.

  ‘They don’t knit. No one with any real star quality would be caught dead with needles and a ball of wool.’

  ‘Well, has he made you any nice jumpers yet?’

  ‘Don’t be smart. Prada don’t do knitting patterns. Well, as far as I know. But wait for this, he got a pattern off one of his blogging websites. Yes, you heard right, he BLOGS about knitting. Anyway, he got all excited about some Scottish woman who knits with her arms. The company’s called Woo
l Fish, seemingly, and just one large ball of wool makes an entire dress. Wool Fish! I told him if there was anything fishy I liked I’d be straight, so he was to get that idea right out of his head immediately! Can you believe he wanted to knit a dress?’

  ‘If it’ll make him happy, I’ll wear it.’ I giggled, before changing the subject back to myself. ‘Right then, forget I even mentioned Jeff. I need to talk more about me, please.’

  ‘Nothing new there, really,’ sniped Parker.

  ‘Hang on a second. I was frogmarched out of the restaurant last night, I fainted, and then as soon as I woke up I was shouted at and had to acquiesce to demands to open up my locker!’

  Finding it hard to show sympathy, since he was wrapped up in his own world, Parker bitched back, ‘Yeah, but he just thought you were swiping booze. You’d nothing in your locker. So what’s the problem? You weren’t snared.’

  ‘I thought he was going to kill me, Parker.’

  ‘Over a bottle of vodka? I don’t think so. At worst he might have touched you up and thrown you out.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound so bad, actually.’

  ‘Amen to that, girlfriend. I might just have to come over there and hide out in the storeroom myself if that was what was on offer.’

  Getting slightly frustrated at not being able to have a serious conversation about my situation, I made my excuses and promised to ring him later.

  There was no one else I could discuss my latest adventures with, since the Princess was off skiing somewhere in the French Alps. So Daisy and I got ourselves wrapped up in full winter gear and went for a walk in the rain. As I pushed her through the nearby park, all bloodshot eyes and weary body, I told her about my worries, in a fairy-tale voice of course, and as she smiled through her plastic tent-covering, my stress started to lift, and all felt well with the world once again.

  I was as excited about going into work that night as a mail-order bride stepping off the plane to meet her elderly husband for the first time. I was convinced that I would be the talk of the club, but when I arrived out on to the floor, there wasn’t one single staff member that I recognized.

  Walking up to the manager’s station I was greeted by Rosa, a statuesque Brazilian beauty with creamy, chocolatey skin, who immediately put me at ease. ‘Ahhh, you must be Alice. Welcome to Wednesday night at Sir Charlie’s. I’m your manager and I hope you’re up for some hard work, as this is going to be one busy night.’

  Unsure how much she knew about me, I did my best to seem keen, and answered in a preppy way, ‘Bring it on.’

  By 11 p.m. all replacement night staff were on the floor and the place was hopping. Although it had become obvious that only good-looking, slim-figured people could work here, tonight’s employees were particularly stunning. They might be working as waiting and bar staff, but all of them would have looked at home on the catwalks of Milan or Paris. Despite feeling decidedly Irish and awkward, I found the girls were the most friendly I had met, and the boys behind the bar were just as hospitable. The first guy who caught my eye introduced himself by saying, ‘Hey, newbie, I’m Harry,’ before pointing in the direction of another radiant guy throwing bottles and explaining, ‘And that bull over there is Blue.’

  ‘Blue?’ I questioned.

  ‘Yes, as in the colour. But it also characterizes his state of mind – filthy.’

  Hearing his name, Blue finished serving a customer and quickly bounded over to greet me. ‘Hey, I’m Blue, welcome to the A Team. We’re all slightly mad here, but in a good way.’ As he spoke he extended his arm and gave me a quirky handshake, but I was only aware of his piercing bright-blue eyes. Sure, he had a winning smile, razor-tight black hair that showed off his beautifully shaped head, and shoulders that looked like they could wrestle a lion, but his eyes were so dreamy that I felt like I could dive right into them. Coming over all giggly, I averted my gaze so he wouldn’t notice me blushing. He was movie-star gorgeous, and as I looked around the room it was obvious, from the legions of women hanging around the bar, that they had all noticed him, too. As soon as he returned centre stage and resumed throwing bottles of vodka and Triple Sec in the air, another of the waiting staff, Kris, whispered in my ear.

  ‘You may or may not be aware, but Blue is in a new crime drama on TV. It’s only been out three weeks, but already he thinks he’s in Hollywood.’

  Not able to hide my adoration, I gushed, ‘And he deserves to be there. I didn’t know they made men that gorgeous …’

  Laughing in a knowing way, Kris chuckled. ‘And you should see what he’s packing underneath those trousers. It’s pure artistry.’

  Without saying a word, I looked at her, as if to ask: ‘Did you go there?’

  And with a nod and a wink, she laughed. ‘Ohhh, yeah,’ she said, before whisking a tray of drinks off the bar and towards her tables.

  As my own tables continued to fill up, my energy lifted and the fear I had had about facing Craig disappeared. Although he had told me that he was ‘for ever omnipresent’, Rosa told me that Wednesdays were his night off, so if there were any problems she was the woman to go to. As the night progressed, I found myself hanging around the bar hatch more and more to get an eyeful of Blue. But as the centre of all the gossip, it turned out to have other benefits, too. I witnessed some of the girls working the tables asking the bar staff for ‘special coffees’, for the doormen. They were also being told to double up on the cocktails on several bills, as the customers were too pissed to notice any different. Informed that I could share in the profits later, it was difficult not to feel guilty about filming them because they were being so nice to me.

  By 2 a.m. I had pushed through a sleepy phase and was enjoying a second wind and a complimentary vodka and 7 Up, courtesy of one of my tables. Assuming that the evening was beginning to wind down, I got the fright of my life when Rosa rushed up to me and said, ‘Clear everyone from tables fifteen and sixteen now. Trappim and his crew will be here in five minutes. Go do it.’

  Unsure who or what ‘Trappim’ was, I tried to ask Kris what to do, but she was busy with her own customers. She just screamed back over their heads, ‘Do him if you can.’ Then she gave me a big thumbs up.

  Fretting as to what I could say to shift my customers quickly, I ran back up to Rosa and asked, ‘What do I do with the people on my tables? Can I offer them a free drink on the house or something?’

  Clearly anxious and a bit tetchy, Rosa snapped back, ‘Just fuck them off. And don’t offer any of those losers free drinks. They should think themselves lucky to be in here at all.’

  A bit taken aback, I agreed to get rid of them right away, but chanced one more question, hoping it wouldn’t be the wrong thing to say. ‘Sorry, Rosa, just one more thing. Who is Trappim?’

  Making a disbelieving face, she snapped at me again. ‘He’s just one of the hottest music producers around. And he also drops on average about three thousand quid a night in here. So get him his tables now.’

  As I expected, clearing people wasn’t as easy as I wanted it to be. They cried out, ‘Don’t you know who I am?’ as I persisted in ushering them towards the bar, and I had barely wiped the tables clean when Rosa walked over to me with a large posse behind her. Flanked, in true Hugh-Heffner style, by about ten generic blonde women, Trappim emerged out of the crowd like Moses parting the sea. He was dressed head-to-toe in white, including white baseball cap, white velour tracksuit, white trench coat and over-sized white runners. In absolute contradiction to his sporty leisure kit, he walked with a stoop and leaned on a white cane that looked like it was wrapped in albino snakeskin.

  Within seconds of their arrival I was inundated with requests from the ladies for different branded vodkas, Hennessy cocktails and several bottles of champagne. Respectfully taking all their pernickety orders, I made my way through them all until I reached the pimp daddy himself, who by now had settled himself across the top couch with his pasty white, shrunken face glued to his iPhone. Being as assertive as I could, I gently touched his kne
e to get his attention, and asked, ‘Can I offer you a drink?’ I instantly knew I had done the wrong thing.

  As if I had just clapped the Queen on the back, or asked Mariah Carey if I could borrow her lip-gloss, Trappim slowly raised his gaze from his mobile to meet mine, and snarled in an oddly primal way. ‘Have we fucked?’ he asked, eye-balling me.

  Unsure if I was hearing things, I managed a ‘Pardon me?’

  ‘You heard me. Have we fucked?’

  Letting out a short, nervous giggle, I ventured an answer, fearful that I was treading on eggshells. ‘Emm, I don’t believe we have.’

  ‘Then why the fuck do you think you can touch me?’

  Seeing a potentially big tip slipping out of my purse, I knew I had to mend the situation, and quick. Although my first instinct was to grovel, I looked around at his yes-woman dolly birds and thought that if I did that he’d probably only abuse me further. Instead I smartly retorted, ‘Steady on, with talk like that you may never find out what a great lay I am. Now can I get you a drink or assist you in any other way?’

  ‘What’s your name?’ he asked, an expression somewhere between interest and respect playing across his face.

  Not wanting to give in too easy, I teased, ‘Why does it matter? I can’t imagine you can remember any more women’s names.’

  Breaking a smile, he quietly sniggered. ‘Cheeky Irish. I like you.’

  Although the women in his harem weren’t threatened by me, nor had they even noticed me other than when I took their drink orders, they were beginning to stare in our direction. So, fearful of being lynched, I started to back away from the cloaked Trappim and asked, ‘Champagne OK for you?’

  ‘If you think so.’ He smirked, looking me up and down in a sleazy way. Feeling like I had bitten off more than I could chew, I retreated to the bar before I could say anything else that might land me in a sticky situation. As I walked away I felt a chill down my spine; I was sure his eyes were burrowing into my back.