Money For Nothing

by Dom Price

  Both men pointed in musketeer fashion and announced the mission. “To the club”.

  A sober Dave would have invested some time analysing the scene and deciding on appropriate tactics. But as the drinks mixed in with the assortment of pain killers that Dave had settled his stomach with, his mind became blurry, and his sole focus was on the bar. One thing he knew about momentum was that you didn’t want to interrupt it and he was very happy with progress so far tonight.

  Deciding to try some flirting out at the bar, Dave approached the scantily clad barmaid with a cheeky grin and level of confidence that defied his lack of experience. He had Jason with him and was watching the master at work. Before Dave could muster up the courage for a “hello”, Jason was already firing.

  “I was going to ask for sex on the beach, but we’re 87.6 miles from sand, so do you do a slow, comfortable screw?”

  Dave’s jaw dropped the 2 feet to the bar and his head span, not knowing whether to admire the wonder of Jason’s cheek or whether to run the 87.6 miles and bury himself in some sand.

  “You cheeky git. What do you want to drink you old dog.” The barmaid leaned over and kissed Jason affectionately on the cheek and moved towards Dave before his coping mechanism had a chance to react.

  “You must be Jason’s boss. He told me you were coming down. We’ve got a good crowd in here tonight. You’d have to be pretty low on your game to walk out of here alone tonight boys.”

  “Dave, stop staring at her tits. They aren’t real. Look, you can touch them if you want.” Jason reached over and grabbed more than a handful. How far away was that beach?

  “Erm, sorry. I didn’t mean to. Well I did, but...”

  “Don’t fret, don’t sweat. I’m flattered that you like them enough to stare. At 3 grand a pair, they should be admired. I’m Chelsea anyway, a mate of Jasons. Now then boys, drinks?”

  Dave didn’t like the feeling of playing second fiddle. His confidence was higher than previous in these uncharted waters and he knew that he needed to take control of the night and the situation if his goal was to be achieved.

  “Two white sambucas, two black sambucas and one for yourself. Thank you.”

  Jason took his hypnotic glance away from Chelsea and observed the monster that he’d created. “Mate, we need to keep a pace remember. You don’t want to ruin the equation.”

  “Jason, having seen the talent in here on the way in, I think these are exactly what we need to balance this formula. I’m still trying to work out how the one behind you got through the double doors. I’m assuming she came in through the back entrance.”

  Both men turned to look at the heavy set woman, who hadn’t been deterred by her figure or lack of, and had done a tremendous job of squeezing parts of herself into an outfit that would look revealing on a child.

  “Jesus H. I reckon you’d need a forklift to get her into bed and some scissors to get her undressed.”

  Chelsea returned to the raucous laughter of two school boys who’d just seen their first dirty magazine.

  With the shots down, and the round returned by Jason, the men were fully loaded, armed and ready for combat. Their prey was spread around the dark and badly lit dance floor and adjoining bars.

  “Right, now we need to talk tactics OK. First thing we need to do is a reci yeah. For you, it will help you get a feel for the place. Check out the ladies, know your bars, your dark areas, your light areas, loo’s etc. Once we’ve got our eye in, you wanna decide whether you want fresh produce or reduced to clear. It is honestly gonna be like a meat market in here tonight. Some people have probably been and gone with some 2 minute ready meals. If you look carefully you can probably find some organic, high omega 3 low GI meat in here, but be warned...it costs a lot more, there isn’t much of it, and it doesn’t always taste any nicer.”

  Once again the men were in fits of laughter.

  “What if I’m a vegetarian?” Dave didn’t quite realise the honesty and significance of the question that had just come from nowhere. Luckily Jason didn’t either.

  “Ha. Well you can go for a leek over there” pointing to the rather pungent area that seemed to be the toilets.

  The recognisance mission was simple. Two laps of the club, surveying the potential targets, having a mini dance when the mood took and making minimal eye contact with the occasional smile. For Jason it was all part of the planning. For Dave it felt like seeing the Lions before being put in the den.

  The nerves were such that by the end of the lap, Dave had already drunk his vodka mixer, and knew he needed another. With each drink, his confidence levels seemed to be rising and his fears of failure dissipating.

  With each percentage of alcohol mixing nicely with the night’s earlier medicinal intake, Dave felt a glow of relaxation and sedation drift through his entire body. The booze was really kicking in, and his time of reckoning was approaching. The lights were perfect. Pretty and flashing all different colours and their sequencing was mesmerising. The bass from the speakers was immense and Dave could feel the beat of the music in his rib cage as he stood near the dance floor. Dave had no care in the world for the official time; what was paramount right now was the words that echoed indescribably from the aging DJ in the booth.

  “Boys and girls, get those arms loose and those legs even looser. It’s time to booooogey on down to 80’s hour”

  Dave was about to reveal his joy to Jason, but he was a lost cause. The first sniff of an available lady and he’d gone. Dave could just about to make him out at the bar, surrounded by a gaggle of giggling ladies. “That’s cool. I can do this. I built my entire career by myself. No-one helped me with that. I can do this too. Just maybe wait 'til the next song.” Dave chatted to himself through two songs and was in the midst of tapping his feet and banging his empty bottle on the table, as an attempt to get into the rhythm.

  The turning point came as the early riff of Jackson 5’s ABC came belting out of the speaker. Dave had two instincts. The first one was to go and correct the DJ and inform him that this song was actually from the 70’s, so shouldn’t really being played in 80’s hour. Luckily the second instinct was more powerful, as Dave smiled to himself. “It’s as easy as A-B-C, 1-2-3...3! It’s a sign! Rule of 3, ABC, 123” and with the grace of a drunk Bambi on ice, Dave entered the dance floor and did his own interpretation of Michael Jackson. A tribute it was not, but it turned out to be a crowd favourite for all the wrong reasons.

  Buoyed on by the claps, smiles and buzz of the moment, Dave whipped himself into a frenzy of biblical proportions, performing some exotic Dad Dancing with arms flailing, knees seeming to occasionally and randomly give way and some interesting takes on established classics. Feeling the mood and the encouragement, the songs just kept coming for Dave. Next off the decks was Soft Cell ‘Tainted Love’, which was an inspirational choice by the DJ, as Dave knew the official and original dance. In his mind and through his blurred vision, his performance was near faultless, and was so good that a couple of other punters had joined in. They appeared to be sisters as there was a definite similarity, but who cared. Who needed words when you could communicate everything through dance and the lyrics of Marc Almond?

  At the bar, Jason and his gaggle were still giggling, but no longer were they telling jokes or sharing stories. They were admiring the man with the turned up collar, strutting his funky stuff with a couple of ladies on the dance floor. Jason leaned over to his favourite of the gaggle. “You think that is funny. He’s got a good few drinks to kick in yet. Just you wait.”

  ***

  Chapter Post Mortem

  ***

  On the spectrum of life and death, Dave was feeling like a badly trained doctor was performing a post mortem on his head and his guts. The pain was everywhere and a brief attempt to open his eyes was quickly stopped. The light was deafening and the noise was too bright.

  Assuming the foetal position, it wasn’t immediately obvious what the situation was. Dave felt very unaware of his surroundings and
a sixth sense suggested to him that all was not well. In fairness, the not well could have been attributed to the hangover that he was certain was due to hit him very soon.

  As his mind slowly and sheepishly caught up with the rest of his body, instinct kicked in and using every ounce of energy in his body, Dave reached for the bedside table for his phone.

  “Thank god for that.” The nerves hadn’t revealed themselves, but the small mercy Dave had just enjoyed had been experienced by thousands of men before him. It was his bedside table and so that meant he was in his bed and his home. Normally nothing worth celebrating, but the ensuing pain through Dave’s body had suggested that much worse could have eventuated on this dusty Friday morning. Turning his phone on caused instant pain and in his head the weather was cloudy with rain, but was annoying bursts on sunlight that blinded him.

  “BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP” the noise went on to the point where Dave’s favourite toy was about to be thrown out of the window. Before he could even look at his phone to establish what was going on, it was vital that Dave achieved some focus, which was a tall effort right now. The only way to start the wheels in motion was to get the mouth working. Opening it was like separating a pre-sealed envelope as the remnants of the night before had glued him shut. Dave took several chews on his tongue, replicating a cow churning through some grass, but with the feeling that it was cement in his mouth, not greens. Dave momentarily caught a whiff of his own breath, which was enough to deliver the results of the post mortem. The over-riding smell was of stale spirits, but there was a lingering after odour that wasn’t immediately identifiable, until Dave looked over the side of the bed.

  There in all its glory was the best half of a part eaten donor kebab, carefully laced with mounds of chilli sauce and other stomach wrenching ingredients, all designed to perform perfect harmonious heart burn. It was working.

  Dave moved the phone closer and then further away, trying to get the ideal angle and distance to actually make sense of the screen as his drunken eyes played tricks on his focus.

  “Oh shit. 16 messages.”

  Dave scrolled down to the earliest message.

  “Laura, 8pm last night. Oh god no.” There were 10 more messages from Laura explaining that Tim Parkin had been on the phone and wanted the team to start this morning. What deflated Dave was the last message.

  “Looks like you aren’t going to make it. Sent Jason with Kipto as no-one else was free. Hope that is OK? Call me and let me know you are alright. Laura.”

  If the message wasn’t bad enough, the final piece of information hit Dave like a bolt of lightning. “Message sent at 10.15am? Oh SHIT.”

  The remainder of the messages were all irrelevant spam, until Dave saw that the final message that he hadn’t read was from Jason. Dave closed one eye, not wanting the full impact of what could be a scary message if they were already out at Food United Group. Dave knew this could spell the end of his career.

  A deep breath was required but not available, so Dave just marched on and read the message.

  “Sweet Dreams!! Ha. Looks like the rule of 3 paid off BIG TIME last night. At FUG and all cool. See you later, Jason.”

  “Sweet Dreams? Sweet Dreams? He’s not wishing me sweet dreams, because he sent that this morning. Sweet Dreams. “

  The flashback came to him firstly in the form of a pale and red haired Annie Lennox, singing the words to one of Dave’s all time 80’s favourites. As the sight of Annie transcended, it was replaced by a vision. There were the two sisters, similar looking and smiling. Their makeup was bright and sporadic. Dave was dancing and Annie Lennox was in his head, controlling his moves. There were the lights and they were flashing, quite brightly. And there was the after effects of one too many presses of the smoke machine as the dance floor became a haze. Like the stroll to the pearly gates or the Garden of Eden, just less peaceful. Then a sudden darkness and wet sensation. A scrambling for breath. Someone was trying to kill him.

  “Oh my god, what happened?”Dave’s head wasn’t playing tricks on him, but it couldn’t connect all the parts of the puzzle. The latent powers of the Sambuca and Jager were jumbling up the clues and the jigsaw wouldn’t go together.

  “SPLASHHHHH.”The noise of a flush isn’t startling in its own right. In fact, it’s a pretty mundane and run of the mill sound. What made the flush startling on this particular occasion, whilst Dave’s head very slowly crept towards deciphering the noise, was the fact the he lived alone. The thud on the floor board of the bare feet approaching his room, were in complete unison to the hefty beats of his now petrified heart. Maybe his killer was still here.

  As she waddled in, the sight was more than a shock. The face resembled one of the unidentifiable sisters that Dave recalled dancing with, but the rest of her figure was that of an imposter. Whilst on looks alone, Dave was certain that she wasn’t nearly as clever as him, she would definitely win out if they were to go toe-to-toe in a physical sense.

  His Sweet Dreams killer was a kisser, and the memory to date wasn’t pleasant.

  “Morning handsome.” She snorted like a trained drug addict and super star. She was neither. “You’re out of toilet paper in their love. I had a look through the cupboards, but couldn’t see any.” She rubbed the entire length of her arm along her nose to catch any dregs from her drizzle.

  “Thanks. Erm. Yeah, thanks”

  It was the first time he’d seen the live naked form of a woman since a cool summer’s night in 1987, on a Sunday night before heading back to school on the Monday. The woman on that occasion had been his mother, and it was the last time he’d taken a bath, back in the day when sharing bath water and sharing baths was a family tradition rather than something that you could get arrested for.

  Trepidation stung every part of Dave’s body, as the colossus approached the bed, looking firmly intent in taking up a position next to him. His fear wasn’t for himself, but more for his imported Egyptian Cotton 400 Thread hang woven bed sheets. Logistically speaking, he was in a conundrum. He wanted to know whether she’d learnt of the lack of toilet roll before or after she’d completed the task, but at the same time, he really didn’t want to know.

  As she backed up to dump herself on the bed, Dave was just surprised that she didn’t beep as she reversed.

  Instinct and adrenalin started to kick in, and Dave knew there were a few things he’d have to clarify before he could comfortably continue the day without needing to sanitise himself. Rolling around to his side of the bed, he casually reached under the bed to the bed slat, whilst preying to every god every mentioned, that the condoms would be there. The combination of emotions was profound. In that instant he realised that the full complement of condoms were still taped to the underside of the bed, which should have meant instant relief, but that finding brought with it much starker consequences. Maybe he’d driven without a seatbelt.

  Dave felt an immediate need to wash himself and to investigate further. He was certain that with some alone time, he’d be able to piece together the memories and test various parts of his body for evidence of intercourse. The desire to wash was instantly joined by the sensation that he’d not used the men’s room at the club and had been in a drink induced coma for much of the night, and that his bladder was ready to explode. Rising from the 400 Thread Egyptian Cotton Sheets a few inches ahead of him though, was the evidence of the lack of toilet visit and the physiological reaction that happens to many men in the morning.

  Dave hadn’t had a chance to hide his embarrassment, when the headline from his guest gave him a feeling he’d never experienced before. Utter horror and shame that was delivered in such a way that actually made him feel a huge sense of relief. It was in itself the prime example of “good news/bad news” all wrapped in the same bundle of words.

  “It’s 7 hours late, but you must be glad that it’s still working. A bloody snake charmer couldn’t have done anything with that last night. Anyway, what is the go down there? It looks like a hedgehog that’s been pluc
ked for Christmas.”

  Dave would have held his head in shame, but for the first time in his life, he was so glad that he hadn’t been able to perform. It wouldn’t have made for a memorable premiere.

  The confusion and shock of the last few minutes were such that Dave now felt immune to surprises, which explained the delayed reaction as he stood in the bathroom. He was glad that he hadn’t done the business with Miss Sweet Dreams, and he was particularly happy that he didn’t have to examine his body and use his various senses to establish whether anything untoward had happened. But all these thoughts had dominated his lacklustre head as he’d entered the bathroom which is why he only really took stock of things as he exited.

  Lying on the couch, naked and probably sticking irreversibly to the pristine leather was Miss Sweet Dreams II. She hadn’t been as thrifty with her kebab, and stuck to her face was the remainder of supper. The napkin was stuck to her face with chilli sauce, and you could just make out the rivers of grease that had spilled from the meat handbag along her undulating face. Whilst not as attractive, Mark II was a good bit bigger, which was impressive given her horizontal state.

  It was literally like London buses. He’d waited 14 years for one to come along, and two came along at the same time. Sadly, they were the size of buses too.

  This scene wasn’t something Dave had looked for, expected or wanted, but with his brain getting back in gear; it was one he knew he’d have to deal with.

  In context to the heifer salivating and snoring on the couch, he’d certainly landed the better of two evils, and should have been glad at breaking a barren spell that Mother Theresa would have been proud of, but he knew he had bigger fish to fry right now. Not that fish got any bigger than these girls.

  Grabbing his mobile, the mask slipped on and Dave became a businessman again.

  “Laura hi. Look I’ll explain later. Right now can you get me a cab for two people from my place to...” he looked over at lady who was not sheepishly holding the bed sheet. “Putney please Laura. ASAP. Put it on my account. “