‘The strippers? I thought ye were against all that porny stuff,’ said Greta.
‘Exotic dancers,’ I corrected her. ‘They don’t take everything off and we’re not going to ogle, we’re going to be supportive to our friends.’ I looked at Michaela’s bright pink face and added. ‘Absolutely no orgasms necessary. Or on the menu, for us anyway. It’s a gay club.’
Hughie was about to say something, most likely rude, but Greta cut in.
‘You call it what you like,’ she said. ‘Ah’m coming tae ogle. But let’s get this saft auld bugger hame first. Then we can go party like it’s nineteen ninety-two.’
I giggled. ‘You mean, nineteen ninety-nine?’
‘Och no,’ she replied. ‘Ah’m ayeways way ahead o’ the crowd when it comes tae partying.’
Chapter Twenty-One
Seeking fun tonight. Yeehaaa! PS: This is not a Craiglist personals ad. (Well, it was meant to be but I started typing in the wrong window . . .)
‘The Merocca Lounge? Are you sure?’ The taxi driver gazed disbelievingly at the two middle-aged and one elderly lady in his back seat, asking to be taken to the island’s only gay club.
‘For sure!’ I said.
‘But, you know what the Merocca Lounge eez?’ he asked with a frown.
‘Aye, we do,’ replied Greta. ‘Aboot eight euros, am I right?’
The three of us giggled but the less-than-amused taxi driver shrugged and released the handbrake.
‘Whatever you want,’ he grunted, before turning the car away from the staid safety of the harbour, where he clearly thought women of a certain age should remain in the evenings.
‘You know, I’ve never been to this club,’ Michaela said, a little shyly.
‘Don’t you work for the tour company that promises first time, worthwhile experiences?’ I joked. ‘Because this is one for me. I’ve never been out for a night at any gay club in my entire life.’
‘I’m not sure they’d let me put this on the itinerary,’ she laughed.
‘How no?’ Said Greta. ‘It’s ma first time too. We’re like gay club virgins.’
In ten minutes we were there and our gruff taxi driver had grabbed his money and spun the car back round before anyone coming out of the club could wave him down.
‘There was a definite air of disapproval and bigotry about that guy,’ I commented.
‘Yes, it is normal here,’ Michaela replied. ‘It is a very small island and a lot of the local people don’t approve of this club. There were some serious objections when the plans were released.’
‘Then they’re living in the dark ages,’ I said.
‘Well, it is a little . . .’ Michaela began.
‘Seedy?’ I finished for her. ‘Is that what you think? Why? Not that I’ve been in a gay club before, but I imagine it’s the same as all the other clubs on the island.’
‘It’s not the club that’s seedy,’ she went on, looking even more uncomfortable as the three of us walked towards the entrance. ‘It’s the strippers.’
‘They don’t completely strip off,’ I explained. ‘They dance, they entertain. That’s all.’
‘They dinnae get aw their claithes aff?’ Greta said. ‘That’s no’ fair.’
‘Well, I have seen them rehearse a bit,’ I admitted. ‘And it’s quite raunchy, but you’re not going to see anything seedy. You told me it was time I began embracing the naked form.’
‘Dae I get a wee peek at Dominik’s bum?’ Greta asked, with a mischievous grin.
I winked at her. ‘Maybe a tiny bit.’
‘Bullseye!’ she cheered, throwing both hands in the air like Scotland had scored a goal.
‘I think I’m going to need a very big drink,’ said Michaela, clutching my arm.
‘Greta,’ I said earnestly. ‘You’re a married woman. You know I don’t approve of such things.’
‘Och away!’ she chided. ‘That man has eyes fir everything. Ah reckon it’s well and truly ma turn.’
As we entered the club, the first thing that we saw was a woman dancing on the stage in a gold, sparkly bikini.
‘Nice,’ Michaela remarked, as the woman turned her back to the crowd and proceeded to bend forward, displaying her derriere to a baying crowd.
‘Take a seat here,’ I told her and Greta. ‘I’ll just go and find Linda.’
Weaving my way through tables full of men and women, all watching the show, I couldn’t see Linda or Eydis anywhere, so decided to head for the side of the stage. As I got nearer, I strained my eyes to make out faces through the dim light and finally saw Linda and Eydis at a table with a beautiful woman I’d never seen before.
‘Linda!’ I called, rushing forwards. However, my way became suddenly blocked. By a glittery, gold encrusted cleavage.
‘You like?’ asked the stripper, who had climbed off the stage to join me in the crowd.
Before I could say anything, she had whipped off her top and was jiggling her breasts with her hands and pushing them into my face.
‘Gah!’ I protested, closing my eyes and putting my arm up to get her jugs off me and finding someone else’s hand instead.
‘Binnie! I’m so glad you came!’
It was Linda. She waved the woman away, who immediately turned her attentions to another more willing onlooker at a nearby table.
‘Have you come alone?’ she asked me. ‘I didn’t think you’d show.’
‘No,’ I replied, turning to wave at Michaela and Greta, who’d begun to make their way forwards via the far right aisle – as far away from the stripper as they could get. I understood, feeling desperately uncomfortable myself now we were here.
Thankfully, the Miss Jiggly Boobs act was coming to an end now and she bounded back onto the stage to a round of cheers from the audience.
‘You know, Linda,’ I said. ‘This really is everything I’ve come to hate if I’m honest.’
‘You’re right,’ she agreed. ‘It’s not really what Eydis was expecting either, but the guys came all this way to do a show.’
Just as we all began to sit down with Eydis and her companion, Linda pulled me back up again.
‘No, no, no,’ she said. ‘There’s dancing to do! Let’s at least enjoy the night. Christie, order Tequila Sunrises all round, on me, please.’ Her request was to the exotic-looking beauty at the table, who nodded and smiled before summoning a waiter over.
‘Mario,’ she called out, in a very deep, masculine voice. ‘Six Tequila Sunrises over here, please. On Linda’s tab.’
‘Linda,’ I said, into her ear. ‘Is Christie . . . ?’
‘A man?’ she finished for me. ‘Indeedy, darlin’. Beautiful, ain’t she?’
I nodded and smiled. Indeed she was. And with a figure I’d have died for.
‘I’ll just sit here wae yous for a wee while,’ said Greta, taking a seat at the table.
As Michaela looked around her not knowing quite what to do, I grabbed her arm and we made our way to the dance floor, which was already packed.
‘I thought we’d be the only women in here,’ Michaela shouted across.
Linda laughed. ‘No, there’s always a good mix of folk.’
‘What, even with the strippers coming on?’ Michaela asked.
‘Especially with the dancers coming on,’ Linda replied.
As I strutted around the floor doing my worst middle-aged mum dancing impression, I felt a crunch underfoot and looked down to find my heel had snapped clean off.
‘Oh, no!’ I cried, reaching down to take off my stiletto. ‘Not again! Bloody cheap shoes.’
Seeing my predicament, Michaela and Linda stopped dancing and followed me back to the table.
‘Oh, darling,’ said Christie, looking as concerned as if I’d sprained my ankle when she spied the broken shoe in my hand. ‘We’d better fix those gorgeous shoes. Come with me.’
‘Gorgeous shoes, my ass,’ I complained. ‘This is the second time the damn heel has broken off. I just glued it back on a few days ago. I think they
’re finally done.’
She took my arm and led me towards the bar. ‘But you need them for tonight, my darling. Follow me. The owner, Giannis, has something to fix everything.’
In no time at all, after a brief trip to the bathroom, I was back at the table with my friends, offending, cheapie shoe fixed.
‘Wow,’ said Eydis. ‘That was quick. What did you do?’
Christie winked at her. ‘Superglue,’ she said, with a smile. ‘Giannis always keeps it behind the bar in case one of us girls needs a repair.’
‘Great!’ Linda said. ‘We can get back to the dance floor now.’
‘Oh, no,’ I said quickly. ‘Better let it dry properly first.’
‘Anyway,’ Eydis cut in. ‘The boys will be on in about five minutes.’
As she finished speaking the lights went up and the music faded, as a man in a top hat and tails came out onto the stage.
‘Hello girls and girls!’ he shouted out, to rapturous applause and whistles. ‘How are you enjoying your night?’
We all cheered, including Michaela who, having swallowed down her first Tequila Sunrise quickly was now reaching for her second and looking much more comfortable.
‘Good, good,’ the compere continued. ‘Now, are you ready to sexy things up tonight?’
‘YEAAAAHHHHHHSSSSSS!’ The crowd, including our table roared.
‘Okay then, time to partay with a little booty. Give it up everybody for my favourite arty boys . . . GELLE!’
The house lights went down and the stage lights came on just as millions of silvery streamers burst from the stage into the crowd in time to the opening notes of ZZ Top’s Sharp Dressed Man. Greta looked fit to burst as the guys, including her favourite, Dominik, came on stage dressed in smart suits and began peeling off their jackets.
A waiter arrived with the third round of drinks, and Michaela downed the final half of her second Tequila Sunrise in one go.
‘Woohoo!’ she shouted out. ‘Over here! Over here!’
I lined up my third Tequila Sunrise behind number two, which I was still sipping. I’d had enough hangovers this holiday to know all about drinking too quickly. Greta and Linda, however, were matching Michaela drink for drink.
The boys gave a fantastic performance, peeling off one item of clothing after another to the screaming and clapping audience. I caught Dominik winking at Greta and within moments they began to make their way off the stage and into the crowds, he was heading our way in nothing but a pair of shorts.
‘Oooooohhhh!’ Greta cried, jumping up and down in excitement. ‘He’s coming over here!’
Dominik strutted and shimmied through the crowds until he came to our table, whereby he turned and began shaking his bottom in front of Greta, who promptly spanked him with a, ‘Woooohooo!’
He turned back and smiled at her, pointing to the front of his shorts. Taking his lead she pulled the strings to release him from the shorts which fell down about his ankles to reveal his muscular bottom in nothing but a small, black thong. Then, he looked over to me.
‘Oh no,’ I cried. ‘Just you stay where you are!’
With a mischievous grin he walked up to my chair, pushed it back slightly and, turning around, stood over me and began to writhe and shake his bottom in front of my face.
‘Oh, no,’ I laughed. ‘Gerroff!’
I kicked out my leg to push him away, feeling mortified, but he swung round and grabbed my ankle. Before I knew it, he had begun rubbing my legs, pressing his crotch against my foot whilst writhing suggestively.
‘Oh, God!’ I cried, covering my face with my hands. ‘Make it stop!’
With a final pelvic thrust, he released my ankle and turned to Michaela who was next in line for a show. All at once, I realised I had lost my shoe. Thinking it had fallen off, I bent down, and as I searched the floor with my hands there was a burst of laughter from the table.
‘That is dynamite!’ I heard Eydis say.
I looked up in time to see Dominik, with this back to me and his hands behind his back, performing a sexy dance in front of Michaela. To my astonishment, from where I was sitting, it looked as though she was touching his crotch! For heaven’s sake! How drunk is she? Even more incredible was the fact that everyone at our table and the tables round about us was watching and laughing hysterically.
Eydis and Greta stood up at the same time and reached over together, both going for Dominik’s crotch too. He turned back towards us and it was then I saw what all the commotion was about. I had found my shoe.
It was jigging and bouncing around, held fast by the heel, hanging from the front of Dominik’s thong.
In the wee, small hours, heading back to the apartment in a taxi, full of remorse for having enjoyed a strip show, I had sent a single, drunken text to David:
It’s time we talked.
Chapter Twenty-Two
We’re having a party for National Orgasm Day. Who’s coming?
I almost brought the three Tequila Sunrises from the previous night back up when I read ‘me!’ underneath my status from Smother. I closed the Facebook app on my phone and saw a mass of notifications.
You have ten voicemails.
You have twenty seven missed calls.
There are fourteen text messages.
You took four photos of the inside of your pocket and fifteen screen shots whilst out riding yesterday.
I really should learn how to lock my phone. I did a perfunctory flick through the voicemails to ensure there were no panics from home, pressing the required key for instant deletion of each pleading message.
‘Hello Binnie, I need to tal . . .’
I pressed three.
‘Please talk to me. I love y . . .’
Three.
‘Baby, I mis . . .’
Three.
‘Hi, it’s Mum, I hate to bug you on your honeymoon but I’m worried about this massive verruca looking thing on my . . .’
Three. Three. THREE!
There was a knock at the door. Reaching down to my bedside to pick up my ruined stilettos and throw them in the bin, I looked at the clock. It was eleven o’clock. I couldn’t remember the last time I had slept so late. Or why I had unblocked David’s calls.
‘Hi, Binnie are you in there? I just wanted to make sure you were alright?’
Jumping up and into my shorts and pushing the phone deep into the pocket, I pulled on a t-shirt and opened the door.
‘Hi, Chris, of course I’m alright.’ His deep, blue eyes looked almost sorrowful and I felt a flutter of concern. ‘Are you?’
‘Yes, oh, it’s alright,’ he said. ‘Just, well, you didn’t come home last night and . . . of course . . . it’s none of my business . . .’
‘I see, oh!’ There was something behind his eyes; something unusual in his discomfort. He thought I was with someone. Perhaps David had been calling him too. I casually opened the door wider to let him see that I was alone.
His eyes briefly flicked to the bed and then back to me. ‘I was worried, that’s all,’ he explained. ‘This is a tiny island and we don’t see a lot of bother, but, well, you never know.’
‘No, you don’t. Thank you for your concern, but I’m fine. We had a proper girls’ night after the horse ride. I went up to get some food with Greta and then later took Michaela to watch Gelle. It was a brilliant night. You were right about her, she is lovely.’
‘Oh, well, that’s good,’ he said, looking instantly happier. ‘Only I thought you hadn’t come home. I must have fallen asleep before you got back.’
‘Well, no, actually we ended up embroiled in girl talk till the wee small hours. I slept on Linda’s sofa. I actually got home a short while ago.’
He paused and swallowed hard. I wondered if he was trying to work out if I was lying. If, in fact, I had spent the night with a man.
‘That’s alright then,’ he said finally. ‘As long as you haven’t been arrested for driving that bloody moped on the wrong side of the road again.’
‘Hav
e you got any coffee on upstairs?’ I asked, swiftly changing the subject.
‘I do, as it happens, but I’ve got an art class in fifty minutes, so Mita and I were just beginning to get set up.’
‘Oh, okay. Well, I’ll come and watch.’
‘You mean help?’ he said. ‘Great!’
We walked together to the pergola where I’d had my first art class with him only days earlier, although now it seemed an age away. Some of his paintings were stacked in a box on a chair and I began idly sifting through them.
‘Oh,’ he said quickly, moving the chair with the box on it away from me. ‘Don’t bother with them. That’s just a lot of really old stuff.’
‘Oh, no, please, let me see?’ I said, pulling it back.
His faced flushed hotly as I fingered through the canvasses. ‘Honestly,’ he said. ‘It’s a lot of tripe. The things in here are just examples I sometimes use for showing classes the different styles of painting or differing subjects. There are none of my finest hours in there.’
I stopped and caught my breath as I came to the last but one canvas in the pile. It was a very intricate oil painting of a woman’s face. The detail was exquisite, the colours, vibrant and alive. It was like looking in a mirror at myself − eight years ago.
‘It’s me!’ I exclaimed.
Chris grabbed the painting. ‘You? No, I don’t think so.’ He inspected it briefly before throwing it back into the box which he picked up.. ‘It’s just something I did ages ago, but you’re right. There is a resemblance, isn’t there?’
I stared at him in puzzlement. Why would he paint me?
‘Did David ask you to do that?’ I asked.
‘You know, I think that might have been it,’ he answered. ‘It was so long ago now, I hardly remember.’
I sighed inwardly, feeling a stab of pain. The painting was of a slightly younger me, during a much younger relationship. It was most likely from a time when David still found me attractive and wanted to have a portrait of me. Then he’d changed his mind, or had forgotten to ask Chris about it again. I guessed Chris was trying to spare my feelings by showing it to me or speaking about it, because it had ended up thrown in a box, only coming out as an example of a portrait for his daily classes.
The New Mrs D Page 17