Authors: H. J. Hampson
"Er, yeah," I reply. This guy would so be better off in Faces with the Essex birds.
"What's that, Darren? You wanna get in with a supermodel, do you?" Jon shouts across the table.
Oh Christ. Darren's grinning stupidly at Jon, who's already pulling a chair out and motioning for him to sit down. The girls are laughing; they obviously think Darren's cute, in a motherly kind of way or something. The whole thing is starting to piss me off but then Monique appears with the cocktails and she seems to purposefully lean over me to put them on the table. I smell her skin, the coconut tang of sun cream mixing with a musky perfume, and feel a twinge of excitement in my groin. I should feel guilty, but then inviting Darren to join us against my will is something I can hold against them, and it legitimises my wandering eye.
The cocktails are strong, and everyone seems in the mood for getting drunk. We drink the first Mojitos quickly and order more.
The talk is lively but it bores me and I find myself gazing around the party, looking for Monique. A couple of times I seem to catch her eye.
Dusk is setting over the roof garden making the air above us glow electric blue, and all around us thousands of lights are coming on over the city. It's kind of romantic and it makes me feel kind of horny.
"I'm going for a slash," I say, to no one in particular. The alcohol hits me as I stand up; I'm drunker than I thought. I can see Monique standing halfway between me and the building where the bogs are and I begin to walk towards her. She looks up and our eyes meet
as I'm closing in. Yeah, there's an energy between us even from here, guaranteed.
There's this huge potted palm tree right next to where she's stood and as I get closer she seems to move round it, probably so she's out of Krystal's line of vision. In seconds though I'm right in front of her, whispering 'follow me' quickly and without looking her in the eye, before we both part and she's already leaning over talking to another guest. I walk into the building and see the Gents. I genuinely do need to piss and figure by the time I finish Monique will be standing there with a plan about where we could go, gagging for it. I'm breathing quickly and feel my heart beating. I'm so horny right now I've almost got a hard-on. It's been months since I've done this. I've missed the feeling, the excitement of the casual fuck.
I'm annoyed to find someone else at the urinal and as I position myself next to him I see it's a DJ who sometimes hangs out with my superstar-deej mate, Mattaus.
"Hey, man," the DJ guy says, in that stupid, slow way Europeans do.
"Alright, Jorg," I reply, remembering the guy's real name just in time. When I saw him last he was chewing his face off on the Café del Mar terrace as the sun rose over Ibiza. That was a banging night, that was.
"How's it going?" he asks. I can feel my hornyness slipping away – now is neither the time nor the place for a conversation.
"Oh, you know, okay."
"Ya? Cool," Jorg nods.
Thankfully the guy stops pissing and starts doing up his fly, so there's no need for him to keep on standing there.
"Some cute ladies out there, ya?" he says as he turns to leave. I nod without looking round.
He'll probably see Monique standing there and put two and two together. Oh well, no doubt he'll think nothing of it other than wishing that he'd got in first. The scruffy Kraut would never stand a chance with a girl like her though.
I'm almost dizzy with anticipation as I zip up my jeans and I'm imagining the things she might let me, Beaumont Alexander, the Sleek Panther, the Chiselled God, His Sleeky Highness, do to her. She'll be waiting there now feeling equally, if not more, excited.
I push open the door of the Gents and look up and down the short corridor outside: it's empty which is odd, but there must be a logical explanation. Maybe she's been sidetracked by another pushy guest demanding more drinks? Yeah, that could easily have happened, but then from where I'm standing I can see through a dark glass door ahead of me onto the roof terrace and as I edge closer to the door I catch sight of her standing by the bar talking to another waitress who, from here, looks a lot like Krystal. They're laughing about something. Could it be me? She's turned me down. How could she? No chick turns down His Sleeky Highness. The little cock-tease. I'm overcome with shame at the thought of cracking onto her like I did, yet I can't quite believe
she
could turn
me
down. Maybe she didn't hear me?
It's a pretty shitty situation standing here, fairly drunk, in desperate need of a shag I might not get, knowing that nothing else will satisfy me tonight. I curse myself, curse her, curse the fact I'm drunk again, curse the boredom of it all. Now I'm going to have to go back to the table, sit with those pissheads and talk crap all night. I wish I could go home and curl up in my duvet and sleep but this is supposed to be one of the hottest parties of the year and it almost feels like it's my duty to stay.
So I walk back out, staring ahead of me so as not to catch her mocking gaze. Krystal smiles at me as I sit down. Is she mocking me too? I can see it in her face – the bitch is laughing at me. Yeah, they're all in it together, all these fucking slags: Monique, Krystal, Kelly, Krystal's little waitress twin. I'm fucking livid.
Krystal turns away from me to talk to Kelly – they're bitching about another footballer's girl – and I want to throw the empty cocktail glass in front of me at the back of her head, hear it thud against her skull.
Darren is sitting there wide-eyed as Jon's telling him some tale about the last World Cup.
"No way, man, no way,'" he keeps saying.
I want to stand up and push the table over, send all the glasses, the fucking gay table ornaments, everything, crashing to the floor: a bull in a china shop. I close my eyes for a second, I see Koi Carp at the surface of water, mouths gaping. It calms me down, a little.
When I open them again I see Monique. She's leaning over the table in front of us, her tight little ass bulging out of those hot pants. Jesus, what I'd give for that. So this gets me onto thinking: how dare she turn me down? What right did she have to do that? Some no-mark little waitress! And I feel the anger seeping back. But maybe she didn't hear me.
Another tray of cocktails arrives – different waitress.
"Oh no, not more cocktails," Krystal says, but she takes another one anyway.
She's well on her way to getting absolutely hammered. I pick a Cosmo off the tray and gulp it down, thinking I may as well get the same way as the alcohol hits the back of my throat and makes me want to gag. I scan the bar area to see who is doing what, who's talking to who, who's getting it on with who. My eyes are drawn to this scruffy-looking guy. I'm reckoning he's some music-industry type – a complete tramp who looks like he's not washed for days: the tell-tale sign of the middle-class rock star or record company ponce. These are the kind of people who always know where the best coke at the party can be sourced.
Coke.
I weigh up the pros and cons – the drink lending the pros a hand – and I decide that if I ain't gonna get a fuck, I might as well make
something
of the evening. I murmur something about seeing a mate over at the bar, but no one takes any notice anyway, and I get up and approach the guy.
"Know where I can get any charlie, by any chance, mate?" I whisper. The tramp, who reeks of weed and general grot, turns and looks at me, trying to hide his surprise at being spoken to by Beaumont Alexander.
"I can help you out myself. Follow me to the Gents in two minutes."
He smiles, revealing a set of yellow, wonky teeth.
I watch him walk off in the direction of the toilets. I'm hesitant about going back in there, as if it holds some strange curse, but there's nothing for it – my whole body has started to crave the cocaine rush.
I wait, leaning against the bar, with my back turned to Krystal et al, and then after a while I head towards the men's rooms. Inside, the tramp motions me silently into the cubicle. As soon as the door's locked he gets out a small zip-bag full of powder.
"That's too much," I say. That amount could get you done for possession with intent. The cons of the situation are making a comeback, big style.
"Come on, mate, it's good stuff. Try a bit."
He offers me the open bag so I lick the tip of my little finger and dip it in, just to test it. I feel the sharp salty taste on my gums as I rub it in, followed by numbness and then….yeah, a little suggestion of highness: it is good stuff. The pros surge back for a resounding victory. Fuck it, might as well take the bag.
"How much?"
"Two fifty."
That's not a bad price and so now I'm thinking I've got to take it because it's such a good deal. I've got a wad of cash in my pocket so I peel off two-fifty's worth of notes and watch tramp boy take it eagerly and stuff it into his own pocket. Then he's sliding out of the cubicle without saying anything and closing the door quietly behind him. I re-lock it and set about making two short, fat lines on the cistern with my Amex card.
I pull another tenner out of my wallet, roll it up, and then take in the scene for a few seconds. Sod it, I'm leaning over snorting the beauties up before the doubts can get out of the starting blocks. I exhale, close my eyes and feel the powder tickling my nose. This stuff will work fast and come on strong.
I check my reflection in the mirror over the sink. I'm looking pretty good, no lie, probably the best looking guy at this fucking party, and again I think of Monique – the stupid bitch doesn't know what she's missing. Halfway between the Gents and the table, the coke hits me. Man, it's strong, like a punch in the face. I stagger for a moment because it feels like my brain has exploded, and as the pieces settle I look around me at the party which now seems to be a little more jumping. Everyone looks pretty wasted. Probably that dealer has been supplying the whole joint for hours. What have I been missing? I see Krystal is still sitting at the table, but Jon, Kelly and Darren have disappeared and instead she's talking to a couple I recognise but can't place. Minor soap stars or something? It matters fuck all because I'm suddenly overcome by an aversion to going back to that table anyway, so instead I turn and am about to walk over to the bar when there's a cry behind me.
I swivel back around and see Darren standing up, pointing at a guy, also standing, on the other side of a table. The guy's wearing a dinner jacket. Everyone seems to have stopped talking and is staring at them, waiting, as one of Clyde's album tracks plays in the background.
"So come on motherfucker, gimmie, what you got,"
Clyde rhymes, over and over again.
It's a bad sign.
"Yeah come on, ya fucker!" Darren cries out, as if inspired by it.
He's swaying side to side, totally slaughtered. And then I notice Monique standing near them at the pool side. She's holding a tray against her chest and looking nervous. Suddenly Darren leaps right across the table and falls into the other guy. Now they're fighting proper, a two-person ball and every so often an arm or a leg sticks out then ploughs back into the tangle – it's kind of funny. People are screeching and moving away. I'm enjoying the spectacle and congratulating myself on my earlier reckoning that kids like Darren are better off in Faces. And Monique's still standing there.
But the next thing I know there's an almighty splash, and three bodies are thrashing about in the water. The two guys have fallen in and, I see, accidentally pushed Monique in with them. Fucking hilarious.
People are at the pool side helping her get out whilst the two guys try to continue their fight in the pool, sending water splashing over the tables nearby. Two security guards appear, stand for a second by the water then dive in and begin to try to part the fighters. It's chaos and in the midst of this a soaking Monique is trying to dry herself off with a napkin. I smile to myself – serves her right but God, does she look hot all wet like that. The coke is juddering through my veins now and I can feel my cock stirring, hardening as I watch her. Jesus I'm horny for it. She begins to walk away from the pool, ignored by the fight spectators, and without really thinking what I'm doing, I follow her. She's heading into the building where the toilets are. I wait when I reach the glass door and watch her go past the Ladies and the Gents and through another door. I go in and walk up to this door. There's a window above the handle and I can see that this is actually the entrance to a staircase which heads down into the hotel. Fortunately, there's no lock on the door so I push it open and go down the stairs. All the time I'm thinking of her tight ass in those hot pants, the bronzed skin, the dragon tattoo. She obviously hadn't heard me earlier…yeah…that was it, she must have got confused and that was why she never came to me.
It's dark at the bottom of the staircase but I can see a light under a door. She must be in there, waiting for me. I hesitate, gripping the handle … what if … what if … don't think about it now … the coke and the drink are telling me to open the door, screaming at me. She must hear it open because she turns round and exclaims "Oh!" with a surprised look on her face. She's taken off her bikini top and is holding a towel over her chest. I shut the door behind me.
"What are you…" she's saying as I move towards her. "You're really drun..."
I'm pressing my lips against hers and I've grabbed her arms. She's leaning against a table and I push forwards, onto her. I can feel her struggling but I've got to go on. My cock's pushing against the inside of my jeans, hard as hell. I manage to unzip myself so it springs up, free and brushes against her thigh.