17) The Wrap Party
November 15, 2006
Sometimes I get post; sometimes I don't; sometimes I get post belonging to people who don't live anywhere near me; every day I get twenty five pizza delivery flyers and tiny typed advertisements for cleaners.
One day I’m in my local pub. I have my framed picture on the wall there. It was a proud day when that went up, I tell you. I'm going off the place a bit though. Its all become rather trendy. Now, when I go in, I want to tell all the boys to pull their skinny jeans up. I'm having Sunday roast with Beautiful Asian Friend, when Landlord of Trendy Pub Who I Used to Have A Crush On joins us.
‘I've got something for you.’
‘Oh, what's that?’ I giggle.
‘Just some post.’
Omigod! Maybe he's written me a letter telling me he loves me? I wonder. But no…he shuffles off then reappears with a massive pile of my mail. This includes a box of Live In Ex’s personal training business cards - Live In Ex had become incandescent that he'd paid £3.25 for 250 of them, and they never appeared.
‘Why the bloody hell do you have my post?’ I say, choking on Yorkshire pud and swilling strong European Lager.
‘Oh, it's just Crap Postman, he normally gives up at some point in the morning and dumps the rest of his mail somewhere.’
‘Ah ha! Crap Postman. That explains everything...’ I say in my best sleuthing voice.
One drizzly Monday I’m leaving the house, as I’m rummaging through a pile of mail belonging to strangers, I spy something addressed to me. Bizarrely, it is neither bill nor court summons….it is an invitation - on expensive card - to a Wrap Party for High Profile Murder Investigation Series at an Exclusive Member’s Club. Woo-hoo! I wave the Golden Ticket above my head and skip past Crap Postman who is fumbling with his ipod and dropping post.
I buy a dress which rides the perfect line between Sophisticated Fifties Starlet and New Millennium Filth. I buy a new bra which artificially does to by breasts what I wish nature did on its own. I buy some hold-you-in tights from Marks. I try it on for Live In Ex …he tells me I look hot. I tell him, I love you, and ask if he’ll be my guest.
The only bugger is the party starts at seven. I won't be able to get there till eleven because I’m doing my Blow Job Play. That's five hours of pulling I shall miss. Still, on the plus side, men will be drunk when I get there. In my experience I am much more attractive to drunk men.
I finish the play. I race for the train. I attempt to take off my prostitute make up and apply, You don't need to pay, I'm a Nice Girl, make up. I sit next to Gorgeous Young Gay Actor who is Soon To Be The Next Jude Law. He is my mirror as I don't have one. Gay men are ever so good at this game. They are brutally honest. They don't just say, You look fine, without actually looking at you - like straight men do. I can tell he’s disgusted by the state of my make up bag, though. It’s full of decomposing tampax and, owing to a broken bronzer compact, everything is covered in brown dust.
I try to apply more make up on the bus. (Remember the motto: More is More). It’s tricky because there’s a drunk Romanian boy, who I think might be on ‘e’, and he keeps trying to tell me jokes. It’s pouring with rain, and the bus windows have steamed up. I can't tell where I am. I get off the bus too early. I wade through puddles and avoid dirty gutter bus wash as much as possible. I use my handbag as an umbrella. I’m drenched when I meet Live In Ex standing outside the club, pint of lager in hand. I attempt to down his lager, belch, then we enter Exclusive Member's Club. The look is: Marilyn Manson meets Marilyn Monroe on the set of Singing in the Rain.
We approach the desk. A beautiful girl who looks like Sade greets us. Live In Ex does his best, Well, hello there…realises he probably shouldn't enter Exclusive Member’s Club with pint of lager, says, Bollocks, and runs outside to dispose of his glass.
‘Classy,’ I nod to Sade. She laughs.
We decide to enjoy one of the Exclusive Member’s Club bars before we join the party. The bar is beautiful. We plan to steal the furniture and artwork for the flat. We order cocktails. We fight over who should pay.
‘The barman's fit,’ whispers Live In Ex. The barman is indeed fit, but oddly enough looks like Live In Ex. He hands me my margarita and smiles. I look into his lovely eyes and give my best minx look. I look at my drink.
‘Wank. I should have said, No Salt,’ I blurt.
‘Classy,’ nods Live In Ex to Fit Swarthy Barman. He laughs. He attempts to wipe the salt off my rim….
I have been so busy with my play and various waitress commitments that I haven't spent proper time with Live In Ex for ages. I do love him. He has me in stitches. Live In Ex is an actor on the verge of greatness, rather like myself. Although my greatness will probably involve playing a Dot Cotton-like character when I am in my 60's. His, on the other hand, will probably involve him playing Bond within the next ten years. I have no doubt he will be a huge star. He is currently working on a Robbie Williams video. Robbie Williams has a new single out, but there‘s no video - yet. He’s holding a competition to see who can make the best to go with his tune. Live In Ex, along with two brilliant young film makers (who will be the next Cohen brothers), have been making videos all week. Live In Ex plays Robbie. He even looks a bit like Robbie. They are Bloody Amazing. Live In Ex recreates his performance for me. Oddly enough I still like the song, even though it is all that’s been played in the flat for the past four weeks. We sing along to Robbie while getting drunk on cocktails.
I am very content where I am, so I decide to check out the party before committing…
I wander up to the party floor. A stout, bald, drunk man spies me. He starts doing some alarming pelvic rotations. He looks like a dancing willy. He says:
‘You're late, baby. But you're here. Come in. I've got an invitation here for you.’ He pulls out an Expensive Card Wrap Party Invitation from his pocket.
‘I've got an invitation,’ I wince.
‘Are you coming in, baby?’ He asks, resuming his hula dance.
‘I don't know. I've got a friend downstairs.’
‘A nice girl, like you?’ He smiles, nodding at his bald, drunk friends.
‘No. A guy.’
‘Boyfriend?’
‘No. My friend,’ I say, thinking, why am I talking to Willy Man? whilst running back down to the bar and Live In Ex.
‘Wow, it's like a heavy duty drunken office party,’ I pant, ordering more cocktails. Live In Ex is throwing peanuts in the air and catching them in his mouth, occasionally.
‘The door girl’s fit, Lucy…and she's looking at me.’
‘Yeah, probably because this is Exclusive Member’s Club, and you're trying to catch peanuts in your mouth.’
‘Yeah, we'll be members here soon, man,’ he says, spitting out bits of nut. ‘I’m going to give her my number.’
I can hear him persuading her with the immortal line…
‘We can just go for a drink - we might hate each other, you might think I'm a plum.’ He comes back two seconds later saying, ‘Nah, she's got a boyfriend.’
‘Right,’ I say, ‘we'll go up. But I warn you. They're drunk and mad. We won't know anyone, so we need to mingle.’
We enter. Willy Man starts grinding beside me. Live In Ex visibly puffs up and leads me away. I do love him. There is an atmosphere of unhinged sexual mistakes waiting to happen. Old men in suits are roaming and leering over pretty girls who are dancing sexily together. Live In Ex and me pull faces at each other.
‘I'm not really feeling it,’ I shout over Dolly Parton.
‘Yeah, it's shite,’ he shouts back.
‘Oh, he's nice,’ I scream, perking up at the sight of a blonde man in a kilt. I have a thing about a Scot’s accent which not even the association with the Student Loans Company can cure.
‘Yes, please,’ I say, dancing over to the Scot. He twirls around, spraying me with Scottish face sweat. It's not altogether unpleasant. I smile. He smiles. I try to dance between him and the two pretty girls doing lesbian dancing so that he is not distracted. Suddenly he freezes and stands rigidly still.
Fuck me, he‘s died standing up, I think.
In actual fact he'd heard the opening chords to I would walk five hundred miles…
He rips his shirt off to reveal an incredibly sweaty torso, and starts throwing himself around the dance floor in the manner of a patient having a cardiac arrest. I retreat to the bar, where Live In Ex is trying to get served.
‘You really pick ‘em, Luce,’ he says, as we silently watch the naked Scotsman.
‘What about him?’ I say, as a tall blonde guy with dreads walks past us.
I smile at the dreaded man. He looks at me blankly.
‘Shall we go back to the bar?’ I suggest to Live in Ex.
Safely ensconced in another beautiful bar, with another phenomenal cocktail, Live In Ex sighs at me.
‘Out of all the men in there you pick Psycho Sweaty Scot and Crusty Dread Man.’
‘I know. I've got dreadful taste in men,’ I say, grinning at him.
We go on to have a marvellous time. I bump into an actress I haven't seen for ages. Sade gives Live In Ex her number but apparently can't promise anything….
At last, we head for home. I climb in to my single bed. I'm just going to sleep when Live In Ex knocks on my door and says,
‘Luce, I had a brilliant night. I'd walk five hundred miles for you. I just wanted you to know that.’
Goodnight x
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25) Guardian Soulmates Online