NANCY
prayed the pole dancer wouldn’t come closer. Exhibitionism wasn’t the issue nor
was female nudity. No. The problem flanked either side of Nancy at the cocktail
table. The cackling taunts of the culprits, namely, Bex and Cora, had driven
away the few remaining punters on an adjacent table.
And
still it seemed the novelty of having a blinding piss-up had yet to be
exhausted. Well, hadn’t they earned the privilege? Selling insurance through a
headset was surely enough to drive any sane person to get ratted every weekend.
Bex
unleashed a staccatoing belly-laugh that warned her monstrous inner child had
now been unleashed. The propane was gearing up; Bex’s tongue was starting to
clack against the roof of her mouth and the brain matter was fading away. Her
eyes fixated upon the pole dancer as the bikinied form made an oily slalom
towards their table.
A
ten-pound note fluttered around like a flag. ‘Hey, come ‘ere and I’ll slide
something between your butt-cheeks!’
This
spurred one of Cora’s quavering sniggers. Between them, Cora and Bex’s
so-called hilarity covered all sound frequencies that agitated any ill-fated
eardrum – but not sufficient to obscure the utterance of a bearded punter next
to Nancy. ‘I wish they’d bloody shut it.’
Nancy
closed her eyes. Her table had become the noisiest and most disruptive within
the Nexus nightclub; a little like the classrooms Bex and Cora had disrupted
all those years ago.
Nancy
knew better than to tell Bex to give it a rest. When it came to present
company, Nancy had learned not to go against the grain; just laugh at the right
moments crack a joke on cue. Being the sour grape for the best of reasons never
paid off with one who savoured confrontation as Bex did. Nancy sipped her iced
tonic water that passed for a gin and lemon. God, if Bex ever found out.
The
pole dancer, a leggy brunette in a turquoise G-string and token bra, presented
her right buttock in a pert squat. Not believing her luck, Bex tucked the
ten-pound note into the waistband above the thigh. Bex couldn’t help herself.
‘Give us a snog will ya! That would just make my birthday treat!’
Cora’s
gibing titter died within a sudden gasp.
The
pole dancer’s expression remained composed, perhaps used to these proposals. A
tapering limb rippled in Bex’s direction, the other still clasping the pole
behind her. She lowered herself towards the table, reaching out. Pique prickled
inside. Bex yet again was about to get what she craved: more than what she
bargained for. Bex thrived on juvenile bravado, bluffing her way into getting a
reaction from other people. Nancy wished the pole dancer had simply moved on
without as much as a smile.
Instead,
Bex’s simper fell like a stone from her face, leaving the corner of her lip
aquiver. Within, Nancy could tell Bex was lapping it up. Wait till Monday. Just
wait till Monday. Bex would infect the entire office with her testimony of what
was about to happen. Bex would claim she hadn’t done anything to deserve it.
She would maintain in all innocence, ‘why does this stuff always happen to me?’
And then underscore this declaration with a little grin that knew better.
The
pole dancer clasped Bex’s head like a football within her splayed-out fingers
and closed the gap between their lips. Nancy could barely stand to watch.
Cora’s sun-bleached face appeared lurid in the strobing light, her mouth a
gaping maw.
Their
meeting of lips instilled an indignity that Nancy belonged here little more
than her tonic water, lonely in its non-alcoholic status. Nancy was the
wallflower, burdened with sturdy views. Nancy was the anchor of the trio, the
one, who made the other two appear liberated and fun. Chat-up lines always
evaded her, as well as male attention. Nancy was undoubtedly the only one to
avert her eyes as the smacking sounds commenced.
Gibes
of delight and harsh whistles pierced the air. The floor thrummed beneath the
stomping of feet.
‘Hey,
Stripper!’ someone called out, what about one for the other two slappers!’
