‘ARE
you comin’ or what?’ Bex was glaring at Nancy from the foot of the steps. The
right leg of her tights was laddered to the knee and her cherry lipstick
appeared black beneath the green neon light. She looked a classic tart. Cora
was hopping about on one foot, pulling at her shoe.
‘My
heel!’ she moaned. ‘My stupid heel!’
Nancy
knew she was about to give them the opportunity to bitch about her the entire
ride. But Bex was probably right, Nancy was a boring tit. Nancy was gratified
to provide them a reason to carp. Bex liked to dish it out; Cora liked to consume
it. But when Monday came round, the three of them would continue to meet up at
lunch break as though nothing had happened – and moan about the injustices of
life.
Bex
was still glaring at Nancy. ‘Come on, Liquid Envy closes at two!’
‘Haven’t
you had enough?’
Bex’s
nose turned up. ‘Cora was right about you – you are a miserable old cow.’
Nancy’s
eyes narrowed in response. This time, the most brutal fob-off seemed most
fitting. ‘See you in a ditch somewhere.’ Nancy turned and made her way up the
steps.
A
taxi’s thrum tailgated the sound of her clopping shoes. Bex made it plain she
didn’t hesitate. The sound of the taxi door reverberated against the portico
entrance. Nancy didn’t look back.
A
knot of hooded parkas emitting steam loitered at the other entrance. Zoom
lenses glinted against the security lights. Vince
is in town. Nancy watched and understood why Bex and Cora had not been
approached by the bouncers. Because Jonas didn’t care. They were small-town
working class slappers who were simply pissed out of their heads and would
eventually slay their own fun. What more could have motivated this passivity
than disdain? Tomorrow he could be in Paris, the next day, New York. Nancy and
her so-called mates would be sweating it out at LossLess Insurance Company, a
grey steel building located on the Parkway Industrial Estate outside Coventry.
Check out our premium policies for acts of God, theft, accidental damage and
death. Nancy had never known a tagline so depressing.
She
knitted her lip at this bitter pill and entered the foyer. A decadently French
partition next to the desk offered privacy. She called a taxi for home. Once
done, Nancy drifted back to the bar. The ambience had shifted to an eighties
theme. A huge disco ball was now rotating from the stage ceiling, casting off
flecks of light. Michael Hutchence gravelled through the speakers on how your moves are so raw. A pastiche of
framed images on the walls gave any theme significance – celebrities and rock
stars had left their imprint via token shots: Gary from Take That,
George Michael and Celine Dion. An original Degas sketch, a handwritten recipe
from Heston Blumenthal and a diamond Tiffany ring, all housed within glass
cases gave the place a cosmopolitan feel. Nancy had made an effort to look
the part for Bex’s birthday bash – a blue cocktail dress from Kelly’s next to
the fish shop in Bedworth plus black strappy shoes and a mock leather handbag
from, well, The Bag & Shoe Place in the market. Nancy didn’t look half bad
considering. Under this subdued light, no one would know the difference.
She
checked out her appearance from the small mirror tucked beneath the flap of her
bag. She’d overdone the eyeliner, giving her dark eyes a hard look. Or perhaps
the eyeliner wasn’t to blame, but the imprint of her life. People envied her
heart-shaped face, her flat broad brow and deft chin. Yet it all came together
somehow stern, like a ward sister or a school ma’am. In a film, she would make
a convincing nun. Well, anything was better than winding up looking like her
mother.
Nancy
closed her handbag along with her thoughts with a sharp click.
‘Pardon
me.’
A
small guttural sound escaped her as she turned.
Mr.
Bling in all his glory was standing directly behind her. Had he been watching
her smudge out her eyeliner just then? She didn’t want to know but her cheeks
flushed al the same.
‘You
didn’t leave with your friends?’
Mrs.
Bling’s voice was deep yet soft and tinged with a soulful lilt. His eyes
twinkled as a grin cavorted the edge of his lips. Nancy realised she hadn’t
spoken since his first address. Her vocal chords seized up like a wind
instrument stuffed with grit. She coughed. ‘L…look, I’m sorry about earlier.
They’re just bored and frustrated. Wouldn’t you be if you’d been yakking all
day long about insurance in a stupid headset?’
Mr.
Bling’s grin grew lopsided in a quizzical slant. He decided the only way to
respond to her rhetoric was to offer his hand. ‘Let me introduce myself. I’m
Leon, Mr. Jonas’ personal assistant.’
