girl.’
‘So what did you do?’
‘We just went to the Amour, for drinks.’
‘Nothing after?’
‘No.’
‘What, an early night? I can hardly believe it, Konrad.’
‘Seriously. We had drinks and then everyone headed off.’
I kept my mouth shut, but I didn’t believe him. Konrad never went home early – there was always a new bar to go on to, a party to sniff out, people to meet. I’d go so far as to say that he just wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he stayed at home or came home early.
There was something he wasn’t telling me but I shrugged it off. ‘Look, I’d better get myself out of this dress and home to get ready or I’ll miss out on whatever tonight has in store. But thanks so much, K. You know I really appreciate it. I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.’
‘Sure, honey. But no hurry. Just enjoy yourself, huh? I hope it lives up to expectations.’
‘Thanks, K.’ I went to say I loved him but something stopped me. It always did. And he never told me either.
***
I went back to Rachel’s flat, put some Goldfrapp on Spotify, and danced around the place as I got dressed, sipping ice-cold champagne from a half-bottle through a straw. It would take me forever to pay Konrad back for this evening’s extravagances; I just hoped it was going to be worth it.
When I was done, I stood back and admired myself in the mirror. I looked out of this world. My slicked-back white-blonde hair made my spidery-lashed pale-blue eyes look even bigger, while nude, glossed lips emphasised the rosy apples of shimmering pink liquid blusher with which I’d embellished my cheeks. The dress was a sensation, but it was the shoes – mountainous wedges with a Perspex toe-less vamp and then silver ankle ties – that really brought the look together. I felt utterly myself in it, and yet at the same time I felt like a different person – someone brave and destined for great things. This night, I felt, would transform me. Gone were all thoughts of seedy encounters in hotel rooms with anonymous men. Tonight I would shine.
Looking at my silver antique watch – a family heirloom – I realised I was running late and, grabbing my clutch bag, rushed out of the flat. It was only a few minutes’ walk across Hyde Park, and the evening was soft and mild. My spirits were high and I almost skipped along the footpaths. Men and women alike looked at me, and it felt as if I was being caressed by their eyes. It was good to feel powerful, to have some kind of hold over people, even if it was only visual. I imagined them keeping this vision of me in their mind’s eye, returning to it over and over. The thought of making a lasting impression, even on people I would never see again, was seductive.
For a moment I missed Club GaGa – not only my friends there but the actual performing. I couldn’t deny that it gave me a high, having so many pairs of eyes on me. Of course, I knew that, deep down, I was a piece of flesh to these guys – and sometimes girls too. I knew that they didn’t care who I really was, what I wanted, or what was going to happen to me. But in a hectic world of so many distractions, just holding them in thrall for a half-hour or so, through my face and body, felt like an achievement.
And my dancing was an art – of that there was no doubt. I didn’t do pole dancing or lap-dancing – neither was my thing. But GaGa wasn’t that kind of club anyway. GaGa was basically a burlesque club doing quite old-fashioned cabaret-style routines in the grand Parisian style. In my latest act I’d been a 1950s cheesecake pin-up in a Merry Widow black strapless basque, long lace gloves, stockings and stilettos, shimmying and kitten-pouting for all I was worth, with lots of classic tease. It was an act, and an outfit, perfect for me – I’m super-slim but have quite big boobs.
Tonight I was on display again, but it was a different kind of display. Tonight it was all about me, even if, to some degree, I was still
‘So what did you do?’
‘We just went to the Amour, for drinks.’
‘Nothing after?’
‘No.’
‘What, an early night? I can hardly believe it, Konrad.’
‘Seriously. We had drinks and then everyone headed off.’
I kept my mouth shut, but I didn’t believe him. Konrad never went home early – there was always a new bar to go on to, a party to sniff out, people to meet. I’d go so far as to say that he just wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he stayed at home or came home early.
There was something he wasn’t telling me but I shrugged it off. ‘Look, I’d better get myself out of this dress and home to get ready or I’ll miss out on whatever tonight has in store. But thanks so much, K. You know I really appreciate it. I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.’
‘Sure, honey. But no hurry. Just enjoy yourself, huh? I hope it lives up to expectations.’
‘Thanks, K.’ I went to say I loved him but something stopped me. It always did. And he never told me either.
***
I went back to Rachel’s flat, put some Goldfrapp on Spotify, and danced around the place as I got dressed, sipping ice-cold champagne from a half-bottle through a straw. It would take me forever to pay Konrad back for this evening’s extravagances; I just hoped it was going to be worth it.
When I was done, I stood back and admired myself in the mirror. I looked out of this world. My slicked-back white-blonde hair made my spidery-lashed pale-blue eyes look even bigger, while nude, glossed lips emphasised the rosy apples of shimmering pink liquid blusher with which I’d embellished my cheeks. The dress was a sensation, but it was the shoes – mountainous wedges with a Perspex toe-less vamp and then silver ankle ties – that really brought the look together. I felt utterly myself in it, and yet at the same time I felt like a different person – someone brave and destined for great things. This night, I felt, would transform me. Gone were all thoughts of seedy encounters in hotel rooms with anonymous men. Tonight I would shine.
Looking at my silver antique watch – a family heirloom – I realised I was running late and, grabbing my clutch bag, rushed out of the flat. It was only a few minutes’ walk across Hyde Park, and the evening was soft and mild. My spirits were high and I almost skipped along the footpaths. Men and women alike looked at me, and it felt as if I was being caressed by their eyes. It was good to feel powerful, to have some kind of hold over people, even if it was only visual. I imagined them keeping this vision of me in their mind’s eye, returning to it over and over. The thought of making a lasting impression, even on people I would never see again, was seductive.
For a moment I missed Club GaGa – not only my friends there but the actual performing. I couldn’t deny that it gave me a high, having so many pairs of eyes on me. Of course, I knew that, deep down, I was a piece of flesh to these guys – and sometimes girls too. I knew that they didn’t care who I really was, what I wanted, or what was going to happen to me. But in a hectic world of so many distractions, just holding them in thrall for a half-hour or so, through my face and body, felt like an achievement.
And my dancing was an art – of that there was no doubt. I didn’t do pole dancing or lap-dancing – neither was my thing. But GaGa wasn’t that kind of club anyway. GaGa was basically a burlesque club doing quite old-fashioned cabaret-style routines in the grand Parisian style. In my latest act I’d been a 1950s cheesecake pin-up in a Merry Widow black strapless basque, long lace gloves, stockings and stilettos, shimmying and kitten-pouting for all I was worth, with lots of classic tease. It was an act, and an outfit, perfect for me – I’m super-slim but have quite big boobs.
Tonight I was on display again, but it was a different kind of display. Tonight it was all about me, even if, to some degree, I was still
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