the
club
3am. We are at the club. Five of the group have wussed out and
gone back to the hotel. But not me, Donna, Rachel, Ellie, and Linda.
We are hardcore. We've got a bet to win.
I am
talking to someone called Peter. I wouldn't wish Peter on anybody:
not even Donna, not even to win the bet. Sample Peter conversation:
Peter: What did you do today?
Me: We went to a beauty salon and had manicures
and facials. Then we tried on wigs. Then we drove around in--
Peter: You had a FACIAL, huh? Was it a nice FACIAL?
Did you take photographs?
Me: Yeah right, very funny.
Peter: Did you get caught in the rain on your way
here? It was raining HARD, wasn't it? Very WARM RAIN, wasn't it?
I bet you got really, really WET, didn't you?
Me: A bit, yeah. And yet, oddly enough, I could
stand under a waterfall with you and stay dry as a bone. Isn't that
strange.
What an arsehole. I sling my drink down his trousers
and take refuge in the girls' loos, where I find Donna pressing
the buttons on her phone with a manicured finger...
'Donna? It's the middle of the night! What you
doing? You ringing Pete?'
Pete is hubby-to-be, the stag.
She peers up through her fringe. 'Nah. Johnny. Remember
him? My ex? The lush one?' I nod. 'I'm having phone ex!' She grins,
and shuts the door of the cubicle. I hear whispers and giggles.
I won't be collecting on my bet tonight: Donna's having
sex the modern way. It's a meeting of minds, not bits. All the fun,
none of the fear.
I wonder if Pete's being as careful.
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