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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