Chapter 18
Back at the villa, I rummage through the pile of new clothes for the least sexy outfit to wear tonight.
My decision-making this afternoon has left a lot to be desired as I sift through the Barbie-sized garments.
I want to give Matteo the right impression.
I fear I may have come across as sex crazed.
I must also under no circumstances make a right fool of myself by drinking too much.
I wander into the kitchen to see the girls have outdone themselves in the competition for heavy make-up, their lashes like industrial street sweepers.
‘Connie, that dress looks like a second skin. It leaves nothing to the imagination,’ says Tash approvingly. ‘Just hitch it up a bit, babes. Fabulous!’
Oh dear Christ.
And before we know it, we’ve all had four slammers each! My eyes are wide with liquor, and I feel invincible. Tonight, I will be putting all these embarrassing episodes, that happen literally every time I come within an inch of Matteo, well and truly behind me.
‘Hasn’t the trip been great so far?’ asks Cherry. ‘So much has happened. I haven’t missed Tony or the kids once. Not once.’
‘Yeah, remember how funny it was at the airport when Tash brought down all of those shelves in duty-free and we couldn’t get away quick enough?’ says Big Sue.
‘I’ve still got that bearded paramedic’s number,’ says Tash with a wink. ‘But he’s no Sister Kevin.’
I remember Matteo having a panic attack on the plane and me helping him, and us getting lost in a crazy, private moment here at the villa.
‘I still can’t believe you all thought I’d been out with you on that first night, when I hadn’t,’ I remind them.
‘Where were you?’ asks Big Mand, screwing her eyes to remember. ‘What happened to the wheel of Brie?’
‘Matteo ran me over with his moped on the way back from the supermarket,’ I sigh. ‘It was incredibly romantic.’
‘He ran you over?’
‘Uh-huh,’ I say, distracted at how so much has happened in such a short time. ‘He was tracking me because I’d stolen his phone by mistake. He was very courageous. I could have died.’
They roll their eyes theatrically.
‘You might have that Stockholm syndrome. Here, have some more,’ says Big Sue, pouring another round. ‘You’ll need it for where we’re going.’
I frown.
‘Don’t worry, babes. I’ll be your role model and mentor for the rest of this trip,’ volunteers Tash. ‘Now repeat after me. I am a confident, powerful, sexually ambitious woman.’
‘I am a confident, erm, sexually, yes, sexually ambitious, powerful woman,’ I say to the girls, sloshing tequila as I wave my glass around.
And I’m sure I will be once I’ve convinced myself.
‘Exactly,’ agrees Cherry, knocking back her shot and wincing as she sucks on the slice of lemon. ‘Yes, we are beautifully flawed women with runaway libidos, but we don’t need men to feel good about ourselves.’
We drink a shot to such profound wisdom.
‘We just need each other. Sisters before misters!’ yells Liberty.
This also sounds wise. We drink another.
‘Hoes before bros,’ Big Sue cheers.
We couldn’t agree more. And another.
‘Keen women of substance!’ I join in, feeling myself spiralling as the alcohol rushes to my head.
I slam down the glass, narrowly missing the bench, and it smashes on the floor.
And even though it’s hilarious, they all seem exasperated.
Another shot is hurriedly placed in front of me just as I have a light-bulb moment.
I gasp loudly. I’ve just realised something very important.
‘I am a confident, powerful, sexually ambitious woman!’ I say, perhaps for the first time.
‘And you.’ I point at Big Mand. She will want to know this about herself.
‘You are a powerful, sexy woman, and you.’ I point at Big Sue.
‘You are a powerful giantess, a huge, powerful gladiator.’
‘Great. Come on, bitches, let’s go!’ Cherry barks at me.
I should tell Cherry how much I admire her directness. No messing. She tells her absolute truth. I sling my arm around Cherry’s thin, bony shoulders. ‘I love you, Chezza. You’re so bossy.’
‘Big Sue,’ she says. ‘Can you carry Connie out to the taxi, love?’
The Strip is buzzing. There are gorgeous women swirling around gracefully on poles and tabletops.
It’s too hot to wear anything but a G-string.
It makes complete sense, especially in this heat, with the disco lights whizzing round and the music pumping out.
There’s a strong party vibe and people are spilling out from the bars on to the pedestrianised square where bartenders with beer kegs on their backs are refilling drinks with a hose.
All the men seem to be wearing their T-shirts tucked into their back pockets, allowing the air to cool their armpits.
Big Sue returns from the bar with a huge fishbowl full of bright green liquid and a dozen straws and plonks it down on our table. We all take a slurp. It’s delicious.
‘What’s in it?’ I ask, admiring the neon glow.
‘Everything,’ she says.
‘Right,’ barks Cherry. ‘Up you get. It’s time to show you how to dance.’
We make a dance floor out of the area next to us and I join in with the girls as they do their signature routine to a Spice Girls classic. I’m told many times to loosen up, make my body pop, use my arms and make love to the crowd.
‘Make love to them, Connie!’ Cherry orders forcefully, watching me twerk awkwardly to a group of frightened teen hipsters. ‘But not like that!’
It takes another round of drinks for me to finally get the hang of sexy dancing.
‘Connie, I will show you how to pole dance, now you’ve got a grasp of the basics,’ says Tash, clambering up onto the table to grab the pole.
Her swollen ankle is now level with our eyes, and I can appreciate how bulbous it is.
Just as she hooks her leg round it, there’s a big cheer from the girls as the nuns swoop into the bar, their eyes lighting up when they spot us.
They come tearing towards us like overgrown, hairy toddlers.
Tash squeals with delight and leaps off the table in the direction of Sister Kevin.
We all hold our breath as she soars towards him like a flying squirrel. He catches her expertly, her legs straddling his waist, their mouths colliding in a somewhat violent-looking kiss.
We watch, mesmerised.
They kiss.
And kiss.
When she starts to bounce provocatively up and down, one bum cheek nestled firmly in each of his hands, I realise she might not be coming back from this adult cuddle to finish her demonstration anytime soon.
Meet Tash, everyone, my role model and mentor.
To our surprise, the Mother Superior leaps nimbly up onto the table, grabs the pole and within seconds his tattooed head and legs are gracefully whizzing round the pole. We all gasp as he expertly lifts his body sideways, perpendicular to the table, using only his reedy tattooed arms.
‘The trick is to change your perception,’ he tells us, flipping upside down. ‘This is the swan.’
Liberty is ecstatic at such gymnastic prowess.
He is making it look effortless. I feel prickles on the back of my neck and turn to see Matteo has just walked in with Nacho and a gang of the cliff divers.
Like a submarine periscope, Big Sue cranks her neck up to peer over the crowd.
She clocks who is in my line of vision. Like lightning, she scoops me up and plonks me on the table with instructions to grab the pole and start dancing like a nun.
Shitting hell.
‘Do it!’ roars Cherry, drawing attention to me. ‘Do it now!’
The Mother Superior hoists me up the pole by the waist. I slide immediately back down. ‘Forget everything you ever learned about gravity and just let yourself go.’ He then pirouettes off the table to land in a balletic pose.
Matteo is looking around. It won’t be long before he spots me standing on top of this table full of drinks.
My chest immediately tightens, causing me to squeeze my eyes closed and grab the pole.
I am greatly disappointed to find that, when I open them, I have not been magically teleported far, far away from here.
I stand rigidly while the group makes its way towards us. I have been spotted.
My skin prickles with equal measures of nausea and excitement as Matteo’s gaze travels from my strappy sandals, up my bare legs, to my tiny animal-print see-through body-con dress, underwear clearly visible.
I glance over to the professional dancers twirling around, making this strenuous art form look easy.
I cross my heart and hope for the best. I shift my weight, hooking one leg round the pole, and swing for dear life.
I see the bar full of people blur as I spin round and round.
I grab tightly on to the pole, closing my eyes to stop the dizziness.
‘I’m going to nail this,’ I chant silently. ‘Be confident. Be powerful. Be sexy.’
I lean seductively out from the pole, arching my back, nipples like Greek olives pointing skyward as gravity spins me in circles.
My thick mane of glorious hair swishes behind me and before long I’m wondering if I look as fabulous as this feels.
It takes all my upper arm strength to clamp my thighs to the pole and lift both legs off the table while I swoosh sexily for all I’m worth.
I risk a quick peek over to Matteo. We lock eyes for a long moment, him walking towards me in slow motion, me gyrating for him, oozing sensuality from my every pore.
The music pumps out, and the buzz of people chattering in my ears and the reckless feeling that Matteo is watching me be a total goddess is flooding my veins with adrenaline.
I. AM. NAILING. IT.
He stands right in front of me. I stretch my legs out so that he can appreciate the lean muscle, honed by years of jogging.
He gives me a shy, appreciative smile. It floods my soul with confidence. I close my eyes and wonder if, like me, he is imagining my thighs wrapped around his neck.
I bend over backwards, my boobs somewhere down to my chin. Even upside down he’s incredibly handsome. I pull myself up as provocatively as I can and swing like a performing chimpanzee.
Whoosh.
Whoosh.
I am all woman , I want to roar as I fling my legs out behind me. It’s like a primeval spirit has taken control of my limbs. I am as light as air.
Whoosh.
Whoosh.
Oof!
At the same time as one foot connects with something solid, throwing me off balance, the other sweeps the table surface as I hear the systematic crashing of drinks to the floor.
My eyes snap open. The world stops spinning as I survey the damage.
I’ve emptied the table of the giant fishbowl and pint glasses, and they have smashed into millions of tiny pieces across the floor, creating a huge puddle.
But no one seems remotely bothered about this small lake of broken glass and beer.
Everyone has turned towards Matteo. He is standing nursing his eye.
We stare at each other as the horror of the situation sinks in.
It would appear that someone, there’s a worryingly high chance of it being me, has kicked him in the face.
He is giving me the look that you’d give someone you were perhaps thinking of strangling with your bare hands.
It sends immediate shivers of remorse down my whole body.
There’s a trickle of blood crawling down his cheek. He bends down to retrieve his phone from the wet floor where it is lying smashed and stomps away shaking his head.
‘Oh, my fucking God, Connie!’ howls Liberty. ‘That could not have gone any worse, pet.’
Finally, somehow, it’s three thirty in the morning and most of the girls are struggling to stay awake and are slumped over the tables back in The Knee Trembler. I’m still sitting bolt upright in a traumatised daze. I have been unable to speak since the pole-dancing incident.
‘Connie? Connie, are you able to take Liberty to the toilet while I mop up after Cherry?’ Big Mand croaks.
‘It’s no use, she’s still zoned out. Big Sue? Big Sue?’ Tash squeaks. ‘I’m ready now, love, if you can help me over to the… to the… What did I say I wanted to do?’
I snap briefly out of my trance. ‘I will not be broken. I don’t need a man to complicate me.’
Gosh. I’ve just coined a new phrase. I wonder if it will catch on.
‘You mean to complete you,’ says Cherry. ‘You don’t need a man to complete you.’
‘Yes. That’s what I mean. I don’t need a Matt to complete me.’
Why do I have this huge pain in my chest? As though I have disappointed myself yet again. Always with the disappointments. The unfulfilled feeling. The empty, pointless point of existence.
‘There’s no point to me, is there?’ I say sadly. ‘No point.’
‘Connie. Stop being so self-obsessed, will you?’ yells Tash, jolting me out of my depression. ‘It’s not all about you.’
She’s right. No good will ever come from being excessively preoccupied with one’s own life and thinking everything and everyone in this world should be focused on oneself. I give her an admiring look. Tash is enormously enlightened.
She stands up, throwing her arms wide and bellows, ‘Look at me! Someone look at me!’
The Dollz all turn towards her while I try to work out how this shameless cry for attention is any different to me being so self-obsessed.
‘No. The real me,’ she says, pointing to her heart.
Ah. Perhaps that’s it.
‘Finally. She’s owning her own truth,’ says Liberty. ‘Show us who you really are, babes.’
Tash swipes away at her phone and demands that the manager plugs it in to his speakers. She is having a brief second wind and gets up on stage to perform her much talked-about version of Riverdance , which I remember we were very much looking forward to.
She hobbles onto the shallow stage, leaning against the wall to get her balance.
And as if possessed by the spirit of Michael Flatley himself, she’s off.
We marvel at the speed with which she jiggles her feet about on stage despite the swollen ankle, only to see her pass out in the middle of it.
She’s mid-air one minute, executing a perfect split, and the next, her eyes clang shut and she’s crumpling to the floor.
Luckily, Big Sue has the reflexes of a cheetah and swoops down to catch her just in time.
Beep .
Jorge is pulling up in his minibus. He has come to our rescue. We have never loved him more.