Chapter Pink Latex Jumpsuit
Pink Latex Jumpsuit
Lace and I walk through Shoreditch. The winter sun has just gone down, and the shops are closing and the pubs are filling up.
I follow Lace into a brick warehouse where an awful techno track with a robotic voice is blaring out.
We dance. We blow. We dance. We blow. Inside is chaos.
There are cameras, theatre lights and people running around like they’re on a countdown to save the world.
At the centre of the commotion is a band of grown men in different-coloured latex jumpsuits.
The guitarist is in blue, the keyboard player is in yellow, and there is one in white shaking a tambourine.
The only person in plain clothes is the lead singer, and it’s . . .
‘Sissy and Lacey,’ Woody squeals into the mic.
Geez. He runs towards us with his hands waving in the air.
His band is shouting after him to come back.
‘Sorry, chicks, my costume has arrived!’ He comes and does his usual theatrical hugging and kissing.
‘Sissy, what a gorgeous surprise. Why are you here?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘What is this?’
Woody looks offended. ‘It’s our first music video, Sissy.’
‘I thought you were an actor?’
‘I am. Actor, slash singer, slash director, slash model.’ He seems oddly proud for a man who has three failing careers going at the same time.
He hasn’t modelled since he was 18, and that was for an off-brand Abercrombie & Fitch.
One of the photos hangs in Dad and Jean-Ivy’s bathroom.
I have to endure Woodstock in a field, topless, giving me a sex face whenever I use their loo.
His last acting gig consisted of a small, unpaid role in a student film where he played an alien butler.
‘Right . . .’ I say, unconvinced.
‘Woody is a very talented soul,’ Lace interrupts.
‘And a talented soul needs the right costume.’ She gives me the hanger to hold.
Woodstock claps excitedly as she unzips the red-covered garment.
He does a dramatic gasp and then takes the thing out of the cover, revealing it’s a pink latex jumpsuit, hanging like a piece of rubbery skin.
Woodstock wipes his eyes. ‘You’re . . . a genius,’ he says to Lace. ‘Isn’t she just wonderful, Amy?’
I don’t know if anyone here is wonderful or plain bat-shit crazy. I nod anyway.
‘Did I tell you how we met? Brighton Pride! She made these wonderful sequin costumes for the karaoke float. I told her she had to make me one too, otherwise, I’d die.
Then, out of nowhere, I get this text saying that she has a gift for me.
OOOOH! So, I got to this pub in Shoreditch.
Oh God! I was so trollied! So sorry about that, Lace.
Anyway, can you believe it? She’s there with the red sequin suit.
’ He claps furiously again. ‘It was so magical!’ The band are irritably calling Woodstock back.
‘I’m coming, chicks. Keep your skins on!
’ I’m not sure how long this rockstar career will last for Woody, but his band seem to be regretting their decision to let him in already.
‘Showbiz is calling, ladies. Sorry. So sorry.’ He kisses us both and scuttles off with his new latex suit over his shoulder.
‘Exhausting,’ I say.
Lace takes hold of my arm. ‘Let’s loosen you up.’