Chapter Nine #2
“Right,” says Lissy, standing under a street lamp and consulting a tiny scrap of paper. “It’s all hidden away somewhere.”
“Isn’t there a sign?”
“No. The whole point is, no one except members knows where it is. You have to knock on the right door and ask for Alexander.”
“Who’s Alexander?”
“Dunno.” Lissy shrugs. “It’s their secret code.”
Secret code! This gets cooler and cooler.
As Lissy squints at an intercom set in the wall, I look idly around.
This street is completely nondescript. In fact, it’s pretty shabby.
Just rows of identical doors and blanked-out windows and barely any sign of life.
But just think. Hidden behind this grim facade is the whole of London celebrity society!
“Hi, is Alexander there?” says Lissy nervously. There’s a moment’s silence, then, as if by magic, the door clicks open.
This is like Aladdin or something. Looking apprehensively at each other, we make our way down a lit corridor pulsing with music. We come to a flat stainless-steel door, and Lissy reaches for her key. As it opens, I quickly tug at my top and casually rearrange my hair.
“OK,” Lissy mutters. “Don’t look. Don’t stare.”
“All right,” I mutter back, and follow Lissy into the club.
As she shows her membership card to a girl at a desk, I stare studiously at her back, and as we walk through into a large, dim room, I keep my eyes fixed on the beige carpet.
I’m not going to gawk at the celebrities.
I’m not going to stare. I’m not going to—
“Look out!”
Oops. I was so busy gazing at the floor, I blundered right into Lissy.
“Sorry,” I whisper. “Where shall we sit down?”
I don’t dare look around the room for a free seat, in case I see Madonna and she thinks I’m ogling her. “Here,” says Lissy, gesturing to a wooden table with an odd little jerk of her head.
Somehow we manage to sit down, stow our bags, and pick up the lists of cocktails, all the time rigidly staring at each other.
“Have you seen anyone?” I murmur.
“No. Have you?”
“No.” I scan the cocktail menu, keeping my eyes down.
God, this is a strain. My eyes are starting to ache. I want to see the place. “Lissy,” I hiss. “I’m going to have a look around.”
“Really?” Lissy peers at me anxiously, as though I’m Steve McQueen announcing he’s going over the wire. “Well…OK. But be careful. Be discreet.”
“I will. I’ll be fine!”
OK. Here we go. A quick, non-gawking sweep.
I lean back in my chair, take a deep breath, then allow my eyes to skim swiftly around the room, taking in as much detail as quickly as I can.
Low lighting…lots of purple sofas and chairs…
a pair of guys in T-shirts…three girls in jeans and jumpers—God, Lissy’s going to freak—a couple whispering to each other and giggling…
a guy with a beard, reading Private Eye… and that’s it.
That can’t be it.
This can’t be right. Where’s Robbie Williams? Where’s Jude Law? Where are all the supermodels?
“Who did you see?” hisses Lissy, still staring at the cocktail menu.
“I’m not sure,” I whisper uncertainly. “Maybe that guy with the beard is some famous actor?”
Casually, Lissy turns in her seat and gives him a look. “I don’t think so,” she says at last, turning back.
“Well, how about the guy in the gray T-shirt?” I say, gesturing hopefully. “Is he in a boy band or something?”
“Mmm…no. I don’t think so.”
There’s silence as we look at each other.
“Is anyone famous here?” I say at last.
“Celebrities aren’t guaranteed!” says Lissy defensively.
“I know! But you’d think—”
“Hi!” A voice interrupts us and we both look around, to see two of the girls in jeans approaching our table. One of them is smiling at me nervously. “I hope you don’t mind, but my friends and I were just wondering—aren’t you that new one in Holly oaks?”
Oh, for God’s sake.
—
I can’t help feeling a bit disappointed. Not to see a single famous person.
But never mind. We didn’t come here to see tacky celebrities taking coke and showing off, I tell myself. We just came to have a nice, quiet drink together.
We order strawberry daiquiris and some luxury mixed nuts (￡4.50 for a small bowl—don’t even ask how much the drinks cost). And I have to admit, I feel a bit more relaxed, now that I know there’s no one famous to impress.
“How’s your work going?” I ask as I sip my drink.
“Oh, it’s fine,” says Lissy with a shrug. “I saw the Jersey Fraudster today.”
The Jersey Fraudster is this client of Lissy’s who keeps being charged with fraud and appealing and—because Lissy’s so brilliant—getting let out. One minute he’s wearing handcuffs; the next he’s dressed in handmade suits and taking her to lunch at the Ritz.
“He tried to buy me a diamond brooch,” says Lissy, rolling her eyes. “He had this Asprey’s catalog and he kept saying ‘That one’s rather jolly.’ And I was like, ‘Humphrey, you’re in prison! Concentrate!’ “She shakes her head, takes a sip of her drink, and looks up. “So…what about your man?”
I know at once she means Jack, but I don’t want to admit that’s where my mind has leapt to, so I attempt a blank look and say, “Who, Connor?”
“No, you dope! Your stranger on the plane. The one who knows everything about you.”
“Oh, him.“ I feel a flush coming to my cheeks and look down at my embossed paper coaster.
“Yes, him! Have you managed to avoid him?”
“No,” I admit. “He won’t bloody leave me alone.”
Lissy gives me a close look. “Emma, do you fancy this guy?”
“No, of course I don’t fancy him,” I say hotly. “He just…disconcerts me, that’s all! It’s a completely natural reaction. You’d be the same. Anyway, it’s fine. I only have to get through until Friday. Then he’ll be gone.”
“And then you’ll be moving in with Connor. Lucky you!” Lissy takes a sip of her daiquiri and leans forward. “You know, I reckon he’s going to ask you to marry him!”
“Really?” I say, feeling as though I’ve swallowed a chunk of ice. “I mean…yes. Connor’s just…great.” I start to shred my paper coaster into little bits.
“Emma?” I lift my head to see Lissy peering at me questioningly. “Is something wrong?”
“I suppose the only tiny little thing would be…that it’s not that romantic anymore.”
“You can’t expect it to be romantic forever! Things change. It’s natural to become a bit more steady.”
“Oh, I know that! We’re two mature, sensible people in a loving, steady relationship. Which…you know, is just what I want. Except…” I clear my throat awkwardly. “We don’t have sex that often anymore.”
“That’s a common problem in long-term relationships,” says Lissy knowledgeably. “You need to spice it up.”
“With what?”
“Have you tried handcuffs?”
“No! Have you?” I stare at Lissy, riveted.
“A long time ago,” she says with a dismissive shrug. “They weren’t all that.” She leans forward. “Emma…”
“Yes?” I hold my breath. Is she going to give me advice on bondage gear?
“You’ve got something stuck between your teeth.”
“Ooh!” I say in horror, and pull out my compact, but it’s too dim in here to see my reflection. “I’ll just pop to the loo.” I stand up and grab my bag. “Can you order me another drink?”
The ladies’ room is all limestone and glass basins and chrome taps, which you operate by waving your arms about. I fix my teeth, then redo my lipstick and get out my hairbrush. And I’m just starting to brush my hair when I hear a moan from a cubicle.
I ignore it and carry on brushing. But then there’s another one. Then another, much longer one. I pause and look at the cubicle door, feeling uncertain. Should I do anything? Maybe some girl is ill in there.
Or maybe she’s taken a drug overdose, I think in sudden horror. It’s a celebrity on heroin. I knew it. There’s another moan, and a muffled knocking sound against the door. I feel a faint queasiness. Has she passed out?
“Er, hello?” I say softly.
There’s no answer. Now what do I do?
A cry of pain breaks the silence and I clap a hand over my mouth. She must be in agony. She must have cracked her head on the floor.
“It’s OK!” I say quickly, getting down onto my knees and craning to see underneath the door. I’ll try to make eye contact with her and establish a bond, then I’ll go into the next cubicle and somehow climb over the partition—
Hang on.
I’m looking at three feet. Two in pink suede kitten heels…and one in a heavy black brogue. As I watch, the other brogue appears on the floor.
And now the knocking sound has started again. Except it’s more of a…rocking. And the moaning is more like—
I don’t believe this.
I scramble to my feet, feeling a wash of embarrassment.
What, they’re just having blatant sex and not bothering about anyone else?
Connor and I would never do that. Not in a million years.
I mean, the very thought of Connor and me getting it together in some public place, where someone could easily come across us…
I catch sight of my own flushed reflection.
Actually…that’s an idea.
I hurry out of the ladies’, down the corridor, and back through the dim bar to our table, where Lissy looks up in excitement.
“Emma! Where were you! You’ll never—”
“I have it,” I interrupt, sliding into my chair. “I have the answer. It came to me in the loo. I’m going to seduce Connor in public. Like, at work or somewhere. That’ll put the fizz back in our sex life. What do you think?”
“Emma, you just missed Ewan McGregor! He just came in here! He was in this amazing dark suit and he looked totally gorgeous! And he was alone!”
For a full five minutes I cannot speak.
I missed him. I missed a genuine A-list celebrity. By trying to help someone who didn’t need help at all! That’s it—I’m never helping anyone again.
But at last the feeling returns to my face. At last Lissy persuades me that if Ewan came here once, he will again—and she promises we’ll return as many times as it takes to see him.
“And I think your idea is fantastic!” she adds encouragingly. “It’ll definitely work!”