By Stella Duffy
EighteenTeeth numb, tongue buzzing, sharp sting at the back of her throat - with four lines of cumulative coke and most of a bottle of wine inside her, Saz was surprisingly unfazed by the raucous heat that slammed her face as Carrie took her hand and led her though the mess of bodies to the bar. The music was loud, noisy enough for the few people who were dancing not to feel stupid, but not so bad that the shouted conversations all around were completely pointless. Carrie bought two strong sea breezes and shepherded Saz to a safe corner, three tables on a slightly raised dais giving a good view of the room.
It was a basic layout, corner doors, the traditionally small windows now replaced with huge single glass panes facing directly on to the street, clearly delineating the new pub ethos - this place was not about getting away from it all for a quiet half, it was about getting into it all, any of it. And ideally having the whole world know you were there at the same time. Where once there had been a central bar, serving two or three different sections of the room in rotation, the new bar had been pushed back and stretched into a stainless steel barricade right along the far wall, leaving a central space for tables and chairs, some of them pushed together to make more room for the dancers. There were two long wooden tables with a few large groups around them, the other smaller tables were occupied with couples and the would-be couples who hoped this might be their lucky night.
Once sheíd drawn her eyes from the clientele, Saz's attention was gripped by the image-overload of cartoons and features being screened directly on to silver painted walls. The colour wasn't ideal for picture clarity, but with the pounding techno forebeat the aim was hardly to give undivided attention to the silent celluloid. They were mobile art, sometimes obscured by the clump of dancers moving as one, occasionally keyed into perfect relief when the image seemed made for a literally silver screen. Bette Davis slinking down the stairs in All About Eve was the perfect black and white bitch foil, jostling for space with a washed out Captain Scarlet. Fifties glamour and sixties aqua swimming on the unevenly plastered walls. Elsewhere Saz glimpsed Judy Garland deep sleeping in a field of poppies, Top Cat grimacing behind Officer Dibble's back, while on the back wall Steamboat Willie waited to grow shorter and fatter into his more famous baby-mouse body.
Beneath the fake pictures were the real fantasy images. There were some suits, obviously locals who'd come in on their way home from work and never quite managed to find the ruby slippers at the bottom of their pint glass. There were a few very over made-up little ones. Easily too young to be buying the alco-pops they were drinking by the bucketful, but scraping past the guys on the door with a lurid mix of eyeliner and exposed flesh. There were a few groups of loud laughing blokes, a wide selection of couples, drinking and kissing but not engaging in conversation with each other - physically close rather than emotionally connected.
Carrie pointed out a couple of young women to Saz,'Over there, straight as fuck, acting dyke flirt for the boys at the bar.'
Saz followed Carrie's index finger to the women, one attractive, one very pretty, neither yet old enough to have made it to beautiful, dancing in a way that could have earnt them a more than adequate living in the Soho basements still to be pinked-up. They didn't look any gender in particular and Saz thought they were being a bit damn kissy for straight girls, 'How can you tell?'
'Every time the blonde touches her friend, she looks over at that tall thin bloke by the bar. She's showing off for him. Wouldn't be surprised if her mate didn't fancy her, though. She's just that bit more interested in the act than she is in the lads.'
Saz watched as the tall blonde stroked her smaller friend's arm and shoulder with a slow hand and then looked up from beneath her fringe to the grinning guy at the bar. He couldn't take his bloodshot eyes off the blonde and the little brunette appeared sadly unaware of the meaningful looks taking place over her head. Saz whispered 'Shame' and Carrie burst out laughing,'Yep, she's shit out of luck tonight. Poor thing.'
Saz recognised the tone of Carrie's voice and looked back from the doomed girlie to Carrie. Sure enough, her ex had a gleeful leer on her face. Saz reminded herself that despite the mandatory coke and alcohol rations, they were actually supposed to be working and she had better keep a tight rein on Carrie's lusts. While the sight of straight women acting dyke pissed her off immensely, Saz didn't think the pretty little brunette deserved anything quite as dangerous as Carrie in payment for her deception. Saz managed to divert Carrie's attention to the five blokes dancing apart from the main party of moving limbs. They were bliss-smiling and waving themselves in front of the fat speakers, each one pretty much dancing to his own rhythm, and each rhythm nothing like that of the music. Which, given that it had now mutated into an insistent four-four drone, would have seemed almost impossible if Saz hadn't been there to see it herself. It was happening though and, in their own spaced-out way, the five men were providing their own syncopated anti-rhythm. And they were certainly happy.
After an hour of viewing and two more sea breezes each, Carrie figured Matthew should have made it through the back door for his nightly shift as chief executive and she led Saz upstairs to the other rooms. They went past a bouncer, surprisingly small compared to those at the front door, but with a range of facial scars that indicated his nastiness more than made up for any lack of stature. He opened the door for them, shepherding Carrie through first with a low bow and a big smile. He saved his malevolent glare for Saz.
'Cheery chap. Doesn't like your friends?'
'Victor - short for Victory - doesn't like my girlfriends. Wants me all to himself.'
'Carrie, you haven't?'
'No. But it pays to let him think he's on a promise.'
Saz shook her head and forced down the big sister lecture she felt rising at the back of her throat. It wasn't the fucking a bloke she objected to, or even the idea of fucking for a purpose. Neither of those activities were especially unusual for Carrie, nor had they once been for Saz, though her sexual activity had long been limited to a one woman arena. Primarily. She just thought it wasn't especially nice behaviour to encourage someone who had no hope whatsoever.
They went up one flight of steps and Carrie poked her head round a scarlet door, a wave of fierce laughter turning Saz's head.
'What's that?'
'Comedy club.'
'At this time of night?'
'Extremely late night stand-up. Very groovy. Sharon's on the door, she'll let us in.'
'I don't think ...'
'She says Matthew's watching too, so we can corner him at the interval.'
Saz snarled, stand-up comedy was about her least favourite form of entertainment, but at least she would be closer to this Matthew that Carrie was promising so much from. She shrugged and followed Carrie past the woman on the door, taking a seat at the back of the room with an ungracious,'Yeah, fuck, whatever.'
Twenty minutes later the tall, red headed comedian bounded off the small stage that had been struggling to contain her energy and Saz found herself grinning painfully, cheek muscles hurting from trying not to laugh out loud and win a sniggering 'I told you so' from Carrie. Who wasn't fooled, ' I said she was good, didn't I?'
Saz refused to give in,'No. You said it would be good. If you'd told me this woman was actually funny I might have been more eager. Possibly.'
Carrie sneered,'Admit it Saz, you liked her.'
Saz stood up,'Yeah, but that's not why we're here is it? It's nearly three in the morning for fuck's sake. Are we ever going to talk to this Matthew Godwin or what?'
The build up of post-set chat that accompanied the rush to the bar chose just that moment to fall into an unpredictable lull and Saz's tone, perfectly defensible in a room crowded with boisterous, semi-pissed punters, stretched sharp above their heads, loud words falling into a sudden quiet moment. Matthew Godwin, seated twenty feet away at the side of the stage, in earnest conversation with a couple of young women, looked up from the two of them, directly at Saz.
'And who the fuck's asking?'
copyright 1999 Stella Duffy
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