Skinny Jeans Have No Place On These Thighs
Yes Sir, Three Bags Full
The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. Marcus looks taken aback by my request. Goodness knows how he would have looked if I'd actually asked him out!
"You . . . you want some more coke?" asks Marcus, and I can't tell you how extremely surprised he looks.
"Yeah," I smile. For some reason, I feel braver now. Maybe it's because I've made him feel slightly uncomfortable. The position of power is mine now! Or something. Goodness knows. At least he's paying attention.
"I didn't think . . . " Marcus doesn't finish his sentence in the end. What he does is gets out his phone. "Well, I have a few numbers, there's Iggy Popper - he's reliable. Do you want his number?"
No! I want YOUR number! I think desperately. Only of course now it's too late. Or is it?
"Yeah, thanks - " I get out my mobile and take down Iggy Poppers number.
"How much are you after?" asks Marcus, slipping his phone back into his pocket to my dismay.
"Uh . . . "
I don't know anything about the different amounts of cocaine. Come to that, I don't even know how much it costs. I know that marijuana comes in little bags.
"Three bags?"
"What?" laughs Marcus. "As in Baa Baa Black Sheep? 'Yes sir, yes sir, three bags full. One for the master, and one for the dame, and one for the little crack head who lives down the drain?'"
I go bright red and my stomach goes all funny.
"Do you mean three grams?"
This seems like the easiest way out so I nod.
Marcus stands there for a moment, as though he's sizing me up. "I said it before, I'll say it again - you are the real deal, no pretense, no awareness."
I grimace a little on the inside. I'm trying to get better. And I've been pretending for the last three minutes. And if anyone's unaware, it's him! Can't he see I don't want the drugs?
"Tell you what, since you'll mess it up, I'll call him for you."
And Marcus takes the phone out of my hand. I freeze, staring in dumb horror as Marcus dials Iggy Popper's number. Every digit seems to hammer down against my chest.
I hadn't intended to call him at all! Only now, Marcus was taking matter into his own hands.
He grins at me and says, "You really are a piece of work, aren't you? In a good way."
In a bad way, more like, I can't help thinking. He doesn't like me because I'm good. He doesn't even like me because I'm being an idiot. He finds me amusing. Not a good sign. Not even a bad one. A dead end sign.
"Hey Iggy?" Marcus has got someone on the other end. "It's Blunt here. How you doing mate? . . . Great, cheers . . . nah, we played Friday night at the Wine House, before Citizen Deranged . . . came back to Evan's for a shindig afterwards . . . yeah!" Marcus laughs a lot at what Iggy Popper has to say. "Yeah, I'll expect to see you down there next time . . . bring whatserface with you -Tara? . . . Oh right, well, whoever . . . listen mate, I was wondering if you sort a friend of mine out with a bit of coke? . . . About three grams?" Marcus looks over to me as though to clarify.
All I can do is nod. Dumbly. Like a donkey.
"Yeah three grams . . . cheers mate, how much you after? . . . yeah, no problem . . . couple of days? . . . Yeah, that's great . . . all right cheers mate, you have a good one, call me when you've got it . . . ciao!"
And Marcus hangs up my phone and gives it back. "He's going to call me when he's got it. I'll get it to you," he tell me.
"Oh," I say, surprised. "OK. Thanks."
"Right, he said it's going to be one hundred and fifteen, you OK with that?"
Not even I could hide my expression. Marcus bursts out laughing. "OK, tell you what. Since I'm a nice guy, I'll go halves with you."
Again, I feel surprised. Why is he helping me fund my fake drug dependency?
"We'll meet up and have a little party, yeah?"
My eyes light up at that! "OK!" I know it's come out too enthusiastic but I don't care!
"Give me your number and I'll call you when Iggy's got it, OK?" And, as though I'm being touched by an angel, I joyously hand over my phone and give him my number. "Great. We'll call your half fifty quid, yeah? Have you got it?"
I nod happily. I'm pretty sure I've got fifty pounds in my bank account. Well, actually I know I have. I've been saving up for this Stella McCartney perfume for about three months. It's a shame, but it's worth it to be able to hang out with Marcus!
Marcus Blunt. Ella Sparks and Marcus Blunt.
Ella Blunt. I like it.
Then Marcus gets called back to band practice but before he goes he gives me a peck on the cheek and tells me he'll call me. I don't bother waiting for Bridget.
I float home on a cloud. I'm not even worried. Not yet. I mean, I've done cocaine before. On Friday. With Marcus. How scary can the second time be?
"You . . . you want some more coke?" asks Marcus, and I can't tell you how extremely surprised he looks.
"Yeah," I smile. For some reason, I feel braver now. Maybe it's because I've made him feel slightly uncomfortable. The position of power is mine now! Or something. Goodness knows. At least he's paying attention.
"I didn't think . . . " Marcus doesn't finish his sentence in the end. What he does is gets out his phone. "Well, I have a few numbers, there's Iggy Popper - he's reliable. Do you want his number?"
No! I want YOUR number! I think desperately. Only of course now it's too late. Or is it?
"Yeah, thanks - " I get out my mobile and take down Iggy Poppers number.
"How much are you after?" asks Marcus, slipping his phone back into his pocket to my dismay.
"Uh . . . "
I don't know anything about the different amounts of cocaine. Come to that, I don't even know how much it costs. I know that marijuana comes in little bags.
"Three bags?"
"What?" laughs Marcus. "As in Baa Baa Black Sheep? 'Yes sir, yes sir, three bags full. One for the master, and one for the dame, and one for the little crack head who lives down the drain?'"
I go bright red and my stomach goes all funny.
"Do you mean three grams?"
This seems like the easiest way out so I nod.
Marcus stands there for a moment, as though he's sizing me up. "I said it before, I'll say it again - you are the real deal, no pretense, no awareness."
I grimace a little on the inside. I'm trying to get better. And I've been pretending for the last three minutes. And if anyone's unaware, it's him! Can't he see I don't want the drugs?
"Tell you what, since you'll mess it up, I'll call him for you."
And Marcus takes the phone out of my hand. I freeze, staring in dumb horror as Marcus dials Iggy Popper's number. Every digit seems to hammer down against my chest.
I hadn't intended to call him at all! Only now, Marcus was taking matter into his own hands.
He grins at me and says, "You really are a piece of work, aren't you? In a good way."
In a bad way, more like, I can't help thinking. He doesn't like me because I'm good. He doesn't even like me because I'm being an idiot. He finds me amusing. Not a good sign. Not even a bad one. A dead end sign.
"Hey Iggy?" Marcus has got someone on the other end. "It's Blunt here. How you doing mate? . . . Great, cheers . . . nah, we played Friday night at the Wine House, before Citizen Deranged . . . came back to Evan's for a shindig afterwards . . . yeah!" Marcus laughs a lot at what Iggy Popper has to say. "Yeah, I'll expect to see you down there next time . . . bring whatserface with you -Tara? . . . Oh right, well, whoever . . . listen mate, I was wondering if you sort a friend of mine out with a bit of coke? . . . About three grams?" Marcus looks over to me as though to clarify.
All I can do is nod. Dumbly. Like a donkey.
"Yeah three grams . . . cheers mate, how much you after? . . . yeah, no problem . . . couple of days? . . . Yeah, that's great . . . all right cheers mate, you have a good one, call me when you've got it . . . ciao!"
And Marcus hangs up my phone and gives it back. "He's going to call me when he's got it. I'll get it to you," he tell me.
"Oh," I say, surprised. "OK. Thanks."
"Right, he said it's going to be one hundred and fifteen, you OK with that?"
Not even I could hide my expression. Marcus bursts out laughing. "OK, tell you what. Since I'm a nice guy, I'll go halves with you."
Again, I feel surprised. Why is he helping me fund my fake drug dependency?
"We'll meet up and have a little party, yeah?"
My eyes light up at that! "OK!" I know it's come out too enthusiastic but I don't care!
"Give me your number and I'll call you when Iggy's got it, OK?" And, as though I'm being touched by an angel, I joyously hand over my phone and give him my number. "Great. We'll call your half fifty quid, yeah? Have you got it?"
I nod happily. I'm pretty sure I've got fifty pounds in my bank account. Well, actually I know I have. I've been saving up for this Stella McCartney perfume for about three months. It's a shame, but it's worth it to be able to hang out with Marcus!
Marcus Blunt. Ella Sparks and Marcus Blunt.
Ella Blunt. I like it.
Then Marcus gets called back to band practice but before he goes he gives me a peck on the cheek and tells me he'll call me. I don't bother waiting for Bridget.
I float home on a cloud. I'm not even worried. Not yet. I mean, I've done cocaine before. On Friday. With Marcus. How scary can the second time be?
♠ ♠ ♠
Marcus Blunt's favourite book is The Uncommon Reader by Alan Bennett.Ella Spark's favourite song is Kiss From A Rose by Seal.