Skinny Jeans Have No Place On These Thighs
Stage Door
"What about your Mum?" Marcus considers the question, brow furrowed, lips pressed together like one lip stuck against a mirror searching for a mate. "Get Bridget to cover for you. Say you're still round at her house."
I shake my head. "I don't think that will work."
Marcus weaves his fingers together but draws the top four out and pushes them to his engaged mouth. "Phone your Mum. Ask when she's coming home. I'll make sure you're back before she does."
So that's what I do. I take my mobile phone into the other room and I shakily find my Mum's number and I call it. She answers, sounding harrassed but as though the harrassing has been long drawn out. "Hello?...oh, Ella...I'm sorry it's so late, is everything all right sweetheart?"
Frowning at the phone (because my mother does not call me sweetheart, not ever.) I tell her I'm fine, just wondering when she's going to come home and whether I should wait up for her or not.
"Oh, no, I shouldn't think so, Ella," says my Mum, touched by my thoughtfulness. It makes me feel bad but not bad enough not to go through with the plan to go out on a Saturday night with my Princely Adonis from the sexy quarters of sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll. "William and I are driving back from Birmingham right now, there's been an accident on the road."
"Oh, right."
"We won't be back until God knows what time."
"What time?"
"Not til after two in the morning at the rate we're going. Apparently there's more traffic just piling up because there's been a music festival tonight. Listen, do you want to stay the night at Bridget's? I could call Mrs Evans, get her to pick you up?"
"No, that's OK. I don't want to bother her again. I'll just go to bed," I say, not quickly enough to arouse suspicion. I say good bye, hang up the phone and then make my way into the other room.
Marcus is waiting for me, his mouth now engaged in curling up at the sight of me returning triumphantly. I give him the hour of her return and he gives me a kiss on the side of my face and tells me to go and put my hair up.
I take this to mean that I have to dress up, but quickly. He shouts up the stairs that he's coming in to get me in five minutes, no matter what stage of dressing I'm in. The laugh he emits is agiven, of course.
Once in my room, I stare around, panic stricken. What the hell to wear? What to put on my feet? Where's my perfume? Lipstick. High heels. Tights.
I locate tights and high heels in the drawer and in front of the bed, respectively. I throw my head forward, brush my hair forward with it and then swing it back up and pull it back.
Take a black t-shirt. I catch sight of a pair of scissors on my desk in the mirror. I know what to do in a matter of seconds. The t shirt is savagely turned into a V neck faster than I get on my tights and heels.
I tighten my bra straps for cleavage (ha!) then apply thick lines of black to top lid of my eye, followed by a panic when I realise I don't have on a skirt.
"Babe?"
Marcus has started climbing the stairs.
I see my old red skirt, lying just in sight under the bed. I drag it out by the hem, dusting it frantically. I take it over to the door and then lean against it, trying to decide if I'm doing the right thing whilst squirting myself twice, three times, with Ghost. A red skirt? Isn't that insane?
"Ella?"
He's on the landing, just started, but he's there.
I step into the skirt awkwardly in my heels, ease it up my legs and then it's on, zip done and I reach for my lipstick and bag just as Marcus opens the door.
"Ready, babe?" he asks, giving me an appreciative glance which I greatly appreciate.
I nod and we step outside and have a cigarette while I check my bag for my phone, keys, lipstick and Marcus looks out for the taxi. It's then I remember I've forgotten my chewing gum but as we both blow smoke out into the Autumn night, I realise it's doubtful that it would cover the taste anyway.
The taxi arrives and takes us into town and I'm strangely not nervous. I should be but I'm not. It feels like I've been chosen. For the night, to ride with Marcus and it feels good. My confidence needs no other drug but this attention that he is giving me.
He's different this time. He's making jokes, pointing at people subtly and whispering things about them to me as we drive down into a street, brimming with clubs, pubs, bars, joints, shin digs, the lot. He's smiling and even as we're climbing out of the taxi, he pats me on the behind, in front of everyone on the road. Not that people are taking a hell of a lot of notice.
Well, I lie, they do of Marcus.
A lot of the girls do notice him. In fact, most of them are so busy noticing him that they don't glance at me at all which I like.
Because I'm not a fool. I realise that the confidence from Marcus's attention I've gained is a fragile fuel source - like coal or oil. It won't last forever.
But the cynics in my head can't argue too much when Marcus takes my hand and leads me past a bouncer (who asked neither of us for ID!!) and into a tiny club called Stage Door.
In the lobby, there's a plant that I think is fake, there's posters and stickers and scribble on the wall and Marcus is giving money to the girl behind the counter.
The girl has streaks of blue in her hair but still looks like a bitch beside having awesome choice in style.
"Is she eighteen?" she asks Marcus, not bothering to ask me.
"What do you think, darling?" laughs Marcus, putting his arm round me while the other hand reaches in to get stamped to show he's old enough.
The girl stamps him but when I put my hand forward she pretends not to see. The bitch.
Marcus takes my hand and leads me a little away from the counter. Stage Door isn't what I'd imagined it would look like. No glitz, no chandelier, no glamour in the decor.
It's got a bar to the left, with the stairs up to the street directly behind its back wall. In front is a dance floor where a lot of guys are leaping about to a song I've never heard of. They're screaming in each other's face a lot and laughing that mob laugh.
I feel something pressing against the top of my hand and when I look it's Marcus's hand.
He takes his away and I see he's pressed the ink from his stamp onto me so now I can drink without being bothered. I smile at him and he makes his way over to the bar. I follow, still gazing around at everything. There's a seated area where one girl is animatedly talking to a girl and five guys.
They're hanging on her every word and I feel a pang of jealousy for a second before realising that the girl could easily be Bridget. I shouldn't hate her for her confidence. At least not without knowing her.
It's then that I realise I do know her. She was the girl who helped me do my first line of cocaine, at Bridget's impromptu party, over three weeks ago.
She offered Marcus and Seb's band exposure on something and then Marcus paid her by giving her drugs.
"What do you want to drink?" Marcus shouts in my ear. I'm about to reply when he notices her as well. "Jenni! Here, get me a beer, will you? I'll be right over there, OK?"
Marcus presses a twenty pound note into my pocket and then strides over. As I get into the queue for the bar, I see Jenni greeting him with a big but cool smile, before Marcus leans down and kisses her cheek.
Then he leans forward to kiss the other girl and I recognise her too. It's Gemma - the girl Marcus had said was his cousin. I think he was joking when he said that because otherwise the police should arrest her for the way she's looking at him.
"OI! Love, what do you want?"
I jump and then realise the bar maid is talking to me. She peering at me hard so while I let out an involuntary ummm I allow the stamp that Marcus gave me to be visible as I hold up the twenty pound note. "Beer and a vodka and diet coke."
"Single or a double?"
"Um....a double. Please."
The girl is already pouring the beer, even while she was asking me the question. With the other hand, she places an ice cube in a glass, leans behind her and pushes the vodka measurement twice. While her arm is like that, one of the other bar maids just ducks under her arm, in a hurry, like it's no big deal. It must be so cool to work behind a bar. Like in Coyote Ugly.
The beer is suddenly parked in front of me. The vokda follows it. "Eight ninety," says the girl, pouring in the diet coke from one of those tap on a wire things. I hand over the twenty, wondering how it could have been so expensive, then remember I had a double. I wonder if Marcus will be cross but when I take the drinks over, he barely bats an eyelid when I hand over the change.
"Cheers, babe," he winks at me, pocketing it and taking the beer out of my hand. "No trouble at the bar?" he asks, in a lower voice, for which I'm also grateful.
I shake my head.
It's then that Jenni recognises who I am. And starts asking questions.
I shake my head. "I don't think that will work."
Marcus weaves his fingers together but draws the top four out and pushes them to his engaged mouth. "Phone your Mum. Ask when she's coming home. I'll make sure you're back before she does."
So that's what I do. I take my mobile phone into the other room and I shakily find my Mum's number and I call it. She answers, sounding harrassed but as though the harrassing has been long drawn out. "Hello?...oh, Ella...I'm sorry it's so late, is everything all right sweetheart?"
Frowning at the phone (because my mother does not call me sweetheart, not ever.) I tell her I'm fine, just wondering when she's going to come home and whether I should wait up for her or not.
"Oh, no, I shouldn't think so, Ella," says my Mum, touched by my thoughtfulness. It makes me feel bad but not bad enough not to go through with the plan to go out on a Saturday night with my Princely Adonis from the sexy quarters of sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll. "William and I are driving back from Birmingham right now, there's been an accident on the road."
"Oh, right."
"We won't be back until God knows what time."
"What time?"
"Not til after two in the morning at the rate we're going. Apparently there's more traffic just piling up because there's been a music festival tonight. Listen, do you want to stay the night at Bridget's? I could call Mrs Evans, get her to pick you up?"
"No, that's OK. I don't want to bother her again. I'll just go to bed," I say, not quickly enough to arouse suspicion. I say good bye, hang up the phone and then make my way into the other room.
Marcus is waiting for me, his mouth now engaged in curling up at the sight of me returning triumphantly. I give him the hour of her return and he gives me a kiss on the side of my face and tells me to go and put my hair up.
I take this to mean that I have to dress up, but quickly. He shouts up the stairs that he's coming in to get me in five minutes, no matter what stage of dressing I'm in. The laugh he emits is agiven, of course.
Once in my room, I stare around, panic stricken. What the hell to wear? What to put on my feet? Where's my perfume? Lipstick. High heels. Tights.
I locate tights and high heels in the drawer and in front of the bed, respectively. I throw my head forward, brush my hair forward with it and then swing it back up and pull it back.
Take a black t-shirt. I catch sight of a pair of scissors on my desk in the mirror. I know what to do in a matter of seconds. The t shirt is savagely turned into a V neck faster than I get on my tights and heels.
I tighten my bra straps for cleavage (ha!) then apply thick lines of black to top lid of my eye, followed by a panic when I realise I don't have on a skirt.
"Babe?"
Marcus has started climbing the stairs.
I see my old red skirt, lying just in sight under the bed. I drag it out by the hem, dusting it frantically. I take it over to the door and then lean against it, trying to decide if I'm doing the right thing whilst squirting myself twice, three times, with Ghost. A red skirt? Isn't that insane?
"Ella?"
He's on the landing, just started, but he's there.
I step into the skirt awkwardly in my heels, ease it up my legs and then it's on, zip done and I reach for my lipstick and bag just as Marcus opens the door.
"Ready, babe?" he asks, giving me an appreciative glance which I greatly appreciate.
I nod and we step outside and have a cigarette while I check my bag for my phone, keys, lipstick and Marcus looks out for the taxi. It's then I remember I've forgotten my chewing gum but as we both blow smoke out into the Autumn night, I realise it's doubtful that it would cover the taste anyway.
The taxi arrives and takes us into town and I'm strangely not nervous. I should be but I'm not. It feels like I've been chosen. For the night, to ride with Marcus and it feels good. My confidence needs no other drug but this attention that he is giving me.
He's different this time. He's making jokes, pointing at people subtly and whispering things about them to me as we drive down into a street, brimming with clubs, pubs, bars, joints, shin digs, the lot. He's smiling and even as we're climbing out of the taxi, he pats me on the behind, in front of everyone on the road. Not that people are taking a hell of a lot of notice.
Well, I lie, they do of Marcus.
A lot of the girls do notice him. In fact, most of them are so busy noticing him that they don't glance at me at all which I like.
Because I'm not a fool. I realise that the confidence from Marcus's attention I've gained is a fragile fuel source - like coal or oil. It won't last forever.
But the cynics in my head can't argue too much when Marcus takes my hand and leads me past a bouncer (who asked neither of us for ID!!) and into a tiny club called Stage Door.
In the lobby, there's a plant that I think is fake, there's posters and stickers and scribble on the wall and Marcus is giving money to the girl behind the counter.
The girl has streaks of blue in her hair but still looks like a bitch beside having awesome choice in style.
"Is she eighteen?" she asks Marcus, not bothering to ask me.
"What do you think, darling?" laughs Marcus, putting his arm round me while the other hand reaches in to get stamped to show he's old enough.
The girl stamps him but when I put my hand forward she pretends not to see. The bitch.
Marcus takes my hand and leads me a little away from the counter. Stage Door isn't what I'd imagined it would look like. No glitz, no chandelier, no glamour in the decor.
It's got a bar to the left, with the stairs up to the street directly behind its back wall. In front is a dance floor where a lot of guys are leaping about to a song I've never heard of. They're screaming in each other's face a lot and laughing that mob laugh.
I feel something pressing against the top of my hand and when I look it's Marcus's hand.
He takes his away and I see he's pressed the ink from his stamp onto me so now I can drink without being bothered. I smile at him and he makes his way over to the bar. I follow, still gazing around at everything. There's a seated area where one girl is animatedly talking to a girl and five guys.
They're hanging on her every word and I feel a pang of jealousy for a second before realising that the girl could easily be Bridget. I shouldn't hate her for her confidence. At least not without knowing her.
It's then that I realise I do know her. She was the girl who helped me do my first line of cocaine, at Bridget's impromptu party, over three weeks ago.
She offered Marcus and Seb's band exposure on something and then Marcus paid her by giving her drugs.
"What do you want to drink?" Marcus shouts in my ear. I'm about to reply when he notices her as well. "Jenni! Here, get me a beer, will you? I'll be right over there, OK?"
Marcus presses a twenty pound note into my pocket and then strides over. As I get into the queue for the bar, I see Jenni greeting him with a big but cool smile, before Marcus leans down and kisses her cheek.
Then he leans forward to kiss the other girl and I recognise her too. It's Gemma - the girl Marcus had said was his cousin. I think he was joking when he said that because otherwise the police should arrest her for the way she's looking at him.
"OI! Love, what do you want?"
I jump and then realise the bar maid is talking to me. She peering at me hard so while I let out an involuntary ummm I allow the stamp that Marcus gave me to be visible as I hold up the twenty pound note. "Beer and a vodka and diet coke."
"Single or a double?"
"Um....a double. Please."
The girl is already pouring the beer, even while she was asking me the question. With the other hand, she places an ice cube in a glass, leans behind her and pushes the vodka measurement twice. While her arm is like that, one of the other bar maids just ducks under her arm, in a hurry, like it's no big deal. It must be so cool to work behind a bar. Like in Coyote Ugly.
The beer is suddenly parked in front of me. The vokda follows it. "Eight ninety," says the girl, pouring in the diet coke from one of those tap on a wire things. I hand over the twenty, wondering how it could have been so expensive, then remember I had a double. I wonder if Marcus will be cross but when I take the drinks over, he barely bats an eyelid when I hand over the change.
"Cheers, babe," he winks at me, pocketing it and taking the beer out of my hand. "No trouble at the bar?" he asks, in a lower voice, for which I'm also grateful.
I shake my head.
It's then that Jenni recognises who I am. And starts asking questions.
♠ ♠ ♠
Stage Door is a small club in North London for tiny, trendy people with more money than sense who will become so intoxicated they no longer care they're being robbed blind at the bar.Jenni is ruthless and in the game to win. Be it TV exposure for her creations or cold, hard cash, she'll do anything to anyone to get what she wants.
Starting with Ella.