‘Do they already know each other?’ I asked Cordelia.
She let out a dramatic sigh. ‘They were listed as The Times’ most eligible bachelors last week. Everyone knows them. Ellie, you have to sharpen up.’
As the night progressed, the assets stretched: American Express pre-authorised inflated bar bills and the girls hammed up their sexiness. While the men with the biggest budgets gained territory around the bar, it was the girls wearing the least clothes who secured the most champagne, only to be usurped by those who were grinding against pillars or pretending to be lesbians.
‘Is that really it?’ I asked Cordelia, while the men gawped at Stacey and Lacey
Cordelia laughed. ‘If you wave a sausage in front of a dog’s nose, it won’t be able to think about anything else.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Come on, men are more sophisticated than that, aren’t they?’
‘Yes, of course,’ she replied. ‘When there are no sausages, they can be delightful company.’
‘But if there are sausages everywhere they go, then surely the urge would abate, and they’d suffer from some kind of aversion, like sausage fatigue?’
‘Sausage fatigue?’ she said, flicking a sheet of golden hair over her shoulder. ‘You mean because there is an endless supply of boobs and bums on offer, men will get desensitised?’
I nodded.
‘They already are,’ she said, pointing at Stacey who was now pretending to bite Lacey’s nipples through her top. ‘Those two will have to get their internal organs out in a few years to even warrant a second glance.’
With that she shuffled off, seemingly oblivious to the fact that her skirt was working against her.
When Stacey and Lacey’s show was over, I noticed Kat tailing three tall muscular men as they strutted round the room like silverback gorillas. After I’d caught her eye, she rushed towards me.
‘They’re RAF pilots!’ she squealed, flapping her arms excitedly.
I rolled my eyes, recalling the million times she had described her ‘ultimate fantasy’.
‘He’s an injured pilot ran aground in a field and you’re a virginal milkmaid who comes to his aid,’ I said in a dull monotone.
She fanned her flushed chest. ‘Well, thinking about it, it would be unlikely that there would only be one pilot in the aircraft. Maybe it would be more plausible with three?’
I shook my head and watched her stride across the room, sticking out her boobs and hitching up her skirt.
As the night drew on, the walls of the cave grew damp and sticky. Styled hair softened, sweat glowed through face powder and natural scent overpowered the synthetic. Masks slipped and inhibitions gave way to instinct.
This wasn’t an orgy. This wasn’t a bunch of teenagers on holiday in Kavos. These were professional people, who, earlier on, had been sharing awkward exchanges about the economy and current affairs. Now they were writhing on leather sofas: tongues locked, limbs entwined, hands up skirts, down tops, under shirts, down trousers. The candles, once flickering gently, were now burning violently, wax dripping down their shafts.
Perched on a sofa in the only uninhabited alcove, I looked on, watching an equities trader dry humping a pretty florist at the bar. He really reminded me of something. Now what was it?
‘Randy dog,’ a man’s voice said, directed at me.
Yes, that’s it, I thought, before looking up to see a broad smile beaming down at me. We both turned back to see the subject’s bottom bobbing up and down with increasing momentum.
‘He’s with me, I’m sorry to say,’ he said, still grinning.
I smirked. ‘Can you put him on a leash, then?’
He laughed. He sat down next to me, fixing me with the most beautiful brown eyes I had ever seen. ‘I’m Nick,’ he said. ‘Mind if I join you?’
I shuffled up the sofa, eyeing him suspiciously.
‘So you’re the brains behind all this, then?’ he asked.
I nodded. ‘Although there’s not much brain activity happening here tonight.’
He looked around the room and smiled. ‘What were you expecting?’
‘I don’t know … a little more self-restraint.’
He laughed. ‘If you put kids in a candy shop—’ he gestured in the direction of a man, whose hand was emerging from a short denim skirt ‘—they get sticky fingers.’
I tutted, then rolled my eyes while he continued to laugh at his own joke.
‘And you?’ I asked. ‘Haven’t you found a florist to dry hump or a sticky place to put your fingers?’
He shook his head. ‘There’s only one girl who caught my eye.’
‘And?’
‘She seems to have a bit of an attitude problem.’
A smile edged out from the corners of my mouth.
‘I knew you’d crack eventually,’ he said, his hand skimming mine as he reached for his drink. Suddenly, a tingle shot up my arm and a flash of white light ripped through the bar. I looked up, my eyes squinting against the neon beams, as though abruptly awoken from a dream. The music stopped and voices hushed.
‘Time, everyone,’ Steve announced. ‘Bar’s closing.’
The light shone down on us, and when Nick looked at me, it was with such intensity that I suddenly felt as though every pore, every blemish and every scar that I’d hoped to conceal were exposed. A surge of panic raced through my nerves and I jumped up from my seat, mumbling something incoherent about needing to help tidy up. Then I walked away without looking back.
Absent from the comforting canopy of candlelight, the crudeness of reality was unveiled. The guests clambered to their feet and wiped their lipstick-smudged faces as though desperate to reclaim some dignity. From a hidden alcove, I watched everyone leave. My eyes tracked Nick as he sauntered up the stairs, my stomach churning when I noticed a leggy brunette tottering after him. When he smiled at her, the smile that I’d secretly hoped he’d reserved for me, the electricity tripped and the room was plunged back into darkness.
By the time Steve had flipped the fuse, the bar had emptied out. I dropped back down on my seat. Only a few hours earlier, before the guests arrived, the atmosphere had seemed charged and full of anticipation, but now the flowers had wilted, with their stems slumped and petals curled. The candles had withered down to useless stumps, droplets of wax eating away at the polished veneer. Beside them stood smeared glasses containing fluids mixed and merged. Beneath the tables, trampled cherries bled into the carpet.
‘Imagine all the shagging that’s going on tonight, thanks to you!’ Kat said as we shared a taxi home.
‘There might be a little baby being made as we speak,’ Cordelia joked.
I huffed. ‘That’s not how it’s supposed to work. I was hoping for blossoming love not rampant sex.’
‘Don’t the two go hand in hand?’ Kat answered.
‘I’d settle for rampant sex,’ Cordelia chipped in.
‘Rampant rabbit for me tonight,’ Kat said before curling her bottom