Painted Faces (8 page)

He gives me a wary look. “I hope you wash your hands regularly.” He pauses. “Just how soiled are we talking? I have to admit, I'm morbidly curious.”

“
Don't worry, the dirty clothes get laundered before they're put on display. But if you're looking for details, I've seen everything from questionable white stains to yellow ones and all that comes in between.”

“
What comes in between white stains and yellow?” Nicholas asks with a smirk. “In my experience they both come out of the same...pipe. I'm not aware of any in between in that area.”

Oh, he's trying to out shock factor me. Well, he's met his match. “I'm not sure, possibly pre-cum.” I knock back a long gulp of my mojito. If I weren't so drunk I wouldn't have had the courage to say what I just did.

Nicholas almost falls off his stool he's laughing so hard. “Fuck, that was a good one Fred.”

I lift my glass to him. “I'm available for special occasions and corporate events.”

“
I'll spread the word,” he says and nods hello to someone behind me. I turn around to find that Harry, Nora and Anny have just approached the bar.

“
Ah, friends,” I say, grabbing Nora around the neck and giving her a rough hug. She pulls away in annoyance.

“
You're drunk,” she says, looking me up and down.

“
That's the point,” I reply, gesturing to my drink and turning back to Nicholas.

“
You know Nora already; these are my two other friends Harry and Anny.”

Harry steps forward and shakes Nicholas' hand. “Great show! I was singing along to every song, you did some of my all time favourites.”

“
Well I do aim to please,” Nicholas answers graciously.

“
Fred,” Anny interrupts. “I want to go to Coppers but Nora won't come, help me to convince her will you?”

I throw Anny a cynical glance. “I haven't been to Coppers since I was eighteen, desperate and too young to know better. I'm sorry but I agree with Nora. That club is a glorified cattle market.”

“
I'm intrigued, what is this place you speak of?” Nicholas asks, leaning close to my shoulder.

“
It's this awful club where people go to pick someone up if the rest of their night has been unsuccessful. Like a last chance saloon if you will. God Anny, I thought you were better than lowering yourself to the level of Coppers,” I say, digging in the old screw when in fact I know well that Anny will fuck a door knob with enough alcohol in her system. And she doesn't like going home without at least having gotten a good snog and a grope in.

“
I want to go for the music,” she replies, a blatant lie. “I'm in the mood for some dancing.”

“
Yeah, that and a dose of chlamydia,” Harry puts in. I raise my hand to give him a high five.

“
Shut up Harry!” Anny laughs, elbowing him a little too hard. He shoots her a warning stare.

“
I think you should show me this place Fred,” says Nicholas. “I want the whole Dublin night out experience; the good, the bad and the ugly.”

I smirk at him. “You're serious?”

He has another shot in his hand now. I hadn't even noticed him ordering it. Nora's right, I am drunk. “Oh, yes,” he replies, finishing it off in one gulp.

The idea of going to Coppers with all of my single friends is depressing, but when I add Nicholas to the equation it almost seems like a fun idea. We could be there in an ironic capacity, making fun of all the desperados.

“
All right then. I wouldn't want to be an inhospitable host, since this is my city and you are but a newcomer.”

“
Oh yeah, she agrees to go when Mr Make-up asks her,” Anny slurs, a bottle of beer in her hand.

“
Shut your face Miss “I Want to go to Coppers for the Music”, before I shut it for you,” I say to her jokingly. But I am sort of annoyed at her name for Nicholas. I barely know him, yet I find myself feeling awfully defensive of him. If he's offended by what she's said it doesn't show on his face.

“
I'll just go and grab a t-shirt,” says Nicholas, gesturing to his open waist coat and bare chest. He returns a few minutes later in a clean grey t-shirt, shoving his wallet into the back pocket of his jeans. He hasn't bothered to wash off the barely there make-up though. It looks good on him, like he's some sort of eye liner wearing rock star. There's a short guy with brown hair beside him. I recognise him as the drummer from the house band, The Wilting Willows. He's got silver eye shadow on. I notice Harry taking an immediate interest.

“
This is Sean. You all don't mind if he comes with us?” Nicholas asks.

I put my arm around Sean's small shoulders. “Not at all. You do know that we're going to Coppers right?” I say to him, conspiratorially.

“
Yeah. Sure I'll go for the laugh,” says Sean in a mild Dublin accent similar to my own.

“
You've got the right attitude my friend,” I reply as I lead him out of the club and into a taxi. We have to go in groups of three since none of the drivers will allow six people in one car. I find myself sitting in the back seat, wedged between Nicholas and Sean. Nicholas is a little too close for comfort.

“
You really don't know the horror you're about to witness,” I say to him on the drive.

“
Life's all about new experiences,” he answers mysteriously. His hand is leaning flat against the seat beside my thigh. His fingers brush my leg ever so slightly, which is something I wholeheartedly try to ignore.

Five minutes later we're on Harcourt Street, surrounded by guys in jeans, crisp shirts, and stinking of the latest overpriced aftershave. Not to mention a string of girls in skirts too short to be decent and shoes that should be made illegal for being so uncomfortable looking. One girl in a tight blue dress is getting sick out on the road. Her high heel gets stuck in the tram tracks and she struggles to try and pull it free. Her friends drag her back to the path just in time before she gets run over by a car.

Coppers is short for “Copper Face Jacks” and it's in an old Georgian house on a street filled with similar buildings. In my opinion it's a waste to have such a den of iniquity in a historical building like this one, but what can you do. We go through entrance and pay the fee. Well, Nicholas insists on paying for everyone, although Harry, Anny and Nora are already inside since their taxi had been ahead of ours.

A heavy beat blasts my ears, with some guy singing about being sexy and knowing it. Yeah, sure. The activity of going around
telling
people you're sexy sort of negates the whole point of
being
sexy. It's supposed to be something other people notice about you. (When your brain starts having these pointless arguments about meaningless pop songs, that's when you can safely say that alcohol has set up shop in your system for the night.)

Nicholas pulls me close and shouts into my ear over the music, “I thought you were exaggerating when you described this place, now I see you were actually putting it mildly.”

I laugh as my eyes drift over the masses of young men and women, scrambling for each other on the dance floor. Desperately seeking a small piece of affection, affection that's all about gratification and nothing about love. Not that I know much about the latter. I've never been in love. It's sad but it's true. I think the most I've ever been in has been low grade lust. Pathetic. The next song to come on is some new one by Lady Gaga.

“
Come on,” says Nicholas. “Dance with me, I love me some Gaga.”

I want to ask him if he's sure he isn't gay after that statement, but I let it slide. He pulls me into the sweaty masses, and I try to lose myself in the beat. The only way I can do dancing is jokey or not at all. I cannot do serious. I cannot do sexy. I can do a good robot though, and that's what I end up doing. Yes, I do the bloody robot right there in front of the most beautiful man I've ever met. He laughs at me, at least that's something, even if it's just polite laughter.

Nicholas is determined to get me to dance with him properly. Like any
normal
adult woman would be able to. He grabs my hips and turns me around, slipping his arms tight around my waist so that his front is pressed all along my back. He sways me back and forth with him, but my body has gone rigid and despite the alcohol in my system I'm as self-conscious as I can possibly get.

His breath is like hot, humid air on my skin when he breathes, “Relax,” into my ear. “Follow my lead,” he continues.

I try to follow his lead, God help me I try. I think I just about get used to the rhythm. One of his hands leaves my waist to travel to my neck where he lifts my curly hair up, allowing his fingers to get lost in its thickness.

“
You still dreaming about that wig, Viv?” I shout to him over the music.

His hand returns to my waist and he seems to hold me even tighter then. “No, I'm dreaming about all of this golden brown honey draped over my pillow.”

For the life of me I cannot think up a response to that. No witty retorts spring to mind like they usually do. All I can think is that I'd love that too, to lie in his bed with him, the sheets all messed up, as though we were lovers in some arty French film.

I can feel Nicholas' laughter against the back of my neck. “What, nothing to say to that Fred?” he asks huskily.

“
You got me. I'm completely speechless.”

His mouth is close to my ear again, and it's hard to think straight when he does that. “I'd like to see you speechless, breathless, panting...”

Embarrassed to the core by his words, I pull away from him and mouth “bathroom” before running off. In this moment I desperately need some distance between us. My inhibitions are so ingrained in me that even the most lethal brew of Poit
í
n couldn't strip them away. Poit
í
n (if you've never heard of it) is an Irish variety of moonshine that can contain as much as 95% alcohol. Needless to say, my insecurities are crippling; I'm just really good at hiding them. In the toilets I find Nora leaning against a cubicle door with her arms folded.

I nod to the cubicle. “Who's in there?”

Nora sighs. “Anny. She's getting sick. Too many vodkas and red bull.”

“
Ugh,” I bang on the door when I hear her heave into the bowl. “Anny you deserve to be sick after drinking that filth.” A glass is never the same again after it has played host to Red Bull. You can forever get a slight hint of the taste.

She manages a whispered, “Piss off Fred,” and for a second I feel bad for her.

I go over to the sink and splash some water on my face. “So, why are you being such an ice queen with Nicholas all of a sudden?” I ask Nora.

Another sigh, but no answer.

“
If you sigh one more time I'm going to drag you into one of these cubicles and dunk your head in the toilet,” I warn her.

“
I just don't get it,” she finally replies, turning to check her reflection in the mirror.

“
What's to get? He's a straight guy with a penchant for dressing up as a woman. He's also got one hell of a singing voice.”

“
He's straight?” Nora asks, eyebrows almost disappearing into her hair line.

“
Yeah, he told me earlier that he was. Think Eddie Izzard and replace the comedy with singing.”

“
Oh.” She pauses, a thoughtful look on her face. “I still don't get the whole drag queen bit. He's so bloody handsome, why can't he just be normal?”

I point a finger at her. “You have to get over your hang ups Nora. Human beings don't always fit into a perfect box the way you want them to.”

Her eyes narrow. “You're just loving this, aren't you? People have to be weird for you to want to be their friend.”

“
Very true, and you're my best friend, which makes you the biggest weirdo of them all.”