I don’t know.
Why bother anymore. There I was, trying to recover on Friday after noon, sitting in work, cos I eventually decided I should go back in, head steaming with a hangover I that seemed somewhat more regal than my modest intake the night before warranted. Well modest enough. Anyway, I was in work, sitting at the screen pretending to get shit done when one of the guys, we’ll call him anto says, “have you seen the new girl, h?” she’s in the HR office which is across the way from me. She’s only in the place a couple of weeks, and I’ve been out a while with a ‘virus’ (girlband) so I hadn’t really had time to check her out. So I sauntered over to the water cooler, which given the state of me throat wasn’t the worst idea anyway, and stick my head in to say hello to one of the girls in there, we’ll call her ‘Shelia” “hoeaya, Shelia,” I says, “oh hi H” she goes. “do you have that doctors note?” of course I’ve forgotten it, but I can get one no prob cos Rohan knows this doctor who pays him in prescriptions for a few things that apparently the Helath Service don’t have huge stashes of. “sure thing” I say, “I’ll have it Monday”. “you feeling better?” she asks, not looking up from her screen. “I vomited up my infundibulum”, I say. She grunts. “oh”.
Lost in work. Obviously. So I look over at this new girl. Lets call her “cathy”. Well, she is what they said. Long red hair that glimmers. A slender neck and thin arms. She looks up at me and smiles, demurely. I leer back, as is my way. My smile is like a laceration. It isn’t my strong suit. “how are you” I say. It comes out as a mangled croak. So I cough and clear my throat. “sorry, still not better, really” I add in, for pathos. “hi” she says. I wave awkwardly, like a reatard, and back out of the room. I’m heavy breathing by the time I get back to me desk. She’s not bad.
I couldn’t begine to describe her, not here, not in words. But suffice to say she occupied my thoughts, and my thoughts occupied my pants, for most of the afternoon. I had to break off for a few minutes to crack off a sneaky on in the jacks. There’s a certain thrill to doing that, it can’t be denied, especially, if like me, you use the ladies…
The day drew to a close, I went to the boozer with Anto and some other knobs. The guys are mostly boring fuckers. Computer whizz kids whose money all goes on hardware and games and products for their skin These people are transparent.
“does yer one not come out?” I asked. Anto shrugs.
“ain’t seen her out yet”
“them hr slags never mingle,” says Declan, who’s a nerd and a cunt. We were in the mercantile, a fatuous dive full of people who know no better.
“There’s no cool joints anymore,” I lament. “More money than taste.”
Dublin is a wasteland, I miss the days when we tried to be cool, and didn’t think it could be bought at topshop or some other dive.
We’re on the top floor There’s a girl in a short skirt with good legs standing by he bar talking to a thirty something guy with a Zidane on the back of his skull that glimmers with beads of sweat. I make with eyes. I have good eyes, the girls have always said so.
I move up to the bar so that the girl with the short skirt is standing next to me. I’m bored with here, the music is too loud, too unaware. What was that just there? The fucking Sterophonics? This place is full of people who’ll go to Slane regardless of who is playing. Robbie Williams, Shania Twain, I turn to the girl with the nice legs. This is fucking old, I say. I’m going some where else, you want to come. She looks at me, shocked I suppose, who are you? Doesn’t matter, I’m going. Wait, she says.
We’re standing out side, it’s cool, it’s dark, the traffic on Dame street is noisy, taxi heavy. I’m H, I say, I lean in and give her a kiss on the cheek. “I’m attracted to your legs”. She giggles, drunk giggles. -what am I doing, she asks?
“What’s your name, “
“Laura,” she says, “-I’m from San Francisco.”
“Your accent is so soft,” I say.
“uh-huh. You’re cute, but, I don’t know.” I have her hand in my hand and she’s kinda pulling against me.
“Listen, I got a message, my guy is in the Globe, it’s like around the corner, come in for ten minutes, we’ll see what we see. Give me a chance, it’s just, I can’t shine in that place, they’re bringing me down.” She checks her watch, she touches her hair. Okay. Okay.
Rohan is amid the throng, people around him. I kiss him on both cheeks. Whisper in his ear. Dude, sort me out. I’m good.
“You’re always good, dude.”He palms me some snout. Who’s going to notice here. My heart skips a beat. “this is Laura,” I say. “Laura, Rohan. Laura, things have changed, eversoomuch. Come with me.” We make our way through the melee to the stairs down to the toilets, i hold her against the wall, kiss her, she kisses back. Some girl leaves the ladies and I grab Laura, drag her in. There’s like five girls in there, mirror hugging, they glance, then realise how uncool it could be to stare. We wait a minute for a cubicle to empty, my hand is on her ass. I have a pre high high. “What the fuck are you doing?” Her voice quivers with what, excitement, trepidation. The room is full, she’s safe. We slip into the cubicle.
“bouncers never come into the girls” I say. “and if anyone asks, I was giving you head,” I grin, but leave it take out the coke, take out my credit card. She stares at me. Huh?
“it’s cool baby, it’s cool stuff.”
“Wait “she says, “wait,” and takes a compact from her purse, a small oblong mirror. “show a girl a classy time, for gods sake.” I kiss her. We cut a few. I kiss her. Some one is knocking on the door. I rub some on her lips and kiss her again, my hand on her crotch. She groans or something.
“lets go. Lets go,” I say, “before the ya ya sisterhood kick up a stink.”
I was born to love her, by Stevie, followed by, footloose by Kenny Loggins. Some dj is a bit self aware. I’m okay, I’m talking to Laura, she to me. Rohan is massaging my shoulder absent mindedly, talking to some one else. She’s talking. We replenish the nose reservoirs separately next time. I’m drinking vodka, she’s on bottles of Coors lite.
“Dublin’s not boring,” I promise, vaguely, “it’s not what you know… it’s who you know. Those guys in the Mercantile, fucks sake, those guys I was with, they have so much money, and kids called tristam or Bingham or fucking gandalf. That’s cool, like, people have to have kids, you know, otherwise, where are the parties of the future going to come from?”
Laura is a law student. One year over here. She blabs on like Americans do about what she’s up to, what her brother and sister and pet elk are up. How her parents divorce affected her. The usual west coast crap. It’s fine, I’m out of me head and I’ve stopped listening. I’m looking at her, but it seems as if her nose is too large, like, obnoxiously large. Maybe her face shrunk. I don’t know.
two in the morning, Rohan says down to the Village before it shuts cos he know the owner or the head bouncer or something and we’ll get a lock in all night, get to hang with the band even, if we knew who was playing.
Laura is with me, Rohan Is hanging out of the taxi outside. Come on, come on. It’s like five minutes away I don’t bother with saying. Come on. Me and Laura squeeze in the back. Rohan, some girl called Anita, some other guy, some chick with orange hair says “weren’t you in paranoid visions for a while” I laugh. “I almost was, after daf left, for a few months. But my band were about to be signed so I said, maybe later and that.” “oh yeah,” she says. “what were you called”
“the manky cunts”
“ I remember you” she says and laughs. And keeps laughing. Laura’s impressed tho.
When we get to the village we’re all smiles and how do you do’s. Bouncer looks as pleased to see us like we were and envelope full of Anthrax.
Place is full, too full, too warm. I was Born to Love her by Steveland Wonder blares, then some Curtis Mayfield. Rohan promises they’ll kick out the plebes in a minute, and we can hang like lords till the thin light of morning. Plus a bit more nose candy will help us along. Laura is sitting next to me as we’re crammed around a table down the back, she’s holding my hand and digging her nails into it, drawing blood. It’s good. It’s good. Lets dance I say, and she shakes her head. Can’t can’t dance. Rohan comes over with some drinks, after about an hour or something. Soon dudes, he says, soon. I’m bored with soon.
I get her to dance, to something, till we realise the music has stopped and the bouncers are kicking everyone out. Rohan is sitting at the back, looking cool, talking to the bouncer guy and laughing, lets just fucking go, I say to Laura. Eh?
“Where?” She’s swaying a bit, sipping some drink.
“Yours,” I say.
“Okay, okay. You’ll do.” I pretend I didn’t hear that. I get my jacket, her bag, Rohan is all… dude, where are you going. I wink, come on, the legs dude, the legs. Fair play. Nice one. No work in the morning either. Cool, cool. See you at home, muh-aybe, dude, goes Rohan. I wink. Again.
Outside is a spill, humans everywhere, like some supertanker full of drunk students has run aground, side gouged, eviscerated, bleeding babbling, swaying people. I run to the road with Lauras hand in mine, to get a taxi before the masses mobilise them selves or leave the chipper. We get one smart enough. Taxi’s have gotten much easier to catch since they started letting criminals drive them. Where to I ask, Rathmines, she says. Cool, I was hoping she wasn’t provincial. I can walk home from there. I start with the formalities by putting my hand on her lap, then I kiss her and she kisses back and it’s funny cos I close my eyes and when I open them I don’t even recognise who she is.
Lienstersquare, or somewhere, a bedroom with a tall ceiling. Books everywhere, like, the furniture, is books. She doesn’t apologise for the state of the place, rather just pulls me onto the bed which isn’t made. Cool, cool. Whatever. She’s lying there, me above her, more of those legs on view, dress riding up her hip, he hands behind her back, trying to unzip her self. Frisky, cool. I put my palm on her thighs, her eyes are closed and she makes some kind of humming sound, some kind of gnawing sound. I need to go to the jacks. “Where’s your bathroom,” I say.
“Um, uh, down the hall.”
“Uh, cool.”
I stumble back out into the hall, leaving the door ajar, slightly. There’s an open door about twenty feet away, a light switch out side. It’s a bathroom, a toilet, a shower with an old floral print shower curtain. It’s clean, I suppose the girls here take turns being embarrassed by their own pubic hair and stuff. I try to have a piss, but nothing is happening. So I stand there, and look at myself in the mirror instead. I don’t recognise these eyes. The little fella is not as, ahem, active as we’d expect in this situation. Here boy, here boy. I take the last of the coke, mere grains, rub some on my gums, rub some on him. I feel the blood start to pump. Fuck I could faint in here. I stumble back to her apartment, her room. There’s music on now. The White Album, for the love of god. My belt is open, my flies undone, my cock is rabid, she’s back on the bed, but she’s, wow, naked this time. But all I can see is this mess of books now, think, think. I want, I want. What. Come here she says. I whip off the shirt, fall next to her. She’s pale, yielding, over weight, nice legs.
“Nice gams,” I say. Jesus jesus. She grabs my head and kisses me on the lips and my fingers are fidgety and inaccurate. I stroke her naked breast, simple light from the lamp next to the bed catches stretch marks. Has she been pregnant. God have I ever had a pregnant once pregnant girl, she’s humming again. My cock is sore, like it’s going to burst. She gets up, straddles me, pulls down my trousers, pulls down my boxers, ah jesus, he looks too red. I’m going to explode, she’s whispering something, soothing complimentary, I can’t here, I can hear Lennon. You say you want a revolution. I don’t, I like things as they are. She circles my little fella, then delicately licks him for me. Fuck, I’m going to burst.
“Hold on, hold on, jesus, hold on.”
“Not yet,” she says, “I have protection, not yet.”
“Protection you mean, uh, uh, shit, a raincoat, shit.” My balls retract and I spunk onto her face. Shit didn’t even feel that one. “IT’S THE COKE,” I shriek.
She’s laughing at me, then touches her face.
“Ugh.”
“It’s… the …fucking, uh.”
“I don’t believe it. Is there any real men in this country”.
“This in’t over,” I say, trying to sound like Charles Bronson. “I can..”
McCartney: Honey pie, My position is tragic….
“uh huh,” she says, then gets up, she’s naked and her arse is wobbling slightly in the light as she makes her way behind the curtain. I’m thinking I can make her come, I can make this better.
“That was great… I say, quietly. She comes back with half a bottle of Black Bush. And a towel.
“You’re so…”
Spent Saturday in bed.
Tinkered with script on Sunday. Watched football with Gert and made some plans for the Girlband. Next time we’re gonna video the auditions. “I’ll set that up,” Gert says.
Can’t wait.
