It was Thursday. Which basically meant it was Friday. Which basically meant it was an acceptable day to go for afterwork drinks. Jet had £20 to her name, Bambi had much the same, and so they hatched a plan; to frequent an upmarket venue which had cheap drinks and rich clientele. Where would they find such a place? Jet had pondered. But, as always when it came to these situations, Bambi had the answer.
‘The Marylebone Bar does 2-4-1 cocktails between 8–9pm, we should definitely go there.’
An exquisite idea, thought Jet. The two aimed to meet at Baker Street station at 8pm, but unfortunately both were running late due to vanity (tweaking their makeup and washing their hair was taking longer than anticipated).
Jet emerged from the underground station with freshly painted nails (she’d just done them on the tube), and clocked a petite, expensive-looking blonde with a cigarette in her hand and a fur scarf around her neck. Bambi looks incredible, I’m so fortunate to have such a good-looking friend. Thought Jet. Equally, Bambi was admiring her long limbed lover. Jet stood tall in her black heels, her height elongated by a flowing mane of dark, glossy hair. Jet looks amazing, which is just as well, because ugly people really annoy me. Thought Bambi.
Both ladies were sporting scarlet lipstick – a seductive edge to any outfit. As they greeted eachother, Bambi quickly informed Jet that they had 9 minutes left to reach their destination before the 2-4-1 deal expired. The petite blonde set a brisk pace and led the way, sipping quickly from her plastic bottle of cider as she walked. Jet frantically tottered behind in her heels, her boobs and pompom-clad scarf bouncing up and down, up an down, up and down. Red faced, gasping and sweating like beefcakes (Jet vowed never to sprint in a leather jacket again) they finally reached the bar.
‘Is the 2 4 1 deal still on?!’ Jet asked the relatively good-looking but clearly novice barman. He rolled back his sleeve and looked at his watch. 8:58pm.
‘Yep, you’ve got 2 minutes,’ he responded with a grin. The two girls sighed heavily, sighs which conveyed their sense of relief but betrayed their penchant for Malboro Lights and an aversion to doing exercise. Given they had a limited amount of time to get the drinks in at a reduced rate, the girls knew they’d have to stock up, and so they ordered six delicious cocktails.
As they sat outside, they soon attracted the attention of some Female Rahs, one of which spilled her drink on Bambi, and one of which wore a fur-lined cape. For some reason, Cape Woman took the fact that Bambi and Jet were also wearing fur scarves as a sign that they were all destined to be fake furry friends.
‘DARLINGS, I LOVE your scarves!’ She howled in her privileged English accent. Jet shuddered internally. The lady then started to examine Jet’s leopard-print scarf and the two furry balls attached to each end. They were Jet’s idea of trendy testicles.
‘Sweetie,’ giggled Cape Woman, whose actual name turned out to be Penelope. ‘You should say to the next man that annoys you: “See this scarf? This is what happened to the LAST guy who pissed me off”‘ She screamed and hooted at her own joke. Although disturbing, Jet and Bambi did find the comment somewhat amusing, and so they decided to indulge the Sloane ranger for a little while longer.
As Penelope bragged about her worldly travels, and failed to discern the difference between two major European cities, two of her friends started walking over; an eerily beautiful woman who looked oddly spaced, and a young guy who looked like something Donald Trump had shat out that morning. His sharp suit, boyish face and slicked-back mane made Jet feel queasy.’What the hell is that?’ he asked Jet, looking at her scarf. ‘It’s awful!”How strange, I was just thinking the EXACT same thing about your hair!’ She retorted. Unexpectedly, the gel factory took her insult in good spirits.
Hi, I sell slime for a living (image: googleusercontent.com)
‘You’re sassy, I like that,’ He smirked.
‘You’re slimy, I hate that,’ She quipped. ‘So, seriously. Why the hair?’
‘I’m trying to look older so my clients take me seriously.’
‘Fair enough, you do look about 10. What do you do for a living?’ Enquired Jet.
‘I’m a banker,’ said babyface, his words drenched with an overwhelming air of arrogance.
‘Of course you are,’ Jet rolled her eyes.
‘Hey, listen, I need to look good in my game.’
‘Your game? Nobody says game. Say office, work, whatever, but don’t say your ‘game’, you sound ridiculous.’ Jet had delivered what was colloquially known as a bitch smackdown. ‘You do know your hair makes you look like Michael Douglas, right? Genuinely, I’m trying to help you here.’
‘I don’t know what to do with it!’ prattled on the manchild. ‘I said to my CEO today: “Hey, man, seriously, like, the other night, I had a NIGHTMARE about my hair.”‘
‘I’m not surprised,’ said Jet. ‘I’m guessing a lot of people have.’
Nice slicked back hair, said no one, ever. (image: menshairblog.com)
‘Listen, I am stylish, I chose this lining myself, look,’ he opened his suit jacket, revealing a horrible, personalised silk lining. The busty brunette was growing bored of the boy’s overbearing narcissism.
‘Anyway, less about you, more about us,’ said Jet, turning towards slick Rick’s pretty female friend, who looked back at her blankly. No chat there, then A few awkward moments passed as Jet tried to think of something to say.
‘Once,’ suddenly the quiet, model-esque girl was speaking. ‘Once… I was mugged. Outside my house. In Primrose Hill.’ Oh Christ, here we go, Prada Problems. Thought Jet.
‘They… they tried to grab my Miu Miu bag… but I held on. I held on tight.’ A glimmer of emotion entered her vacant eyes. ‘I would never let them take my Miu Miu.’ Jet took this as her cue to leave.
My Miu Miu bag is my life. (image: port-magazine.com)
‘I’m so sorry to hear that, but I appear to have lost my small blonde friend and I really need to find her. So if you’ll excuse me….’
Jet wondered out and found Bambi smoking with Cape Woman. Thankfully, the roaring rah and her buddies soon left, allowing Jet and Bambi to return to the bar.
‘I don’t think I have enough money for another drink,’ said Jet, her voice filled with woe and defeat.
‘That’s okay Jet, it’s on me,’ replied Bambi. Overhearing this, the barman asked what the ladies wanted to drink.
‘Two gin and tonics please,’ asked Bambi.
‘Single or double?’ he enquired.
‘Single, please,’ asked Bambi, keeping her bank balance in mind.
‘Double it is,’ Responded the barman. And with that he generously poured them two large G&Ts, and donated a couple of coffee shots to boot. Ah, the benefits of having breasts. Thought Jet.
‘I’ll have another round of those, and get yourself one too,’ a voice suddenly said to the barman. Jet detected an European accent. She turned around and saw, standing behind her, a dark haired man with a strong chin, medium build and olive skin. She guessed he was in his early 30s, though she couldn’t quite tell – he may have been older.
‘Hi, this is my friend, Boring,’ he signalled towards his slimmer, less good looking chum. ‘And I’m Really Boring. Seriously, I am actually the most boring guy you will ever meet. Let me prove it to you right now. Have you heard about Nick Clegg’s new proposal? Isn’t it just AWFUL?’
Bambi and Jet couldn’t help but laugh. This man had charm and humour in equal measure. He was cocky, too, which was always a bonus in their eyes – so long as he had the intelligence and success to back it up. It would appear he did.
‘Where are you from? And what do you do?’ Bambi asked him.
‘Switzerland, and I’m a stockbroker.’ He replied.
CERRRRRRCHINNNNNNNNG. Thought Jet. I’ve always wanted to raid the Swiss bank. Thought Bambi.
As the four drank and spake, laughed and flirted, and generally LIVED LIFE, the barman piped up:
‘Bar’s closing! Everyone out in ten minutes,’ Damn, thought the girls.
However, Mr. Really Boring (who was actually turning out to be quite interesting) quickly suggested:
‘How about we go somewhere else?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Bambi.
‘Let’s go to Sketch,’ he said, before adding: ‘I hear that place is REALLY dull, so it should be perfect.’
The dark-haired Swiss remained deadpan, but his eyes twinkled. Jet giggled and placed a friendly hand on his shoulder. At that precise moment, her long-term lover, Alberto, walked through the bar door. He clocked Jet and the mysterious man, and stormed towards her. Shit, how did he know I was here???
– To be continued –
Would the girls ever make it to Sketch bar? (image: sketch.uk.com)