‘Shit,’ I curse, scooping it up.
‘You didn’t practise this part, did you?’ Gregory teases, putting one hand out for my bag and his other for my hand. ‘To the side. Step out to the side.’
I hand over my bag and take his hand, following his instruction and lowering my right foot from the cab, finding it rather easy to exit without bending or giving any passers-by an eyeful. ‘Thank you.’
‘As graceful as a swan.’ He winks and tucks my bag under my arm. ‘Ready?’
I refuel on confidence by taking a long inhalation of air. ‘Ready,’ I confirm, looking up at the building, seeing blue lights climbing up the glass front and a red carpet stretched down the side, with piles and piles of people waiting to be granted access.
I’m a little awestruck. Robin Thicke’s ‘Blurred Lines’ is pouring from the open glass doors, blue lights are flashing inside, and doormen are keeping guard, marking clipboards before letting people in.
My hand is grasped and I’m pulled towards the front of the queue. I don’t miss the filthy looks being thrown in our direction by the waiting clientele. ‘Gregory, there’s a line,’ I whisper loudly, just as we land in front of a doorman holding a clipboard.
‘Greg Macy and Olivia Taylor, guests of Ben White,’ Gregory states confidently, while I’m wincing under the fierce, stabbing eyes of the queue haters.
The doorman flicks the pages and glides down the list of names, eventually grunting and unhooking the thick rope linking two metal posts together. ‘Champagne bar’s on the first floor at the back to your left. Mr White is in the VIP area there.’
‘Thank you.’ Gregory nods, pulling me forward and pushing me gently through the door. ‘VIP area,’ he whispers in my ear. ‘And you just called me Gregory, sassy lady.’
‘I can’t help it.’ I glance around, seeing various levels, all accessed by frosted-glass stairs with illuminated blue lights guiding the way. Well-dressed people are everywhere, draped over the glass balustrades, not a pint of beer or a bottle in sight . . . except champagne. Behind all of the bars – three I’ve seen so far – are stacks and stacks of champagne bottles. I’ve never tasted the stuff, but it looks like I might do soon.
‘This way.’ Gregory escorts me up the glass steps, and the practical side of me can’t help considering the damage that could be done if someone was to fall down them. My heels chink sweetly, though, and I look down and admire them, smiling and finding my butt swaying a little more. ‘Are you strutting?’ Gregory giggles and smacks my backside. ‘Work it, baby girl.’
I turn and scowl around my grin. ‘Sassy,’ I say, sticking my nose in the air, making my friend break out into a proper laugh.
‘You most certainly are.’
We reach the top of the stairs and head left as directed, reaching the champagne bar, which is ironic because all I saw at the other bars was champagne, too, making all of the bars champagne bars. ‘What would you like?’
‘Coke,’ I say casually, looking around to avoid meeting my friend’s outraged eyes.
He scoffs, but doesn’t retaliate, instead leaning over the bar and ordering two glasses of champagne. The club is crammed full already, and there were at least a few hundred people in the line outside. Gregory wasn’t kidding when he said it was dead plush, and the name reflects the ambience. If it wasn’t so full with people generating heat, I think I’d feel cold.
‘Thank you.’ I take the glass being handed to me and waft it under my nose, taking a hit of a bitter smell. The strawberry floating on top takes my attention away from the aroma that’s invading my nose and switches my mind to a place where I really don’t want it to go.
Strawberries – British, for the sweetness.
Chocolate – at least eighty per cent cocoa, for the bitterness.
Champagne to round it off.
I jump, a little startled when Gregory nudges me. ‘You okay?’
‘Sure.’ I bat the thoughts of sweet and bitter away, along with the thought of Miller’s hot tongue, slow-moving mouth, and hard, warm body. ‘Swanky place.’ I raise my glass a little and take the plunge, sipping my first ever taste of champagne. ‘Hmmm,’ I hum as the cool, sparkling liquid slides down my throat like silk.
‘I cannot believe you’ve never tasted it.’ Gregory shakes his head as he tips the glass to his lips. ‘Heaven in a glass.’
‘It is,’ I agree, swirling it in my hand. ‘So he put you on the guest list, then?’
‘Of course.’ He doesn’t bite to my teasing. ‘I’m not queuing like cattle.’
‘You’re a snob.’ I laugh. ‘Can I eat this strawberry?’
‘Yes, but don’t be plunging your fingers into the glass. Be a lady about it.’