My Best Friend’s Life - Shari Low

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good knee go weak. God, he was beautiful. His dark blond hair fell down to his shoulders, every muscle was rounded and defined, his square jaw was on the Brad Pitt side of Buzz Lightyear and the green eyes…oh, good Lord, they could make a girl swoon, sweat and remove her knickers all at the same time. He was, quite simply, a fine specimen of manhood. But then, most male strippers were. Except the ones who did social-club hen nights and thought The Full Monty gave them a lifelong licence to flash milk-white, flabby bodies in the break between the bingo and the buffet.

      ‘Ginny, this is my girlfriend, Cheska.’ He pointed at the Amazonian with the penchant for late-night berries. ‘Cheska, this is Roxy’s friend Ginny.’

      ‘We’ve, erm, just met,’ Ginny said with a nervous smile. Shit, what was the protocol for this? The only people she ever met in her mother’s hallway were the parish priest and the bloke who collected money for the Salvation Army. Oh, and that Ann Summers party planner, who seemed to be popping in regularly.

      ‘Anyway, erm, so, didn’t Roxy call to tell you I’d be coming?’

      His blank face answered the question. Bugger. Typical bloody Roxy. She’d promised that she’d let Jude know and make sure it was okay with him.

      He picked up the apprehension on her face and grinned. ‘Hey, look, don’t worry, it’s fine. It’ll be great to have you here. Are you just staying the night?’

      ‘Erm, a month?’ she announced tentatively.

      ‘Okay, so what have you done with Roxy? The Priory? A rich bloke? Or am I going to see her picture on Crimewatch?’

      ‘No, she’s staying at mine for a while. You know, to get her head sorted out.’

      ‘And there was me thinking she’d never go out of a ten-mile radius of Joseph, Daniel Galvin and Harvey Nicks,’ he said with a grin.

      She’d forgotten about his teeth. He could have a part-time job as a product tester for the Hollywood Smile Company.

      Ginny switched her focus back to Cheska. Body like that, legs like those, the waist-length shiny locks…She may only have been in the city for an hour but Ginny knew a pole-dancer when she saw one.

      ‘Well, it was nice to meet you,’ Cheska said with a smile. ‘I’ll just head for bed, early start tomorrow morning. Have to be in Chambers by seven o’clock.’

      Ginny suddenly had a vague notion that she’d seen Cheska before. Her powers of recall raced to catch up. Of Course! Wasn’t she the lawyer who was on the six o’clock news every night, going in and out of court at the side of the soon-to-be-ex-wife of a Sixties band legend? The divorce was proving messy, slanderous and keeping the whole nation entertained. And the tabloids had already made a poster girl of the gorgeous lawyer with the stern ‘No Comments’.

      Ginny stopped herself from her habitual tutting and rolling of the eyes. Oh, the injustice. Cheska was a lawyer–those looks and a brain too. That should be illegal.

      ‘Gin, you know where everything is. Roxy’s room is in there, if you’re hungry help yourself in the kitchen–we share everything.’ Ginny fleetingly wondered if that included those strawberries, the cream and the champagne…licked from his naked torso. Jesus, a couple of hours since she’d left home and already her ovaries were sending filthy thoughts to her brain.

      ‘Great, thanks,’ she wittered, ‘I will. Thanks. I’ll…do that.’ Jude and Cheska backed into his bedroom, leaving her standing in the hall, sweat patches forming puddles under her arms, her face beaming so brightly it could have guided in ships. Aaargh, she was rubbish at dealing with awkward situations–a great quality for working in a brothel, she thought with a plummeting heart.

      She limped into Roxy’s room and flopped down on the king-size, elaborately upholstered, cream leather bed, then leaned over to switch on the bedside lamp. No switch near the light bulb. Her fingers traced along the wire. She was halfway to the plug before she gave up on that possibility.

      She turned it upside down. Nothing. She gave it a gentle nudge on the bedside table. Nope. She placed it back down and flicked the shade. Nothing.

      ‘Shit!’ she exclaimed, and then, like a veritable miracle, it flashed into life.

      Ah, she had it now.

      ‘Off!’ she commanded. It obeyed.

      ‘Tit!’ she declared loudly.

      And then there was light.

      Ginny lay back on the bed, her illuminating débâcle reinforcing that it was blatantly obvious she didn’t belong there.

      She looked around her. The white carpet was so thick and fluffy that it looked like it had been knitted from pure angora wool. Mental note: be careful with contact lenses as they’d be lost forever if they landed on it.

      The walls were papered with an ivory water-silk fabric that contrasted perfectly with the gold silk bedding. There were four, five, six, seven, eight pillows of assorted sizes and shapes, all in metallic shades of copper and bronze, scattered across the bed with haphazard panache. To her right, in front of the huge bay window, was a modern, double-ended chaise longue upholstered in white suede (another mental note to self: no sitting on chaise while eating, drinking, or wearing any fabrics that could possibly transfer dye–in fact, just stay beyond a one-metre radius of chaise at all times).

      Against the far wall was a stunning cream gloss dressing table that matched the long row of drawer units next to it and the sleek bedside tables on either side of her.

      She decided not to turn around to stare at the life-size nude photo of Roxy that hung above the headboard–a gift from an admirer with a love of both art and porn. Instead, she took in the huge plasma television. The pots of cream on the dressing table that would cost her a month’s salary. A stereo system with more buttons than a NASA flight deck. The wall-length wardrobe to her left, bursting at its designer seams.

      How the hell did Roxy afford all this? But then, that had been Roxy’s gift her whole life: things just came to her. Never did she have to resort to Ginny’s Christmas-present tactics (Argos catalogue left open at the appropriate page). No, for years Roxy had had life handed to her on a plate…and for the next month, to a tiny degree, Ginny was going to see how it felt.

      As she snuggled into the silky bedspread, she mentally bitch-slapped her doubts out of the way. Roxy’s life was one of indulgent luxury and, occasional embarrassing sweat patches aside, Ginny had a sneaking suspicion that she was absolutely, definitely going to enjoy it.

      Sadly, that wasn’t a feeling that was shared by her fiancé. As she drifted off to sleep, strangely blissful despite the fact that she was still sporting a Zara swing coat, one boot and hair like a spider plant, her boyfriend was lying awake wondering what the hell had happened to his future wife.

       The Palace Grand Hotel, Mayfair, London Security Log

      Date: 30/09/07

      Security Officer: Desmond Taylor

      Duty Manager: Robert Hunter

      Details of Incident:

      At approximately 2.30 p.m., Anton LeComber, restaurant manager, requested security attend an altercation in the dining room. On arrival, it was found that the dispute was between one newly arrived female and a couple seated at table six. It became clear that said female had encountered her boyfriend dining with another woman and had become irate. A heated argument ensued which culminated in a bottle of Bollinger being taken from a nearby ice bucket and emptied over the head of said male and female. The offending female was removed from the premises. However, at the request of all parties, the police were not called. No further action will be taken, although the female–Roxanne Galloway, photo attached–has been advised that she is now barred from this hotel. Her abusive reply made it abundantly clear that she agrees with this decision.

      

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